#general frosty stuff

[frostycausedaniceage]

Guys who'd like lore dumps of my little concept that I can't decide whether I want it to be a show or a film?

[cakemoney]

riz is the child of sklonda who is dating gorthalax who is the father of fig whose mom is sandra lynn who is dating jawbone who adopted adaine (and aelwyn by extension i guess) and also jawbone's daughter's ex-girlfriend who lives with him is kristen and also fig's other dad gilear is dating hallariel whose son is fabian. and then there's gorgug, who i'm sure thanks various sundry gods every day that neither his adopted nor his biological parents have any relation to any of his classmates

[blondiest]

girl help i lost sight of creating things first and foremost for myself and got overly invested in external validation therefore setting myself up to feel terrible about my works because i started looking at them too closely and became paranoid that they weren't good enough and that people would think they're stupid and—

i am going to be on here less and for a little while may be engaging with other people's writing a bit less as i try to get back into my own creative flow again 🥲 will still pop in now and again but i think being too tuned-in to everything has been making me a little insecure (<- a me problem; all of you are lovely and sweet) and with some added work stress i'm just!!! not engaging with things in a way that makes me happy or that feels particularly healthy.

honestly i feel strange even bothering to make a post about this bc Who Cares but i didn't want anyone to feel ignored if i am just straight not replying to messages etc for chunks of time. 🤝

[andypantsx3]

MR. TOKYO BEAT HOTTEST HERO : SHOUTO x READER

SUMMARY: Shouto finds out he’s hot. He swiftly uses this knowledge against you. CONTENT & WARNINGS: pro hero au, established relationship, afab reader (no pronouns used), shouto's general obliviousness, todoroki shouto is a little shit, fluff, aged-up characters, smut, nipple play, vaginal sex, emotional sex, 18+ minors please dni! (3.8k)

Pro Hero Shouto Voted Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero of the Year

It’s been almost six years since Todoroki Shouto swept onto the scene as pro hero Shouto, melting almost as many villains as he has hearts. Currently standing at number four in the hero rankings, he’s armed with a formidable ice-and-fire combination quirk nearly as devastating as his smile.

Shouto’s heartthrob status has created such a sensation that he’s papered the pages of our magazine hundreds of times since his UA days. Now he’s taking home the coveted Hottest Hero crown… [read more]

It was a frosty night in early December when Shouto returned from patrol, looking uncharacteristically ruffled.

To an outside observer, his expression probably looked as bland as ever. But years into your relationship, you knew how to read your boyfriend’s microexpressions—the tiniest furrowing of his brows, the softest downward hitch of that perfect, plush mouth. He looked troubled—more troubled than you’d seen him in a while.

You turned off the heat on the stove, abandoning the dinner you’d been preparing, and rushed over to him as he shed his boots at the door. He’d apparently already changed out of his hero uniform at the agency, dressed instead in the high-collared gray coat that always made him look like he’d wandered out of the pages of a J. Crew catalog. He shrugged his coat off in tandem with his backpack, the tiny frown still carving his lips.

“Shouto—what’s wrong? Are you alright?” you asked, immediately taking his face in your hands.

Shouto blinked down at you, twin points of blue and silver fixing on your face. To your satisfaction, his expression seemed to soften, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth instead, and he murmured your name in greeting, his tone low and soft.

“Did something bad happen on patrol?” you asked. “You look troubled.”

Two warm, big hands came up to encompass your own, his thumbs smoothing over the backs of your fingers. You let him pull your hands away from his face to hold in his own, and he pressed a kiss to the knuckles of one, his mouth sweet and hot on your skin.

You flushed. Despite the years you’d been together, you had never been able to establish any sort of immunity to Shouto. If anything, the crush you’d had on him before you’d gotten together had only grown more out of control the longer you were exposed to him—-you still got butterflies whenever he looked at you with a fraction more intensity than normal.

“Hello, love,” he said, his mouth lingering over your skin.

Your stomach swooped, and your face got hot. Damn him.

“Hi Sho,” you backtracked. “I’m happy you’re home. But seriously, did something happen?”

Shouto’s fingers tightened around yours, and a little wrinkle appeared between his brows. “Not on patrol. Something else… unexpected happened.”

You watched him, waiting for him to elaborate.

His eyes roved over you, as if searching for the appropriate words on your face, until he seemed to find the right question. “Am I… do people consider me handsome?”

There was a moment of stunned silence before an incredulous laugh burst out of you.

The most beautiful man on earth, the internet’s steadfast boyfriend—the literal stuff of wet dreams, lurid fantasies, and thousands of covert sessions with a vibrator—was asking if he was considered handsome.

You knew Shouto had never been interested in his own beauty, blinking at compliments as if unsure how to receive them, generally oblivious to anyone hitting on him as though he thought people were that friendly to everyone, never spending any significant time in front of the mirror unless it was to stare at you next to him in the reflection, undoing your hair or washing your face or brushing your teeth.

But to be so unaware of his own looks that he was asking you?

“Shouto, you know you’re handsome,” you said. “I tell you all the time.”

The wrinkle between Shouto’s brows deepened. “You think so because you love me. But—I meant… do other people who do not love me think so?”

Your eyebrows shot to your hairline, floored by this line of questioning. “Shouto—every single person on earth thinks you are like the hottest man alive. Are you for real?”

Shouto blinked, those gray and blue eyes growing a fraction wider. “They do?”

You nodded, surprise coloring your tone. “Yeah—you didn’t know? Sero calls you ‘pretty boy’ to tease you like all the time. You get hit on every time you leave the house. You have twitter accounts dedicated to you.”

A tiny pout crept onto Shouto’s mouth, and his eyelashes fluttered. “I thought he said it as a joke. And I thought those accounts were fans of my work. And I thought… you only thought so because you love me.”

You laughed. Shouto’s good looks were as serious as a heart attack. So serious they might just induce one, in fact. And you did love him, and would love him no matter what he looked like—his inside was just as beautiful as his outside, and would always make him attractive to you. He was so kind, so thoughtful, and so inherently bone-deep good in so many ways that made your heart swell just looking at him.

Truly he was love-you-even-if-you-were-a-worm material. But this was no laughing matter.

“What’s brought this question on now?” you asked.

Shouto blinked again, looking slightly startled, then turned to his backpack. He produced a glossy magazine with a sticky note stuck to it, covered in his manager’s handwriting that read: check out page 43 >:). Just over the sticky note, two very familiar heterochromatic eyes peered out intensely from the magazine’s cover.

You peeled away the note to see your boyfriend’s face in full—his expression handsome and solemn. The shot must have been taken sometime post-rescue as he had smudges of ash all along his high cheekbones, and his hair was windswept, and a little piecey, like he’d just finished using phosphor. A headline next to his ear proclaimed, Todoroki Shouto: Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero Alive!

You looked back up at Shouto to find both of his ears red, though his expression was determinedly blank-faced. A grin yanked at your mouth.

“Well someone who works there has eyeballs,” you said, laughing. “Congratulations, Shouto!”

The scarlet at the tips of Shouto’s ears deepened. “I do not… I did not expect…”

Your smile grew larger, fondness blooming in your chest. He was so good you wanted to bite him. Of course he never expected anything like this—his concerns were tied to his heroics—had he saved enough people, was he living up to the hero he wanted to be? Even when he’d finally broken the top five earlier last month, he was only pleased to be so recognized because he wanted many people to be reassured by him, not out of any sense of competitiveness with his fellow heroes.

He would never think of anything like this—he was so fucking good.

“I always thought—my scar,” Shouto said, touching his face.

Your heart squeezed and you wormed your fingers under his, placing your hand over the scar in question.

“Your scar is a part of your face and a part of your identity. But to be real with you, it only makes you look more interesting, Sho.” Your own ears heated. “To be completely honest it’s—well it’s one thing that makes you look human. You kind of look, um, unnaturally handsome otherwise, like some kind of vampire or angel or something. When I say things like you’re too handsome to be allowed I actually mean it, you know.”

Shouto paused, those heterochromatic eyes flickering back down to yours. A scarlet eyebrow quirked slightly. “Then you also think that I am handsome,” he said, though it was phrased more like a revelation to him than a question.

“Did you think I was lying?” you asked hotly.

Shouto shook his head minutely. “No—but I did not realize. You found me handsome before you loved me?”

You laughed. “I had eyeballs before I loved you, so yeah. And I wouldn’t be so effusive all the time if I didn’t mean it. You think when I tell you stuff like that that I’m just playing it up?”

Shouto’s expression went suddenly blank, like a marker board suddenly erased of nefarious plans. Instantly, your hackles raised, the smile falling off your mouth, your senses suddenly screaming danger. Shouto might be the most trustworthy, reassuring, and beautiful pro hero of all time, but beneath the surface lurked a youngest child and a major little shit. His expression only ever changed like this when he was about to get up to something.

“Then you think I am so handsome you cannot think,” Shouto said.

The magazine suddenly crackled in your fingers as you clutched it between you. “What.”

Shouto moved a step closer, gaze sharpening. “When you said I was so handsome you cannot think. You meant it.”

A sound like a nervous cow escaped you as you backed up a few steps. “Did I say that?”

A tiny smile pulled at Shouto’s mouth again, a cross between something sincerely pleased and sincerely shit-eating.

“When you said I am so handsome that sometimes your brain goes static,” he said, his tone dropping low, prowling closer. “You meant it.”

You flushed hot. Hearing your words repeated back to you like that was so embarrassing.

You flailed when your back hit the wall, and Shouto stretched out an arm, blocking you in. You couldn’t help the way your eyes flicked to his bicep for a split second, admiring the way it flexed slightly under the sleeve of his shirt as he pressed his hand to the wall, the way the kitchen light shadowed it lovingly.

Shouto’s ears were even redder when you looked back at him, but his gaze was hungrier. He’d definitely noticed your inspection, and his newfound realization about your level of appreciation was clearly both pleasing but embarrassing.

“You said your brain does not work right when I am close,” Shouto said, his face looming near. “Am I doing it right?”

He was doing it right—terribly, horribly, awfully right. Your breath caught in your lungs, lights in your brain winking out one by one as that soft, perfect mouth hovered just over yours. Shouto was so warm this close, and you could feel all the fibers in your body straining towards him like plants unfurling under the sun.

You rallied yourself one last time, throwing your hands up, defeated. “I live with a literal Greek sculpture of a boyfriend, am I not supposed to admire the artwork?”

Shouto didn’t respond. Instead, you saw the smile on his lips widen a fraction, just before his mouth captured yours.

In the space of a heartbeat he’d pressed himself against you, trapping you against the wall just as your knees went to pudding. You could feel every part of him against you and you couldn’t think, all your thoughts slipping away, dissolving like sugar in water. Shouto’s hands came up to support your waist, pinning you against the wall as he kissed you so sweetly and so very thoroughly.

“Is this it, love?” he asked when he pulled back, something both smug and wondering in his tone. “Am I doing it right?”

You scraped the bottom of your mind for any fragments of human language with which to respond. “You always do it right, you little shit.”

Shouto’s mouth quirked in a smile again, and he leaned in to press it to the side of your throat, lips moving softly. You shivered in his hands and felt the way his smile widened on your skin.

You could practically feel delight pouring off of him, this discovery of his new power—a power he’d always had but never understood in full.

It figured Shouto’s beauty would only interest him insofar as he could deploy it against you.

But that was Shouto. Everything he had was something he used in service to others.

Shouto’s mouth mapped a hot trail down your throat, and you clung to his shoulders as his lips dipped under the collar of your shirt and sucked, softly but insistently. One of his hands left its place at your hip to slide up your stomach and beneath the fabric of your shirt, cupping the side of your breast.

He wasn’t touching anything, but the feeling of his hand, warm and strong and so very large that it spanned over your chest and ribcage, sucked all the oxygen right out of the air. You bit back a noise as Shouto left another mark beneath your collar, his long eyelashes fluttering against the skin of your throat as he let out his own soft groan.

“I thought you were beautiful, too, before I loved you,” Shouto said as his fingers traced the outline of your bra, just barely skimming the skin underneath.

Your ears went hot, the way they always did when Shouto got sincere in place of dirty talk. It was even hotter than the filthiest thing he could have said to you, because you knew he meant every single word of it.

“But now I love you, you are even more beautiful to me,” he said. “Is it the same for you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but cut off on a moan as Shouto’s fingers finally found their way beneath your bra, his thumb swiping over your nipple. Your head thunked back against the wall when he did it again, pinching gently as his other hand covered your other breast, mirroring the action.

Heat streaked through your veins, pooling in your core. You bit your lip as Shouto played with you, feeling those heterochromatic eyes hot on your face.

“Answer me, love,” he commanded gently.

You peeked open an eye, realizing you’d squeezed them shut, shuddering as Shouto’s thumbs swiped over your nipples again, the touch perfect and maddening. Shouto was watching you intently, as he always did, but there was an extra dimension of interest, as if he truly did not know, truly wanted to know what you would say.

“Yes,” you told him, your tone hitching higher as he gently rolled your nipples in his long, pretty fingers. “Yes I—oh!—only find you more incredibly handsome every day—ah! Shouto!”

Shouto looked pleased, leaning forward to layer a kiss over your mouth as he played with your nipples. You squirmed under his hands, panting into his mouth, the touches already overwhelming. After years together, he knew exactly how to work you.

A strong thigh slid in between your own as Shouto pressed himself closer to you. You kissed him fiercely, huffing tiny embarrassing noises into his mouth, grinding against his thigh.

“Fuck, love,” Shouto groaned as he grew hard against your hip. You felt like you were floating, thoughts distant, the only present idea the feeling of Shouto’s strong body over yours. He was all over you but you wanted more, wanted to climb inside him and make your home there, wanted him to press inside of you and fill you and claim you and keep you—

“Shouto, bed—please, please—” you managed, before Shouto was hefting you in his arms obligingly.

He dumped you on the bed with a little less finesse than usual, following you down hungrily, weighing you into the sheets.

He made short work of your clothes, and you were bare to him in what felt like seconds. Shouto’s mouth immediately sought your breast again, closing over your nipple as his fingers dipped inside of you. You writhed with the heat of him over you, the heat of his mouth on you, the gentle press of him inside of you.

His thumb brushed over your clit as his tongue did something mind-bending over your nipple, and a moan escaped you, high and shivery. Shouto’s huff across the skin of your chest told you that it had pleased him, and he sucked a little more firmly, a little more insistently.

“Shouto, Shouto, Shouto—” you babbled mindlessly, hands sliding all over him. You wanted to touch him but you couldn’t reach him in return, so you settled for sliding your fingers into his hair, clinging as he made stars fizzle under your skin.

“Shouto—I’m going to come—you have to stop if you want to—ah!” you squeaked, as Shouto rubbed you more purposefully, moving over your clit in the way he knew you liked. His fingers moved inside you unrelentingly as he licked and sucked you slowly, the contrast between his mouth and his fingers too much for you.

Your pleasure rolled over you like a wave, rushing through your veins, pooling in all your limbs. You seized up under Shouto, but his weight held you down, his mouth and fingers working you through it.

You were still whining with sensitivity when he worked his own clothes off and slid into you, filling you up with the familiar shape of him. Your whine trailed into another moan, the feeling of him so utterly perfect inside of you.

“I don’t need anyone to think I am handsome but you, love,” Shouto said, canting his hips up so that he slid in and out of you. “All I want is you.”

You shifted, wrapping your legs around his back, pulling him deeper inside of you. “I know—Shouto, you’re beautiful inside and out. I love everything about you. Your face, your voice, your kindness, your goodness,” you paused as he filled you again, grinning up at him. “Your di—”

A powerful thrust had you choking off into a squeak, and you clutched his bicep as Shouto smiled down at you, his own grin charming and mischievous. You thought he was especially handsome just like this—panting, flushed, grinning, glorious—the way no one else got to see him but you. Mr. Tokyo Beat Hottest Hero he may be, but people still would never know how truly beautiful he could be, grinning down over you.

That was all yours.

Shouto wormed an arm between your back and the mattress, catching your waist and pulling you into him. The new angle had him brushing against your clit as he slipped in and out of you, and your eyes nearly rolled back in your head when you caught sight of where you were joined together, Shouto’s abs flexing tightly as he moved back and forth within you.

Sounds of pleasure slipped out of you, and Shouto caught them in his mouth. You kissed him back, clinging to his shoulders, pulling him closer. You reveled in the feeling of his hot skin on yours, shivering in delight with the contrast of his heat and the cool room around you.

Shouto’s hips worked into you, chasing both of your pleasure, his strokes fluid and sure. Those long fingers slid down your body again to press ever-so-slightly over your clit, and you bucked into his hand, delirious with the feeling of him pressing against you from both the inside and out. With the heavy weight of him over you it was like he was all around you, all over you, in your mouth, in your sex, overwhelming you.

You writhed against him, babbling a string of nonsense when he let your mouth free. Praise about how beautiful he was, about how good he was, about how good he felt, about how much you loved him.

Shouto breathed his own praise into your ear, his mouth closing around the lobe. He told you how beautiful you were, how much he loved you, how even if everyone liked the way he looked it was “all for you, love—everything is for you.”

His fingers slid in soft circles around your clit as he ground into you, kissing his way up your throat. You panted into the dim of your bedroom, little stars sparking in the corner of your vision. It felt like someone had lit a sparkler beneath your skin, a thousand tiny points of fizzing, burning friction, and Shouto was touching every single one of them.

“Cum for me, love,” Shouto commanded, his tone soft and low, kissing the underside of your jaw.

You couldn’t speak, could only nod, nearly there. His fingers kept toying with you, expert and unrelenting, and in another few seconds the wave of your pleasure was mounting again. It swept over you like a tidal wave, smashing through you, sweeping through every limb, every nerve ending.

You cried out Shouto’s name, clenching around him, and then he was abandoning your clit to pull you up into him, grinding hard. His pace grew faster, more frantic, and he panted into your throat, until he was following you off the edge, pouring himself into you, filling you up from the inside.

You shivered and shook against him until finally the wave of your pleasure crested. Shouto relaxed over you as your limbs went slack too. He pressed a kiss to your mouth, slow and languid.

“Definitely Tokyo’s hottest hero,” you said muzzily, your words a little slurred. “The world’s hottest hero, even.”

Shouto huffed a tiny laugh. “I only need to be your hottest hero,” he told you, his heterochromatic eyes pinning you earnestly.

You smiled up at him, running a hand absently through his scarlet and white mop of hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers.

“You always have been. Before I loved you, but especially now that I love you this much,” you told him.

Shouto smiled, then, a pleased, half-moon grin, so beautiful and so clever that it knocked the wind right back out of you again. You leaned up to kiss him again, soaking in his private beauty, pleased that you out of everyone got to have him like this. And you would make him feel it again—you wanted to show him again how much he meant to you.

He was Tokyo Beat’s Hottest Hero—but he was your most beautiful, beloved, cherished hero. And that was a thousand times better. So you’d show him a thousand times over.

You rolled over him, delighting in the slight widening of those beautiful eyes, the tiniest quirk of interest on that perfect mouth.

You’d show him—starting right now.

[call-sign-shark]

Echo of Shadows || Masterlist

Pairing: The Darkling x Heartrender!OCreader || Alina Starkov x Heartrender!OCreader || Malyen Oretsevx HeartRender!OCreader

Summary: "They called her the White Plague, a saint or a monster—but she was neither, only destruction wrapped in a pretty bow."

In Ravka's frosty heart, the legend of the White Plague spreads—a woman with snow-white hair, frozen-fire eyes, and powers that rival those of Jurda Parem. Once a slave in the Menagerie, the one who calls herself Heaven is now a myth, either leaving towns in ruins or former disease-ridden people crying with gratitude. A Sankta.

General Kirigan's interest soon turns dark and his desire obsessive. Never had he been so captivated and haunted by someone. Someone he could finally share his eternal life with. Caught in a cruel game of power and love, she's torn between Kirigan’s corrupting passion and Alina Starkov’s promise of freedom.

Amidst the chaos, one question arises: will she become a savior, a monster, or something far more dangerous?

TW: Explicit sexual content, slow burn, borderline consent, heavy pinning, toxic relationship [manipulation, obsession, extreme jealousy, controlling behavior], graphic sexual description, graphic depiction of murder and torture, blood!kink, size!kink, radioactive couple, codependency, reference to past SA and child SA, dark romance & mad romance trope, ambiguous relationship with Alina. This story is brutal, bloody and rated +18.

ACT I: A BURNING LIMERENCE

1. Keep Moving, Little Girl

2. Their Frozen Shackles

3. The Court of Shadows

4. The Fear Within

5. Beneath his Watchful Eyes 🔞

6. Until Nothing is Left

7. Dangerous

8. Blood and Honey

9. Gazed Into the Abyss, It Gazed Back Into Me 🔞

10. Raw

11. The Things I'd Do for You

12. Intoxicate Me Now

13. Burn Your Village 🔞

14. E.V.O.L.

15. Darkness Suits You Well

16. Light of My Life

17. My Night and Stars. 🔞

-> Prologue Act I: What’s the Night Without his Moon?

ACT II. RAPTURE OF THE DEEP

Queen of Spades

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Light

Like a Feeling of Déjà Vue

Blinding Light

I was Made for Loving You, Baby 🔞

It's in Our Veins

Your Darkness Flayed 🔞

After the Storm, the Sun

Safe in the Dark 🔞

Paint Me Black 🔞

Golden Cage for a Pretty Bird

Your Heart, My Chains

Good Ending? You Haven't Been Paying Attention

ACT III. THE CALL OF THE VOID

The Assasymphony

Never You

Barbwire Kiss🔞

It Has Always Been You 🔞

I'm Not Ruined. I'm Ruination.

Here Comes the Wolves

Your Love is an Open Wound 🔞

The Starless Saint of Broken Hearts

The Mask of the Red Death

Candy-Coated Suicide

Symphony of Our Ruins

Epilogue: Eternal Eclipse

ONE SHOTS

Much Ado About Jam Toasts- fun & fluff

A Dangerous White Tigress - action, Hurt/Comfort

Away From the Deep Shadow

Damaged

MODERN AU*

Mental Health Is Sexy Masterlist

*Amos is Aleksander's modern identity.

GAME OF THRONES AU

Damaged Masterlist

*Amos is Aleksander.

VISUALS

Light in the Dark

"Call me Aleksander" - trailer by the beloved @elizabethblood9

My Night and Stars

Heaven Lavey

ASK

Modern!Aleksander x Heaven for Christmas

Notes:

☾ I haven't read the books so this work is based on the TV show even though I know it's fairly different from the original Grisha verse. If you're an adorable lore psycho, you might not want to read that! :(

☾ Taglist: @lunawants , @emtaz-art, @lightinbug, @kmc1989, @thepassionatereader @mystic-mara @m-riaa @kallista-diune @meadows5 @kasagia @watersquirtpewpewboomm @the-sweet-psycho @sarahsobsession @elizabethblood9 @ritzzzzz @sophialeiros @noortsshift @sassyvilliantrope @sherwoodforesttales @a-smidges-stuff

[corseque]

So I realized today that my computer still works, and so I immediately downloaded Frosty Editor to make a long text file of all of the Veilguard conversation lines, organized by scene and with the speaker of the line labeled. While I did this, I found an interesting VERY LONG SERIES of conversations where Rook was apparently supposed to fight and kill an Executor multiple times. I haven't been paying attention to the Executor stuff, so I have no idea if people know about this, but I tried google searching for several of these lines and could not find them. Now, everything is correct here but THE LINES ARE STILL OUT OF ORDER because I just couldn't be bothered, so keep that in mind. but here's the conversations: ((The Executor character has a description that says: Gender: Nonbinary CharacterDescription: A masked and hooded figure that speaks like someone unfamiliar with language in general. Stilted, awkward, but with a low menace. SpeechPattern: Stilted. Is trying to form words from thoughts that are far more complex than a regular person's.))

The most interesting lines, to me, are the ones where it's apparently talking about the elven gods: Executor : Took his strength. Fought him with yours. Executor : Then the tyrant. The sun. Dimmed by blood. His own. Executor : The ripples joined. Expanded. Extended. Executor : We readied. Consulted. Planned. Executor : You quelled the storm. Stilled the waters. Executor : We felt it. The ripples. They went far. Executor : But we did not move yet. We waited. Watched. Executor : Fought him on his terms. Defeated him on yours.

Executor : And then the wolf. He knew of us. In part. Not in whole. Executor : You changed him. Saved him. With the other. She lingers. Executor : The pattern… continues. Executor : Nearly… enough.

"THE WOLF. YOU CHANGED HIM.... SAVED HIM....."

THAT'S RIGHT, I DID :) I'll upload this file later on after I've had time to look for fun things in it. I thought some people might be interested in this though.

[goodeapple]

pedal to the metal (cregan s. modern hotd pwp o.s.)

pairing : Cregan x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : MDNI PWP, hate sex babyyy! cunnilingus (creg's a munch, let's talk about it), p-in-the-v, doggystyle, sex in a public place, misogynistic language/illusions, brat taming, general yummy stuff

word count : 3,500+

note : two updates? in less than two weeks? who is sheeee. but actually, i have a nasty sinus infection and i feel like a hot air balloon so any love from ya'll would cure me. all my love, always xx

.

.

.

"How much do I owe you?"

"Your money's no good here." Cregan rumbles, letting his eyes roam leisurely down the enchanting bends and blooms of Ysilla's body. 

The dress she's slid into is nothing short of obscene- the silky caramel color a twin shade of her soft, supple skin. The entirety of her chest may be covered to the base of her throat courtesy of the halter neckline, but that doesn't account for the backless design that bares her down to the bounce of her ass. She's all leg and sky high heels, the hemline stopping short just below her cheeks. Her midnight hair is twisted up and off her shoulders, displaying the huge fucking diamonds decorating her earlobes. 

She's a showroom car in the middle of his dingy garage. Untouchable. Unattainable.

Ysilla eyes him with a healthy sprinkling of mistrust, giving him a very unimpressed once over. Every speck of grease on his jeans seems to grow darker, the dirt under his nails thickening into a damning paste. Cregan grits his teeth, recognizing the look for exactly what it is- he's shit under her shoes. 

"Just do me a favor, alright?" He goes on before she can't stop him, the perk of her eyebrow haughty and aching to rebuff him. "Lay offa Jace. Man's been through the ringer, he doesn't need you piling on all the time."

The look of gobsmacked shock on her pretty face is priceless. Cregan bets no one's ever talked to her like that before.

"You don't tell me what to do, Stark."

"Not telling you, I'm askin' you." He bites back, rolling his eyes. She picks Jace up sometimes, pulling up in her candy apple red Corvette- no doubt thanks to mummy's money- and doesn't even bother to get out and set foot inside of Stark & Son's Body Shop. She'll lay on the horn, harping at Jace to get a move on and stop wasting my fucking time. 

Real classy gal. 

"It's my brother's own goddamn problem that he wrapped his Ferrari 'round a tree while he was pissed. Now Mum's making him work off his house arrest in this shit shop, and I have to take time out of my day to pick him up from daycare? Bite me." Such vitriol seems unlikely to come from sparkly glossed lips but it pours like oil, easy and thick off her tongue. She's crossed her arms, cocked a hip, and is glaring at him something serious. 

'Shit shop' eh? Cregan snarls, Northern pride burning through the tips of his ears. He stands, kicking away the rolling stool, all six feet and more of him swallowing up the Targaryen daughter in his shadow. Even with her heels, she still has to look up at him to give him her nastiest look. 

"And where are your priorities exactly, Princess?" Cregan doesn't make a habit of talking to women like this but Ysilla gnaws at him like frostbite. Plus, he's got nothing to lose. His uncle is the one doing the favor for Jace's mum. Cregan doesn't owe anyone shit. 

"You off to another club? Didn't I just see your photo splashed over every mag from here to Rook's Rest last week? Partying and gettin' sloshed, stumbling into limos face first and ass up." He chuckles, enjoying a little too much how her bronzed cheeks bloom rosy, the whites of her eyes growing frosty. She's positively fuming- he's surprised steam hasn't shot out of her ears yet. Cregan decides to push his luck, tucking a stubborn curl behind her ear, tracing the shell of it in faux tenderness. 

"What're you searching for at the bottom of all those bottles? Who are ya looking for in the ones that end up in your bed?" 

He expects the smack because that last bit was a little too far. Shit stings, he'll give it to her, waggling his jaw to dissipate the pain. He rubs at the skin of his cheek, the stubbled flesh hot under his hand. 

"Struck a nerve, did I?" He laughs darkly, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. It's a valiant effort, one made in vain as another manicured paw sails through the air and attempts to get familiar with his face. Cregan catches Ysilla's hand, yanking her into him if only to limit how much destruction she can cause. 

"You get one Princess, you don't get another." 

Cregan watches the narrowing of her captivating indigo eyes, her little angry breaths hot along his chest. Maybe he'd laugh at the fact that her pissed off face is about as menacing as a pouting puppy if he didn't realize all of her is pressed into the entire front of him. He refuses to focus on the softness of her breasts pillowed against his ribs. Blocks out the rosemary of her shampoo drifting up his nose from the strands swaying under his chin. 

He lets a traitorous thought drift into his head, a whisper of how fucking perfect she feels against him, how deliciously right she is in his arms. 

"What dumb slag told you that you were hot shit enough to talk to a girl this way?" Ysilla spits, trying to yank free her wrists he still has locked in his meaty fists. 

Cregan scoffs, releasing her and taking a step back- for his sake or hers, he won't answer, not even in his head. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

She rubs at the tender skin under her Cartier bracelets, and Cregan argues with himself to not feel too bad. Considering his face still hurts like a bitch, he doesn't take much convincing. 

"Maybe I would."

He almost misses it, Ysilla's voice dimmed down to a near whisper. But it's just the two of them this late at night, so she may as well've screamed it at the top of her lungs. 

Of fucking course. 

"Oh, I see. Does that turn you on? Guys treating you like shit?" It's his turn to cross his arms and look down the tip of his nose at her. "Or do you just want a man that won't bow down to you because of your last name?" 

"Easy, big boy." Ysilla sneers. She spins on her heel, sauntering away from him and Cregan certainly does not stare at the beguiling jiggle of her ass.  

She finds a seat, reclining on the hood of her Corvette, the same one he was doing a solid for Jace fixing up, faulty fuel sensor and a shitty transmission hidden under the shiny red hood. She may be a bit of a twat but she's still my sister. Can't have her skiddin' off the Long Bridge, Mum would have my ass. 

"I've had enough night-outs to last a lifetime. Maybe… I should try out something different." She crosses her long legs at the ankle and the shop lights might be severely unflattering on most people, but of course that doesn't apply to her. The white glow bounces off her polished skin, illuminating her in a showcase display, enticing anyone who may spare a glance. Fuck, he wants to take a bite out of her. 

"What? Wanna slum it?" Cregan can't believe this shit- maybe Ysilla knocked a screw loose when she swatted at him earlier and he's hallucinating like a bad fucking mushroom trip. 

She giggles, an evil little sound that would probably make a baby cry. "Your words, not mine." Her fingers dance at the edge of her dress, dipping below the hem, raising it just so. She's got thick thighs, creamy and unblemished, and Cregan thinks of how easily they'd spread apart for his shoulders when he'd go face first between them. His silence stretches on and Ysilla takes it as an unspoken answer. 

"No? Your loss." She shrugs, pushing to her feet. 

"Bend over the hood. Keep your heels on."

He's somewhat proud his voice doesn't shake. He's no blushing bride but this is pretty ballsy. The shop door isn't even locked- he'd opened it for her once she arrived and expected her to walk right back out of it in a matter of minutes. His guys are all long gone for the night, probably already a few pints deep at the pub, but this isn't the best part of King's Landing. Anyone could try the door and walk into the porno he's apparently shooting in his garage. 

He expects a fight, at least a snide remark or two but Ysilla is full of surprises. She gives him a sexy little smirk, staring him down like she's expecting him to back out. When all he does is raise an impatient eyebrow, she bites her lip in anticipation and spins around. She walks her hands up the hood of her car, positioning herself in the most alluring display of come take me now Cregan's ever seen. 

He doesn't make his feet move but suddenly, somehow, he's behind her, nearly flush with the back of her thighs. He wedges his steel toe in between her stilettos and knocks them apart. Ysilla gasps as her legs spread, goosebumps peppering over the naked skin of her back. 

He lets himself enjoy this, running his palms from the bare slope of her shoulders, down the sides of her covered breasts, and over the small of her back. She feels fantastic, all woman, and his cock pulses thickly behind his fly. He sees her fingers flex along the gleaming red metal she clings to before the sight drops away as he squats behind her, his face level now with her delicious derriere. 

Ysilla peers at him from under her arm, a surprised little laugh escaping her. "Thought you'd be the kind to just shove it in." 

Cregan shimmies the expensive silk of her dress over the swell of her hips, exposing the globes of her ass to the tepid night air. He smiles, the softest look he's aimed at her so far tonight. "Ye of little faith, milady." 

She's beautiful, every inch of her. He suckles a string of bruises from the back of her knee to the swell of her cheek, stamping down the urge to sink his teeth into the lavish bounty of her body. 

"Gonna kiss my ass, Stark- oh! Damn se Sīkuda, fuckkk."

He indulges a dip of his tongue into where her thong blooms a dark dot, her honey soaking through the delicate material. He sucks on it like a man starved, pulling the sweetness out and onto his ravenous taste buds. A treat before the main course, he shucks them out of his way roughly, before burying his tongue inside of her cunt with no finesse. 

Ysilla startles forward, shouting out another curse but it falls on deaf ears, Cregan a man drowning in lust. Bitter she may be inside but between her legs is fucking sugar, the feminine musk of her arousal coating his mouth in a saccharin syrup. His eyes slip closed, losing himself in her decadent tang. He winds his arms around the front of her thighs and hugs her to his face, keeping her stuck against his insatiable tongue. He leaves her hole only to dip forward to wrap his lips around the pretty little pearl of her clit, enjoying how her legs quiver like jelly when he sucks too hard.

She's gonna have beard burn, he just knows it- he didn't have time to shave this morning. But he thinks of her tomorrow, sitting at the mile long dinner table he's sure they have at Dragonstone Manor, and how she'll wiggle and whine as the butlers pour her tea, working herself up as she rubs her tender thighs together. He yanks her impossibly closer, smothering his face in her pretty pussy. He feels her tighten, her hips arching backwards to ride his face, her moans echoing off the high ceilings and crashing down around them. He groans, mouth full, and the vibrations roll through her like a thundering bass.

Ysilla screams before she slaps a hand over her mouth, her orgasm sending a wave of sweet slick down his chin. He spears her on his tongue, dragging her on and off it, making sure to draw out her aftershocks until her legs kick. Cregan finally tears himself away, albeit unhappily, to gulp down air to fill his burning lungs. 

"Don't tease, Stark." She whines, reaching blindly behind her to push at his head.

"Don't tell me what to do, Targaryen." He parrots back, his speech slurred, drunk from his feast. He relents though, rocking onto his feet, going to flick open the button of his jeans. 

"Rubber." Ysilla commands, breathy and impatient, laid across the hood like a fucking Playboy spread. Her fingers have snuck between her legs and she rubs between her slick lips with unhurried small strokes.

Cregan pulls his wallet from his pocket, shifting through the bills before pulling out the foil packet (he keeps one handy, in case of emergencies and all). He tears open the edge and rolls it on, pumping himself once for assurity before lining himself up with her entrance. He snatches Ysilla's hand away from fondling herself, and he holds her sultry stare as he brings her wet fingers up to his mouth. He sucks them clean, her French-tipped nails curling loosely over his tongue. 

"You're filthy." Long gone is her previous acrid tone, in its place a needy, erotic purr. He winks at her, releasing her hand. She lets it flop bonelessly to her side, weak with satisfaction. He takes a hold of her hips, raising her up so that she teeters on heels. 

He catches her eye, raising a brow in an unspoken question. You good?

She answers with an annoyed miff of her mouth. Just get on with it. 

Cregan's never claimed to be the smartest guy around but shit, he doesn't need to be told twice. He slides forward, his spit and her slick letting him in with no resistance. 

"Fuck, that's good pussy." And he almost wishes he were lying- her ego could use a good adjustment- but he's currently sliding into the wettest, silkiest, hottest cunt he's ever had the privilege of being invited into. 

He takes a moment to focus on not being a minute man but as soon as the temptation to cum in under thirty fades, he gives her just what she needs. Hard, fast, and rough. He's sure she'll bruise- he's a big guy, plus the way he's squeezing at her hips and the start of her thighs is anything but tender. 

"Fuck it like you own it, Stark, come on." Ysilla slaps at the hood, meeting him thrust for thrust. Even with dick in her, she still thinks she's the one calling the shots. 

"Do you ever not talk?" He bites back, fisting his grip into the roots of her hair. She flutters around him as he pulls, hard. 

"Only when there's something in my mouth." Cheeky thing. She wants filthy? He shoves two fingers down her throat, bumping cruelly at the crowns of her teeth and scraping at the back of her tongue. She doesn't even gag, just hums and sucks on them like his work worn hands are a popsicle in July. 

"Pampered little rich bitch. Fucken desperate for some Northern cock, eh?"

Cregan thinks that she tries to whine out something, thinks he might hear prick, but the digits shoved in her mouth and the drool slipping down his wrist stunt that. Her nails burrow into his foreman, Ysilla clinging to him as he fucks her like a beast. He's not gentle, pistoning in and out of her so harshly that the Corvette rocks beneath them, the tires squeaking. 

She whimpers, her throat spasming around his fingers. A thought, unbidden, worms its way into his thoughts. What if she fakes it? And that pisses him the fuck off. Nah, if she wants to get down and dirty, she'll remember how hard she came when she was pinned underneath him. He rips his fingers free and only gives her a chance to cough once before gripping her jaw tightly.

"Tell me you like it." He rumbles into her ear, his Northern flourish thicker when he's turned on.

Ysilla moans, a broken, lovely sound that makes him grin like a fool.

"I fuckin' love it, oh my Gods." That's even better.

Cregan kisses her on instinct, planting one just below her ear, over the thrumming string of her pulse. She vibrates in a shiver, curling into him, the curve of her spine accepting the beating of his hips. Southern girls must not be used to good dick because Ysilla is fucking gagging for it. Her hood's gonna look like it just got a fresh wax from the way her wetness dribbles down her thighs. 

"Fuck yeah, take it take it take it take it." His hand wraps around her throat, a mind of its own, and hauls her to his chest. She's shaking, wild gasps for air whistling from her lips. Her hand dives down her belly, her fingertips searching for the sensitive slip of skin that'll bring them closer to the end of their fucked up little union. And Cregan may not enjoy her company but he's certainly enjoying this. He catches her wrist, trapping her against her own beautiful body as he winds both arms around her. 

"Un uh, you cum when I tell you to. Should make you beg for it. Should put you on your knees, with your pretty kitty aching still, teetering on the edge, and paint your face with my spunk. Think you're too good for me? When your pussy is squeezing the absolute life outta me?" Cregan thinks of putting a collar on her. Leading her around on a leash, tugging her forward to have her lap at his cock. "Cregan's Bitch" inscribed on a dangling gold charm that'd rest between her tits. She'd look good in pink- it'd make the rosiness of her lips glow lusciously.

Fuck, he's close. And for all the shit he may talk, he's not pulling out of her A1 snatch now. 

"So do it. Beg me, Princess. Beg me to let you cum."

Seemingly past the point of acting blasé, the plea tumbles from Ysilla's mouth before he's even done talking. "Yes yes yes, please baby, let me cum. Let me cum all over your cock. Break me in half on it, unnfff. Cregan!"

There it is. "Only because you asked so nicely." And his callous raised fingertips glide down to strum at her clit until she sobs, her legs going out, the only thing keeping her up Cregan's thick arms around her. She shivers and shakes for ages, guiding him through his own release as he cums into the condom. 

He presses his forehead to the center of her back, taking his time so that his knees don't buckle when he stands up. Pulling out of her sucks, leaving her warmth the last thing he wants to do but his back is screaming at him to straighten out and he's sure her legs must be at least half asleep by now. He ties off the rubber, tossing it into the bin behind them before he tucks himself back in his boxers. 

He snags a clean rag out of a drawer- it comes with a few oil stains sure, but it's been washed a thousand times. He wipes Ysilla clean, gentle around the raw skin of her inner thighs and the swollen lips of her center. She sighs softly, whispering a soft thank you into her arm pillowed beneath her chin. He kisses the side of her hip in acknowledgement, sliding her sodden panties back to cover her up. He helps her roll onto her back and she squints up at the track lights glaring down at them. 

He doesn't say much and neither does she, the afterglow fading until all that's left is the sweat sticky on their skin.  

"Can I take you out to dinner? I'm fucking starved." It's not a proposal or anything, just good manners in Cregan's opinion.

Ysilla looks down at her dress, wrinkled from him rucking it up and spotted from where she'd sweated through parts of it. She looks at him pointedly, less attitudey than before but still with her signature sharpness. He laughs, unperturbed and lighter than fucking air. That's the best orgasm he's had in… shit, probably ever. 

"I have a long sleeve you can throw on. Some sweats too." He ducks into the office and riffles through his gym bag, returning with the clothes that he'll sure will swamp her from head to toe. He tosses them onto the hood beside her.

"Couture, no doubt." She grumbles but she's already undoing the button at the nape of her neck that keeps the straps in place. It falls away like a bow off a present, revealing the one part of her he hasn't seen. 

He'll need a few before he can go another round but even so, his dick twitches in interest. He may be an ass man but Cregan's positive now there's no piece of her body he doesn't want to lick. Ysilla notices his shameless staring, forgetting his shirt she'd started to shrug on in her lap. She smirks, cupping her tits, her thumbs and forefingers pinching the dusky rose nipples into stiff peaks. 

"Like what you see?"

Cregan doesn't answer, not aloud anyway. He sweeps forward, coming to stand in between her lax legs. He cradles her face and that cocksure smugness melts like butter from her eyes, and she blinks big and wide up at him. Her lashes flutter, petals in a breeze, and Cregan takes his chance. He seals his lips over hers and swallows down the sigh she breathes into his mouth.

It's chaste, paling in comparison to the railing he just gave her but it doesn't make it any less nice. It's really nice actually, nicer than it has any right being. Ysilla wraps her legs around his hips, dragging him into glue to her front. Her breasts squeeze against his chest, her tongue demure as it traces his bottom lip. The scratch of her nipples against his work shirt sends her whimpering, and she clutches onto his biceps for purchase. 

The growl of his stomach wins out over the tightening in his jeans, and with enough willpower to win a war, he pulls away. He gives her another peck, enjoying the way her face goes soft when she's not frowning. 

He traces the beauty mark at the edge of her cheekbone, waiting for her eyes to slip shut before he yanks the long sleeve over her head. She pops through the shirt's opening like a bushy little groundhog, and Cregan smirks at the glare she daggers him with. 

"So, kebabs or fish and chips?"

.

.

.

Damn se Sīkuda . Damn the Seven

[brucewaynehater101]

Do you think after BruceQuest the bat kids + Oracle and Alfred (maybe or maybe not Batman)

all but blatantly cut contact with the Justice League?

Even if Batman forgives them for leaving him for dead even with all the evidence in front of them, they've still shown themselves wildly unreliable to even their own members

Unless the Justice League forces themselves into a Bat's conflict or other situation or the bats genuinely have no other option

Bats lean towards each other for help, next best thing is Young Justice or other heroes of their generation, and as last resorts, mercenaries or villains, maybe even ex-LOA members

The Justice league (including Batman if he sticks with em) are the last last resort and are the last people to learn of Bat-involved incidents, if at all

Maybe rogues outside of Ra's learns what BruceQuest was, how it ruined Red Robin's reputation irreparably and uses it to annihilate the League's PR by showing the truth to the world?

I know Mr Lex Luthor would lap that shit up

Especially if Batman is still on good terms yet Red Robin is still dealing with the aftermath years later

Everyone is pulling their hair out because Lex is doing an objectively good thing for the wrong reason and when his villainy is toppled again—

Red Robin isn't going to live his life like his repaired reputation is gonna last

Ooh. How would the Bats react to the JL post BruceQuest?

Cass, Steph, Duke, and Jason do not have a relationship or rely on the JL. Jason probably is already upset at the JL for a variety of reasons. All that would change if the batfam is Team Tim would be those batkids being colder to the JL. Maybe they also pull off pranks.

In the end, those Batkids would be the equivalent of hearing your sibling talking about their toxic workplace and hating those fuckers (who you rarely see/interact with) on principle.

For Damian? It's a toss-up. It depends on how he views Tim and the JL. If Damian wants to become Batman, he might see the JL as a necessary step for that. He might need to have several conversations with various family members and his friends (like Colin and Jon) to understand his own position and thoughts on the JL.

For Babs, I hc she helped them a lot with their systems and other work. She probably feels guilty about Tim (not believing/supporting him and his traumatizing trip he did alone). If she was also on Team Tim, she would pass all system management to Vic and maintain a slightly frosty professional distance from them. Her Birds of Prey would become aware that she helps them, but she only assists the JL in dire circumstances.

Dick would have mixed feelings about it. He kind of told other heroes that Tim wasn't to be trusted and that he was having a mental breakdown due to grief. Now, what they did with that information is not Dick's fault. They should have supported the teenager and understood that Dick was also crumbling under his grief/responsibilities. So, Dick feels conflicted. He wants to make it up to Tim, though, and probably maintains a more professional distance from JL.

Alfred is also guilty of not being there for Tim when he needed help and care. However, I like to imagine he makes very pointed comments at JL members when they visit for their direct actions in that situation.

I do think that the batkids join together to mutually say "fuck you" to the JL, but in their own ways.

Batman/Bruce is iffy. On one hand, people like to use the BruceQuest as Bruce's kick in the pants to be a better father. On the other hand, he does his whole Batman Inc shit and is in Gotham less. So, it depends on how you picture him dealing with that trauma and his relationships with his family. If he's doing the less local Batman stuff, then he's probably more with the JL (and thus not on his kids' side).

The Lex Luthor theory you have going on? Brilliant 👏

[frostycausedaniceage]

GCSE WEEK, CURRENTLY DONE 3. College can't get here soon enough.

.

[aeriona]

Some various races and species of Khalodnan people (not to scale) + a map I cooked up in Agzaar's fantasy map generator

Most of the Frenator population is nomadic so the examples above are very derivative, and more often than not their race won’t represent where the person is from, but rather their heritage.

Out of the five Frenator races, the Eltalyans are the oldest originating from the deepest glaciers of southern Khalodna, where they spread out across the continent and diversified over thousands of years.

Khalodna from coast-to-coast is roughly the same width as Australia, only it's much, much colder with a good portion of the landscape being covered in glaciers and frosty tundra.

The map shows the (very rough) "urban" distribution of the four peoples of Khalodna, although it doesn't account for wandering nomads which actually make up the majority of the Khalodnan population. Most of the country has few resources/food to go around, so many people have to travel to stay fed and happy.

It wasn't always like this, there actually used to be MUCH more people in Khalodna with actual kingdoms and stuff, but that was before a war happened that essentially collapsed anything resembling organised society. There's ruins of castles and towns all over the place BOTW-style.

Apart from the people of Khalodna, there are also various creatures that call it home! Namely two types of dragons, feathered serpents in the northeast, wooly rhinos, sea monsters and a very wide array of marsupials spread out across the continent.

[lucius-i-ran]

The sound of a basketball going through the hoop, cheers rising, slaps on the shoulder and laughs. The air was nose-numbing and Will was actually convinced he caught a glimpse of Frosty the Snowman strolling around but all he and his friends needed was some extra sweater, a gallon of warm, rigorously unsweetened tea and the sun shining on their backs.

"Do something with that damn ball, Solace! My shoes will freeze on the damn floor"

Heavy breaths, steps and soles grating the ground. 

"Shut up, Cecil" a frustrated huff parted Will's lips, his breath suddenly visible. Will had always been good at athletics and generally physical stuff. He was a marvel in P.E. and he basically grew up on meemaw's farm doing all sorts of chores; but damn Cecil needed to give him a break. He had only been playing basket for three months. 

He was a wonder alright, but not that much.

Will looked at the basketball in his red and unnaturally warm fingers. In a confused and irritated jam, he tossed the ball, a little too hard, not clear what he was aiming for. 

It went over the edge of the field. It bounced once, then a second time, then a third one, out of their sight and "Ow!" a small voice whined.

A blissfull but brief moment of silence had the nearby tree nymphs thanking the gods; but a basketball field full of eleven year olds can only be silent for so much time.

"Go get the ball" Cecil demanded

"Why me?" Will barked back 

"You tossed it there on purpose!" 

"No I didn't!"

"Then you're a ham!"

"Am not"

"Totally are" 

Will felt his freckled cheeks get hotter 

"I'll go just b'cause I know that if I stay here I'm g'nna have t'hurt you" and he went searching for the ball, stomping his feet (and almost eating it because of the icy floor).

Of course, being the caring and thoughtful healer that he was (and that no one appreciated) he didn't forget about the poor guy that had to suffer the might of Will's absolutely calculated toss. After retrieving the basketball, he followed the direction of that tiny, high-pitched voice.

On the grass, just behind the public restrooms nearby, a small boy sat with figurines and cards scattered in front of him. His small and olive hand place on his head, massaging his jet black hair.

Will cleared his voice and sniffled "Sorry"

The boy looked at him with a little pout and a line crossing right bewteen the furrowed brows.

"You okay?" 

The boy nodded, his face muscles relaxing a bit.

Will knew he had a relaxing effect on people. Mostly. Probably. 

"Basketballs are pretty hard, they can really rattle your head y'know. You sure you don't want an ice packet?" Will got concerned in real Apollo kid style.

The boy shook is head. 

"You new here?" 

He nodded again.

"Hey Solace! The game isn't over" Kayla yelled from the field. Will looked down at the freezing cold basketball in his hands and then over at the boy.

A scarf made of thick red wool was covering most of his face, but Will could still see his bright red cheeks from the cold. He looked like how Will pictured the orphan boys from Charles Dickens's books his momma used to read him. He couldn't have been that far from Will's age. He remembered so much from his first weeks on Camp, alone and miserable. Will also remembered how his siblings and friends had been patient and kind enough to warm him up, going unimaginable distances to welcome him in the family. 

He tossed the ball back at his friends.  "You go on without me" he yelled back. 

Questioning glances and shoulder shrugs were shared but Will could not give two hoots and sticked a hand out to the boy.

"William Andrew Solace, Apollo Cabin, age 11 and blood type B. Everyone calls me Will, pleasure to meet you" he bared his teeth in a wide smile, like he always did.

The boy studied it for a while "My sister told me not to speak with strangers when she's not here" 

The boy got a funny little accent. Will liked that and mentally checked one little box on his imaginary Things I Could Bond Over With The Newbie list.

"Well.. where is she?" Will quickly understood that the question stung a little, because the little line between his brows was back.

"On a" he put two fingers up and mimed quotes  " 'quest'. With strangers" he strongly concluded.

"So what are you gonna do, not talk to anyone until she comes back?" 

Will could basically hear the thoughts in the boy's black haired head, like one could hear an old computer's fan. Then, after pondering for quite a while, the boy hesitantly took Will's hand and shook it. "Niccolò Marco di Angelo. or- ah.. Nico. I'm not sure what cabin yet" he looked down at his game "and uhm.. blood".

Will looked down at the game, too. "Whatch'ya playing?" 

"Mythomagic" 

"What's that?" 

A glint flashed in Nico's eyes, like had been waiting centuries for someone to ask him. "It's this, like, super cool card game where, like, you have cards with gods and- and monsters and they have powers and points. Best game ever" he sniffled from the cold "You can even collect figurines!" He studied the plastic little guys spreaded out and finally reached for one "This is the Apollo one" 

Will, like the massive nerd he was, could only take it and stare in awe "Cool.." he whispered.

"You can keep it, if you want to" 

"Seriously? I couldn't- I mean.. it's yours"

Nico shrugged "It's okay, Apollo is not the rarest one. I've got like three of him. I've been searching for the Hades one for a while, though"

"Thanks.." Will muttered and he studied the figurine a little more. "It's like Yu-gi-Oh!" 

Nico grew that little wrinkle between his brows again, like Will just blubbered the most deranged sequence of words to ever be uttered  "You do what?" 

"You're not from here, are you?" 

Nico looked in the distance, like he was trying to recall something "I'm not sure" 

If both their attention span could be measured and summed, on a scale of one to ten the number would probably not go over 0.8; consequently, the topic was forgotten just as quickly as it was introduced. 

"Why are you playing behind the bathrooms, though? People play games on the lunch tables all the time" 

Nico got a little pout. 

"I did! But some kids said I was lame and playing with dolls. They called me a nerd. I don't even know what that means!" 

"I bet it was the Stolls" Will squinted and seethed between his teeth. 

"Connor and Travis?" 

Will nodded and just as quickly, Nico vigorously shook his head like his life depended on defending the Stoll's honor. "No, they would never do that! I think they like blackjack better but they never teased me" 

"Well, that's weird. Last time me and my friends played DnD they picked on us for like a month! How can you come up with at least forty jokes a day, everyday, for thirty days straight?" Will shook his head and threw his hands in the air in exasperation "The Hermes kids, I swear"

Nico got a pout again, this time it was a little more sorrowful "If my sister was here, she would have totally kicked their butt" he sighed "She's awesome, you know" 

"Something happened to her?" 

"Nothing! I mean, I think nothing happened. She just went on this quest, alright? But I can't shake this feeling that something bad is going to happen" 

Will made a face that said 'yeah, tell me about it' "I understand, y'know" he said "It's the worst when my siblings go on missions. It's scary, but they always come back" he smiled, reassuringly. 

Then Will felt the warmth from the imaginary light bulb that appeared on his head. "You should come play DnD with us. You'd love it!" Will wasn't sure actually. Mythomagic sounded almost nothing like Dungeons and Dragons, but this Nico di Angelo kid looked friendly and nerdy enough. 

"What's that?" 

"It's this game where you meet with a bunch of friends and you go on, like, this cool imaginary adventure where you explore dungeons and, you know.. you fight dragons. You also get to create your own character!" 

Nico's eyes lit up "Sweet"

Will thought anyone with an average level of social skills would understand how definitely not convincing the proposal sounded, but Nico must have been a real, huge nerd or very, very lonely. The two didn't mutually exlude each other. 

"We meet every friday in the Dionysius cabin at five in the afternoon"

Nico nodded and Will started to get up 

"Great! See you then, di Angelo. Oh and, try to be on time, the harpies are not that nice to demigods up past the curfew"

5:08 p.m. Will and his friends were all there but no signs of Nico. 

"C'mon Will, it's freezing"

"I'm sure he's coming, Kayla. He just got here, so maybe he got lost" 

His sister shook her braided head. She wasn't there to play DnD. She was nothing like the nerdy type to get into stuff like this, actually. She was more like the jocks that shoved guys like Will in lockers. Will was actually very much surprised her dad got her to see Star Wars; he was even more surprised when he found out she liked it almost as much as he did. Almost. It was difficult to reach Will's level.

Kayla was just kind enough to escort Will to the Dionysius cabin so that the other kids knew better than to tease.

Steps were heard from behind. It was one of the kids he was supposed to be playing with ten minutes ago. "Ten minutes, Solace!" she scolded "We're giving you another ten, then we start without you" 

5:16 p.m. and no sign of Nico di Angelo. 

Will waited around another minute. For some reason a horrible feeling of dread grasped his stomach, like something awful happened and he so desperately wanted to see Di Angelo come out of the light blizzard to ease all of his bad thoughts. 

He tried to ignore the cold slipping into his coat, cupping his hands in front of his mouth and blowing some hot air, clinging onto hope until the very last minute. 

Eventually, feeling his nose falling off from his face, he got inside. 

The warmth engulfed him but that bitter feeling in his stomach didn't melt away.

"Isn't di Angelo that sandwich place on 62nd?"

"I heard he had a fight" 

Three days had passed from friday and Nico di Angelo was still missing. For some reason Percy, Grover and Annabeth pushed for the best demigods to go with them, searching for him.

And they did. They went on without pauses, three days and not only the little guy disappeared from the face of the earth, but nothing seemed to get them to track him. No traces, no footsteps, no nothing.

It was like he just dissolved into thin air. With monsters roaming around and Luke's army on the hunt, that couldn't have been a good sign.

Will really tried to push back those thoughts, at least for Christmas dinner, but some of his siblings just came back from a fresh gossip session with the Aphrodite cabin and they were on a roll. 

"A fight?" 

"Yeah, with Percy Jackson" 

Michael Yew shook his head "The kid was ten" 

"Is" Will corrected, his voice cold but faint. 

Nico di Angelo was just one year younger than him and the sole thought that he might be dead made Will's stomach churn. 

"Sorry, Will" Michael said as an awkward silence spreaded on the Apollo table. Will's mind settled for a minute, thinking that he might have escaped his siblings's absolutely necessary insights and evaluations but boy, was he wrong.

"Don't underestimate the kid, Mike. You see that crack in the floor?" the table turned around to look at the dent in the marble floor. All the table but Will. He kept looking at the nothing straight ahead like his head was glued in place. "Apparently he caused it. People have been doing theories and stuff and I heard some kids say that most likely he is the son of.. you know" the son of Apllo pointed downwards.

"The table?" 

"No, nimrod" the he mouthed 'Hades'. 

A grim silence fell on the table again and Will's stomach dropped. He really wanted to doubt that was true; after all, demigod speculation was a dangerous thing but everyone on camp knew it was mostly empty talk. Right then, however, all proof looked like it in favour of the empty chatter.

And if that were to be true- and if the other side got to find out-

Will felt panic starting to bubble against his throat.

Austin shook his head this time. "We all know and trust Percy. I do, for sure. I mean, he has his moments but he's a good guy" he chimed in "What could have he possibly done?"

"Beats me, but some people have heard it has got to do with Di Angelo's sister. And guess what? She's dead. Now, I'm not saying Percy Jackson killed the poor gal but y'know, to get that reaction you must-" 

Will couldn't take it anymore. He slammed two hands on the table, making some of his siblings jump. Heads from other tables turned but he didn't care and left, anger and panic stirring in his chest in an uncomfortably familiar storm. The sly chattering behind his back didn't help.

"He's too sensitive"

"Or maybe you're too much if an ass" Kayla yelled.

"Honestly, you're so tone deaf" He heard Lee's cold voice cutting the air "A girl died and most likely so did her brother-" he lowered his voice  "her ten year old brother. Just one year younger than Will and you're here, eating your stupid fucking Christmas dinner, talking like it's gossip! You know what?"

His voice faded with the strong wind rising before Will could 'what' but the cold and the tears stung his eyes, so he concluded that right then and there he had bigger problems to solve.

Nico di Angelo was not dead and he had to find him.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

next part

- this, along with all my future solangelo posts, goes out to you bestie @nicodisigma -

[thesummerstorms]

Arsinoë de Riva Lookbook

(aka my favorite recolor mods + outfit edits from Nexus + a few base game outfits and weapons)

Casual Outfit: Sable Doublet recolours (Blue)

Starting Armor: Worn Robes - Recolors with Bluebell palette

Tevinter Disguise: Quickstart Leathers Antivan Crows Colors

Exile Overturned: P4 Rooks Wardrobe Edits Executioners Plume - No More Feathers AND Executioners Plume - No Cloak

Exile Overturned + Cloak: P4 Rooks Wardrobe Edits Executioners Plume - No More Feathers

Mistakenly Told Viago About the Darkspawn: Utility Cloak (Unmodded)

Rebel Inspired Armor: Viper Outfit (no hat/mask) + Antivan Crow Recolor

Rebel Inspired Robes: Crowbes - Iconic-Rebel Robes w/ Rebel's Robe Fix (No Cloak Version)

Rebel Inspired Robes With Cloak: Crowbes - Iconic-Rebel Robes with Rebel's Robe Fix

Stole Viago's Cloak For the Hell of It: Hunting Plumage (Unmodded; but please someone kill the quiver. Or put this cloak on Executioner's Plume.)

Starting Mageknife: Silver Weapons of the Fallen Kingdom

Exile Overturned Mageknife: Spellcaster's Stiletto (Antivan) (Unmodded)

Favorite Dagger That She Stole From Her Long-Suffering Boyfriend: Lucanis' Crowkeeper for Rook

Compassion's Gift from the Wetlands: Hope's Last Kiss (Unmodded)

Courting Gift From Lucanis: Crystalline Shard (Everite) (Unmodded)

Bonus, Not Character Canon Compliant, but I'm Having Fun:

Too heavy armor for this character, but it has a very pretty cloak: Crested Armor Edit and Recolor (Recolor file AND Defeathered file)

She stole her boyfriend's clothes too?? Good thing she's short, I guess, but still: Rook Armor Edits: Clandestine Caster's Cowl (Lucanis Recolor) + P4 Lucanis Wardrobe Edits: The Mage Killer Outfit - Material Fix

Notes and Headcanons:

Crowbes is my absolute FAVORITE outfit mod.

The entire "Rebel Inspired" row can definitely be attributed to her courtship with Neve as much as a genuine appreciation for Shadow Dragon aesthetics, but it didn't quite feel like Neve would give her clothing as a gift, so it's not labeled up above like Lucanis's stuff.

I don't have an in universe reason she has Crowkeeper yet. I'm half-heartedly working on one, but mainly it's just too pretty.

There are several Shadow Dragon Armors I love, and the ones recolored above I also love in their original colors. Shadow Dragons have the best armors, generally. I also thought about letting her steal from Neve. Arsinoë will fight me for Crow colors though.

Speaking of: she never let the color scheme go, but she doesn't start wearing Crow colors again until after "earning" it by bringing Lucanis back from the Ossuary. She starts with really basic gear modified from whatever default leathers House de Riva or House Cantori had in storage, but gets fancier as she goes.

Arsinoë is slightly shorter than Lucanis, so, like, I guess she might be able to *actually* steal his clothes, but I don't see her ever being that bold. Plus Viago would have a stroke, and Spite would drive Lucanis to a BSOD.

Generally I wish the mage knives had more of a visible edge or sharp point, but the Crystalline Shard (Everite) is my favorite mage knife in the whole game.

Viago was not happy to hear his favorite Crow other than Teia was going up against darkspawn, given the Blight is one of the few things he doesn't believe himself capable of creating an antidote for. The armor plates on a mage were the result.

Please, please, please someone edit the quiver off of the Hunting Plumage. It's my favorite Crow cloak (the wing shape!!!!) but the quiver clipping through my *mage* Rook's hand drives me insane.

It would also look very nice on Teia's more symmetrical armor, but idek if that's possible in Frosty.

Taking all the feathers off is more a me thing than an Arsinoë thing. I just keep imagining Blight boils exploding and little bits landing in the feathers. 🤢

[poitcast]

Moments from "Once Upon a Studio" that I adored

Mickey kindly offered Oswald to take first place in the group photo, telling him "After you!". Oswald happily thanked him by tipping his head to him.

That entire ending was perfect. I love how the "When You Wish Upon a Star" number began with Alan-a-Dale strumming his lute on top of the building, and then Scat Cat, Mirabel, and Junior join in before the singing begins. The build-up to Jiminy Cricket was great.

Belle and Beast singing together! In the original film, they had separate verses in "Something There" so it was nice that they shared a small duet. Paige O'Hara and Robby Benson did a great job!

Quasimodo singing! I'm glad to hear Tom Hulce in the role of Quasi again. James Baxter did a terrific job animating him once again.

Scuttle interrupts Ariel's verse only for Baloo to shut him up and share a sweet bonding moment with Mowgli.

There's something incredibly poetic about Snow White holding hands with Mulan and Asha as they sing together. Disney Studios owes a lot of its success to its princess characters, and it was cool to see three generations of female protagonists (the original, the Renaissance era in the 1990s, and the most recent era).

Winnie the Pooh's presence in general. I love how Christopher Robin and the others have to help him out of the picture frame, recreating the rabbit hole scene. Also, Pooh singing "Fate steps in, and sees you through" at the end and Tigger pouncing on him really got to me.

Cinderella and Prince Charming going down the stairs and Charming loses his shoe. The role reversal was cute enough, but after snatches the shoe, they go into silly mode with Prince Charming shouting "Eric, get your dog!" and Cinderella enabling the situation by saying "Go, Max, go!" It's incredibly endearing to see Prince Charming have a sense of humor and Cinderella happily going along with the shenanigans.

Antonio with the other animal characters and telling Joanna not to eat Jacques and Gus. Pluto coming in to save the mice was nice too.

Incorporating the archival audio from Robin Williams's recording as Genie.

The fifteen puppies watching the "Night on Bald Mountain" segment from Fantasia and Chernabog pops out of the screen. I also noted the various "Art of" books of their feature films on the cabinet surrounding the television.

Hearing Nathan Lane as Timon again and calling Olaf "Frosty".

Robin Hood and Little John snatching Scrooge McDuck's money bags and reveling in their victory. Oo-de-lolly!

The Wreck-It Ralph cameos! Vanellope on her race car, Ralph calling Mickey "Garfield" and Fix-It Felix fixing Goofy's camera. All in character and perfect.

Mickey's gang having their time in the spotlight. Donald trying to go down a crowded elevator, Goofy working as the photographer (may or may not be a subtle nod to his occupation in A Goofy Movie), and even Clarabelle has a moment.

It was nice seeing some representation for their shorts (Ben and Me, Johnny Appleseed) and their overlooked films (The Black Cauldron, Home on the Range, Chicken Little, and Dinosaur). Even if they didn't have any dialogue, their presence alone certainly counts.

Highlighting the artists that contributed to the studio. Burny Mattinson's cameo at the beginning was nice, and though Walt Disney himself was very much a complicated person (staunchly anti-union being one of them), the moment of Mickey staring at his portrait was genuine enough (Mickey says a simple "thanks" before he joins the rest of the characters). The framed photographs of various artists throughout the halls was also nice (I'm sure the actual building has those framed pictures of their former employees). I would have been a lot more critical of the short if many of the presence of the other artists weren't felt in the studio.

Overall, it was a great short! It was a beautiful love letter to the animation studio and its characters. I'm glad that they didn't incorporate any Pixar stuff and even flaunt their acquired assets (Star Wars, Marvel, etc.). It was just about celebrating their original animated works and the large catalog of characters. The animation was also fantastic and it was cool seeing the 2-D characters interact with the CG characters in a way that felt natural. I greatly appreciate the effort and love that was put into the short.

[penrose-quinn]

Lost Generation

A breeze whistled between your footsteps, ambling in a slow, thoughtless pace that had him thinking both of you had all the time in the world, even if the road ahead was just another meandering path to a farewell. “You'd stay in Black Dragons for a long time, right?”

pairings: benkei | keizo arashi/reader ❁ background (oblivious) shinichiro sano/reader 

content tags: companion piece prequel to green light and spin-off to couldn't tell. first gen black dragons ultraviolence era. gender neutral reader. summer coming-of-age ft. gangs. lots of bromance and bickering. mostly friendship. growing up together and growing apart. beach trip. preemptive grief.  tw: violence (and glorification of violence), shady gang behavior, underage drinking and smoking, and minors getting tattoos. there's a weird age gap scene with college-aged women showing interest in someone younger, nothing sexual happens but still. everyone is 17-18 here.

a/n: like my waka fic, this is mostly platonic!first gen black dragons x reader but more benkei and bromance and beaches. also no one man-crushes harder than benkei lol. btw it's not necessary to read my other installments for this and lots of flashbacks interspersed in the plot!

couldn't tell ❁ green light ❁ read on ao3

From the highway to Chiba, it’s like all of you parted the sea on your motorcycles.

Benkei smelled salt everywhere. There was no end to the ocean that surrounded the road ahead, the industrial plants no more but distant daydreams back in Kawasaki, and then he realized he hadn’t been exposed to open water like this, swore to have never ridden a ferry in his life. 

His heart was too landlocked in the city to care, but this was all Shin’s idea.

Said he wanted to go to a real beach, all white sand shores, shaved ice, and hot babes.  

The journey was still more than an hour-long drive, and Benkei would love nothing more than to throw himself underwater right now. Takeomi wouldn’t stop ranting about the heat and truck traffic. Ignoring his tirade, Wakasa was tanner for baking under the sun. You’re almost caught speeding for badly needing a restroom break, which Shinichiro had to prevent along the way to Umihotaru.

The pitstop was short but unhurried. Takeomi was still at the register while Benkei and Shinichiro soaked up the frosty air of beverage coolers until the store manager told them off. Chewing gum, Wakasa waited with you outside the convenience store. Your gaze was elsewhere, drifting in the waves, and the trance went on upon arriving at Onjuku Beach, crowded in the summertime. 

Benkei never got to know what was on your mind, riveted by a statue of two camel riders from a distance.

A water bottle was tapped on his arm, and after he exchanged his thanks, you asked him, “where do you think they’re going?”

“Who knows? The sea maybe,” he replied, uncapping the bottle for a drink and dumping the rest on his face, dribbling cold water all over his collar. 

“There are showers here, you know.” Your lips quirked up amusedly, and then you pointed at the shoreline crested over with blue, radiant waves. “Or you can go over there.”

“Got excited.” Benkei grinned, finally shrugging off his open shirt and balling it up to wipe himself. The tattoos on his chest and arms flexed from the motion and it caught the curious eye of a child, building sandcastles. She wasn't old enough to turn them into a wall yet. “Aren’t you gonna swim too?”

“Maybe later. No one’s guarding our stuff,” you said, jerking your head at the beach blanket pile-dumped with bags, a haphazard mess. There's a sweaty t-shirt, a tube squirting a bit of sunscreen on the cloth, and some mixed garbage of snack wrappers and half-empty bottled drinks shoved inside a plastic bag.

Benkei cringed, about to comment, until he got a good look at you. Traded for your glasses was a pair of shades from the bargain bin, making you look like a poser, though with the way you quietly huddled and sat on the blanket, arms tucked to your chest, the obnoxious air dispelled. He joined you, ducking under the umbrella; yellow and blue pinstripes, like the ones rented by couples entwined under the shade. You scooted over to give him more room, your elbows brushing each other. 

“Where are the others anyway?” 

“Waka went somewhere, I don't know. Shin dragged Takeomi to, well,” a long, expectant sigh, “girls.”

You snorted. “It is a beach. Sure they’re trying to get their dicks wet too.”

Benkei laughed. You never withheld yourself for those two. Perhaps it came from knowing them since childhood. 

“Hey, what are the odds? Maybe our weak king might have a chance this time.”

“Or come here crying, same old.” You already sound done though there's a sort of rough affection grating through your words, “Shin's a baby like that.”

“A baby?” Some crybaby who had Tokyo in the palm of his hand. Someone who Benkei had sworn to follow for the rest of his life.

“Yup. So how well do you take rejections?”

“Pretty bad. I’ll cry too if I had to lose someone that way. You?” 

You mulled over it for a bit. “I don't know. I haven't confessed to anyone before.”

“Me neither.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Probably would’ve scared ‘em off before I could try.”

“You don't know that yet,” you refuted. “But I think you’ll fall for someone who's brave enough to let you try.”

His lips curled up at that. His vice-captain told him something similar after gaining the love of his now girlfriend, lucky bastard. “You know me that well?”

“Sure I do,” you said cheekily before tilting your head on one side, humming in thought. “At least I know it’d hurt a lot to lose someone like that . . .” 

Benkei was unable to add more because it's just as you put it. He didn't mind listening to you most of the time. There's something revealing about your input that he hadn't taken into consideration himself.

Wakasa would've labeled him a blockhead unlike Takeomi who'd been wise enough to not slip aloud that Benkei wasn't the smartest in their group. It's not the reason why he’d been expelled from his first middle school and he didn't see it as a point of shame if he could smite some sense into anyone who thought otherwise. 

Benkei just fancied himself a big picture kind of guy, preferring to focus on the broader strokes of something, but maybe that's why he valued your tangents. He wondered if wearing fake glasses helped with your attention to detail, even though he couldn't take you seriously in them. 

You pushed up your shades and he sighed. Or in any tacky eyewear you own, really.

“You should talk to some girls,” you prompted suddenly, making him let out a huff, c’mon man, and you shrugged. “Or go surfing then. It's better than cooping yourself here with me.”

“Now you sound like you want me to go away.”

“Never. Just meant you should enjoy the beach while you can.”

“I enjoy being with you.” 

A meek, baffled pause. He’d always caught you off guard with big statements like that, wondering if people say that enough to you other than Shinichiro. 

You recovered with a simper. “Me too,” still awkward after reciprocating, you changed the subject, “it’d be so nice to swim . . .”

In an attempt to cool off, you're tugging the collar of your t-shirt to fan yourself but it's futile when sweat had already curled on the hairs from the nape of your neck. You hadn't changed into any swimwear yet, and then a more intrusive thought caught up to him. 

“Yeah, we should go together.”

“Sure . . .” this time, you removed the stupid shades, your eyes sincere as they met his. “But just so you know, I won't be mad at you if you went ahead of me.” 

Blinking, Benkei felt a bit misled by that, and before he could insist on waiting for you, you beat him to it. 

“I’ll definitely follow after you till someone takes my place,” you reassured him, gazing back at the sea. “One of us has to stay behind.”

True to your word, you did catch up to him. Wakasa tailed after you from the shore, calf-deep into water.

"What are the two of you doing?" asked Benkei, wading towards you. The sun prickled his damp neck.

"Jellyfish hunting," you stated. "Waka agreed that if he gets stung by one, I get to piss on him. Or the other way around, whoever gets stung first."

When Benkei gawked at you, you offered with a straight face, "wanna join in too?" 

Bemused and wide-eyed, Benkei turned his gaze to Wakasa. 

"So you're that kind of guy." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

Wakasa wasn't really into the kinky stuff. Though for all his standoffishness, he was a lot smoother than what Benkei gave him credit for persuading you to come out here when the bastard had been better at ignoring a person as if they never existed. Or destroying them. 

It's more amusing to see him sweat for something – someone adamant as you – which granted Benkei so many chances to sneak in not-so-subtle jabs at him in moments like this. Moments where everyone's dumb and careless and in love with their youth. 

"I think I saw—fuck!" 

You slipped, about to fall into water, until Benkei grasped the back of your collar and Wakasa caught you by the wrist. All of your shorts were wet from the splashing. 

Your shades fell in an awkward drop and you craned your head up at them with a grateful grin, murmuring, “uh, just seaweed . . .”

This didn't deter you in your search. In fact, it made you more motivated. Benkei didn't tell you that there weren't any jellyfish in Onjuku Beach, so did Wakasa. They agreed that your efforts were sort of endearing. 

Benkei asked Wakasa if he'd let you piss on him. He didn't answer for awhile until he settled for a shrug.

Sparing him a retort, Benkei didn't repress a chuckle.

Benkei met you when he hurtled himself headfirst into a fight that wasn't his. 

It was yours. Though it just didn't sit well with him that those Kodo Rengo pricks had the gall to step into their territory so the enemy of my enemy was my friend and he went along with that logic when he abruptly joined in with the impact of a boulder. 

You didn't seem like you were a part of any gang at all. Just a random middle schooler but a target regardless. Not an easy one, that's for sure. You fought like you'd been at it for years, all blood and grit. 

You were strong and Ragnarok happened to be in search of that kind of strength so he figured he should recruit you first before someone else did. 

The thing was you weren't just a target when you earned quite a reputation, tied to your older brother who was the leader of a gang that ruled Kanto with an iron-fist from some glorious past. His seniors never shut up about it, him and them being a part of something that used to make them invincible.

Someone who you despised and even with the proposition of taking him down after he’s released from his jail sentence, you'd still decline his offer, not giving it much thought. "I'm sort of helping out my friend. Said something about making a gang."

“Ah, so you're already in his gang . . .”

“No, he just always gets into a lot of trouble! If I’m not there, who’s gonna protect him?”

“Protect, huh.”

But that meant he'd have to fight you too one of these days. You didn't tense over his reply, neither a threat nor an insult. 

Behind those glasses, there's an edge to your eyes. Your brother's eyes, but they weren't cold and wretched.

Benkei couldn’t recall the last time anyone had insistently called him Arashi-san or had bought him a steamed meat bun out of politeness, even though he’d known for years that polite people would rather not hold his gaze, passing over him in an attempt to shun what didn’t fit in the mold of what defined their monotonous, undisturbed lives.

Regardless, he’s not one to refuse free food and taking another bite of his meat bun, he looked at you closely. 

You were terrifying but you seemed sort of nice. In an uptight way. 

So Benkei suggested that you and your friend should just join his gang and you blinked at him before wheezing out a short, honest laugh, claiming that he had already set out his dream. 

Learning he never equaled you in a fight, it only registered to Benkei that he's a weak guy because strength dictated everything in this brutal side of life. Strength like yours and his. When Benkei asked how he was going to lead a gang, you stood against the brilliant glare of the evening and he thought he saw a glimpse of it. 

You smoldered in those colors, one he likened to glory. There was promise in your words. 

"You'll see," you said, staring back at him from your shoulder with a smile. "You probably haven't met anyone like him."

The red sun fell on the name from your lips.

Sano Shinichiro.

There’s no history behind his name like yours and it intrigued him so much that he agreed to meet him so that he could beat him up in a fair fistfight, bringing up that whoever's the victor would have you in his gang. 

Benkei didn’t lose but the favor went to Shinichiro just because he was the most interesting guy he'd ever met. 

He had never met a man who won from his losses. How could one be so triumphant and pathetic at the same time, Benkei didn't know. Though he understood what you meant when you stood by him. 

Shinichiro held the things closest to him sacredly and once he called you his friend, he wouldn’t give you up for anything. Benkei didn’t complicate himself to define what kind of relationship you had. All he had to know was how he fought for you against him, against rival gangs, and even against your brother. 

Everyone held him in reverence for being a pillar of the delinquent world. Except for you.

Your gaze for him was more familiar, softer, though unlike Takeomi, you disagreed with him in too many instances about his reckless lifestyle and the proposal as one of his captains. Shinichiro would come back to you a second time, third, fourth, perhaps more as to measure the desire to have you join them officially. They were convinced he'd be on his knees if this went on though he held up strong in a battle of fortitude. 

Both of you, however, just happened to have the thickest skulls when you butt heads over each other's stubbornness.

"Of course, you're going to be a part of the Black Dragons. Hell, you're even a founding member!"

"You already got what you want! I don't see why you still have to drag me in your gang too."

"I thought we'd do this together? Why not go all the way when you could be my—"

"Should we break them up?"

Wakasa was the one who suggested it after mentioning that you looked like you're about to duke it out. Sensing the escalating tension too, Benkei was about to step in until Takeomi shook his head, cigarette in his hand.

He assured them that you wouldn't hit him for something like that. Another drag of smoke and a sigh. 

"Just give 'em time."

Everyone split on a big bowl of mango shaved ice. 

Two of you were against red beans mixed in at the suggestion of matcha flavor. It wasn't as fun when the syrup couldn't stain your tongues, but it was refreshingly cold and milky sweet when swimming had failed you under the afternoon scorch of 2 p.m.

Prioritizing dessert didn't ruin your appetites for chatter over lunch: comparing sunburns, college girls in bikinis that were way out of everyone's league, and then a callout about Takeomi having his hair tied back into a bun because it actually drew attention. The scar gave him an edge and inflated his vanity. Some more waffling about what women were into, even though no one probably knew what they're talking about. 

You found it weird because they're older than the rest of you and Takeomi brought up that you weren't when you had that dragon tattoo. 

“It's not for showing off to have a hookup.”

“Then what’s the tattoo about anyway?” asked Wakasa and his sudden interest had you flustered.

“Yeah, tell us about that.” Benkei smirked with him, cornering you into a hot seat.

“Bet you cried like a pussy when you had it,” retorted Takeomi.

“Bet you are a pussy when you don’t even have one.”

“Hey, you little—"

“Anyway,” Shinichiro cut in, clearing his throat. He plucked a piece of karaage dipped in mayo from your plate because he's the last one waiting for his food and it’d already been thirty minutes. He was nibbling on Benkei’s fries awhile ago. All of you agreed to feed him out of pity. “Why do you have one?”

“You already know!” you hollered, bumping your fist on the table from the betrayal.

“Huh? Don’t remember,” he feigned obliviousness. “I wasn’t with you when you had it done.”

“You’re still sulking about that?”

“Whatever. C’mon, just tell us—” 

“Number 105!”

“Finally.” Shinichiro stood up, taking his stub with him before shooting back at everyone, “you better not start anything without me!”

He headed to the popular food stall that had the longest line in the area. Probably was the reason why he was in the mood for grilled eel.

“So how long did you have it?” went on Wakasa, casually chewing on a yakitori stick like a toothpick.

“Hm, it’s been four weeks, I think? It isn’t that sensitive anymore.”

“That’s fine. It’s the same for me when I had mine the first time,” Benkei chimed in.

“It's a hassle to cover up in school, though.” 

“Aren’t you committing yourself more to the gang?” 

Takeomi interrupted, scrutinizing you under his hard stare. You returned it with an unblinking one.

“Nah, I’m just attached.” You shrugged before leaning back on your palms, smiling a little. “Figured it was kinda obvious.”

On the day Benkei brought you to the tattoo parlor, he thought the dragon was botched when it's facing the wrong direction. 

He’d been more indignant about it than you were, not even realizing his voice raised in complaint, until you touched his wrist and censured him for being too loud, apologizing to the frightened artist for the trouble and paying for his service.

He was a new hire, a nervous wreck of face piercings, from somewhere. The tattooing business was still the underground kind and getting hold of an artist often came through word of mouth, shunned for the craft as much as the one whose skin had been inked. It always ran deeper for Benkei. He was ten when he first had his on the cusp of his shoulder until they proudly bloomed all over his chest, surviving his adolescence. 

Even behind the saran wrap, the detailed blackwork on the tattoo was impressive, curving around your right calf like a painting. Still . . .

"It's fine. You're looking at me like I'm kinda lame now."

"You're not." Then he gestured his hand at the fallen dragon. You told him before that he articulated his emotions more with his body. Everything around him became askew for it. Passersby twist around a different route from his direction. "Just—it just looks off, you know? Dragons should be flying up and all."

You scoffed. "So you're upset about some bit of symbolism? Yeah, Inoe-san got it wrong but you didn’t have to be an asshole because—"

"I'm upset that you regret this and you can't take it back anymore," he admitted, head hanging low. "And I brought you there . . ."

"I don't want to take it back,” you said, unrepentant of how adults would appraise you for once: a kid with a tattoo, a kid heading nowhere good in life. 

There's a war in your eyes. He’s more ashamed of himself for doubting you than letting you down. 

Benkei was damn sure there wasn’t an inflatable he hadn’t stepped on or an umbrella he left untipped. 

They were scattered everywhere but the beach stretched wide enough for a stroll to not feel so cramped. He’s just avoiding the sunbathers and families who were spread all over the area, waiting to watch the fireworks display tonight.

Because of that, he joined in with you and Takeomi, retreating somewhere in the parking lot. 

Benkei didn’t often see you two alone, much less without Shinichiro defusing an argument, though he found a rare solidarity between you smoking together. You were nodding. Takeomi's arms were crossed after sharing a few words with you, stopping short when Benkei stepped in after coming back from the restroom.

He asked if he disrupted something and Takeomi answered that he wasn't, stomping his cigarette with his shoe. You followed after him when your eyes narrowed at the strangers emerging before you in serpent-emblemed uniforms, some gang from Kansai judging from the accents. Jormungandr.

You seemed more annoyed than anxious about getting jumped. Takeomi didn't mind an introduction through a bloodbath because it’d been a long while since anyone challenged Black Dragons and Benkei had already charged forward for the brawl.

It ended with you.

Jormungandr’s leader met his defeat with a kick so high the last thing he saw was the dragon soaring up.

Your sandal flew off, landing on the heap of mangled bodies that had been dealt by Benkei. His knuckles still smarted for being outnumbered. Takeomi was just as scuffed-up. With his hair down and disheveled, it made his face more severe after pressing a warning on the leader’s hand with his newly lit cigarette. 

Don't mess with us again, trash. The extra measure was for insurance, but there's a cruel streak to his apathy for letting skin burn. Benkei had seen him done worse. You didn't speak against it after overhearing a threat on Shinichiro's life.

Sensing another presence lurking near you, you swung your leg up and Wakasa reacted fast enough to sidestep away, a hairbreadth close. 

Sadly, your foot missed his face.

He whistled. “Nice reflexes.”

“Shit, I could’ve gotten you! Stop coming up behind me like that!”

“No.”

“You three were taking so long. Figured we should check up on ya,” said Shinichiro, strolling towards them amidst the battle; fallen adversaries on his feet. He acknowledged Benkei and Takeomi with a nod, and then picked up your sandal when he approached you. “We should've come sooner, though.”

“You would’ve missed out the action anyway.” The insult wasn't without a light, teasing note, and Shinichiro didn't take it personally, letting you snatch the sandal from him. “We handled it pretty well by ourselves, don't you think?”

“Brutally,” he sighed, unable to hide that disarming grin slowly peeling up his mouth. “You look like hell. Let's get you all patched up—” 

A sudden, fluttering burst of light from the distance.

Shocked, all of you looked up at the sky.

“The fireworks . . .”

“Oh wow, it's starting now.”

“It’s still going on. Let’s make a run for it!”

It hadn't been long since Benkei told you about Ragnarok and you taught him what nostalgia actually meant. 

Natsukashii. The end of summer, he believed, sweltering with memories under his childhood sun in Oizumi, until you scrawled the characters on the back of a gym flier and kindly corrected him, oh, it's natsuku, not natsu. As in to become, you know, attached.  

懐かしい

Your ballpoint pen lingered on the heart radical, lacking the character of a season. 

Benkei wasn't chagrined about it; he's enlightened. 

The end of summer, you repeated, finding it more fitting, and pondered on how summers had to die like sunsets as you scraped the horizon with fingers in the color of twilight. 

Then he asked how much you were well-versed in Norse mythology.

You shrugged. "I'm more familiar with apocalypses. Why'd you name your gang after something like that?" 

“It’s inspiring,” said Benkei, omitting the part that he wasn't a founding member and the true meaning of its relevance might've been lost to him when Ragnarok sounded more like a gang that was meant to bring destruction to the gods from an older generation. “The kind that could define our era.”

“You guys are so obsessed with that,” you pointed out, but not to mock him. It’s just a measured observation. “Shin never shuts up about it. Takeomi goads him on because it's getting in his head too. Even Waka wants to be a part of it and you . . .”

“You don't want it too?”

“I just don't get it,” you blurted. “What's an era all about anyway?”

“You could say it’s how we want to be remembered,” he said it with his chest. It's how we want to show people how we fought and lived.

Benkei didn’t understand why you wanted to be invisible. Or keep up with all these social pretences to be accepted.

When he asked you why you wore fake glasses, you didn't give him a reason. You just shot back why he had his eyebrows shaved instead. He found the exchange amusing, concluding that nobody probably had the balls to ask both of you about it. 

He couldn't help but smirk how you got a bit defensive from his observation as if you had never stood out around them. 

You're the only person he’s ever known to be conflicted over the dichotomy of your life. He’d seen you enjoy listening to the rap mixtapes of his bootleg CDs, stress over college applications more than fights, denounce delinquency and yet.  

It took him a long while to figure out why you looked so out of place in the gang but it still felt as if you belonged there. The otherness spoke to him, really. Guys like him just couldn't seem to find their place in anything after falling through the cracks and it hadn't always been as grandiose as it was until Shinichiro granted them a reason.

Not a lot of them gave a crap about being honorable but they sure did when it felt good to be a part of something greater than themselves. 

It's the stuff of legends, our era.

Takeomi said it with pride and Benkei couldn't have worded it better himself. He glanced back at you, no longer giving in to chase when you let them go on without you, a fond, distant smile on your lips.

Wakasa sprinted ahead of them. Shinichiro still had a slight limp from getting it broken months ago so he fell behind until Takeomi turned to him and offered him his back, waving at him to get on and make it quick.

Despite them joining forces, Takeomi wasn't all that strong or fast for both of them and no one could ever beat Wakasa in a footrace, but they ran, howling out wild laughter as if they won anyway. 

Benkei slowed down to your pace, walking with you. “So attached, eh?” 

You blinked at him before letting out a chuckle. “Well, yeah.” You stretched out your tattooed leg a bit. “I took it quite literally too . . .”

He was distracted by the startlingly tender expression on your face, your lashes lowered, longer, until he snapped out of it and nodded. 

“Benkei.” 

“What?”

“Would you hate me if I told you that I'll quit the gang?”

“No—” The word slipped, and there was something about the urgency that felt like a tug, a step forward. Calmer, this time, “no, not at all.”

You registered his answer for a minute, too quiet next to him. He realized he should back away a bit, collecting himself to offer the reassurance you probably needed to hear more than he did. 

“Hey. Whatever decision you're going with, just know we're all rootin' for ya.” He gave your shoulder a pat and felt himself unwind a breath the moment you untensed from his hand. “You probably have your reasons. Good, I hope?”

It took so much from him to not demand why but you're smiling at him again. Maybe a little sad, a little scared, but it's still your smile, something regained. He’d hate for it to go away.

“Yeah, thanks. That means a lot to me,” and then hesitant, you opened up more, “think Shin will hate me?” 

“Idiot, he won't,” Benkei replied. “His heart's too big for him and he cries like a baby for it. You think that's the kind of guy that'll hate anyone?” 

“No.”

“There you go.”

“But it's just that I haven't told him yet. I haven't told anyone, just you,” you confessed, wistfully glancing down at your tattoo. 

“You know, I was actually terrified when we went to the tattoo parlor. Like what if something goes wrong? There's always something. I couldn't go by myself. Yeah, the tattoo didn't turn out perfect but I like it. I'm glad you were with me when I had it. Then Shin made this stupid tantrum over why I didn't bring him along, but he got over it when he was all giddy and excited over the tattoo. Cheered me up a lot when stuff at home was . . . ” a short breath sucked through your teeth. “Seeing him like that matters so much. I want him to always be like that . . .” 

A breeze whistled between your footsteps, ambling in a slow, thoughtless pace that had him thinking both of you had all the time in the world, even if the road ahead was just another meandering path to a farewell.

“You'd stay in Black Dragons for a long time, right?” 

“Yeah, it's my everything now.” Benkei stared at the dragon on your skin, and then back at you. “And even if you leave, you're still a part of it.” 

You huffed at that and looked onward longingly. "Jeez, you sound like him."

“He isn't wrong about that,” he said, following after your gaze where everyone was, waiting and waving and yelling at the two of you to hurry up; behind them, the fireworks sprung like a flurry of stars in the midsummer night. 

It's a moment he felt in his chest too. 

Guess we're all just attached.

Unfortunately, the fireworks ended too soon.

All of your stuff was left untouched while the people were already packing up and departing from the beach. 

They ignored your wounds. More plasters were bought from a cornershop nearby when your first-aid kit wouldn't suffice. Some schmucks brought bats and brass knuckles though there wasn't any serious damage on your end, even less serious on boasting each of your body counts. Whoever ratted out your location was still an unresolved issue, but your vacation wasn't totally ruined. 

Shinichiro was into the idea of heading to Choshi after learning it's Wakasa's hometown. There were grunts of protest though his whim was met with little to no resistance after the downturn of events and something about the spontaneity was exciting. 

Whatever heart to heart they had, Benkei couldn't fault Wakasa for giving in to Shin’s persuasion as much as he did when he agreed to merge their gangs a lifetime ago. Embark on something new together in a last minute excursion, not knowing what to discover in your destination. 

Your motorcycles were left in the parking lot to stay overnight. There were few passengers on board and three of you were already snoozing away after switching to a new train at Naruto Station. The landscape shifted behind the window; a nocturnal outline of bedtowns and cabbage fields. Wakasa's face was neutral all throughout.

Benkei broke the silence.

“I didn't know you grew up here.”

“Once,” Wakasa shrugged, looking less like a mystery. “Didn’t feel like something I should bring up anyway.”

Wakasa regarded Chiba like it's foreign land and there's no place for him here. Benkei couldn't imagine him coming home to parents – anyone. 

With their paths colliding the way they did, he had always assumed they were orphaned in Tokyo, meant to split it together or conquer more for themselves. It didn't matter which with all the devastation they had caused, leaving a red trail of history in their wake, and sometimes that's enough proof of their existence than a birth certificate. 

Wakasa never asked Benkei about his past. There's more of it branded in their mutual blows and bruises. Benkei knew the brunt of his kicks, his temper. His tendency to be a loyal asshole. How he had the worst sweet tooth ever because, of course, all of you came on this long journey just for him to lead you in a dango shop. The room inside was shabby but cozy in a lived-in sort of way; the menu unvaried. 

The old lady who owned the place gladly obliged, fanning fresh skewers on the grill, after Wakasa approached her with your orders.

Look at you, being a good grandson, Shinichiro joked about their overfamiliar interaction, and Wakasa quipped back that yeah, he's sure to rebel and get an earful like him with his elders. 

Curious, you asked Wakasa if he'd been here before. He was chewing his dango thoughtfully when he offered each of you a stick, glazed in sweet soy sauce, and told you he hadn't with no sense of nostalgia. Just craving for some. 

Inubosaki had coarser sand, a harsh, rocky coastline. A white lighthouse stood atop the cliffside, reminiscent of a twelve-pointed beacon that once ruled East Kanto. 

The inspiration didn’t go unnoticed. The old monument had been relegated into a tourist attraction but it still glowed in the dark. 

It’d been the one thing that seemed awake after passing a row of shops on your way here; most closed for the night, others for good. There were places in town that looked rundown, abandoned, similar to the ones in Tokyo. Black spots of a failing economy. 

Takeomi was the most informed about how the country was in deep shit under debt deflation. He asked Wakasa for spare change and the Sanrio-themed gachapon machine almost ate his 150 yen coins until he cranked it up again, coughing up a keychain souvenir. Benkei guessed it's for his sister. It's your second time napping, sitting next to him in the waiting shed with your head on his arm.

Shinichiro didn't wake you after catching sight of the bruise on your jaw, exposed by the dull lamplight, as if realizing how he could have missed that, among other things.

Benkei sighed. There's a heaviness hunkering down his shoulders. A part of him wondered if he told Shin now, could he convince you to change your mind?

“You uncomfortable there?” asked Shinichiro.

“Nah, I’m good.” Benkei replied, as your warmth curled on his side. Sleep made you clingy.

He wasn't the only one terrible at subtlety. Shinichiro perched on the space next to you when he couldn't steal you for himself this time. He’s got it all wrong, though.

Benkei didn't like sitting on what they would still lose.

The train station wouldn't be open until a few more hours.

Shinichiro’s cheap hair gel failed his pompadour, flattening his hair over his ears, as he leaned on his fist, dazed, with something unspeakably raw to him.

Deep down, he must know there's a future in his dream but humble as always, he’d deny this and nod off to you for having the superpower to carry and crush it. He had unshakeable faith in the way you wielded the future. It wouldn't change how he still saw you everyday. It's probably what gave you that ability in the first place. 

Benkei had this urge to wake you and tell you that you’d be okay, but suppressed it once Shinichiro spoke up, a note somber. 

“I don't want to go back yet.”

“Why?”

“This is a nice change of scenery,” which was bullshit because his boredom was painfully obvious. 

“Sure, the ocean again.”

“Okay, okay, I didn't think things out before wandering here,” he admitted, huffing an amused exhale under his breath. "But maybe I just wanted to escape and drag you all with me somewhere faraway.”

“You runnin' away from something?”

“Not really,” he murmured, stalling for another minute to brood over it. “We’ll get busier soon. It sucks. Does that count?”

“Things’ll just go back to normal,” Benkei said without withholding his sympathy. “The beach was fun, though.”

Shinichiro agreed, meandering on bringing his siblings along someday because he rarely spent his summer without them. He got away a lot more with you guys, gulping down cheap beer wherever, getting all this sand in his underwear. There was still other stuff you hadn't tried yet, if only you had more time.

“There's just this sinking feeling like something’s gonna catch up to me, don't know what it is, when, but—” his gaze landed at you, him, a flit of a smile on his lips, before staring at those endless waves, as if all of you had finally reached the end of the world. 

The sunrise bled through the horizon, and Shinichiro watched listlessly. "Whatever happens, I want to be here for awhile."

In the early hours of the morning, his bike swept past 80 km/h on the road; not a lot of cars and cyclists, busybodies.

The motions didn't stop until everyone had to pull over at a gas station nearby a remote industrial area in Ichihara. Factories still gave off strange smells no one could recognize, but Benkei had already revved up his engine to flee. It didn't matter anymore in another city.

The world woke up a bit after a mile while all of you were dragging yourselves through the travel tolls of yesterday. One moment it's a blame game, and then it snapped into a "screw this" and "this is stupid" next to a punched vending machine because you were incapable of deciding where to eat in a testy mood.

A common trait, despite having uniquely different, unbearable personalities. Aside from the energy drinks, Benkei's gut felt queasy from the mean, collective silence until you reached the last stretch of Tokyo Bay Aqua-Line. It's a miracle how everyone could stand each other, sometimes.

But you're still driving together to the path, the multiple crossings crowded by people from all walks of life, striving to make theirs a little fuller. The urban streets blurred after each turn. Somehow riding back to Tokyo almost didn't feel real. The day wasn't over yet but it felt as if he's missing something before it's gone.

Benkei didn't know how to explain it, eyes on you marveling at a wall graffiti of profanities from an unfinished construction site. Shinichiro was repeating what he was saying but it's left unheard, lost to the shrill of the track signal. The sun hung high and hot while all of you waited for the train behind the railway gate.

There's a faster route to Shibuya, but none of you took the expressway. The road back home was long and unwinding. 

a/n: title is inspired from the same namesake, referring to a whole generation of japanese youth who were gravely affected by japan's lost decade in the 1990s to early 2000s. first gen bd is in that group but ironically, they were at the top of the delinquent world at the time until their eventual disbandment.

[theink-stainedfolk]

Incorrect Quotes Tag

Thank you for the tag @corinneglass

Here is the link and i git very distracted while doing this so... here are my OCs from The General's Bride

Yin Jian: *Reading a letter* Zhou Ren: Well, what does it say? Yin Jian: It’s a confession letter. It turns out Xu Qiang killed my pet rock.

Yin Jian, on the phone: What’s up, Luo Xingchen ? Luo Xingchen : I’m sitting in a pool of blood. Yin Jian: …Um, is it YOUR blood? Luo Xingchen : I think so. Yin Jian: Do you know where the blood’s coming from? Luo Xingchen : Probably the stab wound. Yin Jian: YOU’VE BEEN STABBED?! Luo Xingchen : Oh, yeah, definitely.

Yin Jian : Self care is stuff like taking a bubble bath or putting on a lot of make up if you like that, or taking a nice warm nap and stuff like that basically. Xu Qiang: Self care is the burning heat when rage washes over you. self care is when you feel the bones crack under your powerful fists. self care is the fear in your enemies eyes. Zhou Ren: Self care is stealing someones birthday cake just to eat the frosting. Xu Qiang: If you touch my birthday cake I’ll make you eat your hands.

Zhou Ren: You fuckers don’t know about my knife stick. It’s a knife taped to a stick and it’s the ultimate weapon. Luo Xingchen : Spear. Zhou Ren: BLOCKED.

Yin Jian: Did you buy eggs like I asked? Zhou Ren: Even better! Yin Jian: What the fuck did you- Zhou Ren: *holding up a chicken* Her name is Fluffy.

Xu Qiang: Yin Jian, you need to react when people cry! Yin Jian: I did. I rolled my eyes.

*Thump noise* Xu Qiang, from the other room: What happened?! Yin Jian: Luo Xingchen ’s shirt fell. Xu Qiang: Why was it loud? Yin Jian: It had them inside.

Xu Qiang: Underestimate me. That'll be fun.

Luo Xingchen : Well, Yin Jian and I finally did it! The rest of the squad: *gasps, shocked expressions, etc.* Luo Xingchen : That's right... We kissed!

---

Tagging @finickyfelix @willtheweaver @leahnardo-da-veggie @illarian-rambling @winglesswriter @paeliae-occasionally @the-golden-comet @thecomfywriter @drchenquill @wyked-ao3 @the-inkwell-variable @seastarblue @keeping-writing-frosty @oliolioxenfreewrites @vesanal @orphanheirs @dauntlessdraupadi

[ominous-faechild]

WIP FOLDER TAG

Got tagged by @world-of-iridensia!

Rules: post all the titles from your WIP folders so people can send an ask for the title that interests them.

I'mma do this a bit differently than him, though, because I've interpreted the *ahem* "rules" differently. 😂

I've gone on record to say my notes are highly organized, so I'm actually going to show the sort of... division between them. Although, disclaimer: I'm going to take some liberties in how I display them, for the sake of your guys' understanding... while also cutting out stuff that's too spoilery lol

FOR ANY AND ALL ASKS, PLEASE SPLIT UP SUBJECTS! IF SOMETHING HAS ITS OWN "BULLET POINT", PUT IT INTO ITS OWN ISOLATED ASK!

(this makes it easier for me to answer specific questions, puts less pressure on me, and will let me get any/everything out quicker than otherwise. thank you!)

⚜ Talamhdé ⚜ Faerie's Dawn ⚜ the sentinels ⚜ what makes an archfaerie? ⚜ faewilde "planes" ⚜ how a faerie "dies" ⚜ body death vs DEATH death ⚜ how Magic sees time ⚜ how Magic accommodates for time

❧ Early Existiwar ❧ the beginning ❧ existentials for and against ❧ early preparations ❧ existential "teams" ❧ chaos kids ❧ (early) Abdiel thoughts on family ❧ the Chaos Kids' magic ❧ Not Good Enough ❧ [Order's Chosen] ❧ Water avatars ❧ Zenebe origins ❧ [What Lies Beneath]

❧ The Existential War ❧ favors ❧ territory rules ❧ summoning rules ❧ avatar-ownership rules ❧ avatars' thoughts on one another (cross-god) ❧ early ❧ late ❧ how society sees avatars ❧ how society treats avatars ❧ avatars' roles in society ❧ avatars' lives outside the war

🌹 Sub Rosa 🌹 general plot 🌹 the triads 🌹 Liànyù (Purgatory) 🌹 the archfaerie

❧ The Arcane Rifts ❧ the pugabiytsy ❧ results of the pugabiytsy ❧ likely prequel ❧ Mislav and his corruption ❧ Magic and Zhrizn ❧ Zhrizn in Kavo ❧ Zhrizn-Zakhar ❧ Zhrizn-Rieka ❧ erased history ❧ zhaprita magic infusion ❧ detective side/short story

♞ Rising From The Ashes ♞ origin of the leveques ♞ (^^^ this is slightly meta) ♞ Lotus Academy of Magic and Knightage ♞ Lotus's role in Kihroin ♞ Lotus's role in the world ♞ knights ♞ the loreite

Tagging (both my taglist(s) and to do this yourself!

@honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue @rae-butter @teamarine777 @caffeinated-starsailor @oliolioxenfreewrites

@corinneglass @thebookishkiwi @storyteller-kara @themongosianhorse @theburningeyeofdawn

@notyourlocalworm @write-with-will @mildlybizarrecorvid @forgottenvalor @huewrite

@vesanal @differentnighttale @olliedoesthings @pupculture

@princessuncertain @mythicalmagical-monkeyman @i-do-anything-but-write @a-zendrial

@real-fragments @sullymarlowe @aalinaaaaaa @yourpenpaldee

@dangerousbunnyking @milday-dewinter @hoerikwaggo @thestorywitch @simonnebethel

@keeping-writing-frosty @sodalysm @paeliae-occasionally @pluppsauthor @thelovelymachinery