#saved to archives ∞ musings

[vesselreborn]

Miyako using the care she gives Kereb as a sort of mirror/gauge on how to care she gives to another. This is a Good™ thing to her, but can be very very confusing and even insulting depending on the person.

Meaning Miyako will pet you (either on the head or the back, whichever she can reach), if you let her comb/brush your hair she will take a very long time with the utmost care

If you do any of these things to her, however, she grows suspicious as her brain does the AOL dial up noises

[lctibule]

extremely tempted to make a separate blog but i know that's a bad idea so we're gonna start here & see how it goes, soooo...

haha oops my hand slipped oops surprise jinx tag dump :)

❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗 、musings ❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗 、headcanon ❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗 、visage ❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗 、study ❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗 、aesthetic ❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗 、ic ❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗 、answered ❥ 𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐗 、dash game

[daydreamdoodles]

Jonathan Sims I will never forgive you for making Martin Blackwood cry

[coetusmachina]

✧ Tag Dump​ #1 ✧

[shinygoldstar]

the thing with a lot of online platforms (especially ones with free membership) is that once they reach a certain threshold, the costs of data storage upkeep becomes too much and they start deleting old data

[baldieboi]

You prank the Primarchs (wholesome pranks). How do you prank them and what's their reaction? Part 1

Note: I tried. Keyword is tried. I decided to make it into several parts because for some Primarchs I still have no idea. For those whom I already had... here they are.

@ghrgrsfdesfrfg

Perturabo

Perturabo scowled at the hololithic display in his workshop, fingers twitching over the controls. The schematics for his latest siege engine flickered then dissolved into a looping animation of tiny, cartoonish Titans dancing in a conga line.

A note fluttered to the floor.

'Even the mightiest walls need a break. Enjoy the show, Lord of Iron.'

His jaw tightened. His first instinct was to crush the projector in his fist but then against his will a snort escaped him. The absurdity of it, the sheer audacity of someone slipping past his defenses to do this…

He exhaled sharply. "Clever," he muttered. Then after a pause he added "But next time I will find you."

(He kept the animation saved in his archives. Just in case.)

Roboute Guilliman

Guilliman’s stylus paused mid-signature. The document before him was wrong.

'Request for Immediate Deployment of Ultramarines: Operation Tea Party Diplomacy. Objective: Convince Ork Warboss to switch to chamomile.'

He flipped the page.

'Estimated casualties: One (1) teacup, shattered in the inevitable scuffle.'

His brow furrowed. Then slowly he pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is not how standardized forms are formatted," he muttered. But when he spotted the tiny doodle of an Ork in a frilly hat in the margin the corner of his mouth twitched.

By the end of the da the falsified document was pinned to his office door with a single red stamp: 'Denied. But amusing.'

Rogal Dorn

Dorn entered his chambers to find a small, intricate structure on his desk. A fortress. Made entirely of brightly colored plastic bricks.

A note rested beside it. 'Your move, Praetorian.'

He stared. Then with deliberate care he knelt to examine it. The walls were sturdy, the gatehouse functional, the towers… slightly uneven.

"Hmph." He adjusted a block. Then another.

Two hours later when his equerry found him, Dorn was still there surrounded by scattered bricks, his expression one of deep focus. "The foundation needed reinforcement," he said as if that explained everything.

(The fortress remained on his desk for weeks. No one dared touch it.)

Horus Lupercal

Horus unrolled the battle plan with a frown.

'Phase One: Deploy all forces in the shape of a smiley face.'

'Phase Two: Hope the enemy is too confused to fight back.'

'Phase Three: ???'

'Phase Four: Victory (probably).'

He blinked. Then slowly a grin spread across his face. "Oh, this is good," he chuckled, tossing the scroll to Maloghurst. "Find out who did this. Then promote them."

Maloghurst sighed. "My lord, this is a security breach—"

"And the first laugh I’ve had in weeks," Horus said, still grinning. "Worth it."

Lorgar Aurelian

Lorgar’s quill froze over the parchment. The sacred text he’d been transcribing now read:

'And lo, the Emperor did say unto His sons: 'Stop being so dramatic. Have a cookie.''

He stared. Then with a slow bemused smile he set the quill down. "A jest at the expense of divinity," he mused. "Bold."

He almost crossed it out.

Instead, he left it and added a tiny footnote: 'Editor’s note: The cookie was, in fact, delicious.'

Konrad Curze

Konrad’s claws flexed as he stepped into his quarters. The room was wrong.

A chalk outline on the floor. A fake bloodstain (paint, he noted instantly). And a note pinned to the wall with a knife:

'The Night Haunter’s greatest fear: A world without crime. (Also, you left your window unlocked.)'

Silence. Then a low, rasping chuckle left his mouth.

"Clever little thing," he murmured, plucking the knife free. "But next time… I’ll be the one leaving you a message."

(The next morning you found your bunk suspiciously filled with rubber bats. Progress.)

Alpharius – Omegon

You slipped into the dimly lit strategium of the Alpha, heart pounding. This was either the best idea you’d ever had or the last mistake of your very short life.

You left a single data-slate on the hololith table. The message was simple:

'We know you’re not Alpharius.'

Then you waited.

Hours passed. Nothing.

Then as you turned a corner in the ship’s labyrinthine halls a hand clamped over your mouth and yanked you into the shadows. A voice, low, amused, and impossible to place, whispered in your ear:

"Are you sure you’re not Alpharius?"

You twisted but the grip didn’t loosen. A second voice, identical, spoke from the darkness ahead:

"Or perhaps I am."

A third, from behind: "Or me."

You swallowed hard. This had not gone as planned.

Then as suddenly as they appeared the hands released you. A single, mocking laugh echoed down the corridor.

When you checked your pocket, you found a new note:

'Good try. But next time, leave a better trail. –A'

(You spent the next week triple-checking your own identity. Just in case.)

[odileeclipse]

Hello!! Could you do a shadow milk cookie x reader except one sided with smc liking reader and reader is smart but just nonchalant about everything and can see through Shadow milk cookie but doesn’t say anything about it since reader doesn’t really care about him. Reader also can manipulate other people really well but except reader just uses it when it is absolutely necessary and not just for fun

you could say it’s like manipulator x manipulator type of relationship 😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

so whenever smc tries to manipulate reader, they just look at him with no interest whatsoever and then after, reader just brushes him off lmao

A Scholar's Indifference

A/N I took the liberty to make them a scholar because they're intelligent so what better way to show it than be a scholar.

The Grand Archives were quiet, save for the faint scratching of quill against parchment. The scent of aged paper and candle wax lingered in the air, untouched by the passage of time. It was a sanctuary of knowledge, a place where scholars sought wisdom, where history was preserved and studied. And where, unfortunately, Shadow Milk Cookie had made himself a nuisance. “I can offer you more than dusty old tomes, you know.” His voice coiled through the air like a whispered spell, smooth and deliberate, laced with that ever-present undertone of mischief. He lounged atop your desk as if he belonged there, one leg lazily crossed over the other, his fingers absentmindedly toying with the edge of an open book.

You didn’t look up. “That’s nice.” Shadow Milk Cookie narrowed his eyes slightly. A non-response. Not rejection, not curiosity just sheer, effortless apathy. How irritating. “You wound me, dear scholar,” he sighed, dramatic as always, his free hand pressing against his chest. “Is it truly so awful to imagine a world beyond these walls? A world where you are not simply a collector of knowledge, but a wielder of it?” You dipped your quill into the ink, barely acknowledging him. “Knowledge doesn’t need to be wielded. It simply is.”

“Drowning yourself in scrolls again, dear scholar?”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s voice curled around you like wisps of ink in water, smooth and dark, filled with a performer's flourish. He emerged from between the bookshelves, mismatched eyes gleaming with playful intent. You didn’t bother to look up. “Drowning implies struggle,” you replied smoothly, scratching your quill against the parchment. “I find knowledge rather easy to breathe in.” He laughed, slow and rich. “Oh, how clever. But tell me, what will all this knowledge do for you, hm? You sit here, day after day, collecting truths like dust on old tomes. And yet, do you ever stop to wonder how small this kingdom makes you?” You turned a page. “Enlighten me.” Shadow Milk Cookie leaned against the desk beside you, propping his chin on his palm as he watched you work. “You are brilliant,” he mused, “yet your talents are wasted here, confined to these halls, buried beneath limitations.” He waved a hand, gesturing vaguely at the bookshelves around you. “The Vanilla Kingdom tells you what you can and cannot study. They sift through history, preserving only what benefits them. But me? Oh, starlight, I hold the knowledge they do not want you to find.”

At this, you finally lifted your gaze, eyes laced with the same disinterest you always regarded him with. “Let me guess, if I simply cast aside my oaths and follow you, you’ll show me the hidden truths of the world?” Shadow Milk Cookie smirked. “You say it so mockingly, and yet, I can see the hunger in you.” You let out a soft hum, studying him. “Tell me, Shadow Milk Cookie. If knowledge was truly your grand gift to me, why present it with such flair? Truth does not need theatrics. it stands on its own.” He faltered, just for a fraction of a second, but you caught it. You always did. You leaned back in your chair, folding your hands neatly. “You see, I know the difference between a charlatan and a scholar. Charlatans weave grand words, dress their lies in gold, make impossible promises to those desperate enough to believe them.” Your gaze sharpened. “And you? You are nothing more than a talented illusionist. A puppet master in a carnival of shadows.”

Shadow Milk Cookie chuckled, though his grin was slightly tighter than before. “And yet, you keep listening.” You smirked. “Because you are a wonderful study in deception. I find you fascinating, in the same way one might study the tactics of a conman.” His eyes flickered, momentarily losing their playful gleam. “You wound me.” “No,” you said, tilting your head. “I intrigue you.” Silence stretched between you. For the first time, you had taken the stage. And Shadow Milk Cookie who had spent centuries puppeteering the minds of others found himself being played. The realization must have struck him as well, because after a moment, his lips curled into something more genuine than his usual theatrics a slow, appreciative grin. “Well, well,” he murmured, voice lower, smoother. “Perhaps I miscalculated. You’re not just another mind to mold, are you?” You lifted your quill, twirling it between your fingers. “Of course not. And that’s where you made your first mistake.” Shadow Milk Cookie laughed, a real laugh this time deep and delighted, his eyes gleaming not with victory, but with something far more dangerous. Interest. “You are wasted in this kingdom,” he purred, standing to his full height. “One day, you will see that. And when that day comes…” He let his words trail off, a silent promise woven between them. You merely returned to your parchment. “I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

He grinned, sharp and intrigued. “Spoken like a prisoner who doesn’t realize they’re in a cage.” You finally, finally lifted your gaze, leveling him with a stare so perfectly blank, so wholly unimpressed, that for a moment, he felt the slightest twinge of irritation. And then you smiled small, knowing, and just a little bit cruel. “If this is a cage,” you said, tilting your head, “why do you keep coming back?” Shadow Milk Cookie hesitated. Just for a second. Then, his grin widened. “Ah, but you mistake my presence for captivity, starlight. I am merely… entertained.” “Mm.” You turned back to your work, brushing away a stray ink blot. “So am I.” The amusement in his expression flickered, just for an instant, before he laughed. Genuinely. “You are playing with me.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. You didn’t bother to confirm or deny it. Because you were. And he knew it. Shadow Milk Cookie had spent lifetimes weaving illusions, twisting perception, ensnaring minds in silken lies spun with the utmost precision. And yet, you? You saw through him. Not because you were searching for the truth. Not because you wished to challenge him. But because you simply did not care. And that was infuriating. “Oh, you are delightful,” he purred, resting his chin in his palm as he watched you work. “Truly, I cannot decide if I admire or despise you.”

“I don’t think about you enough to make that decision,” you replied idly. That one almost made him scowl. Almost. He hummed, watching as you dipped your quill back into the ink, utterly unbothered by his presence. “You’re wasted in this kingdom, you know,” he said, shifting tactics. His voice softened, dipping into something lower, something enticing. “They will never recognize your full potential here. But I will.” You let out a quiet hum, seemingly entertained by his attempt. “Is that what you tell everyone you want to recruit?” “Oh no, no, no,” he chuckled. “This is different.” He leaned closer, voice lowering to a whisper. “I see you, dear scholar. You and I? We are the same.” That made you pause. Just for a breath. Then, slowly, you turned to face him again. Your expression didn’t change. Your voice didn’t waver. But your words? Your words shattered him. “You mistake recognition for importance.” Silence. For the first time, Shadow Milk Cookie did not have a response. You let the moment stretch, tilting your head slightly. “I am no more like you than a scholar is like their book. You, Shadow Milk Cookie, are a performer.” You rested your chin against your hand, mirroring his own smug posture. “And I? I am simply watching the show.” His fingers twitched against the desk. It was annoying. It was intoxicating. It was exhilarating. “You are fascinating,” he murmured, his usual teasing lilt replaced with something real. Something dangerous. You shrugged. “I know.” And just like that, you turned away again, utterly, completely unbothered. Shadow Milk Cookie stared at you for a long moment. Then, he laughed. A breathy, delighted sound, as if he had stumbled upon the greatest puzzle he had ever encountered. “Oh, you are going to be my favorite,” he whispered, grinning to himself. You didn’t respond. Because as far as you were concerned, the conversation was already over.

[hotchnerwrites]

Two Inches Away

◁ part one

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 0.8k

Warnings: SFW, established relationship, domestic fluff

A/N: i couldn't resist writing a follow-up and including the part about Hotch using touch as an indication he should come closer. yet another day goes by where i wish soft aaron was real and mine, sigh. enjoy reading! much love to anon especially for the inspiration <3

Dividers by @/strangergraphics-archive My requests are open :) Send me stuff! Images from Pinterest

7 months later

The heat wakes you. Your body feels clammy with sweat, and the thin tee you wore to sleep sticks to your skin. As you turn to check the clock on your bedside table— 04:00 am— you notice that the other side of the bed is empty. It hadn’t been that way a few hours earlier. You rub the sleep from your eyes as you swing yourself into an upright position. 

The door creaks gently as you slip out. The house is still, save for a faint hum from the refrigerator. The only source of light is an orange glow coming from the study. 

Must be time for annual reports again.

Silverware clinks softly as you dig through the kitchen cabinets for a bowl. The cool tile beneath your feet grounds you, and you turn to open the freezer. The ice cream is soothing; it’s what you need to cool off from the humidity. As you lick the spoon, your eyes flicker to the closed study door. You wonder if you should grab another bowl, but Aaron doesn’t need ice cream right now. Not when he’s buried in paperwork like this. 

One of the first things Aaron showed you when you moved in with him was how to brew the perfect cup of coffee. You’d never liked the taste of caffeine, but Aaron changed your mind. There was a world of difference between burnt instant coffee and properly brewed espresso. So, you grab the coffee beans, a ritual the two of you now share. It’s one you know he needs, even on the warmest nights, when most would go for something cold. The cup of coffee was his comfort, something to keep the world at bay when it got too heavy.

The rich aroma fills the space as the machine hums to life. It’s just coffee, you muse, but it feels important. In the same way that Aaron knows how you like your eggs made just so, you’ve memorised his little quirks too.

When it’s ready, you grab the cup and your bowl and head to the study. 

You don’t knock. Just walk in like you always do.

Aaron’s seated at his desk, shoulders tense under the weight of whatever he’s working on now. He looks up as you walk in, his gaze softening at the sight of you, cup extended in his direction.

“Why’re you awake?” His voice is low but carries that familiar undercurrent of affection.

Always so worried about you.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” you tease, setting the coffee down in front of him. He doesn’t drink it immediately; it’s too hot. But his fingers brush the side of the cup, warmth leeching into his skin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his quiet amusement. Aaron’s always been like that— unhurried, content to exist beside you. The kind of love that’s felt in the stillness, in the small gestures.

You pull up a chair next to him. The ice cream is melting in your bowl. The minutes tick by slowly, punctuated by the sounds of Aaron’s pen scratching and your spoon clinking against the bowl. The quiet stretches between you both like an invisible thread, before Aaron leans back slightly in his chair. Without looking up from the papers, his hand reaches over and steals a spoonful of ice cream from your bowl. His thumb brushes against your wrist as he takes it, the light touch enough to make you shiver just a little.

You let the contact linger. You know what’s coming next, even before he pulls your foot toward him with a gentle tug.

Aaron looks at you then. His eyes are like two drops of the coffee he so loves to drink in a cloud of milk. He looks tired, you think. Not from the lack of sleep but from the unending pile of files he takes on. You wonder if the team knows that they get less paperwork because Aaron bears the brunt of it.

He blinks, a million expressions flitting across his face in a flash.

“You’re too far away,” he says quietly, voice rough.

He doesn’t wait for an answer; he doesn’t need to. The pressure against your ankle becomes more insistent.

You don't argue. You let yourself be pulled in closer, drawn to him without a single spoken word.

He leans in, resting his head against your shoulder. His familiar scent fills your senses— faint notes of aftershave and laundry detergent.

Aaron moves his hand to rest it against your thighs. His thumb traces light patterns onto your skin.

The weight of the world slowly slips away as your eyes begin to flutter shut.

“You should sleep,” Aaron mumbles, not moving from your embrace. His tone— gravelly but warm— belies his words. He doesn’t want you to leave him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply softly. That’s all it takes.

He doesn’t have to ask you to stay. He doesn’t need to. You’re already here.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

ps. anyone catch the movie reference?

[noellechitters]

I actually got really really paranoid at first when i saw the askbox go down and the posts have their reblogs turned off. I thought it was partly my fault; they seemed to be going strong until the day i finally made a new account and then began reblogging their work (they even survived a minor sick leave!) and i was just about to send an ask in about his improving condition. But i realize now that that's just my ocd talking for me and making it out to be my fault. I played no part in this situation.

Truth is, I have no clue why Vessel would make the decision to close ramb-ling, just that it greatly saddens me to see the blog completely taken down. I know they can reinstate it most likely, and i hope they do, if not to just have an archive that it happened at all. Turning off reblogs and muting the notifications on all the posts so that likes wouldnt get through. They had no connection back to their main blog on it anyways, so its not like we could have followed them if we desired.

I do find it odd that they proceeded to delete their ooc posts only 40 or so minutes after posting a QNA and then do the rest of this over the span of an hour. I can only conclude that the stress of managing the blog finally got to them, or the asks in the ask box were truly horrendous (unfortunately something i expect and the reason i never wanna make an ask blog myself, Tumblr is a mess of a place despite the best place to run one. Its inevitable you will get aggressive, annoying, and sexual messages.) enough that Vessel couldn't handle keeping the blog up at all. I just wish them the best in life and will greatly miss their beautiful artwork of Ramb. I kinda wish we got better explanation on the little sick that Ramb got, it was fascinating and also really neat to watch it heal in real time.

Also my beloved GF had the funniest response to this

"the others are in a hurry bc they have ten seconds before they die. ramb does not know this"

Did rambling deactivate or was i just blocked..

Sad..

[vesselreborn]

I always believed that Miyako using her sightjacking doesn't hurt her as much as everyone else. She'd get a light headache, or a pounding migraine at worst. It still leaves her disoriented if used for a prolonged time, but it seems to work more naturally for her. Miyako's radius is larger and she's more attuned when someone new is in her area.

Once she feels safe or completely shrouded in darkness, she'll take the time to take a break from it.

See, sightjacking isn't supposed to be a 'fix' or a replacement. It's kind of like an add on, at best. It's painful, has limited vision, leaves you vulnerable and you still have to grasp exactly what/where you're looking at all from another person's point of view and not your own. You can't control shit, you are here for the ride.

[staybabblingbaby]

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.5 (Verbena)[Chapter ending] a1d1

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 1,076

TO THE UNAWARE: THIS IS A PROGRESS UPDATE OF A CHAPTER NOT REMOTELY CLOSE TO DONE! PLEASE DON'T EXPECT A FULL OR POLISHED PRODUCT HERE

Notes: This is the ending for Ch. 5 as of now <3 She has no middle lol this is just how we roll o7 I've been writing these in spurts of sleep deprived inspiration i can't wait to read them back lmao what kind of hot mess am i making of this chapter rn?

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, There are many vague things that could need warnings but i'm not sure they do? lmk

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Main Part (Unfinished </3)

You don’t know why you don’t cry to Taylor as soon as you get home. He’s more invested in all of this drama than you at this point, but still. You don’t tell him. You decline his invitation to eat dinner and listen to the latest gossip from his work, heading straight to your room.

Well, you say you don’t know why, but you do. If you’d stop to think about it for more than half a second, you do.

You’re tired of unloading on him. The two of you were close, but the past few days had really put you in each others pockets in a way you didn’t think you were quite comfortable with. You were used to working through your troubles on your own, and you didn’t like to trouble Taylor when he already did so much for you, but you couldn’t stay quiet around him either.

Something about being prodded made you explode every time.

So, you smiled at him, pretended nothing was wrong that he didn’t already know, and fled to your room. Ran away like you always do.

It’s fine.

Instead of taking comfort in your best (and only, a mean little voice points out) friend, you dig around your room for a while, looking for the really nice noise-canceling headphones your sister had given you for a birthday forever ago.

Your sister had always been something of an audiophile, on account of the whole music snob thing, so she’d taken personal offense to your best headphones being a cheap pair of earbuds that had probably survived more than their fair share of accidents.

In the single most touching move anyone had ever made on your behalf, she’d saved her own money for months to buy you this pair, presenting them to you with the proudest grin you’d ever seen, insulting you with every breath but so, so caring beneath it.

You’re slammed with the memory of her toothy grin when you finally find the headphones, tucked carefully away in the bottom drawer of your desk. You couldn’t describe the feeling the memory leaves you with. Regret, affection, guilt, love.

The wonderful storm of a sibling, you supposed.

‘She doesn’t know about my soulmates.’ you muse as you turn the headphones in your hands.

In the end, you do nothing about that. You just clamber into your bed, bury yourself in far too many soft things, and jam the headphones over your head.

Your relationship with music is, like most things, complicated. You could live and breathe music, you rarely let a moment be truly silent. You don’t think you could stand it if you did.

And yet, you never rarely listened to music either. Not truly, not deeply, not the way some people let it consume their air in their lungs and burn the blood in their veins.

Maybe because you knew full well how deeply you felt it, when you allowed yourself to. You’d spent many nights as a teen laying in bed, not feeling real, letting music explain your emotions to you.

It was a habit you’d stopped when you’d accidentally freaked your sister out. One night you’d been far too overwhelmed, far too done with life, far too ready to fade away into oblivion. Your sister had come to bother you about something or other, as she always did, and as you always let her (because before her there was nothing to be bothered about, anyway).

Except, that day, for whatever reason, you’d taken your astral projecting to some banger playlist or another a bit too far. She’d tried calling for you, tried shaking you, pinching you. She’d waved her hand in your face, tugged at your hair, pulled out your headphones, anything she could think of in that moment.

Eventually she’d started crying, calling for your parents, and crying harder when no one responded. It was her wailing cries that had finally roused you, and she’d gone from sorrow to rage so quickly you’d gotten whiplash.

The way your sister tells the story, you’d looked halfway dead. Eyes half-lidded and vacant, breath shallow and slow, as still as a corpse. Her first thought had been drugs, but there’d been no trace of any when she’d ransacked your room after. She’d been the one to do the research, to badger you into therapy, to force you to live.

So yeah, you hadn’t really indulged since.

But tonight- tonight you had an agenda. Tonight you were going to get to know your soulmates. Exposure therapy or whatever.

You were especially looking for insight into 3Racha tonight. You knew they were the producing unit of the band, that they wrote, composed, arranged, and produced a majority of Stray Kid’s songs. You held a deep belief in being able to know someone through how they created.

You were of the firm opinion that one couldn’t hide themselves in art. No matter how far art diverged from the artist, one would always leave a piece of oneself behind in their work. From the way writers told their stories, to how painters chose their colors, to the melodies that emerged from a musician. Every word, every color, every note, it all held a bit of their creator.

It was a philosophy you’d been reminded of at the museum today. In every painting you’d discussed, throughout all the differing opinions you’d held on their meaning, their stories, their emotions, you could eventually tell which artist had made what painting.

Even before properly analyzing the techniques and subjects, after a while there was a certain vibe about a painting and, sure enough, when you checked it was the artist you thought it was. It was probably a consequence of spending far too long studying far too many paintings for a chance to talk to (who you know knew was) your soulmate, but still.

Even for a fraction of a moment, you’d been connected to the artists. You’d known them then, even in the vaguest of senses.

As you scroll through the Spotify profile of your soulmates, you figure they have plenty of material around for you to get to know them in this way.

With this resolve in your heart, you hit shuffle on the “This Is Straykids” playlist, pull up the details with the song credits, and settle in to study.

And, if the music carries you away to somewhere softer, somewhere warmer, somewhere less scary, well. You could use the help.

The 'Everything Always' Tag List: @chancloud8 , @sh0dor1 ,

Beloved Betas <3: @brbwritingfanfic , @lazyfacecowboy

The Petal List (aka, SGAU update tag list <3): @4ng3l-ch1ld , @sunfk88 , @kaleigh-2002

(If you'd like to be added to a progress taglist, comment below for this series or on this post for any of my other series <3)

[heliosunny]

For the request can I please have yandere Topaz x spy reader?

Yandere!Topaz x Spy!Reader

The IPC headquarters was an untouchable fortress, at least, that’s what they wanted everyone to believe. You had slipped through tighter security before, evaded sharper eyes, and walked away from more perilous operations unscathed. This was just another job. Another mission. Another untouchable figure to dismantle.

Topaz, Senior Manager of Strategic Investments, was the target. Her role in the IPC made her a dangerous opponent, but also an invaluable asset to your employer. You only needed to extract classified financial records, just enough to tip the scales. A clean job, no blood, no alarms, just data.

Everything had gone smoothly.

You bypassed security systems, wove through automated patrols, and reached the data archives without a hitch. The files loaded onto your drive in seconds. A flawless escape was within reach, that is, until you turned around.

She was waiting. Topaz stood casually in front of the exit, arms crossed, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes gleamed with something unsettling, mostly amusement, curiosity, control.

"Wow" she mused, "I have to admit, you’re pretty good. Most people don’t make it this far without setting off at least a dozen alarms."

You had been careful. Every precaution taken. Every measure accounted for.

As if reading your mind, Topaz lifted her wrist, revealing a sleek IPC communicator. "The moment you entered the building, I had my security feed rerouted. Instead of alerting my subordinates, I let you walk right in. I wanted to see how far you'd get before realizing..." She tilted her head, a smirk forming.

"You were never in control."

Heat burned at the back of your neck. "Then why wait? Why let me get this far if you knew?"

She chuckled. "Because watching you work was fun. And because, sweetheart, I think we can help each other."

Your breath steadied as your mind raced. If she wasn’t alerting security, she wanted something. This wasn’t an immediate death sentence, it was a game. And if she wanted to play, you would find a way to win.

"What kind of help?" you asked, voice carefully neutral.

Topaz’s smile widened as she stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor. "A deal, of course. You’re talented, resourceful, and bold. The kind of person I like keeping around. So here’s my offer: work for me."

"Not as an IPC agent" she continued, her tone sweet, coaxing, "but as my personal informant. I have... competitors who need watching, tasks that require someone with your skill set." She brushed a hand through her hair, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "In exchange, I'll make sure no one knows you were ever here. No bounty on your head, no retaliation from the IPC, no mysterious 'disappearances' in the night."

It sounded too good. There had to be a catch.

"...And if I refuse?"

Topaz sighed, feigning disappointment. "Then I let my security system do its job, and, well..." She gestured lazily. "You know how the IPC deals with trespassers. Your real employer won't come save you. You'll just be another loose end tied up."

You needed time. A chance to find a weakness, to flip the game back in your favor.

You exhaled, slowly. "Fine. I'll hear the terms."

Topaz beamed. "Good choice! You won’t regret it."

For a moment, it almost seemed like you wouldn’t. The first few tasks were simple, easy, and manageable, gathering intel, dropping misinformation, a few falsified reports. But then, slowly, the conditions began to change.

At first, it was extra tasks. Then, it was little details that didn’t quite match what you originally agreed to. And by the time you realized just how deep you were, the walls had already closed in. You weren’t an idiot. You knew from the start that Topaz's deal was too good to be true.

Numby, her ever-present companion, had taken an odd interest in you. The chubby trotter followed you around constantly, snuffling at your pockets like it expected you to start producing money.

One time, you caught it trying to chew through your coat.

“Numby, no.”

The little trotter blinked up at you innocently.

“I told you” Topaz had chuckled, leaning lazily against her desk, “Numby’s got a good eye for investments. And you?” She smirked. “You're a very valuable asset.”

You didn’t like how she said that.

You liked it even less when you started noticing the subtle shifts in her behavior.

At first, it was small things. The way your “assignments” started requiring more personal involvement. The way she casually dropped your name into IPC circles, slipping you into places you had no business being. The way Numby had started curling up in your lap without invitation, as if marking you as hers.

Your usual informants suddenly wanted nothing to do with you. Your safe houses mysteriously stopped being “safe.” Every attempt to create an exit route was subtly, effortlessly blocked.

The final straw came when you tried to leave the planet.

You had booked an anonymous ticket on a cargo ship, something low-profile, something outside of IPC jurisdiction. But when you arrived at the dock, a familiar voice rang out.

“Ohhh, I knew you’d try something like this.”

You whipped around.

Topaz stood a few feet away, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with amusement. Numby floated beside her, its little snout twitching as if sniffing out your escape attempt like a financial miscalculation.

Your stomach twisted. "How?"

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head as if disappointed. “Come on, sweetheart, do you really think I’d let you walk out of a contract so easily?”

"This wasn’t in the deal."

Topaz’s lips curled. “Mmm... No, but I am IPC, and you did agree to work for me indefinitely. Did you really not read the fine print?”

A holo-screen flickered to life beside her, displaying an altered version of your agreement. There—right at the bottom, in the tiniest, most infuriatingly vague text—you saw it:

"Duration: Until Manager Topaz deems the contract fulfilled."

"You rigged it."

Topaz grinned. "I refined it."

You took a step back. "This is insane. I never agreed to—"

"Sure you did! You just thought you could outsmart me." Her expression softened, almost fond. "But I like that about you. You keep things interesting."

Numby let out a happy squeak and nudged your leg.

You stared at them both. "You can't keep me here."

Topaz let out a slow, thoughtful hum. Then she smiled, bright and sweet.

"Numby?"

The little trotter chirped, then suddenly lunged for your ticket, chomping it out of your hand.

"NUMBY—!"

Too late. The stub was gone, devoured in one decisive bite. The tiny beast swallowed, then let out a smug snuffle, as if personally securing your financial—and physical ruin.

You gawked. "Did you just—”

Topaz stifled a laugh behind her hand. “Ahhh, Numby, good work! Always watching out for bad investments.”

Numby chirped in agreement.

You clenched your jaw, fury simmering beneath your skin. "I am not an investment."

Topaz hummed, stepping forward until she was just inches away. “Oh, but you are. A valuable one. And as long as you keep trying to leave…”

Her fingers brushed along your wrist, feather-light, yet iron in intent.

“…I’ll just have to keep reminding you where you belong.”

Numby let out a delighted snuffle.

You had never hated a tiny financial advisor more in your life.

Posing as Topaz’s subordinate had been a desperate move. You needed to buy time to find a weakness, an escape route, anything that could get you out of her grip.

But now, standing beside her in an IPC-investigated fraud case, you were beginning to regret it.

The boardroom was silent. A collection of high-ranking IPC officials sat around the table, their holo-screens filled with financial reports, transaction histories, and legal documents. A high-profile businessman had been accused of embezzlement, and it was Topaz’s job to untangle the mess.

Technically, it wasn’t your job. But since Topaz had smugly introduced you as her "trusted assistant", you had no choice but to play along.

Numby sat on the table beside you, snuffling at the paperwork.

You shot Topaz a side glance. "You’re enjoying this way too much."

She smiled sweetly. "Of course I am. You look cute when you’re pretending to follow orders."

The meeting dragged on, the accused businessman sweating under the weight of the IPC’s scrutiny. Every time he tried to defend himself, Topaz countered with ironclad numbers. He was cornered. Almost.

But something felt off. A discrepancy in the financial records. A missing link.

You glanced at the reports again, scanning quickly. Then, you saw it-an insignificant-looking transaction, hidden within a cluster of minor expenses. But the pattern…

It was deliberate. A shell account. A decoy. The real funds were funneled elsewhere.

Topaz was still talking, smoothly dismantling the businessman’s weak excuses. You leaned in slightly, your voice low.

"He's hiding it through secondary shell accounts. Check the linked subsidiaries in column D—there’s a laundering trail."

Topaz stilled.

Then, a slow, delighted smile spread across her lips.

"Ahhh, I knew keeping you was a good idea."

Without hesitation, she pulled up the subsidiary records. One glance was all she needed.

"Well, well," she mused, cutting through the businessman’s last defense like a blade. “It looks like someone’s been playing very dirty.”

The room tensed. A few keystrokes later, and the final proof was displayed for all to see.

The businessman turned pale.

The IPC officials murmured in approval.

Numby let out a triumphant chirp.

And Topaz?

She turned to you and whispered, “I think I like you even more now.”

[vodika-vibes]

post-stasis Kix falling for a resistance member who is determined to preserve and archive everything.

A Picture's Worth 1000 Words

Summary: The Empire destroyed so much information when they came into power, information that remains lost to this day. And so, when the First Order started it’s slow creep into power, you swore to yourself that it wouldn’t happen again. That you would remember, even if no one else wanted to.

Pairing: Post-Stasis Kix x GN! Reader

Word Count: 1269

Warnings: None, really.

A/N: Alright, so I kind of took Legends and smooshed it together with Canon. So, I mentioned Jaina and Jacen Solo in the story, but Rey, Fin, and Poe are also mentioned. Kylo Ren doesn't exist, but only because Jacen is right there, and in legends he falls. The Reader, in this case, is a Jedi who was raised at Luke Skywalker's Jedi Academy alongside the Solo twins.

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You release a happy hum under your breath as you sit on a stone wall, and flip through the photo album in your hands.

Well, it’s more of a scrapbook, since there are also carefully written blurbs about who the people are in the picture and what is happening. But a scrapbook is even more important than just the pictures. Because it means that there’s context!

And, this is just your most recent scrapbook, you have three others that are safely stored in your room. They’ve also been digitally scanned and saved in seven different locations.

Excessive? Maybe.

But the First Order seems to be Empire-lite, and the Empire destroyed so much history—

You shake your head, trying to physically shoo away the depressing thoughts of the past, as you close your scrapbook with a snap.

This one is done.

All you have to do is scan it in and save it to different places, which you can do before bed tonight, and then you’ll be able to move on to the fifth scrapbook. Or maybe you’ll make something else.

Scrapbooking is expensive, and the Resistance doesn’t exactly pay well. Especially for Jedi like people like you.

“You look like you’re working hard,” A familiar voice rips you from your musing, and your head snaps to the side. A bright grin crosses your face when you see who’s standing there.

Kix.

Formerly a Medic in the Clone Army, and currently a part-time bounty hunter, and someone you’re proud to call your best friend.

“You’re back!” You set the scrapbook to the side and jump to your feet, “How was your mission?”

“Uneventful,” Kix shrugs one shoulder, “Which is how I prefer my missions, to be honest.” He walks over to you and sits on the wall you abandoned, immediately grabbing the scrapbook and flipping it open. “How have things been here?”

“Same as ever.” You sit back on the wall and lean against his side, peering over his shoulder at the book, “Poe adopted a former Stormtrooper. General Solo wants you to talk to him, get to know him. You know.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

You reach over and flip a page to the one showing Fin, “Something about how you two might have more in common than you might think.” You shrug, “He’s a nice guy. Told me about how Poe gave him his name. I guess, before now, all he had was a number? FN...something.” You drop your head to his armored shoulder, “Sound familiar?”

“A bit too familiar.” Kix replies wryly, staring at the pictures for a moment, and then he closed the book and glances at you, “What else is new?”

“Mm...Jaina has two new apprentices, Fin and his friend, Rey. She’s thrilled. They’re being mentored by Master Skywalker, at least.” You list off your fingers, “Leia and Han are still hoping that Jacen can be convinced to come back to the light and that he’ll leave the First Order. Oh, and Jaina has recently decided that she doesn’t have a twin.”

“So she’s handling this whole thing like a champ.” Kix says sarcastically.

You shrug, “Avoiding uncomfortable topics seems to be standard practice for the Solo family.”

“And the Skywalker one.” Kix bumps your shoulder with his, “As much as I appreciate the rundown, I was kind of hoping for more on you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. What’s new with you?”

“You know I’m the most boring person to walk on any planet, Kix.” You reply with a shake of your head, “Nothing’s new with me.”

Kix hums thoughtfully, “You know,” He starts, almost absently, “After I was thawed, you were right there with me the whole time. Helping me navigate the new galaxy I came into.”

“Right? Of course. What kind of monster would I be if I let you do it alone?”

Kix smiles at you and lightly taps your forehead, “We’re listening, now.”

You grin at him and make the motion of zipping your lips, before motioning for him to continue.

“As I was saying,” He continues, “I owe you so much. More than I can put into words. But I also know that I don’t offer as much support as I could—” You open your mouth to argue with him, but he presses his hand over your lips, “I’m a bad friend, and I want to make up for it.”

“You’re not though!” You say, your voice muffled by his hand.

“You grew up with the Solo twins,” Kix says flatly, “You’ve known them since you were all in the single digits. You went to the new Jedi Academy together. Has anyone asked you how you’re doing with the Jacen situation?” He asks pointedly.

You recoil without meaning to. “I’m fine.” It’s the same thing you say whenever Jaina asks how you’re holding up. What you say when Master Luke asks if you’re okay.

It’s a safe answer.

Kix doesn’t believe you. It’s written on his face, plain as day.

“Really. Because your nearly obsessive desire to document everything suggests differently.”

“That’s—”

“The First Order isn’t the Empire.” Kix says firmly, “They’re not going to get as much of a hold on the Republic as the Empire did because they don’t have a Palpatine.”

“No, they just have Jacen Solo, the son of two war heroes and the nephew of Luke Skywalker.” You counter bitterly.

Kix leans back slightly, “And there it is. You know, repressing what you’re feeling isn’t healthy.”

“I’m fine.” You repeat.

“I don’t believe that.” Kix takes your hands in his and squeezes gently, “And neither do Leia or Luke. They contacted me and asked me to come and talk to you.”

Your jaw drops, “They what?”

“They’re worried. Understandably so.” Kix scans your face for a moment, “And so am I.”

You shake your head, “I’m fine, Kix.”

“You’re not, but you will be.” He rubs his thumbs over the back of your hands, and there’s a look on his face that you’ve never seen before, “Luke has asked me for a favor, to go to Tython and see what, if anything, we can learn about the Jedi order. I want you to come with me.”

“...why?”

“A, because I’m not a Jedi and I might miss something, B, I like spending time with you, and C, you need to step away from the Resistance for a little bit.”

“Okay, so first of all. You’ve never missed a thing in your life.”

“Agree to disagree. Will you come with me?”

“You hate sharing your ship with other people.” You point out.

Kix scoffs, loudly, “As if you’re other people. Be serious.”

“You know, at this rate, I’m going to start thinking you’re in love with me.” You reply with a roll of your eyes.

“Would that be so bad?”

Your eyes snap to his face, “Wait, what?”

He just grins at you and jumps to his feet, before he offers you his hand, “You heard me, cyar’ika.”

“You can’t just say it like that!” You sputter, your face burning. “Like it’s something easy.”

“It’s the easiest thing ever.” Kix leans in and takes your hand to pull you to your feet, “Loving you is easy. And I’m done trying to hide it. Now, come on. We need to tell Leia that you’re coming with me.”

“I didn’t actually agree—”

“But you’re gonna.” Kix says smugly.

“...you’re a dick, sometimes.”

“True. And yet, you still love me.”

And, at that, you huff and avert your gaze, refusing to answer him. But then, you don’t have to. After all, you’d follow him anywhere and everyone knows it.

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

@etod

@kiss-anon

@lonewolflupe

@silly-starfish

@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

@badbatch-bitch

@continous-mistakes

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@sailorflora

[flaneur001]

14 Days with you Royal Au (ongoing series) [Pairings- Enemy Duke! Redacted x GN Reader]

[Word count- 3172] [CW- Angst, Smut, Knife play] [A/N- Previously posted in the 14dwy discord server. Redacted belongs to @14dayswithyou]

[part 1] [part 2]

Part 2: The Evasive Enemy

You sat picturesquely at the ornate oak desk, absentmindedly twirling the quill in your hand as you stared blankly at the parchment resting before you. 

‘Whatever will I write?’ You mused silently as you dipped the tip of the quill in the open ink pot and scribbled the first words that came to your mind after an hour-long of dilly-dallying.

The dimly lit marital chamber was quiet save for the occasional scritch-scratch of your quill. 

Dearest Father, I am in good health. I know you have been worried about my prolonged silence to your lettered inquiries. But I find myself at a loss for words at the way I have been so utterly taken care of here.  We were mistaken to assume that he would fall for such baser fancies. A week has passed by and he has not visited since. Never laid a finger upon me. Always quiet and busy with his own devices. I am at a crossroads. The azure-eyed Duke seems even more mysterious now that I live under the same roof as him. Father, I have been granted permission to peruse his archives, without any surveillance. This seems suspicious, almost like a well-set trap. Though he is yet to show any animosity towards me. But I would be foolish to look a gift horse in the mouth. Keep your worries at bay father. I shall always keep myself and my safety first.  I have received the information about the article through your trusted aide, and I will bide my time until it's safe to infiltrate his study.  Until then, take Care. I will keep you informed.

Sealing the letter and putting it in the drawer, you stretched languidly and gently pushed the chair back. Your long robe billowed behind you as you trudged towards your four-poster bed and plopped upon the welcoming plushness of the pillows. Unbidden your face lolled to the side and your eyes landed upon the golden ring that rested atop the pillow on his side of the bed. The ring that he had left behind for you. It was the only evidence that he had actually been here. In flesh. 

The whole week, you were treated to rich meals, dressed in the finest of silks and jewelry, yet amidst all the niceties something constantly felt amiss. At first, you brushed it off to mere homesickness, but as time passed a cruel understanding dawned upon you. 

On those rare occasions when you caught glimpses of the Handsome Duke walking in the hallways, you felt this forlornness tug at your heart. Even back at your family residence, although you were loved, the brunt of all the responsibilities fell upon your shoulders after your mother’s death. You were always expected to be the guardian and the responsible oldest child for the five of your younger siblings. 

So gentleness and affection were seldom directed towards you. Hence when the Duke showered you with so much tenderness that first night, in his warm embrace you felt like you belonged. Like you had finally found a tether for your wandering soul.  His cold gaze slowly travelling the length of your body like a hidden caress, still lingered fresh in your mind and you felt guilt simmer in the back of your throat.

You were not here for this. Your life was far from normal and he was the reason why your great noble house had perished. Yet you simply couldn’t will yourself to forget the touch of his hands, the graze of his warm lips on the sensitive spot on your neck, or the way he hugged you when you slept. You hated to admit it, but you were downhearted to find yourself alone the morning after. The whole estate was abuzz with the news of the Duke consummating his marriage with the oldest child of the rival clan.

You were not a fool, nor were you naive enough to avoid the snarky gossip that always bubbled under the pretense of politeness in your presence. 

“His Grace has not visited them after the first night…”

“Maybe he was not satisfied?”, the servants chortled as they flitted about your room while cleaning or serving you meals.

You let them babble because your target was something else entirely. The Duke had something in his possession. Something that linked him to the murder of your mother and the conspiracy that destroyed the reputation of your house. Your initial plan was to seduce him and distract him enough that he began trusting you to let his guard down. Yet here you were, trapped in a golden confinement, with every treasure in the world laid at your feet. He even went ahead and granted you access to his archives and his office, without even batting an eye. This gnawed at your mind and slowly chewed you up on the inside. 

‘Does he not care?’ You wondered. 

You were named, ‘The prized possession’ by the people in the estate. Compared and downgraded to the several expensive objects that the Duke won and then instantly got bored with. Lay in some deep recesses of the estate gathering dust and forgotten. They said that you will soon be treated like that. And somehow this line of thought added to your insecurities.

“Or Maybe I’m not as important as I thought myself to be…” you murmured, suddenly regretting not putting in more effort that night. Regretting not begging him to stay. 

A flurry of activity and noises caught your attention breaking this downhill stream of thoughts. Rising fluidly you walked towards the bay window and nudged it open checking for yourself what all the ruckus was about. The young maids giggled and chattered under your window, pointing towards the practice grounds for soldiers. 

“Look, the Duke is out sparring today” The ladies squealed and peeked from behind a bush. Your interest piqued, you walked towards your balcony and leaned on the vine-covered railing to get a proper view. Surely enough, the young duke was in an intense sparring match. He was wearing black leather pants with high boots, his torso left completely exposed for all to see. You gulped unconsciously, eyes traitorously following the way his muscles rippled when he threw, blow after expert blow with his war sledgehammer. His long black hair swished around and beads of sweat rolled down his pale skin making you shiver involuntarily, at the way your degenerate mind imagined him sweaty and panting atop you in bed. 

Before you could make a hasty exit, the Duke’s eyes flitted to the balcony as if sensing your presence and his mouth lifted in a half smirk like he somehow knew what was going through your mind. Blood rushed to your face and you quickly ducked inside.

Evening fell. You were bathed and dressed by the chambermaid Iansa. She was very sweet and you two had bonded over this last week, getting familiar with each other through the little interesting anecdotes she shared about the Duke’s estate. 

As she took your leave, you began your daily routine. Sitting half-dressed in the center of the bed like some common whore waiting for the Duke to visit. Only that he took much pleasure in keeping you on your toes and never visiting.

A beat of silence passed. The oil lamps lining the walls flickered. Until the last shred of your patience cracked and you rose from your bed. Putting on the lush slippers you pushed open the giant double doors and walked outside into the cold and empty hallways of the Duke’s mansion. You marched towards the Duke’s office throwing all caution to the wind. 

“This is enough, I’m done waiting” you mumble as you neared the entrance to the office. Slowly, you entered inside finding it absurd that nobody was guarding the entrance to this room. You smirked to yourself, reveling at the idea of seeing the surprised expression on the Duke’s face once he realized how you, whom he thought so insignificant, was the one responsible for putting him in his rightful place. The tyrant deserved nothing but to rot in a prison. Strangely enough, the thought of getting revenge helped keep this gnawing urge to kiss the smirk off of his smug face at bay.

“Serves him well for treating me like a plaything” you mutter under your breath as you eagerly work through the rows and rows of documents filed neatly for your tampering. A chilly air from the open window, nipped at your exposed skin, the scant lace outfit not providing much to shield you from the cold temperatures. You suppressed a shiver as you grabbed a few files and took them to the window to get a better look at, under the moonlight pouring in through the glass window.

As you skimmed through the documents, a warm hand snaked around your waist, spinning you. Surprised, you were about to let a scream fall from your lips when another hand pressed tightly on your mouth, muffling it effectively. 

“Shhh Angel, we don’t want to alert the guards now, do we?” A husky voice asked. Moving from the shadows, the moonlight bathing his figure, Duke Ren smiled down triumphantly at you, like a predator who had just caught his prey.

Slowly, he released his grip on your mouth only to rest both his hands behind you on the desk effortlessly trapping you between his arms. His face inched closer as his ice-blue eyes burned into yours, “So you finally grew weary of waiting, I assume” he purred. His deep baritone made you think of unspeakable things.

You clenched your teeth, staring back at him defiantly, “Why ask me to wait if you were never going to visit” you hissed, mulish and miffed.

His eyes widened by a fraction, warm chuckle spilling through his cherry-tinted lips, bringing your attention to them. 

“Why, Angel such…temper” he tsked, “One would think you missed me.” His hand shot out, trailing a slender finger on your temple, down your cheek, only to come to rest at your chin. His calloused hand cupped your jaw, bringing his thumb to your mouth to trace the shape of your lips. 

Your breath hitched in your throat, as he rubbed the pad of his thumb across the seam of your lips, pushing and prodding until it entered your mouth. His thumb moved around, exploring the warm wetness, as his face came impossibly closer to yours, “Let me in, Angel” he breathed.

And you don’t know if it was the curiosity or the way his eyes held your gaze so enticingly, that made you want to obey everything that fell from those lips. Closing your eyes you opened your mouth wider, wide enough for him to push three fingers in, pumping them in and out as your greedy tongue lapped against them. Unbidden a moan escaped you, and his other hand grabbed your hip, fingers digging into your flesh as he roughly pulled you closer to his body, thrusting your cores together.

“Look at me love” he whispered in your ear, nipping the shell playfully before his mouth descended to your neck, to leave open-mouthed kisses.

You groaned and opened your eyes, breath already coming out in shallow pants.

“For someone who claims to hate me, you sure love me touching you. You like to think of such debauched fancies don't you?” he snickered with roguish pride, “Driving you wild. Taking you to the depraved depths and back…defiling you” he spoke hotly in your ear, his erection tenting temptingly in his leather pants.

“Please” you begged, not knowing if you wanted him to release or ravish you. 

“Please what Angel?” He challenged smirking cruelly as he, all too soon, removed himself from you, and folded his arms across his chest, regarding you with thinly veiled amusement.

A wild blush rose to your cheeks. He waited in silence as if he expected you to actually utter the vulgar words. Your chest still heaved, body warmed up with his skillful ministrations. And suddenly your mind painted an image of him in bed with other people. Jealousy like never before threatened to take over you. 

‘How is he so skilled? Has he been going to others every night?’ You mused darkly.

“Let me go” you whimpered, angry tears pricked your eyes half from humiliation and half from longing. Pulling the lace robe tighter to cover your modesty you whispered, “I do not belong here” carefully avoiding his eyes.

“Hm, I see” he began, as he leaned down, slowly sliding a dagger out from his leather boot. He balanced the blade on his fingers as he almost toyed with the weapon.

“You are right about one thing, Angel”, he drawled, as he stepped into the moonlight giving you a good view of the dagger in his grasp. Its silver blade glinted sinisterly in the dark, bejeweled hilt looking magnificent, fit for a person of his stature.

His blue eyes flit to yours silently daring you to break eye contact, “you don’t belong in this room” he murmured, pointedly staring at the scattered documents around you. 

“Bu-but you gave me access to your archives without surveillance” you sputtered, licking your lips as you felt cornered by his unrelenting gaze. A quiet dread filled your guts.

He tilted his head, regarding you with an inscrutable expression, and you took him in for the first time this evening. He was wearing all black like always. A silk shirt with the laces half done that exposed his broad chest. Tight high-waisted bottoms that accentuated his shapely midsection. His long black hair was loosely tied in a plait, making him look like a vision. 

But something about the way his sapphire eyes glimmering with that melancholic look, made him appear vulnerable in this moment.

A beat of silence passed, and he waited, the air simmering with the heavy tension between you both, as he looked at you with hopeful anticipation. For what, you didn’t know.

Slowly, tentatively he walked, closing the distance between you both again.

“Angel” he breathed. And somehow that one single word broke you. For it was spoken with such disappointment and fragility you never expected from this tyrannical Duke.

“I gave you access to my archives because I trusted you.” He ground, “I went against my advisers, against the whole estate, vouching for you, marrying you. Why do you think there was no guard stationed outside this room?” With each uttered word he stepped closer until you both were hairsbreadth apart.

“So tell me, was it all for naught?” He stressed, and the accusation stung like he had slapped you.

But you couldn’t lie to him. Not when you have been so perpetually lying to yourself. 

“This was a marriage of convenience between our households and nothing more, your grace” you replied curtly, ignoring the way his grip tightened around the dagger or the way his gaze darkened at your blatant aloofness. But you pressed on, delivering the final blow you knew would break him.

“You were and will continue to be nothing to me”

A snarl escaped his lips, and he was on you in an instant. You could feel the cold metal of the dagger pressing against your neck as he hissed, “Go. Take it all away. Whatever you were here searching for, take it. But do not lie to me Angel” his voice cracked, gaze softened, eyes searching your face desperately. 

“Not when the longing in your eyes so plainly mirrors the longing in my heart”  

Maybe it was the way the dagger pressed into your throat, a slice away from stealing your life, or maybe it was the way your face reflected in his ocean-blues, as if you were the only thing his eyes saw, that you yanked him close, pulling his mouth to yours in a needy kiss.

A low groan escaped him, sending a shiver down your spine. His hot tongue slipped into your mouth roughly entangling with yours in a sensual dance. 

You arched into him. The metal of the dagger sandwiched between your throats,  pricking your skins, was an ironic symbol of the enmity and the dark lust that often surrounded you both.

Every caution, every coherence fled your mind when his other hand raked through your hair, angling you into a deeper kiss. As the scant distance between you diminished, the blade broke your skin, sending you into a frenzy of pain and pleasure.

The heady aroma of mint and cherries invaded all your senses, mingled with the scent that was uniquely his. You were drunk off of him, intoxicated and utterly lost in depravity.

But when his teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, a whine reverberated deep in your chest and your hips involuntarily bucked forward, rubbing into his engorged arousal. He groaned and your eyes snapped open at the loss when he stepped back and moved the dagger away from your throat. 

Your mouth involuntarily chased his, earning a soft chuckle from the man.

Catching you by surprise, he suddenly dropped to his knees. He grabbed your wrist, placing the dagger in your open palm, as he stared up at you. 

“I am at your mercy now, beloved” he whispered, hands coming to rest at your thighs as he blinked at you, azure eyes glinting like precious gems in the dark.

“So slice my throat and reduce me to nothingness. But do it while you hold my gaze. For that’s the sight I want to remember when I die” he spoke with a rueful smile upon his face and a fierce anger bubbled inside you at the sight.

You were angry at the way he toyed with your emotions, angry at the way you were lusting after a man who was responsible for your family’s destruction. Angry…at the way you were falling for him.

‘Why did you have to meet me like this?’ was the last thought that flashed in your mind as you flung the dagger across the room vehemently, shattering the ornate mirror adorning the wall. 

You gave him one last searing look before marching to the door, not wanting him to see the lone tear that had rolled down your cheek.

The moment your hand reached for the handle, his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist spinning you around, as he pulled you flush to his chest. 

A hand cupped your cheek as he leaned in kissing the tears that fell traitorously from your eyes. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He simply rocked you in his embrace peppering kisses on every inch of your face. 

Then his head ducked down, languidly licking the little wound left behind by his dagger. His own neck held the same marks as yours.Just when you thought he was done, he tilted your chin making you face him fully as he whispered against your mouth, “Poor choice to keep me alive. Now I shall remind you every passing second of the day, that you are mine” he purred, “Mine to love and mine to ruin”

[muffinrecord]

Current Plans + Musings

I don't plan on playing Exedra to the degree I did for Magia Record, or playing it at all. Because of that, I won't be taking an active role in the community and archiving anything for it. Of course, if Exedra has like amazing gameplay and stories then this is all subject to change, but for now I think I'm done with phone games.

The two youtube channels will stay up and I'll check em periodically to make sure there aren't copyright strikes against the content. I've saved all my raw files, especially for the battle animations, so I can remake them in the future if the music ever becomes a problem for some reason.

Google Drive will stay up until Google rots away. I haven't recorded footage in a long time (as in stories, I do for the character doppels and such), but I'll upload things if they're sent to me.

Magia Union Translations still plans on translating things and making videos, especially leading up to the end, but also for after the game is over for whatever wasn't made in time. I'm not sure what form this will take in the future-- if it'll be manual captions added to the videos or not, but I know it WILL happen.

As for this blog, I'm not going to delete it or anything. However I'm going to be taking a step back. I'd like to say that I'll do liveblogs but I mean... *gestures at blog* I've been saying that for years and the only one I really did successfully was the Oriko one lmao. Ahhh oh well.

I'll have more words later, but it was really fun to be part of a fandom experience like this. I'm excited to work on my own original story projects though and quiet down a bit.

...

When I started this blog, I never expected it to have people actually read it. Or look at it. I just wanted a place to gush about how much fun I was having. I didn't even want to tag the posts with "Magia Record" at first because I was terrified people would be mean at me, haha.

But I'm glad I did. I made so many good friends through this game. I'm glad it existed. And it made me happy to have a place where people cared about what I had to say. Some folks actually got their news from here, can you imagine that? They had notifications turned on for this blog. My god.

Anyways, I'm going to be here for the next two months, and tomorrow I'll start reblogging fan projects and initiatives, plus general news. Maybe this blog will turn into a dumping site for art and fanfic reblogs, who knows. I might watch the remaining stuff and add various thoughts here and there.

Otherwise, you can find me on my main blog @malignmuffin, which only reblogs stuff (I don't talk much if at all there). I have another tumblr blog for my comic, but I think I'll reshare the name once I actually have content you can look at on it. It's pretty bare bones for the moment.

Actually it'll be funny if the end of this game is what makes me finally work on it again. I was in the process of working on it when NA came out, and it totally derailed me. Stopped writing, drawing, just focused on this silly little phone game. Now it's like those five years have gone by and I'm going back to where I started, except I think my lil comic is going to be a bit better than it was before. If I actually make it, that is.

If I ever do actually make my comic and start posting it, I'll be sure to update y'all here. hah

Anyways, thanks for being on this wild ride with me. The memories have been great, and I'm glad I had this experience, even if it had to end.

[anneapocalypse]

Go ahead and be my world And everything will be okay Just hide there in plain sight Too big to see, yeah to see.

Musings and bonus shots below.

This is a redo of an old gpose, one of my really early ones, which I loved in concept but was pretty rough around the edges in execution. I always wanted to redo it in the new graphics, and of course that makes a huge difference, with the flowers in Il Mheg being night and day in terms of resolution, a truly spectacular environmental glow-up, and of course Urianger is looking more beautiful than ever these days. But I've also learned a lot since then, and am still learning--different tools, lighting, composition, I'm always trying to learn more! I also don't bother using pre-made poses anymore. Character sizes vary so much that with all the adjustment required, I think it's just easier to start with some emotes as a base and then build off of that, and I get much closer to what I was actually envisioning.

And I really wanted to capture this moment the way it is in my mind, because it's a special moment for Ariane and Urianger. They've saved the First, survived all that came along with it, spent some time apart while Ariane came to terms with the deception, reconciled and rekindled their friendship--and now, with the need to bring the Scions home looking increasingly dire, they've finally confessed their love for one another.

As the final preparations are made for their return, Ariane comes to see Urianger in Il Mheg where he is packing up the collection at the Bookman's Shelves to be archived in the Crystarium. Though there is much to be done, Urianger suggests a brief diversion, and so they walk down to the lake, and sit on the shore, their last chance to be together here. Though their affection for each other had been growing for some time before Urianger was pulled away to the First, in a sense Il Mheg still feels like the place where they fell in love--certainly the place they both first knew it.

The future is still uncertain, and Ariane, in particular, is still scared that just now, when they have such a chance at happiness, she'll lose him too. Knowing that nothing is promised to them, she is determined to savor every moment they have together all the more.