#shading is again vexing me

[aurosoulart]

wip of the next comm example: painted icons...... featuring Yew! my sona! he looks very polite

[kamitv]

Your best friend Sukuna is a complete slut.

Though you’d never say that aloud—albeit more than true. That's the only way to describe him because why else would he be in your bedroom, sitting on the edge of your bed, with his legs spread wide open, fingers wrapped around his thick cock, and groans of your name leaving his lips?

Because he’s a goddamn slut, that’s why. And normally when you interrupt his… sexual acts, you quietly apologize and rush off as quickly as possible.

Yet, here you were, being ordered by your best friend not to run away this time.

“I’m not gonna repeat myself,” Sukuna’s raspy and slightly husked voice drawls out to you, eyes boring into yours from across the room, “Bring your ass over here.”

Funny how he said he wasn’t going to repeat himself only to follow up with a literal repeat of his initial order-

“Now,” He hums, his voice sending a chill down your spine.

You stiffen up where you stand, trying your absolute best to keep your eyes anywhere and everywhere else except for the hand he had stroking his cock.

Gulping, “Sukuna-,” He shoots you a pointed glare and you start getting nervous. “You can’t just… j-jerk off in my room and expect me to… to help you.”

“Fuck,” He hisses, your eyes nearly falling on him again as the low noise makes you fidget, “Fine, then get out,” Sukuna tells you.

Your brows push together at the audacity of him, not that it really surprises you anymore, “But-“

“Out. I’ll be done soon,” He cuts off, sitting back and fisting his cock at a quicker pace, eyes drinking in every inch of your still figure.

You didn’t want to look at him. Nor did you want him jerking off in your bedroom. But, you also didn’t want to leave for some strange reason.

Hence why you just stand there and look around your room as if you don’t know the interior already. Sukuna can’t help but crack a smirk as you stand there, his breath growing heavy before he calls your name— watching the way you flinch at the sound.

“Kinda’ awkward if you just stand there, y’know,” He chuckles out to you, finding you oh so amusing.

You frown, “Kinda’ awkward if you just jerk off in my bedroom.”

“It wouldn’t be if you came over here,” He snaps back.

You hate how quick he always is with his responses, something you still haven’t gotten used to throughout all your years of friendship. Swallowing, you just barely glance at the man, “What?” You huff out.

Your eyes were on his and his were on yours. Tension was vexed into his gaze, desire pouring out of his maroon shaded eyes and making you so utterly nervous as you stood across the room from him.

All as he just sat there, shirtless, tattooed and chiseled chest very difficult not to gaze at, large thighs spread lewdly, and hard curved cock twitching within his grasp as precum oozed out his tip.

You couldn’t help the way your gaze dropped for a moment, catching sight of his cock and the way his plump tip glistened under your dim bedroom lighting. His hand movements got noticeable faster as you watched and you drew your thighs closer together.

Sukuna lets out a deep sigh, “Y’know,” The sound of his voice makes you flinch yet again and you lift your gaze as though you’d been caught doing something wrong, seeing the smirk on his face, “You can come get a closer look.”

You bat your lashes at him, “W-What?”

“Is that all you know how to say?” He chuckles, “Hah, just c’mere already,” He suddenly requests, voice softening ever so slightly. “I won’t bite.”

And that’s… roughly how you ended up on your knees in between his legs. With a mouthful of his cock, you don’t even remember what’d come over you after you listened to his request and came close to him.

One moment you started shyly teasing him about being a pervert who jerks off in your bedroom and the next you were curling your fingers around his shaft and making your way down to your knees. Sukuna had let out a long shaky sigh as he watched you settle in between his spread legs, his urge to tease you dying off as some other emotion swelled within his chest.

He’ll never admit it to you but, he was shy. How could he not be when your soft hand begins stroking his cock like he’s just some kinda toy for you to play with—what’d you expect him to do when you look up at him and lean forward to wrap your lips around his drooling cockhead? 

Unfortunately for him, his expression gave away everything and as soon as his dick began disappearing into the warm caverns of your mouth, he was a goner. A hand was now tightly gripped onto your scalp, his breathing unsteady as he watched you suck him off with that pretty ass mouth of yours.

He’ll never be able to forget the sight of drool spilling out from the corners of your mouth while you tried your best to take him all the way into your throat. And his mind just about blanks when you move your hands to his thighs, push them further apart, and then sink down completely—your lips meeting his base.

Now that was a sight to see. 

“F-Fuck,” Sukuna stammered, the sound alone leading you to choke a bit as a moan attempted to leave your throat. His darkened eyes were seconds away from rolling to the back of his skull with how sexy he found the sight of your lips bulging around his thick cock.

When you finally do pull your mouth off of him, he doesn’t even get a moment to breathe before your hands are wrapping around him. He goes from leaning back slightly to sitting up a bit straighter and moving his hands down to one of your wrists, his lips unknowingly quivering.

Then a pant escapes him and you’re bringing your eyes back up to look at him. “Slow, woman—fuck, go… hah, slow.” He says hoarsely.

Oh the desperation on his face was priceless. Why ever would you listen to him when using two hands to jerk him off is all it takes to receive a slightly pouted lip and furrowed brows from him. He probably doesn’t even realize the face he’s making at the moment, too grumpy trying to take control of the situation to feel his features faltering. 

You coo, “Aw, go slow? But, ‘Kuna, I thought this was what you wanted?” 

The nickname you just threw at him has to be evil in some way, shape, or form because the wild twitch it invokes is enough to have your hands tightening their grip around his thick cock. 

Sukuna grits his teeth and you can see a vein popping out in his forehead—he’s so annoyed with you now that the roles have reversed, it’s cute. “Fuck you,” He curses, as if that’ll help him avoid the embarrassment bubbling up within him right now.

“Oh, there he is,” You purr, removing one of your hands just to angle his cock back toward your lips and then tapping it against your skin gently. “S’kinda hard to be mean to me when I’m makin’ you feel so good, isn’t it?”

He swears you’ll be the death of him. He’s never experienced this side of you, nor was he aware it even existed. All he’s ever known you as was his shy roommate who’s so unintentionally attractive that it pains him to be around. Is this really the same woman who was stuttering moments ago when she walked in the room and caught him jerking off??

Sukuna huffs out an almost bratty breath of air, “Stop… talking.” Just as he’s never seen this side of you, you’ve never seen this side of him and fuck is it hot. He’s usually such a big intimidating man and yet here he is literally folding and gasping to your touch.

You completely strip your hands away from his cock and then open your mouth, staring right up into his eyes as you whisper, “Make me.”

All that embarrassment and temporary shyness is gone within the blink of an eye. Sukuna’s stumbling up slightly to his feet and grabbing a firm hold of the top of your head, letting out a gruff sigh while taking his dick into his hands and properly aligning himself with your mouth.

His chest is glistening in sweat and his head is pounding, he was all nervous seconds ago for what? Because of you? Oh please.

It only took those two words of yours for him to remember who the hell he is as he then thrusts his hips forward and quickly fucks himself into your mouth. “That’s more like it,” Sukuna grunts, giving your mouth some mean thrusts as he forces your head to move and meet each one of his motions. “Fuckin’ slut, m-makin me nervous,” He admits hoarsely, his tone aggravated with you. “Who do you think you are, huh?”

You’re obviously too busy getting your face fucked to answer that properly but the moan you let out that leads to drool filthily dribbling out your mouth is enough of a reply for him. Especially when he catches how it drips down onto your thighs. 

Sukuna releases a pretty groan out into the air at the mere sight of you. He thought he was losing his mind before but now it’s even worse. You don’t even have your hands on his thighs to try and brace yourself or control what’s happening—you just let him have his way with your throat, taking things a step further and moving your hands behind your slightly arched back.

Fuck, he needs a picture of this. He desperately needs this display of you burned into the forefront of his mind for the rest of his life. Especially as he starts hitting the back of your throat and you purposefully choke against him. Sukuna’s other hand lifts to cover his mouth because he swears he almost whined.

Your throats too fuckin’ tight, you’re holding eye contact with him for too damn long, and if he feels your tongue flick against that specific vein of his one more time—

“Hnngh—” Sukuna moans, his grip almost bruising as his head flies back and his cock presses right against the very depths of your mouth, hips stalling with the way his orgasm comes rudely rushing out of him. 

Then he feels you swallowing and even though he was trying to keep you head still, you begin to bob yourself back and forth on his cock while he’s cumming and that’s when a whimper is choked out from his lips. Sukuna’s whole body just clenches and he’s letting out all kinds of sounds as his hand, now shaky, holds onto your head for dear life.

Even when he stops cumming, you’re still sucking and his eyes roll back, voice coming out strained. “S-Shit, fuck—stop,” Sukuna moans again, “Please?” Never in all your years of living did you ever think you’d hear Sukuna Ryomen begging you for something and yet here you are.

You steadily pull your mouth off of him with a slick pop, sting after string of saliva hanging in between his tip and your glossy lips. He’s above you panting for a moment before stumbling back to sit down on the edge of your bed again.

A hand of yours moves to causally wipe your mouth off and you don’t even know if you wanna tease him now or later about what just happened. “So, that was—”

“Don’t speak,” He cuts off immediately, his voice surprisingly airy. “Ever. Never bring this up again.”

You snort, “Promise me you won’t jerk off in my room again, first.”

Sukuna scoffs. “Tch. Whatever.”

Like the vixen you are, you begin to lean toward him again and you don’t know if you image it but he flinches ever so slightly. “Promise me,” You say as your hands meet his knees and you begin to lift yourself up.

His eyes go wide and he internally panics at the sight of you moving. “Fucking fine. I promise.”

Smiling, you move to lean over his tensed body and plant a kiss on his cheek, “Good boy.”

…

Yeahhh, his brain just powered off.

pt. 2

[vroomvro0mferrari]

LN4 | Vexing Vacation – Part 5

Summary: When you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. Now, that you’re constantly stuck with Lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him.

Lando Norris x Fewtrell!Reader, one-bed trope, a lot of banter and a hint of forced proximity :)

WC: 3.9K

Warnings: only mentions of sex/sexual insinuations this time

Part 1 | Part 4 | Masterlist | Part 6

Lando had completely forgotten about the night before when he woke up, surprised to feel the warmth of something pressed against him. His eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the bright morning light shining through the curtains. It took a moment to register the weight resting on his chest, but when he glanced down and was met with a familiar head of hair nestled against his shoulder, everything came back to him.

Y/N was still curled up beside him, her arm draped over his torso, while her soft, steady breath repeatedly brushed his neck. His heart skipped a beat at the sight, barely daring to move. She looked so peaceful, so relaxed as she lay in his arms. He had never expected this as one of the outcomes of his vacation – to have his longtime crush cuddled up to him while she slept.

He checked the time on his phone with his free hand, realising that breakfast would be served for only one more hour. He lay still, wondering what to do. He didn’t want to break her peaceful resting state, but he should wake her up, right? She’d be upset if she’d miss breakfast, and he couldn’t go down to get her something without waking her up anyway.

He ran a hand through her hair a few times, scratching her scalp in the hope it’d wake her up. She stirred a bit in response, so Lando continued – they had some time, he reasoned. Besides, he wanted to make the most of the moment, this probably wouldn’t happen again anytime soon. He wouldn’t mind waking up like this every morning; Y/N right next to him when he awakens, and cuddling before getting up for the day. 

After a few more minutes of playing with her hair, Y/N seemed to have woken up. She sighed before snuggling closer to Lando, burying her face in his torso as she pulled the duvet tighter. Lando smiled at her reaction, and kept scratching her head while she remained blissfully unaware of what – or rather, who – she was cuddling up to. 

She remained like that for a while, completely unaware of the situation she had gotten herself into. Eventually, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her groggy brain not fully awake yet. She blinked a few times but didn’t move, enjoying how warm and comfortable she felt. The realisation came slowly; she was resting against something firm, and—what was that in her hair?

Her breath hitched, and she froze in place. Lando could feel her body tense against him, and he knew the moment was over. She slowly shifted her head to look at him, eyes darting up to see Lando staring down at her with a small smile. She was horrified to find out that not only had she asked him to keep her warm last night, she had cuddled up to him all night, and snuggled even closer while he was awake.

“Morning,” Lando said softly, his voice low, running his hand through her hair one last time.

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she shot up from his chest as if it burned her, her face flushing a deep shade of red. “Oh my God,” she muttered under her breath, quickly untangling herself from the duvet and scrambling to sit up. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t realise. I was—”

Lando chuckled at her frazzled state, Y/N’s wild eyes matching her hair (entirely his fault).

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow.

Y/N’s face burned red as she combed through her hair, trying to make herself more presentable. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” She mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

Lando shrugged, a gentle smile on his face. “You seemed comfortable. I was too, I didn’t mind,” he said in a soft tone.

He stared at her in her disgruntled state. God, she was adorable. He loved it when she was like this; all shy and nervous. He didn’t get to see it often – although this was already the second time in a few days – but when he did, he just wanted to scoop her up, protect her, and reassure her. He had lied to Max yesterday, he didn’t just like her. He was quite sure he had fallen in love with her already.

“Well, I mind,” she mumbled. “I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you last night—”

“It’s okay, Y/N. Really. I already told you I don’t mind.”

She sighed. “This never happened,” she declared, trying to regain some control over the situation.

Lando’s grin widened. “Sure,” he agreed, “but if you get cold again tonight, you know where to find me.” 

Y/N was mortified at what she had done, and Lando’s teasing didn’t make it any better. She watched as Lando got out of bed and stepped into the bathroom. She tried to wrap her head around the situation now that she was alone. She couldn’t believe she had actually willingly asked Lando to hold her – it was so humiliating. But then again, she was so comfortable and warm when she woke up, and he smelled good too. No, she needed to banish those thoughts out of her head immediately. 

Her face was still red when Lando got out of the shower, or maybe it turned red again when she saw him shirtless, she wasn’t entirely sure. Anyhow, it was obvious and Lando noticed straight away, a cheeky grin forming on his face at her flustered state and the way she tried (and failed) to hide her staring.

“The shower’s free.”

“Hm? Yes, thank you,” she mumbled, quickly scurrying into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

“You should hurry up though, breakfast will be over soon,” Lando shouted through the bathroom door. 

The two got ready quickly, and headed downstairs to get some food before eleven a.m. Y/N immediately pulled Pietra aside with the excuse of getting drinks when they reached the hotel restaurant.

“I desperately need your opinion later,” she said as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Why? What happened?”

“I can’t tell it all right now, it’s too much for the short moment we have, but let’s say I completely embarrassed myself last night and this morning,”

“You’re making me very curious. I’m sure whatever you did can’t be that bad.”

“Ha!” Y/N exclaimed, “you’ve no idea.”

“Well, Max and I thought we could all go to the beach today because of the change of plans earlier this week. I’m sure you’ll have enough time to tell me all about it then.” Pietra sent her a reassuring smile as they walked back to the table with their tea.

Y/N nodded in agreement, only to accidentally make eye contact with Lando as she glanced over to the table. He was already seated, an eyebrow raised in suspicion as he observed the hushed conversation. She blushed under his watchful eye, as he sent her a cheeky, knowing smile in return – he knew exactly what she and Pietra had been talking about.

Flustered, Y/N sank into her seat beside Lando while the group discussed today’s plans. Meanwhile, Lando remained cool and unbothered, as if nothing unusual had happened that night. He was far too relaxed, smiling teasingly at her whenever they made eye contact and nonchalantly resting his arm on her chair – it only made her more self-conscious about the situation; why was she so rattled when he appeared completely unaffected?

“So, a beach day then?” Max suggested, leaning back in his chair.

“Definitely,” Lando confirmed, his eyes flicking over to Y/N briefly, but she was far too preoccupied with her thoughts. The mention of the beach triggered a fresh wave of panic – beach day meant shirtless Lando. If she couldn't handle a brief glimpse of him this morning, how was she supposed to survive a whole day with him half-naked in front of her? Her stomach churned at the thought, the nerves already creeping in.

They soon finished their breakfast and headed up to their rooms to collect their things for the beach. Y/N double-checked her bag – sunblock, towel, sunglasses, something to distract herself from Lando? Check. – before Lando strolled back into the room. 

“Are you ready?” He asked her, casually watching her from the doorframe. His eyes slowly looked her over, staring at the shape of her body that shone through the thin cover-up she was wearing. She looked over the room to see if she’d missed anything, an endeared smile coming over Lando’s features as he watched her. Her adorable habit of checking everything repeatedly was something new he learned about her this vacation. “Don’t forget your swimsuit, yeah?” He told her teasingly.

Her head shot up at the comment. “You know I’ve already got that on, Lando.”

“Just making sure,” he said, raising his hands in surrender, the mischief in his eyes clearly visible. When she finally scooped up her bag, Lando led them downstairs and to the car, where Pietra and Max were already settled in. Lando’s hand once again found its place on her back, lightly resting there as he gently guided her across the street to the car. It seemed almost like a routine for Lando; whenever Y/N would step a foot off the curb, his hand would rise to her back, as if she couldn’t cross the street on her own. Despite how much it annoyed her, it felt nice—warm and familiar, and she had to resist the urge not to lean into his comforting touch.

Lando didn’t let go of her until they reached the car, where he opened the door with a flourish. “M’Lady,” he said, dipping his head in a playful bow as he gestured for her to get in. Y/N rolled her eyes at his unnecessary antics, but climbed in the car. Lando took her bag from her to put in the trunk, and softly closed the door once she was settled. She was at a loss for words for his behaviour. He had apparently taken up the role of a gentleman again, just like on their date—no, not a date, the day they spent alone, without Max and Pietra.

Lando joined her in the back seat not much later, taking the middle seat, leaving barely any space between the two of them. She cocked a brow as he buckled himself in and leant back in his seat.

“What are you doing?” She asked him.

He looked at her in surprise. “Getting in the car?” He responded confusedly and Y/N rolled her eyes at the obvious answer.

“Why are you sitting so close to me? Need attention, do you?” 

Lando scoffed. “Hardly. Didn’t have to beg for your touch last night, did I?”

Y/N immediately flushed red at the insinuation, making eye contact with Pietra through the mirror. Pietra raised a brow at Lando’s words, intrigued at what he was hinting at but didn’t say anything – she would hear all about it soon enough.

“I’m just sitting here so I can see where we’re going,” Lando explained in response to her silence.

“Right,” Y/N said, embarrassed at herself. Of course, he was only sitting there for the view. Why had she immediately thought there was an ulterior motive? Yet, when Max turned onto a gravel road, she couldn’t help but be suspicious of Lando’s reasoning; at every small bump on the road his knee or arm brushed against hers. The mischievous smile that tugged at his lips at whenever they touched wasn’t just her imagination, was it?

She shook the thought from her head, instead concentrating on keeping her body as steady, and as far away from Lando as possible. It was useless; every time she scooched closer to the door to avoid his touch, Lando just spread his legs a little wider. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he merely seemed amused, as if he was driving her crazy on purpose.

She was so focused on staying away from him that she hadn’t seen the particularly deep pothole coming – the pothole Max had driven over just a little too fast. Y/N was launched off her seat, nearly hitting her head on the roof. In a reflex, she reached out, her hand tightly gripping Lando’s thigh to steady herself. The heat rushed to her cheeks as she quickly tried to pull away, but Lando had already caught her arm, his hand lingering as he steadied her.

“Are you okay?” He asked her sincerely.

Y/N nodded. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry about that,” she mumbled, mortified, her face still burning as she avoided his gaze.

“Guess I’m not the only one who needs attention, hm?” He teased.

Y/N groaned, yanking her arm out of his grip. “You’re insufferable,” she muttered, crossing her arms and looking out the window. She hoped that looking away would calm the fluttering in her chest, but it did nothing – not when she could still feel his presence so close to her. It made it impossible to focus on anything else.

When the car finally came to a stop, Y/N practically bolted out, desperate for some distance and space to think. She walked in front while they searched for a spot to lay down their towels. When she looked back to ask the group’s opinion, she saw Lando had already taken his shirt off. Her face heated up at the sight, and her words dried on her lips. Instead, she stood still, eyes shamelessly focused on Lando’s torso. He was so handsome; toned yet lean, and his strong, muscled arms… 

It didn’t take long for Lando to catch her staring. His lips curved into a knowing smirk, a playful glint in his eyes when they met hers. Her trance shattered under his gaze, and she scrambled to recall what she’d been thinking about. “Uh… is here good?” She stuttered out, her voice not as steady as she would’ve liked.

The others quickly agreed, and set up their things. As Y/N spread out her towel, she couldn’t help but steal glances at Lando walking toward the water. His broad back and toned shoulders glistened under the sun, muscles shifting with every step. God, how was it possible that he looked good from every possible angle?

“Y/N?” Pietra interrupted her thoughts. 

“Hm? What did you say?” Y/N asked, her attention not fully on Pietra yet.

“You wanted to share something with me? You were desperate, I believe you said?” Pietra said with a smirk.

“Oh, yes!” She said, suddenly much more alert. “Did you see what he did? His hand on my back? And then in the car? Why does he keep touching me?” 

Pietra smirked. ”We’re talking about Lando, right?” Y/N nodded. “Girl, I already told you. I think he’s into you.”

“It’s so annoying. Nothing affects him, he’s always so calm and, like… confident. Meanwhile, I’m blushing like a schoolgirl.”

Pietra raised an eyebrow at the admission. “Why do you blush?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N exclaimed, “because,” she paused, thinking about her answer. “I don’t know.”

Pietra smiled knowingly. “I think you do,” she suggested gently. Y/N did, she just didn’t want to admit it, not when she knew better than Pietra; that Lando didn’t like her back, that it was just teasing. “Now, spill the tea. What stupid and embarrassing thing did you do last night and this morning,” Pietra continued.

Y/N groaned. “Oh my God. It was so bad. First, I spilled water all over my pyjamas when I opened a new bottle, and of course, because I’m stupid, I didn’t bring any extra pyjamas. So I had to borrow a shirt of Lando’s to sleep in. But then, because it was so cold in the room – I told you about the broken air-conditioning right?” Pietra nods. “Right, so it was very cold, especially because I didn’t have any pants on, and then, my stupid ass, asked Lando – oh God, it’s so embarrassing.” She hid her face in her hands. “I asked Lando to hold me because I was cold. Or well, I didn’t ask him directly, but that’s what it came down to.”

“Really? You cuddled? Willingly?” Pietra commented.

“Well, yes. But that’s not the worst part, the worst part was this morning. When I woke up we were still cuddled up, and I cuddled even closer. I was basically lying on top of him and I didn’t even realise it. It was so embarrassing, P. I just wanted to dig a hole all the way to China.”

Pietra laughed at her dramatics. 

“But he’s been so casual about it, like it’s no big deal at all, and I’m just so humiliated.”

“Well, what did he say when you woke up?”

“Good morning.”

“And after that?”

Y/N sighed. “Not to worry about it, and that he didn’t mind.”

“Alright. So he probably doesn’t care, so there’s no need to be embarrassed. If anything, he probably loved it – he likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Y/N protested, wildly shaking her head.

“Come on, Y/N,” Pietra said, rolling her eyes. “He’s always flirting with you—” 

“That’s teasing, not flirting,” Y/N interjected.

“—and the way he looks at you, didn’t you see it at breakfast? He’s always making love eyes at you. And he’s constantly touching you… All the signs are there, he’s not even hiding it.”

Y/N frowned. Could Pietra be right? No. Lando was just teasing her all the time, mocking her – that wasn’t flirting. And the eyes thing, he was just provoking her, challenging her. But sometimes, like two days ago, it did seem like he liked her a little bit. Maybe teasing was just his way of flirting? 

“Think about it,” Pietra said, tapping Y/N’s leg before laying back down to enjoy the sun. 

Y/N nodded absentmindedly, already going over all the questions running through her mind. What Pietra said didn’t make sense though; Lando didn’t care about what happened last night and if he liked her, he would be nervous too, right? He was just being cocky, happy that he had managed to humiliate her once more. There was no way that Lando liked her. Y/N, however, was slowly forming a crush on him and it was no good – not when Lando didn’t like her back. She would have to see him for the rest of her life; because of his friendship with her brother, he’d always be around. She couldn’t handle an unrequited crush when she had to see him so often. Never mind if he did like her back (which he didn’t); it would ruin Lando’s friendship with Max and she couldn’t and wouldn’t be the cause of that. Her mind was set; she needed to get him out of her head and stop this before it became worse.

She grabbed her book from her bag, hoping it would clear her mind. The weather was nice and the sun shone brightly on the paper, providing the perfect lighting for reading. It took her mind off her crazy thoughts, until, after a while, Y/N suddenly noticed a shadow on her book, and then a few droplets of water dripping onto the pages. She pulled it away quickly, already knowing the cause without having to look.

“Reading your romance novel?” Lando asked teasingly, smiling brightly as he looked down at her.

“It’s not a romance novel—and move over, you’re blocking my light and dripping onto my book,” she said, eyes focused on her book. She couldn’t face him, she needed to reel in her crush and looking at him while he was shirtless wouldn’t help.

Lando, however, was not happy with the lack of eye contact. “Hey,” he said, hoping to catch Y/N’s attention.

“What?” She mumbled, continuing to read the book, hoping he would disappear soon.

Lando pulled it out of her hands seconds later. “What are you doing?” She asked, groaning in frustration. “I don’t know what page I’m on.”

“You should look at people when they’re talking to you. They might think you’re rude if you don’t,” he said, the teasing tone still evident. However, his smile had slipped. Why did she seem annoyed with him?

Y/N looked up at Lando, finally giving him the eye contact he wanted. She tried to focus on his face, but she couldn’t help but notice how good he looked; shirtless and sun-kissed while his wet curls sat messily on his head. This was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

“You already know I’m rude,” she retorted sharply, trying to hide the effect Lando’s presence had on her. Maybe he would leave her alone if she was crass, that would be better than him being so close.

He sighed in frustration at her curt response. “So, what? We’re back to square one now? I thought we were finally getting along.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. She looked away, hoping he would just disappear.

“You asked me to hold you, remember? I don’t think I made fun of you for it, so why are you being like this?” Lando said softly, ensuring Max and Pietra wouldn’t hear – although the irritation was evident in his voice.

He thought that after last night, he had finally broken through the walls she’d put up; that maybe she liked him. You wouldn’t ask just anyone to hold you, right? Or fall asleep in just anyone’s arms? So then why was she pulling away now? It wasn’t fair to blame him when he had only done what she asked for. It had taken him so long to get her to warm up to him, for her to open up, and now that he had finally gotten close she was shutting him out again. It was maddening. He needed to understand where he stood; whether she liked him or not, because, frankly, her behaviour was becoming very tiresome.

Nevertheless, Y/N remained quiet at the confrontation. She knew he was right, he hadn’t done anything wrong and maybe she was being unreasonable, but she wasn’t sure how to handle a situation like this. She didn’t want to embarrass herself any further, and admitting that she was being ‘like this’ because she liked him definitely seemed like the worst possible option. Lando sighed at her silence and forcefully pushed the book back into her hands before walking back to the water.

Y/N bit her lip as she stared after him. She had just upset Lando. She didn’t think it was possible, he always took everything she gave him gracefully; he laughed every mean and rude comment away like it was nothing. She hadn’t expected her silence to be the thing to set him off, she hadn’t meant to upset him and she felt selfish for hurting him to protect herself. Her heart stung with guilt at the sad look on his face, one she’d hoped never to see regardless of the frenemy thing they had going. She couldn’t believe she was the cause of it.

– – – – –

Part 6

@dripostsstuff @willowsnook @f1fantasys @sarx164 @watermelonslut @diorsummer @zzfhcp @spidey.lovin @harrysdimple05 @pattydel @mayusaatma @leonie404 @mywritersmind @weekendlusting @01rrdbull @alex-wotton @liv1209 @forensicheart @carey86 @avagracekeating @sltwins @graceln4 @chachaxbear @lucktales @benstormy @cheyennep3107 @suicidepanda07 @hellowgoodbye @itsartesworld @fleurskles @monstermash234 @haileysaintmleux @ainocilla @bicchaan @lnlightning81 @f1updates4you @rana-dprian @slytherinbithc @fangirl125reader @saturnbloom77 @itssueed @rebecca-9 @radiator101 @f1norris04 @teamnovalak @noescapricho-essentimiento @itsjustfranzi @obxstiles @liv1209 @sagestack

[milkbobatyun]

dark sunrise

pairing: yandere!sunday x reader

genre: angstober, events, yandere

summary: the sun rises again, but are you still who you are?

word count: 746

C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : yandere behaviour, manipulation, fear, stockholm syndrome

a/n: my attempt at writing about stockholm syndrome. if you or someone you know has experienced or is experiencing this, please do seek the right professional help. i will make it clear that IN NO WAY am i romanticising this, just thought it would fit in well with the scenario.

the golden sun’s warm rays smiled upon your face through the glass, refracting rays of rainbows across the room.

the breeze blew in from the open windows, its cool fingers twisting through your hair, dancing carelessly through the curtains of your bedposts.

every day, you wished you could be as free as the wind, blowing along without a care in the world. yet here you were, entrapped on the bed, the fracture in your ankle anchoring you down, reliant on sunday to meet your daily needs.

need water? simply a word and he would have it by your side, feeding it to you sip by sip. you didn’t need to lift a finger. wanted some comfort food? sunday was already ordering the maids to inform the chef. he knew you so well, he had everything arranged before you even opened your mouth.

sunday was trying to curry your favour and manipulate you. sunday was understanding of you, he knew you like the palm of his hand.

like a bird courting its mate, sunday brought you many little gifts and trinkets. a shiny necklace today, a multifaceted jewel the next.

it amused you to see his wings flap up with excitement and anticipation as he watched your every little reaction. somehow, in the shimmering light of sun that haloed his figure, he seemed more like an angel sent from above than a devil of your nightmares. perhaps sunday wasn’t truly evil, just misunderstood.

sunday’s comforting smile and hold warmed your heart, making it flutter in your chest. but for an instant, you caught something more twisted behind his eyes, something that made your blood run cold.

wait. something wasn’t right. that isn’t true, sunday was keeping you away from your loved ones. your heart was warmed by his thoughtful gifts, but underneath, something ominous gnawed at your consciousness. a faint whisper echoed in your mind: you need to escape. without a second thought, you squashed the vexing voice, casting it to the back of your mind

sunday was evil sunday was your god, your saviour.

in a state of boredom, when your injuries allowed you, you began to explore through your bedroom, shuffling through drawers and reading your old diaries.

you were scandalised to find a passage you had written in your earlier days, the words squiggling and shaking across the page like worms,.

someone please come and save me soon. i’m scared. my arm still hurts from yesterday when he twisted it because i didn’t follow his instructions, my cheek still swollen from when he slapped me for talking to a bystander. i’m struggling to conceal the bruises on my neck from—

the words on the page merge into one large ink blot that soaks into the page. fear and anxiety had rendered your writing useless, your clumsiness spilling over onto the page in the form of black ink.

you were horrified by what you had written early in your days of captivity misunderstood days, when you were still learning to be obedient. ripping out the page, shame flushed through you.

how dare you think such thoughts? wishing to be free? rebellious. sunday was doing these things for your own good. he cared for you.

bringing the page up to the candle, you watched the paper wither and smoulder away, hiding the evidence of your criminal thoughts.

the moon shone its milky light into the room, watching over you as you slept peacefully, dreaming of a warm spring where you sat under the shade of a tree, surrounded by blooming flowers, cradled in sunday’s warmth.

sunday was a wolf in a sheep’s clothing. sunday is misunderstood, that’s how he expresses his love for me.

the crimson sun rose, its scarlet light spilling across the manor that held you captive kept you safe from the dangerous world, like an ocean of blood. you stared mindlessly out the window, forehead leaning on the cool glass.

you knew it was all wrong, upside down and back to front. the gifts, the isolation, yet every time that thought came close to bursting from its cage, you quashed down the rebellious thoughts of leaving. sunday’s gentle touch kept you in the palm of his hand, a prisoner in a golden cage. how could you doubt, even for a minute, that sunday was causing you harm? sunday was dangerous, you needed to leave as soon as possible. sunday understands and cares for me more than anyone else. sunday was warm, like home.

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[lloydskywalkers]

barometric pressure

it's finally getting cold here and actually feels somewhat like winter so!! Zane on the brain, i rewatched s11 again and had feelings about the complete and total lack of addressing everything that went down in the Neverrealm, etc, so here's a shorter snippet of Zangst (that isn't even angst really it's just snow ramblings oops)

Exactly four months, six days, and an indeterminable amount of hours (it is ten) after they returned from the Neverrealm, the clear, crisp skies of late autumn give way to the gray, overcast start of winter.

It’s a painfully familiar sky, one Zane knows nearly as well as he knows himself. The graying clouds are as clear a signal of snow as anything, though he’s already well-prepared.

Vex’s whispers returned to his ears around the same time the first, familiar chill began seeping through the monastery walls. 

For others who are not Zane, though, snow could still mean happier things. He still recalls the expression on Kai’s face the first winter he’d spent with them, snowflakes dotting his eyelashes as Jay wildly demonstrated how to craft a lopsided snowman. So Zane hopes, however weakly, that the rest of them can welcome the snow as enthusiastically as they have in the past. 

His hopes are neatly shattered, however, when the first thing Cole does is set straight out for the woods and return with enough firewood to burn down the entire mountain.

“What are you gonna do, roast every marshmallow in Ninjago?” Jay gapes at him.

Cole rubs the back of his neck, firewood precariously balanced in one mitten-covered hand, his nose a shade darker than the rest of him from the growing cold. “Just thought we should be prepared,” he says. “In case the power goes out, or we just, you know. Wanna have a fire.”

Zane feels the room slip a little colder from his words alone. Or perhaps it’s his imagination — it’s been active, of late. For example, Vex and his whispers are several dozen realms away, and Lloyd is choking on the hot chocolate he’s drinking too fast instead of staring lifelessly at him from a frozen prison. Kai and Nya are fighting over the few coats they have that aren’t torn or stained or covered in what’s either glitter or the fragmented remains of their last enemy’s vehicle, not encased in blocks of ice, voiceless and empty.

Cole is…now distracted and giving him concerned looks, while Jay struggles to keep the firewood from spilling over his arms. 

Ah. He’s drifting, again. 

“How about we start the fire — in the fireplace, Cole, help—”

“Are you okay?” Cole asks bluntly, absently adjusting his hold on the firewood as Jay stacks the loose logs back in his arms. 

“Of course,” Zane says. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

A crucial error. He knows better. Leaving things at ‘of course’ is a risky move, but it’s certainly a better option than flat out asking Cole to pounce. 

Jay makes it first. “Yeah, ‘cause when I’m fine, I disassociate staring out the window for hours all the time.” 

“I was not disassociating.”

“Uh-huh. Hold on, lemme find a dictionary. Right next to ‘disassociate’, there’s a nice little picture of—”

“Lloyd,” Zane says. “You will find my image next to ‘emotionally removed’.”

“That is dissociating, and Lloyd’s next to ‘traumatized’. Nice try, though.”

“We’re all next to traumatized,” Cole mutters, finally giving up and dumping his stack of firewood next to the door. Zane quietly calculates how long it will take Kai to set it ablaze, along with how much it will cost to replace the door if it ends up collateral damage. 

“Not me,” Jay says, hands on his hips. “I’m next to optimism. Which you could all use, you know.”

Cole stares at him in disbelief. “Optimism? You’ve predicted our deaths like, six times in the last month alone—”

“It’s called a joke, where’s your sense of humor?”

“Jokes are only funny if you aren’t screaming them, and — oh no you don’t.”

Zane sags in defeat as Cole snags him by the back of his sweater. He was so close, too. Normally, Cole and Jay’s arguments are the perfect time to make an escape. Either they’re getting more observant, or he’s getting careless. 

“Look.” Cole lets go of his sweater, crossing his arms in front of himself. Zane can’t tell if he’s warding off the chill, or warding off the same dark thoughts that have haunted them all since the snow began sticking. “I know we’re not…there, anymore, so it’s different. But if you’re having a hard time—”

“I am not.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” Cole huffs, his forehead still scrunched up in worry. “But if you were to hypothetically be having a hard time, I’d hope you could talk to us. Any of us. It doesn’t have to be me, just…” He looks away, staring out the window wistfully. 

“Winters have always been fun, with everyone,” he finally continues. “Remember the first time it snowed, when it was just you and me and Jay?”

Zane avoids his eyes. He does remember, of course. He remembers everything, even the things he wishes he could forget. But the memories of those early days, the first few months adjusting to living with others in the monastery, have yet to be tainted with any kind of darkness. 

Jay had been near-comically scrawny back then, hair pressed resolutely against his forehead from his countless attempts to get it to stay there. Cole had been smaller, too — a bit sharper around the edges, his walls a bit higher, but still open enough to make Zane feel like a part of their little team. He still remembers Cole’s laughter, observing Zane’s terrible first attempt at sculpting anything from the snow, Jay his long-suffering teacher. 

It had been the first time snow had meant anything fun, instead of the perpetual silent blanket that cut Zane off from the rest of the world. 

And now here he is, years later, with all of Jay and Cole’s efforts gone to waste. 

“You should come outside with us, after Cole finishes his firewood mountain,” Jay suddenly says, a bit breathless. “See how your snowman skills are shaping up.”

It takes Zane a moment. His mouth is full of refusals, his mind stuck on the fact that the last shape he made from snow was an enormous, vicious ice dragon that nearly killed everyone he loves. 

But Jay looks painfully hopeful, and a bit too nervous that Zane will say no, and Cole’s edges are so soft now, Zane fears his own sharp edges will only hurt him. 

“Give me a moment,” he says, forcing his tone to sound light. “And I will. I will join you.”

Cole’s eyes light up, and a beaming smile breaks across Jay’s face. 

“Sweet!” Jay claps him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go drag Nya out of hiding, but the snow’s piling up in the courtyard, so if we get out early enough we can ambush Kai with snowballs when he comes out.”

Cole rolls his eyes. “I’m not digging you out of your snow grave this time,” he calls, following after Jay. 

“Spoken like someone who wants to take on Nya in one-on-one combat!”

“I’m not insane, I’m not doing that either!” 

Zane hesitates, left alone in the hallway. He crosses his own arms against the sudden chill, tiny stabs of regret already making themselves known. 

It is easy to lie, but what will happen when he actually joins them in the snow? What if the icy chill sets in, miles of white all around, and he loses himself again? 

The others weren’t there. They know his role in the Neverrealm, of course, but none of them saw the monster he let himself become. The depths of his cruelty, his coldness, what he was capable of — all of it remains Zane’s secret to keep. 

Well. 

That is a lie, and with it lies another significant reason Zane should avoid setting foot outside. His presence will only ruin things. 

Yet the quiet, aching part of him seeks out the exception anyways, because deep down, Zane is just as selfish as any other person. 

Lloyd looks little better than Zane feels, his eyes glued to the graying skies with the same look of faint dread Zane stared the drifting snowflakes with. His knees are drawn up tightly to his chest where he sits on the sofa, his mouth pinched as he picks apart the already-fraying edge of his scarf. 

His expression softens when he sees Zane, mouth curving up into a faint smile. 

“You get cornered, too?” 

At his brief look of confusion, Lloyd nods at the thick jacket Zane’s wearing. 

Zane looks away. “They seem to think it will be fun. A snow day.”

“Mmh.” Lloyd turns back to the window. With a sigh, he slides his legs out, standing as he throws the threadbare scarf around his shoulders. “Guess we should get out there, before Jay starts building his nightmare snowmen in the courtyard.”

Zane blinks at him, taken aback. “You’re joining them?”

“Duh,” Lloyd frowns. “I wanna have fun, too.”

“Ah.” Zane isn’t sure if what he feels is guilt, envy, or some odd mix of the two. Confusion, he finally decides on. “It doesn’t…you’ll be alright, in the cold?”

Lloyd’s expression falls, but he doesn’t look away. He fiddles with the edge of his scarf, as if turning words over in his head. 

“I’ll be okay,” he finally says, in the quiet, softer way he speaks now.

He used to be louder. Zane remembers, down to the exact cadence of his voice — straining a bit too low for his throat, acting a bit too old for his age. Less…reserved. 

Younger. 

Then Lloyd smiles, and Zane reminds himself that Lloyd’s voice is also lighter, these days. It’s been growing more so, ever since the last of the Oni attack was cleared away and the unhealthy pale left his skin. Lloyd’s quicker to laugh and easier to poke at. Slower to step into the role of leader, preferring to linger behind with the rest of them, as if he can soak up their warmth like a sadly starved sponge.

“I don’t mind wind,” Lloyd continues. “I like volcanoes. I think I’ll be fine in snow.”

He worries his lip, eyebrows furrowing. “The question is whether or not you will.”

Zane startles. “That is not—” He closes his mouth. The words do not come easily, or much at all. How can he make Lloyd understand, that he has no right to fear the snow? When snow is his element. When any pain caused by it is only his fault, in the first place. When Lloyd still bears the scars of frostbite, when Kai’s hands tremble in the cold, when Jay watches Cole with worried eyes and Nya frets over the water heater each night. 

Lloyd’s hand settles tentatively over his own, a bright burst of warmth that quells the tremors Zane hadn’t realized run through his fingers. 

“How about this,” he amends. “We can either stay inside and steal all Cole’s marshmallows for our hot chocolate, or you can come outside and help me fix Jay’s ugly snowman?”

Zane looks down. It’s a kind trick Lloyd’s using, one he’s learned well. Simple decisions — one a retreat, one a cautious step. 

A part of him still balks at the idea of stepping out into the cold. Vex’s voice lingers in the freezing air, the reminder of bitter ice beneath his fingers and the cries of his friends. 

Kai’s laughter shatters the silence, muffled through the monastery walls but no less clear. He can hear Nya’s quick follow-up, a round of foul cursing that would have Sensei frowning at them all. 

Zane lets out a breath. 

It is selfish. It is self-centered and short-sighted, and it is all but an insult to what he’s done to the people of the Neverrealm. 

And perhaps Zane is a terrible person, after all.

But Zane is not a coward, either. 

And Zane is fortunate enough to have a family, one who would lie and steal and cross realms and frozen wastelands for him, and he thinks, perhaps this once, he can be selfish for their sakes. 

Squeezing Lloyd’s hand briefly, he nods. “I suppose it would be cruel to the poor snowman, to leave him in Jay’s hands.”

A smile splits across Lloyd’s face, a faint echo of the boy who dyed his uniform pink. 

“Okay. Pixal’s got a scarf for you, then.”

Pixel does indeed have a scarf for him, and it is perhaps the most disastrous thing Zane’s ever laid eyes on.

“I don’t understand what happened,” she says, staring at the scarf in his hands. Her face screws up in frustration, lips set in what could be called a pout, if he didn’t know better. “I followed the instructions to the letter. My slipknots were perfect.”

Zane carefully places the scarf around his neck, wrapping the crooked, colorful mass of fabric around as many times as he’s able.

It ends up being about four, and he wonders briefly how many stores Pixal bankrupted of purple yarn. 

“I love it,” he tells her. “Thank you.”

Pixal’s face breaks into a bright smile. “It’s warm, isn’t it? I wanted to be sure, that it was warm.”

Ah. The many layers make a bit more sense now, and Zane’s heart aches. 

He does not deserve this, but the scarf still sits around his neck. Lloyd still waits for him by the door, endlessly patient and hopelessly trusting. 

Kai still beams when he sets foot outside, blinking snowflakes from his lashes as he waves, moments before Nya dumps a bucketful of snow over his head. 

Jay still lets him reshape his snowman, only scowling once at his critique before asking him which of their family they should recreate in snow. 

Cole still smiles, when Zane sweeps out that same warm smile in the snowman that only just resembles him. 

And Nya finally lets her hourly crisis over the water pipes go, handing him a snowball instead and instructing him to let Kai have it. 

He doesn’t know the answer to Lloyd’s question, exactly. Whether or not he’ll be okay, when the snow falls heavy and the reminder of what he’s done presses heavier. 

But he does know that the cold that followed him from the Neverrealm does not reach him, not even as he’s tackled into a heavy drift by Cole halfway through their snowball fight. 

And perhaps, for now, that can be enough. 

[yaekiss]

#Mailroom Open!- Hello, I would like to request a love letter for Alhaitham. NSFW and Yandere response please, and any pet names work but if you could use Habib that would be great 💖 (I hope I did this right)

_______________________

"To my favorite feeble scholar,

I hope this letter is finding you well! I have arrived safely in Fontaine and haven't known a moment of peace since I have arrived. The chaotic cocktail of getting settled into a new city, preparing for this research project, and missing home makes me yearn for the simpler times spent in Sumeru.

Especially my time spent with you.

Thats enough of my lamenting, how fare things with you back home? Have you finally shaken the title of acting Grand Sage yet? Is Kaveh being too much of a "menace"? (Also, please let him know his mother says hello and sends her best wishes to you both). Regardless, I hope you are taking care yourself. Archons know I can't ensure you are eating well while I'm nations away. I will just have to trust that you are treating yourself with the same kindness I would extend to you.

On the topic of kindness, I have a gift for you attached to this letter. I know while I am here doing my research for the next six months we won't be able to have our usual meetings at Lambad's to discuss books over good food, but I hope these books will entertain you well during my absence.

I'm eagerly counting down the days until I can see you again. I find myself thinking of you often and it is a truly vexing experience to see you on whim like I would do so before. It makes the days seem to drag on even longer, but I pray time will fly by regardless of this.

-Sincerely, your wayward scholar

[In a simply decorated box, there are three books: one is on the topic on Fontaine's hydro transportation system and infrastructure, the second is about the complexities surrounding Fontaine's judicial system, and lastly is an infamous and popular erotica anthology from Fontaine (think the Karma sutra but French)]

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Alhaitham, Alhaitham calls you "habib", lightly implied abuse of power, unhealthy possessive and obsessive relationship from Alhaitham, mentions of sex toys, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: He tipped me extra and requested me to be extra careful with the delivery so I'll hand it over to you directly instead of leaving it at your door as per usual procedure! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

There’s a knock at your door when you’re relaxing in your room, opening it shows a hotel staff member who passes you a delivery. And it doesn’t take a genius to know it’s from your beloved feeble scholar.

Alhaitham sends you a simple package, nothing too gaudy or showy, just a few accents of turquoise to denote who the sender is. It’s secure and durable, perfect for weathering long and bumpy trips. 

When you open up the package, you find a few gifts he carefully arranged so that nothing would be broken if the contents were jostled around a little too hard. Gingerly, you lift out a lacquered box which reveals a set of headphones and a music player that’s almost identical to the one he owns. It rests in its cushioned groove in the box with the colours of the device matching your favourites instead of the shades of green on his set.

There’s a small note attached to the music player, “In case you ever miss me too much, you’ll have my voice as background noise for your moping, habib.” On the back of it, he’s written something akin to a track list. Flicking through the different audio files for a quick sample, you realise there’s one for every mood. Tracks with words of encouragement (...or as encouraging as someone like Alhaitham can get), ones scolding you for overworking. There’s even a really cute one where he softly hums a love song that both of you adore, his voice low and soothing. However, the best track of all might be the one where you get to hear his grunts and moans, as if he were right next to your ear in person. The sounds are so sinful and wet, you could just picture him grinding on his dildo, trying to reach his peak. And the way he pitifully breaths out a “I c-can’t cum witho- AH! -without you!” has you yearning for him yet again.

Taking the headphones off before you get too carried away, you retrieve his letter in the package. The envelope is the one from his Grand Sage office, not that he ever really uses them for work purposes. Inside it, his reply is written on parchment, the kind that’s provided for him due to his high position once again. His handwriting is as tidy as ever, the font and formatting standardised throughout the letter. His reply reads:

“Reply for: My springtime sublimity,

I was wondering when you were going to write back to me. After all, there’s no way you would’ve forgotten me in the midst of your research or from meeting someone new, right? Regardless, you have not left my mind since your departure and I’m sure it’s the same for you too habib. 

Do let me know if the gifts are to your liking. I’ve managed to recreate my headphones and they will definitely be useful in blocking out anyone else who might be getting on your nerves or when you’re trying to focus on your research. I included my latest read in the package as well. I'd like for us to discuss our thoughts on the book, even if it’ll have to be done over pen and paper. I’m eager to hear your thoughts on it.

There’s also no reason for me to answer whether I’ve managed to resign from my title as Grand Sage, as evident from the envelope and parchment used. I simply have an unfortunate one last thing to wrap up before I can do so.

Moving on, habib, you know Kaveh is always a menace. I relayed his mother’s well wishes to him earlier and he just smiled. Now he’s locked himself in his room. I never have any idea what’s in that mind of his. It’ll be a miracle if I don’t have to drag him out before he starves. Although I must ask, since when were you privy to Kaveh’s background? I don’t recall him bringing it up around us. Habib, just how close are you to him? How close has he gotten to you? Do write back to me and explain.

Now, this is where I must thank you for your gifts. They all have proven to be succinct and informative. However, I must comment on the choice of one of the books. My, I knew you were lewd before, but to send me an erotica anthology habib? Though, I never said I minded it. I am simply inspired, that's all. Perhaps, you should come back sooner and we can try some of the positions referenced in it. In the meantime, habib, I can only pleasure myself with toys, although, they’re nothing in comparison to you. I’m addicted to you, the caress of your hands on my skin, how only you can make me shudder and cry out your name. You have me wrapped around your finger.

I crave you desperately, habib. There are so many words I could use to describe you with my extensive vocabulary, but the most fitting one would be blossoming. You’ve managed to sow all these emotions in me and now that they’re blooming, you’ll take responsibility right? I’ve always been logical but the degree of affection I feel for you is irregular, all-encompassing and ever-growing. Almost as if you’re twisting the very essence of my mind, rotting and changing me from the inside out. It matches in a way, spring being the season of rebirth.

This letter has gotten too long, I will end it off here habib. I trust you will stay safe and return in one piece unharmed. I await your reply.

May your days be peaceful,

- Alhaitham -”

Setting his letter back in the package, you pick up the book he entrusted to you. Flipping through the pages, it’s littered with markings and annotations from the scribe, he even wrote some questions for you to ponder over. “What do you think about this point?” “Why would the author write this in?” But there are a few unrelated… unsettling annotations that you probably shouldn’t dwell on for too long such as, “Do you know just how much I miss you?” or “How were you able to corrupt my reason and rationality to this extent?” These annotations were left in here for a reason, Alhaitham is a smart man, a renowned member of the Haravatat. There’s a message behind his carefully selected words, waiting for you to unearth it before it festers and decays into something even worse.

Lastly, written neatly on the inside of the back cover, is a puzzling riddle, each word written in a different ancient script. After deciphering the question, an unpleasant awareness worms its way into your mind.

It reads, “Would you still extend your same kindness to me after realising what I would do for you?”

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[deadly-diminuendo]

WIP Whenever

Thank you so much @strixamans and @amoremagnificentbastard for the tags! 💖

I have another piece of A Fitting Reunion Chapter 2 to share! For a bit of context, Tav is going through some of his design sketches. It's a bit long, so part of it is under the cut:

It eases you, this repetitive motion, this comforting quiet, this sweet glimpse into the life of the one you love. Until you see it. Until your fingers tighten against the paper. Until you freeze. Not because of the clothing, but because of the model. The shape of her figure. The shade of her skin. The style of her hair. The familiarity of her face. It’s you. He drew you. Like you are his muse. Like he could not help but to think of you. Like he is as in love with you as you are with him.

No, you try to tell yourself, this must be some coincidence. And even if it isn’t a coincidence—and really you should just admit to yourself that this cannot be a coincidence—it cannot mean what you want it to mean, right? Maybe it is just because you are his friend. A real person he can easily visualize in his mind’s eye. Yes, that must be all this is. Yes, of course. You quickly flip through the remaining pages. There is no Karlach, no Gale, no Shadowheart, no Wyll, no Lae’zel, no Halsin, no Jaheira, no Minsc—not that any of them got to know Astarion as well as you did, though. All you find are faceless figures, generic and unremarkable. Until, oh, there you are again. Oh, and once more. And again. And, by the gods, again. “Did something catch your eye, darling?” Astarion asks, lips curled into a smirk, looking and sounding every bit like the cat that got the cream. You pull that first sketch of you out of the pile and set the rest down, holding it in the air for him to see. “Is this me?” “Ah, come to think of it, I did have you in mind when dreaming up that particular outfit, yes.” He shrugs, and the nonchalance of it all vexes you. “And not only this one?” “Not only that one, no. I do think of you often, you know.” No. You don’t know. But maybe you are beginning to know. Beginning to let hope blossom in your heart, brave and beautiful and boundless. He pauses his work, stares at you a moment, meets you eye to eye—and, gods, you feel like you are connecting heart to heart. Soul to soul. He speaks again, eventually, shifting back to a less serious, light-hearted tone. A retreat into his own comfort zone. “What more can I say? I like to imagine you in my clothes, darling.” And out of them, you can almost hear him say. Honestly you could go for a little body to body as well, but you know not to push him. Hells, you are not even a couple. You never will be, says a different voice. An unwelcome voice. Your own voice, ever cruel and destructive. But maybe that voice of yours is wrong. Maybe it isn’t never. Maybe it is just not right now. And you can live with not right now. “Actually,” Astarion continues, “I’m not sure imagination is enough anymore.”

Chapter 2 is super close to being done - and, no guarantees, but my goal is to have it up by this time tomorrow! I'm really happy with how things are going, and I really hope I can share it all with you soon!

No pressure tags (and adding a few new writing mutuals here, so I hope you don't mind!): @preciouslittlebhaalbae @xxnashiraxx @nerdallwritey @obsessedwhyyes @goodgirlgonebard @vividiana @bardic-inspo @honeybee-bard @pinkberrytea + anyone else who sees this who has something they would like to share! 💖

[sapphirewritesx]

Kinslayer - Aemond Targaryen x OC (Naerys Velaryon)

His fist digs onto the nape of my neck, forcing me so excruciatingly closer that I cannot escape the molten light of his iris. “Do you know what you’re truly crying out for?” “No,” I breathe, unreasonably lost in shades of violet. “Enlighten me.” “A fitting punishment for your severe lack of discipline,” he says, the absurdity of his speech twined with discernible virulence.

summary: Princess Naerys and Prince Aemond clash in a tense confrontation that nearly turns violent. Their heated exchange is interrupted by Ser Criston Cole, who announces Queen Alicent has summoned them. In the Council Room, Naerys is stripped of her weapons and placed under Aemond’s authority for training and protection.

word count: 3k

tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, strong!oc, niece!oc, arranged marriage, pyrophobia, lots of banter, eventual smut

warnings: I guess none really, Aemond is being Aemond (bastardphobic)

ao3: Kinslayer by sapphirewritesx

English is not my first language, so I'm sorry if you see any mistakes.

Naerys

“And what is it that you will do, my prince?” I taunt, letting my newfound desire to vex him take over my better judgment. Our hushed whispers are no longer a secret this dim corner can keep. They are laid bare, for the spiders on the wall to hear and recite. From afar, perhaps this might have seemed like nothing more than a betrothed couple getting acquainted. Not anymore, as our rising tempers fill the sacred quietude of the library.

“I have several ideas in mind.” His voice sharpens, honed by what little restraint he has left. A signal of his waning patience, if he ever had any. “You do not want to test me, pet. Fix your behavior before it’s too late.”

Ah, but I do want to test him. This unexpected hunger for disobedience—to know just how far he is willing to tolerate it, threatens to devour me alive. I cannot fight the need to know exactly where his breaking point lies. To see what he is truly capable of.

“I am not your servant,” I counter, lifting my chin. “Nor your property.” My eyes shift to the annoyed crease of his forehead, then to the awry line of his scar. “You have no right to order me around.”

His laughter erupts suddenly, loud and condescending, echoing through the stone walls that surround us. He inclines, his nose nearly brushing mine. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Not quite, I’m afraid.” I remark, my head tilted in defiance. If it’s submission he seeks, he will not find it in me.

His fist digs onto the nape of my neck, forcing me so excruciatingly closer that I cannot escape the molten light of his iris. “Do you know what you’re truly crying out for?”

“No,” I breathe, unreasonably lost in shades of violet. “Enlighten me.”

“A fitting punishment for your severe lack of discipline,” he says, the absurdity of his speech twined with discernible virulence.

The mere thought sickens my guts. “And you believe you can deliver it?”

“Oh, I don’t believe,” his thumb pulling down on my bottom lip, the touch deceptively gentle. A delicate display of dominance. “I know.”

“Hardly.” I fight the urge to bite down on his finger, wishing my jaw had the strength to ensure he could never wield the longsword sheathed at his hip with his right hand ever again.

“By all means, darling niece, continue with your insolence.” His lips briefly graze my ear, his breath boring into my skin—I feel the soft, tormenting graze of his teeth as he implores, “Give me a reason to erase your spurious existence.”

“If that is your wish let’s get it over with,” I push against him, feeling a powerful pull to further fan the flames of his anger.

“Oh, come now,” he grins, a sinister gleam dancing in his eye. “Not so soon. Where’s the fun in rushing, little bastard?”

“Careful,” I shove my hand hard into his chest, my rings prodding into the leather of his vest, as the other instinctively drifts down to my waist. Heat floods through my body, muscles taut and primed for defense.

“Or what?” He chuckles, smug with the knowledge that he can pique just as easily. “What is it that you will do, my lady?”

My eyes flare in recognition of my own words, shot back at me. 

His threats have been harsh, yet empty thus far. He will see that mine are not. My fingers close around the cold, silver hilt of my dagger, and in the span of a breath, the tip of the steel blade is lightly pressed to his heart. And yet, not a sign of startlement on his part. As though he had anticipated this all along.

“Like father, like daughter, am I right?” he sneers knowingly. “Same short temper.”

My pulse quickens. He is right—so right. But that can never be said aloud. “What you are implying is treason,” I warn instead.

“Is it?” he grips my wrist, his hold oppressing my bones until my fingers can no longer keep my grasp on Nightshade. “Because as far as I can tell, your beloved mother has been nothing short of a harlot.”

The silence of the library grows heavier. His own sister—the Heir to the Iron Throne. My mother, called a whore for a second time, and by her own blood. 

How dare he?

I tussle against him—but no matter my strength, he still overpowers me. The blade slips through my fingers, landing directly on his hand. Without a second of doubt, he poises the sharp end to my throat, just as I did him in the training yard. The very same weapon pointed right at me.

“Do not,” he pauses in a failed attempt to get a hold of himself, his one eye blazing with coiled rage. “Do not demand the respect she does not deserve. The fact that she still holds her titles is an insult to our house.”

“And yet your father, the King, would rather remove limbs of a thousand men and have a pile of dead bodies at the gates of the Keep before reconsidering his choice,” I spit in return, my voice quivering as I ease my flesh to the short blade, almost wanting to let it pierce through. “Before choosing any of you.”

A subtle flush paints his pale cheeks with the testament of his ire, and I revel in the undeniable truth that I have been the one to set his blood aflame.

“You are to marry me,” I press, drawing him in. “If what you claim is true, what will they say about you, bound to a princess whose title you deem to be false?”

His lavender gaze flickers, darkening at the reminder of our reality, the impending union that looms over us both. “That I pitied my innocent niece, who had no choice but to be born out of the adultery of her mother and the former Lord Commander of the City Watch.”

He needs not say his name.

The former Lord Commander of the City Watch, often called Breakbones. Ser Harwin Strong.

My chest heaves erratically, air evading me completely as I search for an answer that refuses to come. The blade glides down my throat, purposely tracing a path to my chest—then, he pauses right over my heart, tapping lightly. Once, twice. His composure returns once again as he extends the dagger back to me.

“Go on, Naerys. Hurt me,” he says in a low rasp, inching his own chest forward. “You know you want to.”

At first, my suspicion warns me to tread carefully, but I silence it, ripping my dagger from his hand. For the Seven, I would delight in plunging this blade deep into his pale, ghostly flesh. My molars grind sturdily, the tips of my fingers pulse with the itch to strike. But for all my might, I fail to deliver.

“Pathetic,” he pouts, reaching to catch my wrist in his fist. My veins pulse against his palm as his grip tightens like an iron shackle. Once more, the slim hilt of Nightshade slips from my grasp, clattering to the floor. Its name evokes the purple petals of the poisonous flower—delicate, but deadly. Fitting, how his eye bears the same haunting shade, a reminder that allure can well disguise threat, and pull you to your grave. The silver blade glints, spinning like a sliver of moonlight in the dusk of this half-hidden part of the library.

The heavy footsteps and the sharp clink of metal slice through the thick air between us, yanking our attention towards the entrance, where three white cloaks now gather. Odd place for the Kingsguard. Aemond does not yield, his body caging me against the shelf—until Ser Criston’s grating voice startles him.

“We’re searching for Princess Naerys,” the Commander declares, making his way to the main table, where a maester observes quietly. His question hangs in the air, and all I do is blink, my mind scrambling for a reason why they might be looking for me, specifically.

The elder man, strange as it may be, doesn’t give us away. “She entered the library a while ago,” he says. “She must be around.”

Ser Criston then nods to his guards, and they part ways without a word to start their search. It’s only then that Aemond finally loosens his hold on me, stepping back only to bend down and retrieve the dagger from the cold stone floor. I remain rooted in place, tension straining my muscles, curious as to why my presence is demanded, yet unwilling to bring the guards’ attention to our secluded spot.

He raises, Nightshade in his hands, and approaches swiftly, not giving me a chance to recoil from his unwanted proximity. Derisively, he twirls the dagger, flaunting his precision before sheathing it back at my waist.

“My prince,” the Commander speaks behind us, acknowledging Aemond. His whetted features shift despite his effort to keep his expression schooled, betraying the faint surprise in his warm-colored eyes as they dart between us.

“Cole,” Aemond nods curtly, even as his tone does nothing to hide their amity. “May we be of service?”

“We came in search of the Princess,” he announces, his focus now drifting to me. “The Queen demands your presence.”

“What for?” I inquire, my voice steady, as though the entire fray with the prince has never happened at all. I stand my ground, straightening my spine, the palm of my right hand resting on the hilt of my sword—pretending none of his words linger.

“That is for Her Grace to say,” the kingsguard snaps. My reluctance to follow him without questioning has stirred his defensiveness, his unwavering loyalty to Queen Alicent rising to the surface. “But I do suggest you do not keep her waiting.”

“Very well,” I glance between Ser Criston and the prince, uncertain if I’m merely trading one danger for another.

“Come on, then,” Aemond blurts, seemingly indifferent to his mother summoning me. “We will meet again soon enough, princess.”

“Oh, no need for separation, lovebirds,” Ser Criston interrupts dryly. “Your presence has been required as well.”

Aemond’s grin falters for a heartbeat, before he masks his expression back into careful neutrality. “Has it, now?” he muses, tilting his head slightly.

“Less than a day.” The Queen rises from her seat. “Less than a day in King’s Landing,” she repeats, turning her attention to my mother, who stands silently before her, a silent warning flickering in her eyes.

The Council Room’s doors are sealed, its members absent. Yet, there are still seven of us—mother and son, mother and daughter, Criston and two of his guards.

“What were you thinking?” Alicent turns towards me, her pointed glare demanding an explanation that I cannot give, because I simply do not follow.

“I’m afraid I do not understand, Your Grace.” I search my mother’s face for any indication, a hint as to where this is headed, but for the moment, she remains unreadable.

“Don’t you?” she insists, her gaze passing over the weapons strapped to my body before turning the same question on the prince. “And you, my son—are you just as unaware?”

Aemond does not respond either, his shoulders sinking as he exhales a low huff.

“This morning,” the Queen paces around the room, unable to calm her unease. “You two have caused an absolute scandal.”

Ah, so that is what she finds so dire.

“We were simply making up for lost time, Mother,” Aemond offers, his tone laced with feigned ease, the smugness beneath it unmistakable.

“Sparring with your betrothed like common brutes?” She halts right before him. “And here I thought you knew better.”

I shift my stance, gripping the pommel of my sword to steady myself, forcing down the satisfaction that swells within me at the rare sight of his mother scolding him.

“What impression does that give to our people?” She presses further. “Prince Aemond and Princess Naerys, soon to be wed, pointing weapons at each other’s throats.”

“Hardly more than a harmless duel, Your Grace,” my mother breaks her silence, trying to soften the situation. Her calmness doesn’t budge, even as I catch the faint trace of humor behind her pursed lips.

“Harmless, you say?” Queen Alicent’s voice rises, her eyes widening as she takes a quick step toward my mother. “No clashing of swords is ever harmless, Rhaenyra.”

“Alicent—” she begins, using her true name, but is immediately cut off by the dismissing wave of the Queen’s hand.

“Why is your daughter armed in the first place?” The question instantly rouses my defensiveness, and I cannot hold back from answering myself.

“The King gave his blessing on my training, almost twelve years ago.”

“I remember that,” she says, settling back into her seat. “And I also remember that the exception of his blessing was to last only until you were wed.”

For a moment, my focus is drawn to the man before me—his stare brimming with sheer contempt. It’s a strange relief, knowing he wants this no more than I do.

My mother’s words pull me back to the gravity of the implication. “Surely, you don’t mean to strip my daughter of her weapons,” she interjects, her fair brows rising in quiet defiance. “You know well the dangers that might find her at any moment.”

A spark of outrage ignites in my chest. My hands twitch with the urge to reach for my blade, to hold it closer, lest they come and take it from me right this instant. I cannot be left defenseless—but neither can I allow them to see me falter.

Alicent gives no reply, though her silence is answer enough. She truly means to leave me unarmed—vulnerable in a way I haven’t been for so long. For as far back as my memory reaches, I have never known true safety. My very existence has always been a challenge. The firstborn of Rhaenyra Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. A princess—a woman, to put it plainly. And most importantly, a bastard. The weight of the steel at my sides has been my only certainty, the faintest illusion that I can stand against a world determined to see me kneel.

“I have not spent all these years training only to be denied my own sword now,” I say, my eyes sweeping across the room.

“The purpose of your training has come to an end,” Alicent asserts. “My son will be the only sword you need. He will be your blade and shield.”

My blade and shield. This must be some sort of cruel jest. Aemond will not be the one to guard me from danger—he is danger.

“Is that truly your decision, my Queen?” My mother inquires audaciously.

“I won’t risk further incidents,” the Queen decrees, her resolve clear. “Ser Criston, please.” With a single nod, she commands him forward, and Ser Criston does not hesitate. He moves toward me with purpose.

I unsheathe my sword—Bonebreaker—my fingers clenching around the hilt as though trying to carve its shape into my palm. I remember the day Daemon brought it to me, a gift for my tenth Name Day. Its length almost surpassed my own height at the time, but he assured me, I would grow enough in the coming years to wield it with strength and might, like my father before me. And after him I named it. Not after Daemon, the man who had it forged. Not Laenor, the man who had raised me. But Harwin, the man who first taught me how to swing a blade. The man who sired me.

“Naerys,” my mother warns, but I do not heed her. I cannot.

The dagger is next. I was eight when Laenor placed it in my hands, promising I would never feel helpless again, only a few days after the incident that took Aemond’s eye.

I guess he was wrong.

My thumb drags over the small seahorse etched in its handle—a silent farewell.

“Cargyll,” the Commander mutters, summoning one of the guards. I’m instantly flanked, the two of them moving behind me, their presence like a cage threatening to fall right above me.

I will not let them lay a finger on me.

“It won’t be necessary,” I snap, tightening my hold on both weapons before throwing them at Ser Criston’s feet. “There. Have them.”

“Naerys—” my mother persists, but the Queen cuts her off once more.

“She has your wits, I see.” Though she addresses my mother, her gaze flickers—just passingly—to her son. “Very well, then. I will grant her the possibility to train,” she pauses, letting the weight of her next words settle before delivering them, “but only under my son’s instructions.”

He allows himself to smile, triumphant, as he nods to his mother’s orders. He has just seized real control over me. I’m never to be armed unless he pleases, never hold my sword unless he permits it. And for the Queen, that is meant to be mercy.

My mother’s glare forces my reply, leaving me no choice but to swallow the scorching fury in my throat, to pretend I cannot feel the wet coldness of my tears trailing down my cheeks. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

The Commander picks up my weapons, lifting them into the air as he inspects them. He weighs the sword in his grasp, almost surprised by its heft.

“Good,” Queen Alicent settles on her seat, grabbing her goblet of wine. “You may leave.”

My mother rushes to my side, looping her arm through mine to guide me out of the Council Room, yet I stay motionless, just enough to catch sight of Aemond standing from his chair, victory seeping from every inch of his body.

“Ser Criston,” he finally speaks, turning towards the Kingsguard. “Bring her sword to me.”

[oc-ology]

How to make a good character reference

First and foremost, a good character reference is one that clearly and concisely tells you about an OC. Not only are they helpful to keep your art or descriptions of them consistent but if someone else will be drawing or writing about them, then a reference is typically a necessity so they can draw the character accurately. I’ll be going into how to make both a good visual and written reference, as well as tips that apply to both of them.

Special thanks to Lotus and Calico for giving some additional perspectives for me to think about, as well as anon for suggesting this topic!

Good Visual References

A reference sheet is a way for artists to easily see a character’s design for drawing them. At its simplest, this can be a simple, full-body illustration with little embellishment but some people will do full turnarounds (front, side and back views) or additional outfits for a character with props and other illustrations for a more artistic reference sheet. Regardless of your approach, your reference should clearly show a character’s basic features and, typically, the clothes they most often wear (whether that is a single outfit or multiple).

Adding notes to the sheet can be very helpful, such as a character’s height, specific facial features or a description of the kind of clothes they wear (like colours, aesthetics, fashion style and clothing preferences). If a character is often seen with a prop or item (such as weapons or mobility aids), then it’s important to also include those in your reference and make a note on the frequency of their use. Finally, if your design has pieces of clothing or props that have specific terminology, it can be helpful to include that terminology so it’s easier for others to search for more references.

Flat Colours vs Shaded/Rendered: I’ve seen some people complain about references that are shaded or rendered as it can often make it hard to colour pick from the reference. This can easily be remedied with a colour palette that is clearly labelled for what colour is used for what part. Using two of my own references as an example, you can see that my reference sheet for Eren doesn’t have any shading, making colour-picking easy. Comparing that to my reference sheet for Vex, the art for him is shaded but this is remedied with a clear colour palette on the left with labels saying what that colour is primarily used for. As a final comparison to a reference sheet that I feel fails in this regard, my sheet for Eris (nudity warning) has several outfits that are fully shaded but do not have a full colour palette outside of their basic features. However, since this character would be drawn in many other different outfits and the sheet was for personal use only, this doesn’t bother me too much.

Complicated designs: For designs with complex elements such as lots of accessories or intricate tattoos, it can be helpful to draw a larger version of these on the reference. This makes it a lot easier to draw them consistently in future as they’ll be clear and you won’t need to spend time zooming in or around your design. Additionally, if you character has a tattoo or very specific fur markings then it can also be helpful to create a transparent version of them. This way, anyone drawing your character can use that transparent version rather than drawing it by hand or, for those that do want to draw it by hand, they again have a very clear design to reference. Also, it can be helpful to have a simplified design for people with art styles that work better with less detail or for animating purposes.

Mannerisms: This is more so for references that will be sent to other artists for commissions, requests, gifts, etc. It can be helpful to have a small section on what a character’s mannerisms or way of holding themselves is like. This gives artists a jumping off point for ideas on poses or character interactions as a blank slate can be hard to come up with ideas for. It’ll also mean that if, for example, you have a shy character then they won’t be mischaracterised in art by being drawn with an overconfident posture. It’s best to use simpler words (such as annoying vs vexatious) as it can become confusing for people for who English is not their first language.

Good Written References

A good written reference can be split into two types.

The first is for describing their appearance, typically used for sending to artists when you don’t have an existing visual reference. For this, it can be helpful to go over the points of what I wrote for a visual reference and just translate that to a written description. Bullet points are the easiest way to do this as it gives artists something quick and easy to reference but it can also be helpful to link to images to give a better idea of what you want. 

Pale skin with light freckles.

Lavender hair that gets slightly lighter at the tips and slightly darker at the roots. It is mostly-straight, shoulder-length and covers some of the face. Two small horns poke out of the top of his head.

Grey-blue eyes. Should look sleepy or lidded.

Thin-framed glasses with a simple, silver glasses chain (optional)

Black cassock with a black pellegrina and white collarino/tab collar.

For formal occasions, Vex may wear a purple ferraiolo with black, embroidered trim.

Purple stole with a symmetrical design.

At the bottom of the stole is the Leviathan cross.

Around the chest, there are the five alchemical symbols for fire, air, spirit, earth and water (in order from top to bottom).

Has a rosary with dark, wooden beads and small ivory beads in an alternating pattern that ends with an inverted cross (also known as the St. Peter’s cross).

Wears platform boots with metal toe caps.

Without the boots, Vex comes to 5’3”. The boots make him a lot taller, around 5’6”.

Sometimes wears half-palm gloves made of black leather.

This is the basic written reference that I had for Vex before I drew him a reference sheet. It makes it clear what they look like and any artist working with the description would be able to draw him semi-accurately from this alone. It can be hard to balance the necessary amount of detail with keeping things concise - large paragraphs can be overwhelming and even off-putting to others.

The second type of written reference is a reference specifically used when writing. While a lot of the same principles apply, you’ll often want to go into more detail regarding the character’s mannerisms, way of speech and dynamic with other characters. There are numerous great guides on how to write a good character reference or profile, all using different approaches. Personally, I like to use these five categories for writing a character’s reference.

Basic Details: This includes a basic description of a character, as well as their name and any other surface-level details about them such as age, date of birth, gender and sexuality, basic personality traits, etc. If the setting is fantasy or sci-fi, then I would also include anything that would fall under this category in-universe, such as species or magical alignment. This section is not for digging deep but more to give an overview on the character.

Personality: It can be really easy to boil down a character’s personality to a few simple traits like in the first section. However, characters will often act differently in different scenarios and have specific reasons as to why they act a certain way. How do they act when they’re alone vs when they’re around others, both those they trust and those they do not? Do they mask certain parts of their personality? What fears does the character have and how does that impact how they go through life? These are all things that can heavily influence how a character behaves and talks.

Mannerisms: Here, you’ll want to describe your character’s body language and demeanour such as how they walk and carry themselves, as well as first impressions from strangers. You can also go into any habits a character has, including whether they are aware of those habits and perhaps try to hide or overcome them.

History: A character’s past will usually define a lot of how they conduct themselves in the present. Here, you’ll want to include information on their upbringing, influential moments (or “canon-events”) in their life and their caregivers, if applicable. This can add context to certain behaviours or actions from the character.

Relationships: Finally, go into important relationships for the character. When I say important, I mean write about relationships to characters that are either contextually relevant (such as to the current scene or overall plot/story) or characters that have had a large impact on them. For example, the barista that you character always gets coffee from probably isn’t going to be relevant… unless you’re writing a coffee-shop romance where the barista is likely to be a recurring character. A character’s family that doesn’t appear in the story may not be relevant now… but the way that they influenced the character’s upbringing is relevant when it comes to establishing their backstory and foundational relationships.

General Tips

Non-human/original species: If your character is not human or is an original species, make sure to include any key features that are unique to that species and link to any relevant design documents for them. It’s a lot easier for someone to use your reference than it is to go searching for that information themselves.

What actually makes your reference good? This is hard to answer because what I think is good is probably contradicted by countless other people. Also, some advice for one kind of reference won’t necessarily be helpful for a different kind of reference. A good foundation for a reference will always be what you find helpful.

Keep it concise: Oftentimes, there’s so much information that we hold about an OC in our heads and it can be tempted to include absolutely everything into their reference. But remember that the key purpose of a reference is to make it easy to understand the main points about a character or design. Regardless of if you go further in-depth, always make sure to have a clear overview of them at the very beginning that can be easily referenced.

[gwendolynnderolo]

critical role ships as taylor swift songs

vax / keyleth : the prophecy

percy / vex : this love

pike / scanlan : the story of us

fjord / jester : state of grace

beau / yasha : long story short

caleb / essek : the great war

imogen / laudna : afterglow

orym / dorian : come back...be here

ashton / fearne : i can see you

specific lyrics that i feel like represent the pairings under the cut!

vax / keyleth : the prophecy

thought i caught lightning in a bottle, oh, but it's gone again

i guess a lesser woman would've lost hope, a greater woman wouldn't beg

who do i have to speak to about if they can redo the prophecy?

slow is the quicksand, poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand, oh, still i dream of him

a greater woman has faith, but even statues crumble if they're made to wait

i'm so afraid i sealed my fate, no sign of soulmates

percy / vex : this love

in silent screams, in wildest dreams, i never dreamed of this

this love is good, this love is bad, this love is alive back from the dead

these hands had to let it go free, and this love came back to me

this love left a permanent mark, this love is glowing in the dark

your smile, my ghost, i fell to my knees

when you're young, you just run, but you come back to what you need

pike / scanlan : the story of us

i used to know my place was a spot next to you, now i'm searching the room for an empty seat

so many things that i wish you knew, so many walls up i can't break through

i don't know what to say since the twist of fate when it all broke down

oh, i'm scared to see the ending, why are we pretending this is nothing?

the battle's in your hands now, but i would lay my armor down if you'd say you'd rather love than fight

fjord / jester : state of grace

we are alone with our changing minds, we fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds or fades in time

and i never saw you coming, and i'll never be the same

you come around and the armor falls, pierce the room like a cannonball

so you were never a saint, and i loved in shades of wrong, we learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts

love is a ruthless game, unless you play it good and right

these are the hands of fate, you're my achilles heel, this is the golden age of something good and right and real

beau / yasha : long story short

fatefully, i tried to pick my battles 'til the battle picked me

when i dropped my sword, i threw it in the bushes and knocked on your door

and we live in peace, but if someone comes at us, this time, i'm ready

no more keeping score, now i just keep you warm

and he's passing by, rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky

and he feels like home, if the shoe fits, walk in it everywhere you go

long story short, it was a bad time, long story short, i survived

caleb / essek : the great war

and maybe it was ego swinging, maybe it was her, flashes of the battle come back to me in a blur

you said i have to trust more freely, but diesel is desire, you were playing with fire

and maybe it's the past that's talking, screaming from the crypt, telling me to punish you for things you never did

it turned into something bigger, somewhere in the haze, got a sense i'd been betrayed

soldier down on that icy ground, looked up at me with honor and truth

we can plant a memory garden, say a solemn prayer, place a poppy in my hair

imogen / laudna : afterglow

why'd i have to break what i love so much?

i'm the one who burned us down, but it's not what i meant, sorry that i hurt you

it's so excruciating to see you low, just wanna lift you up and not let you go

this ultraviolet morning light below tells me this love is worth the fight

tell me that you're still mine, tell me that we'll be just fine, even when i lose my mind

tell me that it's not my fault, tell me that i'm all you want, even when i break your heart

orym / dorian : come back...be here

i told myself, don't get attached, but in my mind i play it back

and this is when the feeling sinks in, i don't wanna miss you like this

the delicate beginning rush, the feeling you can know so much without knowing anything at all

if i had known what i know now, i never would've played so nonchalant

this is falling in love in the cruelest way, this is falling for you when you are worlds away

ashton / fearne : i can see you

i've been watching you for ages, and i spend my time trying not to feel it

but what would you do if i went to touch you now? what would you do if they never found us out?

cause i can see you waiting down the hall from me, and i could see you up against the wall with me

i could see you in your suit and your necktie, passed me a note saying 'meet me tonight'

and i could see you being my addiction, you can see me as a secret mission

[tagsecretsanta]

From @mariashades

From @mariashades to @janetm74

Gifts and Giving

Prompts: 1. Chocolate.

2. Brother.

3. Soap.

A/N: So… I kinda went sideways on the prompts. Enjoy!

Heels clacking like hammers against the polished marble entryway to the Creighton-Ward London townhouse, the Lady of the house was in a fearsome temper as she stalked inside after a fruitless hunt, her mission incomplete and her day completely wasted. Nothing, absolutely nothing had been suitable. Yesterday the calendar had clicked over into December and she was painfully aware that time was running out.

Storming up to her rooms as only a vexed fifteen year old could, she ignored the amused chuckle as she passed her father’s office. Upon reaching her destination, she slammed her door shut behind her. Her ankle boots were kicked off in the direction of the wardrobe, her bag was tossed at  her desk, and her hat, coat, scarf and gloves landed on the floor before she dropped herself onto her bed with a frustrated huff.

“I am Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward!” Penelope declared, “I will not be defeated nor stymied by something as banal as finding Christmas presents for the sons of my father’s business associate!” Her ire safely voiced, she groaned, rolled over to lie face-down on the soft blankets and proceeded to steep in her frustration.

Finding presents for various persons in the Creighton-Ward circle of associates was something her father had delegated to her at thirteen. Most of the time it was easy. He would present her with a list in August and she would set to work. A little careful enquiring and she would be armed with sufficient information to locate appropriate items suitable for the person and their place in the Creighton-Wards’ circle of acquaintances, associates, and friends. A search online or a visit to certain boutiques and stores would have the orders placed under her father’s credentials, and that would be that. If in doubt or she truly was stumped, there were always the safe fall backs of chocolate, alcohol, handmade soaps, and gourmet hampers.

This year she had again been presented with the list, but a week later there had been an addition - the five sons of Jefferson Tracy and the daughter of Kyrano, Jefferson’s right hand man and the boys’ unofficially-adopted sister.

Tanusha was easy. During a visit last month she’d caught the other girl eyeing up one of her pashminas, a delightfully soft and silky item that was wonderfully warm. Knowing Tanusha was bound for Cambridge next year, she ordered one of them in the teal blue shade that seemed to colour half of Tanusha’s wardrobe and a hat, coat and gloves in complementary shades. 

The sons were far more difficult.

Strictly speaking she should have defaulted to the usual male-coded generic gifts by now “...but I can’t…” she rolled over again to stare up at the canopy over her bed, “...there is just something about the Tracys that means I cannot give them something so… so impersonal. Why is that? Daddy is organising the gifts for Jefferson and the other adults,” Penelope murmured to herself, “but why did he ask me to find gifts for them?”

That there was something afoot with the patriarch of the Tracy clan had been evident to her for some time. Her father’s holophone calls and meetings with Jefferson Tracy were both long and regular. Penny frowned over that. Lord Hugh Creighton-Ward never spent this much time closeted with someone unless it was for one of his passion projects. “And yes, while Tracy Industries does have some environmental work, the bulk of the business is aerospace and other engineering, not ocean clean-up or the like.” Penny dragged over a pillow and hugged it as she lay there and pondered the situation. “... he must want me involved with whatever he is cooking up with Jefferson, why else would he ask me to arrange gifts for the boys and Tanusha when he is taking care of the gifts for the adults? He would know them better, the logical thing would be for him to arrange all of their gifts, but instead he has asked me…”

Penny idly kicked her feet as she continued to theorise about the situation. She had met the boys several times before, in piecemeal fashion as events and commitments allowed. Despite being firmly in the ‘boys are icky’ phase of her younger years when they had first met when she was twelve, she had still been a good hostess, engaged in conversation with them, and idly observed them in the interim. That observation had become less idle when she’d realised that Jefferson was not just a business associate and investment opportunity, and she prided herself on knowing more than the tabloids did about the family of the first man on Mars.

Revelation struck like a lightning bolt and Penny sat up with a startled noise.

Her father knew her methods, how she would inquire and investigate to ensure whatever gifts she provided were both appropriate and appreciated. It required getting to know her target, to find out things about them. Previous years had never included the children of associates, the only time they bought gifts for children was when it was for the cousins and niblings of the family or her own friends and acquaintances, therefore her father wanted her to get to know the Tracys and Kyranos.

Penny’s eyes widened. ‘Scratch that. He doesn’t just want me to get to know the Tracys and Kyranos. He wants me to be friends with them.’

There was only one logical conclusion: whatever her father, Kyrano and Jefferson Tracy had looming on the horizon was going to involve her too.

“...well then.” Penelope tossed the pillow back to the head of the bed and got to her feet, her ire and frustration evaporating like the morning mist, replaced by purpose and determination. “If I am to be purchasing gifts for friends, I had best set about becoming friendly with them.”

0o0o0

In the aftermath of the Boxing Day gift opening in the formal dining room at the Creighton-Ward Manor, the three fathers nursed their cups of coffee and tea and watched their children with almost identical smiles, very pleased at how well the two girls and five boys were getting along.

Tanusha had immediately put on her pashmina and hadn’t taken it off yet. John was curled up in a corner with his autographed first edition of Carl Sagan’s ‘Contact’, Alan had his LEGO space shuttle half-built (and his older brothers were doing their best to not build it for him), Gordon was in love with his undersea simulator VR game, the Winsor and Newton Kolinsky sable brushes hadn’t left Virgil’s sight since he unwrapped them, and Scott was clearly eager to go into hibernation with his book, a first edition of ‘Flight of the Dragon Lady: Flying the Lockheed U-2’, but helping Alan with his LEGO took priority. Penelope had been equally thrilled with the gifts from the Tracys and Kyranos - a handmade silk sarong in rose pink and gold, a ‘certificate of adoption’ sponsoring coral rehabilitation in Fiji, two tickets to a special showing and behind the scenes tour at the Tate Modern, and a trio of books - ‘A Woman of No Importance’, ‘The Girls Who Stepped Out Of Line’ and ‘The Only Woman in the Room’ -  biographies and autobiographies of female spies and secret agents who had bucked the social norms of their day.

A nod from Parker assured the fathers that he was on watch, then the three men withdrew to Lord Hugh’s office.

“I told you so, Jeff.” Hugh couldn’t help the boast as soon as the door was shut against little ears. “My Penny knows what she is doing.”

“She does indeed,” Jeff drawled, “she does indeed.” A glance at Kyrano confirmed that they were both very impressed by how quickly and quietly the teenager had gathered enough information about their kids to be able to give them such appropriate gifts in such a short span of time, and a nod from Kyrano was his approval. “Okay Hugh, you’ve convinced us. Penelope’s on board as your understudy for the London agent.”

“Excellent.” Seeing that all cups of hot beverages were now empty, Lord Hugh went to pour snifters of brandy for the three of them. “How are works proceeding?”

“Getting there.” Jeff shook his head ruefully. “Turns out most aircraft don’t like it when you want to hit Mach 20, but we should be ready for test flights by the end of next year.”

“When will you be briefing the children on it?” Hugh enquired.

“All going well, July,” Kyrano answered as he accepted the offered snifter. “John, Tanusha and Scott have already discovered that we have something big up our sleeves, we’re having to tighten security just to keep them out, but I anticipate we’ll be able to tell the older children what we are up to by July, June at the latest.”

“Not Alan?” Lord Hugh asked, leaning back on his desk to sip his brandy.

“Not Alan or Gordon, not yet. They��re still too little,” Jeff clarified. “But we will when the base and the ship are ready and we’ve all good to move in.”

“Sound planning,” Lord Hugh approved, then raised his glass. “Gentlemen, I propose a toast. To International Rescue.”  

“I’ll drink to that.” Jeff grinned as he raised his glass. “To International Rescue.”

“To International Rescue.” Kyrano smiled

Glasses clinked, the fathers quite unaware of the two teenage girls and two teenage boys crouched on the other side of the door and intently listening to what the future would hold.

[bananathebookworm]

TLOVM S3 Eps 10-12 Ramblings

Ep. 10

Love Keyleth letting herself be angry at how much everyone brushed off her concerns. I'm reminded that she almost took a level or two in Barbarian because of her frustrations.

Scanlan's still out, but I love this conversation between Kaylie and Pike.

In the campaign I really loved the conversations Keyleth had with Kerrek about her doubts and frustrations surrounding her role and responsibilities. I'm glad they still had elements of that in the conversations with her dad.

Stilben! The town where it all began.

"I have passed through fire." I will always love this line and the meaning behind it.

I love when the cast pops up as random people in the crowd.

I'm fully in love with Keyleth in this series. She's really stepping up and gaining that confidence.

I love that the party is getting these moments to deal with personal things away from each other. It's allowing for certain dynamics to shine. The twins. Keyleth and the Ashari. Pike, Grog, and Scanlan. Love it all.

Ep. 11

Keyleth's "Where do you find your strength?" moment is here and I love every goddamn second of it

Earth Elemental Keyleth!

I actually like the changes made to Scanlan's "resurrection," even if the impact is different from the main campaign.

"Listen you old twat." I love Kaylie so much.

Wish it had been the entire group teaming up to kill Ripley like in the campaign, but at least Vex was the one to end her.

"At least there's room for both of us on this thing." Unexpected Titanic shade...

Keyleth's face emerging from the sand while the twins are discussing Percy's soul made me laugh harder than it probably should've. The visual was just... perfect.

I love Keyleth. That is all.

"I had to leave to understand how much I need you all." Cool. That probably isn't foreshadowing anything important.

Ep. 12

I really love the design of this fight

And again: I love Keyleth.

I really like the mirroring of Vax and Keyleth's personal journeys this season. Vax learning to work with the Matron and Keyleth learning to trust herself as she harnesses the various elemental powers. I also really love the contrast of Vax in the Matron's realm surrounded by flowing lines of fate and Keyleth learning to feel the Earth and her connections to people through the jagged pathways.

I love the visuals of this ritual. Vax in Orthax's realm, the way various magics look from each caster, Percy in purgatory vs Percy in the chamber. I love it all.

Fuck you Orthax.

Assistance bear Trinket on duty.

Interesting changes made at this point and again I have the sneaking suspicion that it was partly because they weren't sure about a season 4 yet.

Der Katzenprinz!

General

They really use colour so well in this series. Every setting feels unique and evokes specific feelings all with just the colour choices.

Controversial Opinion (Maybe?): I like the changes they made to Scanlan's departure.

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

my favorite art piece

pairing: knight!steve harrington x fem!princess reader

wc: 777

warnings: none. tis' a clean story.

summary: knight and princess talk about the visiting duke over oil painting.

A/N: another story to my knight!steve series. alone together is the first one but you could read either one standalone.

masterlist

“was hoping i’d find you here. was beginning to worry you climbed the palace walls again and i’d have my head chopped off.” a male voice entered your quiet art room.

barely a glance over your shoulder you knew who was stepping behind you. the gentle clang of his armor and weapon reverberated off the high ceilings.

“i’d never let them do such a thing. can’t waste a pretty face away.” the smirk evident in your words.

the footsteps and clanking stopped just over your right shoulder, “they don’t write sonnets about this face for nothing, princess.”

an unprincessly snort left your nose, “oh do they? you must recite some to me one day. would adore to hear.”

steven hummed, “what is your focus on today, princess? you mostly paint when stressed.”

focused brush strokes paused, ignoring the way your heart beat just a bit faster that he knew something so small about your ticks. “not always. it’s just when… inspiration hits me. and perhaps it may be when i can’t control something.” resuming practiced strokes, a band of fury hidden beneath a poised grip.

“might i inquire what has you… vexed?” steven took two steps over, now in your peripheral.

shades of periwinkle and indigo mixed, “if you must. but mind your words.” speaking slowly, fully concentrating on your work.

“would this have anything to do with a certain duke? one who happens to be visiting for the week?” you ignored the gentle venom of the word duke.

“lord hargrove’s arrival has been known for many days. though his intentions of travel have not been stated until the day of his arrival.” seeing shades of red while adding spots of white.

“i’m guessing-“ “marriage! lord hargrove is here for my hand in marriage. in request of my father and his, for the good of our kingdoms.” stains of paint dripped down the canvas in tears.

“marriage,” steven repeated, you could imagine the slight snare on his face at the word.

“yes, marriage,” a deep sigh from overuse of the word, “to a man i don’t know and is expected to wed in the spring. no choice in the matter.” rinsing your brush in the murky paint water, tapping it against the lip before pressing it onto a cloth.

“not quite fair to expect that of you.” steven grabbed a stool close by to be placed beside you. he was now sitting shoulder to bicep.

you couldn’t help your scuff, “i’m but a woman. they only tolerate us cause we can be sold like sheep and breed like a calf. a single syllable from our lips can bring us death. seen not heard.” your once melancholy painting transforming into a brutal storm, one that brings sailors to the ocean floors.

dropping your brush beside your easil, you finally turn to sir steven. his back straight with knees bent at the perfect angle, a slight spread to the long limbs. forearms resting on thighs while mindlessly tugging at his fingers, head dipped with untamed strands of hair flinging about.

you spoke before you could stop, “let me paint you.” speaking quietly not wanting to disrupt the peace.

steven’s head picked up and met your wondering eyes, “pardon?” a pinch to his brows.

you cocked your head, “let me paint you. would cheer me up.” standing to your feet in search of a spare canvas.

“princess-“ “please? i wish to paint the face people pen poems and sonnets about.” trying to feed his ego.

you heard the deep sigh but saw the little smile before he could wipe it away, “your wish is my command, princess.” starting to move before you rushed over and rested a palm on his shoulder, “stay. the lighting is perfect.”

he peered up, long lashes framing normal brown eyes that held something special. his patches of silver armor cool under your warm palm. “just sit like before, but keep your head up.”

“am i getting a portrait done by the lovely princess y/n l/n? i must be the luckiest man alive.” his sword clicked off the wooden stool leg.

you started collecting more oil colors, “i would say so. and i would also say i’m the luckiest princess alive since i’ll get to stare at you while detailing my work to perfection.” 

satisfied with your supplies and making sure they stay put, you begin your simple outline in black chalk. the simple task is a distraction from your loose words and hummingbird heart.“quiet flattered, princess.” princess said in a low tone that forced you to suppress a shiver. “only the best for my favorite knight.” saying the words only to yourself.

[shroudkeeper]

.beloved III

part I and II

Her laughter rang high in the air frigid air above them after he told her of his intent, and he felt his claws sink into his calloused palms again, nearly piercing the scarlet hide. Her presence set his emotions into conflict, one moment he felt warmth crawling into places that could not fathom the touch of heat, to feeling the urge to snap her slender neck in half.

He knew it would be effortless to accomplish this before her creations would act on her behalf. Despite these slew of urges currently being dealt with, there was one thing for certain, she was stirring within him desires that had long been put to rest. Whether they were debaucherous or otherwise.

But, even the urge to murder was diminished when he watched her in earnest, the joy upon her face with each breath that escaped her lungs, the way her body quivered from the laughter as his words held some comedic value to them, how the shadows splashed across her walls reacts to her jubilation. Around her.. he felt life.

Through his gleaming, wet teeth, he snarled in her direction. He was vexed and now such was reflected upon the scowl he wore upon his face. “And what of this do you find delight in?” His voice was a gravelly sound that silenced the remainder of her amusement once she settled but her gaze settled above her head, into the undulating darkness, now quelled after she calmed down with a quiet sigh.

“You seek conquest, so you come to me for aid. What makes you think, Lord Diabolos, that we are of the same mind. You may have attempted to suggest things whilst I dreamt, but it was all for naught.” Any joy left from her was snuffed and she focused solely on him before shifting her attention, only for a moment, to the guards at his side. Monetarily, Diabolos seemed annoyed at this truth, realizing that even if he was the Lord of Nightmares, he held no sway over her.

“I seek not to transcend realms for the purpose of claiming it as my own,” her body rose from the ground and the shades, spilling away from her back, retreat to fall behind her like a saturnine, silk train. 

“Do you not wish to expand your realm then? To truly rule beyond this desolate wasteland of dead flowers and deformed creations? Or would you rather fall back into slumber and rot away, as I found you.” Diabolos shortened the distance between them with each heavy footfall of his clawed feet, his guards remained at the ready as tensions began to grow between the two. Around them shadows violently danced against cold stone, seeping out of the crevices.

The stage of their meeting suddenly became unsettling.

“Why would I risk war in an unfamiliar place, to what end? To lose beloved children as I toss them at your feet for your ambitious project?” Now it was her turn to close the gap and for a moment he could feel the kiss of winter melting away the heat he was accumulating in his suspended form.

Beloved? 

For a moment that word made wrinkles on the bridge of his nose in obvious disgust. They were useful subjects in his eyes, but in the end disposable. From what he witnessed, most of them were constructs put together by remnants of monsters that had met their end before. If she was not pliant of handing him command of her army.

..then he had to resort to another form of manipulation, by claiming her aether, her power, for himself.

“Then let us come to a compromise,” his shadow veiled her smaller frame as he greeted the intimate space with a minacious tone, which forced her to ignore a dull ache building up within her. Leathery wings flap languidly, keeping him perfectly suspended when leaning over. He saw his gargoylish reflection staring back at him.

He had her attention.

“..perhaps I can give you something you want in return for your help. After all, I wouldn’t need your minions when you can help me create my own.” Heat radiated from his own while he leaned towards her face; his teeth were made visible as he breathed the words quietly against her cheek. “I just need.. you.”

[waltwhitmansbeard]

From the 3-word prompt list, “fuck - you’re bleeding” with Vex and Scanlan, if it's okay and inspiration strikes?

108. “fuck- you’re bleeding.” setting this in tlovm

Scanlan is riding high. His friend love his magical chateau, because he's a genius with impeccable taste. He's strolling through the halls, surveying his realm; Keyleth is already tending to her plants, and Grog and Vax are sparring in the training room. Pike's fallen asleep on a lounger beside the pool, and Vex and Percy...

Well. They all know what Vex and Percy are up to.

Scanlan doesn't mind. Mostly he's just hurt that he wasn't invited, but he's aware that not everyone is as open-minded as he is. But if they're going to be humping all over the chateau, he'd appreciate them not hogging the sauna, because he could go for a steam.

He pokes his head into the training room again—Grog has Vax in a headlock, and Vax's face is turning a questionable shade of purple. Scanlan shrugs; not his problem. He turns down the next hall just in time to see the sauna door open in an explosion of steam. It's Vex's head that pokes out, conspicuously looking around as she clutches a fluffy towel around her chest. She steps out cautiously, and fuck it, he's bored. "Oh hey Vex."

Vex jumps and slams the sauna door closed. "Scanlan!" Her eyes are wild, like an animal's when its been caught in a trap. "What—what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I thought I'd have myself a nice steam." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Wanna join me?"

Vex's eyes dart nervously to the sauna door. "Um. No."

He sighs dramatically. "Fine, your loss." He reaches toward the doorknob.

"NO!" Vex's hand flies out to slap his down, but that leads to her towel starting to drop, so she whips her hand back up, hitting Scanlan's face in the process.

"Oh fuck!" Scanlan claps a hand over his cheek, which is stinging like a bitch.

"Shit, Scanlan, sorry, I—fuck—you're bleeding."

He scurries over to an ornate gilded mirror on the wall and examines his cheek. Sure enough, there's a small cut there, likely from Vex's nails, and a small amount of blood is seeping from the wound. He sighs again; he supposed he deserves this, fucking with his friends and trapping Percy in the sauna for this long. "Don't worry about it," he says, turning back to Vex. "I hope you enjoyed your steam."

And as he turns to head back the way he came, he's satisfied to see Vex's face go bright red with embarrassment. Oh yeah, definitely worth a little blood.

[aurora771]

Ships I've never felt were good for each other and/or felt forced:

Keyleth and Vax

Vex and Percy

Scanlan and Pike

Fearne and Ashton

No shade to anyone who gets joy from these ships, but I've never felt the cr cast played these in a way I was on board. Keyleth was forced into thinking about romance when she had no interest, and then Vax was always just there... waiting. I always found this creepy.

Vex and Percy, Vex's I can fix him mentality when Percy never stopped being insufferable made me think the cr cast pushed for this when I dont think the material/rp supported it.

Scanlan and Pike, again it felt like Scanlan just wore Pike down to eventually she was like well fine.

Fearne and Ashton, they have a shared Titan experience but that's about it for me. I think they are two different types of chaotic and not in a complimentary way. I cant see anything other than them hurting each other in the long run.