#and you will have to rip them from my cold dead hands

[darling-stardust]

I was trying to think of something witty for the caption but honestly, I worry it will cheapen how much fun I had making this with @rubbish-convention !! I have to thank her for answering my call for a collab and giving me the cutest little Hermie and the best background ♥️ (I only did two posters, literally look at that mirror and Joker poster !! I am OBSESSED!!)

I can't wait until our delusions meet on paper once again, my darling ♥️

(Tumblr hates me so please click the pic ! Better resolution ♡)

[custom-fic-studio]

Keigo Takami x female reader

Love Me, That’s All

The door clicked open with a sluggish push of his shoulder.

Keigo barely registered the sound of it shutting behind him. Every muscle in his body screamed, aching from the brutal mission that had dragged on for two days longer than planned. Cuts lined his arms and torso beneath the ripped hero suit. Dried blood caked some of them—nothing fatal, but enough to sting with every step. He hadn’t even gotten around to seeing a medic. Not yet.

He didn’t have the energy.

His wings dragged low behind him, heavier than they’d ever felt. The usual lightness in his stride had long since vanished, replaced with the quiet shuffle of someone barely holding himself together. The moment his eyes locked on the couch, his body decided for him.

Just get to the couch.

He collapsed face-down into the cushions with a groan, half on, half off, arms limp at his sides. He didn’t remove his boots. Didn’t bother with the straps of his gear. The morning message he sent you—short, apologetic, full of longing—was the last time you’d heard from him. He hadn’t even sent a “home safe.”

He meant to. He wanted to. He missed you so much it physically hurt.

You’d both had long days—you, probably still recovering from your own mission. He knew that. That was what stopped him from calling the second he stepped in. You deserved your rest too.

But Keigo Takami hadn’t made it ten seconds before sleep took him. Phone still in his hand. Draft message unsent. His final thought was of you.

I miss you.

…

The scent of something warm and familiar stirred him from sleep.

Keigo’s eyes fluttered open slowly, still hazy, still tired—but no longer cold. There was a blanket draped over him. His boots were off. His hero gear, which had clung to him like dead weight earlier, was nowhere in sight.

And the couch? It felt… comfortable. Like someone had shifted his position, made sure his limbs weren’t bent awkwardly, tucked him in with care.

He blinked toward the soft light pouring in from the kitchen. A figure stood by the stove, stirring a pot. The smell—rich, savory stew—wrapped around him like a second blanket.

His lips parted in a whisper. “… Y/N?”

You turned at the sound of your name, smiling the moment you saw him sitting up, dazed and blinking.

“Hi, honey,” you murmured with a tender smile, your voice warm and soothing. “How was your nap?”

He rubbed a hand over his face and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I didn’t even make it to the bed.”

“I noticed,” you teased, walking over to turn the flame down beneath the stew. “Now, would you like to eat first? Or take a bath—I can run one for you. Or… I should probably address your wounds before either.”

He blinked up at you, heart tugging in his chest. “You’re really here.”

You chuckled, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and nudging him up. “Come on. Sit at the table. You’ll feel better upright.”

He let you guide him without resistance, limbs sluggish but obedient, settling into a chair with a grateful sigh. You padded back over to the stove and left the stew on low before turning back to him. On your way to the cabinet, you retrieved the small first aid kit you’d seen him use before, popping it open on the table with quiet familiarity. You began laying out gauze, antiseptic, and ointment, your touch gentle and practiced.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, voice raspier now but full of affection.

You dipped a cloth in warm water and carefully began cleaning the dried blood from a scrape along his arm, your motions slow and soothing. You worked in silence for a moment, focusing on the tender spots and carefully applying ointment to the worst of them.

You tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “Maybe thirty minutes after my shift ended. I knew you had a long day, and I thought it’d be nice to cook you something warm… the meal you’ve been wanting for a while.” You hesitated for a second.“You didn’t answer when I knocked or called, so I used my key. I hope that’s okay?”

Keigo looked at you with a quiet smile, like just seeing you made everything in his world feel lighter. “Of course it’s okay. That’s why I gave you the only other copy I had. I want you to use it.”

You blushed, eyes dipping away for a moment before clearing your throat. “Well… anyway. I came in and saw you completely knocked out on the couch. I figured it’d be better to let you rest. You looked… peaceful. Really peaceful.”

You glanced down at his arm, giving one last gentle press to the bandage before pulling your hands back. “I think that’s all the wounds on your arms—for now. We can take care of the rest after we’ve had a bit of dinner.”

He leaned back slightly, arms draped over the back of the chair, looking at you with something unreadable and tender in his eyes. “You didn’t have to do all that.”

You cut him off gently, leaning forward. “I wanted to,” you said. “Because I love you.”

His chest swelled with warmth—fierce, protective, soft all at once.

He stood up slowly and closed the space between you with two quiet steps, hands finding your waist as he pulled you in. His lips found yours—slow and grateful, full of the things he hadn’t been able to say over text or calls or through bloodied hands on the battlefield.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your lips.

But you pulled back just enough to smile, your thumb brushing under his eye.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” you said, grinning now, so full of light he could barely take it.

“You just have to love me.”

Keigo’s lips curled into a slow smirk as he leaned in, voice low and warm against your ear.

“Oh, I plan on doing a lot more than just loving you.”

He leaned in even closer, his breath brushing your skin as he whispered exactly what he intended to do to you.

Your breath hitched as your face lit up in a rush of heat, eyes wide. He chuckled softly at your reaction, pressing a kiss to your temple with all the affection in the world.

And oh—he did. With everything he had.

[desasterdan]

*eating my 99th chocolate egg today trying not to cry while I mass reblog fanart*

"Yeah I like Dr. Robotnik a normal amount. Why're you asking?"

[zorangezest]

thanks for listening

[mswyrr]

the Sept scene was fully in character for Rhaenyra & Alicent

I've seen fans--even Rhaenicent fans!--saying it was ooc or "fanfic." It wasn't. The original scene was much shorter: Emma and Olivia, two very talented actors who know their characters well, expanded it. They weren't just wasting time or suddenly lacking in talent and insight. They knew what they were doing and it connects all the way back.

So let's go all the way back! Where do we begin? Episode 1x01, King Viserys wants a son and male heir; he has wanted a son for so long that Rhaenyra, his 14-year-old daughter says (ep 1x01) "For as long as I can recall, it’s all he’s wanted." What has this done to her? Well, for one thing, it has made her mother, who has difficult pregnancies, in ill health for most of her life. This ill health means that Aemma did a lot of lecturing (and trying to keep Rhaenyra from flying and doing other risky things while she was sick) and not a lot of getting to spend quality time with her daughter. A distracted father, ruling the realm, and a mother sick with trying to give him the male heir he prioritizes above his wife and daughter.

Who has been there for Rhaenyra? Alicent. Alicent was hers. When Rhaenyra flies on her dragon, experiencing freedom from all her worries and power and joy, she wants ALICENT to be there with her, high above the sea, looking out over the city:

[source: 1x01 script]

When Rhaenyra had to have a difficult conversation with her mother, it was Alicent she looked to for comfort and emotional support -- in an act a cut scene from the script *explicitly calls "flirting"*. Rhaenyra relies on and longs for that "disarming kindness" she says Alicent has.

And it was Alicent's lap that Rhaenyra flirts about loving to lie upon. Alicent is so much to Rhaenyra that she dreams of running away together, just the two of them and Rhaenyra's bonded dragon Syrax.

Alicent was her cherished girl, her comfort and her chief supporter and advisor. She was Rhaenyra's heart's rest. And, yes - it was a friendship blossoming into flirtation and desire as the two matured. They were on the cusp of something. They were the world to each other.

[source]

Emma and Olivia get it and have always gotten it. Rhaenyra has this gorgeous yang or solar energy that finds balance with Alicent's yin or lunar energy. They're a sun and moon couple, balancing each other's strengths and weaknesses. With Alicent, the sword of Rhaenyra's intense energy has a sheath. A resting place. Her fire has a hearth. And Alicent isn't drained by people (like Viserys would later do...) who just take and take and take -- hurting her and draining that "disarming kindness" of hers until she's broken and ruined inside. Rhaenyra gives and cherishes in a way that made Alicent feel whole and appreciated.

Rhaenyra goes from being angry (angry the way a jilted lover would be - calling Alicent a "whore" for what she felt emotionally imo as Alicent cheating on Rhaenyra with her father) to instantly deeply protective and possessive once she learns more. See the cut scene after Viserys reveals his engagement to Alicent:

[script pages source] [photo source]

Rhaenyra is ready to take on the whole Seven Kingdoms to protect her girl!

Rhaenyra liked being the focus of Alicent playing the "lady beloved" role - reading soothingly to her, supporting and encouraging and admiring her, teasing her for being naughty, advising her about her political situation. She found rest and comfort there - and then Viserys took her mother, cutting her open to get his precious son out. And then, in his remorse and grief, he took comfort in Rhaenyra's girl (who was forced to give him that precious kindness of hers by her father) and her father *stole her girl too*. Not only did he steal her girl, he put her own status as heir into question by having a firstborn son with her - after wounding Rhaenyra deeply by chasing a son as far back as she could remember!

All the "she should be over it" stuff about Alicent... if Rhaenyra were a male character people would recognize the wound of having his crush stolen out from under him by his old man at the same time his old man refuses to fully back his status as heir - it's archetypal! It's gd Greek. Your old man trying to keep you from the girl you want, from your desires and destiny as an adult.

Rhaenyra makes total sense in the Sept scene - she has the primal wound of a girl who is an HEIR - who wanted to have things and act and possess and stand tall and be the lover to a girl's beloved in a way only boys are allowed in this society... and whose father took her girl away from her as well as making her feel uncertain of her status in a deeply wounding way. Rhaenyra correctly locates, emotionally, her rupture from Alicent as where it all went wrong. The Sept scene is about all of that emotionally and it makes total sense. It is also about Rhaenyra's sheer desperation and comprehension of the horror coming... and the most heartbreaking longing to return to a time when Alicent's heart was her home.

Alicent's heart was Rhaenyra's home. And her father stole the girl she loved. He took her and savaged and used and broke her and made her give birth to children she didn't want (at least not with him) from decades of sex she did. not. want. because even men who think they're nice in this society are allowed that - to cut a wife open for a son, to use a girl young enough to be his daughter. He vacillated between wounding and affirming Rhaenyra, never fully able to honor her as his heir because she was not a boy. And he couldn't even conceive of her feelings for Alicent because this is a deeply homophobic society - but he was also, even seeing it in a platonic light, selfish and inconsiderate of her feelings for her best friend.

He kept putting his feelings and needs first, over his wife, over his daughter, over her best friend.

I don't care if nobody else gets it - the way Emma plays it? They get it. They're an extremely talented actor who wasn't going "ooc" in the Sept - they were playing *that*. My father inflicted these primal wounds on me because my coming of age was more like a boy's--like things that should be allowed girls but are denied them-- and he thwarted me and yet I love him. And I love Alicent and I long for her heart, though it's full of poison and broken things now. Why does it all have to be like this? Why does it have to hurt so much?

The Sept scene is entirely in character for both of them. It is not "fanfic." It is not OOC. It is the broken heart of this tragedy bleeding before our eyes.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

"Is Amphibia gay like The Owl House?" It is gay, but certainly not like The Owl House.

[tame-a-messenger]

10ish seconds into the new tntl and already a cute encouraging look between our sillies

I'm so fucking unbelievably happy that the Drought™ has officially dried out! (I suppose Drowned out?)

I don't feel incorrect in saying that in this video, Damien and Angela are the most comfortable I've EVER seen them with each other!

Usually, they get a little stiff around each other. (both of them having issues with people liking/understanding them, so that tracks) but in this last batch of videos they've been really in-line and comfy!

(WARNING! I MIGHT BE ABSOLUTLY INSANE!) VVV

Because they have been so 'in-line' with each other recently (I've noticed it since the Fortnite Monopoly 9 days ago) I caught myself thinking if anything happened recently where they would have bonded more? did they go to something or do something recently that they would have became closer friends??

So it had me thinking about the fact they do shoot weeks, (I believe someone at Smosh said they've been doing them around the beginning of the month, give or take) and Damien's hair looks noticeably different (lil more purple-shampoo-ie) since the Fortnite video. So I believe we've entered early March's batch of videos. (this is all in theory, time wise)

And so, what was happening in beginning of March, that they both would have been at? .....

The fucking Mythical Cookbook release party.

AKA IM TALKING ABOUT THE PHOTO THAT WAS POSTED MID DROUGHT™ THAT WE ALL WERE FREAKING OUT ABOUT

THIS PHOTO WAS POSTED MARCH 8TH, ALMOST EXACTLY A MONTH AGO

So it lines up with the assumed shooting schedule, and they definitely talked at it, so how wrong am I in saying that they got to chat and understand each other better since?

(INSANITY (and absolute big braining) OVER)

Regardless if I am right with my theories, these two have definitely gotten closer, and that's so awesome! I'm so happy and excited with what the future holds!

Imo these two are the best when they can freely make jokes to the people they trust, so having another pseudo 'Shayne' and 'Amanda' in each other is going to be great content in the future! (and more fun (for me) because they pick on each other more viciously) (I can't help but love them<3)

[iamnotnormalaboutoldermen]

[excedrinpm]

Me logging onto tumblr after a long and stressful day: 🙂

My inbox having 2-3 new messages saying I should die and kill myself and burn and die and burn and kill myself and die: 😝😝😝

Me: 🙃

[justworthlessreblogs]

woe. (most of) my kirapika doodles from the past few months be upon ye in honor of their birthday

most of these are technically waffleverse. 1 and 3 are from some generic au where rio kept his precure powers after 40, ig. i just felt like drawing his canon outfit at the time. 2 is actually a scrapped piece of dialogue from bibury fic back when it was supposed to go in a different direction and rio was a lot more chill. 4 was drawn after i encountered one of the motion shrines in my botw replay and decided to project my frustrations onto rio because those things SUCK

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Yet another wild crackship between my LDB and some Skyrim dumbo, but this time it's General Tullius, and it actually gets madder from there

Look, a lot of this surprised me too. It sure surprised @elder-dragon-reposes and yet it makes sense and that's the strange beauty of it

ao3 | masterlist

He could be forgiven for not seeing her at Helgen. Between Ulfric's capture and the following dragon attack, Tullius had his hands full with escaped prisoners and a town in ruins. Not to mention Elenwen's attempts to take over his execution. One half-elf caught in the crossfire was below his attention at the time. When she came into Castle Dour, a cold wind in her wake as she spoke about fire and death, he had no choice but to pay attention to her. Especially when she brought up things like "peace" and "ceasefire." This Last Dragonborn was out of her mind.

Yet somehow, she led him into an agreement to meet with the Stormcloaks at High Hrothgar.

Tullius isn't quite sure he likes that. She's as double-edged as any Thalmor diplomat with her words. As noble as her intentions appear on the surface, he's not sure he can trust her.

At High Hrothgar, the Last Dragonborn, Leara, leads both sides into an agreement where no one gets what they want, but no one is worse off, and she plans to trap a dragon in a castle.

She . . . plans to trap a dragon in a castle.

Tullius knows he was sent to Skyrim to tame the rebellion, but no one ever prepared him for how maddening the people of Skyrim were. No one is as maddening as the Nords' hero. Tullius cannot understand her. He's not sure he wants to, all things considered.

The Legate is amused by his consternation. He knows this even without her saying anything. But Tullius is worried. This Leara has the power to sway Skyrim in whatever way she chooses, and if she joins the Stormcloaks, then he has a feeling that the Empire might lose more than Skyrim before all is over.

He keeps an ear out for the Dragonborn's movements. His spy network throughout Skyrim is extensive: If she breathes in Windhelm's direction, if she says anything about the Civil War, then he'll need to be ready. This woman has slain dragons. He doesn't want to see what she'll do to a legion of mortal men. Tullius needs to be ready.

Tullius is not ready when Leara walks into Castle Dour again, armorless and prim as she waltzs into his war room. Legate Rikke greets her, but Tullius pretends to give half an ear. He looks like he's going through reports, but he's trying to keep an eye on the anomaly in the room.

Legate Rikke and the Dragonborn talk quietly together. And then the Dragonborn leaves and Tullius finally puts down his paperwork. Legate Rikke is frowning.

"What did she want?"

The Legate's attention snaps to him.

"She wanted to know about our support from Cyrodiil, sir." "Support?" "She mentioned your inability to negotiate a peace settlement, General."

Tullius recalled that. He'd told the Dragonborn he couldn't do more than accept Ulfric's surrender. But why did the Dragonborn want to know about the Imperials' ability to negotiate with the rebels? Didn't she already get her peace treaty and trap her dragon?

Tullius cannot wrap his head around her. Everything his spies have reported paints her as kindness. Even the coldest Nords seem to thaw around her. But Tullius can't base his understanding of such a power player like the Dragonborn on reports and a handful of interactions. He'd have to speak with her himself.

The Winking Skeever is busy when he steps in. A few heads turn, but otherwise, no one pays Tullius any particular attention. The Dragonborn isn't difficult to find, either: She's at a corner table with her nose buried in a dusty book.

Tullius makes his way over to her.

The Dragonborn is surprised to see him but still invites Tullius to sit at her table.

"I assume this is about my discussion with your legate earlier."

She's perceptive. But Tullius already knew that.

"Do you always discuss politics in a bar?"

At his question, the Dragonborn offers a little half-smile, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"Do you?"

No. Honestly, Tullius couldn't recall the last tie he even visited a bar or tavern other than while traveling. Perhaps he was working too late, but between the Civil War, Elenwen, the dragons, and (maybe) the Dragonborn, he couldn't afford to slack off. Why else would Tullius chase the Dragonborn down to the local inn?

"Have you read much about Skyrim?"

Her question surprises him.

"War commentaries mostly. Military history."

The nod of her precise head is measured as if she expected that response. Marking her page, she closes her book and shows him the cover. It's some thick tome he's never heard of, but the knotwork dragon design around the edges breathes of old Nordic craftsmanship.

"As Dragonborn . . . [she pauses for a long moment] . . . As Dragonborn, I am highly invested in the preservation of the Empire and Skyrim."

She chews her lip.

Tullius almost asks if she's about to join the Legion. He can't deny that he'd hoped that would be her ultimate decision, but sitting here across from the Dragonborn as she was now, deliberating over words and tapping her book's cover, Tullius knew she wasn't about to swear fealty to the Emperor.

When she continues, she speaks slowly.

"General Tullius, would you be willing to help me? I need to reach out to people in the Imperial City about a peace summit, and I don't know where to begin."

A peace summit?

"I take it Ulfric didn't put you up to this?"

Her frown is surprising.

"No, he didn't. I asked him."

The Dragonborn asked Ulfric if she could talk to the Empire about a peace summit?

Before he could ask what in Oblivion that was supposed to mean, the server brought a tea service to the table. Just as quickly, he was gone.

"Would you care for a cup, General? I'm afraid all they have is lavender honey." "I . . . would like that--" "Leara."

She supplied. Her lips quirked.

So Tullius found himself ensconced at a table in The Winking Skeever and discussing different politicians and diplomats back in the Imperial City with the Dragonborn – Leara. He's halfway through his second cup when she admits that she's trying to find a peaceful resolution to the Civil War that could please everyone. He calls her a hopeful idiot, but she smiles.

"You can't please everyone." "Well, I don't think I can please the Dominion, but I can tie them in legal knots."

Leara wiggles her fingers at him, her rings glittering in the candlelight, and Tullius finds himself speechless.

If the Dragonborn – Leara – can tie the Thalmor up with a loophole, how imminent would their retaliation be? Tullius is at once intrigued and put off.

She was mad.

"Here, you'll want to write . . ."

But by the Divines, he was going to help her anyway, wasn't he? If Leara could talk Ulfric off his warpath, then maybe there was something to her hair-brained scheme.

Tullius sees Leara a few days later. She's been to the Blue Palace and the Bards College, she tells him when he meets her again at the 'Skeever. She's combing through maps and treaties, drafting letters, and making lists. Her mind is running at speeds Tullius can't comprehend, and yet she keeps looking to him for advice.

As Leara stirs a lump of sugar into her snowberry spice tea and peruses another list, Tullius wonders if she did this with Ulfric when she went to ask him to consider peace.

Her penmanship is as poised as the rest of her. He cannot see her against the harsh stony backdrop of Windhelm, amidst the snow and vitriol. She's too civilized for Skyrim. She's almost too civilized for Cyrodiil, but Tullius won't think of that.

He doesn't have a chance to give it much thought anyway when she's asking him about neutrality and the terms of the Concordat.

It's late when Tullius leaves her the second time. As he leaves, she's carrying a stack of papers upstairs. She has a hopeful lift in her step.

Tullius almost smiles.

Almost.

The next morning, Legate Rikke drops a new report on his desk. It's from Captain Aldis.

"What's this, Legate?" "There was a break-in, sir." "And we're concerned with this, because?"

Legate Rikke's jaw tightens, her eyes are wide. Whatever it is has unsettled her.

"It was at The Winking Skeever."

She sighs. Heavy. It's a familiar frustration.

"General, I believe that the Thalmor were exercising their Concordat-given rights."

A pit settles in Tullius's stomach.

"They took the Dragonborn, sir." "On what grounds?" "It doesn't say. sir. It doesn't even mention the Thalmor at all. But you know–"

Tullius doesn't hear the rest of the sentence because he realizes his mistake. He should never have discussed the possibility of an armistice with Leara in a public room. Who overheard her? Who saw Leara's notes and lists and books? Who ratted her out to the Thalmor?

Tullius's fist clenches, his knuckles pale. The one person with a Divine's chance in Oblivion to bring a favorable resolution to the Civil War and the Thalmor took her like every Talos worshipper the Empire was supposed to turn a blind eye too.

He paces around his office. Legate Rikke has left him alone, and now all Tullius can do is think and walk. Turn. Think and walk. Turn. The cycle repeats throughout his office. He only suspects that the Thalmor took Leara. Without concrete proof, he can't accuse them or he'll risk something far more uncomfortable than paperwork. But if he does nothing, then every hope for peace in Skyrim vanishes in the Dragonborn's wake.

Tullius stopped in the middle of his office, standing at a crossroads. Was it possible to ascertain that the Thalmoor abducted Leara and to request her freedom without bringing Elenwen down on his head? Probably not. But . . .

Tullius recalled the wide eyes, the fear swimming in the teary blue when Leara was faced with Elenwen at High Hrothgar. At the time, Tullius didn't think much of the Dragonborn's aversion to her. Most people hated the Thalmor Ambassador on a good day. But the terror that flickered in Leara's face before she grew cold and distant and manipulated the entire table to her own ends came back to him.

No, Tullius knew Elenwen personally had the Dragonborn. There was a history there he couldn't see, but it peeked at the edges of his vision in brilliant horror.

Elenwen had Leara, and she wouldn't let the half-elf go lightly.

If Leara could cheat an entire room of warring politicians and soldiers while ensuring a truce, then Tullius could sure as Hell try to manipulate Elenwen.

Sitting at his desk, the General ruled out any official Legion channels. Those would be tied back to him and ruin any chance Leara had of negotiating her armistice. Something under the table, then.

Mercenaries were messy. Robbing Elenwen would take a different hand. He grimaces and drafts a letter.

General . . .

The messenger hawk returns the next evening. Tullius doesn't want to think about why the hawk returned so quickly. He just hoped his charade would hold.

(Writing Galmar Stone-Fist of all people to encourage a Stormcloak raid on Northwatch Keep was something Tullius knew he could never live down if it got back to any of his superiors in Cyrodiil. He couldn't trust that General Stone-Fist would take an anonymous tip at face value, but as Leara soliloquised late that last night,)

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend."

It's four long days of giving only half his attention to his job before an Imperial scout reports that the Stormcloaks attacked the Thalmor fortress of Northwatch. When the Legion got there, nothing was left but smoldering ruins.

"They had a dragon, sir."

Tullius didn't want to know how they had a dragon, but he was optimistic that it meant Leara made it out of there alive.

With the Stormcloaks, but alive.

He sleeps through the night for the first time in over a week. When Tullius wakes up, he wonders how he could turn to the rebels to save the Dragonborn. Effective, yes, but it went against everything he was supposed to represent.

But she's alive.

She would be dead or worse off if he hadn't done it.

Tullius uses that thought to bolster himself through the coming weeks.

Then, a letter addressed to Tullius comes by way of Whiterun of all places. He recognizes the slender script curling his name across the paper. It's a short letter asking him to retrieve her belongings from her room at the 'Skeever. Two things stand out to him: The first is the thank you. Tullius cannot tell what Leara means by it because he knows that Stone-Fist didn't know who sent the tip about Northwatch. And yet there's a tearstain on the parchment, small and alone as if any others were quickly dashed away after the first one fell. The second is that all her books, papers, the things she worked on for her peace talk were all hidden in a panel behind the bookshelf in her boardroom.

Tullius didn't even think of Leara losing all her work. He was more concerned about getting her out. He was more worried about her than anything else.

Tullius buries his face in his hands.

This was a familiar feeling. It'd been years since the last time he felt like this.

Although, Tullius gave himself a wry smile, he doubted he'd have betrayed the Empire for the Countess of Anvil's cousin.

Tullius goes early the next morning to retrieve Leara's things, hidden or otherwise. A member of his spy network is tasked with getting the parcels to a Lydia in Whiterun. Then Tullius watches as every connection he has to the Dragonborn disappears out the doors of Castle Dour.

It's back to the everyday humdrum of war, then.

Until, some months later, a familiar half-elf comes into Solitude. Now, she's accompanied by a dark-haired Nord woman in heavy armor. Her stormy expression and hawkish eyes remind Tullius of Rikke at times. Leara introduces her as Lydia, her housecarl. Then Leara is handing him a folio of papers.

"I've been corresponding with some of the Elder Council. I'm planning a summit in Whiterun."

He takes the folio from her.

"What's this?" "My draft for a permanent peace treaty. I thought that since you helped me, you'd like to peruse it. Of course, I need to get it to Jarl Elisif when you're finished."

That Leara is offering to let him be a part of her peace treaty isn't lost on Tullius. He sets the folio on the table but leaves his hand on top, protecting it.

"I can come back for it tomorrow." "I'll get it back to you tonight."

Legate Rikke coughs, obviously. Tullius adds,

". . . we can discuss it over dinner, if you like?"

Leara's smile is full.

"I would like that."

They don't end up talking much about the draft. But Tullius gives Leara some of his favorite brandy after their dinner of roast lamb and stewed vegetables. Her giggle is light and airy, and her hand is cool like spring water when he takes it across the table.

Perhaps he drank more than he should have, but liquid courage was a reassuring friend.

At the end of the night, Leara, tipsy and yet all grace, presses a petal soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. She pulls away.

His hands slide up her arms, callused fingers catching on the soft linen of her sleeves. And he pulls her back and kisses her, full and properly on the mouth.

Leara tastes of tea and winter and something floral and frosted. There's more than magic in her mouth – there's music and mercy. If Tullius wasn't drunk before, he finds himself intoxicated on Leara.

She strokes his face, smiling, always smiling, and then backs away. Her eyes are bright and liquid and as deep as Lake Rumare. In the low glow of golden orange firelight, she is beautiful.

He loves her.

He doesn't say it, and soon she's gone, slipping through doors into the night. An angel passing from the room.

The next day, he finds that she left him her address. It had been a long time since Tullius even tried to write a love letter. They were never his strong suit, but Leara had a way of inspiring madness in him. He wrote her.

And Leara wrote him back.

Again and again and again.

Tullius doesn't expect for his presence to be needed when the summit is called in Whiterun. The Empire has its own group of delegates to negotiate the terms of Skyrim's division. But still, Elisif the Fair says that General Tullius has been asked to attend. The young queen seems as if she can't quite believe it, but she was often wide-eyed and overwhelmed as it was.

(Maybe Julia was right. He should listen to Elisif more. But pretty soon, it was likely Tullius would never see the Queen of Solitude again.)

Leara is there in Whiterun, laying out the terms of the Armistice with the light and delicacy he'd come to expect from her. How many others here knew she was anxious that things would crumble apart, that things would come to blows, and that the war would escalate for all her efforts to temper the fire?

Ulfric's face is a dark stormcloud, but somehow the Jarl of Windhelm appears to hold his tongue around the Dragonborn. He watches her, defers to her, and in return, Leara smiles at him.

Tullius is simply in an advisory position for the Imperial delegates to mine information on the state of the Civil War and the Imperial Legion. He never speaks to Ulfric, and seldom to Leara during the weeklong summit. But he sees the Jarl speak to her between sessions. Leara is quiet and nods. Her eyes are faraway and thoughtful.

Tullius remembers that when she first brought the idea of the summit to him, Leara mentioned that she convinced Ulfric to agree to it. For the first time, Tullius wonders how Leara went about winning Ulfric Stormcloak to her side.

His chest burns.

When the Armistice is signed and Skyrim divided in two–

"Divided, you can finally be united."

Leara said.

–there is a feast. Leara is in demand all night. Tullius watches from the sidelines, some Cyrodilic brandy in hand as he watches one person after another flit around her, bees buzzing around a blooming rose. After a while, Tullius gets up and retires to the quiet of the Dragonsreach porch.

He isn't out there long when the doors open again. From the dark stairwell where he sat, he saw Leara flit by, orbited by Ulfric.

Tullius's hand tightened on his glass.

"You must be relieved that's over." "I'm glad we could reach a resolution."

She deflected Ulfric's concern with a wave of her hand.

But Tullius knew the truth: She was terrified of the summit. She was terrified she'd fail.

"What will you do now?"

Leara's question broke through Tullius's thoughts.

Ulfric shifted.

"There's much to do. Skyrim hasn't been in a state like this since the Second Era. I'll need to work quickly to bring stability to the east before we can truly reap any of tonight's rewards." "You have a busy schedule, Jarl Ulfric! [her laugh is musical] Even when my work ends, you still have so much to do!" "Leara . . ."

There's a hesitation in Ulfric's voice that Tullius never would have imagined from the man who Shouted High King Torygg apart. Leara's responding,

"Yes, Ulfric?"

is careful.

"I was hoping that you would come to Windhelm with me. To help me." "Help you? As an advisor? Certainly, but–" "Not as an advisor. Not . . . as you're thinking. Leara, surely you must know what I feel for you." "Oh."

If Tullius didn't fear being caught, he'd have stormed from the porch. Or over to Ulfric and pushed him off. Or something. His blood was rushing in his ears.

Certainly, he and Leara hadn't truly defined what it was between them. This week was the first time he'd seen her since kissing her that night in Solitude, and in this week, they'd hardly been alone together long enough to discuss anything beyond the summit and the usual pleasantries.

But her letters were candid and funny and full of ideas. Her mind spilled across the page in curling and shifting lines.

Tullius knew then that while he had Leara's mind, there was every possibility that Ulfric had her heart. She was as divided as Skyrim was.

"Ulfric–" "While Skyrim was at war, I knew I couldn't give you the attention you deserved. But now that we can have some peace, I wish to ask you for your hand. Leara, you ignite a fire in my chest that burns my heart when you are near. Please do me the honor of agreeing to marry me."

There's silence. Long, drawn-out silence. Somewhere on the plains, a wolf howls. Its cry echoes the pain in Tullius's chest.

"Ulfric . . ."

Leara's voice is choked, emotional but she is forcing it down.

"Ulfric, you're very dear to me, but I can't marry you."

It was only Ulfric's loud,

"You can't? Why?"

That covered the sound of Tullius's brandy glass slipping to shatter on the stone stairs.

Leara hesitated.

"I can't give you my heart because it belongs to someone else. I can't take it back." "Who?"

Leara quieted.

"Please, Leara, if you won't marry me, then allow me the courtesy of knowing who I lost you to!" "I–"

Leara choked.

Tullius's heart sped up as his hands shook. He was as anxious as Ulfric to hear her answer.

"You won't like it." "Who is it? Galmar? I know he was the one to pull you from that Thalmor pit."

Divines. That would just be the cherry on top of this entire fiasco, wouldn't it?

"No, not . . . It's . . . General Tullius."

The silence that followed was more deafening than any that proceeded it. Even from the darkened stairwell, Tullius could since the thunder around Ulfric, rumbling silent and yet violent.

"You won't marry me because you're in love with Tullius?" "If that's how you want to put it, yes, that's it." "Leara – I, he . . ."

For once, all of Ulfric's fine speeches seemed to fail him.

"Please don't be upset."

Leara's voice is as soothing as the first spring rain, as far apart from Ulfric's hurricane as possible.

There was a rustle of skirts.

"You are a very important person to me, for more than you can possibly know, but I can't give you the love you want. It's not mine to give you." "But Tullius–" "Has been so vital to me during these last several months. We would not have this peace if not for him. I needed him." "I need you." "I know, but I've given you all I can. I can't give you any more."

Tullius peeks around the corner far enough to see Leara on her tiptoes. She whispers something in Ulfric's ear, then presses a fleeting kiss to his cheek. Tullius ducks back just in time to be hidden as Ulfric turns and leaves the porch. The doors shut behind him with a whisper of finality.

"You can come out now, General."

Tullius's knees are stiff as he gets up from the steps. Leara is waiting for him in the middle of the porch, her red hair a dark contrast against the white gold of her skin and the pale ivory of her gown. She's aetheric in the moon and aurora lights.

"I hope you finished your brandy before the glass fell."

His neck grows warm with embarrassment.

"Is that how you knew I was there?"

Leara's coy smile was her only answer. Yes, then. Well.

"Ulfric Stormcloak proposed to you." "Yes, he did." "And you turned him down." "Yes, I did. " "Why . . ."

Her hand was on the side of his face. She was perhaps a hairsbreadth taller than him, maybe an inch, but her hand felt so small against his face that Tullius couldn't help but reach up and clasp it with his own for fear that it slip away.

"I thought you were eavesdropping." "Well, I wouldn't say that–" "And, therefore, would know why I turned Ulfric down."

Tullius tries to swallow, but his throat is tight. Leara's hand is cool against his skin, and he takes comfort in that.

"You love me." "Yes, I do."

Her smile is radiant.

Tullius's hand slips from Leara's, but then his arms are around her waist, pulling her into him. She is slim and cool and everything a flower in winter might be. He buries his nose in her neck, amidst the frost and flowers.

"I love you."

She doesn't reply. She only tightens her arms around his torso. They stand there in the quiet of the night, away from the celebrations but togehter under the stars.

Later, when Tullius returns to Solitude for the last time, he packs his things for the return to the Imperial City. He takes his bags to the docks.

And there Leara is waiting for him, Lydia her housecarl in tow. She smiles at him, full and vivid.

"You're late. My trunks are already on board. Right, Lydia?"

Lydia rolls her eyes.

"All eleven of them, my Thane."

Tullius chuckles, quiet.

Leara's hand finds his, and he helps her up the gangplank of the Imperial Naval ship. It would be a long voyage, but Leara had never sailed before, so that would be their mode of transportation back to the Imperial City.

"What will we do when we get there?"

Leara's question is teasing and free of the burden of being Dragonborn and peacemaker. There were still the Thalmor to worry about, but after the ruin of Northwatch and the signing of the armistice, Tullius hoped they'd think thrice before going after Leara again.

"I'll buy you expensive teas and you'll drain my accounts on tea and books."

Her giggle rang out amidst the sounds of the ship preparing to leave the harbor.

"Oh yes, that must be why I've gone and married you."

Tullius pulled his wife to his side and slipped his arm around her waist.

"Must be."

It couldn't possibly be that she was the most maddening thing in the world and she drove him mad by proximity.

Madly in love.

What nonsense.

fin

[raptureshots]

does anyone else think about him or am i the odd one out here?

[cupids-patheon]

Hear me out

[starheirxero]

Tlaes has made a grave mistake because now they've enabled me. I have had gemini x lunar on my mind for a minute now but it never really formed into anything past brief daydreams but now? now, folks, I can't just turn back!!!??!?!

NOTHING CAN CHANGE MY MIND. THIS IS MY OT3 NOW. THIS IS A HILL I WILL HAPPILY DIE ON. GOOD LUCK EVER GETTING ME OUT OF THIS PIT HAJABSJNWMD

[nevaronn]

Forever Yours [Until The Sun Burns Out] is now live on AO3, FFN, and LiveJournal! (Links Below)

Pairing: Yumichika Ayasegawa/Ikkaku Madarame

Rating: M

Warnings: None

Status: Complete

Tags: Smut, Fluff, Pre-Hell Arc, Post-TYBW, Lots of emotions, Sexting, Lingerie, Pain Kink, Rough Sex, Choking, Possessive Sex, Slight Degradation, MENTIONED Blood Kink

Summary: Smartphones in the soul society seemed like a good idea at first... and then Yumichika got his hands on one, and he's making it his goal to make Ikkaku suffer

____________________________________________

Happy (late) Birthday Yumichika!!

I've had this idea for a while, and thought it would be fun to post for his birthday, although there ended up being more emotions in it then smut... not sure how I feel abt that, but I think it came out cute all the same :)

Highkey might do a part 2 for Ikkakus Bday... we shall see shall by the sea shore.

Do let me know what you think of her! I havent written smut in a very long time so it was good to stretch those muscles again!

Ive been exhausted with work but Im excited for the next chapter of Tangled Up, it contains one of the first scenes I ever thought up for this story, so finally getting to put it onto a page is very exciting for me, and I do hope you'll stick around for it:)

See you all soon!

All the love,

Nev

AO3 | FFN | LJ

[blizzardfluffykpop]

today's plan: to clear drafts of misc. that is funny- and reblog all the fanfics that remain in here- (has one been in here since jan of this year- yes dw about it) I'll delete this if i remember