#mastery in simple crafting

[aklimacraftsandjournals]

Simple Paper Flowers Mastery | Easy Paper Flowers Revealed || Aklima Crafts And Journals

[readychilledwine]

The Art of a Dress

Summary - After commissioning you to make some of his mother's designs come to life, Rhysand faces the reality that artwork is more than what's painted on Feyre's canvas and even fabric can envoke memory.

Warnings - Parenting, children, vague mention of death, angsty-ish, Liz not doing the Venus and Junon dresses justice, platonic reader relationship

A/n - The first of my Christmas fics that don't center around Christmas. I was inspired to write this after talking to @daycourtofficial . It's how I imagine Feysand having a daughter will go.. Her and Feyre would constantly coordinate or match outfits. They'd be that mommy daughter duo.

✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Starfall.

Rhysand was beyond ready for Starfall. The cherished holiday had begun to mean so much more than just the traveling of souls across the sky almost 7 years ago.

Specifically because of the little girl holding his hand, her long dark hair bouncing with each step as his son and Feyre walked behind them, warm cups of hot chocolate in hand. Nyx had grown into a handsome young male at 20 years old, turning and winking at his little sister as she held Rhysand's hand.

“Do you think y/n got the dress perfect, daddy?” Deep blue eyes looked up at him as Lenora looked up at him. Her sweet face was etched in concern.

Rhysand only felt his lips twitch up, thinking of his long time friend. You had been trained as a seamstress by his mother, and your designs had quickly become demanded all across the Night Court. Fashion was art to you, it held no boundaries, no limitations. It was self expression, freeing.

For that reason, you were the only one he trusted to create the twin gowns he had found in his mother's sketch book. “Without a doubt, starlight,” he said to her. “It is probably better than we imagined.”

“It's just my big birthday,” she whispered, almost afraid you would disappoint her.

“Every year is your big birthday, Lala” Nyx rolled his eyes before opening the doors to white shop filled with many windows. Each window had a different display. Gowns and decor showing off y/n's skills and mastery of the craft.

You had opened today just for the High Lord and his family. The Inner Circle was already all seated as you locked the doors and then hugged Feyre, “I think we start with you, momma,” you said to her. “I need to talk to Rhysand really quick if you three want to head back,” you motioned towards the velvet sitting area for Nyx and then the dressing room for Feyre.

Lenora had already run to Azriel, picked up in his arms as you looked at Rhysand. “So, we need to have a gentle talk.”

Rhysand gave you a playful shoulder shove, “Price is no concern. I know you probably put in a lot of effort.”

“It's not about price. It's about Lenora. These dresses were originally designed for your mom and sister. Who your daughter looks a lot like.”

Rhysand brushed it off, having mentally prepared, at least he thought, “I'll be okay.”

You only nodded. “Then we should start.” You followed Feyre only laughing as you saw her face. The dresses you had been given to design were works of true artistry and would fall into the history of Night Court iconic moments.

The dress was a deep rich black with a fairly simple top. A straight strapless neckline with black beading that was heavier towards the top and faded to the drop waist. Two solid panels of matching black fabric at the top and on the waist.

The skirt was where the magic began.

The skirt was layered with elongated scallop shapes that felt almost flower petals like. Each one had silver and purple jewels and sequins sewn into the edges and up. Even the train matched the details, not a single spot looking out of place.

You had spared no expense on this dress, which, to Feyre, meant her daughter's matching dress would be just as fantastic.

Feyre was silent except for the occasional emotional huff of air as you pulled up the hidden zipper. “Is it comfortable,” you asked softly.

“Yes. Not even nearly as heavy as I expected.”

You nodded at her statement, “The fabric is from Scythia. It is so buttery soft it's extra gentle on your skin. I won't get into the details on the sequins and jewel work with you. Your dear husband.. spent far too much money getting me the ones he wanted for quality.”

The High Lady nodded, “Can we show them?” You helped her step down before opening the curtain. It was a collective gasp as the first of two dresses made its debut.

Rhysand immediately circled his mate like a hawk, checking the quality of the beading placement, the cuts of each scalloped edge. “Fantastic,” he finally approved. “You look beautiful, Feyre Darling.”

Feyre was all smiles before glancing at Lenora, “I imagine you don't want to wait to see yours?”

“No,” the princess immediately ran into the dressing room, making you laugh as you pulled the curtain and began helping her.

Her dress was similar to Feyre's, only adapted to fit her slender and youthful self. This dress had heavy black beading on the strapless top. This dress had a scalloped edge neckline that seemed to melt into the drop waist. The skirt had an over layer, scallops that matched Feyre's in color and design, only this dress had one layer before falling into full shining black tulle skirts. The back was your favorite part. Those scallops continued in the back, that petal look and texture running just the train of the princess-like gown. You and Rhysand had selected this to be Lenora’s dress for weight reasons, and as you zipped her up, you didn't regret that choice.

You glanced at the little princess in the mirror, “Do you love it?”

“Yes,” her excited scream had the room beyond them laughing.

“Is it comfortable?”

“Yes!” She ran out then, you laughing as she did and barely making it to the curtain.

She had expected joy, smiles, and laughter. She was welcomed with silence, with Azriel immediately having to leave the room, Cassian squeezing his hands together. Amren and Mor touched Feyre and Nyx, indicating for them to follow the two of them out.

Rhysand had prepared, he told himself as his hands shook. He had mentally readied himself to see his daughter in this gown. Yet that preparation failed in comparison to seeing what he was looking at.

Cassian stood, “I'm so sorry,” he left the room, tears beginning to fall.

“Its not you,” you murmured to Lenora as her little lip trembled. “Shh. It's not you. Give daddy a second.”

Rhys closed his eyes before walking over and kneeling down to her. Lenora broke the silence, “Is it ugly?”

“Mother no,” his voice was breaking. “I'm so sorry baby. This Isn't the reaction you deserved you just-” he looked up at you before taking a deep breath to continue. “You look like your auntie.”

“Like Auntie Ness or Auntie Elain," she glared. There was a right answer.

“No. Like my sister. Like Evangeline.”

The almost 7 year old felt her little face falling. She knew her dad had a sister. One who was gone. But she didn't know the reason why. “Is that why you're all sad?”

“They aren't sad,” you whispered before leaving. "Trust me, dove.

Rhysand thanked your intervention silently. It gave him a moment to process and breathe. “You look so beautiful and grown up,” he studied her face. His daughter wasn't the spitting image of him. No, Lenora was his sister. That same fierceness in her eyes. The same emotional need for approval. That same desire. He had not seen it before, but something about this dress highlighted it.

Cassian was the first to return, “I'm sorry,” he said to Lenora. “I needed a second. I hope you can forgive an emotional old male.”

“Do you think I'm pretty,” she brightened up.

“Oh absolutely. Prettiest girl I've ever seen.” Only Rhysand knew the significance of that sentence. Of who it was last said to. “Might have to tell Ness she needs a new Starfall date and keep you all to myself all night.”

Lenora made a little shocked face before cuddling with Rhysand, “But daddy promised me a dance.”

“I'd surrender you once to your dad. Then all Uncle Cass time,” his voice and smirk were playful though it didn't reach those almost sad eyes. Cassian hugged Lenora, taking the healing that came with that contact and sighing softly “Give Uncle Azzy a few more minutes. Y/n is talking to him.”

And a few more minutes is what it took. Azriel entered with a small box in hand. A little tiara you had paid Neve to make to match Lenora’s dress inside. He wordlessly turned his niece to face the mirror before opening the box and placing the amethyst and grey diamond tiara into her long dark curls. His hands then went to her little shoulders resting there. “Do you know how much we all love you,” Azriel asked her.

“More than the stars?”

All three males nodded. “You look so much like her,” Azriel's voice was tight. “And that is a special thing. Your aunt was a light in darkness. Her smile and laughter brought unmatched happiness when your dad, Cassian, and I needed it most.”

“And now you do,” Rhysand told her, finishing Azriel's thought while squeezing his brother's bicep. “You are perfect, my little love.”

Lenora smiled at herself in the mirror, then as Nyx entered in the suit that coordinated with his baby sister. Her brother wasted no time bringing added excitement to the room by carefully picking her up and standing in the mirror. “We are good looking.”

“Very,” Lenora giggled. “You're handsome.”

“You're breath-taking.”

The three older males watched the sight silently. Feyre joined them again and rested her head on Rhysand's bicep. Mor entered again, still wiping tears. Amren only smiled as she came in with you.

Nyx was still talking to Lenora, pointing at things in the mirror to show his little sister details she missed. The older fae were all silent, this moment closing a wound that they'd hoped was long forgotten.

Nyx, the very image of his father. Lenora the very image of her long gone aunt.

Rhysand finally cleared his throat, “Nyx, let your mother stand by Lala. I want to see the dresses side by side.” The princeling nodded and set his sister down, standing with a hand out to help Feyre onto the pedestal.

“Stunning,” Mor said first. “They're fantastic.”

“Artwork,” Amren flatly said. “These gowns are artwork. They will need to immediately be put in your family archives, High Lord.” A murmur of agreement filled the room, your face flushing.

“You did amazing,” Azriel whispered in your ear. “We had a little doubt this time around with how she drew these.”

“Me too,” You admitted. “I definitely did too.”

Lenora looked gorgeous the next night, faelights twinkling off the jewels on her and Feyre's gown. Nyx currently was waltzing with Feyre. The two of them were only outshined by the birthday girl on her very special day. Her and Rhysand were swaying, her father having picked her up to do so. “I love my dress, daddy.”

He hummed, “I love it too. Happy birthday, my starlight.”

“Thank you,” she leaned her head into him. “Its the most special birthday.”

“The most special birthday for my most special girl,” he said. “Always my most special girl.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites

[fanaticsnail]

Body Worship: Franky

Birthday Celebration Masterlist

Word Count: 3,100+

Themes: Franky x gn!reader, angst, self worth, Franky has a little bit of dysmorphia, affirmation, fluff, smut, thigh riding, confession, body worship, praise, love, porn with feelings, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+, non descript smut, grinding.

Notes: Massive shoutout to @thenotsofantasticlifestory for listening to my thoughts and aiding me with my time on this fic. I love this man, and I adore you. First time writing for Franky.

Cogs, wires, fizzes, and snaps of electrical circuits rang and shuddered within the chambers crafted by Franky’s own hands. There was never a silence to be held within him, not a calm moment where his body was not ticking like a clock wound by a coiled winch. He was constantly on, always on.

There was not a moment where man and machine were no longer merged as one, and Franky usually had no issue with being a self-made man in more ways than simple determination and gumption. But today, he just felt unnatural. He felt those cogs, wires, fizzes and snaps of electrical circuits overtake the humanity he so desperately attempted to preserve within himself.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He didn’t see the body he crafted as a work of mastery, but something foreign and tainted. He couldn’t look at himself without seeing the parts of his flesh, bone, and muscle he replaced, rendered, soldered, and attached. He was no longer himself, but just those parts he forged to keep himself alive.

A pile of scrap made into the shape of a man. Flesh from his prior life stretched over a frame of humanity pushed to its extremities.

Unsure as to when the first tear fell, or whether they were tears at all, his rounded eyes swelled and poured heavy drops down his cheeks and onto his chest within his workshop. Usually when he cried, he had the sensation of an almost sting in his nose: nostrils flaring and a saltiness within his nasal cavity. The lack of this feeling within his steel nose now only made him feel more like a machine and less of a man.

A soft knock at his workshop door was barely audible over the mechanical symphony rattling within his mind and skull. He scrunched his eyes shut and focussed finding a single sound to focus on within himself to no avail. It was just too much. Too noisy. Too intense. Too overwhelming. Too-.

“-Franky?” your voice shocks him out of his spiral, truly unaware of the opening and closing of the door to his workshop. He jolted back, beginning to panic a little while his body caught up to the way his mind was spiraling.

Keeping a safe distance away from the cyborg, you took him in. Noticing how his shoulders and hands were beginning to shake, you tilted your head and furrowed your brows while assessing him further. Franky’s eyes met with yours, a soft quiver of his lip atop his tri-pointed chin matching the forlorn expression blooming over his face.

As ships’ counselor, it was your job to advise and flesh out plans for your captain. It was also within your job title to unweave the troubled thoughts and matters of the head and heart for your crew.

Franky was a friend to you, and you adored the large cyborg wholeheartedly. If he ever gave you an opportunity to see him as more than just a friend or crewmate, you would take it before your heart could skip a beat.

There was no favorites on the Straw-Hat crew, but if there was, Franky would be it for you. You truly loved him for all that he was: man, machine, or otherwise.

It did not take much more than a soft sniffle from the larger man to usher you towards the larger man, opening your arms and taking him within your embrace. Pressing his head against your chest, you cradled his face within your hands and slowed your breathing for him to join with his own. His shoulders slouched, a single hand wrapping around your back and feeling the warmth your body had to offer him in the sensors within his palm and fingers.

Gently carding through his blue hair, you felt him relax into your touch while his ear pressed up against your heartbeat. His broad hands began to clutch at you and tug you into his lap, each thigh placed atop his own at the side while he pressed more of himself into you.

“Want to talk about it, big guy?” you asked softer than a murmur, but louder than a whisper, “I’m always here to talk with you when you need it, just like you are with me. Open door, honesty policy, remember?”

Franky sniffed before a raspy chuckle rattled in his throat. Tugging you nearer to him and releasing a sigh, he moved his chin to rest on your chest while peering up into your face. Gazing down at him, you offered him a softness in your smile while peering into his unshrouded eyes.

“Just-...” he began, waiting for the words to find themselves in his throat, “...It's just… I can't quite put it to words, now you mention it.” His chuckle was more in a bid to rise one of your own, teetering off the more he drank in your smile.

Darting his dark eyes between your own, glancing briefly down at your lips, he drank in your appearance the closer he drew to your face. You and he were nothing more than exceptionally close friends, but the cogs churning in his stomach and heart desperately desired there be a moment. He leaned in just a touch more, his eyes rounded just a touch more while his jaw grew softly slack.

“Franky?” Your voice soothed him, a smile found in each syllable, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re wanting to kiss me.”

Franky’s eyes darted down to your lips, angling his tri-pointed chin up just a small shift more. His eyelids grew heavy, lashes heavy as his pupils focussed on the way your lips curved in your smile.

“Do you?” he whispered, his voice heavy and husky within his throat. His hands desperately clasped the small of your back, his receptors tingling in indicating your body heat growing warmer.

“Do I ‘what’, Franky?” you queeried, not shying away from his touch. You were curious to see how far he would take this action, enjoying the attention he was giving you and feeling secure within his embrace.

Franky’s outer hand slid down to your thigh, his other moving you closer to press yourself into his chest. The blue-haired cyborg moved his lips in a tone just above a whisper, his breath tingling against your mouth as he ascended them towards yours.

“Know any better.”

His lips immediately claimed your own, focussing his own existentialism on claiming your lips against his own. His skin felt your warmth as you opened yourself up to him. Each roll of his lips mouthing at yours was reciprocated with eager enthusiasm, and Franky began to feel just that little bit calmer.

Until he wondered if it was truly his skin touching your own, not what receptors told him it was. Was it his lips touching you, or the cogs behind him sending sparks to his mind and alerting his brain that it was truly you giving into him.

Did you even like him?

Were you attracted to the man that he made himself to be?

Did you even see him as a man, not just a creation marred with the injury of battle and reforged by his own mind?

You sensed his enthusiasm dwindle against your lips, prompting you to close off the embrace with a soft peck. As you pulled away your lips from his, you peered down at him with your eyes half-lidded and holding nothing but a slight amount of teasing pulled in a soft smirk.

“Franky?”

When you met his gaze once more, your smirk immediately fled your features.

His eyes were glassy, his expression the polar opposite of the manner he usually presented himself as. There was nothing of the boisterous, uplifting, passionate, and optimistic cyborg you had come to adore, and it's absence held you hostage.

“Franky,” you sighed, gently reaching up and cupping his cheek. “Please. There's something going on, and as your counselor, I need to know. I could leave the job at the door and just be-.”

“-What am I?” he answered suddenly, his lips toppling hurriedly over the words, “I need to know.”

Taken aback by his hasty questions, you furrow your brows at him and check him over. Darting your eyes over his face, noticing his posture becoming slightly slouched and his hands holding you in heaped fistfuls, you inhale a soft and steady breath before exhaling.

Your breathing inadvertently has him so the same, both inhaling and exhaling slowly and steadily. After a moment of you both dwelling in the silence, you answer him with a non-rehearsed speech from the heart.

“You are Franky,” you whisper, rolling the pad of your thumb against the apple of his cheek, “Shipwright to the Straw Hat Pirates, senior officer shepherding the Straw Hat Grand Fleet. Creator and master constructor of the Thousand Sunny. Former gang leader, who convinced those joining to switch from beer to cola, and-...”

Franky nodded you on, convincing you to continue to affirm him with your words. You could see it was not entirely the answer he was seeking, which spurred you on to change to how deeply remarkable you found him.

“...-You are so kind. An exceptionally intelligent person with your heart beating for others,” you nod to him, catching the hitch in his throat and paying it no mind. “The way your mind can see the mastery in machines, crafting it with your hands, and forging it into the best version of itself is a gift.” You draw your other hand up to his bare chest, feeling a fizz and beat beneath the skin while you speak.

“You don't just do this with your skilled labor, Franky.” You reassure him, glancing down to your knuckles on the back of your hand in his chest. “You see the potential in others, and coax them skillfully to bring it to the light.” A small laugh fled from your lips, prompting you to shake your head and whisper, “A remarkable skill, and I envy you for it.”

The dampness felt beneath the fingers on his cheek had you moving your eyes slowly back up to meet his own.

“You are, and will forever be, Franky: man, machine, both married as one and inseparable from the other,” you concluded, drawing your hand up on his cheek to slowly caress away his tears. “You are all of this, and you are so much more.”

Franky felt his chest soar, whichever fluid, whether cola or blood, pumped his heart and had him desperate to know more. Considering the fact you didn't pull away from the offerance of a kiss earlier, he drew his hand over your back and rested it on your hip while leaning in.

“What am I to you?”

Without skipping a beat, you spoke truthfully and from the chamber's within your own beating heart.

“And you are beautiful to me.”

Franky scoffed, rolling his eyes and almost pouting at your response. You sigh out with your brow arched high, gently perching your hands against his broad shoulders and grasping his muscles firmly.

“I mean it, Franky,” you reaffirm enthusiastically, “Everything about you is beautiful. Your heart, your soul, your mind, fuck,” you gasp, feeling the firmness of his shoulders beneath his hands.

A warm flush crept up your neck and swelled your cheeks with a vibrant fluster. Franky searched your eyes, darting down to your parted lips and back up to meet your gaze.

“What was that?” he chuckled, picking up your vocal inflection and teasing you with his smile.

“I just,” you halt yourself, slowly molding the joints beneath your palms and squeeze his muscles. “I usually… I usually focus on the mind and heart, but you're-...” Your fingers move down to his scarred pectorals, gently caressing a trail of timidity down towards his nipples.

“...-You're really attractive. Physically attractive,” you admit, pressing a little firmer against his muscles before dipping the pads of your index fingers over his pebbled buds. “Whether it was the kiss from a little earlier, confessing how I see your mind, my position currently on your lap, or the fact that there's a lot of tension between us right now…”

“Oh?” He taunts you a little more tilting his head to the side with a cheeky grin drawing up over his lips. Leaning forward, he pressed more of his pectorals against your hands and whispered coyly against the shell of your ear, “Tell me?”

“Shit,” you stutter past your lips. Eyes rolling a little, you suck your lips into your mouth to halt a moan from fleeing as you feel the tension only swell to a greater intensity.

Franky chuckles, his hands still running circles against your hips and gently ushering you in closer.

“Better yet,” he drew one hand away from your middle and drew it up to collect your chin in his grip. “Show me?”

Your breath hitched as you slowly drew your hand around in circles against his flesh. His skin felt warm to the touch, smooth and soft with coiled ringlets of cerulean fuzz shimmering against his pectorals. Moving your hands up and down his chest, your lips parted in surprise at feeling the buzz of circuitry beneath the stretch of flesh.

“Every nook you've notched into yourself is a work of art, Franky,” you exhale, rolling the pads of your thumbs against his abs and raking them towards his belly. “Each alteration and modification has just made you more you, you know?”

Franky felt his throat hitch at the admission parting from your lips. His body that he saw moments ago as a trap for his spirit, now being worshiped and praised for its mastery. As your hands ran over his skin, his receptors and skin both felt need and desire course through his circuits and veins.

Without any more prompting at your touch, he maneuvered you to straddle one of his thighs and held your pelvis flush against his own. Your hands automatically fled back up to the shoulders that held you captive as he pressed you firmly against himself.

“You like my body much?” The rasp in his voice tangibly reverberated within your chest and shot straight to your crotch, igniting it with need.

“Franky…” you gasp, his hands holding you against his thigh pressed harder, slowly rocking you over the hard muscle lurking beneath. “If you'd give me an opportunity, I'd drop to my knees and worship you like a devotee at an altar.”

Franky chuckles at the comment, using his large, metal hand gripping your waist to slowly rock you back and forward over his thigh. Your stomach bound in knots, your needs only growing higher and more incessant the more he puppetted you against his body and gazed into your eyes.

“No need for all that. I don't need it,” he laughed once more, moving forward and brushing his metal nose gently against yours, “But I do need this.”

His larger hand completely trapped your waist within his grip, knocking your knee against the bulge in his pants and grinding his clothed cock against your own body.

Manhandling you against his leg, bouncing you up to brush more of yourself against his cock, you felt trapped against him as he bore you fully against his body while holding your face gently. His metal thumb stroked your lip as you parted them to release a groan.

Soft whimpers and mewls left your throat as he held your gaze, his own gasps growing in need the longer he rocked you against himself. Your desire began to seep through your pants the longer he held you firmly and guided your motions.

“Show me,” he whispered, peering down his steel nose through half-hooded lashes. “Show me everything.” He worked you harder, his own cock leaking it's head and staining his red briefs with soft dewdrops of precum.

His abdomen tensed, feeling the need rise further in his stomach while his cogs, wires, flesh and bone felt more unified as one than ever. Humanity overtook his senses the longer his primal urge to feel more of you against himself.

You were no different, feeling your own release clench in the pit of your stomach and sizzle your eyes with the first sparks of euphoria. The need fogging your mind spurred you on to bare yourself down against him and begin rutting against him harder. As you found yourself falling over that edge, you clenched your eyes shut, earning you an immediate reprimand from the cyborg cariotting your bliss.

“Eyes on me,” he ordered firmly, “I said ‘show me’. I want to see you. Just you, baby. Gonna cum on my lap?” He rocked you harder, pinching your chin and giving it a soft shake to draw back your gaze on his own.

“Cum for me, baby.”

“Franky-!” you cried, feeling your eyes spring open as your vision blurred as your focus was marred by ecstasy. Your body flooded with endorphins, spurring within your chest and releasing the heavy knots in your belly. The damp patch below you deepened in intensity as your release seeped into his thighs.

Franky’s lips quivered as he darted his eyes between yours, finding in you that tether binding him to the mortal realm. With you anchored against him, he used your body rutting against his own to buck up his clothed cock and roll his hips against your thigh.

With a rough bark of your name, his cock began flooding his briefs with his own release. His eyes never left your face as he rode through his high while you came down from yours.

Two breaths, two hearts, two souls, two people: both enjoying their bodies while clinging to one another. That is where you found yourself, truly just intending to find his office to inform him your crew were about to make port in an island in two hours according to Nami.

As your body slouched against his chest, he cradled you in the same manner you did moments ago while reassuring him of his own body. He had never felt so secure as he did just now with his own body.

“Franky?” you whispered softly, turning your head and pressing your forehead against the crook of his neck.

“Yeah, baby?” He nuzzled against the crown of your head, “What's up?”

“We'll be making port in about forty-five minutes,” you gasp against his skin, pressing a shy kiss against his neck before hiding your gaze in his shoulder to cringe away your giddiness. Franky chuckles, reaching down and collecting your chin in his grip and turning you back to meet his eyes once more.

“Stay with me until then?” he asked softly, blinking slowly and and almost unsure of himself as you seemed to be. You found yourself drowning in his eyes, raw emotion swelling between you as you feel the chemistry fizzing up to a ruptuous tumble.

“After all that?” you scoff playfully, your smile painted over your lips and causing him to mirror it himself, “I'll remain by your side always.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @jadeddangel @ane5e

🎶 Happy Birthday to Me🎶

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[plumb-bob-keep]

The Artisan’s Arsenal: Medieval Means of Mastery

Skill-building items of all types!

Fiddlin’ Around - Medieval Musical Instruments by DavinaOjeda

Ye Olde Loom by Sunni

Hidden Telescopes by FracturedMoonlight

A Simple Monk's Drafting Table by heget

15 Recolors of NixNivis' Exercise Mat by Aureliana

"A Rose by any other Name" Flower Arranging Station by Sonikku3

Making a Skilling: 3 Mechanical Skill Building Tables by mortia

Put the Candle Back! - Candle Crafting Station by Fire_flower

[mosaickiwi]

Fall Unto Me (part three)

Part one, part two

I said I was on break but then a lot of things immediately fell out of my brain cause of stress so now I feel silly... sowweeeeee 🤡 Part four WILL be the last part I swear. If you see more Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren from me after that (and da infodump if i get to it) genuinely tell me to shut the FUCK up!!!

yes i am probably writing the NSFW version it'll be in my compendium post if it happens

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

Your resolve was getting harder to hold on to, but you kept it. This would be the last time. You couldn't part from heaven again after returning. Atonement was waiting for you, eternal devotion to your duty right after.

Another few weeks went by as you stayed with Ren a little longer, the sea of flowers outside your bedroom window changing little by little each day. So many of them were already fully blooming, most of their petals stretched open to show off a myriad of colors while others curled inwards to hide from you. Practically a taunting mockery with how they took their time. As if insulted you would dare leave once they painted the horizon with their beauty.

It made it all the more painful that you'd never see them again. Or the companion that now felt like a piece you'd been missing.

Something about that encroaching deadline had affected the devil, too. Ren was calmer in some ways. They still brought you gifts and knowledge like usual, but he seemed to be taking his time just like the flowers. Simple answers to your curiosities became thorough while he held you close and urged you to ask more questions about whichever object took interest. 

He'd offered to revisit trinkets you loved as well. Until you were as familiar with using them as he was. You couldn't understand it. 

Your time together was draining away by the second. Didn't they want to make exciting memories? No matter how much you enjoyed it, mastery over human instruments or crafts served no purpose. Heaven wouldn't let you bring those things home, nor could you ask a higher power to recreate them for leisure.

Maybe your love was in denial of your departure. Or maybe spending little mundane, quiet days and nights together like this was their way of coming to terms with it.

Today, you chose to fiddle with one of the oldest gifts while chatting with him. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the room in the faded, flaming gold hue you'd only now gotten used to. 

“—Love?” He was calling you, the end of his tail swaying gently in front of your face to get your attention. You’d missed a few words.

“Hm?”

“You've gotten much better at this,” the pink haired devil hummed above you. His chin was resting atop your head as they cradled you in their lap on a frayed rug, his back against the bottom of the couch.

You looked over your work. The woven red string wrapped around and through your fingers took the shape of a pointed star. You knew real stars looked differently, but the human interpretation was interesting.

“Truly, it’s better than before,” you said with wholehearted agreement. The first time you'd tried—only on the third day of your visit to earth—had simply tangled the string to a knotted mess stuck upon your fingers for Ren to deal with while you apologized, embarrassed beyond belief. 

The patterns they taught you were almost easy thanks to your afternoon of trying. You unwound the string and painstakingly wound it again into one that often graced your practice: an angel. He'd been particularly smug about teaching you the motions of that one.

“An impressive self portrait,” Ren joked and squeezed you tighter in their embrace. “Although it'll take more than some thread to capture your divine beauty.”

Naturally, you rolled your eyes even though the soul it was meant for couldn't see it. A mortal gesture you'd gotten the hang of quicker than anything, as he so favored innocent teasing before expressing his deepest sincerities.

You untangled the string and tossed it to the side, then turned in their lap to make a face this time for their benefit. “I’ll do a painting, then. I’ve had enough of this toy.”

He relaxed his hold long enough for you to wander across the room in search of new distractions, but innocently called after you, “We’ll have to light quite a few candles for you to see well. Unless you plan to have me mix paints for you in the dark.” A second passed before he spoke again. “It’d be a pleasant surprise, I’m sure.” 

“Something else?” you replied, making a swift turn towards the bookshelves. You came back with a couple of novels and sat beside them with your treasure. “Is this really all you want to do? You’ve read every book here before.” 

Even the books he’d bought with strange, flimsy paper currency for you, Ren had said so casually, were already familiar territory. Tedium hardly described how boring you thought these weeks must be for him. But he never objected to anything you chose, as long as you both stayed close to home during the day. 

And you always kept your wings hidden in case a human roamed nearby. You'd never seen one come close to the cabin, or even the field of flowers, but he insisted your safety—and proximity to them—was of utmost priority. It was hard to remember the last time you let loose your wings at all after walking on the beach with him. They interrupted your thoughts once more.

“My sweet, delicate angel, I’ve had all the time in the world to do anything I want.” Their blue eyes narrowed with a smile as they spoke and you knew more teasing was coming. “We could even sit here in silence all night, if you asked me nicely.”

“How kind of you, my darling demon,” you teased them back. 

Another jesting response in his gaze faded to something different as you pulled him down for a kiss, gently at first. The books you’d brought over lay forgotten, soon shoved under the couch in favor of your new activity.

Kissing the demon you called yours felt like second nature now. There was no sting that ever came, no homesick aching in your back anymore. Only the flood of tender emotions he gave you, tainted by your own guilt and fears of parting from him.

You needed more. A stronger distraction. Your hand on his shirt tightened, determined to keep him. To stay in this moment as long as possible.

Ren exhaled, a muttering of blasphemous praise you dare not repeat whispered from his lips to yours, along with one word. A word that sounded odd to your ears. 

You'd heard it countless times over the months, but it didn't feel strange until after the first kiss you shared. He must have said it earlier, too, when you were occupied with that damned little red string. Demonic language was much different, it certainly wasn’t that at all. And the sounds of the word did feel similar to mortal languages, but nothing came to mind. So naturally, you could only assume it to be another of their pet names, but…

The thought fell to the side as you focused on him. He was all that needed to matter right now.

Their comforting warmth that called of your sacred home, your nails curling into the bottom of his shirt just to fall lower, an iron, almost nectar-like taste that flowered on your tongue—did you bite him this time? It felt good. 

Desperately, you brushed your hand over his thigh, getting dangerously close to where you knew things risked going further. You caught yourself and froze. You wanted him, you’d known since that day in the rain. In every way a being could yearn for another’s love. And of course he felt the same. But could you really go home if it happened? 

“Before I…” The words hung in the air and what remained weighed in your throat. Before I leave. Departure was looming on the horizon, sure as the sun would rise tomorrow. You dare not mention it to the one you loved again. You opened your eyes to meet theirs, cautiously as you wondered, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” they answered, longing clear as the evening sky in his voice. “I couldn’t bear—or ever want—to deny you. Little angel, all you desire of me is yours to take.”

Without another word you did just that. You thought nothing of the faint, staggered line you felt under your fingertips that seemed to start somewhere along his shoulder blade as you lifted the shirt away and pushed him to lay on the rug. Your hands pressed their ink-stained arms flat next to the disheveled mess of pink hair and horns. Ren grinned at your audacity to pin him, but held still for your much needed exploration. 

Eyes half lidded with patient lust, mouth parted to show off pointed fangs, the devil looked to be the very picture of your sinful desires.

To be one with them, even just once, was a memory worth making. No matter what punishment waited for you at heaven’s boundary. You skimmed your fingers from the base of his collarbone, down over their stomach, and began to undo the buttons that concealed what you’d been waiting for.

[sunmoon-starfactory]

New Feature - Story Mode

Moving forward, we are unlocking the "testing options" that beta users and ourselves use for various cheaty testing quickness. This should make it easier for everyone to get into the" supply chain" aspect of Sun&Moon sets.

We are dubbing it "Story Mode". Mostly because cheating sounds icky, but the Sims 2 is a single player game...so no one should care if you cheat anyway but also there is no need to make a player feel called out if they used a shortcut to get to the good parts of a single player game am I right?

Sun&Moon was always a project meant to simulate realistic supply chains. As we made more sets, things have become more intertwined than ever. We get that this is confusing for newcomers and truthfully, it can sometimes complicate testing. Story Mode can make it easier to get into the gameplay and get your supply chain started, or allow you to skip that entirely and still enjoy the sets.

Please note this is intended for sets from September 2024 forward. There are still intentions of updating older stations to the Crafting Points system and as that is done, this feature will be added in. A proper update notice for each set will of course be announced.

Options that can be found under the Story Mode pie menu option will include:

Fully Stock Station - This will stock the station with everything needed to make a product, no need to direct a sim to stock or even have the items gathered. Your sims will still need the proper skill levels, writs, or traits to complete the task.

Receive All Products - Don't want to even go through the manufacturing motions? Or wait for a timer to run to get to the end products? Or build up skill levels/have writs in your inventory? This action grants all end products to the sim's inventory, no fuss. This will include any Skill Level reward, such as Writs of Mastery. Warning, this can result in cluttered inventories.

Spawn - This is to force a spawner to reproduce or summon the attached item, bypassing timers in items like hunting spawners, or self propagating plants.

Action! - Makes a sim complete the animations associated with a station, but results in no ingredients needed, and no products made. Just for the looks and photoshoots really.

Of course as things develop, more options may be added to Story Mode. Note, that Decoration options are not part of Story Mode and will stay on the standard pie menu.

Turning On Story Mode

Story Mode is OFF by default, and can be activated by one of three ways:

Trait Restrictions - Built into the code already, if you use traits and don't mind adding one more into a sim's inventory add in the Story Mode trait and these menus will auto show. This method allows you to restrict by individual sims.

Lot Controller Object - Built into the code already, if you place the Sun&Moon Lot Controller Object on a lot then all the menus will auto show. This works on all sims per lot.

SimPE Edit - In the object you want to turn Story Mode permanently on; Navigate to the TTAB, select the Pie Menu Functions resource, and select a story mode option you wish to edit. Select the Pie Menu Option you wish to enable, select all numbers/text in the Guardian BHAV box and hit delete to clear the box. Commit and Save.

Recompress.

Lot Controller Object & Story Mode Trait

Including these two files here, as they directly affect this feature. Both can be found in the Misc>Misc category for $0.

Using the trait is simple, just put it in a sim's inventory and forget about it.

The Lot Object Controller however, has had several features coded into it so it's not just useless deco. More features will be added as they come up.

Hide/Show all Blocks of Blocking and Mini Blocks of Blocking

Hide/Show Sun&Moon made specific OMSPs

Inventory Transfer tool between sims. Code taken the original by mike_1102, using the mesh and texture features of Fractured Moonlight's version. Also has an invisible option.

Download

View Use/Instruction Manual

[girlactionfigure]

Imagine a simple iron bar, weighing 1000 grams, valued at just $100. Nothing extraordinary—yet.

Shaped into horseshoes, it steps up to $250—because transformation adds value.

Refined into sewing needles, it soars to $70,000—because precision creates impact.

Crafted into intricate watch springs, it skyrockets to $6 million—because mastery turns the ordinary into the exceptional.

Engineered into laser components, it reaches an astounding $15 million—because purpose unlocks potential.

Now, think about yourself. Your worth isn’t just in what you are—it’s in what you become. Every challenge, every skill, every lesson shapes you into something greater.

Hashem created you with infinite potential. It’s up to you to refine, mold, and elevate it. You are not just iron—you are a masterpiece in the making.

Rabbi Yisroel Bernath

[ateez-himari]

ATEEZ AT THE ELLE STYLE AWARDS

Nyang-Teez members steal an entire nation's attention after both received awards

October 19, 2024 (11:09PM)

The Elle Style Awards ceremony held in Seoul offered awards to two members of the performance powerhouse group ATEEZ, with Best K-Pop Icon being handed to main dancer Choi San and Artist of The Year going to lead vocalist Min Himari. The masters of ceremony praised the bandmates for their numerous achievements in the past year alone, ranging from the unforgettable Coachella performances that carved them in the industry's history to their influential fashion.

The older member is known for incredible duality between his soft everyday demeanor and the demonic stage persona that seemingly takes over his entire body, contrasting with a golden voice that reverberates through one's soul. San's visuals look crafted by the most skilled sculptor and have taken over the internet more than its fair share of times along with a simplistic sense of fashion that somehow seems like high couture on him. The dancer released an unforgettable performance to the song 'Warriors' by Imagine Dragons which showcased his incredible acting talents and bodily control, prior to co-choreographing the group's most recent comeback 'Work'.

He is the very first idol originating from Namhae and was later selected to be its public relations ambassador in 2021, undoubtedly inspiring young people from small towns such as his to pursue their dreams through hard work just as he has. While there had not been an official announcement from the fashion house yet, he made his fashion debut at the Dolce & Gabbana Alta Moda show and later went on to attend Fashion Week with them.

The maknae without doubt embodies the word artist itself, having several paintings on permanent display in galleries along with the series Death's Game using her largest artwork in a pivotal episode all the while obtaining the valued title of Ace in reference to her mastery of the industry's every facet. Holding the position of lead vocalist with an angelic voice gifted by the heavens themselves the young woman gives life to their tracks and even simple covers, though she is also able to deliver sharp raps riddled with flow changes. Performance cannot be overlooked as her ease in various dance styles makes every movement of her body impossible to look away from, the powerful stage presence from such a delicate looking idol made her the last 'Demon Line' member, known for hypnotizing the audience akin a siren.

The acting scene saw her impressive debut alongside bandmate Jeong Yunho the previous year in the drama 'Where We Fall', her performance shattering the heart of many while her vocals on the original soundtrack brought tears to viewers' eyes. House Versace also recently released the Ephemeral Collection designed entirely by their global ambassador, and most jewelry pieces along with exhibition dresses were made by her hand after nearly a year of intensive learning.

The painting 'Red Cloud';

Image Source: Death's Game, Episode 5

At the mere age of twenty two, the vocalist has accumulated over 200 KOMCA credits to her name, surpassing production giants such as 3Racha, Woozi, Zico, and rapidly approaching RM, which makes her the youngest artist in the site's top 10 list. Himari's contributions to the music industry are so significant that four years into her career, in 2022, she became the first fourth generation idol awarded full membership and many prominent artists have already expressed wishes to work with her in the future. Suga was given the title 'Hand of Midas' for exceptional musical skills, which was later passed down to his younger sister as people began noticing their shared lyrical genius and carefully crafted harmonies that intertwined perfectly with each track without ever overshadowing it.

Please congratulate these hard working idols warmly and we hope to see more recognition for ATEEZ in the future as every single member holds unique qualities worth an entire nation's attention, creating what feels like perfect synergy. Remember to cast your votes on the the MNet Plus app for Worldwide KCONers' Choice and Fan's Choice to give the group the appreciation they deserve!

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[astral-herald]

i made a flow chart of arcane's mastery of foils!

i think everything that makes arcane magical relies in their awesome use of foils that cross relationship dynamics/types/settings to make a plot that demands a lot of moral introspection. there's a key in the top left, but below i'll explain more of what i mean by the lines i've drawn.

simple enough, the colored lines represent the standing relationships. it's obvious that vi and jinx (red) are foils for silco and vander (purple), and so on. maybe less obvious/oblique is the comparison between heimerdinger and singed with silco and vander, but i think that speaks to the show's diversity in using this narrative technique.

the dashed lines are how i view the characters' morals and ethical codes throughout the show. none of them offer overly kind views, and maybe the vi/silco comparison is controversial, but if we examine the rhetoric in episode 3, much of what silco says to vander in the warehouse is mimicked by vi when she pleads with vander to understand her anger. this shared code obviously gets played out very differently and greatly informs the piltover/zaun divide.

the solid lines represent actions, or what i feel are defining instances of the show. jayce is really interesting in this regard! his attack on the shimmer plant accomplishes jinx AND vi's goals, despite those 2 being very distinct from one another.

the ekko and caitlyn comparison is interesting to me. they are very diametrically opposed - survival vs. naivety is a stark difference - but in episode 7, peace in the face of violence is demanded of them both.

overall, i think what this elucidated the most for me was a sort of "the sins of the father will be inherited by the son" motif. in their own ways, vi and jinx are playing out vander and silco's story, in much the same way that jayce and viktor are playing out singed and heimerdinger's past. but the bounds for comparison don't stop there - they layer on top of one another, and with wildcards like ekko and cait in the mix, it shows how complex a narrative the writers' have crafted!

let me know if you agree with these foils/comparisons or if i'm completely off base. i'm also excited to see how these ideas will develop in season 2.

[brittanyearnestauthor]

Writing Tips for Beginners

Writing can feel intimidating when you're just starting out. There’s a lot to consider, but taking things step by step can make the process much smoother. This guide walks you through essential tips to help you navigate your writing journey with confidence.

1. Why Do You Want to Write?

The first step in becoming a writer is understanding your motivation. Ask yourself:

- Do you want to write entertaining stories with no deeper lessons?

- Are you passionate about highlighting important issues to educate readers?

- Do you wish to share valuable life lessons and inspire others?

- Or is it a mix of all these reasons?

Defining your “why” will shape what and how you write, giving your work purpose and direction.

2. Choosing a Writing Style

Your writing style is a key part of storytelling. Start by exploring:

- Third Person: "Jake went to school late this morning because he forgot to set his alarm clock."

- First Person: "I can't believe I forgot to set my alarm clock last night. Now, I'm late for school."

Both styles are powerful, but picking one to focus on as a beginner can help you find your groove. Mastery of both can come later.

3. Choosing a Genre

Think about what you love to read or watch—those genres can inspire your writing. Your familiarity with the genre will guide you in crafting your story, but always ensure your ideas are original. Copying someone else’s work risks losing the respect and trust of your audience.

4. Brainstorming Ideas

Brainstorming is where creativity starts. Keep a notebook or document of ideas—no matter how wild they seem. Even ideas that don’t fit one story might inspire another in the future.

5. Creating a Writing Schedule

Life can be busy, but carving out time for writing is essential. Even five minutes a day can build momentum and keep creativity flowing. Little by little, it all adds up.

6. Making a Plot Outline

Outlining your plot keeps your story organized and prevents excessive rewrites. A simple outline looks like this:

- Jane goes to the library.

- Jane grabs her favorite book.

- Jane meets the librarian.

This allows for creativity while keeping the story on track.

7. Creating Character Sheets

Characters are the heart of your story. Use character sheets to note their:

- Features

- Personality

- Behaviors

- Interests

This ensures your characters are unique and memorable, reducing confusion for readers.

8. Choosing Writing Software

Pick software that suits your needs. Options include:

- Microsoft Word: Reliable and feature-rich for writing, editing, and formatting.

- Google Docs: Free and convenient, but dependent on internet access.

- Open-Source Software: Free alternatives, though they may have limited features.

9. Writing Tools

Leverage tools like Grammarly to catch errors and refine your work. While AI tools can aid editing and polishing, remember they're there to support—not replace—your creativity. Work smarter, not harder!

10. Editing

Editing doesn’t have to be daunting. Take breaks to see your work with fresh eyes and use tools like Grammarly or text-to-speech programs to catch errors. Rewrite or cut scenes that don’t serve the story’s purpose.

11. Exploring Publishing Options

You have two main routes:

- Traditional Publishing: Requires pitching your manuscript but offers professional backing—though it can take time.

- Self-Publishing: Faster and gives you full control. Platforms like Kindle Direct Publishing (KDP) offer free marketing tools like giveaways and discounts.

Research to find what fits your goals.

Conclusion

Writing takes time, patience, and a willingness to learn. By following these tips, you’ll be well on your way to starting and succeeding on your writing journey. Happy writing!

[hiddenincommand]

Riding Spurs: Instruments of Pain and Absolute Control

Riding spurs are much more than practical tools for controlling a horse; they are symbols of precision, authority, and unrelenting dominance. When wielded by an Alpha male, they become extensions of his power, tools to enforce submission, and instruments capable of leaving a lasting impression—both physical and psychological. Strapped tightly to polished riding boots, spurs announce their presence with every deliberate step, their metallic jingle a constant reminder of the Alpha’s capacity to command, punish, and dominate.

This essay revisits the riding spurs in greater detail, exploring their history, functionality, and profound role in rituals of submission and control.

The Historical Legacy of Riding Spurs

The origins of spurs can be traced back thousands of years, where they first appeared as crude tools in ancient equestrian cultures. By the medieval period, spurs had evolved into finely crafted devices, becoming indispensable to mounted knights and soldiers. Their design was refined not only for functionality but also as symbols of rank and authority. The type and decoration of spurs indicated the wearer’s status, with ornate designs reserved for those of higher rank.

In British military tradition, spurs became a hallmark of cavalry officers, their design balancing elegance with utility. The jingling sound of spurs as an officer walked into a room was a clear signal of their presence and authority. To wear spurs was to command respect, to symbolize control over one’s steed, and by extension, over others. Spurs also held ceremonial significance, awarded to those who had proven their mastery and discipline.

The Design of Spurs: Precision and Power

Riding spurs are deceptively simple in design, yet they carry immense power in their functionality. Comprising a heel band, neck, and rowel (the small wheel or blunt point at the tip), every element of the spur is crafted for precision. Their purpose is to deliver sharp, unmistakable cues to the horse—but in the hands of an Alpha, their application extends far beyond the equestrian realm.

Design Features:

1. Heel Band: Strapped securely around the boot, the band ensures the spur is always in place, ready to be used with precision.

2. Neck: The neck extends from the heel, positioning the rowel perfectly for contact. The length of the neck can vary, with longer designs allowing for greater reach and force.

3. Rowel: The sharp or blunt tip delivers the command. Whether spiked or smooth, the rowel is the element that enforces obedience, leaving an imprint that lingers.

The materials used—often polished steel or brass—add a gleaming, intimidating edge to the spur’s design. When attached to tall leather riding boots, spurs transform the wearer into a figure of undeniable command.

Spurs as Tools of Submission

In the hands—or rather, at the heels—of an Alpha, spurs become instruments of submission. Their sharpness, weight, and sound are all carefully employed to instill obedience, discipline, and respect.

Applications in Dominance:

• Inflicting Pain: A calculated press of the spur against skin delivers sharp, unforgettable pain, serving as both punishment and correction.

• Marking Ownership: The rowel’s imprint on flesh is more than a mark—it is a signature of the Alpha’s dominance, a physical reminder of who holds control.

• Psychological Conditioning: The sound of spurs jingling creates anticipation, a signal to the submissive that discipline is inevitable and inescapable.

For the submissive, spurs represent an unyielding authority. Their every jingle and glint serves as a reminder of the Alpha’s power, ensuring that obedience is not a choice but a necessity.

The Psychological Impact of Spurs

Beyond their physical application, spurs are potent psychological weapons. The submissive learns to associate their sound and sight with the Alpha’s authority, creating a Pavlovian response of obedience and respect.

Psychological Effects:

1. Anticipation: The jingling sound of spurs amplifies tension, preparing the submissive for command or correction.

2. Fear and Awe: The sharpness of the rowel and its potential for pain evoke a mixture of fear and respect, reinforcing the Alpha’s dominance.

3. Conditioning: Over time, the sound of spurs alone can compel obedience, their presence enough to assert control without the need for words.

For the Alpha, this psychological edge is invaluable, allowing him to maintain power with minimal effort.

The Ritual of Donning Spurs

Strapping on a pair of spurs is not merely a practical act—it is a ritual that reinforces the Alpha’s discipline and readiness. The process of securing them to his boots, ensuring they are polished and properly aligned, is a deliberate affirmation of his control.

For the submissive, the act of witnessing or assisting in this ritual is profoundly humbling. Each movement of the Alpha’s hands as he tightens the straps or adjusts the rowels is a reminder of his meticulous nature and his capacity to wield authority with precision.

Spurs in Ceremonial and Private Contexts

Spurs serve dual purposes, enhancing the Alpha’s presence in both ceremonial settings and private rituals of dominance.

Ceremonial Use:

• Formal Authority: In parades or inspections, the polished gleam of spurs complements the Alpha’s uniform, amplifying his commanding presence.

• Tradition: Spurs connect the wearer to centuries of military and aristocratic legacy, reinforcing his role as a figure of power and refinement.

Private Use:

• Instruments of Correction: Spurs deliver precise punishment, their marks serving as lasting reminders of the Alpha’s authority.

• Ritual and Control: The deliberate sound and motion of spurs can be used to heighten the submissive’s awareness of their position in the hierarchy.

The Sound of Spurs: A Language of Dominance

Perhaps the most distinctive element of spurs is their sound. The metallic jingle as the Alpha walks is a language of its own, communicating his presence, his power, and his readiness to enforce discipline. This sound is deliberate—every step a declaration that submission is not merely expected but demanded.

For the submissive, this auditory cue is inescapable. It creates an atmosphere of tension and expectation, ensuring that the Alpha’s dominance is felt long before he speaks or acts.

Sir Cedric’s Reflection

For me, riding spurs are the ultimate expression of precision and control. Strapped tightly to my boots, they remind me of my discipline, my authority, and my capacity to command. Their weight is a constant presence, their sound a declaration of my dominance.

When I press a spur deliberately, I leave more than a mark—I leave a memory, a lesson, a reminder of who holds power. To wear spurs is not simply to walk with confidence; it is to stride with purpose, each step reinforcing the hierarchy I enforce.

Now, I ask you: What do spurs mean to you? Are they tools of discipline, symbols of control, or instruments of pain? Share your thoughts below, and let us reflect on their place in the Alpha’s arsenal.

Step forward, and make your voice heard.

[theheartofone]

Steel in Her Veins | Table of Contents

Read On: AO3

Fair Warning: Written in a combination of first, second and third person POVs out of my own interest to test things out - I know - but SiHV will be rewritten soon in a consistent first person POV.

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Synopsis: Her name is Kozuki Raya, but no one calls her by that name anymore. Using the alias of Tenguyama Raya as advised by her Gramps, Kozuki Sukiyaki, she is the descendant of the legendary swordsmith Kotetsu and a distant friend of the Shimotsuki clan.

Following in her ancestor’s footsteps, she dedicates her life to the mastery of sword crafting, wielding, and learning. With much of her life being taught by Gramps, she realises that the dormant power, ancient knowledge and ancestral secrets that thrum within her veins start to play a very important role in the way the future world is shaped.

Meeting the Straw Hats was not written anywhere within her blueprints, but – most importantly - meeting Roronoa Zoro wasn’t supposed to change the trajectory of her life either.

Table of Contents:

Prologue

Chapter One: What Happens When a Swordsman Meets a Swordsmith?

Chapter Two: All Goop and No Blades

Chapter Three: The Golden Medallion

Chapter Four: A Cyborg, A Skeleton and A Lot of Limbs Walk Into A Shop…

Chapter Five: Oh, Ohara...

Chapter Six: It's Awful, Do It Again.

Chapter Seven: BWING!

Chapter Eight: The One-Eyed Marimooo

Chapter Nine: The Niece of Oden

Chapter Ten: Fight, Flight, Freeze

Chapter Eleven: The Bushido Code

Chapter Twelve: Read Me, But Don't Weep

Chapter Thirteen: A Line in the Sand

Chapter Fourteen: Enigma

Chapter Fifteen: Did You Watch Your Spine Run Away from You, Too?

Chapter Sixteen: Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Chapter Seventeen: Onigiri

Chapter Eighteen: Burn, Demon, Burn

Chapter Nineteen: Daemgar

Chapter Twenty: Minks and Vivre Cards

Chapter Twenty-One: Polar Twwwang

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Doctor Just Pinched Me

Chapter Twenty-Three: The Children of the Beyond

Chapter Twenty-Four: You Want to Come Over and Touch Me, Too?

Chapter Twenty-Five: One More Sword

Chapter Twenty-Six: Simple. Practical. Easy

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Alcohol. Love It or Hate It

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sugar and Spice and Everything... Sooty

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Stupid Fucking Plan

Chapter Thirty: Fuck You, Too.

Chapter Thirty-One: Rubber

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Thorned

Chapter Thirty-Three: Sharp Metal, Be Damned

Chapter Thirty-Four: Aragnus

Chapter Thirty-Five: A Surly Monster

Chapter Thirty-Six: Dragon Taxi

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Washed Up

Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Doctor’s Steady Hands

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Spitfire

Chapter Forty: Sacrifical Lambs

Chapter Forty-One: Odenta

[voidtouched-blue]

starter for @forgotten-contract

Bustling cities had a kind of charm about them that just drew people in. Merchants bringing wares to sell, adventurers seeking their next job, the impoverished looking for a new start, and of course knowledge seekers pulled in by the wealth of information and skills the guilds provided. Ul'Dah was the jewel of the desert. It's streets gilded by the sun, and its people the heart of its illuminating glimmer. Yet, in all the excitements and pleasures the glittering gem provided, what interested Cyra more were the secrets that laid in the dark.

It had been six months with no answer to her summons, and she grew tired of waiting. The wound still fresh in her heart had been her driving force for the last year, and now her curiosity and thirst had brough her to the Thaumaturges' guild once more. The brothers that commanded their charge of the tomb their order operated out of were no strangers to her. The healer had made generous donations of both monetary and service-related origin in the past. Even her interest in the arts of Thaumaturgy had captured their interest enough to allow her nearly free roam of the sanctuary. What interested her more than their method of manipulating aether was the carefully kept tomes secreted in their collection.

The art of Thaumaturgy was deeply rooted in an understanding of the Voidsent, and the natural charge of a Black Mage was the power of destructive magics at their fingertips. The techniques had been passed down from mages who had learned to wield and control the secrets given to them by the denizens of the Void, and Cyra's desire for those secrets carried an unnatural thirst for the forbidden knowledge stored within the sanctum. While she had the support of the guardians of the tomb, none of them were willing to grant her permission to access those materials.

Perhaps there is aught I can glean from their available texts. In the very least I can try to keep track of constant themes between tomes. Her thoughts danced around the idea of sneaking in after hours, even casting a simple sleeping spell on the brothers on watch just to get a glance. Initially, she only wanted to ask permission to simply see the secrets they kept locked away, but even her display of mastery over the destructive magicks wasn't enough to convince them that she could keep her wits about her.

They had the right of it.

Cyra's want for their information was borne entirely out of her craving for power. Were she a little more lost to her madness, she would have considered taking it by force, but her principles kept her from acting on impulse. She would not take a life so needlessly. Not unless her well-being had been threatened first.

The hours she had spent in one day alone was more than most of their students would spend practicing their craft. So driven was she by her desires that she neglected any attempts at getting her attention throughout the days she had spent perusing their collection. She would find the answers she was looking for, and if she had to, Cyra was prepared to even commit crimes to fulfill her wish. "Gods-damnit!" She cursed in a sharp whisper. "This would be so much easier if they would just let me have a peek." It took a significant amount of restraint to keep her from slamming her fists onto the table in frustration. Several stacks of tomes covered the surface within her reach, with a rather large and delicately decorated one opened in front of her. She tapped her dry quill on the page, rereading her notes as she compared copied passages from multiple books with one another. The mentions were too vague to have any immediate connections to the titles she had heard Cocobuki mention in passing to one of his brothers.

She leaned back in her seat, setting the quill down in the ink well and letting out a frustrated sigh. The Miqo'te rubbed her face with her free hand, her gaze shifted distantly to the candle that sat just out of reach on the other end of the table. The playful dance of the flame held her focus for a moment. It was curious how something so small had the power to cause catastrophic destruction. She knew what she asked of the brothers. She knew what the consequences would be should she lose control over the magick she sought to control. Cyra was sure that her determination and desire were strong enough to overcome any perceived failure they may have had nestled among their doubts.

"Aghk!" Something in the light felt like it burned a hole into her mind. She winced, hunching over slightly in the chair as she cradled her face delicately with her clawed hands. She had felt headaches before, but this was different. The sharp pain behind her eye moved to her forehead. Her vast knowledge of the body, and its innumerable ails didn't provide her with any immediate answers.

"Perhaps..." She grunted, rubbing her temples. "Perhaps it's time for a small respite from throwing my head at the wall." The healer pinched the bridge of her nose and pushed her seat away from the table. As she moved, the headache seemed to pulse. The way it ached had her nearly incapacitated. But as suddenly as the pain appeared, it had subsided to a dull throb. I should return home. I doubt they will grant me access, and I have much to go over. I would also prefer to suffer through this fatigue in the comfort of privacy.

As she stood up from her seat, spots obscured her vision. She wobbled, only catching herself at the last moment on the surface of the table before she had completely toppled over herself. In her brief episode, she had knocked over the chair. The sound of the wood clattering onto the stone floor had silenced any conversation happening throughout the sanctuary, and yet she couldn't be bothered to even pay attention to it. All she wanted was to regain control of herself. But something felt like it was wriggling around in her head, sending her vision into a spin and losing focus on the task at hand.

The flame on the candle flickered towards her curiously.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Arrows (Krauser x GN! Reader)

You ask Jack for archery lessons, and both of you end up being in for a surprise.

Word count: 2,074

CW: fluff, archery, established relationship, slightly suggestive, confessions of love

Cross-posted on Ao3

The winds were bad that day, bad enough that Jack almost insisted on not going. Won’t be easy to learn with it like this, he’d told you. 

You’d just smiled, because you knew that damn smile would always win him over. The world could be falling apart, and Jack Krauser would still pause just to have one quick look at that smile. Good thing I’ve got you to teach me, then, you told him, pressing a kiss to his lips, and he caved. Always did when it came to you. 

The last few months with you had been . . . well, they’d hadn’t been perfect, but they’d been damn good. Jack had long ago resigned himself to the idea that he wouldn’t have anyone. His life was dedicated to his service, nothing more. It was simple. Easy. 

And then you’d waltzed in and knocked that simplicity right on its ass. 

For months he’d been amazed by how you managed to keep surprising him, from the way you’d never backed down from insisting you wanted to be with him, to the ease with which you spoke to him. The fire of your spirit, and the tender way you’d wind your arms around him when he woke in the night, helping him forget the faces waiting for him in the dark. None of it was what he’d expected. He hadn’t thought a civilian would understand . . . but you had been patient with him. Gentle when he needed it, firm when it was necessary. Ready to listen when he spoke of what troubled him, or to simply be there for him, even if silence was all he could offer. He’d warned you at the beginning that he wasn’t used to this - to having someone. You’d just smiled and told him to take his time. 

Nearly everything you did surprised him . . . just like when your eyes lit up at the mention of his skill with a bow. 

After all you’d done for him, archery lessons were the least he could give you in return. 

That was how the two of you ended up in a field, the wind whipping at you both, making autumn leaves dance through crisp air. And honestly, he should have known, even then, that something was up. 

The fact that you’d gotten your own bow should have been a dead giveaway. 

You’d presented it to him the night before, a simple recurve, old but well made. Perfectly suited to you, just your size and with a draw strength that you could manage. Simple and effective. Not at all like the heavy-duty compound that Jack was used to using. When he’d asked you where you’d gotten it, you’d just smiled that same, knowing smile. Told you, I want you to give me some pointers. That was all you’d said, and hell would freeze over before he refused you. 

So, he set up a target about twenty feet away from where you now stood, but he’d paused when he looked back and saw you standing there, your bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows strapped to a belt on your waist. You held the weapon like you’d been born with a bow in your hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He should have known . . . but he was a bit too busy staring at you to make the connection, because damn did you look good. 

It made him all too pleased to step into your space, warding off the cold wind and guiding you into the proper stance - side-face, your bow in front of you and an arrow nocked on the string. His hands were on you because that’s where they belonged, showing you from his own mastery of the craft how to shoot. It was every cliché moment in those movies as he instructed you on how to shoot, all while keeping his arms around you, and he was happy to indulge in that cliché. What had you done to Major Jack Krauser that made him want to indulge in such a thing? He didn’t know, but he didn’t care much then, either. Especially with the way your focus was more on him than any of the pointers he was giving you. 

“You’ll never shoot straight if you don’t pay attention,” Krauser leaned in to murmur the words in your ear, grinning all the while. 

You just grinned at him again, turning your head towards him a bit, still holding the bow out in front of you. “I’m paying attention, I promise.” He didn’t believe you one bit - and didn’t mind it, either. 

“Hm, guess we’ll see. Elbow up-” he reached his hand around your back, lifting the arm that would draw the bowstring back. “Now . . .” he went on, still keeping his lips by your ear, moving his other hand. His fingers brushed along your lips, relishing in the way they nearly parted for him, the way they curled into a smile. He traced the line until his fingertips rested at the corner of your mouth, the one closest to the bow’s string. “For a recurve, you pull it back to here,” he told you, and you nodded, keeping the bow straight up and down as you pulled the string back. 

God, you had no right to look like that with a weapon in your hand, the wind playing with your jacket and making you look like a damn action movie hero. Jack had to take a moment to admire it, to hum in your ear again as he nodded. 

“Good.” He stepped back from you, albeit reluctantly, because you were here to learn, after all. At least, that was what you said you wanted to do. “Just take a few shots,” he told you. “Aim at the center of the target and adjust- where do you think you’re going?” His voice was equal parts amusement and confusion as you turned on your heel and just . . . walked away. 

You didn’t even answer him as you put another ten feet between you and the target. Then another. And another. More and more distance until, if Krauser was guessing right, you were at least a hundred feet from the target.

And once you stopped there, you turned but didn’t draw. Not yet. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised when you turned your head to look at him and that smile was back. “Come on,” you tilted your head, beckoning him towards you. “Can’t draw with someone down-range.” 

Krauser’s pale brow pinched together, his face drawn in an incredulous expression. With the wind this bad, shooting from that range . . . but still, he did as you asked and moved to your side once more. “Ambitious of you, but-” You didn’t give him the chance to say anything more before you lifted the bow, drawing it back with a confidence Jack was floored by. Your eyes narrowed, your breathing steady as you took aim, a gust of wind sweeping through. Even that wasn’t enough to stop you as you adjusted your aim at the last second.

Then you let the arrow fly . . .

And your bravado was broken when it sunk into the side of the target on the outermost ring. “Shit,” you hissed, “ignore that one!” 

And Krauser couldn’t hold in the little laugh that escaped him, because even that would have been impressive to him. But you never could resist the temptation to surprise him, could you? That was all he thought as you expertly nocked another arrow and loosed it. 

This time, Krauser’s eyes went wide as the steel tip embedded itself in the target’s center. It was joined only moments later by another . . . and another. Pride curved your mouth back into a smile, and Jack was transfixed.

And he realized then that he should have put two and two together sooner; the excitement in your eyes when he mentioned archery, the bow you’d obtained that suited you perfectly, the way you held it like it was a part of you. Good thing I've got you to teach me, you'd said. As if you needed him to teach you a damn thing. He realized it as you turned to him, your quiver of twelve empty. Not even the wind had kept your arrows from hitting their mark, and all Krauser could do was stare at you like you were a sunrise. 

“So?” you grinned, sauntering over to him, winding your arms around him. Trapping him against you with the bow. “Still think I wasn’t paying attention?” 

His hands found their way to your hips and Krauser just shook his head, scoffing. “I think you dragged me out here to show off, that’s what I think.” His attempt at sounding annoyed fell short, and you knew it. 

“Not true,” you insisted, leaning your face towards his, and god did he love the way your lips brushed his. “It was also an excuse to do something you like. I mean . . . and to get your arms around me.” 

What the hell had he done to deserve someone like you? That was the thought that hit him like a flashbang, leaving you as the only clear thing he saw. And if you were the only thing left in the world to him, there was only one thing to do. He pulled you the rest of the way, his mouth meeting yours fully. He relished the sound of your laugh, muffled by the kiss. In the way your lips moved against him, familiar and welcome in a way he’d never thought to experience. He’d had partners in the past, but nothing like this; no one like you. 

Because there was no one like you in all the world. 

“I fuckin’ love you.” 

The words were rough and spoken without warning - but that was often Krauser’s way. It wasn’t the way he’d planned to tell you. Not that he’d really planned on speaking the words just yet, but you’d hit the mark in every way. So he voiced his declaration against your lips and couldn’t help but smirk as you pulled away to look at him with wide eyes. 

He’d managed to surprise you for a change. 

“That a problem?” he asked, still grinning as he tightened his arms around you. 

You searched his eyes, like you were looking for a sign that he was bluffing. You’d find nothing but certainty, though. “God, no! I just . . . didn’t expect you to say it so soon, that’s all. Didn’t expect you to say it . . . at all, honestly,” you admitted after a moment. He hadn’t expected it, either. But he’d known for a long time, now. He’d known in those moments when he’d wake in the morning and find you beside him in bed, catching up on the sleep you missed out on trying to bring him a few moments of peace. He knew it in the moments when your stupid jokes managed to make him laugh, despite himself. He knew it in the quiet of your company and the steadiness of your affection. Even if you hadn’t thought to expect that of him, he’d felt it for a long time. 

So, as he took in your surprise, Jack just shrugged. “I didn’t expect you to be an archer. Guess we were both holding out on each other.” 

A little laugh from you, and then you were leaning back in, not willing to be on uneven footing. “Well, in that case . . . I love you too.” 

That wasn’t new knowledge to him, either. Even if this was the first time you’d spoken the words. “I know,” he told you, because he just did. You told him every day in actions, if not in words. 

More kisses, more moments where Jack couldn’t help but wonder how he’d gotten here. More moments where he decided it didn’t matter. He’d dedicated his life to his service - he could be selfish and love you now. 

“So,” you said when you finally parted, your eyes sparkling, the wind filling the empty space between the two of you, “wanna show me how military marksmanship measures up against a two-time archery champion?” 

“Two-time, huh?” Krauser grinned, giving you a sharp smile as you offered up your challenge. “That’s cute.” 

You didn’t back down, not even bristling at his words. You just tilted your head with a smirk and a raised brow. “You wanna talk trash? Or show me what you’ve got?” 

His grin only widened. “Alright,” he said, releasing you. “Bring it, sweetheart.” 

Masterlist

[badmojotroll]

The Hexxer: Masters of Spirits and Curses

In the mystic traditions of troll shamans, the Hexxer stands out as a terrifying force, wielding spirits not just for guidance, but for destruction. Building on the witch doctor’s craft of spirit invocation, the Hexxer takes things to a much darker, more aggressive level. Through intricate rituals of dance, chant, and craftsmanship, the Hexxer channels hostile spirits to torment and control their enemies, making them formidable foes in any battle. At the heart of a Hexxer's ability is the hex chant—a ritual that can include music, dance, hand motions, or a combination of all these elements. While the chant may seem simple, its effects are profound. By focusing on the chant, the Hexxer can weaken and curse enemies within a specific range, sapping their strength, making them vulnerable, or causing them to suffer debilitating effects. The true mastery comes from the Hexxer's ability to concentrate and hold the chant, even while beginning new ones, weaving a web of supernatural influence that targets multiple foes at once.

But it’s not just the chant that makes a Hexxer dangerous; it’s their skill in creating hex idols. These idols are more than just simple carvings—they are powerful, cursed objects that bind spirits to specific targets. To craft these idols, the Hexxer must acquire a personal piece of their intended victim: a lock of hair, or a claw clipping, each symbolizing a deep connection to the individual. From there, the Hexxer uses their expert crafting skills whether woodworking, bone carving, or even glassblowing—to create an idol that is attuned to the target.

Once the idol is complete, the Hexxer invokes a hostile spirit, binding it to the idol and thus to the enemy. The spirit can then be used to torment the individual in a variety of ways—whether it’s with curses that weaken them over time, or direct attacks that cause suffering from a distance. A Hexxer’s power is fueled by their skill to attract spirits. Whether they are chanting, dancing, or crafting, they must be masters of performance and craftsmanship. The spirits are drawn to their expressive rituals, and a poorly executed chant or idol could fail to attract the right kind of spirit or fail to bind it properly. The Hexxer must be both a performer and a skilled artisan, melding creativity with dark, supernatural forces to become a truly potent adversary.

On the battlefield, a Hexxer’s presence is often felt before they are seen. Their chants weave through the air, taking root in the minds of their enemies and sapping their will to fight. A single Hexxer can decimate a group of foes with curses that cause confusion, exhaustion, and pain. When an enemy proves too strong to be broken by simple hexes, the Hexxer crafts an idol, sealing the enemy’s fate in a permanent curse that drains their power or compels them to do the Hexxer’s bidding. The Hexxer is a master of dark ritual and supernatural influence. By weaving performance and craftsmanship into their magic, they bind powerful spirits to their will, using these spirits to curse, control, and destroy those who dare to stand in their way. Whether through the haunting power of their hex chants or the permanent curse of their hex idols, the Hexxer is a force to be reckoned with in any conflict.

[lamemaster]

From One World to Another

Request: Please spin the wheel for Aegnor 🛐🥺

Pairing: Aegnor x Reader

Genre: Hogwarts au (yaaaay)

AN: Thanks for requesting 🥹I am befuddled by how well this fits (What in the Hell is Happening Event) Last day tmr

"The mudbloods are at it again," Celegorm snorted, a sneer twisting his perfect features. Aegnor rolled his eyes and glanced out the window, where you stood under the shade of a towering oak with your friend.

You were lost in one of those strange dances the humans called TikToks, your movements surprisingly graceful despite the odd rhythm.

Aegnor couldn't help but admire it. Unlike the elves, bound by tradition and cautious with their magic, humans like you embraced life with reckless abandon.  He longed to understand that world, a yearning that gnawed at him despite his upbringing.  A world he could only glimpse through stolen glances at the strange glowing device you called a phone.

Elves, with their long memories and deep respect for tradition, found themselves drawn to Slytherin.  Though some outliers existed, like Elrond, a Ravenclaw scholar obsessed with elven lore, Slytherin's green banner often fluttered above elven dwellings.

Humans, with their fleeting lives, burned brighter.  Gryffindor, the house of the brave, housed the vast majority.  But there were exceptions – a cunning Hufflepuff pioneer known for his loyalty to his coven, and a Ravenclaw witch whose fascination with magical flora rivaled any elves. 

This Gryffindor bravery, however, wasn't always viewed favorably by the elves.  Many elven elders often scoffed at their recklessness, a stark contrast to the calculated actions favored by his people.

Dwarves, with their insatiable thirst for knowledge and mastery of craft, naturally gravitated towards Ravenclaw. Their halls echoed with debates on engineering marvels and the secrets hidden within the earth. 

Finally, the Hobbits found a home in Hufflepuff. Their love for community, loyalty to their kin, and dedication to the simple pleasures of life resonated deeply with the house known for its badger sigil.

A pang of longing twisted within Aegnor. He yearned for a glimpse into your world, a world documented on those strange glowing rectangles humans called "phones."  He knew it was a forbidden desire, an act frowned upon by most elves. Only his Uncle Feanor, a surprising and rare elven Gryfindor dared to dabble in such human contraptions.

Sitting in the back row, the only sliver of sunlight stubbornly fighting its way through a cracked window was Snape's nemesis. Aegnor sighed, flipping through his well-worn textbook filled with elven script that seemed to dance before his eyes.

The acrid scent of burnt Bubotuber pus mingled with the sweet aroma of gillyweed, a constant reminder of the strange concoctions brewing around him

Snape's incessant droning about cauldron safety did little to alleviate his growing boredom. Suddenly, a cacophony of crashing metal and sputtering flames erupted from across the room, followed by Snape's scathing pronouncement, "Five points from Gryffindor!"

Aegnor winced, his gaze briefly flickering towards the source of the commotion.  There, you stood, exiled from the Gryffindor table amidst a chorus of giggles.

You were a whirlwind of Gryffindor red and mischief, your hair escaping its usual braid.  Without a moment's hesitation, you marched towards Aegnor, a mischievous glint sparkling in your eyes.

"Mind if I join you guys?" you chirped, settling down on the empty stool beside him before he could even formulate a response. 

Before he could stammer a response, his sister, Galadriel, cut in with a frosty, "How about no."

Aegnor felt the urge to glare at his sister. He stole a glance at you, half-expecting you to wilt under Galadriel's icy stare. 

Instead, you met her gaze with a playful glint in your eyes, a barely suppressed smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Cool, glad that we agree," you replied shaking his hand. 

A sheepish grin spread across your face as you leaned closer to Aegnor, your voice barely a whisper. "Mind sharing the textbook?" you pleaded, a hint of desperation lacing your tone. 

Your own copy lay abandoned on the desk, its pages marred by a splatter of what could only be some sort of disastrous purple goo. 

For a moment, Aegnor felt a flicker of surprise, a jolt of something akin to shyness as you invaded his personal space. He wasn't used to such casual closeness, especially not with someone from Gryffindor.

He stole a glance at his sister, Galadriel. Her lips were pursed in disapproval, a silent reminder of the boundaries he was teetering on.  

But something, perhaps the endearing lack of inhibition in your eyes, won him over. With a barely audible sigh, he shifted the book closer to you, his voice a low murmur as he mumbled the instructions Snape had droned on about mere moments ago.

And that is how his world collided with yours. Reforming itself for the eternity of his life.