#cadence execution

[authenticcadence18]

why are people on Twitter saying Star and Marco have no chemistry I do not understand🥲

[wizzroboe]

My friends and I made mistakes and I'm making that everyone else's problem

[girlkisserr]

*dumps a whole week's worth of ND related Inktober art*

yea so i suddenly gained motivation and spent like a whole night and earlier today with these

🌸the second list im using i found here by @creamsherry

[theinfiknight]

It's funny how Twilight Princess has a reputation for being the 'edgy' Zelda game when it's so fucking silly and straight up campy at times. Like they really had the penultimate boss that the game had been building up to from the beginning be this dancing capering twink who falls off platforms and gets his head stuck in the dirt and whose preferred method of sword based combat is- "wave it around wildly and hope it hits something".

The entire race of Hylians was created by a progenitor race of chicken sized chicken people in the canon of Twilight Princess. This is played completely straight.

The kingdom's dungeons where prisoners are fucking executed, is operated by use of a man sized Beyblade that serves no purpose other than operating these mechanisms. This is never commented on. The final boss fight of this same dungeon is a literal rollercoaster ride where link uses the Beyblade to jump tracks and kill the enemy. Who is the manifestation of the resentment and power of the dead. Killed. By a twink riding a beyblade.

One of the main characters is a toddler with the cadence and vocabulary of a jaded thirty year old, who performs a hostile takeover of the city's premier center of commerce, which he then transforms into a toddler-themed bazaar. This is also played completely straight.

Bigfoot is real and also a wife guy. There is no explanation as to where he fits in in the races created by the gods.

[merriclo]

making this abt my linkverse bc ofc i am Cadence (cadence of hyrule link) loves music boxes and Lorule (albw and tfh link), Spirit (spirit tracks link), Mask (oot and mm link), and Oracle (alttp, ooa, oos, and la link) are all banding together to figure out how the actual fuck to make one for him

loz game where the main music component is music boxes when

[freedomfireflies]

more stiles blurbs??? last one was hot

A tense silence settles over the hallway as you look at the massacre and bloodshed, the ruby marks splattered across the wall, across your dress, and across Stiles’ face. 

His chest is heaving, his cheeks are flushed, and his stained hands are balled into fists by his side. He’s done what he came to do. He’s managed the threat. He’s executed the entire council.

He looks at the damage he’s done as he regains control of his breathing pattern and once he manages to ground himself, he looks up and meets your eye.

You gaze at the face of the man you’ve grown to love these past few months. The face of a man who gave up sanity and freedom and his entire life just to be with you. The man who chose to crawl back into the labyrinth of the nogitsune just to keep you.

You step over the lifeless body at your feet, your heels clicking across the marble floor as you make your way for him. He watches you, still a bit lost in his own mind, but with each step you take, he becomes increasingly more aware of himself. Of you. Of why he’s here.

You take his face in your hands, thumb swiping a stray drop of blood from his lip. “How do you feel?” you whisper. You’re desperate to taste just a fraction of the ecstasy you’re sure is coursing through his veins. All that pain, all that agony, all that strife…you need it. More than you need air in your lungs.

His eyes flick between yours as he finds his voice. “So fucking good.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His hands find your hips, tugging you into his body as your chest meets his. “Better than the last time.”

Your lashes flutter at the rough cadence of his voice. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs as he nudges his nose against yours. “S’fucking good, Angel. Promise you’ll like it.”

“I know,” you tell him within an instant, ready to find out. “I know, I can feel it.”

“Yeah?” His breathing is becoming sporadic, as is your own, both of you beginning to claw at the fancy outfits you’ve chosen for the evening in a desperate attempt to take. “This what you wanted?”

He pushes you back until you meet the wall, and you gasp at the contact as he begins to fist your dress in his large hand. 

This is what you wanted. It’s all you’ve wanted ever since he took you to the woods and introduced you to the Nemeton. Introduced you to the power. To Void. To the possibilities.

You’ve never seen a man more glorious. Never seen someone so comfortable in this type of light. This type of revenge. 

The Stiles you met back at the academy was quiet. Frustrated. Kept to himself and didn’t talk much about his past.

Spencer Reid had introduced you. Said Stiles needed a friend. A reminder that the future was louder than the past. 

You befriended the quiet, tortured boy. Figured out why he hid in the shadows. What he was trying to hide from.

He didn’t just let you in that night. He let the darkness in as well.

“We should…we should go,” you pant as he trails his open-mouthed and desperate kisses along your jaw. “They’ll be here soon, and you know Hotch won’t let this go—”

“Don’t fucking care,” he whispers, fingers slipping up the inside of your thighs as he kicks your feet apart. “Don’t care, Angel. Know you don’t, either.”

Your eyes roll back as he cups the back of your neck just to bite on your bottom lip. As he takes. “I care about keeping you safe—”

“M’safe right fucking here. Right here, with you.”

You whine when you feel him press the heel of his hand to your clit, rolling his wrist just to watch you squirm. “Stiles—”

“What?”

You gasp for air. “We have to go—”

“Not yet. Not until I get what I came for.”

“Stiles—”

“What?” he whispers, nose against your cheek as he slips his fingers inside. As he curls and beckons you toward what you want. What you both want. “You know the deal. Know it’s all for you—”

“Fuck.” Your head falls back against the wall with a thump. You’re not even sure how you’re still standing or why he’s so set on doing this now, but you suppose he’s right. A deal was made that day in the woods. A deal you can’t exactly opt out of and wouldn’t want to if you could. 

“If you wanna go so bad…” he murmurs as he drags his teeth along the outer shell of your ear. “…then I guess you better give me what I want.”

He wants to ruin you. See tears streaming down your face as you beg him for the power he wields. For the euphoria that comes from the dark kitsune spirit. For the touch that bends you, the touch that breaks you, the touch that belongs to nobody else but him.

The lifeless bodies on the floor, the blood painted across the walls, the strife he’s caused here…that’s only the tip of the iceberg. It’s only a fraction of what he feeds off of. 

What he truly needs to survive…is you.

You know this. You’ve always known this. And you adore it, truthfully. Adore the way your body, your pleasure, your pain is his destiny. Is the reason he exists. The way he spends each moment tortured by the thought of consuming you. 

It’s what drives him.

Like now. With all this chaos in the air (and on the floor), he can’t leave, he can’t move on until he gets what he really came for.

You.

And you’re not cruel. You’re not unfair. You’ll give him exactly what he wants, and you’ll do it gleefully.

He growls in the back of his throat when he feels you clench around his fingers. When he feels your nails scratch down his white shirt that’s stained crimson. When he feels you finally let yourself go.

And each kiss, each bite, each thrust is made for you. To own you, to have you, to ravish you. 

Stiles Stilinski is many things.

Focused has always been one of them.

You can hear the sirens in the distance. The fleet of vehicles as they surround the building and screech to a stop. The sounds of stomping boots and the cocking of guns as they yell their orders and positions.

They’ve come to take him away.

And while Spencer has always done a rather good job of giving you both a head start, you don’t imagine Stiles’ old boss will be pleased to see him at the center of this unjust crime.

So, just before they can swing the doors to the hotel lobby open, you give him what he wants. You gasp his name and fall into his arms as he carries you through the moment. As he whispers, “S’a good fucking girl,” over and over until you wilt into his chest in an attempt to catch your breath. 

And he seethes your name under his breath, the power you’ve just given him unlike any other. The rush of control and dominance almost enough to knock him off his feet. 

But you’re both out of time. You can hear the sound of Hotch’s voice as he leads his men toward the hallway you both currently reside in. 

And as Stiles leans back, ready to flee, you catch his eye. His smug smile rather victorious and so fucking pleased as he takes your hand and yanks you away from the wall.

You manage to slip through the emergency exit in seconds before you race down the steps, away from the mess you helped create and toward your getaway car.

Tonight, he got lucky. You both did. Perhaps next time, you won’t be able to say the same. 

But then again...you suppose you’ll just have to wait to find out.

I’m in a Stiles mood, sorry 😭

~ Full Masterlist

~ Other Dylan Blurbs

[2-fast-2-curious]

hii new follower here :)

any lando or george or carlos audio? all those audio recommendations are sooooo GOOD 🤞🏻

Today I'm feeling like a George girl [but in the cadence of Gianni Infantino's badly executed speech]

[M4F] I can't believe nobody invited you to the prom!

[Improv][British Accent][School][Foreign Student][Meet Cute][Friends to Lovers][Popular Kid and Nerd][Awkward Britishness][Sweet][inexperienced][Premature orgasm][hand job][cunnilingus][listener doesn't orgasm][virgins][afterword]['darling'][rooftop sex][almost caught][OST][Power pop ballad about pegging]

Reddit link for creator

[vvh0adie]

Top 10 Biases Tag Game

Tagged by the loveliest @sweetestofchaos

Rules: write down your top 10 biases and answer the following questions.

Hoseok (bts)

Jungkook (bts)

Tsuki (billlie)

Yeonjun (txt)  

Hongjoong (ateez)

Sunwoo (tbz)

Chanhee (tbz)

Dawon (sf9)

Rowoon (sf9)

Byounggon (cix)

( THAT’S WHAT I’M MFKN TALKIN’ ABOUT TSUKI!!! YA’LL DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE THIS WOMAN😫🥵)

1. Between 1&4 who would you rather kiss?

Hoseok hands down. I’m tryna lick all over that man’s beauty mark. Just one taste I swear to God.

2. Between 2&7 who would be your best friend?

Jungkook. I feel like he’d be more accepting of my weirdness and probably join in on the ridiculous shit I do or say.

3. Between 5&10 who has the better voice?

They’re both rappers, so I’m tryna think of who’s cadence I enjoy the most. They’re wildly different, but I would say Hongjoong. Something about his nasally voice sends me, but also his flow is insane.

4. Between 1&8 who is the funniest?

OH LORDT HAVE MERCY!!! I really don’t wanna choose but I will say that me and Hobi share a lot more comically other than Sunwoo and Tsuki.

5. Between 6&9 who would you date?

Sunwoo cuz he’s a weirdo, but so is Rowoon. However, Ro is suuuuuuppper tall and I’m 4′11, so the kissing would be exhausting unless he picked me up. Not to mention the weird comments from people. I wanna be able to enjoy my partner.

6. Between 9&10 who would you do a collaboration with?

Both. A contemporary R&B ballad with Rowoon and a alternative R&B ballad with BX.

7. Between 4&8 who is the better dancer?

Yeonjun just have this duality about him. He’s really good at executing sharp, powerful moves but also flowing like water.

8.Between 3&5 who would you most likely marry?

I’m marring Tsuki. I’ll choose a woman over a man in a heartbeat. She is the love of my life.

9. Between 1&7 who would you nurse when they are sick?

Hoseok. I need my sunshine Hobi 🥺

10. Between 2&3 who has the better smile?

Both. They both have cute lil’ bunny smiles that make me giggle like I ain’t got self-control. I would literally melt if one of them smiled at me.

11. Between 6&8 who would you vacation with?

Dawon. I feel like he would take really good care of me. Feed me, take me on a romantic date. THEN SING TO ME!!!

Tagging: @cremeandsuga @astronaut-jin-moon @babiekaykes @lovinglyrose @kookieswan @cutest-bunny-writings @pamzn @ressjeon

If anyone else wants to join please do. ❤️

[mongooseblues]

Stuffy As In Congested, Not As In Boring

Continuing a joke from a year old drabble. Honestly sometimes I just need to watch Cal be sneezy and a professor simultaneously.

- — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — - —

He’s taken measures to prepare, one of which is sixteen ounces of steaming tea in a reusable cup, another is a ream of tissues in his blazer pocket. It’s visible on him still, the last vestiges of his cold, but only if one were to really look through the perky professionalism, the genuine joy he takes in lecturing. Optimism and excitement do a pretty good job of obscuring the physical details.

But they're there if you look. The skin around his nose bears still the traces of frustration from when he couldn’t help but to swipe or to scratch—a bitter rouge that has yet to fully forgive him his mistreatment. He's technically well rested, but his dark circles are darker than usual, the creases below his eyes more pronounced. Leftover sniffles are easily provoked, so he’s drinking this particular cup of tea as slowly as possible.

He starts the lecture with his usual, “Gooooooood… morning!” wherein the ‘Good,’ is drawn out as long as students are still talking, and the ‘morning’ is an inflection change to cheekiness.

“I hope you all had a nice little break Monday. Apologies if my voice sounds kinda funny—I’m still getting over this cold. That was the main reason I canceled class actually. I didn’t feel too bad, but I sounded ridiculous. My partner was making fun of me for being unable to say…” He clicks a button on a very small remote controlling the projector on the ceiling, and the opening slide of his lecture appears against the massive white wall behind him:

Moral Non-Naturalism, it says.

“Wayyy too many nasal consonants in this particular lecture topic. Didn’t feel like making you all listen to seventy-five minutes of me talking about ‘boral dod-daturalism.’”

Cal pauses while students laugh, and starts again with a smile that’s spread further. “I’m still a liiittle bit congested but I’m gonna do my best to enunciate through it. Moral non-naturalism. Ooh that was pretty good! Way better than yesterday, okay here we go.”

A few minutes into the lecture before he starts to feel like he wants to sneeze, distinguishing between naturalism and reductionism with every intention of keeping it together as long as he can, but the gymnastics of his eyebrows are theatrical enough to be seen from any seat, inconveniently expressive and never affording him anything less than complete transparency. A sudden hike, an inward furrow—he knows he couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to, so Cal will have to be transparent as well.

A thought concludes but doesn’t transition. Instead it trails off as he brings a fist under his nose, and winces against a ticklish breath, but the feeling fades after a moment and he sighs a grateful exhale. “Sorry, thought I was about to sneeze for a second there. That wouldn’t have been good with this thing,” he says, indicating the sound-sensitive lav mic clipped to his shirt collar. “Blow out the speakers, snf! Deafen you guys.”

Cal generally tries not to laugh at his own jokes, but sometimes when they go over well he can’t resist joining in with a quick chuckle. He is particularly fond of this Monday/Wednesday class this semester. There’s been an especially joke-receptive energy here since day one, and it gives him the freedom to get sillier with them.

Only about a paragraph and a half further before the feeling is plaguing him again—a distracting, tickly electricity he knows is rearranging his features into a ridiculous expression somewhere between frustration and dismay.

“What Moore is saying is that any definition of morality put in terms of some natural property is a failure, because naht…”

A question, silently posed by a single twitch of nostrils, meets his executive decision that no he’s good it’s under control keep going, but his even cadence quickly becomes anything but—his voice wavering a little as he speaks, words inflating and floating away from him as he loses his grip on a sentence.

“Because natural properties—rightness, goodness, pleasurableness, et cetera—are halways liable to an oh-hoh—an open question and hokay actually I amabouttosneeze-excuseme—!”

He utters this last part in a speedy, rising panic and hurries to pull the mic from his collar and leave it dangling by the cord—a gasping breath is the last thing it relays before there’s a soft thud of static as it settles farther down his shirt, and Cal throws an arm over his face and lurches into his elbow with such vigor that he stumbles a few steps sideways with the entropy of it.

“DJIISSHHH’hu! Hh-! HehhdJESSHHhue!”

Harsh and percussive and probably still audible even without the assistance of the sound system, and there’s a chorus of bless yous after them both. It’s not the first time he’s been blessed by a class of three hundred and it won’t be the last, but it never fails to find him extremely touched by this synchronized demonstration of their attention and kindness.

“Hoo, thank you thank you,” he says when he picks up the dangling mic, about to clip it back into place when his breath falters (“uh-hih-?”) and his grip on his shirt collar does too, in favor of signaling his class with a shake of his head and the flash of a raised finger and then holding himself in place while he collapses into the other arm to muffle another exclamation.

“Huh-JEHHSHHhoo!”

More chorused blessings afterwards as he emerges from his sleeve with only a hint of sheepishness and a rake of fingers through his hair to untousle the locks he’s tousled loose.  

“Thank you!” he says again, committing to clipping the mic back on this time. “I think I’m dwindling down to the final sneezes of this cuh— of this cold, and I’m… I’m trying not to do that agaih-hin, um…” A couple of blinks as he wills himself not to, but it’s on the horizon and blinding him into a forced squint, and that fist-pressed-under-the-nose thing rarely actually works for longer than a few seconds, after which Cal can only shake his head again with a guilty smile and append his sentence; “and failing, sorryonemoretime—”

He wastes too much time with this warning to have a chance to take the mic back off again, so all he can do is put his hand over it, which does quiet him somewhat, in conjunction with burying his nose into the now somewhat dampened fabric of his blazer sleeve—to conspire anew with secret droplets hidden within the weaves of houndstooth—though a desperate vocalization still finds its way through the speakers.

“HAH-DZZIISSSHhyue!”

It seems to get funnier every time, to both Cal and his class, but he does feel his cheeks warm when he hears himself echo through the lecture hall. “Wow excuse me, I am so sorry,” he laughs. “Thank you for your blessings, and your patience. I’m definitely—snff!—I’m almost definitely done now.” A tissue is fished from his pocket and politely employed in a casual swipe beneath his nostrils, resisting how impolitely he’d love to perform this action and issuing a couple of unavoidable, staticky sniffles.

“Now, snffh! back to non-naturalism… oh, uh-oh, that sounds not so great again, hang on,” he says, sniffling sharply and clearing his throat, recalibrating to try again in earnest. “Moral non-nat-goddamnit.”

They laugh, he laughs.

“Moore’s theory is sometimes also referred to as intuitionism… but that’s not much better is it?” he asks, with a chuckle that crackles pointedly toward a cough.

He probably could have used another day to recover, but this won’t set him back any. Cal isn’t the medical kind of doctor, but he has a personal theory that returning to his life, the way it usually is, lends itself to speedier recovery. Maybe it’s because he’s an extrovert, or, admittedly, a little bit addicted to his work. Maybe it’s because he’s fortunate enough to do something he loves for a living. All he knows is that the energy of being here, with his class and their kind patience and their good-natured laughter, has curative properties of its own.

“Okay I think what I might do is give you all a five minute break, snffh! while I go blow my nose a bunch of times or something to try to remedy this. If that doesn’t work, unfortunately you’re just gonna have to listen to a very stuffy lecture—as in congested, I mean! Stuffy as in congested, not as in boring.”

[guardiantempest]

Gundam WfM What-If

El5n gets captured by Peil Technologies (his previous allegiance) but, rather than executing him, they instead bring him to heel with some “incentives”. The company noticed a correlation between Permet scores and strong emotions, and they were wiretapping during the recent crisis so...

Imagine the shock on El5n’s face when a representative brings a heavily-bandaged Norea into the room, as if they brought her back from the dead with the slimmest of miracles. Apparently she was found in the wreckage of a building, having fallen from a great height. The proposition is obvious: Elan reunites with Norea in exchange for both serving under Peil from here on.

El5n takes whatever he can get to survive with Norea but...

The drawings of her new sketchbook look more restrained. Technical, like an art student focusing on form over expression. Her hand feels so pristine and smooth for an earthian who went through immense hardship. She recites an anecdote during her time with the Dawn of Fold with practiced cadence. When questioned regarding her new working arrangement with spacians, she acknowledges that she’s in no position to do anything about it and she’s at their mercy for the time being. That’s not to say she has surrendered, far from it! She’s just biding her time until she can strike back in the distant future. The most damning of all is her grief towards Sophie Pulone, shown through melancholic tears rather than explosive furor.

According to the representative, Norea suffered from mild brain damage and trauma from a near-death experience. She might even have a bout of amnesia. That sounds plausible but El5n can’t help but doubt and worry. He’s torn between being forced to settle for a potential fake, or letting go from a second chance at happiness.

El0n is delighted at the development. An offshoot of the Enchanced Person project being successful so far. Next up: Miorine Rembran.

[vanacoar]

Talk Is Cheap, Roses Are Beautiful (Part 1 of 2)

Words: 3.8k

Rating: M(ish)

Warnings: Chuuya typical swearing, Some Spiciness at the end but nothing explicit

A/N: this took way too long to write but here we go! The second part will be all the fun smut that didn’t make it into this chapter, so if you’re not one for NSFW content, this chapter is the safer one and can be read on its own.

Summary: Dazai has a game he’d like to play with His favorite executive, and maybe some things he’d like to say too.

************

“So Boring.” Dazai whined as he reclined back against the office couch, hands cupped over a set of large black headphones on either ear, listening to what the rest of his coworkers couldn’t even guess.

“If you’re so bored, Dazai,” Kunikida shouted from across the room at his desk. “Then maybe you should consider actually getting some work done instead of lounging around like a lazy lout!”

Dazai ignored him, favoring more to focus on what he was listening to. As far as anyone was concerned, he was probably listening to music, or something of the sort, but in truth, the sounds berating Dazai’s ear drums right now were far less entertaining than a random radio station. Port Mafia meetings were SO BORING! Dazai didn’t miss them, they dragged on and on through sister factions, supply chains and intel gathering, all things that Dazai didn’t particularly care about.

Then why, you may ask, had Dazai placed a wire tap in the main meeting room of the Port Mafia? Well that was easy, because you see, a certain firey red head was present during this meeting, as was required of all Port Mafia executives, and Dazai may or may not have planned a little surprise for his favorite slug, and he was desperate to hear his reaction.

“And what of the branch in Poland?” Mori’s voice rang through Dazai headphones.

“Production is progressing as planned, sir.” Higuchi responded. “By next week I expect we’ll be ahead of schedule.”

Well that wouldn’t do, Dazai would have to find a reason to schedule a trip to Poland. Priorities for later though, it was about time for his little surprise to show up.

“Very good, and what about—“ Mori’s voice cut off at the sound of a knock at the door, the indicator of fun to come. The sound of the door opening rang through the headphones as foot steps entered the room.

“Sorry for the interruption sir,” An unfamiliar voice squeaked, they must be new. “But I have a delivery for Executive Nakahara.”

Bingo.

“From who?” Chuuya’s voice finally came over the headphones, Dazai was wondering when he’d finally speak.

“I’m unsure, sir. The delivery was anonymous, it requires your signature though.” Dazai recognized the vague sounds of a pen scratching on paper, indicative of Chuuya accepting the delivery. “Very good sir, I’ll bring it right in.”

Three… two… one… Dazai was giddy in his seat.

“The hell is this?!” Chuuya exclaimed, almost loud enough to make Dazai have to pull the headphones from his ears. He struggled to suppress this giggles at chuuya’s response, it was exactly what he was hoping for.

Kouyou’s laughter soon filled the space. “Well, well it seems our little Chuuya has quite the secret admirer.” She said between giggles.

Dazai only wished he’d had a video feed too, oh to see Chuuya’s face at what was surely sitting in front of him right now. A bouquet of roses, the brightest red Dazai could find. Stage one of his game, his masterful plan to get all of his favorite reactions out of his tiny slug.

“My, my, Chuuya, it seems you’ve had quite the effect on someone. Is there a note?” Mori asked, also sounding equally as amused.

Dazai couldn’t risk leaving a note. Knowing Chuuya he’d recognize Dazai’s cadence or handwriting anywhere, and would be able to piece it together that the flowers were from him, and that would end the game far too soon.

Getting Chuuya angry was one thing, it was fun but the effects faded quickly, far too quickly for Dazai’s liking, but get him flustered and that could last hours, not to mention a few ulterior motives Dazai may have had for choosing that specific gift, far more entertaining on a boring Monday morning.

He heard Chuuya sputter out a few incoherent sounds before he finally choked out. “No, nothing, just flowers.” He could imagine the look on Chuuya’s face so well, his cheeks would be the perfect shade of red, probably enough to match the roses, his blue ocean eyes blown out wide. His back would be perfectly straight as he tried to process what was in front of him, possibly his shoulders hiked up to his ears. Dazai regretted not planting a camera.

***********

Hacking into Chuuya’s security system was easy enough, no matter how many times he changed the password, his dog would always be predictable. So it was no problem stalling his security cameras just long enough for Dazai to make his way up to Chuuya’s apartment, just long enough to install a few audio taps, and just long enough to leave another bouquet of flowers, this time an attractive bunch of red camellias.

Dazai sat relaxed in his dorm, headphones pressed tightly to his ears as he waited for the tell tale signs of Chuuya arriving home. With what Dazai pulled the day before, with those roses, he expected Chuuya’a reaction to this gift to be just as good.

He didn’t have to wait long. Soon enough he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door, a heavy sigh indicating a long day at work and probably a desire for bed. The footsteps only got heavier and heavier as Dazai imagined Chuuya finally seeing what lay in front of his entry way.

“What the fuck?” Chuuya sounded exasperated. Dazai could practically see his reaction, confused but intrigued look on his cute face, eyebrows probably pushed together like they always did when he was thinking about something too hard. He heard the sound of Chuuya picking the bouquet up, the crinkle of plastic in his hands. He imagined he was searching for a note, one that once again would not be there. “For fuck’s sake, leave a damned note.”

“But that would ruin the game, mon slug.” Dazai said only to himself. Chuuya would recognize his handwriting immediately, and it was far to early to end the game yet, after all, Dazai was only just beginning, he still had another piece of his plan.

*********

Chuuya was startled at the announcement he had a delivery. A delivery of what? He hadn’t ordered anything, and certainly not anything that would be delivered right in the middle of a meeting.

“From who?” He asked the delivery boy, who nearly trembled when addressing the executive directly.

“I’m unsure, sir,” He choked out. “The delivery was anonymous, it requires your signature though.” the boy’s hands shook as he handed Chuuya a clip board and a pen, which he readily signed his name on before the boy disappeared through the door once again, only to re-emerge with the largest bouquet of red roses Chuuya had ever seen in his life.

“The hell is this?!” He exclaimed as the bouquet was handed to him, his eyes wide at the unexpected gift.

“Well, well, it seems our little Chuuya has quite the secret admirer.” Kouyou teased, to which Chuuya sent her a glare that had she been anyone else, would have shut them up and possibly even encouraged them to leave, but this was Kouyou, and she only giggled harder at his flustered look.

The roses were beautiful, each one perfectly shaped, the brightest red Chuuya had ever seen, the petals were silky and lush, it was clear a lot of care had gone into crafting the bouquet.

“My, my, Chuuya, it seems you’ve had quite the effect on someone. Is there a note?” Chuuya was already searching for a slip of paper, anything to indicate who the flowers were from. Who the hell sends flowers and doesn’t say who they are, doesn’t even attach a little note like “From your secret admirer” or some shit like that. It was just flowers, no note, no indication of the sender, and Chuuya’s face was far too hot for his liking, and it remained that way for the rest of the meeting.

Flowers during the middle of a meeting was one thing, but somehow dodging his security cameras to leave yet another bouquet of flowers at his door was something else entirely. The bouquet of red camellias stared at him from the floor just before his door, like they were laughing at him. They mocked him as he plucked them from their resting place.

“What the fuck?” Chuuya hissed. “At least leave a note or something.” He did like camellias though, they weren’t his favorite flower, but they were beautiful, and the red ones were particularly difficult to get, especially in Japan. Whoever this mystery person was, was really putting in the work, Chuuya was honestly pretty impressed.

********

Chuuya was already expecting the next gift; two bouquets in a row? That ment a third was on its way. However, it had been a week and there had been nothing. He’d spend the better part of the last seven days obsessing over one) who would be brave enough to try and send such a direct message to a Port Mafia executive and two) when was it going to happen next.

Well seven days after the initial bouquet of roses, Chuuya got the answer to one of those questions, and this by far was the most unexpected gift of them all.

He was just starting to lose hope, maybe two was the magic number, and his secret admirer was done, which despite the obvious peace and quiet that would eventually bring, also made Chuuya a little disappointed, the flowers were beautiful and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a soft spot for them and the effort someone was putting in to get them to him. He was just coming to terms with this new revelation when he walked into his office that morning, coat held by one hand over his shoulder and a tired yawn escaping his lips as he crossed the threshold of his doorway, it was far too early and he’d hardly slept the night before.

However, when he spotted what was so delicately placed on his desk after he walked in, he certainly was awake now. It wasn’t a bouquet, instead it was a single flower, a beautiful vibrant red Tulip, just one, laid delicately across his desk, a matching red bow tied around the stem. Chuuya nearly dropped his jacket at the sight, just staring at the flower for what felt like hours.

Having a bouquet delivered to his work and leaving another bouquet at his door was one thing, but breaking into his office, without being caught on either cameras or by security, in the office building of the most dangerous organization in Yokohama, just to leave one singular flower, that was another thing entirely. It was at that point Chuuya began to have suspicions, maybe this secret admirer wasn’t as secret as he thought.

A plan of his own began to form as Chuuya sat at his desk, twirling the single tulip between his fingers. If this was who he thought it was, and he was pretty certain he was right, then there was certainly an end goal to be reached, a message to be delivered, if only he could communicate through actual words instead of bombarding Chuuya was flowers, not that Chuuya minded them, though he’d never confess that out loud.

Chuuya spent a good hour and a half of that morning researching flowers and their meanings. Dazai wasn’t one to pick a flower just because it was pretty, he never did anything that wasn’t deliberate. Red roses - love and passion, red camellias - romance, and red tulips - lust. Flowers certainly wasn’t the way Chuuya was expecting Dazai to say it, but he had to commend his creativity.

********

Dazai would admit, perhaps the tulip left in Chuuya’s office was a little on the nose, certainly his favorite mafioso would begin to suspect him now, but would he be able to connect the dots behind Dazai’s reasoning? Being familiar with Chuuya’s critical thinking skills, Dazai wasn’t very hopeful. He sighed as he reclined back in his seat, a pile of paperwork still left sitting untouched on his desk.

“Everything okay, Dazai?” Atsushi’s voice broke through Dazai’s thoughts. He turned to look at the boy, who sat beside him, a mildly concerned, mildly curious look on his young face. Dazai gave a small smile.

“Just waiting to see how a plan turned out.”

“What plan?” The boy tiger inquired.

“Getting a message across to someone who’s ability to grasp hints is severely impaired.” At his words there was a knock on the agency’s door, to which Naomi got up to answer.

“I have a delivery for a mister… Dazai Osamu.”

“For me?” Dazai questioned as the delivery boy approached him.

“Yes sir, if you could please sign here.” The boy said before handing Dazai a clipboard and a pen. He signed, the delivery boy taking the clipboard back and exchanging it with a long thin box, sure enough it was addressed to Dazai.

“What is it?” Atsushi asked, leaning over Dazai’s shoulder to peak at the gift.

“Maybe someone’s been kind enough to send a bomb and finally kill me.” Dazai only jested. He saw Atsushi shy away only slightly, but it was clear he had the entire rooms attention. Without another word he popped the seal on the box, tilting the parcel over to slide out a long wooden case. The wood was fine, a brilliant cherry wood, varnished beautifully and clearly expensive. There were no engravings or anything to indicate who the case was from. The case was held shut by a single clasp, which Dazai easily popped open, opening the wooden box to reveal a single beautiful red rose, the stem was held in a delicate satin bed, the petals carefully placed in the box to ensure they wouldn’t be crushed with the case’s closure.

“It’s beautiful.” Atsushi described in awe.

“Who the hell would send you something like this?” Kunikida inquired, the entirety of the office echoing the same question, albeit silently.

Tied to the stem of the rose was a delicate ribbon, and tied to the end of the ribbon was a single note, and upon reading it, Dazai could only smile.

It seems someone has discovered the game.

***********

Chuuya was exhausted, he’d spent the day putting out fire after fire, first there was an issue with a supply chain at the other side of town that he had to sort out, which resulted in more murder than he was planning on today, one of their warehouses on the East side of town had been broken into and of course he had to deal with that, and then as icing on the cake he arrived back at the office only to find a mountain of paperwork on his desk, which he got through, albeit begrudgingly. He was determined to throw his phone out the window if it rang one more time today.

The click of his door unlocking was a welcome sound, he was beyond ready for a shower and bed. His apartment was dark as he walked in, just as he’d left it, although something felt off.

Turning on his light, chuuya was greeted with a surprising sight. A fresh vase of flowers perched perfectly on his bar, the flowers a combination of red roses, camellias and tulips, a delicate satin bow wrapped around the glass neck, and one of his favorite chokers clasped above it.

“My dog is quite rude.” Chuuya spun to only be greeted by the image of a certain mackerel lounging on his sofa, his tan coat hanging on the rack by the door. Chuuya felt the familiar heat of rage building inside his chest.

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop breaking into my apartment!?” Chuuya shouted, angrily tossing his coat onto the coat rack along side Dazai’s.

“I mean honestly, is this any way to speak to your master?” Dazai held up a familiar white note, one Chuuya distinctly remembered tying to the rose he’d sent to the agency. It read ‘stupid mackerel’.

“It’s called leaving a note, something you should do when sending someone flowers.” Chuuya crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his hip out as he eyed his uninvited guest, who despite his show of anger, the mafia executive was not surprised to see here. He knew what he was doing the second he sent that rose.

“But that wouldn’t be nearly as fun! The whole intention was to play a game of fetch, and my dog did so well despite being and idiot.” Dazai teased, pulling out a familiar rose and holding it out in front of him.

“I’M NOT YOUR DOG!” Chuuya barked. Dazai smiled as he stood from his seat, rose being laid gently on the coffee table before the detective approached. Suddenly the air got far to serious for Chuuya’s liking, Dazai’s expression switching from teasing to affectionate. It was quiet for a moment before Chuuya spoke up. “You could have just communicated normally you know.”

“And what’s the fun in that? I wanted to make you work.”

“Bastard.”

“Did you learn a lot about flowers?”

“More than I thought I ever wanted to.” Dazai’s hands were on his hips in a second, his grip was tight but loose enough that he was still giving Chuuya an out if he wanted it.

“And what did you learn from the ones I sent?” He was closer now, close enough that Chuuya could feel his words on his skin, his breath on his flesh. The grip on his hips burned and the feeling in his chest became all consuming. It wasn’t anger anymore, but a burning ache that seemed to pull him forward, just a few inches was all it would take.

“I learned that you’re an idiot.” He said finally, and closed the distance. The kiss was chaste at first, just a simple press of lips, then Dazai’s grip on his hips tightened and his own hands found their way to the collar of Dazai’s shirt, pulling him infinitely closer.

Chuuya found his back against the wall and his fingers tangled in Dazai’s hair before he knew it. Dazai’s hands trailed up his sides, their touch hot irons even through his clothes. If someone had told him when they were 15 that one day he’d have this man’s tongue in his mouth and hands on his body he’d have punted them halfway across the city, but here he was, desperately trying to memorize Dazai’s taste.

He wasn’t sure when the feelings started, probably sometime around 17. After Dazai left he thought they’d just go away with time, that he’d heal and close that door behind him, but the second that bandaged asshole walked back into his life that door swung right back open.

Dazai trailed his lips down Chuuya’s throat, nipping at his tender flesh, placing claiming marks in places he knew would be difficult to cover, not that Chuuya particularly cared right now. His head knocked against the hard wall as Dazai bit down between where his shoulder met his neck, a harsh bite, prying noises that had Chuuya been more lucid, he would have been embarrassed about.

He tangled his fingers in brunette waves, yanking hard enough to draw a gasp from Dazai’s lips before they were once again occupied with Chuuya’s own. He let Dazai explore his mouth, let him pull him closer, reveled in the way his bandaged arms wrapped around him. He gave another harsh tug to his hair, drawing out another gasp. Breaking the kiss, Chuuya set to work placing his own marks on the flesh of Dazai’s throat that he could access. He bit down hard on the skin just above his bandages, drawing damn near the most seductive moan out of the man before him that he’d ever heard. That would be a fun mark to explain to the armed detective agency.

“Have fun explaining that to glasses tomorrow.” Chuuya said as he laved the mark with his tongue. He could hear Dazai’s amused smile as he spoke.

“I’ll tell him the truth. My dog bit me.” Chuuya bit him again, this time significantly harder, drawing the slightest hiss from Dazai’s lips as he abused his tender skin.

Chuuya shoved Dazai over to the couch, toppling him down onto the cushion before climbing into his lap, Dazai’s hands once again finding his hips as he forced him down onto his lap. A tiny thrust up from Dazai pulled a moan from both of them before Chuuya once again set to work memorizing the inside of Dazai’s mouth with his tongue. Dazai’s hands were at the buttons of Chuuya’s vest, nimbly working to rid him of the offending garment, which he proceeded to throw across the room once it was removed before yanking Chuuya’s shirt up, untucking it so he could slide his hands under it and flatten them against Chuuya’s back, shifting him closer and providing a roll of his hips once more.

Dazai’s fingers were cold as he moved from Chuuya’s back to his stomach, tracing up to his chest. Chuuya ground down against Dazai below him, swallowing his moan. The wash of no longer human across his skin, down to his bones, the constant buzz of for the tainted sorrow quietted, his mind was fuzzy with nothing but Dazai and getting closer, getting more of him, tasting him, devouring him whole, and Chuuya imagined Dazai was having the same thoughts. He could feel Dazai hard beneath him, he was in no better state, his tight pants a little too tight as he rolled his hips once more. Then it happened.

Buzz…buzz…buzz

Everything halted. It was Chuuya’s phone, which prompted Dazai to remove his hands from inside Chuuya’s shirt and grab it from his back pocket before Chuuya could react.

“Have a boyfriend I should know about?” Dazai teased as he held the phone out of Chuuya’s reach, letting it ring.

“Shut the fuck up and give me my phone!” Chuuya barked back, finally snaching the phone from Dazai’s grasp just in time to answer it. “This is Executive Nakahara.”

“Executive Nakahara, so professional.” Dazai murmured as he set his attention on placing more marks on Chuuya’s neck as he listened to the phone call. Chuuya landed a well placed punch Dazai’s shoulder in response, not that it did much to deter the man.

“Yes boss, of course.” Chuuya answered, choking back a moan when Dazai rolled his hips up once again, paired with a harsh suck to the sensitive area just below his ear. “Y-yes I can be there in 20 minutes.”

“No you can’t.” Dazai mumbled against his skin.

“Yes sir.” Chuuya finishes before hanging up the phone. He tosses it onto the couch beside them as Dazai hugs him closer.

“Absolutely not.” Dazai says sourly. He trails gentle kisses up Chuuya’s neck as his arms tighten around his middle. Chuuya’s hands find his shoulders, trailing up his neck and into his hair. “You’re staying right here, we’re not done.”

“You know I have to go, Dazai.” He doesn’t try to pull away yet though.

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do,” Chuuya waited for an answer, when it didn’t come, he continued. “Osamu.” He said into his ear. He rarely called Dazai by his first name, even after so many years, he only used it when he needed to. And here, he knew he needed to. He needed to convey that this wasn’t just a fluke, that when he left he would be coming back and had every intention of picking up exactly where they left off. Dazai met his eyes, and in that moment Chuuya realized how much he liked being able to see both of them, his hand came to rest on his cheek, thumb stroking the skin under the eye he used to keep covered. He leaned down and connected their lips one more time, the kiss was sweet, it was gentle. “Rain check.”

“Promise?” Dazai whispered against his lips.

“Yes.”

“Good, because I can’t have my dog running away you know, maybe I should get you microchipped.” Chuuya stood abruptly.

“YOU MOTHERFU— I’M NOT YOUR DOG!”

[aaronpaceluvbot]

i was really hoping that he will come through (aaron x reader)

summary: in which girl talk ensues, but a certain someone hears it. 

before you read: NOT PROOFREAD, reader is fem (participates in girl talk and uses she/her pronouns), non realistic head injury, aaron probably already has a thing for reader/cares for reader because i dont think he’d act this way if he didn’t 

warnings: reader slams her head into a table out of embarrassment. ouch. possibly concussed? 

wc: 1k

—

You sat at a table with Felicity, Susie and Cadence participating in one of the most amazing pastimes of all time. Girl talk. Felicity and Susie were mostly talking about their relationships, but you and Cadence didn’t really mind it and just chose to listen. However, Felicity decided to finally ask you a question. “So, are you seeing anyone? Talking to anyone?” She asks, clearly curious. 

“Not really,” you say, shrugging. “I just haven’t really thought about it.” 

“Does anyone here catch your eye? I mean a lot of people do. Like Clark or Samuel or even Doug!” She says, folding her hands. “So who is it? There has to be someone. You’re way too pretty to not have someone in mind!” 

“Well I mean, there is one,” you mumble, hoping she doesn’t hear you. She does and she squeals.

“OH. MY. GOD. WHO?” She practically shrieks. “Is it Aaron? It’s so Aaron isn’t it?” You nod, surprised at her accuracy. “You two would be SO cute together!” You don’t know how to respond, so you just nod again. Felicity goes on and on about a plan to get the two of you together, but Susie and Cadence both have grave expressions on their faces. You just think they’re being dramatic but then you twist in your chair to crack your back and then you’re hit with a horrifying realization. Aaron is sitting at the table right next to you. Felicity is extremely loud. Dear lord. You slam your head into the table feeling nothing but embarrassment. Shockingly, you hit your head hard enough to black out. 

—

You wake up in the infirmary with the bright lights shining in your eyes. “Can you turn that off?” You ask particularly no one. You sit up in your little cot and look around and come face to face with the realization that none of your friends are there with you. Were you out for that long? You decide to go back to sleep.

—

This time, you’re woken up by people talking. Talking isn’t the right word to use. More so, furious discussion. You decide to pretend to sleep and listen in. A voice that you can recognize as Felicity’s is fighting with what seemed like a guy’s voice. You continue to listen, trying to identify who it is. “Just stay with her, please? She likes you and it’d be really nice of you if you did-” You hear her plead. It was nice that she was trying to do this, but this was a  horrible way of executing it.

“I’m not gonna stay with her just because you’re telling me to. I’m gonna stay with her because I care. What are you not getting? Just go,” you hear the guy’s voice say. Maybe you’re that out of it, but it sounds a lot like Aaron’s voice. You want to open your eyes to get a peek, but then decide against it.You hear Felicity huff out a response and storm off, but you can assume that she’s pleased that he’s staying with you. You hear the shuffling of a chair and you hear him let out a sigh. 

You decide that now is the perfect time to open your eyes and sit up. There he is in all his glory - the man of the hour, the number one opp. You both make awkward eye contact. All you can muster out is a small ‘hi’ and he says it back. More awkward silence ensues. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks. You almost want to think that he has a concerned look on his face for you, but maybe you were imagining things. 

“Fine. I just can’t deal with the lights, you know?” He nods and instantly gets up to turn them off but the call of his name stops him in his tracks. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you tell him, trying to get him to sit back down. 

“Are you sure it’s fine? Because you have a huge bump on your head,” he says, almost looking amused.

“I mean I feel fine,” you mutter, looking away from him.

“Well if you need anything, I’ll be here.”

“Actually, I think I do need something.” He perks up immediately. “I just want to know why you’re staying here? I would’ve thought one of the girls would stay with me,” you murmur, playing dumb. He wouldn’t suspect you, right?

“Is it so wrong to want to help someone who’s injured? If you want me to leave I can leave-” He says, getting up and pushing his chair in. He’s almost by the door when you stop him.

“No! That’s not what I meant at all! I just found it odd since you know what happened during lunch-”

“Where you hit your head? I know all about that-”

“I’m not talking about that! I’m talking about how Felicity said that I liked you and you were nearby so you probably heard since she said that really loudly-”

“Well, do you?”

“Yes! But that’s a topic for another day!” You say, sighing and throwing your hands up in the air. You go red at the realization of what you just said. “I want to lock myself in my room and never come out again.” He merely lets out a chuckle.

“Well good for you then, because I also happen to like you.”

“You’re joking. Oh my god do not mess with me right now,” you say, embarrassed. 

“I’m not. If I was, I would’ve said this way earlier and left you.” Oh. 

“Does that mean that you would kiss my injury better?” You ask, finally regaining confidence. Now he goes red and sighs.

“Why are you so bold now? You’re probably concussed,” he says, sighing and grabbing your hand. He intertwines your fingers and softly thumbs at the skin. 

“I’m great! Probably!” You say, trying to defend yourself. You’d rather die than admit to getting concussed by table. 

“Sure then,” he says, laughing at your antics and squeezing your hand once more. The two of you eventually fall asleep like that, hand in hand. 

[countrymusiclover]

Ch 5 - Wedding Grey to Gold

Part 6

Fire OF A Stark

@queenieala

A few weeks later

The next morning I am woken up by the sound of my sister and some handmaidens entering my chambers. Today was the day I couldn't escape, my wedding. But in reality it might be my escape from the horrors of this city and the people in it. The handmaidens tossed the covers aside for me before helping me pull my nightgown over my head, having me get in a bath. "Can you believe it, sis. You're going to look like a princess."

"Sansa swop out those pinchy shoes for my boots underneath the bed. I may not be able to not wear a dress. But I will get a say in the shoes." I told her staring at my wedding dress hanging on the door hook on the wall.

She nods going to get them, allowing me the chance to close my eyes and sigh the little bit of relief I will have for today. Father was now forced to walk with a cane and I'm even more frustrated that Jaime's words are running through my mind. I feel like he did it on purpose to drive me crazy. "It's a big day for you, Stark girl."

Shooting my eyes open I covered my chest with arms seeing the queen standing in the doorway she smirking in her dark red dress. "Your grace, I - uh didn't hear you come in..."

"You're little dove of a sister let me in. She's a fine young lady." She replied with her blonde locks falling over her shoulders.

Biting my lip in nerviness thankfully I was smart enough to not wet my hair because she would have seen the truth. I would have been brought before the king and probably executed. My father had told me that the king planned on trying to kill the mother of dragons that was said to be living across the narrow sea. The last remaining Taraegaryn, at least that's what we've made everyone think. "Yeah she is....have you come to check on me for some reason?"

"In fact I have..." She sits on the edge of the tub suddenly grabbing my chin in her right hand holding it tightly so I couldn't look anywhere but on her. "Don't think for one moment that my brother will love you. He isn't capable of such a thing. Not after my baby brother killed our mother. I just want you to know that!"

She dropped my chin where I kept my face turned away from her hearing Sansa coming back into the room with my boots like I asked. "I got the boots like you asked. Hello, your grace." She curtsies to her with a small smile.

"Such a sweet sister, little dove. I'll see you both later." Cersei exited the room without another word.

Running my fingers through my hair felt my heartbeat picking up and my chest tightening. "By the old gods and the new, is Tyrion the only normal Lannister in the family I'm about to marry into?" The next few hours seemed to go by so fast but maybe that is what it is supposed to do when your life is changed forever. Brushing my fingers over the long wedding dress it was white with gray scattered about it. Shrugging on a light clock Sansa had designed a direwolf head on the back of it for me.

Sansa was finishing putting some of my hair up into a crown on my head leaving the rest of it loose before someone knocked on the door. "Cadence, I have good news. I've been searching through the library and I finally found a book on dragons. Now I'm not sure if you are fluent in Valyrian. But there are pages that don't have it."

"Thank you, Tyrion. This is incredible." A huge grin crossed my face, taking the book from his hands in excitement flipping through the pages faster than I had probably any other book.

Sansa raised a brow holding the hairbrush in her hands. A little taken back by my excitement. A few minutes ago I was moping around like a child not wanting to go to bed. "What's so exciting about that book, Cadence?"

"Because it tells about the history of the Targaryens. They're my fam - uh I just found their family interesting is all. And Tyrion was kind enough to find me thi." Spinning around in the chair to face her, my eyes beaming with joy. "Do you speak Valyrian? I would really appreciate a teacher that isn't a septon."

The youngest Lannister smiled as he spoke something in the foreign tongue to both Sansa and I. "Mirrī puñila, riñnykeā cadence."

"I'm sorry but what does that mean?" I asked not expecting him to immediately start speaking the language to me.

He rests hand over mine that was holding the book turning to a page folded inside. I unfolded it and saw some translations of the language in the writing I could understand. "It means I am a little rusty, my lady. That paper has some of the more common terms. I wrote them down seeing that you could practice. Maybe someday you and I can write in the tongue."

"I'd like that very much. Nyke hope....naejot gūrēñagon." I stuttered out attempting to read the words he had written on the page. But it didn't sound right coming from my lips.

"Gūrēñagon isse jēda ao jāhor." (Learn in time you will) He smiled replying back in the tongue until someone knocked on the door so he went and opened it showing us our father.

He slowly entered the room and I slumped my shoulders in defeat watching his cane hit the floor. He had to put most of his weight on the wooden stick. He paused in his step focusing his soft gaze on me. "I'd like to speak with my daughter alone please." Tyrion and Sansa left without another word where I sat the book on the table closing it softly. "You look beautiful, my little dragon."

"I don't think I'm ready, father." I breathed out twiddling my thumbs together in my lap.

"What do you have there, honey?" He asked, noticing the dusty old book Tyrion had given me.

Turning my attention back down to the book I opened it to one of the pages seeing the word Dracarys with multiple question marks beside it. Tyrion said he was rusty at this language but it must be something important or powerful. "Tyrion brought it to me. I told him I was interested in history. But he doesn't know the - our secret. I'm just scared that I'm going to have to hide who I really am for the rest of my life. The queen almost caught me earlier. It won't be long before someone realizes that this is odd." Gripping the part of my hair where the white tips met up with the brown dyed top.

"There's something you should know about the Baratheon children. They are actually Jai-" My father cuts himself off hearing a loud knock on the door meaning that it was time for the wedding ceremony.

Looping my arm through my father's, he intertwined our hands together. We walked through the hallway until we watched two large doors open and at the end of a long isle stood my soon to be husband. "No matter how he treats you, little dragon. Just remember I'll always love you, Cadence Lynesse Stark Targaryen."

"I'll always love you too, Eddard Stark. My chosen father." I mumbled under my breath seeing that we had reached the septon and Jaime. He was wearing a dark red tunic and some even darker red trousers. The long blonde hair all neat which actually weirded me out considering I was used to seeing it a little tousled around.

"Who gives the bride on this day?" The septon asked, looking between the three of us.

My father squeezed my hand briefly placing it in Jaime's open right hand. His eyes focused on mine rather than on anyone else. "Her father, Eddard Stark. Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King." He stepped away standing beside my two sisters who both silently watched.

Shifting my eyes up to Jaime, he was glancing behind me so I slowly turned my head seeing a much older man with white hair. He sternly watched us with almost no expression on his face. "It's my father. He came here to watch this. The day I become his heir again...don't worry my offer still stands. I won't leave you here."

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." The sept spoke softly. Jaime squeezed my hand before unlinking our hands so he could take off the red cloak with a golden lion banner on the back of it. Closing my eyes briefly, his hands placing it over the wolf where I didn't open my eyes until the septon spoke up. Wrapping a white ribbon around our intertwined hands. "In the sight of the seven. I hereby seal these two souls. Binding them as one for eternity. Look upon each other and say the words."

Turning to directly face Jaime I caught sight of his green eyes pouring into mine. Biting my lip there was something about the way he looked at me now. The other day he was teasing me and we were sword fighting one another being so serious and closed off. Yet now his eyes held a more soft and almost comforting presence about them, it was a relief to see it even for a moment. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crown, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine from this day until the end of my days."

The septon untied the ribbon allowing Jaime to cup my face in his hands and I felt myself lean into him a little. He leans down gently pressing his lips onto mine. My whole body stiffened at first until I let my shoulders drop rather enjoying it. Moving my hands up onto his shoulders he broke the kiss before it got too deep whispering as he rested his forehead against mine. "Will you come riding into battle with me, Cadence?"

"Y-yes." Was the best reply I could give him, still consumed in the kiss. The desire to keep kissing him again but at the same time I could feel some glaring their eyes into the back of my head which most likely was the queen.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[eternalssource]

@laurenridloff: Here’s how I found Makkari. Exploration, experimentation, execution. On this huge travelator I got to play…different cadences, arm movements, speeds, wire heights and even different boots to find the right Makkari run. The road wasn’t always smooth but it was always green. And I got into it, yuh 😅

[poppiesandpromises]

What is your favorite form of poetry?

To write it's always free verse because it has the fewest rules and I love word vomit. To read, love the cadence and rhyme scheme of a sonnet. They are so hard to execute well.

Thanks for the ask!

[mobbieboy]

Mob Psycho 100 s3e4 did such a good job of making you feel slightly disoriented. All of the characters were acting strange, the fluidity in the animation gives you a sense of disturbance to the normal cadence of how Tome and Mezato specifically tend to interact with Mob and other characters.

The Teru scenes. Damn. His character growth is on display while still acknowledging his flaws (i.e. rushing into a fight he is not equipped for) and establishing that he is still one of the strongest espers. His ability to combat brainwashing with strong emotions? Badass.

Now the scene where Mob realizes Reigen is brainwashed? UGH it honestly broke my heart a little bit. I remember being so enthralled by this arc while reading the manga (I want to reread it desperately but I am trying to be patient and wait for the entire series to be available in English so I can buy the rest of the volumes) and I just know the next couple episodes are going to be brutal in the best way.

I’d also like to call out how everyone knew Mob was the original founder while he was walking through the crowd. This had to be Dimple making yet another attempt to have Mob join him by showing him what it would feel like to be popular/recognized the way he wanted to be in the previous episode. Dimple knows full well that he will not be able to brainwash Mob the same way he has everyone else, and he truly, deeply cares about Mob (which he even admitted in the previous episode) so he just wants his friend to join him in his dream of fame and glory. It’s a perfect story line, and this piece is so obvious yet executed so subtly.. I could go on and on. So far, season 3 has not disappointed me.

I love this show so much.