#halie writes

[forgotten-daydreamer]

I think people forget that in addition to all the shit that Dick goes through in the YJ animated show, like losing Wally, countless betrayals/double agent-y stuff, losing even more teammates, watching Babs get paralysed, etc, Dick also lost Jason in that universe.

And we don't really get to see much of it, we get a glimpse of it only when Dick himself tells Tim "Just don't die", and later when Kaldur says "Now Jason is dead".

But Dick goes through that too. Despite all the suffering he was put through ever since S1 basically (Haly's, failsafe, "I don't want to be the Batman", ...), we collectively need to remember that he lost Jason too, there.

Not to mention, the potential that the next season has (they must make it.) with the Sanctuary.

[bucksangel]

angel ik it’s about 12 hours later since you posted about being bored and wanting some asks, but i’ve just woken up and am just imagining how it would feel waking up next to bucky, him trying to pull you back into bed with “come back to bed doll, it’s too early to get up” as he basically drags you into him so he can have you in his arms again. (can you tell i want a bucky to stop me from going to work by basically suffocating me in his arms) 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

ok ok but same?? i just woke up and thank GOD i don't have to work today bc if i did and had a bucky in my bed i'd be forced to call out bc there's no way i'm gonna pass up the opportunity to get squished to death between those arms

and now you've given me inspo so here you go <3 (this is also the shortest thing i've ever written it feels weird)

Just One More

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 828

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, kissing and smooching, that's it i think

Everything is soft, warm, and hazy, it’s almost like being wrapped in the morning sun's rays as you float across the sky on a cloud. True peace exists only at this moment; Bucky’s arms are wrapped around your body, sleeping with his head on your chest while you run your fingers through his hair, absentmindedly kissing the top of his head.

But then your damn alarm decides to go off louder than ever - the alarm’s tone doesn’t change, it just always seems to be louder whenever you’re too comfortable to get out of bed. And dear Lord you don’t want to. You want to stay right here all day, only getting up to eat or use the bathroom. Other than that, you’d be adamant that neither of you were to leave your little bubble of love.

You’re nearly unable to reach your phone due to Bucky lying almost fully on top of you, but you manage to snag it before the alarm gives him a rude wake-up. Upon stopping it, you drop your phone on the pillow next to you, wrapping your arm around Bucky’s back again to rub up and down in a soothing motion. He stirs under your touch, rubbing his face into your chest like he’s a cat burrowing into a blanket, hiding from the world in the hopes of being allowed a few more minutes of sleep.

He groans when you laugh, your fingernails scratching at his scalp.

“Honey?” You whisper softly, kissing his forehead. “Baby, come on, we have to get up.”

“No,” he grunts, blindly reaching up one of his arms so he can cover your eyes with his hand. “Go back to sleep.”

You can’t help but laugh a little louder, especially when Bucky starts grumbling about needing his beauty sleep.

“You’re beautiful enough,” you say with a smile, grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand off of your face so you can kiss his palm. “We need to get ready.”

Huffing, Bucky lifts his head, blinking several times before giving you a look so mean that others might be afraid, but it only makes you giggle harder. He’s such a baby. And it’s absolutely impossible not to kiss that pout off of his face, so you do. You press a soft, lingering kiss to his plush lips until he stops his whining and leans into it. But then you pull away, and Bucky pouts again.

“You’re going to wake me up and only give me one kiss?” He huffs again as he lifts himself off of your body so he can hover over you, one hand planted next to your head while the other grabs your left hand, threading your fingers together and bringing them up to his mouth so he can kiss your knuckles. “You know I’m going to need at least three more before I can even consider letting you out of this bed.”

“Three?” You ask with a laugh, using your free hand to cup his cheek. “How about two?”

“Four,” He grunts, eyes squinting.

“One?”

“Now that’s just rude!” Bucky exclaims as he pulls further back so he can truly look at you so incredulously that you can’t help but laugh again. “One kiss isn’t good enough. I need five.”

“Oh, now it’s five kisses?” Your giggling continues when he nods, dipping down to steal one. “How about this: I give you four more kisses and then we get up and get ready. Then I’ll give you another five kisses before we leave. Deal?”

Bucky sighs, knowing he’s lost this battle. Damn you and your tempting lips.

“Fine,” He grumbles, leaning down again.

With each kiss he gives you, you mumble one, two, three. But the final kiss gets a little more heated. His tongue slips through your lips and into your mouth, neither of you caring about the fact that you haven’t brushed your teeth yet. How can you when the man you love is so adamant about showing his affection for you that he gets genuinely upset when he can’t even hold your hand?

Before you lose yourself too far in the kiss, you pull away breathlessly. “Four.”

Bucky sighs, pulling away and rolling off your body. He gives you his best puppy dog eyes while you sit up and stretch, letting the blanket fall into your lap. It’s just as you move to get out of bed when he grabs your wrist again.

“Baby,” He says, causing you to turn and look at him with a playfully raised eyebrow. “Just one more?”

He smiles when you roll your eyes because just like he can never say no to you, he knows that you’d never deny him of anything that makes him happy. One final time, you lean over and kiss him, pulling away almost immediately so he can’t wrap his arms around you - because then you know you’d never leave the bed.

“Now, come on. We can’t be late to our own wedding.”

[sailoryooons]

Semi-Hiatus Announcement

Hi all, due to unforeseen circumstances I will be taking a semi-hiatus from writing and Tumblr roughly until October. I am going through a very difficult time and the last thing I want to do is put my writing on pause because it genuinely brings me so much joy, but I’m trying to accommodate for very unexpected and harsh changes to my life that are super time-consuming and that just... keep coming.

I will call this a semi-hiatus because I have collaboration responsibilities and a server to help mod, but I will not be actively writing as I spend the next few weeks trying to figure out how to manage all these changes coming my way.

This is the worst post I’ve ever had to make. I don’t know. I’m incredibly sad. I don’t want to sacrifice my writing time but I literally don’t know when I can fit in any of the things in that I have to do. I am really hoping that maybe after two weeks I will have an execution plan and not still be looking for solutions but I have no idea. 

Here is to hoping that things sort themselves out and that life gets a little easier for me during oncoming challenges.

Updated: No longer on hiatus as of 9/30 - I see people keep interacting with this post but I didn't want to delete it because it's referenced elsewhere.

[starrysnowdrop]

Aymeric…

Hali found him in the Last Vigil, just outside of Fortemps Manor. He was staring up at the falling snowflakes, his mind’s eye wandering malms away she surmised. In the soft glow of the lamps lining the streets, he looked as beautiful as an angel, ethereal and serene.

She couldn’t stop her whole body from shaking, a torrent of emotions all bubbling to the surface at once, threatening to overflow.

Against her better judgment, instead of running away like she had so many times before, she held her head in her hands momentarily while she took a few deep breaths, then she psyched herself up to muster the courage to walk up to him and tell him the truth. A truth she had been hiding all of these long years.

Just walk up to him and say it, she told herself. Go to him and say those three little words.

I love you…

Excerpt from the WIP entitled “With Love Always”

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Humble Haikus.

She's been applying,

Her mysterious scrying,

To stop folk dying.

Humble continues to practice putting words next to other words (with some Sharlayan help). This time in honour of Hali Aloke of @starrysnowdrop and her powerful astromancy.

I have to say that haikus are hard work, especially if you're silly enough to try to make them rhyme as well!

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

I’m gonna say hair dye stain + with tears in my eyes I begged you to stay. And I’ll give you dealer’s choice for characters but I have a feeling you’re on my Wavelength here

[from this prompt list!!]

Hair dye squelches against the paper thin gloves meant to protect Taako’s hands from the countless chemicals that are doing their damnedest to permeate his scalp. Ones with long and horrible names like methylparaben and lead acetate and solvent red number one. 

Some animals use brightly colored markings to act as a warning, like don't eat me, I'll kill us both. That’s why he could only see the cool frogs he liked as a kid in the zoos. He couldn’t get one at Petco or something. If he really wanted one, he’s certain enough money could have greased the wheels; some dickheads have endangered tigers in their homes, what’s the harm in having a few poison dart frogs? But it was a good lesson that money can’t buy everything. 

He looks at the small window in the shower and curses himself for not opening it sooner. This shit stinks to high hell and the last thing he needs is to pass out in the bathroom. Some places in the apartment have to be sacred. He rips his gloves off and tosses them in the little trash can next to the toilet before stepping into the shower to deal with the window. Once he can figure out the godforsaken lock that Lup had installed on it, it glides open with ease, letting all the fumes out into the steamy LA night. 

He leans over the counter and switches the song on his phone to something high energy and loud. 

He picks up the tube of dye and squeezes a big glob into his hand. Good enough for his scalp, after all. He massages the rest into his hair like shampoo, making sure every inch of his hair is saturated. He brings his hair up into a wet and mucky ponytail and twirls it about its base. Likely getting hair dye over everything, he roots around for a plastic bag under the sink. Finding his bounty, he puts it on his head as a makeshift cap. He gives his hands a quick and futile wash; it looks like he’s killed someone in the bathroom. Red dye staining his hands, the sink, probably his face by the end of this. 

At first, he intends on practicing some mindfulness; relaxing while the dye sets, maybe doing some sudoku on his phone. But sitting with that for even a moment makes him want to crawl out of his skin and stuff it down the garbage disposal. He spends a frantic thirty seconds looking for the hair dryer before laying eyes on its place on the cluttered counter. 

He cranks the heat up as high as it’ll go and begins evenly toasting his head like a little marshmallow. A scientifically appropriate number of minutes go by and he rips the bag off his head before sticking only his head in the shower. He braces himself for a minute before letting the icy water wash over his head. He works the remaining dye out of his hair and spits out the bitter water that drips into his mouth, bringing all those long and horrible chemicals onto his tastebuds. He’s like his own personal poison dart frog now. 

He blindly reaches for a towel and plops it on his head before scrunching, not scrubbing, at his hair. Supposed to keep the dye from fading too fast. Or keep him from ruining the towel. He’s really not sure which. He slips his phone into his pocket and opens the bathroom door to air out some of the fumes. And that’s how he finds himself face to face with Lup. 

“Your bathroom full?” he asks flatly, turning his eyes anywhere but her face. All he ever fucking sees when he looks at her now is her concerned, pitying gaze. It disgusts him, he’s not a fucking ASPCA commercial. 

“I just wanted to do some laundry,” she says meekly. 

“At midnight?”

“I was up anyway.” Thanks to your loud music, obviously being stuck on her tongue. Not his problem. 

He moves to the side and gestures to the closet hiding the washer and dryer. Lup steps into the bathroom, glancing at Taako’s hands and face. 

“Your hair looks nice,” she says, tossing a small load of laundry into the washer. She dumps some flowery smelling detergent into the tray. 

Any more chemicals in the bathroom and Taako’s sure mustard gas is soon to follow. “Thanks.” 

“I have some rubbing alcohol if you wanna get that dye off your hands,” she offers. 

Can’t even trust me to take care of myself, Taako thinks bitterly. “I don’t need your help,” he says instead. 

“I just…” Lup says, her protest dying in her throat. “You wanna watch a movie tonight?” 

Taako drops his towel on the counter and starts tousling his hair in the mirror. “Can’t. I’m going to a party in West Hollywood.”

“Oh. Uh, cool. Who’s hosting?” Her judgment is so palpable that Taako’s a little amused. 

He scoots past her to exit the bathroom. If he has to be in a confined area with her any longer, he’ll scream. Besides, the damp hair look is cool now. “If you have to ask, you already know.” 

She follows behind him and sucks in a quiet breath. “Taako, listen. You’re an adult and you’re allowed to hang out with whoever you like—”

“Gee, thanks Mom!” Taako snarks. 

“That’s not what I meant. I just, Taako, I'm worried about you.”

“Worried that I have more friends than just you? Worried that I don’t need to mope around your palatial apartment and look down upon the poor plebes out there like you do? God fucking forbid that I do anything anymore.” Taako wasn’t always this eager for a fight. Especially not with Lup, but these past months have been filled with cloying pity and a superior concern that he just can’t vibe with anymore. 

Lup scoffs. “This isn’t about you going to West Hollywood at midnight. This is about you hanging around people who don’t give a shit if you live or die,” she says tersely. 

“Oh, like you do?” He challenges. He grabs his shoes and sits down at the kitchen table to pull them on. 

“Of fucking course I do, Taako! What kind of question is that?” 

“I dunno, Lup, it seems like all I’m good for is embarrassing you. Your shameful fuck-up of a brother!” He snaps. He shakes his head, getting small red rivulets of hair dye on the wall. 

“Taako, you really think I think that lowly of you? You think I give a shit what TMZ or Twitter o-or any other vapid internet wasteland has to say about you? They don’t know you, Ko. I know you,” she says tenderly. 

Taako almost believes it. “You don’t fucking know me, Lup. You haven’t in a while.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Thought you didn’t want me to lie to you anymore.” His phone vibrates and he rises from the table.  “Don’t wait up.” He grabs a bag he stashed by the entryway. 

Lup hurries after him. “Taako, please. Can we just talk for a little longer? I’ll make up some cocoa, I’ll drive you there.” She’s all but begging now. She’s tearful and it makes Taako’s stomach churn. 

“I’m done talking, Lup.” Taako says. He can’t look at her when he says it. He slams the door behind him, ignoring whatever she calls down the hallway to him, and hurries to the elevator, ready to forget about this whole melodrama.

[evilwriter-originals]

Clipped Wings - Chapter 2

A/N: I'm doing a tag list for this story! Please let me know if you'd like to be added!

@samatedeansbroccoli @lashlamb13

---

Anaria’s feet hurt. She’d been standing almost all day for the portrait, and taking breaks in between for food and rest hadn’t helped much. Her father seemed to be in a similar position, as he’d ordered servants to bring their dinner to the room instead of adjourning to the formal dining room.

Anaria liked to have Sylvae join her for her meals, but Sol ordered her and his own guard away. It seemed he wanted to talk to her in private. 

Which… made her nervous. Was he aware of her recent unguarded outings? She was 21, but when your father was the king, there was no such thing as being too old to get a scolding. 

Sol didn’t get right down to business though. Instead, as he cut into his steak, he asked: 

“Did you enjoy the painter’s work?”

Anaria and Sol had been able to view what the painter had had of the portrait before he left. He was almost finished with it after working all day, though there were parts of Anaria’s face that were unfinished. 

“I did,” Anaria responded, still wondering what her father really wanted to speak with her about. Both she and her father had looked regal in the piece, but close, bonded. It was a good rendition of how they really could be… If her father didn’t avoid talking to her.

“Good.” Sol chewed thoughtfully, as if pondering his words. Anaria was on the edge of her seat with anticipation, barely touching her food. 

“I do not know when the portrait will be finished,” he finally said. “As I have business in Shimmerfort.”

Anaria furrowed her brow. “Isn’t Shimmerfort abandoned?” She knew her geography. Shimmerfort was a fort on the northern edge of Nessar bordering Aborsken. Well, it was more straddling the line between the two kingdoms. Why would her father be going there? 

“For the moment,” Sol said. “But I have been in correspondence with the King of Aborsken, and—”

“You’ve been in contact with humans?” Anaria asked incredulously. She hadn’t meant to interrupt, but she was shocked upon hearing this news. Why hadn’t her father told her of this sooner? 

“We’ve had peaceful years with them,” Sol answered coolly. “At least, with the ones from Aborsken.”

Anaria just nodded. She sipped at her wine, but made a face and reached for her water. She needed something to cool off with.

“I would like to propose a treaty with them,” Sol continued. “There have been reports of trouble stirring in Esken, of armed groups making it past our borders.”

Anaria hadn’t known that. Her mouth felt a little dry, and so she drank more water. Maybe she really should have Sylvae with her on her outings from the palace. 

“Have there been any… altercations?” Anaria questioned. She was upset that her father had seemingly been keeping all this to himself. She was the princess and heir to the throne for gods’ sakes! Shouldn’t she know about all this?

“A few,” Sol told her. “We still have no idea what their motivations are, but we’ve had peace with Aborsken for years. I thought meeting with their king would be a good idea.”

Anaria tried to remember her lessons. Esken had been a part of Aborsken once, before a civil war decades ago had torn the country in two. They both bordered the north of Nessar. A queen whose name Anaria could not recall ruled Esken, while Dyon Ravenhelm was the current king of Aborsken. He was around the same age as her father, which might make negotiations easier. The Nessari lived much longer lives than humans, and she knew that humans resented them for that. 

“Why are you only telling me of this now, on the eve of your travels?” Anaria asked. She was unable to keep a biting tone out of her voice. 

Sol sighed, looked down at his plate. “I meant to tell you. I… suppose I didn’t want to frighten you. Peace is all you’ve ever known. I did not want to disrupt that.”

“Keeping me in the dark doesn’t help,” Anaria snapped. “I’m your heir. You should have told me.” 

Sol put down his silverware, rubbed his face with one hand, then reached for his goblet. After a long drink in which Anaria was left bristling in the silence, he said: “I should have.” 

“I’m not a child.”

“I know.” 

“Then don’t treat me like one!” Anaria cried indignantly. 

Sol pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Look, I am sorry, Anaria.” He finally met her gaze. “I will keep you informed on my travels, alright?”

Anaria wanted to continue to vent her anger, but instead bit her tongue and nodded. 

“If you would like to be caught up with everything, there is one more thing you must know.” Sol’s voice sounded grave, serious.

“Oh?” Anaria asked, trying to—if not remain calm, at least sound that way. 

“King Dyon and I have been sending letters,” Sol began. “We think the best way to ensure a treaty and peace between our kingdoms would be a marriage.”

Anaria was struck with disgust. “I am not marrying someone your age.”

“No, you won’t be. He has a son: Girad.”

“I…” Anaria trailed off, completely unsure of what to say. She’d known her whole life that marriage would not be something of love for her, but something arranged. It was a duty she had to her kingdom. But to marry a human? She’d thought she’d be marrying one of the Nessari lords or their sons. She’d never even met a human before!

“I know it’s not what you wanted,” Sol said, easily reading her. “I’m sorry.”

Anaria wanted to snap at her father that apologies didn’t matter right now, but instead she abruptly stood from the table. Her dinner was half finished, and she was still hungry, but she could bear this conversation no longer. 

“Anaria—”

She left the room in long strides, and found Sylvae outside the door, waiting for her. She just waved her hand at her to follow, teeth clenched. She didn’t want to take out her anger on her friend and bodyguard. Sylvae silently fell into step beside her.

“I suppose dinner didn’t go well,” Sylvae assumed after some time in which the silence grew uncomfortable and the tension had to break. 

“No, it didn’t,” Anaria said. She stopped for a moment, raised her eyebrows suspiciously at Sylvae. “Did you know of what has been transpiring with the humans?” 

“I did, princess,” Sylvae answered honestly.

“So no one thought to tell me?!” Anaria cried, throwing out her arms, spreading her wings. She didn’t care who passed by and heard her. “I’m an adult! I have been an adult! And yet you coddle me like my father like you’re so much older than me!”

Sylvae merely looked down at her feet, shame radiating off of her, wings tucked in close to her back. 

“My apologies, princess.” 

Anaria huffed. “An apology will not do for now, Sylvae.” She stormed off, and Sylvae made to follow, as was her duty, but Anaria stopped her with a raised hand. She could make it back to her chambers on her own. 

She’d completely forgotten about the pain in her feet.

---

After ordering dessert to be brought to her chambers and eating in simmering silence, Anaria summoned Hali. She was worried, already beginning to feel anger. What if Hali had known about all this and hadn’t told her either? What if everyone had known but her?

Hali’s smile fell when she noticed Anaria’s mood. She folded her hands in front of her, stepped towards her chair, her wings fluttering nervously.

“Yes, princess?” 

“You don’t happen to know anything about the current happenings of Aborsken, do you?” Anaria asked, tone short and a little harsh. 

Hali cocked her head. “No. Why?”

Tension left Anaria’s shoulders and she found herself able to arrange her wings a little more comfortably against her back. 

“My father has been keeping secrets,” Anaria responded. She gestured for Hali to sit across the low table from her. 

They were in her living quarters, the space cool after the heat of the day, torches lit to bring light. Anaria could summon lights herself, but that would just be a waste of energy when torches worked just fine. 

Hali came and sat across from Anaria, arranging her skirts, probably guessing she would be here for some time. Anaria was flattered by her attention, honestly. Yes, Hali was her lady in waiting, but that didn’t mean she had to be friends with her. 

But, Hali was, and so she listened to Anaria’s whole story. A frown grew on her face once it started, and then only deepened as Anaria continued. 

“He wants you to marry a human?” Hali asked, sharing Anaria’s incredulity. 

Anaria nodded, wiping some of her hair away from her face. She realized now that there would be a language barrier. She knew a good deal of Aborskenian, but would her future fiancé know Nessar? 

But that wasn’t what upset her most. What upset her was that her father had sprung this on her without even discussing it with her first. He’d had plans to go along with the marriage without her say-so. 

“Can… Nessari and humans even have children together?” Hali asked tentatively.

So many angles! That was another problem Anaria hadn’t thought about!

“I don’t know.” Anaria shook her head. Gods, she felt so helpless suddenly. Trapped. She was stuck in this position as a princess having to do the greater good for her country. 

She put her head in her hands, letting her hair fall around her face. She inhaled deeply, then looked at Hali. She didn’t want to just talk about herself, fearing that she would only annoy her. 

“How was your day?”

Hali shrugged one shoulder. “Hardly as interesting as yours.”

Anaria laughed. “Hali, I was standing in the same position for hours. Mine was hardly interesting till the end.” She leaned back in her chair and kicked off her shoes, something she should have done a while ago. She sighed at the release of the pressure on her feet. She’d like to get out of her dress too, something she would need some help with. 

“Well, I did have to fend off a man asking for you.”

“Oh?” Now Anaria was interested. Celibacy was not a thing Nessari really worried about, though she’d read about different human cultures finding importance in such things. Would Girad be like that? (That was the name of the Aborskenian prince, right?)

“I believe his name was Ruven,” Hali said, sounding a little unsure. “I was too busy avoiding questions to quite catch it.” 

“Where did you run into him?”

Hali waved a hand. “Out in the courtyard. He looked to be a gardener, actually.”

Anaria laughed. “And why did you have to fend him off?”

“You wouldn’t have liked his nose,” Hali said with a giggle. 

“Well, you do know my taste,” Anaria said, trusting Hali. “Now, the important question is, did you find him attractive?” 

“Erm… Not really.”

Hali had been in so few relationships that Anaria could count them on one hand, while she herself was alright with being labeled as promiscuous. 

“Alright.” Anaria decided not to push her. “I am probably seeing my father off tomorrow, but after that, would you like to help in my garden?” 

“I actually have lessons tomorrow.”

Anaria felt a little crestfallen. She liked when Hali helped her in her garden. Really, Anaria could have had the royal gardeners watch over her own little courtyard, but she wanted to do it herself. Where would the satisfaction of growing something be if it wasn’t actually her doing it?

“What lessons?” Anaria asked, letting herself sound disappointed. She was interested in what Hali was pursuing though. 

“Healing,” Hali said. She was arranging herself more comfortably in her cushioned chair. “Anika said she would teach me.”

Anaria nodded. “No one better to learn from.” Anika had tried teaching Anaria healing magic many a time, but she’d never caught on to it, had never really wanted to. As far as magic was concerned, she was more interested in its capabilities for battle and every day use. Healing just seemed so trivial and boring to her. 

“You should come with me.”

Anaria sighed. “Maybe I should.” It wasn’t a bad idea, considering what was happening with Esken. 

The room grew gloomy. Anaria realized that the times of peace she’d lived in her whole life might be coming to an abrupt end. Hali must have been realizing it too; Anaria guessed by the way she picked at her skirts and tightened her wings against her back. 

“Perhaps we should retire,” Hali said. She looked out towards the large glass-paned window behind her. The moon had risen high while they’d been talking, shining its copper light down upon the white stone of the palace. It looked like a good night for a flight, but Hali was right, and Anaria was tired from all the politics. 

Though it appeared that her political career was just beginning.

[imma-hallyucination]

Okay I know I said little bodies is done but what if instead of very little build-up to straight smut I actually focused more on the corruption part 🤡🤡

[nonaonann]

PSSSTT....

HEY ! OVER HERE !!!

If you're writing something about Dick Grayson, specifically the quadruple somersault, his time in the circus, or the Flying Graysons as a whole, I suggest you look into Miguel Vazquez, the first trapeze artist to accomplish a quadruple somersault, doing so at age 17 in 1982, as well as Ammend Tuniziani, another of the few flyiers who have accomplished such an impressive feat.

Miguel preformed the quadruple thousands of times before he quit flying, and his family, the Flying Vazquez family, have been involved with the circus for generations. PLEASE LOOKS AT THEIR FITS. THEY ARE SO GOOD AND PRETTY. THE SEQUENCE? THE COLORS? THE CAPES?? There's also a 2hr documentary about Miguel and what life in the circus is like called The Last Great Circus Flyer.

Ammend is also from a family who's been circus performers for generations, and his wife, Estefani Evans, is the same. They preform together, along with Ammend's brothers, as the Flying Tuniziani, and they're performances are more accessible given the better technology on YouTube (they're actually really cool to watch). Ammend and Estefani also have two children, the eldest of which has begun practicing on the trapeze, and their love story is so cute. They're amazing performers, and looking into them has made me want to catch one of their performances. Furthermore, because of their eldest, and Ammend's experience himself, you can see one of the many methods children in the circus receive their education, which you can so draw from when writing your fic, emphasizing how different Dick's life and his schooling is when his whole story starts.

Of course their are so many amazing circus performers and trapeze artists you can look into for reference, but in this two—maybe three hour rabbit hole, these performers are the one who have popped up first from searching quadruple somersault, and the ones who have completely captured my interest.

Also, hey, if you use the lives of these people as a reference and knowledge to better convey what you want with your story, a fic or original work, remember these are real life people. Treat them with respect.

Art constantly draws from life, from our experiences, the ones of those around us, the ones of those we only know through articles and interviews, and more. It's is okay to expand your knowledge and reference real life things, but it should be done with consideration on how doing so will effect others, those reading your story and those who you are drawing inspiration from.

[unbloomingmoonflower]

untitled

mentions of @starrysnowdrop’s Hali. 

Summary: Hali introduces Linari to Haurchefant. 

☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

If Coerthas was once a lush land, Linari could see no trace of it anywhere. 

As it was, the land was covered in ice and snow, bitter winds stinging the cheeks and chilling the fingers of those less prepared than the native Ishgardians who were far used to their land’s new climate. 

Linari thanked the Twelve that her armor kept her warm enough, her lance strapped to her back and never far from reach as she followed Hali into Camp Dragonhead. Despite how isolated it appeared to be from afar, it was bustling with knights and fleeting adventurers. Linari could grant it that much that it seemed to serve its purpose. 

“Linari, are you listening?” Hali’s voice broke through the Dunesfolk Lalafell’s reverie and Linari turned her violet eyes to the pink-haired Sharlayan. 

The dark-haired dragoon rubbed the back of her head. “I’m sorry, what were you saying, Hali?” 

An annoyed groan all but left her companion as she rolled her sea green eyes. “I said I wanted you to meet someone! I think you both will get along well!” she huffed as though tired of repeating herself. 

Linari quirked an eyebrow at Hali. “You could have just brought them to my house,” she pointed out.

“But you’re always out adventuring. It’d be a miracle if we catch you at home,” Hali replied diplomatically before gesturing for her friend to follow. “Now come on, I told him we’d be by!”

He? Oh no. Linari already had a strong suspicion of Hali’s motives this time, following her to the grand doors clearly leading to the stronghold. “Hali--”

“Haurchefant!” Hali called, her voice practically a song as she addressed the blue-haired Elezen that sat at the desk toward the very end of the space. Blue eyes lifted from the sheafs of paper spread upon the desk and a bright smile adorned the features of the knight Hali so casually called Haurchefant. He got to his feet in absolutely no time at all. 

“Miss Hali! A pleasure to see you again!” he greeted, stepping from behind his massive desk to approach the two Lalafellin maidens. “And you brought your friend. You both must be chilled to the bone; come, let us have some hot chocolate!”

This Elezen was sickeningly sweet and nervousness ate at the bowels of the Lalafellin dragoon at this. Why was he such? Especially in this day and age with blood of innocents being spilled and Primals about? “Hali.”

Hali looked over to Linari. “Yes, Linari? What is it?” 

“Who’s Twelve-damned cinnamon roll is this out here in the trenches?” Linari asked bluntly, crossing her arms. 

Haurchefant recoiled in surprise and Hali palmed her forehead. “Linari, do you not have any tact?”

“This is the Miss Linari you’ve told me of, Miss Hali?” asked Haurchefant, complete awe in his voice before he let out a laugh. “Well, I am pleased to see she speaks her mind without hesitation!”

Linari raised an eyebrow at Haurchefant this time. “Hali has spoken of me?” she asked. 

“Rather highly of you, Miss Linari. May I formally introduce myself as Haurchefant Greystone. A pleasure to meet you!”

“Nice to meet you as well.” 

Linari could see Hali practically glowing out of the corner of her eye and she had a feeling her friend was going to relay this interaction as part of her scheme to set Linari up with someone. 

Well, that’s what jovial jests between friends were for. She’d get Hali back for that. 

[15001700tt]

Chapter 4- Loyalties and Scrutinies

Storms of Red Masterlist

5th year, 2021

This wasn’t how Rose imagined her fifth year. She envisioned hyper-focusing on studying to receive O’s in all of her subjects, She wasn’t supposed to be spending the entire year stuck in a prank war. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, she didn't sign up for any of this tomfoolery. But Scorpius forced her hand, when he changed her hair potion on the ride to Hogwarts.

The first day of instruction, instead of taming her curls, it made them wilder, extra frizzy and extra impossible. Walking around the whole day with a shrub of hair that was so tangled and staticy, many objects had gotten stuck in the tangled mass, including her hairbrush. Some boys even placed wagers on who could stick the most items in before she hounded them. 

Of course, she had to retaliate, so she turned his blonde locks into bright red. Not ginger, like her entire family. No, she’d never allow him that Weasley badge of pride. More like a stop sign, blaring and obnoxious, like the prat himself. The exact words she shouted at him from across the crowded hall. It was no surprise when they quickly spiraled into a cutthroat clashing of pranks, trying to one up the other throughout the entire year.

 At some point, Alice and Albus joined in, at first helping their respective best friends, but all too soon starting a prank war of their very own. James and Fred II kept tally, scoring based on which pranks were the funnier

and had the most devastating results. And of course, they became suppliers. Naturally. Supposedly, their reason for getting involved was purely for research, testing (best-sold) products for Fred’s dad’s shop (or so they would tell McGonagall when they got caught).

Hair was only the beginning, and they left no rock unturned. Rose replaced mayonnaise for the boys’ pudding cups, Scorpius enchanted pies to always be behind doors the girls’ opened. 

James jinxed the girls to grow full-on beards with Scor following up by sticking all sorts of creepy crawlers in their dorms. The high-pitched screams were quite excellent that day. Alice hexed them with bright pink dots all over their bodies, while Rose sent the boys howlers that blew out their eardrums. That one sent them to the infirmary. Even more hilarious was the song of her choosing. Chandelier, sung by a toad. Ah, the wonders of YouTube.

The most memorable ones were those that actually got them in trouble. After all, school-wise, they were the finest of their year. Even in the midst of a prank war, their grades never slipped one bit. They battled each other in academia as viciously as always, but this time, with a side of vibrant paint. While hair dye was a nice go-to, it didn't stay for long. Only lasting for a couple of days before eventually fading out.

Tickling charms were dropped when the first one landed Rose in the hospital ward. She had dropped to the floor in a laughing fit and hit her head on a table.

 At some point, Scorpius sported a black eye from one of the punching telescopes Rose bought from her uncle’s store. This chaotic back-and-forth went on for the entire year, except for the intermediate Christmas break. Albus banned them from continuing this stupid match over the holidays. 

Near the end of the year, the professors were also done with the both of them, deciding to stop this nonsense before it carried on for the next two years. Professor Longbottom, never one for pranks to begin with, sat them down in his office.

“I have never met two students so intellectually mature and yet so ridiculously childish,” he scolded right away, staring down at them with a fierce intensity and a severe frown.

“Friends. Prank! Each other.” Rose enunciated sarcastically, defiance in her eyes.

“Oi, deaf it! If you two are friends, then I’m the bloody Queen of England!” The tired man retorted harshly, before letting out a deep sigh. His expression changed from anger to confusion.

“I still don’t get it. The two of you are so bright, the pride of your houses, yet you just can’t seem to get along! Both of you have real potential to be great leaders one day, but this ridiculous, blatant disregard and disrespect for the school! This idiotic-” His eyebrows furrowed as he got angry again, struggling for the words.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed and looked at both students. Resigning to his fate, he hated when students made him be the serious professor. But, they forced his hand.

“Shite, I hate being an arse, but this pointless and absurd rivalry has got to stop!” So, standing to his full, towering height with a hard expression, he gave the two a right ear-bashing.

An hour later, both came out like thoroughly chastened children. Because, they were.

“Go to hell,” Rose said hotly, turning to leave first.

“Ladies first,” was the frosty comeback as Scorpius turned the other way.

Angry silence filled the space between the two as receding footfalls filled the hallway. 

[voidsentprinces]

Live footage: Aymeric fighting Ser Zephirin

[here2bbtstrash]

i'm dying at the fact that nearly every tagged reblog of the latest build-a-fic poll is someone AGGRESSIVELY arguing for a DIFFERENT prompt 🙈 i'm almost sorry that i did this to y'all lmfaoooo kwejfhsdfd

[sailoryooons]

for the yoongi request!!!

basically him and reader get locked out from just anywhere of your choosing. somehow they fall into a deep talk where yoongi then proceeds to reveal he's never gotten head before... and well... whatever you want to happen make it happen ;) [leaving a lot up to you cause i know u can with your genius ass brain]

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

❀ Summary: You've been friends with Yoongi for as long as you remember. When he tells you he's never - and he means never - received oral in his life, you take it upon yourself to lend a mouth hand

❀ Word Count: 2,704

❀ Genre: pwp, friends to lovers (implied)

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (male receiving), spit and cum play, deep throating, Yoongi is a shy mess, implications to previous hookups, recreational drinking if you squint

❀ Published: August 10, 2022

❀ A/N: Lati baby, I am so glad you requested this. Your mind is elite and I expect nothing less from my wife. I’m so sorry I’m posting this after your mini-hiatus / going back to school – please take this as my apology. I completely forgot the part about being locked out somewhere when I wrote this pls forgive my idiotic brain. I love you very much and you mean the world to me – enjoy sloppy toppy for Yoons.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust Request Fill |

“What?” you demanded, almost dropping the beer in your hand. Your knees were pulled to your chest, tile roof rough under your ass as you stared at Yoongi. He hid his face in hands, neck flushed. Ears red. Cute. “I need you to say that again.”

“Please don’t make me.”

There is no way Min Yoong – beautiful, soft, with eyes like a stormy night and a smile a soft autumn morning – has never received a blow job. The thought makes your head spin and you lay backward on the roof of your childhood home, where you’re both catching up on summer break.

“We’re about to be seniors in college,” you accuse him, pressing a clammy hand to your heated forehead. “Yoongi - you fuck.”

He groans. “I know, but I don’t like asking for them to return the favorite.”

“So, you’re just out here going down on people with no reward?”

“I mean, I have sex.”

“I’m just. Wow. Never?”

Bo, your neighbor’s dog, starts barking, the only sound besides the crickets. Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek you recognize the look as mounting irritation.

“Shut up, Bo!” you holler, trying to diffuse the tension.

It doesn’t work.

Yoongi is not often irritated. He’s been your friend since high school – your what if for even longer – and you know everything about him. You know that he isolates himself when stressed, chewing his nails until they're red and you threaten him with princess band-aids. You know that sometimes when he thinks you’re not looking, he watches cat videos on his phone while you cook dinner. You know that Yoongi is selective about the people he sleeps with, preferring steady and consistent hookups to one-night stands.

So it absolutely baffles you that Min Yoongi – with his silky black hair tucked gently behind his ears, with his feline-sharp eyes, and his blush pout – has never gotten head. He is – god – he is stunning. You've always thought so. You know others do too. So how has his giving gotten in the way of receiving?

You admire him. He’s in an old flannel, a t-shirt and ripped jeans tonight. Something inside of you heats up. You lick your lips. Your throat feels dry.

Shoving thoughts of what his dick must feel like away, you focus on him. The way he won’t look at you, and the way he picks at his cuticles, his bottle of beer forgotten. His jaw jumps and he tongues the inside of his cheek again before wiping his palms on his knees.

“It was a stupid thing to admit,” he mumbles. “It’s late, I’m gonna head out.”

“Yoongi.”

He ignores the cashmere-soft way you say his name. He pushes himself off the piece of roof tucked under your bedroom window, dusting his jeans and flannel off. You call after him again, but he grabs his beer. Ducks inside of the window.

Flees.

He's embarrassed. You only hesitate for a moment before your foot is catching on the windowsill, sending you spilling onto the floor of your bedroom. Your beer is still out on the porch, humidity making it drip onto the dark tile.

“Are you okay?” he drifts back from your bedroom door. “Jesus, slow down.”

You’re a tangle of limbs and fussy apologies. You right yourself, managing to get to your knees. You blink up at him and your words pause. His brow is creased as he looks down at you. His face is still rosy from the beer and the embarrassment.

For a moment, Yoongi looks small. Not in size or stature, but shy. Tucked into himself. His fingers play with the end of his old flannel, and he’s chewing on the corner of his lip. He’s beautiful. It isn’t the first time you’ve thought it. It isn’t the last. But with you on your knees, looking up at him, everything else seems to drift away on the August breeze.

“Let me.” Your words barely carrying to him. His gaze darkens but he cocks his head to the side, unsure what you’re asking. You sink your weight onto the back of your calves, hands splayed on your thighs. “Let me show you.”

He scoffs. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“I don’t need my dick sucked out of pity.”

“I don’t pity you.”

He’s frowning, but you see a flicker on his eyes. It’s so quick that you’re not sure if you’re right. You squirm and lick your lips, looking up at him through rounded eyes and fluttering lashes. His foot slides back, a step toward the door.

“I want to,” you whisper. You don’t move an inch, terrified of chasing him away.

The words are true. Even before you became best friends in Mrs. Myers 10th grade literature class, you’d admired him from afar. He was always quiet. Not in a weird way, but in that way that Yoongi didn’t speak unless he felt like he had something to say.

When placed next to you in Mrs. Myers class, you paired together for a project on Dante’s Inferno. You’d discovered that he was a little warmer after time spent together, and he discovered you enjoyed dry humor. There were a few other things you had in common, but often, you found yourself sitting in the lunchroom with him.

Yoongi was easy. He didn’t make you question where you stood with him. You had always harbored a soft crush, but that took a backseat to friendship. It had worn away with time. He saw other people and so did you. You enjoyed things together, but never like that.

You didn’t resent the partners who stole bits of Yoongi’s time. But you did resent the fact that they never once thought about him. Never once considered that they should return the favor.

“You don’t want to,” he scoffed. But it was half-hearted and unsure, upturned at the end like a question. “Why?”

“You’re beautiful.” He flushes red and tucks his chin against his chest, letting his hair hide is face. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Wondered what?”

“What it would be like to touch you. To taste you.”

His head tilts toward the ceiling. “Fuck. You’re serious?”

“Please. Unless you don’t want me to.”

Yoongi relents. “I do...”

“Let me. Please.”

He moves toward the bed slowly, as though any sudden movement will chase you away. You crawl toward him, eyes only for him. Your stomach flips as you settle on your knees in front of him. They're a little sore from baring your weight, but you ignore it, quick breaths fanning between your lips.

Your eyes drop to his jeans. They're light wash and well-fitted. Dragging your eyes back up, you look at him. He props himself up, leaning backward with his palms spread on your bed. He looks down at you, somewhere between frightened and something... darker.

“Can I touch you?” you whisper, squirming back and forth on your knees. He nods, catching his bottom lip with his teeth.

Gently, you put your palms on his knees. He jumps a little but settles. His eyes don’t leave you as you brush your hands up and down his thighs, applying a little pressure in the tips of your fingers to massage the muscle through the thick material.

He sighs, almost inaudible. His fingers tighten in your sheets a little, spurring you further. You lift yourself between his legs, extending as high as you can on your knees as you squeeze his thighs. “Kiss me.”

“What?”

You huff. “I want to kiss you.”

Yoongi must hear how deadly serious you are. He surges forward with a new-found confidence, nearly knocking you over as he steals your mouth with his. His hands catch you, cradling your face as his fingers press bruise-hard into your jaw, desperate to keep your lips against his.

Everything is white noise. You no longer hear the chirping crickets outside of your window. You don’t hear the neighbor's dog barking anymore. It's just Yoongi and the warm taste of his honey-wheat beer. His lips are petal soft, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

You dig your nails into his thighs, drawing a deep whine from the back of his throat. It sends you into a frenzy, licking into his mouth. His tongue eagerly meets yours, hands moving to the sides of your neck, holding you in place and oh that feels good when he squeezes a little, reasserting some level of dominance.

Sucking on his tongue, you break away for a moment, a single glossy line of spit connecting your lips. Your eyes open just a bit to find him heaving, flushed, and lips red. He opens his eyes and it's like he has no irises, pupils blown out and starving.

Has this hunger inside you always been so severe?

Yes, you think as you connect your mouths eagerly once more. Always.

Brave hands drift to Yoongi’s semi-hard cock. You grip him firmly through his jeans, drawing succulent sounds from his mouth. You moan too, spurred on by the noises he makes for you. Your heart is pounding as you stroke him through the fabric, gasping between kisses turned messy with tongues and spit.

“Please,” he begs between a kiss.

You don’t hesitate. You pull the zipper of his pants. He lifts his hips for you, leaning back again on two hands. He's hard now, straining against stark briefs. Your mouth water, zeroing in on the size of him just through his boxers.

“Fuck, maybe that’s why no one returned the favor.”

“Huh?”

You realize you’ve spoken your fear aloud. You look up at him. Your face is burning and you’re so giddy with excitement laced with anxiety that you might pass out. “Um, your cock is sort of huge.”

He arches a brow. “You asked for it.” Your nails dig into his exposed thigh and he squirms. “Fuck, okay. Thanks for the compliment, I guess. Yeah, I’ve had someone tell me a time or two they didn’t want to try.”

“Fuck them,” you growl. “I’ll take care of you.”

You lean up again, hands playing with the elastic band of his briefs. Your tongue darts out to kitten-lick the dark spot forming on his briefs. He gasps, hips twitching at the contact. Your mouth continues to explore newly exposed skin. You bite his inner thighs, thicker than you remember them being. You suck marks on his hips, pulling his t-shirt up a bit to give you access to smooth skin.

“Off,” you mumble, pulling the elastic after a single kiss to his tip. “Wanna see you.”

Once again, he lifts his hips. You pull on the briefs, swiftly discarding them. Your eyes drink him in. Long and thick – your fingers definitely won’t touch when you grip him – pretty, flushed tip leaking pearly beads of precum.

Larger than you’ve had in your mouth. But you’re willing to take on the challenge for Yoongi. Anything for Yoongi.

“Fuck,” you whisper, kissing his knee absently. “You’re so fucking pretty, Yoongs.”

“Shut up.”

You smile and bat your lashes at him. You grip him at the base, skin velvety under your touch. You give a slow experimental stroke and his head falls backward, eyes shut. “I mean it,” you whisper. You gather spit in your mouth, leaning up and tilting the head of his cock toward your lips. You let the spit dribble out, dripping down his head onto the shaft. He curses. “So fucking pretty.”

Using the mixture of spit and cum, you pump your hand slowly up and down his shaft, watching with rapt attention as he reacts. He shudders under your hands, Adam’s apple bobbing, throat pink.  His eyes are closed, head tilted back, fingers white knuckling the sheets.

Tentatively, you lean down and flick your tongue under the crown of his cock. He moans loudly then, lips parting in a rush of air. He is a work of art. Soft planes, swaths of pink, silken at the edges. You take the tip in your mouth, suckling and running your tongue slowly around the head, drawing more noises out of him.

“Fuck, I am not going to last.”

You remove your mouth with a pop. You kiss the tip and grip him at the base, tracing the underside of his shaft with your tongue, greedily licking at the in there. His hips buck again. You don’t care as you lap him tip to base, taking a moment to stroke him with your hand while you lick at his balls.

“Baby,” he growls. A warning.

The new nickname softens you. You don’t want to ruin the experience by making him cum from teasing. It's about him, as much as you want to see him pant.

“Sorry,” you murmur, kissing a thigh. “I like the sounds you make.”

“Don’t be sorry. Feels good.”

You hum, pleased.

Settling, you take him into your mouth properly. You moan in the back of your throat, the salty sweet taste intoxicating. Yoongi is difficult to fit in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks and flatten your tongue, slowly bobbing your head, taking more in the warmth of your mouth each time you descend.

What you can’t fit in your mouth, you make up for in a steady grip with your hand, pumping and twisting. Yoongi is immediately affected, whining and cursing softly. He can’t stop squirming, a hand shooting to the back of your head, fingers pressing desperately to your skull. He doesn’t force you, just grips, hanging onto you for year life.

“Fuck,” he curses again, voice rumbling in his chest. “So fucking good, please don’t stop.”

You wouldn’t dream of stopping.

You're messy, sucking him with vigor. Drool leaks out the side of your mouth, dripping down his hard shaft. You alternate from bobbing your head up and down, sucking generously. You come up to release him with a pop, licking hungrily around the tip and down his cock to catch a breath.

Yoongi gets more and more worked up. His fingers press against your scalp and he’s rambling. You want to see him fall apart. He deserves it. Sweet Yoongi who has always done his part with his partners. Caring Yoongi who held your hand when you suffered breakups.

Taking a breath through your nose and digging your nails into his thigh, you take him all the way into your throat, swallowing around him. Your eyes smart as you choke for a second. He makes a panicked noise, but you pin him down, claws to thigh, breathing through your nose as you let up a little, coming up to pop.

Drool dribbles down your chin with a mix of cum. You stroke him quicker, looking up at him as you blink tears out of your eyes. He's so fucked out you can’t help but rub your thighs together. Yoongi is beautiful and blushing and messy.

Your Yoongi.

“I can handle it,” you promise, tongue experimentally flicking his slit. “Don’t worry. Let me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mhmm.”

Yoongi watches you, hypnotized as you do it again, deep throating him in one motion. The choked noises are delicious, accompanied with the soft bass of Yoongi’s deep moans and the staccato of his breathing.

His cock twitches in your mouth. Your hand ventures from his base to his balls, fondling gently, reverently.

“I’m gonna-”

Yoongi chokes himself as he falls backward on the bed. You feel him go taught like a bowstring, coming up just slightly as he cums down your throat. His noises are light and gasping, stroking your ego as you suck him through his orgasm.

His thighs are twitching and the hand in your hair goes slack. Yoongi turns boneless as you swallow the saltiness of him, lifting your mouth. Spit and cum gloss over your chin and lips, a sinful sheen. He is panting, his hand shooting to your hair again, grabbing onto you and pulling you up from sore knees.

“Come here,” he growls.

You're pulled on top of him, knocking limbs and numb knees. He crashes your mouth to his, licking at you, devouring your lips, tongue, and the slick between. His hands squeeze your hips, his nose brushes yours.

“That felt so fucking good,” he growls. “Now let me.”

[starrysnowdrop]

This is one of my favorite conversations between Hali and Aymeric that we have in the game (you know, outside of what I write for them I mean). It not only shows Aymeric’s insecurities but Hali’s as well, which Aymeric in that moment takes Hali’s words as giving him a confidence boost, but he doesn’t know how true Hali is in her remarks here.

This is actually foreshadowing my WIP of their love confession scene, as it’s only a short time later when Hali confesses her love to Aymeric, only for her fear of rejection to overcome her before Aymeric is able to respond and she almost turns into a blasphemy. The biggest coincidence is that I came up with the idea and began writing the scene way before I redid this questline and saw this. IDK I just think it’s cool.

~ Thoughts on my WIP: “With Love Always”

[inkluvs]

ivy ivy ivy, how are youuu? <3

hali hali hali i’m okayyy how are you?