#he is. everything. precious

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[abyssyby]

to be devoured, to be held

— a storm brews in your head as you grapple with the longing to take up a little more space in sylus’s life— would he mind?

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: something i conjured up @ 2am thinking about spending time with sylus fresh-relationship, when things are still a little fragile & a little unsure. struggling w this myself, to all who do— you are allowed to take up space. you are enough. fueled by the singular image of sylus chasing fingers with kisses. also!!! the free 5 star henckskd i canT WAIT 😫. enjoy! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, self-conscious reader, overthinker sylus, longing, smoochie kisses, face masks!

Sylus is visibly busy. He doesn’t move much when he works, resembling more a statue really— one carved with passion and love, if you were to gush. 

Were it not for the rapid flickering of his eyes and the tack-tack-tack of his fingers on his keyboard, you’d wonder if he was even breathing. 

Your gaze lingers on the thin-framed glasses you gifted him, now perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t need them, you’d think regeneration would grant him immunity against mere blue-light, but he wears them anyway. A silent gratitude, a heart-fluttering token of you in all his endeavors. Your fingers itch to push them up just that little bit. 

But he’s busy. 

You linger by the door of his office. Meticulous as you take in the set of his jaw, the slight pout of his lips, the subtle crease in his brow and his soft, disheveled hair. You swallow down the burn to run your fingers through the cloud-like tufts and smooth them away from his forehead. 

He’s busy. 

“Sweetie.” You stiffen, pulled from the haze by low, thundering endearment. His eyes never leave the screen, his fingers never cease typing. But you know he’s got every intention of luring you in like a siren. 

“Mm?” you reply, clearing you throat. How you can make a simple hum so utterly pathetic, you’ve no idea. Your face heats, your scalp prickles. Your gut churns at how little of him it takes to undo you.

But he only smiles, just the slightest bit. Eyes require strain to capture its split-second existence. “Need something?”

Your eyes widen. Oh, the last thing you want is for him to think you’re insensitive and entitled enough to distract him. “No— no! I’m okay.” 

His brow raises. The clacking beneath his fingers is silenced. Once shifting eyes now focused on you. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “Yes. I’ll go.” 

You’re turning away before he catches a glimpse of the tingles you feel beneath your skin. You shouldn’t disturb him. He had come home late last night. Slipped into bed to hold you for an hour at most before you felt him drift away once more. Back into his office. To his very important schedule. 

The lump in your throat is remedied by a big gulp of water but the irritation for your self-pity is a fire you cannot easily douse. 

You should be grateful that he accepted you into his home for the holidays. Overjoyed that he’d become more comfortable with your intimate (albeit shy) advances like fingers caressing his own, and lips brushing on any exposed speckle of flesh of his you see. He always indulges you with a shudder and a controlled breath. 

Looks at you like you’d wronged him, like he’s piously holding back unforgivable sin should he touch you back. 

And yet, your chest aches at the lack of attention. You grind your teeth. Dramatically and truthfully, you’re starved, thirsty, and craving for his regard. But how greedy would you be to demand that of him.

Digging your nails in your palms, you relent. He has enough on his plate. He invited you in despite his work schedule. Because you insisted, asked, wanted. And now you must adjust. Be mindful. Behave.

The skin of your cheeks is agitated, you’re sure, when you run your fingers down your face. In hopes to silence a groan. Annoying. Can’t help but be. You’re annoyed— with him, with his work, with yourself for being annoyed. 

Not knowing that as soon as you fled from the threshold, Sylus was quick to stand and follow after you. Had it not been for the shrieking of his infernal phone, you’d be eating your words and thriving in your greed for him by now. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

In three hours, you’ve successfully explored the base in efforts of distracting yourself or making yourself useful— hit the underground gym, sketched the pristine dragon statue down the hall on a piece of sticky note, made an ice cream sandwich, taken a shower and applied your skincare. 

And he— he’d been standing from his desk every few minutes to look for you. But deals were falling through, there are new programs to be coded and all his men were apparently incompetent today. 

He caught glimpses of you— your hair disappearing around corners, your humming as you doodled and made snacks, your silhouette through fogged glass. But something always pulled him away— another problem, another issue, something infuriatingly needing his attention. 

And if he were just so terrible, he’d throw the entirety of Onychinus away just to join you in the shower. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

The clay mask is tightening on your face when you exit the kitchen. Just beginning to crust at the edges, but goopy still. You might have mixed it wrong. The cucumbers you cut out rest on your cheeks for now, until you no longer need to navigate your way through the winding halls from the kitchen back to Sylus’s bedroom. 

A groan escapes your throat as you throw yourself into his plush mattress and silk sheets— knocking the breath out of you at the impact. Gravity pulls your spine down, pops each vertebra into place in a glorious melody of release. Then, you flip the cucumbers over your eyes and draw out a long, loud exhale.

Ten minutes, your app said, orange little happy face promising the silence of your thoughts. Ten minutes of focusing on your breath and your fingers and your toes and your skin. Ten minutes of listening to the sound of a ticking clock you otherwise would never have noticed. Of resisting the urge to twitch a muscle. Of constantly reminding yourself to unclench your jaw and relax your shoulders. Ten minutes of—

“A salad.” 

The bed dips on your side and your breathing— that you’ve been working so hard on— ceases. You feel his hot fingers on your arm, trailing, trickling down to your wrist and over your open palms. Drawing shapes. Making a home. “How appetizing.” 

You don’t need to remove your cucumbers to know the look he has on his face. Cocky, teasing and deep with that unspoken desire. “Got a moment away?” 

He hums. Fed up, he made one final call and warned his partners that if they did anything to disrupt his time with you again, heads would roll— or something along those lines. His phone rests ominously silent in his office. 

Yearning for him all day and finally having him, you are overwhelmed— his touch burns you, and you slip your wrist from his grasp without thinking.

He tries hard not to let that affect him. He is thankful for your lack of vision right now, because the scowl he gives you borderlines on homicidal. 

There is a cant to your tone— one you could not quite be rid of from your initial irritation despite it slowly fizzling away in his presence. One he bristles at. 

“You’ve had a lot on your plate.” you simply state, a supposed expression of sympathy. I feel bad for your workload, I’m sorry I cannot do anything to lighten it. 

But your lips had twitched, pressed into a firm line. This reads like criticism to him— You’d ignored me all day and now, now take this distance as consequence. He swallows. “I have.” 

You rise from your position. He’d laugh if he didn’t feel liquid dread swirling in his stomach now. You pulled away— you don’t want to be touched. Your tone— you don’t want to hear his excuses. He’d scorned you, and now knows not what to do with his lungs or limbs.

“Hungry?” you ask, a cucumber slipping down your eye to your cheek, finally revealing his perplexed gaze and— oh, no. He’s upset. Your mind connects it to your initial worries: of wanting too much, of clinging and pulling him away from the important things. And now he’s here, not there. Had he picked up on your discomfort? Were you so overbearing that he felt the need to check on you? You avert your gaze. 

“I— I made ice cream sandwiches.” because being useful right now seems like the best route. Offering him something he can take and consume for his benefit— that will soften the blow somehow. Make you worth his time. 

And he broods, swallowed in his own clouding thoughts, and follows you to the kitchen. “Alright.” 

The sandwich is a scoop of cookie dough squished between two graham crackers. You put a little mint leaf on top to make it look cute (Keiran commended this detail as Luke choked on it). 

You place it on a plate and serve it to Sylus quietly. 

He barely looks at it. No, he’s too busy, busy, busy with you. What you’re thinking; what you’re feeling. What you think— what you feel for him. “Sweetie—“ 

“It’s cookie dough.” you blurt to fill the deafening silence. Unintentionally loud, drowning out his gentle coaxing. “If— if you want vanilla, there’s vanilla. And, sorry, I don’t know if you like chocolate, but we have some. There’s strawberry too.” 

Sylus furrows his brows. Were you so upset that you didn’t want a word out of him? “Okay.” 

“Enjoy,” you say.

He frowns. “I will.” 

And as he eats, his gaze never leaves you. You in that ridiculous clay mask with cucumbers on your cheeks. In his shirt and your hair in a mangled twist. Your beautiful, divine self— upset with him.

Was it how he failed to approach you throughout the day? Was it something more specific? Something he said? The way he probed for your needs? How he didn’t look at you when you stood by his door? How he didn’t reach for you when you passed his office several times more?

He’d thought you’d wanted space. That you’d appreciate a day without his coddling and clinging, after being so ecstatic about you spending the holidays with him. He asked if you needed something, didn’t he? Asked and, inside, desperately wanted you to say ‘yes, you.’ But now… now?

“It’s delicious.” he finally comments. Shamelessly pushing, testing this boundary you seemed to have put before him. Ever so carefully. Not wanting to make it feel worse that it already does. He must show you how he appreciates you being here. 

“Oh?” 

“I’d like another.”

“Mm.” 

Shit. Has he miscalculated? “I mean… share one with me?” 

Your eyes widen. “Ah.” 

“Or, or not.” He’s fumbling. Tripping and falling over himself but who cares. He can’t take the bile rising up his throat with the way you look at him. Brows scrunched. Hesitant. Wary. It’s sending him into a spiral. “Just… sit with me, please.” 

The hoarseness of his voice is enough to make you soften. Something in you clicks, and your anxiety makes way for his. Work must have been a lot, you think. And he doesn’t deserve your insecurities getting the best of you when he needs you. 

You do as he asks once you take a strawberry sandwich out of the freezer and settle with your own fork. 

“The twins told me you liked strawberry best.” you start, voice now calmer than it was before. Returning like the gradual seeping in of the tide. Sylus— oh, Sylus revels in it quietly. “But I remember you snuck spoonfuls of my cookie dough from my fridge when you were at my place.” 

The acid neutralizes. “Oh?”

“And I thought,” he watches you take a bite, how your plump and shiny lips close around the fork. “What if that was another one of your cover ups? You are particular, yes, but never polarizing. 

“We had this whole debate on whether or not you’d like the strawberry more than the cookie. Luke was very adamant about you only having one favorite.” you cut another piece of the sandwich and bring it up to his lips. An offering. A truce. An understanding. “But if you’ve influenced me to be anything— it’s to be greedy.” 

He takes a bite from your fork. Curling his lips and dragging it over where yours had just been. He is zeroed in on your face, reading every tick, every twitch. And ultimately searching for any absolution. 

He catches your wrist, prays you don’t pull away, and removes the fork from your fingers in favor of his face. He presses his hard edges into the softness of your palm and closes his eyes at the contact. “Tell me what I did so I never do it again.” he breathes.

You frown, blindsided by this reaction— he’s… worried? Anguished and anxious because he thought he was at fault for something? “What?” 

He opens his mouth to explain again but you drag your thumb over his lower lip. He is compelled to silence. “I’m not upset with you.” 

He’s breathless. Clinging to your warmth. “Then what—“

 His lingering stare, almost a scowl, so focused on the micro expressions he cannot read. His sudden distance: a courtesy. It clicks— his upset really just… dejection.

Oh. 

He thinks you were punishing him. 

The thought slams into you, hollow and sickening. So afraid of asking for too much, of being too much— that you never realized how it projected onto him. What it looked like from outside the eye of the hurricane. How it would have made him believe… How could you have let him think—? 

The weight of it presses down, suffocates you harder than the insecurity ever did. You would never— never. But you share this, this inability to comprehend how utterly forgiving and needing the other is. 

So wrapped up in pondering a space you don’t deserve, you’d done this. That space, now, he is mourning. Begging you to fill again, as he drowns in desperation to fix a mistake he never made. 

“I thought I was being a burden.” you mutter, searching his eyes for confirmation that never arrives. “That I was lingering around you too much, hovering and you’d had enough—“

His brows furrow bringing an intensity in his eyes that worsens the caving in your chest.  He exhales then, more than air— everything that has choked and squeezed him inside.

“No. Never.” he cuts you off quickly, too overwhelmed by fear and sorrow and relief to even be the least bit composed. Oh, he was so relieved. His lips chase and kiss the tips of your fingers like a man starved. He mutters, low and clear against your skin, “Could never have enough of you, beloved.” 

You melt into his touch as he circles his arms around your waist and finally pulls you against his warm body. His breath tickles your neck as he presses his face into your shoulder, inhaling the scent of body wash, shampoo and you. “I am yours for the rest of the week.”

“No, stop that.” you argue, but your tone does not reflect. It dissolves, melts away. “Sylus, I’m not asking…”

“Neither am I.” he states, sturdy vibrations traveling from his lips down your spine. “I need to make you greedier. Be greedier for me.”

Your lips press together in a shy smile and you feather them over his pulse point. You seize control of your fingers. At last, you get to push his glasses up his nose, press on the fat of his jutted lip, ease the crumple of his brow and run your fingers through his soft, unkempt hair— just before you kiss him. Consume him. Devour him.

Sylus corrodes at the edges, unmoored at the feel of your lips on his. He presses, holding you to him, needing to be closer, closer, closer. To taste. To feel. To have. 

Putting your each wretched thought of unworthiness to shame. Silenced. Dust.

When you pull away, your eyes take a while to adjust, still giddy and tingling from the static in the air. He lingers, nuzzling into your skin, nose skimming reverently along your cheek. Once your vision returns you let out a genuine giggle. 

He swoons at the sound. Half lidded eyes and lips curved into a stupid smirk, asks, “What?” 

Your laugh escalates into a shriek as he dips to kiss you again and again. “Stop!” 

He’s grinning. The epitome of sunlight. “Why?”

You’re in tears at his appearance— light green smears of clay over his lips and cheeks, a stray cucumber hanging off his jaw. Shaky fingers go to right him, wipe away the remnants of a passionate kiss. Meanwhile, he turns to nip at your wrist and kiss your palm, and you think fondly: it is impossible to clean him up here. He is impossible.

“Come on.” you say instead, dragging him by his fingers which he meticulously intertwines with yours.

He follows, wordlessly, obediently. More than overjoyed to be led to— it does’t matter. He would be led anywhere as long as it were you. He savors how he can press on the soft skin on your palm, how he can so easily stop you in your tracks to kiss you soundly. All because he can. He can and he will. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

Not long after, you’re wriggling in his iron grasp, tickled by the movement of his digits on the dips of your waist. You hiss, “Hold still!”

“I’m not the one squirming here, sweetie.” he chuckles, breathy and deep. His hand slides up the curve of your back and up the length of your arm, drawing one up over your head to pin you to the wall. “My little bird, trying to get away? Won’t you check your work?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.” you say pointedly, a fond grin on your gracious lips he cannot help but devour. You stop him in his tracks as he leans down, “We just got you cleaned up!” 

“I can clean up again.” he insists, leans again. To his displeasure, you turn your head to dodge him.

“Let me kiss you.” he whispers, begging with no sense of subtlety. Laid bare and open. With only the thought of tasting you. He nods to the jar in your hand. “Before you put that on me.” 

You click your tongue, but inside your belly swoops at his open expression. Head fuzzy with affection. “You said you couldn’t wait.”

“Your touch is enough to intoxicate and persuade. I am yours all week..” he purrs. He hopes you allow him a kiss— the sudden need make his ears pink. “Sweetie?” 

“One.” you relent, and he is quick to accept. Pressing his lips to yours lightly, to your surprise, as he swallows your gasp in delightful satisfaction. 

He pulls away clean, none of your replenished mask on his face. Then he drops his hands to cage your thighs on the sink you sit on. His eyes glint playfully as he inspects your flustered state, “Done playing around? I can’t wait.” 

You scowl at him— like he didn’t just beg you to… you sigh in kind exasperation and get to work.

To say he was putty in your hands was an understatement. Sylus has always been sensitive, that is a fact, but at every touch of your fingers on the bridge of his nose, the brush of the pads of your thumbs under his eyes, the scrape of your nails just under his jaw make him lose a shuddering breath. The devotion trickles down your spine like rain. 

When you place the cucumbers on his cheeks, he smiles, earth-shattering and gorgeous. Such a powerful man in a matcha-green clay mask. “There.” 

“Now we match.” he says so tenderly it aches. Every valve gives way.

For the rest of the afternoon, you are both in clay masks. Cucumbers over your eyes; happily wrapped around each other in bed like the greedy scum you are. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

[odoraful]

⟡ i wish i can be your sanctuary until the end of time

⟡ i need to show them i already have a lover

⟡ let's push the what-ifs to the side

⟡ we'll just have to blame the moon

[keferon]

Did you think I was done? Ahahahaha no, I have more.

Because chapter 70 of MOMU gave me the very dynamic between them that I missed so much, I just blacked out and started drawing uncontrollably lmao

Also. ALSO. I noticed a while ago that Prowl has the habit of..like…constantly frowning. So. I did a bit of research and made this graph.

In 70 chapters, Prowl frowns rougly 104 times. And the intensity of this gesture is very clearly correlated with the development of his relationship with Jazz, as you can see ahahahahah It might be wrong tho don’t take me seriously I’m not good with graphs

[minsung]

HAN — hollow: fan featuring guide video

[egophiliac]

I have SO many thoughts about everything and they are in no kind of order yet, so here's just some quick little bits in the meantime!

I am not normal about any of these characters!

[deathandnonexistentialdread]

Jonouchi leaving his mark on Yami's soul is everything

[suntails]

toot toot!

[twistedappletree]

mfw i’m only 16 and have single-handedly made several of the most powerful cultivators cry simply by calling them stupid and telling a few “yo mama” jokes without any repercussions from the elders of my own clan who let me do/say whatever the hell i want because they’ve given up on trying to stop me

[frodobaggins-appreciation]

this has to be one of my favorite Frodo smiles!

[cow-in-the-sunset]

I’m sorry. I can’t and will not be normal about the character known as Peeta Mellark.

At 14 I decided that he represented all the goodness, kindness and hope this world has to offer and I haven’t budged in 12 years.

[aria-greenhoodie]

You see, @localcanadiancryptid22, I’m a motherfucker who LOVES drama, so I fw anything that can create that.

I’m normal. Btw. In case you were wondering.

[artsyannierose]

Pt 2. ⬆️

Ok usually Angel tells Husk he’s horny but the ONE TIME husk admits it…

omg Angel is BEYOND ENTHUSIASTIC

Part 1

[evilminji]

With Talismans, what's the difference between a veil and a helmet with built in gasmask?

Not a damn thing!

Read a one shot, where Shang Qinghua had to wear a veil for plot reasons. And? My brain started to kick in. The world they live in? Is chock FULL of bullshit Aphrodisiacs. Powders and pollens that are fuck or die. Which? One: what happens if you get hit when NO ONE IS AROUND.

And TWO(‽‽‽): The VERY REAL and tragic reality? Is that NOT everyone who stumbles upon one of those poisons? Is gonna be a hot single in your area. TODDLERS like to wander off and pick up The Pretty Flower™ or Poke The Weird Animal™.

They are GOING to get poisoned. It is GOING it hit them harder and faster them an adult, because of their size. And they are GOING to die. There will be little to nothing you can do.

Hell, MOST children are basicly dead upon infection. Assuming it truely is a "Or Die" variety, instead of a "or suffer greatly". The fact that veils aren't STANDARD for prepubesant children? If only to improve their chances of survival? WILDLY irresponsible.

That Veil could be the only difference between a face full of deadly pollen and an inconvenient afternoon in the decontamination baths. With a side of ruined veil. And! Would you RATHER? Lose a pretty bit of fabric? Than, oh, YOUR LIFE!?

Irresponsible!!!

The Mortality and Morbidity rates must be STAGERING. For fucks sake! COVER UP! Nature is deadly! Trust NOTHING! Twenty layers and leave room for the chaperones! HOW ARE ANY OF YOU MOTHER FUCKER STILL ALI-!!!

Which! Brings me! To my New SI-OC~☆ 🎉🎉🎉

She spent her whole first life RUSHING. Go, go, GO! No time for hobbies. No time for frivolous social events. No time for proper rest. Nothing. She died exhausted. Hated it. Regretted it. Was she GOOD at it? Beside the point. (Yes.) She never wants to rush, rush, RUSH, again.

Naturally, she ends up in a family that wants to marry her off as a business arrangement. Lots of work in her future. Expected to be the THIRD wife. Ha ha... how about "NO."

See, her First Father? Always taught her? "They can't MAKE you don't anything. You ALWAYS have a choice. It's just a matter of if you're willing to pay the price for that choice." And? Yeah. Fuck these guys. They wanted Filial Piety? They should have given her someone WORTHY of such loyalty. A FAMILY to be loyal TOO.

Off she goes~ with her shit shoved in a bag she made literally right in front of them, while they weren't paying attention.

Wearing a veil. Not to "hide her identy" or anything. Or "protect her beautiful face" or whatever. But, because? It keeps dust and Suspect Powders out of her face. Coupled with a hat? And she's quite protected from the sun! Nice~

She gets to Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. "Climb the mountain" etc. "Dig a hole". Ppphff. Look at all these idiots and their No Gloves havin asses. Where's your water and support bandages, idiots? You even lift bro?? Did you even ASK workers on the way here about the best way to dig? Bet you didn't.

Work Smart, not hard. Ya Casuals.

(Never Fuckin Again.)

And because I LOVE the PIDM universe? And all the ways it could have gone of the rails with different Transmigrators? It is OG!Shang Qinghua who is standing there, bored and long suffering, when he... "oh~? Oh HO~?" *goes from ( -_-) to ( ◇.◇)* like? What's this~?

Snarky and silently judgemental? Smarter then she let's on? Clearly hiding great talent behind an unassuming appearance? (Projection? Whaaaat? Noooo....) It's like a mini-him.

.......that one. He wants THAT one.

And for once, he's willing to fight about it.

Everyone else chosen by An Ding is like "... oh. Okay, I guess." But SI-OC? *Violent Flashback to The War Her Days Of Endless Work* *squints suspiciously at the An Ding Lord* "mother fucker, you have five seconds to give me a good reason not to run for the hills and try my luck at a different Sect"

"One, I would catch you. I'm far faster. And Two... we have first dibs on all the good shit the Sect gets. Plus Talismans. You can study literally anything you damn well please, unlike the other Peaks."

Hmmmm, she DOES like the idea of Talismans.... *squints suspiciously* you're on thin ice, bribery man. Your convincing arguments will only get you so far, if the work conditions are shit.

And Shang Qinghua is like? "Aw. Is Baby. I bet it bites. You'd rob me blind in the night and run for the hills, wouldn't you~? Wouldn't you~☆? Oh my gods. Is THIS what my Shizun felt? No wonder he put up with me."

Unfortunately...the food is AMAZING. Great perks all around. Because no one respects them, they take the GOOD shit without remorse. Fuck those guys. The work? Lots of hurry up and wait. Plenty of time to study (when CERTAIN Peak Lords aren't TRASHING THEIR PEAKS).

And SI-OC? Finds that traditional meditation doesn't work at first. She's too used to the "YOU HAVE TO BE BUSY" mindset. But? A project? That works! And Talismans can be sown into clothes. It's slow work. Gotta get it just right. Lots of calculations. Lots of paints them on the cloth with specific inks, then sewing with specific threads. Sometimes washing, sometimes not. Occasionally there's beading.

Slow and steady.

From her veils to her inner robes, on out. Using An Ding connections to track down experienced master crafts men, just to trade them her work for some of theirs. Cultivator made Qiankun pouches in sleeves, protections from this and that. Expensive stuff, for an average man. But off course, only the best, for his daughter who is to be wed. And of COURSE, she would supply the materials for him to work with! She understands his time and talent is a valuable thing.

She also sends a wedding gift. Amazing how far being polite and thoughtful can get you. The jewelry is magnificent. Her arrays? Perfectly transcribed. She is a fancy looking TANK and she loves it.

And, yes, as a Disciple, she can only wear so much of her slowly growing hoard of "I AM The Danger apperal". But does that STOP her? Fuck no. Cause what are you gonna do? Police her underwear? Huh? Gonna tell her she can't wear that many underlayers? HUH?

She looks like a gauzy little fairy. Ribbons braided in her hair (they are talisman arrays, each and every one of them). Gauzy three layer veil fluttering delicately in the breeze (it is embroidered within an inch of its life. Hair thin, spider silk, talisman arrays on every millimeter available). Delicate underlayers peaking put at the neck and sleeves, like a flowers bloom (Arrays. It's all coated in arrays. Death to all who would dare, covered by a single over robe).

All topped with tinkling little jewelry.

(Focal anchors. Because some arrays are simply to strong for cloth)

As in with Nature... the brighter and More Lovely? The higher the chance it'll kill you. Especially in this world. And An Ding colors are bright indeed~☆. She's the Peak Lords lil Cabbage. When it all goes to shit? (As he always half assumes it will.) He's planning on picking her up like a sack of potatoes and booking it. Instead of his ORIGINAL plan... of just straight up booking it.

\( ^-^)/ yay! Family! Team "fuck them guys. We out!"

She teaches PIDM Binghe the valuable life lesson of "fuck this guy... I'm out". Cause like? Have you considered? NOT sitting there and taking it? He sucks. To you specifically. This is clearly toxic and not your responsibility to fix. Come to An Ding. Or literally ANY OTHER PEAK. Or a different Sect! You don't owe him SHIT.

And like? Fuck it. You look like that Su Xiyan lady. Maybe Hua Huang will take you in? She was a rock star there. (She says, as though she doesn't know)

Cue said sect Actively On Fire barely five years later when Creepy does as Creepy do. Cue Binghe prob hunting down and releasing Tianlang-jun. Cue "if it weren't for my Shemei, your mountain would be ash" letter sent to the sect leader.

And like? Cue Mobei-jun clearly waffling between "do I want to Kill this threat... or [REDACTED IN DEMONIC] him. He's not loyal to ME... but he's clearly capable. He has a daughter now. I thought he was inherently treacherous. Was going to kill him for that. But if he's just some weirdly Human flavor of Demonic Treacherous? That's... kinda hot. Look how LOYAL he is to his kid. I want that."

5d chess out here in the northern court. As this man tries to parent Qinghua's not-child and he desperately resists the urge to finally stab him.

Just? Everything's a mess and she will NEVER get the peace n quite she longed for. Cheated! Scammed! She should have head west til she hit ocean then boarded a BOAT! This is BULLSHIT D:<

@mayfay @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @spidori @hdgnj @leftnotright

[lazylittledragon]

Hi!! Love your Baldur’s Gate Art! They’re so beautiful just chef Kiss! I just wanted to share something from my Wyll’s PlayThrough:

I found this moment soo cute and made me think of your Tav and Wyll romance (which are also adorable can’t wait to see more of them whatever you share) just I don’t know the idea of Wyll always wanted to be a dad makes me melt and I wanted to to share it with someone. (sorry if this is a bother just ignore me haha Hope you’re well!)

oHHHHH MY GOD THIS IS SO CUTE I’M MELTING

this is even better bc it means even though he was ready to be patient with maxx he would’ve been Thrilled that he wanted him to be his dad :’OOOO

[tohruies]

“what’d ya wish for?”

“i can’t tell you that! it's the most important wish i’ve made in my entire life, if you must know… so i have to keep it secret.”

“heh, guess i’ll just hafta kiss it out of ya.”

🥹🥹💝🥺😭💘💗✨ pomegranate boy and dandelion girl... ;u; BEAUTIFUL COMM IS BY NICK OF COURSE!! @scarameownya ... if you enjoy his art and have the means to support him, i hope you might consider doing so!!! here is his kofi!