#or at least there's less variety each year

[lobsterplush]

Day 1-2: Cord length and types

Before you can make a project you need to select a cord and cut it to the length needed. There's many types of cord to choose from, each with their own properties. :

A. Limp cord, usually made out of twisted cotton, can be tough to use. It unravels and sometimes doesn't hold it's diameter- a tight knot can compress the cord. However, limp cord is the only type that doesn't hold it's past shape. It can be good for wall hangings where you don't want the hanging cords curly from being sold in a bundle. Since I'm not really into wall hangings I personally avoid this type.

B. Flexible cord like waxed braided cord is my favorite- the cord is strong and brightly colored, the ends don't unravel enough to be an issue, and the texture is smooth and nice on the hands. Sometimes sold in bundles, sometimes wrapped around a piece of cardboard.

C. Stiff cord is usually natural hemp fibers, which are sold in round bundles. This type is really good for trying out new designs without worrying about wasting fancy colored cord, plus the ends don't unravel. Be careful though- this cord is very hairy and can be lumpy and uneven. Natural fiber cord can also come in different colors and stiffness, but even limp natural fibers don't compress in a knot like cotton.

Try not to mix these cord types- limp cord is flattened in a knot with other types, making the knot uneven. Mixing natural fibers with braided cord is fine in certain projects but for the most part the mix of smooth versus hairy+lumpy is awkward.

Other types of cord include synthetic cord, which is limp and can unravel like cotton but can come in vivid colors and weird shapes like flat. I don't have much experience with these. Avoid elastic cords for macrame.

/\/\/\/\/\

^ Some cords don't unravel much and you can A) not worry about it. For cords that unravel you can B) tie the end in a knot, or for some synthetic cords C) singe/melt the endings with a lighter.

/\/\/\/\/\

One other thing to keep in mind is thickness- the width of the cord is usually given in millimeters (mm) but between you and me, tumblr, I don't think they know what a millimeter is. Who said that.

"1mm" is thin, good for smaller projects like jewelry. This is my default thickness. I've also seen 1mm be called "0.5mm." It doesn't matter much as long as it's thin macrame cord.

"2mm" is thick cord for smaller projects. I don't use thicker cord much because the thicker the cord the (slightly) easier it is for knots to unravel. 3mm and thicker starts getting unwieldy for my style of projects, but is common in stores because wall hangings got trendy.

/\/\/\/\/\

When it comes to the length of the cord many tutorials will just give you a length to cut. They give either the length for one specific project or there's a chart for bracelet/necklace/whatever. But people come in different sizes and having a 'one size fits all' measurement leads to wasted cord or a piece that's too small to wear. It can be a bit of a hassle. And I don't like having to dig out a ruler.

So I have my own method.

To measure by feel, use your chosen cord to figure out the length of the project (A). If it is a bracelet, wrap the cord around the wrist. You can make a necklace tight or loose. Whatever you like. Then, add like 3 or 4 inches, 15 to 20cm of bonus cord (B).

(The bonus cord is for you to hold onto when making the knots, and on longer strings it gives much needed wiggle room in case your knots eat up string.)

A and B together is the Project Length, or PL.

Next look at your project. Plan out what each string is doing- if it is used as a base string that goes the length of the project with no turns, it's length is 1 PL. Another string that is used in knots and has lots of turns can be 3 PL. The more PL, the more convoluted the path of the string.

For example, a series of square knots has two base strings and two strings that wrap around them. This project could be one cord, 2 PL, folded in half for the two base strings and a second, 6 PL, folded in half for the two wrapping strings.

So once you measure your project and decide on a PL, fold it back and forth until the cord is the desired length, and use that cord to measure the others in the project.

Another example with pics:

Two strings, natural hemp fiber, as straight as I could get them without taping them down lol. One is 2 PL and the other is 4PL, each folded in half. This makes two 1 PL strings and two 2 PL strings.

The long cords were used to make knots around the base cords, which are straight. (the wrapping cords ended up having more leftovers, but I chose a knot that's really light on the string. And I used string-saving techniques, oops)

(I didn't give myself that much room for the finishing knot, oops x2)

Final product with the strings trimmed! Don't worry about leftovers, the longer ones can be used in other projects or small samples for testing designs. It's better to overestimate the needed cord then to go through the circus of ending up short.

Anyway this way I can give you a design, say the Project Length of each string, and you can use that to build sweeping necklaces to child bracelets.

btw you can always look around at other tutorials of similar designs if you just want a solid number to work with.

(Macre-May Prompt list)

[we-re-always-alright]

the fabric samples get here today!!!!

[fandom-lover-extra]

DP X DC Prompt: Conspiracy Cryptids - Soultouch

Soulmate bonds were looked upon as a blessing. For they were rare and few and far between.

With the added presence of extraterrestrial lifeforms, there was a guarantee that it made it even more difficult to find any potential Soulmate that someone might have. 

And of course, not all Soulmate bonds were the same, most differing in variety. The point being, it was very difficult to find one's soulmate if one did have them. 

However, the media stated that it was always worth the effort. Soulmate bonds always worked out, either that be platonically or romantically, soulmates would be with each other for life.

So, what exactly did one do if their soulmate kept dying over and over again?

Tim, Bernard, Danny, and Wes all shared a soulmate bond. A touch-bond based Soulbond. They could feel anything their soulmate physically came into contact with. Skin on skin. And they could also feel any injuries their soulmate acquired.

Which, wasn't inherently an issue.

At first, the group couldn't actually tell how many soulmates they had once they realized what the soulbond was. The general consensus amongst them all was that they at least had more than one soulmate.

Danny didn't look to deeply into it. Wes and Bernard had been curious but had also left the detail alone. And Tim was the one that had been the one that had actually spent hours upon hours of sleepless nights trying to figure out just how many he had.

(He had even learned morse code in the hopes of communicating with his soulmates, but not being able to actually get his soulmates to do the same thing had more or less ruined the point.)

Everything, other than that, had been fine for the most part. Besides the general occasional scraps and bruises, everything had been fine. That was a normal occurrence amongst a touch-bond based Soulbond.

And then, Tim Drake became Robin at thirteen years old. And the injuries got a bit more severe. They were much more serious. 

This started Bernard down the path of looking into Gotham's vigilante's. It was no secret that Batman took on Young prodigies, that other heroes at times would do the same. With the injuries his soulmate was receiving, Bernard began his search.

Danny and Wes had considered that their soulmate might be apart of an abusive household. But besides hugging themselves, they couldn't add much for comfort.

And then, Danny died when he was fourteen. His end of the bond going quiet. Tim, Bernard, and Wes all assumed one of their soulmates had died. That was until Danny's end of the bond came back as if nothing had happened. Sometimes with even more bruises they didn't feel happen originally, or completely unharmed.

Tim and Bernard assumed their soulmate was in the hospital, going in-between life and death. Tim doing more than a few illegal things in an attempt to find one of his soulmates. Wes had thought the same until he had saw Phantom bleed once. Noticed how Phantom always appeared when that end of the bond went quiet and was nowhere to be seen when it came back. He drove himself insane looking for Phantom.

Danny decidedly, did not in fact know of the frenzy he was putting his soulmates through. Or the fact that he was apart of making his soulmates as insane as they are about their conspiracy theories.

[thenightwolf51]

"Danny was born a Wayne" AU except he's Bruce's grand uncle. The result of a one time drunken affair, shortly before Kenneth Wayne's death, to a young unmarried woman who gave the baby up for adoption.

(Whether the Fenton's, and therefore Amity, were just ahead of their times or the DC timeline is shifted a bit so that DP happens in its cannon era is up to you. Dealers choice, though now that i know about her i just love badass widowed prohibition leader Laura Elizabeth Wayne)

Danny grows up knowing hes adopted and loved by the Fentons but something (dealer's choice) happens and he loses his family and friends (maybe the whole town goes too?). In an attempt to avoid a Dan situation he flees into the Infinite Realm and doesn't stop.

He just wanders, time passes in its weird Realms way, not that Danny truly notices. A protector spirit thats lossed everything it protected. Its a wonder he doesn't fade and he actually might've if it wasn't for his human side.

But its a tug at his core that brings him from his near catatonic wandering. Gone before he can even understand it but enough to shake him back to himself. Enough to know that hes nowhere near ready to go anywhere familiar so he continues on, his wandering no less pointless but at least he's aware again.

What feels like a relatively short time later he gets another tug, and this time he manages to follow it.

He follows it invisibly through a natural portal that drops him somewhere in New Jersey and all the way to a fancy hospital room in the gloomiest city he's ever seen.

In there he sees his half brother Patrick Wayne, though he wont figure out their connection for a few more years, holding little Agatha. She's adorable in her little dress and pigtails and her sweet face causes that familiar tug he recognizes from what must have been six years ago given the girls age.

Then a nurse comes in and hands a little bundle to what must be the mother (whos name i cant find) and Danny takes one look at the little core tugger who brought him here and just melts. Even without knowing yet that this is his last remaining family, his instincts latch on and he vows to protect and care for the Waynes.

And he does.

He finds his forgetful brother's documents and keeps Aggy company when everyone else is busy and soothes baby Thomas so his poor sister-in-law can get some more sleep. He ices fevers and bruised knees and helps on later games of hide and seek.

He very rarely becomes visible and only to the children. His grief over the Fenton's convinces him its better to protect his new family from the shadows.

Danny explores every inch of the manor, including secret passages and an underground cave system. He claims a forgotten room in the back of the attic as his own, which over the years fill up with knickknacks, heirlooms, and pictures of the family. Even a gift or two from Agatha, who hadn't stopped believing in their shadowy guardian like her brother did when Danny felt they were too old to see him without drawing suspicion.

The manor becomes his haunt and he always knows where each family member is within it. And when any guests have some no good intentions.

And when baby Bruce is born tugging at his core and with the bluest little eyes, he welcomes the fussy little thing. And makes sure dear Martha never knows just how fussy baby Bruce really is, otherwise she might've never had a full nights sleep.

Danny blames himself for not being there when Thomas and Martha die, and promises to never leave Bruces side, practically becoming the boy's living shadow. Watching over him as he gets older, secretly aiding him in his training. Danny feels a bit of pride when Bruce takes some inspiration from the old stories Thomas told him of the shadowy Wayne family protector when creating his Batman identity, glad his nephew still remembers him even if he hasn't shown himself since the now young man was six.

Danny continues to protect and care for the family in a variety of ways over the years even as the family grows.

Lightening Alfred's workload, softening Dick's falls, calming Jason's temper both pre and post pit, hiding Tim's coffee when the boy hasn't slept in far too long, providing plenty of shadows and hiding nooks for Cass, helping Damian hide the litter of kittens he found.

And no one seems to know he's there, except maybe Cass and he's pretty sure Alfred has been know since he first started working for the family. No one knows, that is, until Duke Thomas moves in and lookes right at him watching invisibly from the sidelines.

(@omnicrafts @dcxdpdabbles @hdgnj @ailithnight @nelkcats @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 i dont know, the main point of all this is that Danny's been protecting the Wayne family for decades and no one, except maybe Alfred, knew until Duke moved in)

[saint-ambrosef]

newbie's guide to produce

for all my peers who were not taught how to shop for veggies and fruit on a budget and struggle to use them before they go bad:

(disclaimer: prices are approximate based on where i live in the Southern US. costs may be higher in your area, but the comparison of cost should still be valuable.)

cheap produce year-round:

roma tomatoes. if they look under-ripe you can leave them on the counter for a few days. keeps in fridge for about 2 weeks. $1/lb.

cucumbers. around here they're 50-60 cents each. go bad quickly though, about 1 week in fridge.

celery. two bucks for a head. starts to get sad after two weeks in fridge. only makes sense if you like to snack on celery or make soups often.

corn. whole ears are like 20cents each mid-summer, otherwise just get frozen. $1.50 for a lb.

peas. get these puppies frozen for $1.50/lb. good protein, too.

romaine lettuce. one head is good for several small salads, about $2 and lasts a week in fridge. the big boxes/multi-packs may seem like a better deal but not if it all goes bad before you can eat it.

onions. kind of a given but you can get regular yellow varietals for less than a buck per pound. will last for 1-2 months in pantry.

potatoes. you can get 5lb bags of russets for three bucks. sweet potatoes are a lil over $1/lb. last 2-3 months in pantry; if they grow sprouts, you can cut those off and still eat it.

bananas. dirt cheap. a small bunch (4-5) costs like a dollar. if they go over-ripe before you eat them all just get less or get a few green ones (p.s: you're allowed to break them off larger clumps).

radishes. $1.50 for a little bundle. greens get wilty after a week, roots will last 2 weeks (you can use both parts).

hot peppers. poblano, jalapeno, etc., are often quite cheap and you usually don't need very many anyways. few weeks fridge or counter.

cheap produce when in season:

summer squash. in summertime (duh), zucchini and yellow squash are like $1.25/lb. only last a week or so though in fridge.

winter squash. actually in season in fall, these are your butternuts and acorn squash. less than $1/lb then. lasts in pantry for months.

green beans. in warm months they can be on sale for $1.50/lb! last 1.5-2 weeks in fridge? (kinda depends on the shape they're in)

kale. it's a cool-season green that commonly is on sale in colder months. $1.60 for a big bunch, about 1.5 weeks in fridge before it gets seriously wilty. (can be eaten cooked or raw!)

apples. fall/winter, usually at least one variety on sale for $1.25/lb. last forever.

oranges. most citrus are winter fruits. $1/lb. will last forever in your fridge.

strawberries. spring. at their peak, i can find them for $2/lb. otherwise they are too expensive.

watermelon. $8 for big 10lb melons. they can take up a ton of space though and need to be refrigerated once cut/ripe.

cantaloupe. another summer star! $1.50 each on sale. they will slow ripen in the fridge but you do have to keep an eye on it.

pineapple. $1.50 in summer time. might be ripe even when still a bit green, ready when they smell noticeably ripe.

pears. fall season, sometimes into winter. $1.20/lb. last 1-2 weeks on the counter or forever in the fridge.

pomegranate. in winter time they can be found for $2 each. tricky to peel though.

peaches. and nectarines (which are just fuzzless peaches). $1.25/lb in summer and will last for weeks in your fridge.

eggplants. summertime veggie, you can get for $1.50 when they're on sale. otherwise a bit pricey. keep in fridge for 2 weeks.

mid-range produce:

cabbage. three bucks for a 2-lb head but you can get a lot out of it. will keep 3-4 weeks in the fridge but any exposed cut sides will start moldering after a week.

mushrooms. white button or baby bella. $1.50 for 8oz. keep in mind, mushrooms halve in size after cooking. ~2 weeks though.

avocados. if you live in the South like me, small hass varietals are 60-80 cents apiece in winter. ripe when it gives just a little to squeezing (you can't go off color alone).

broccoli. fresh is $1.70ish per head and lasts a week in fridge. frozen is $1.50/lb but might be kind of mushy.

most greens. spring mixes, spinach, arugula, etc can really vary in price but often fall into a few bucks at least per bundle/package. in a fridge's humidity drawer they last 1-2 weeks.

kiwis. i love them but they're a bit pricey for their size. 50 cents each. their keep depends on how ripe they are at purchase.

expensive produce:

asparagus. one of the most expensive veggies. sometimes in spring you can get it for $2/lb (a steal but still a bit much). lasts 1.5 weeks.

brussel sprouts. same as above.

red or yellow bell peppers. they are used sooo often in recipes and it annoys me. often $1.50-2.00 each. last a long time in fridge.

caluiflower. three bucks for a head. yikes!

green beans. when they're not in season, they are like $3/lb.

snap peas. same as above, except they never seem to be on sale.

raspberries. go bad in 3 days and cost an arm and a leg. sometimes when they're in season you can get them for like $2 per half-pint as a treat.

blueberries and blackberries. even when they're in season, they're still $2 per pint.

grapes. they can sorta be affordable in the fall season for $2/lb, but otherwise they're double that. and usually you have to commit to buying several pounds. last 2 weeks in fridge.

plums. i love them so so much but they're only in season for like 2 weeks of the year it seems and they're like $3/lb.

inexpensive accoutrements: (for garnishes, seasoning, etc)

limes. 25cents apiece. they'll start to dry out after 1 week on the counter so keep them in the fridge unless you will use it soon.

lemons. usually 50cents each for the small varietals. keep same as above.

green onions. less than a dollar for a bunch, and you can easily regrow a few times at home if you stick the white rooted end in water by a window.

cilantro. 50cents. will last WAY longer (1-2 weeks) if you keep it in a mug of water in the fridge.

parsley. 85cents. same as above.

obviously sticking just with popularly available produce across the country. it's not an exhaustive list but can give you a bit more perspective on what produce you should be focusing on if you're trying to work with a tight grocery budget. good luck!

[dumbseee]

boyfriend!iwaizumi when you’re a famous idol.

iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader.

genre: fluff.

warnings: bad english/grammar :p /mention of the kpop industry (in here, dating someone is less taboo than it is in real life) / first work so it’s not that good.

_

after high school, you left japan for south korea, you always had this dream of becoming a kpop idol. during your time in seijoh, you were already known for being an amazing dancer but also for your angelic voice.

iwaizumi would always brag about you to the volleyball team, oikawa would tease him about you leaving him for a famous korean actor, after you became famous. to which, iwaizumi would respond with a kick in his friend’s back. truth be told, he was actually very scared of what the future had in store for you two after high school. he didn’t know if long distance would work for you, or if you even wanted it in the first place.

during your last school day, iwaizumi walked you back home, like he always did, but he seemed out of it and almost, sad? you asked him what was wrong and he told you that if you wanted to break up with him to focus on your dreams, he’d respect your decision and always support you. he couldn’t even look at you, tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes as he tried his best to keep a straight face. his words surprised you and broke your heart because you never knew that iwaizumi could be so dumb to think that you’d break up with him like that. "no matter the distance, it will never make me forget about how much i love you, hajime."

so you left for south korea and he left for america to study. you two called each other everyday, when you two were too busy, you’d try to call at least twice a week. iwaizumi was busy with school and finals took all his time while your trainee program took up yours. but somehow you two made it work. a few years later, you debuted as a soloist and sold millions with your first album whilst iwaizumi came back to japan after graduating, and became an athletic trainer for japan national volleyball team. you couldn’t be prouder of him, and you were his pride. he streamed all your songs, putting them on speaker while the boys would practice, he brought all your albums and watched the variety shows you were featured in. he was basically the president of your fanclub. and he wasn’t ashamed of it.

you two always made sure to go together on vacation in a foreign country, where kpop wasn’t really the thing. the distance actually strengthened your relationship since being apart of each other for so long, made the reunion better. you knew iwaizumi was it for you, and he was also your muse for your music. your fans often joked about how inspired and how deep your love songs were. it made you laugh to read all their theories about you being married to a farmer. if only they knew…

iwaizumi never minded being your secret boyfriend, he actually liked it that way. he didn’t know if he could bare being in the public eye every time. knowing that you were south korea’s sweetheart, being your public boyfriend would mean saying goodbye to his peaceful life, and iwaizumi wasn’t ready for that. well, he wasn’t ready yet. one day, he woke up to his phone being blown up by messages, actually tons of messages, from the groupchat he shared with the japan national team. he even had missed calls from oikawa, and all his close friends.

shoyo: IWAIZUMI-SENPAIIIIII

SID YOU SEE HHE NEWS???

kageyama: learn how to spell, idiot.

ushijima: blowing up his phone isn’t the best way to announce something like that.

bokuto: HAJI-SAN IT’S TERRIBLE ARE YOU OKAY??

atsumu: JUST SHUT UP

let the man wake up peacefully damn

shoyo: IT WAS TO BE A FAKE NEWS RIGHT??

bokuto: YEAH L/N-SAN WOULD NEVER DO THAT

iwaizumi: what the fuck?

ushijima: you should check twitter, hajime.

iwaizumi had frowned, but went on twitter, an app you forced him to subscribe to. apparently it was the genz’s newspaper. to his surprise, your face was all over his feed, it wasn’t surprising because he liked everything about you, followed dozens of fan account and basically became a fan account himself. but what surprised him was seeing those big account talking about your "relationship" with a famous korean actor.

"l/n y/n, the famous soloist who stole everyone’s heart with her heartfelt songs and beautiful looks, is dating a/l a/n!"

his eyes widened as he typed your name to call you immediately. his heart was beating so fast as he didn’t know how to feel about this. of course it was fake news, right? he knew you’d never cheat on him, you loved each other and iwaizumi couldn’t see his life without you in it. he quickly became aware of how much he loved you and how important you were in his life. without you, iwaizumi would be nothing but an empty shell. "hajime? thank god, i tried to call you!" your voice made him release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "you saw, right?" your voice was small and for a second he thought that maybe you called him to announce your new relationship with this dumbass actor. "yeah, it’s not that fun to wakeup to your friends blowing up your phone and news outlets talking about your girlfriend’s relationship with that fucker." he rubbed his face with his free hand. "these idiots took pictures of us while we were in cabo and thought it was a/n. apparently you two look alike." he heard you chuckle which made him feel warm inside. he hated the fact that he doubted you for a second. suddenly, an idea popped up in his head, a crazy one but still. "you have an award show in a week right?" he asked you, a smile tugging at his lips. "yeah, why?"

well, iwaizumi’s idea was indeed crazy but you didn’t care, you were down for it. and as your name got called in the category, "best female artist", iwaizumi was next to you, he stood up before you could even understand what was going on, and he kissed you. showing to the world, that you were his as much as he was yours. it was a crazy way to launch your relationship to the world, but you didn’t care, because as long as you were together, nothing could happen.

[archibaldtuttle]

"Fuck CGI all my homies hate CGI here we love practical effects" ok ok ok alright I know I KNOW that I'm being pedantic and nitpicky (which is why I'm making my own post and not adding this to one of those I've seen floating around) but you don't hate CGI you just hate capitalism

CGI (Computer Generated Imagery) is a very broad term, but in the context of films it is an 60 year old technique used in a variety of contexts for a variety of reasons. It is not only excessive green screens and bad mocap.

CGI is actually a central part of why practical effects look so much better now than they did in the 60s - I can guarantee that you have not seen one practical effect without the addition of CGI in a film after the 90s and maybe even earlier (excepting micro budget films, and even then). Every squib of fake blood that pops on under the actor's costume is cleaned up in post. And to be clear - this is a good thing! It looks better when it's well done!

What you hate is the overreliance on underpaid, overworked contract workers who are ground into the dirt by big studios with crunch times and wildly unreasonable expectations, that results in catastrophic looking messes. Yes, I also subscribe to "a bad practical effect is better than a bad CGI effect because at least it's there", but there are hundreds of people being exploited for their labor who are honest to god artists and dismissing their entire field is missing the point. A backlash against CGI as a concept could lead to a devaluation of the artists' work - less support from the public isn't exactly what they need. That's exactly what happened after Cats, when two of the actors dared mock the effects on stage during the Academy Awards while the companies which had been crushed by the film were going bankrupt - through no fault of their own.

Pitting those two disciplines against each other isn't only useless it's also just plain wrong - they have been working hand in hand for over 60 years. Know how to recognize the qualities and flaws of both and defend workers in all fields.

[hermajestyimher]

This Is How We Will Own 2023:

We're less than a month away from the New Year, and as such, it is important that we begin to set the foundations and plans we have to not only succeed, but make 2023 a memorable year.

Regardless of how 2022 went for you, regardless of how many goals you were able to achieve, a new year marks a new beginning. Do not beat yourself over how things went, focus on how you can improve them moving forward.

In 2023 we're:

Spending less time being passive scrollers online. The pandemic is over, the world is back in action and so must we. It's time to stop letting our minds be consumed by the opinions of thousands of people on the internet. More often than not, the things we read online come from the psyche of mentally unwell individuals, and given social media's tendency to prompt out the voices of the most unhinged, it gives people that shouldn't have a platform a false sense of authority. In 2023 we're getting off the grid as much as we can and reconnecting with the real world. We will not allow this online façade to swallow us into its void any longer.

Spending more time learning and engaging in high-end activities and hobbies that can elevate our social circle and our taste. Things like polo matches, pilates, ballet, opera, piano classes, poetry, political forums, martial arts, and high-intensity sports, among other things. It is crucial to cultivate a persona that engages in a variety of fulfilling activities that can bring us joy but also help us grow as individuals.

Prioritizing our health and fitness. No more excuses, it's time to cut down on added sugar and refined carbs, time to eat more nutrient-dense whole foods, drink plenty of water daily, invest in vitamin injections every other month, take supplements to improve our body's collagen production, and overcome feelings of laziness by pushing ourselves through fitness goals. 2023 we will make of the gym our sanctuary.

Living below our budget and investing as much as we can. If you haven't already, get a financial advisor, develop long and short-term financial goals and get organized with your income. It doesn't matter if in the past you've felt like your financial habits have not been the most adequate, it's never too late to take control of them and be responsible. We owe to ourselves to spend wisely to have the peace of mind financial security brings. Never go broke trying to impress others.

We're no longer entertaining inadequate men. I must admit I'm guilty of this myself. After years of not dating, getting back into the dating scene has felt extremely disappointing and tiring. Most prospects are simply not up to par with the standards I have and what I want out of my life partner. Sometimes we allow ourselves to become desperate to build these types of romantic relationships that we begin to overlook the things that we really want deep down. In 2023, we're refocusing our attention on living our best lives and being as active as possible in real-life events as touched upon previously, and trust that the right dating prospects will present themselves when we least expect. We attract, we don't chase.

Finally, we're overcoming negative self-talk patterns that hinder our growth. We're investing in therapy, we're unlearning the limiting beliefs that keep us in bondage to people, routines, and views of the world that are not good for us. We have to put an end to the insidious lie of the scarcity mindset, overcome past traumas, and look forward to the good things that are yet to come.

There are many more things I could add to this list, but for now, these are the things I and I know many of you will find helpful on improving on for the year to come. These lists can come out as intimidating to some people, but we have to remember that we are not expected to become the ideal version of ourselves overnight. Growth is a marathon, not a sprint, and it requires consistency. Each day that you wake up and choose to do one or two things differently you're making stride towards that better you. No improvement is ever too little.

Let's make 2023 a memorable year, and every year afterwards.

Daphne.

[twinsimming]

New Scholarships by Twinsimming 🎓

"Need some extra simoleons for university? Sims University now offers a variety of scholarships for prospective students!"

This is a script mod that can be placed in your Packages folder. It was built and tested on 1.69 but should work fine on 1.67.

Requirements

To access all of the scholarships available with this mod, the following packs and store content are required:

The Sims 3: World Adventures

The Sims 3: Ambitions

The Sims 3: Generations

The Sims 3: Showtime

The Sims 3: Supernatural

The Sims 3: Seasons

The Sims 3: University Life

The Sims 3: Island Paradise

The Sims 3: Into the Future

Fit As a Fiddle Violin (The Sims 3 Store)

Artisan Glassblowing Station (The Sims 3 Store)

Stiff as a Board, Light as a Feather Dance Floor (The Sims 3 Store)

Overview

Applying for Scholarships

Types of Scholarships

Maintaining Scholarships

New Moodlets

Online Aptitude Test

New Cheat

Applying for Scholarships

Teen sims and older have a new “Apply for Scholarships” interaction available at the school rabbithole or on the computer under “Sims University Online”. Though they’re less likely to win a scholarship if they apply online rather than in person.

If your sim wins a scholarship, they will not be able to reapply for that scholarship again. If they do not win, they will be given a Disappointed moodlet and have to wait a day before applying again.

Types of Scholarships

There are four (4) types of scholarships your sims can apply for: General, Legacy, Skill Based, and Occult. In total, there are 18 scholarships, each with their own custom moodlet. 

Sims have a 45% chance of winning a scholarship in the General, Legacy, and Occult categories when applying in-person and a 40% chance when applying online.

Sims have a 6% chance of winning a Skill Based scholarship at Level 1 of the required skill. This chance multiplies with each skill level, with a maximum of a 60% chance at Level 10.

Certain traits can either increase or decrease your chance of winning a scholarship by 5% (note: this value stacks the more traits your sim has):

Increased Chance Traits - Lucky and Ambitious

Decreased Chance Traits - Unlucky and Loser

Some of the scholarship names are originally from The Sims 2 and the others I made up myself. They are listed below by category:

General

Young Entrepreneurs Award (§750) - Requires Level 3 part-time job, Teen only

Orphaned Sims Assistance Fund (§750) - Requires deceased or non-existing parents, Teen only

Golden Year Scholars Grant (§1000) - Elders only

Gemini Hidden Masters Prize (§1500) - Requires Level 10 in one hidden skill

Legacy

Student Service Workers Fund (§1000) - For sims with a service worker hidden trait (Makes No Messes, Pyromaniac, Can Apprehend Burglar, Can Salute, Immune To Fire, or Pizza Appreciator)

Cultural Exchange Program (§1000) - For sims with one of the hidden culture traits from The Sims 3: World Adventures

Students of Tomorrow Scholarship (§1000) - For sims with the hidden Future Sim trait from The Sims 3: Into the Future

Skill Based

Dreamer Family Artisan Award (§750) - Requires at least Level 1 Artisan Skill

Tsang Footwork Award (§750) - Requires at least Level 1 Dance (Store) Skill

Violin Society of SimNation Scholarship (§750) - Requires at least Level 1 Violin Skill

Occult

Undead Education Scholarship (§1500) - For Vampires, Zombies, and Ghosts

Extraterrestrial Reparation Grant (§1500) - For Aliens and sims recently abducted by Aliens

Spellcasting Scholars Grant (§1500) - For Witches, Fairies, and Genies

Lycanthropy Philanthropy Fund (§1500) - For Werewolves

Bots Opportunity To Specialize (B.O.T.S.) (§1500) - For Simbosts and Plumbots

Forbidden Fruit Fellowship (§1500) - For PlantSims

Real World Acclimation Fund (§1500) - For Real Imaginary Friends

Aquatic Allies Award (§1500) - For Mermaids

Maintaining Scholarships

After winning a scholarship, your sim will get the new custom Won Scholarship moodlet. They have a week to either enroll in online university with my Attend University Online mod, or in-person university to remain eligible for their scholarship.

If they fail to enroll in time, their scholarship will be rescinded and they will have to pay back the money they were awarded. If they can’t afford to pay back the scholarship amount in full, it will be added to their next household bill. (No free money here!)

Once a sim has a scholarship rescinded, they will get the new custom Lost Scholarship moodlet and be barred from applying for scholarships for 3 days.

New Moodlets

Won Scholarship: Given when a sim wins a scholarship, lasts 1 day, +20 mood, each scholarship has its own custom moodlet icon

Lost Scholarship: Given when a sim has a scholarship rescinded, lasts 3 days, -20 mood, makes sims stressed

Online Aptitude Test

Teen sims and older can now take the university aptitude test on the computer under “Sims University Online”. It works the same as the default interaction.

Tuning

All of the tunable values can be found on the mod download page under the header “Tuning”.

New Cheat

If you want to clear all scholarship winners in your world (on a per save basis), enter the cheat menu and type “ClearScholarshipWinnerData” without the quotation marks.

Conflicts & Known Issues

This is a new script mod so there shouldn’t be any conflicts.

Credits

EA/Maxis for The Sims 3 and The Sims 4, Visual Studio 2019, ILSpy, s3pe, Notepad++, and Script Mod Template Creator.

Thank You

Thank you to gamefreak130, Battery, @zoeoe-sims, @greenplumbboblover​, and @monocodoll!

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi 💙

Download @ ModTheSims

[calicoheartz]

Déjà Vu ; Paige Bueckers ౨ৎ•

꣑୧ — summary | based on the song “Deja vu” by Olivia Rodrigo !

wc ; 1.4k

— warnings | Paige lowkey being a bad girlfriend , jealousy , arguments , use of foul language , angst , etc.

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : i ❤️ writing angst 😈 , tried something new while using a different song. Enjoy bestiesss ◡̈

It had been weeks since you and Paige had broken up, things were just too complicated between the two of you.

You wanted something serious, something made to last. But Paige wasn’t necessarily interested in that, while she did love you; you two were just opposing forces. Your relationship was trying to force two magnets together that clearly didn't attract to each other, or trying to force puzzle pieces together.

While you wish you could say it ended on good, mutual terms, the truth was quite far from that. You and Paige continuously argued throughout the couple of weeks leading up to your split. Whether it was about who you both were hanging out with, who didn't do the dishes, your social media presence, you've probably argued about absolutely anything under the sun.

Which is why when she suddenly broke up with you, you weren't surprised to say the least. You practically saw it coming, both of you slowly distancing yourselves, spending less and less time together, it was bound to happen at some point. But at this point in time, you were tired of begging her to talk to you, begging her to work things out with you. You simply gave up, knowing in the back of your mind that if it was meant to be it would've been, and things would have already fallen into place.

You had already figured that she had moved on, you just didn't expect it to be that fast. You knew the type of person she was, but it did sting a little bit knowing that your 2 ½ year relationship didn't really mean that much to her. Your mind instantly starts thinking of the what-ifs, what could have possibly made a difference in your relationship, and this infuriated you.

I mean, what the fuck was her deal? Trying to tell everyone you both ended amicably, how you eventually wanted to try again, but immediately getting with some other chick? I mean come on now. That was just petty and low.

And as if the universe was playing a joke on you, with the weeks after your breakup it seemed as if you were seeing the blonde everywhere, whether it was throughout the campus grounds, or perhaps at the gym. But nothing could have prepared you for your next encounter with the 6’0 point guard.

It was a friday night, and you had just finished your last final of the school year, the air was cool, and the sun was setting. Your friends had decided to celebrate by going to an end of the year house party, hosted by one of UConns most infamous frat houses.

To be frank, you didn't really feel like going, the idea of being surrounded by a bunch of drunk college kids didn't really appeal to you. But somehow, your friends managed to convince you.

You wore a skin tight, tantalizing, black lace dress with some simple black pumps, dabbing a tiny, but noticeable amount of makeup on your face, that enhanced all your natural features.

As you entered and made your way through the party, music thumped loudly, echoing through the house and drawing people in. The air is thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat, mixed with the faint scent of cheap cologne and perfume.

Inside, the main room is packed with people dancing, laughing, and drinking. Red cups are scattered everywhere, filled with various concoctions of alcohol. The dance floor is a mass of bodies, moving and swaying to the sound of the music. With Strobe lights flashing, adding to the chaotic atmosphere.

After glancing around and observing the chaos filled room, you made your way to the make-shift bar set up near the kitchen, quickly helping yourself to the wide variety of alcoholic beverages the frat boys had to offer. You soon noticed a figure out of the corner of your eye lurking behind you, not paying any attention to it, you continued to tending to your drinks, hoping that whoever was behind you would just leave you alone.

As you turned around, you were met with a familiar set of blue eyes. The eyes that caused you so much pain and distress. You furrowed your brows, slightly frowning, before spitting out “what the fuck do you want?”, the blonde looked away slightly, before mumbling out a, “I just wanted to apologize to you, and yk make sure we were cool.”

If you weren't pissed off before, you certainly were now. You laughed slightly, before replying, “That's bullshit and you know it P.” Before quickly walking away, hoping to not run into her for the rest of the night.

But of course, the universe just couldn't let that happen. It felt as if everywhere you turned to, there she was, with a girl all over her. Whether she had her tongue down her throat, or occasionally grinding on each other, it didn't matter. All you knew was that this was Paige’s sick and twisted way of trying to make you jealous.

While it's shameful to admit now, you couldn't help but keep the shots coming, doing anything to keep your mind off the blonde.

It was only then when you spotted the two out of the corner of your eye, dancing on the dance floor. For some reason this dance looked oddly familiar, as if you've seen it somewhere. That's when it hit you, this was your dance, a dance you only did when your song was on, which to your luck happened to be playing.

A feeling of adrenaline and anger rushed over you, it was almost as if all your rationale just left your body and went to outer space. You quickly stormed your way over to both of them before spewing “So when you gonna tell her that we did that too??” Before looking over at the girl, who was now in return giving you a confused look, you continued, “She probably thinks its special, but it's all reused.”

“Y/N cmon, can we talk about this somewhere else?” Paige chimes in, before you snap a simple “No no, do you get deja vu when she's with you? Because i mean come on it’s so fucking obvious that-” the blonde cut you off by simply dragging you away from the living room and into the back patio of the house.

“Is that what this is about?” she says harshly, “why are you even so upset to begin with?” You felt as if someone had just punched you, not being able to grasp the fact that she herself can't grasp why you're so upset. “Dont act like we didn't do that shit too paige” you scoffed, “You're so pathetic. A different girl now but there's nothing new.”

The blonde just looks back at you, her gaze softening a bit, she bit her lip in anticipation of what you were going to say next, with tears welling in your eyes you managed to stammer out, “Do you call her, almost say my name? Because let’s be honest, we kinda do sound the same.”

A few minutes go by, the blonde remained quiet, just observing you through your sudden fit of rage; something you rarely did throughout your relationship. As if it was like clockwork, you suddenly snapped out of your sudden jealousy filled haze, and simply averted your eyes from Paige and onto the ground below you. Just releasing an annoyed sigh as you came to realization that you just word vomited incoherent sentences of jealousy to your ex.

The girl finally broke her silence, simply saying , “are you finally going to let me get a word in y/n?” But at this point, it was too late for the blonde to try and explain her actions, to give you closure, even tho in reality that is what you wanted; you knew you had to move on and try to rebuild your life outside of the blonde.

You simply shook your head in response, stating a sharp, “No, Paige. Im done trying to get you to understand what you did was wrong, and why it’s shitty that you keep doing it. Im done with you, goodbye.”

Before she could even reply you were already on your way out, the loud environment seeming to drown out everything and everyone around you. But unbeknownst to you, the blonde had given you a reply. Mumbling under her breath just quiet enough that you could hopefully hear it within earshot,

“But I wanted it to be you.”

muahahahahaha !!! Idk how to feel abt this tbh…uhmmmm ??? as always tysm for reading !

[yuoimia]

DAY 1: FIRST FALL OF SNOW ❅⋆⍋

summary: activities you do in the snow

characters: albedo, childe, diluc, wriothesley.

notes: wc: 260-300 per character, roughly 1.1k total, gn! reader, fluff, mentions of reader being lost in the snow in childe’s, petnames, the madness begins.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ dreamy december event masterlist

albedo - how to build a snowman

All year round, Dragonspine is inundated with thick layers of gleaming snow.

Twinkling in weak sunlight, an ethereal sight both close-up and afar.

However, there was always something particularly striking about waking up to a fresh new coat of snow. Impeccably perfect, its raw beauty enthrals you each time. It was a privilege, you knew. Not just anyone could climb such an intimidating mountain, and the only reason you got to experience such phenomenons, the one who introduced you to this very mountain—was someone you’d never imagined to meet. Much less be more than acquaintances, a renowned genius, who currently stood completely blank in the suggestion of building snowmen.

"So, ah… I just add another pile on top?”

For the hundredth time this morning, you shake your head with an expression of amusement. “No,” you mutter, rolling the pile next to him into the shape of a sphere before placing it before him. “You need to make it into a ball shape, then place it on top. That will be its middle.” You point accordingly, an encouraging smile plastered on your face.

Albedo still doesn’t get it.

Instead, he watches silently as you enjoy yourself constructing a snowman. How interesting, creating little figures out of snow. He watches from afar as you unravel your own woollen scarf and wrap it around its uneven neck. He watches as you judge a variety of sticks to pick the most suitable to be its arms.

Albedo watches as you stand proudly beside it, a dazzling smile etching your face as he too, unravels his woollen scarf and gives it to you.

childe - snowball fights

You catch your breath behind a large cedar tree.

Was it a surprise? Surely not. Challenging Childe in any form of fight was the equivalence of battling in an arena, playful or not.

It also didn’t help that you were winning. For now, at least.

A strong gust of frosty wind brings a blizzard of newly formed snowflakes, collecting delicately on your hair and clothing. The fierce howls mask up any forms of sound, and the gradually falling snow covers up any traces of footprints.

Moreover, the temperature was severely dropping by the minute.

Perfect weather, you curse internally.

Your hands swiftly grab handfuls of the snow all around you, leaving a deep indentation in the shape of a ring all around you. Painfully obvious evidence that you were here, but at this point in time, you were more than ready to surrender. Between the choice of victory or frostbite, you’d willingly lose.

Cradling a dozen snowballs, your eyes are alert and searching as you attempt to outline any signs of a human. It’s hopeless; the wind is intensifying, swirling the frost like a snowglobe.

An anguished sigh escapes as you look down at the heavy layers of snow. Perhaps it was time to resort to something more desper-

Smack.

Something cold lands on the side of your face before falling to bits next to your feet. Another flies right past you.

You’re supposed to be mad; you’re supposed to shout and blame him for putting you in such a perilous and stupid situation, but you don’t.

As he catches you in an embrace, a contrast to everything you felt mere seconds ago, so frantic and tight, you realise how scared he was—scared enough to be rendered completely and irrevocably silent.

diluc - snow? my eyes are on you.

How long has it been?

How long have you been gazing, lost in your thoughts, through the window of your shared bedroom?

It’s quiet, but a comforting sort of quiet. The sort of quiet that you could appreciate for years and years and enjoy as if it were freshly discovered. Perhaps it was because of Diluc and the reserved and reclusive ambience he always carried. Whatever it was, you understood why he sought it so much.

Kaeya told you to expect snow tonight.

You love snow.

As soon as Diluc stepped one foot into the entrance of Dawn Winery, you had notified him most excitedly, “It’s going to snow tonight!”

You made sure not to mention that it was Kaeya who told you, though.

Being the gentleman he was, Diluc reciprocated your happiness most thoughtfully. Across the candlit dinner table, you swapped memories and dreams, all down until the last few tired murmurs sealed with a tender goodnight kiss planted on your forehead. A fond, “Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” as he drifted off to sleep.

Time steamed on; it must’ve been hours, according to the grandfather clock in the farthest corner of the bedroom, yet never once did your eyes stray from the window. You had long abandoned your previous sleeping position and now cozily huddled your legs, although still buried comfortably within the blankets.

Diluc seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

For a while, you observed in slight awe, the little rises in his chest as he inhaled, the serene expression decorating his face. It felt so intimate, so softly vulnerable—simply two people treasuring a moment in their lives so unknowingly—is what made it magnificent.

The first glimmers of snow lightly shimmered through the night sky as a familiarly snug hand pulled you beneath the covers.

wriothesley - ice skating

The many fountains in Fontaine had been frozen from the frigid weather, transforming the statues to behold graceful arches that glinted divinely in the feeble sunlight. Bound to be presented gloriously on the front page of the Steambird for the next three months or so.

Additionally, smaller bodies of water had completely transformed into ice, making it a perfect opportunity for extravagant winter activities. After all, Fontaine was never short of its flamboyance and charming flair when it came to anything of that sort.

That was the reason Wriothesley had spontaneously suggested going for a skate on the ice.

You had promptly declined at first, leaning over his desk, brushing the idea off with a brisk excuse of, “I can’t skate.”

Wriothesley had looked up from his stacks of documents, followed by a falsely exasperated roll of eyes, saying, “That’s what you said about dancing.”

"I'm not a very good dancer, you know that.”

“But I successfully taught you, didn’t I?" he confidently answered, standing from the overflowing desk.

You made a non-committal noise, shaking your head as Wriothesley chucked and wrapped an arm around you. “C’mon, let’s give it a try, all right, darling?”

This is precisely how you landed yourself in such a predicament.

The skates were easy enough to get on, but the process of skating, like you anticipated, was no easy skill.

Wriothesley, being the superb lover he is, let’s out a muffled snort as he watches you topple over for what could’ve only been the hundredth time that evening.

“Instead of laughing, you could actually help me like you promised, you know.”

With one last terribly hidden chortle, Wriothesley seizes your hands and gently guides your movements alongside his, careful and patient, as you both skate until the winter sunlight ebbs over the horizon.

[elronds-meleth-nin]

Ancient Script

This is for my dear friend @bigblissandlove1! Thank you so much for putting up with me screaming about this brainrot! I hope you enjoy this fic, my friend.

I'm not tagging anyone else in this, because the taglist I set up was for a whole other fic outside of RoP. If anyone wants to be tagged in future fics from The Hobbit, LotR, or RoP, please let me know! This is an AU fic in 2 regards: 1.) Soulmate AU 2.) it's set in the early Third Age - Adar is presumed dead by Sauron who has taken control of the Uruks, and he's biding his time in a small village while he concocts a plan.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Adar (RoP) x Reader

[A/N: This is fluff with a couple of mentions of violence, but nothing graphic.]

Warnings: Soulmate AU, Uruk/Human romance, kissing, soulmarks are your soulmate's name in their handwriting, he falls first, he kills a man to protect her but it's not graphic.

~*~

The shop selling arms and armor had been around in our village longer than I'd been alive, and certainly longer than the seven years I'd lived there. The shop owner, a rather private Ellon, wasn't exactly outgoing, at least, not to most people in the village.

But me...he would actively ask how I was when I passed each morning on my delivery route from the baker's shop. Perhaps it was because the scent of freshly baked bread was irresistible. Or maybe his lack of conversation with the others had made him lonely and desperate enough to try and interact with the one person who had never been rude to him.

The others seemed to find it acceptable to be less courteous just because he was different. I never did, though. My parents had taught me to be kind to all, even before we'd picked up and moved from the next village over for an opportunity for my father's business to grow.

So, every morning as I made deliveries up and down the main road, I eagerly looked forward to the moment when he'd open the door to his shop and allow me a brief conversation - that was more than most people got when they weren't discussing the particulars of a transaction with him.

This morning was only slightly different. Usually, I delivered to his end of the road first, but today I needed to make sure I ended there, instead. So, in reverse order, I made my way steadily toward his shop, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw his door open as usual when I was only a few steps away.

"There you are," he rasped as a small smile stretched his lips. "I had begun to wonder if you had forgotten me this morning."

"Oh, no! Never, sir," I said as I pulled his usual weekly order out of my basket, neatly wrapped in baker's cloth and tied with a little string. His fingertips brushed mine as he took it, and I let out a huff of nervous laughter. "Actually, I had a reason to save you for last, today. Assuming that your shop is already open, of course. If not, I can always come back later."

"For you, my door is always open, my lady," he said taking a step back and gesturing for me to come inside. I'd never actually been in his shop before.

"Thank you, sir," I murmured slipping in and trying to stay out of his way.

The scent of leather and metal, polish and grit permeated the air within the store, giving the whole place the feeling of an army at rest. Gleaming plate armor, razor-sharp swords, knives of nearly-infinite variety, and bows that looked lethal even at a glance were all neatly arranged on shelves and wall hooks.

I should've come here sooner.

"Now, what was so important that you felt you must rearrange your entire morning?" The Ellon asked as he laid the wrapped loaf of bread on the desk where he changed coin and made trades.

"Ah, 'tis twofold," I said as I opened my bag and pulled out my small, sheathed dagger. The shimmering blue stone laid into the hilt glinted as brightly in the morning light as it did the day my grandfather had given it to me. "The lower priority of the two would be my dagger. I lent it to one of my neighbors, and, well..."

Carefully unsheathing it, I showed him the now-split blade.

"If it is beyond repair, I certainly understand, but..." I shrugged, and he lifted the blade, inspecting its surface with his experienced eye.

"Not at all. This is easily fixed. I can have it for you by tomorrow morning," he murmured, laying it gently - almost reverently - on his desk and looking at me curiously. "And the second of your needs, my lady?"

Subconsciously, I ran my thumb over the cloth that covered my illegible soulmark. I knew whoever it was likely couldn't be entirely certain that I truly existed or, like me, could not read my name where it was inked upon their skin, but touching it even indirectly was still a comfort.

"I need to find a gift for my father. His birthday is in a fortnight, and I was wondering if, perhaps, I could examine your bows?"

He smiled at that.

"Certainly. Come with me." The Ellon led me to one of the large displays at the side, adjusting the sleeve of his tunic as he did so. When we reached the long line of curved and carved wood, I felt an answering touch through my soulmark - something so delicate that I could never be certain if I was just imagining things or if it was real. "If you already have a particular style in mind, then pay me no attention, but I must admit I am familiar with your father's current - let us say 'well-loved' - weapon. This, perhaps, might suit his needs and accommodate his firing style."

Lifting an intricately-carved bow from the rack, he strung it in one much-too-smooth movement that made my breath hitch. Clearly Elvish in design, that bow was finer than any that either my father or I owned.

"I know that you are an archer yourself, my lady. Come, feel the flex," he said moving around me and coaxing the carved grip into my hand. His chest pressed lightly against my back as I gave the string a pull mimicking aiming an arrow. His breath fanned lightly over my scalp, and when he spoke again, I fought not to blush. "You have excellent form. Anyone who opposed you would be doomed from the beginning."

His voice was low and gentle...intimate, in a way. I tried not to think about how luxuriant it would be to hear that soft, raspy voice murmur my name on a cold winter's night when we were curled up in front of a crackling fire.

A familiar shard of guilt wound through me. What would my soulmate, whoever they were, think of me fantasizing about someone else?

Slowly releasing the bowstring, I tried to tamp down my thoughts.

"This will be perfect." Thankfully, my voice betrayed none of my internal conflict, and I was gifted a small, pleased smile as he led me back to his desk. I'd never seen him smile at anyone else. Solemn yet polite, the Ellon before me seemed rather detached from everything in the village save his work, as if he was waiting for something...as if we were a mere respite from a path he must sooner or later traverse.

Fifty years was a long time to wait, but to him, I supposed, it must be a mere blink. Lives like those around him in the village must be barely worthy of his attention.

I'd be forgotten as quickly as wind whispered through the trees.

What must it be like to be significant enough to warrant even half that recognition in the eyes of one as long-lived as he? I heard my father and one of his business associates discussing the topic over mugs of ale one night in the tavern. Each believed he was several hundreds of years old. My father with all his knowledge of Elves had mused aloud after his friend left that he would not be surprised to find that our resident Ellon merchant had accrued over a thousand years of life.

"Scars like that," he'd said, "are the kind one gets in great wars. The last of which was a very long time ago, indeed."

I was inclined to agree, but where others saw a fearsome, intimidating being not to be approached unless necessity demanded it, I'd found a kindred spirit. He might not be outgoing and overly cheerful, but he was kind. His strength was beyond that of a mortal's, yet he could hold freshly-baked bread so gently that his fingers left no impression.

Even as he wrapped my father's new bow, including a few extra neatly-coiled bowstrings, I couldn't help but wonder how many people had judged him so harshly over the years? How many had feared him so severely that nobody even knew his name? It was true that I knew it not, but that came rather from a sense of embarrassment than fear. After all, what is a tactful way of asking a person's name after years of trying to be respectful without prying into his business? Admitting that nobody in the village knew it would only emphasize how different he was...how lonesome and separate he appeared compared to everyone else.

Oh, damn my fears! I was going to ask him, even if it took all my courage. He deserved to be called by his name as was respectful. For the moment, though, I drew my attention back to the present.

"What do I owe you, sir?" I asked as I reached in my satchel for my little drawstring bag of coins. I'd saved up for long weeks. A quality bow like the one he'd shown me could easily cost fifteen gold pieces. Taking on extra work and small tasks outside of the bakery, I'd managed to save seventeen gold pieces and a few silvers - enough for the bow and repairs for my dagger.

As he tied the wrapping with thick twine, he glanced up at me and, with an entirely straight face, muttered "three gold pieces."

I froze. That couldn't be correct!

"Forgive me, sir, I...I believe I misheard you–" I stammered, but he cut me off.

"No, indeed, my lady. You heard correctly." He looked as serene as the morning dew, green eyes giving away nothing.

"B-But, sir, if I paid such a low price, that would be tantamount to theft! I could not possibly abuse you so!"

He lifted an eyebrow at my assertion.

"Have you, or have you not been instructing the baker to take half of the price of my regular order of bread out of your wages for the last seven years, my lady?"

I blinked, and words failed me for a long beat.

"How did you...?" He gave me a knowing look even as my tongue trailed uselessly off into silence.

"Did you think I would not notice that the price I'd been paying for years was cut in half after a mere week of your employment?"

As a matter of fact, I'd hoped he would assume it was a mere coincidence.

"I have been, but–"

"Then, my lady, please allow me this small liberty," he said walking around his desk to stand before me. "You surely have paid for this bow several times over by now."

My cheeks burned under the intensity of his gaze, but I persisted.

"I did not do so with the expectation of repayment–"

"Very well, then," he murmured, "two gold pieces."

My lips parted in surprise.

"Sir–" Silencing me with a raised hand, he smirked.

"The more you argue, the lower my price. I believe we are currently at one gold piece. Shall we descend into silvers?" Mischief danced in his eyes, but he was serious in his assertion.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked before I could think better of it.

"Because it pleases me," he said looking at me with a steady, constant expression. "Does one need a reason to be kind?"

I felt as though I'd been struck. I'd asked him the same question less than a month after beginning my job with the baker. He'd remembered! I'd thought it was a trivial sort of question at the time, but I suppose if he'd remembered it, I must've struck a chord within him.

"But I don't even know your name," I stammered in a last ditch effort to convince him I wasn't worth his losing so much money.

"Do you think I am unaware of that fact? I have not told it to anyone in decades. None here know it, yet you are the only one who cares that you do not know." He brushed an errant strand of hair behind my ear with the sort of delicacy that one would not expect a weapons merchant to possess. "You see me. That is why it pleases me to make this easier for you."

It took every ounce of self-control within me not to tilt my head and lean into his touch. His gaze dropped to my lips, and he licked his own - a barely-there flick of his tongue that I would've missed had I blinked but an instant earlier.

"If...you still wish to know my name when you retrieve your dagger in the morning, I shall tell it to you, my lady," he murmured even quieter than before.

"Surely you will allow me to pay the correct price for that, sir?" I asked, and a measure of mirth flickered across his expression as he lowered his hand.

"The correct price for you, my lady, would be absolutely nothing. In that regard, yes, I will be charging you the correct price," he stated in a tone that brooked no argument. "I look forward to seeing you come the morn. You may wish to take your father's gift home before he returns so that it might remain a secret."

Nodding silently, I laid three gold pieces on the desk and picked up the wrapped package. Thanking him, I made for the door, hoping that he would not notice the extra coins - surely he knew I couldn't allow him to undercharge me so severely? Before I'd made it more than two steps, however, one of his arms slid around my waist, stopping me in my tracks like a bar of steel.

"Not so fast, meleth," he breathed against the shell of my ear, and I heard the clinking of two coins as they dropped back into my bag. "A valiant attempt, I must admit. I shall see you on the morrow."

Throughout the long walk home, I could not rid myself of the sensation of his lips brushing against my ear nor his breath slightly stirring the hair upon my scalp. The ghostly memory of his arm catching my waist stayed with me until I fell asleep at nearly midnight.

--

Adar could remember the day her name appeared on his arm more clearly than almost any other - a feat for a being with many thousands of years under his belt. He'd been preparing to open his shop for the day when pain lanced across the inside of his forearm. His scars ached occasionally, but this pain was so sharp and different that he'd nearly dropped the newly-forged sword he was preparing to put on display.

Tugging his sleeve back, there it was: her name written in curling, shaky, yet careful font - the way her handwriting would look. He'd been so amazed that he had been given a soulmate after so long that he'd simply dropped onto a stool and stared at his arm for a time. Before her name appeared, he hadn't even been certain that his heavily scarred skin would allow him to see a name should one choose to appear, but now that he had his answer, he faced a new problem.

Should his soulmate have to face the burden of his existence when he was so twisted and broken? Morgoth's scars marred nearly every inch of his body, his face inspired fear in everyone he encountered, and he'd even failed his children. They'd fallen under Sauron's control again, and as they believed him dead, there was no chance they'd listen to him. They'd sooner believe he was a fraud than their father.

For several years, he'd covered the mark, barely daring to check if it was still there when he washed himself. Eventually though, as the years passed, he noticed that his soulmate would touch her own mark almost compulsively. Perhaps she was nervous and simply attempting to calm herself...

The first few times it happened, he ignored it, believing the gentle touch to be no more than a figment of his imagination, but after a while, he ached with the thought that she might believe that she was not wanted. He began following her caresses with a gentle one of his own. He hoped that it was enough that she would not give in to that fear.

Her existence was a miracle to him, even if she could not read his name. He knew she would be unable to, for the language to which he was accustomed had not been written in many thousands of years.

The day he first saw her, too, was vividly embedded in his mind.

A knock had sounded at the door to his shop. He'd ignored it the first time. The baker's delivery boy - unreliable as he was - typically knocked, leaving his wrapped bread upon the doorstep before scurrying away from his threshold as if it was diseased. Adar assumed that it was he who knocked that morning, so he went on as usual. After a few seconds, however, a second knock sounded, accompanied by a feminine voice.

"Delivery from the baker," came the call though the wooden door. Adar had been so surprised that he laid aside his work and opened the door without any further hesitation.

She was beautiful. The early morning sun illuminated her kind, smiling face in a manner befitting one of the Valar. Expecting her to flee upon her first glance at his face, the Uruk was stunned when her nervous smile widened a fraction.

"Good morning, sir," she chirped happily as she pulled his wrapped loaf of bread from her little basket. "I kept everything well-covered, so it should still be warm from the oven."

Accepting the bundle from her with a quiet, stunned rasp of 'thank you, my lady,' Adar couldn't help but watch as she gave a little curtsy and headed on toward the next shop. The cool, gentle breeze had teased her hair and skirt, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her up in his softest blanket so that she would not feel the chill.

One as radiant and lovely as she did not deserve to live in anything less than the most luxurious sort of comfort. His heart had not stirred like that in...he could not remember the last time it had.

He'd heard someone call her name that afternoon - the same name that was etched indelibly on his forearm - and that had startled him more than anything ever had before. This warm ray of light was his soulmate? What had he done to deserve her? He, who was cracked and broken, scarred and burned...none could ever be worthy of her, most especially not him.

A servant of darkness, one marred and twisted by its shadows, should have nothing to do with such a being of light and joy.

Merely a week later, he'd placed his usual order with the baker, and he'd been asked for half of what he usually owed. At his own prodding confusion, the rotund little Man behind the counter had told him with a mischievous twinkle in his eye that someone thought kindly of him. It was not difficult to guess who it was. With all of her smiles and kind words, her unfailingly cheerful greetings whenever she saw him, Adar knew at once that it was her.

She tried to keep it secret, never once bringing up the topic, but he tried to repay her kindness with conversation. He'd been rusty, at first - he still was - but he didn't know how else to show her his gratitude.

Then, one day, he was afforded an opportunity to do so. Traders came through periodically, both seeking and offering wares. Most were well-behaved, exhausted people who wanted no more than to earn a living, but occasionally, there was an outlier among them. A trouble-maker.

One such passed through barely a year hence, and Adar had not liked the way his gaze lingered upon his lady as she made her morning rounds. He watched her too intently and for too long a duration for one with innocent thoughts in mind. No, the Uruk had seen too many over the years with such a glint in their dark, soulless eyes.

When she reached Adar's shop that morning, he'd glared at her evil shadow before gently grasping her hand and suggesting in a low voice that she keep her dagger handy until that particular caravan had left. She'd given him a reassuring smile and pulled the edge of her shawl back just far enough to show him the hilt where it was already strapped at her waist.

He'd never been so proud in all his life, but that didn't stop him from keeping a close eye on her for the rest of the day. None had noticed that his shop was closed with freshly-scattered alfirin seeds before it that afternoon, nor had the filth watching her seen that he was being followed by death's ruined right hand. The trader had followed her halfway back to her home and had begun to catch up with her when a flash of black and silver tugged him silently behind a tree.

The only sound that heralded the scum's death was a snap. She'd turned to look for what had made the noise, believing it to be a branch, and when she found nothing, she made her way safely home.

Her Uruk protector had disposed of the body beside a field where wild horses grazed, laying an empty bottle of spirits beside him. The next morning when the corpse was found, it was obvious to all that he'd gotten drunk, tried to ride one of the beasts, and had been thrown to his death. Adar guarded her door each night until the caravan left. The alfirin seeds had sprouted within mere days, and if any in the village had known their true meaning, the white blooms would have screamed his deed to the world.

But none were the wiser, and his lady was safe. That was all that mattered to him.

Fixing her dagger now was nothing less than a privilege. He'd told her it was easily repaired. In truth, it needed to be reforged. He'd shut his shop for the day and rolled up his sleeves to begin the work.

In the morning, after sharpening the blade's edge, he unlocked his shop door and awaited her arrival. He'd told her that she'd have his name today if she was still interested, but...he was tempted to give her more than that...to show her his mark. His self-indulgent moments when he showed her the bow and when he'd returned her coins had carved themselves upon his heart, stirring within him the desire to hold her again and never let go.

He'd been alone for so long that he now felt like a drowning man each time her eyes met his. She was so close, yet just out of reach. Could she see how much she meant to him? Could she tell that he would save, burn, or change the world entirely at her behest?

The door creaked inward, drawing him out of his thoughts. She was back. He stood straighter as she approached.

"Good morning, my lady." The tentative smile she gave him showed him all that he needed to know. It was time that he told her everything. If she rejected him, well...he'd come to expect pain. It would not surprise him, though, it would be worse than anything he'd yet experienced.

--

"Good morning," I murmured in return. My heart raced in my chest, and I hoped that my voice didn't sound as nervous as I felt. Smoothing my dress a bit further, I approached his desk. "I hope I haven't put you to any trouble."

"Not at all," he answered with a small smile as he lifted my dagger from his desk. "Come, let me show you what I have done."

I did as he asked, moving closer and paying entirely too much attention to the way his large hands dwarfed my little blade. He pulled it carefully from the sheath, showing me his handiwork. He'd polished it, too. The scent floated through the air in a familiar curl.

"Oh, it looks as good as new!" I exclaimed as he handed it carefully to me. The leather grip on the hilt had been replaced and even the balance had improved! "I cannot thank you enough, sir, truly."

"It was my honor, my lady," he said as I passed the blade back. He slid it neatly into its sheath. "Do be cautious. I gave it a quick pass over the whetstone this morning. 'Tis sharper than before."

"Are you sure you won't accept at least some sort of payment?" I asked, and he gave me a mock-stern look. I raised my hands in surrender. "My apologies."

"Gladly accepted."

After a long pause, I finally asked what I'd wanted to.

"May I still ask your name, sir? If your mind has changed, or if you simply do not wish to reveal it, I swear I will not press you on the matter."

He was quiet for a long enough moment that I nearly began pouring forth apologies.

"You are the only one I have wished to tell," he admitted. "You may call me Adar."

Adar. I knew that word from somewhere, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Thank you, Adar. I shan't tell a soul without your permission," I promised, and with an appreciative nod, he held out my sheathed dagger.

"Tell me," he rasped, not relinquishing his hold on my weapon quite yet, "why do you keep your forearm covered?"

I gave a nervous laugh, unable to maintain eye contact with him.

"I...My soulmark is there. I can't read it. Never have I encountered a language quite like it...whatever it might be."

He gave a small smile.

"I can read it." Adar's assertion snapped my gaze up to meet his once more.

"Sir?"

"If you would prefer that I not, that is entirely your prerogative, but I can almost guarantee you that I will be able to read it." When I hesitated, he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Let me help you, my lady."

Quickly stowing my blade in my bag, I began to unwrap the fabric I kept tied over my arm. As I did so, the need to explain myself pulled a flood of words from me.

"I'm not ashamed of my soulmate, whoever they might be, but after a while, the looks I got when people glimpsed the writing...the pity, the confusion...the explanations became a bit tiresome. Besides, it is nobody's business save me and my soulmate," I murmured as the last bit of the cloth came free and fell away revealing the stark, black marks on my arm. Adar moved just a bit closer, a small smile stretching his lips as he caught my arm gently in his grasp. "Can...? Do you recognize it?"

For a moment, he was silent, only nodding his head in response, but that was enough to send my heart racing in my chest. That was more than anyone had told me about my mark in all my years.

"I have not seen this language written in an Age," he breathed, and after a long moment, his eyes met mine. "I am certain that if you knew the answer, you would regret inquiring about your soulmate's identity."

I couldn't hide my confusion.

"What do you mean? No matter who they are, if the marks are any indication, I can handle it. I have never known them to be wrong," I said, and he looked back down at my arm. "Please. You are the only hope I have of ever being able to read it."

His grip on my arm loosened somewhat, as if he was expecting me to tear myself from his grasp.

"I...have not used this name in thousands of years," he whispered tracing the first half of the dark runes, "but it was still mine. I prefer Adar, now, but...your mark seems to have taken that into account."

My lips parted in surprise, but I was frozen as he traced his fingertips lightly, carefully over the rest of the marks near my wrist.

"Just after that slight separation is the name you would now recognize as mine," he murmured, then he lifted my wrist and placed a kiss onto my mark, reverent and affectionate. The ancient writing tingled and sparked over and beneath my skin, sending a wave of pleasure through me.

He released my arm and tugged back his own sleeve, showing me my scrawled name on his scarred forearm. Carefully, afraid that he'd disappear, that this would turn out to have just been a dream, I touched him just as he'd done.

"For whole Ages, my arm was blank. There were others whose marks were slow to appear, but those whom I knew waited mere centuries. I was convinced that I was not destined for that fate," Adar admitted as I touched the first letter of my name. "I wondered...if I would even be able to read a name should it appear on my skin, or if it would appear as twisted as my scars."

As a tear slipped down my cheek, I kissed his arm as he'd done to mine. The slight gasp that escaped him was like ambrosia for my soul.

"I'm so sorry. You waited for so long, and all you got for your trouble was a mortal with terrible penmanship..." I trailed off with a sniffle, but he tilted my chin up with his free hand and shook his head.

"It is beautiful, because it is yours. It tethered me to you. This mark meant that I was no longer alone." His soft, rasping voice was filled with emotion. "Do not apologize for giving me hope when I'd dared not cling to it for such a long time. I should be begging your forgiveness, my lady. You do not deserve one as unworthy as I."

I shook my head in protest.

"Only I decide what I deserve. If anything, it is I who does not deserve you," I murmured. "You who have lived so many lives...having seen and experienced things I could scarcely imagine..."

I reached up slowly so that he could stop me if he wished, but he made no move to do so. My fingertips brushed his cheeks as lightly as was physically possible.

"I could want no other but you. I have felt guilt for so long. I could not read my mark, but I felt when my soulmate touched his. And yet, I knew that I had lost my heart to you the day we met." My confession felt like the sweetest relief. "If that name had belonged to any other, I would have been distraught."

Adar leaned into my touch, closing his eyes and drawing a slow breath. Twin tears escaped, dripping down his face in an asynchronous race.

"Now that I have you, I cannot give you back, meleth," he warned as he stepped closer and rested his forehead against mine.

"Then, keep me," I whispered, and his lips finally, finally met mine.

~*~

Taglist:

@bigblissandlove1

[bitsbug]

good evening rainworld community. look at my ocs NOW

YOU CAN ASK THEM QUESTIONS BTW. please do I’ve been marinating them for months. finely cured.

multiple paragraphs introducing each under the cut !

Curtains Drawn Over Bone - he/him

The first of my iterators, and frankly the most developed. Curtains is incredibly young for an iterator, made at the tail end of the last generation, and was subject to some.. negligent planning during his construction. He was placed in an area of dubious rain quality and worse ground stability; the conditions were considered acceptable back then, but millions of cycles later that's no longer the case.

 Despite this glaring issue, he's been handling it better than you'd expect. Having recognized the long-term affects of his placement early on, Curtains took an interest in maintenance and optimization in order to survive, completely disregarding the Great Problem. He's broken some taboos in the process, and surprisingly didn't contract rot while doing it. His efforts have paid off with a suite of purposed organisms and a significantly more advanced, upgraded facility.

 Some things would be impossible to address, though. Despite his best efforts, erosion and earthquakes now threaten to topple his can; something he's scrambling to fix.

 Curtains is generally regarded as a finicky, flighty person by his group. He's a recluse and a workaholic, driven by some desperate ferver to avoid the worst. When he does appear in chatrooms, he seems constantly wound up, often vanishing as quickly as he arrives. He was like this long before his current situation. But do not mistake his nervousness for ineptitude, because Curtains is very meticulous and dedicated in his endeavors, backed by his thorough understanding of iterator anatomy and a genuine passion for his work.

Twenty Taken in Vain - they/them

The only iterator in this damn group who isn't a social recluse. Built in the golden age of the Ancients, a time of prosperity and uneventfulness, TTiv found their place in the bustling global communities of their kin. They're of the belief that research is best done collaboratively, and constructed their workflow around this frame.

But, really, they never much cared for that work or their purpose. Devoting themself to tireless research for something likely impossible just wasn't a good use of time, nor did they find the process very interesting, so they sought to fulfill their life in less desolate ways. As much as a sentient, static building is able to, at least.

In particular, Twenty Taken in Vain pursues a variety of art forms! There's a critical lack of artwork made with iterators in mind (While interesting to discuss, most Ancient books can be read in less than a second for example), so they seek to fill that gap. Their main passion is literature, but they do dabble in many other subjects, such as digital painting, textile weaving, 'false memory' qualia fabrication, and DMing a tabletop roleplaying game for their local group.

Their social proclivities haven't served them well in recent years, because the global communications decay has left them more isolated than ever before. Losing contact with multiple close friends has drained them of motivation, and made them fearful of losing those they do have left. Imagine like, depression but on a supercomputer scale.

In personality, TTiv is as chatty as you'd expect of them, but without the energy associated with extroversion. Their charisma is carried in their nonchalance and humor, with an undertone of snarkiness - only occasionally with any bite to it. They're adaptable as well, without a fixation on one subject and a willingness to introspect. Since the comm failure, they've become a lot quieter and more irritable, stress they've barely kept under wraps.

Anxiety Practice - it/xe

Polite and inoffensive, AP is an easily overlooked iterator. It appears frequently in chatrooms, but always in the shadow of its kin, and rarely draws attention to itself. Despite this demeanor, xe certainly aren't shy or nervous - that's already taken by Curtains - xe just prefer xer distance and privacy.

 As it currently stands, Anxiety is the only member of its group actively working on the Great Problem. It prefers exploring more unorthodox theories for ascension, with a fixation on Karma flowers and their properties. As part of its experiments, its created a few.. curious organisms hybridized with the flower. It also collaborates closely with Distant Humming for information on the grander Cycle and general advice. Thus far, it's made a few fascinating discoveries, but predictibly no breakthroughs on the Triple Affirmative. Oh also, sometimes xe put karma-affecting drug cocktails into xer water intake. normal iterator behavior i promise.

 Even at xer most comfortable and nonchalant, AP keeps an aloof, almost stoic nature. Chronically icy cool, xe seem incapable of expressing anything besides calm indifference. This isn't true, of course, xer composure is just nothing to scoff at. It even uses its reputation for comedy at times, usually through deadpan delivery or 'breaking character'.

Distant Humming - she/Her

An anomaly in existence, the first iterator to almost reach ascension. Distant Humming became an echo by her own hand, using heavy adjustments to her retaining wall and filter pumps to essentially bathe her facility in void fluid, solving the issue of her kinds' distributed conscience by just addressing all of it. at once.

 Her subsequent failed ascension left her systems broken and mutated in impossible ways, but she functions nonetheless in her ethereal, undying state. The warping irreparably affected her memory and personality though; she considers herself a different person from the Humming before.

 Despite her uncanny nature and haunting appearance, Distant Humming is a surprisingly amiable person, if vague or foreboding at times. Her detached state of existence allows her the breathing room to appreciate the world for what it is, and insight into the Cycle that'd be impossible to gain from within it. She's happy to share her observations with anyone who'd listen.

 About once a year, Humming's karmic cycle aligns with that of her local group, affording her a limited time to speak with them. She appears totally non-existent outside this period.

THAT’S ALL BYEEE

[eksvaized]

Part One König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist: - (if you want to be added - let me know!)

since I finished editing 'just friends', I decided to rewrite & edit this story, so I hope you'll enjoy the new version! <3

Each morning, you awaken alone. The enormous bed, once filled with warmth, now cold and empty. Today, your morning isn't any different from the countless ones that have come before. As you roll onto your side, your hand stretches out, tracing the cool, empty expanse of the mattress. Your fingers curl around the frosty pillow, its fabric still bearing the faintest scent of him. You draw it closer to you, clutching at it in a futile attempt to fill the void that is left by your boyfriend and his lack of presence.

A sigh, barely audible, escapes your lips as a wave of loneliness engulfs you. Its icy tendrils wrap tightly around your heart, constricting it in a bitter reminder of your solitude. You yearn for a morning where you can flutter open your eyes to find König next to you, his arms securely wrapped around your body, his breath warm against your skin. You long to see him still sleeping, his face relaxed in peaceful slumber, instead of disappearing and getting out of bed as soon as the first rays of sunshine peek through the window. A longing for the soft whispers of "good morning" and the gentle comfort of his embrace fills you, making the emptiness of the bed all the more pathetic.

The first two years of your relationship with König were great. You were happy, genuinely happy, and over the moon because you finally had someone in your life, who truly cared about you, who showered you with attention and affection, and even lavished you with expensive gifts. You felt cherished and valued, and it was a feeling unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

However, as of late, König has transformed into someone unrecognizable. He is still your boyfriend; you love him very much, and he probably loves you even more. Yet, his demeanour, his behaviour, and the manner in which he has started to conduct himself have left you in a state of constant questioning. The love you once never doubted now seems uncertain, as his actions and attitude have begun to paint a different picture—he's not the man you met and fell in love with two years ago.

Sometimes, usually after a couple glasses of wine when you've gathered the courage, you dare to confront him about his nonchalant attitude towards you. In these moments of newfound bravery, you bombard him with questions, desperately seeking to understand if it's something you are doing that causes him to act as if he couldn't care less about you or your feelings. But no matter how earnestly you implore, he never gives you the answers you're looking for. He never provides any concrete explanations or reasons for his indifference.

He has a myriad of excuses for why he doesn't want to engage with you about your concerns. The reasons are countless and they change each time, just like shifting sands, always elusive and never consistent. You've heard a variety of them. For instance, he might dismiss your confrontation because of you being wine drunk, suggesting that you should go to bed. Another time, he might say he's too tired to engage in a deep conversation and promise to talk with you in the morning.

But perhaps the one that stings the most, your least favourite, is when he pretends he didn't hear you. Even when you're standing directly in front of him, looking at him with teary eyes, and pouring out your heart, he chooses to feign ignorance and act as though he didn't hear a single word. This cold dismissal is far worse than any words he could say.

Although he's cold with you, he never never displays any outright cruelty. Still, you can't help but notice the chilly detachment that has creeps into his voice when he talks with you. It's as if a frost has settled over your conversations, making each word feel like a shard of ice. Or the flicker of irritation that now seems to have taken up permanent residence in his eyes whenever he comes home and sees you. It's as if he's looking through you rather than at you, seeing not the person you are but the person he wishes you were.

König has constructed around himself an impenetrable wall. A wall so thick and so high that no matter how much you chip away at it, no matter how hard you try to scale its heights, it remains steadfast. It stands there as a constant reminder of the gulf that has opened up between you two—a gulf that seems to widen with each passing day.

You find yourself continuously attempting to convince your own mind that this is merely a fleeting phase, a temporary hiccup in your relationship. Every relationship, after all, has its own set of struggles and hurdles to overcome. It's normal, you tell yourself, maybe all you need to do is to be patient and wait it out. Time has a way of healing wounds and mending bridges, and perhaps a little more of it could be the magic potion that brings everything back to the way it used to be - normal and simple.

However, despite your best efforts to suppress it, there's a harsh, cruel voice that resides in the deepest recesses of your mind, nagging persistently. It casts a dark shadow of doubt over your thoughts, suggesting with an unsettling certainty that maybe, just maybe, the once deep love that existed between you and him is gradually, and painfully, fading away into oblivion.

You are brewing coffee, desperately hoping that the invigorating aroma and the caffeine would help to dissipate the remnants of sleep that linger stubbornly within you. The quiet solitude of the early morning embraces you, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the brewing machine and the occasional chirping of a bird outside.

But suddenly, the tranquillity of the moment shatters like glass as the front door swings open with a force that rings through the house. This abrupt entrance is quickly followed by the distinct, rhythmic thud of heavy boots making their way down the lengthy corridor. Each footfall sends a reverberation through the floorboards. The sound is so familiar, yet it sends a jolt through your heart. You don't even need to turn around to know - König has returned home.

Over the past few weeks, you've found yourself walking on eggshells around him. It feels as though the surrounding air has become thin and brittle, ready to shatter at the slightest misstep. You've been constantly monitoring your words and actions, choosing them with careful deliberation so as not to accidentally exacerbate his increasingly volatile mood, which has been fluctuating more frequently as days pass. But when he finally appears in the doorway of the kitchen, his face etched with deep lines of exhaustion and his eyes vacant, you find the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"What's wrong?"

His response is curt, delivered with an air of finality that leaves no room for further questions. "Nothing you need to worry about, liebling," he says, attempting to alleviate the palpable tension in the kitchen with a smile. But it's strained, fragile, like a piece of glass that's on the verge of shattering. The corners of his lips quiver slightly, an involuntary reaction betraying his inner turmoil. The frown lines etched deep on his forehead refuse to disappear, stubbornly present even as he tries to mask his emotions.

He closes the distance between you, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He leans in to plant a brief, fleeting kiss on your forehead, his lips colder than you remember, their warmth replaced by a chill that sends a shiver down your spine. As he continues his task, his hand reaches up to retrieve a cup from the cupboard above your head. You can't help but notice the new changes in him. His movements lack their usual grace, his touch feels mechanical, and his caresses are devoid of the genuine affection you've grown accustomed to. It's as if he's simply operating on autopilot, his mind evidently elsewhere.

You yearn for him to confide in you, to share his burdens and let you in on the whirlwind of thoughts that seem to be plaguing him. You wish to be his solace, to help him navigate through his sea of worries. More than anything, you want to help him, to alleviate his worries and bring back the man you know and love. But how can you do that if he refuses to let you in, if he remains so stubbornly silent, his emotions locked up tighter than a fortress?

"I'm leaving tomorrow. Have another mission. It's going to be a short one," König finally says, his gaze piercing you with an intensity that suggests he's expecting you to blow up.

However, you strive to maintain your composure. You have no intention of descending into another fruitless argument; every time he leaves after a fight, you feel awful for the way you acted.

"It's only been a week since you've returned home," you say, your eyes focused on the steaming cup cradled in your hands. The heat radiating from the cup is causing your fingertips to tingle, and the steam is lightly brushing against your skin. Despite the discomfort, you hold on to it with a firm grip. "I thought you were going to stay for at least another week. We had plans, remember? You gave me your word—."

He cuts you off before you can complete your sentence. "Plans have changed."

There have been countless times when you've wanted to confront König, to ask him directly why he finds it so challenging to uphold the promises that he so confidently makes. Yet each time you find yourself holding back, fully aware that such a conversation would be futile and would only result in both of you raising your voices in frustration. It has become painfully clear that he has no intention of discussing work-related matters with you.

König has a habit of offering reassurances that are devoid of any real comfort. He frequently insists that it's silly for you to burden your mind with matters that, in his opinion, do not directly concern you. This line of reasoning, though flawed, he presents as if it were an undeniable truth. And if, despite his attempts to dissuade you, you still muster the courage to press further, he always has a fallback. He always abruptly ends the conversation, leaving you hanging with a parting remark that it would be safer, better for you, if you remained ignorant.

* * *

As dawn breaks, you stir from your slumber only to find yourself enveloped once again by the cold emptiness of the bed beside you. The dreary grey skies outside mirror your inner turmoil. Raindrops pitter-patter gently against the windowpane. König didn't even bother waking you up before leaving. Yet, his absence is punctuated by a hastily scrawled note left carelessly on the nightstand. The message is brief and impersonal, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth: 'had to get up early, didn't want to wake you up. see you soon.'

Was it really so difficult to scribble three more words?

With a soft sigh, you whisper into the stillness of the bedroom, "I love you, too." The words, left unsaid by him, hang heavy in the air. You clutch the note in your hand before crumpling it and aimlessly tossing it onto the mattress.

With a great deal of effort, you pull yourself from the warm embrace of the bed, your feet reluctantly making contact with the icy floor beneath. You pause for a second, collecting your scattered thoughts, allowing the remnants of sleep to fade away as you mentally prepare yourself for yet another day.

Slowly, you venture through the hauntingly silent house, each step echoing through the stillness of the early morning. Each room you pass through seems to reverberate with echoes of a thousand memories that seem to cling to the walls and linger in the air. Yet amidst the symphony of remembrances, there's one memory that stands out from the rest, a memory that refuses to be drowned out by the others. It's that heated argument with König, a fiery exchange of words and emotions that took place just a few months ago.

You vividly recall the sting of his dismissive attitude on that day when you bared your soul to him, accusing him bitterly of not taking your relationship as seriously as you did, accusing him of taking your love, your commitment, for granted as if it were an inconsequential thing.

In the depths of your heart, you wished fervently, desperately even, for him to just be honest with you if his feelings for you were slowly fading away, like the last embers of a once roaring fire. You wanted him to admit it if he no longer felt the same passion, the same affection that once seemed to radiate from him like a comforting warmth.

But instead of providing the honesty you craved, he had merely dismissed your concerns, brushed them aside like dust. He told you that you were imagining things, that it was all just a figment of your overactive imagination, assuring you with words that felt hollow, that nothing between you two had changed.

But by the day's end, he had taken a step that had left you reeling in confusion. He had asked you to move in with him, a grand gesture that he believed would dispel your doubts and insecurities, a gesture that he thought would reassure you of his commitment. But instead of providing the comfort he hoped it would, it merely added another layer of complexity to the turbulent sea of emotions within you.

Initially, there was a glimmer of hope, a faint belief that things were on the verge of improving. You harboured the thought that perhaps the physical distance, the living apart, had been the catalyst that dimmed the once vibrant flame of your relationship. However, as each day bled into the next, and weeks morphed into seemingly interminable months, the solitary confinement within these walls began to weigh heavily on you.

The more time you spent alone in this house, the more you found yourself yearning for the familiar corners of your old apartment, regretting the decision to sell it to relocate here. After all, you pondered, what difference does it make where you live? The four walls of a room are just that, and the absence of König made this house feel no different than your old apartment.

What was the point of moving in together if König was always away, prioritising his work and his duty as a soldier above you?

You shake your head, as if physically trying to dispel the thoughts that have begun to creep into your mind. You can't allow yourself to dwell on them any longer, to let them take root and cast a shadow over your day. After all, the day has only just begun and you don't want to end up sulking on the couch, a prisoner in your own home, wallowing in a sea of regret and loneliness.

You stroll into the kitchen. As you slowly approach the counter, your fingers lightly graze the cool, granite surface, your mind whirling with the endless possibilities of what to make for breakfast. Your gaze wanders aimlessly, eventually settling on the window that provides a picturesque view of the neighbourhood.

You squint against the bright sun, your eyes catching an unusual sight - a man, his face damp with sweat under the morning sun, is engaged in an arduous task of moving boxes from a truck to the house across the street. His movements are slow and meticulous, each box handled with care as if they contain something precious.

A new neighbour.

A sense of intrigue washes over you, an irresistible curiosity that grips your very being. It's a magnetic pull that holds your attention captive, rendering you incapable of tearing your gaze away from the scene unfolding before your eyes.

His house lies across the street, a good distance away, yet his features are strikingly apparent and impossible to ignore even from your secluded vantage point in the cosy confines of your kitchen. His stature is tall and imposing, a figure that commands attention. His shoulders are broad, his hair is a dishevelled mess of rich blond locks.

As the day wears on, you find yourself repeatedly drawn to the kitchen window. Every so often, the man would step outside to retrieve yet another box from his truck, providing you with fleeting glimpses of him.

You remind yourself that you are in a committed relationship. You know that ogling other men is not something you should be doing. It's not something you usually do, and it's certainly not something you want to make a habit of.

However, in the recesses of your mind, a voice tries to justify your actions. It whispers, seeking to ease your guilt. You're just looking. That's not really doing anything wrong, right? It's a feeble attempt at rationalizing, but it works nonetheless.

[puppiesandnightlock]

LINK: lucky i’m in love with my best friend

Summary: Damian knew better then to speak unauthorized to the press, especially after the less than platonic nature of what had just occurred. Oh well, no one expected a normal press conference for a Wayne coming out, not after the last few of them.

prompt that won on the Tumblr poll: "Is Wayne heir Damian Wayne gay?" "I don't know," Damian smirks, grabbing Jon's hand. "Maybe a little."

Theoretically, Damian should have known better than to egg on the press. After all, he’d been raised in the spotlight since his mother had dropped him on his father’s doorstep, trained in PR perfection, and generally had distaste for the scandals or big things his family would cause, purposefully or not. 

But sometimes it was just so hard not to, especially when it was so amusing to see them scouting for any crumb of information, drawing their own far-fetched conclusions that made them seem even stupider to those who knew the truth.

The annual Wayne gala had arrived, and speculations about just who the Wayne boys would be bringing as their dates were up in the air. Reporters were getting antsy as they always did that time of year, sloppily hidden and jumping for scoops. Tabloids were printing off theory after theory, each more laughable than the last, especially about the youngest Wayne. 

This year, Damian was finally considered of age to be taking a proper date, despite the fact that they had never managed to catch him with a romantic partner of any kind—or at least with one of the female variety. 

Reporters swarmed the entrances of the gala, taking pictures and brandishing their microphones like swords. Damian scoffed as he looked outside the tinted window of their limo.

“Vultures, the lot of them.” 

“You’ve had years to get used to it by now.” Tim said from across the car. “Complaining only makes it worse.”

He scowled as his eldest brother pulled him into a headlock, threatening to mess up his delicately arranged hair.

“Lighten up, Baby Bat! Jon goes every year, and I think some of your school friends will show up.”

“Tt.” He made a valiant effort to push his brother away without messing up his outfit, straightening his jacket, and smoothing out the wrinkles that weren’t there.

“Who’re you tryn’ to impress?” Jason snorted, legs crossed over. Damian blessed his training, keeping his face straight and his heartbeat steady while fighting to cool his rising body temperature. 

“Just because I despise these things does not mean I wish to go looking like a slob. Although I suppose the sentiment is not often shared.”

He looked around the car, his father in the corner, Tim on his phone, Duke with his headphones blocking out the conversations, Jason with a book, and Dick at his side scrolling through social media. Cassandra and Stephanie had taken the other limo with Barbara, insisting it was a girls-only deal. Tim had decided to go with Bart, Cassie, and Kon, much to Bruce’s despair, and the three of them would be arriving on their own, in whatever shape Damian couldn’t say. 

No one responded to his quite obvious jab, as was to be expected. His brothers often remarked that he would get prickly in times like these, which was completely preposterous, but that wasn't the point. The point of this was that they were pulling up to the entrance and would be completely bombarded by people who hadn’t anything better to do than ask invasive questions and draw incriminating conclusions.

“Time to face the music!” His father said cheerily, already in his Brucie Wayne, father of six, not including the in-laws persona. 

“Dying again sounds nice, actually.” Jason muttered, shoving Dick out after Bruce. He went next, followed by Tim, Duke, and then Damian himself. 

“Damian, Damian, who’s your date for tonight? You seem to be missing one!”

“Mr. Drake-Wayne, care to comment on the recent Wayne Enterprises partnership?”

“Mr. Wayne, how is your most recent investment?”

They pushed past, stopping only to smile and wave at the cameras, making it safely through the doors and into the ballroom. Damian slipped away as Tim and Bruce were swarmed, with Dick and Duke veering off to the side to meet the girls. Jason had gone off in search of Roy Harper, no doubt, seeing as he’d invited the red-haired man as his date.

He found a relatively nice spot to hide in, scanning the room to see if any of his Gotham Academy schoolmates had been invited and if he had to avoid them. Finding none, he picked up a flute offered by a passing waiter (sparkling cider, goddammit.) and prayed to whatever deity would listen that no old people would come by to remark on how big he was getting and if he’d like to meet their granddaughter?

The dances had long since started, and he amused himself watching his family switch between making fools of themselves and actually being sweet. There was his sister, Cassandra leading Stephanie into an elegant dance, catching the awe of partygoers. 

And then there was Tim’s group, all of whom were failing spectacularly. Damian really didn’t expect much else, simply taking a picture for blackmail. As he was angling his camera, he heard rustling from behind him, making light steps as if someone were barely touching the ground. He relaxed, not even pretending to be surprised as hands came over his eyes and a chin came to rest on his shoulder.

“Guess who!” The voice of his farm boy came to his ears. “You only get one, so make sure it's good.”

“My significant annoyance.” Damian smirked, putting his flute to the side and tapping the hands over his eyes three times in a gentle gesture. 

“If that’s what you’re labeling this.” Jon grumbled, dropping his hands and glancing around to see how hidden they were before slipping his arms around Damian's waist. “I also accept better half, significant other, romantic partner, boyyyyyfriend~”

“Never say it like that again.” Damian sighed, letting the taller boy sway them back and forth to the soft music. 

They had a few seconds of silence before Jon quickly dropped his arms and pushed Damian away. Damian getting the hint and grabbing the flute of cider. The two of them went back into more of the open space, leaving some room between them.

“Hey Mom.” Jon waved, Damian just barked behind him. 

“Mrs. Lane.” He looked to the side. “Father.”

“You can call me Lois, Damian.” She said as she had since the first year of his and Jon's friendship. “Where did you boys disappear to?”

“Not causing any trouble, I hope.” Bruce grinned next to her, reaching out to ruffle his son’s hair. 

Damian dodged, with Jon standing in front of him dutifully. “No, Father. If I wished to cause a scandal, I would have done it by now.”

“I know, son.” Bruce said, tired parent bleeding into his tone. “Just watch what you’re doing. Some of the more bloodthirsty ones are out tonight, and not the ones like the Kents.”

Damian’s nose wrinkled, rolling his eyes and tugging on Jon’s suit jacket. Oh, that was something he hadn’t noticed before. “I understand, Father. However, if I am provoked, I cannot say I will mind my tongue.”

Bruce’s response was lost in the crowd as Damian pulled Jon along, unwilling to lose his partner in the masses. He wound up at a table where his siblings were residing, the two sitting at a respectable distance from each other. 

“Babies of the families!” Dick cheered as they sat down, Jon and Damian with similar expressions of distaste.

They were roped into the conversation, inching closer and closer with each moment. Damian felt an ankle hook over his, and he looked up to see Jon carrying on speaking, waving with his hands and laughing. He would be content to listen to him ramble forever. 

God, he was getting soft.

His other leg was kicked from under the table, and he turned in that direction, defense ready. He dropped it as he realized it was just Cass, who raised a teasing eyebrow at him.

“Have something to say, Cassandra?” He gritted out, daring her to say something. There was a reason Jon and he had kept their relationship under wraps for almost a year, and it certainly wasn’t for the press.

One of Damian’s siblings or Connor would find out and spread it to the next until the entirety of their stupidly large family knew, endlessly hounding both of them for the rest of the year. They would make a big deal out of nothing, insisting they couldn’t go anywhere together without a chaperone or the press seeing them, even though they were 17, dammit.

Cass looked between the two of them, shaking her head but keeping the smug look that had begun to rise. For the love of all that was holy, he hoped there wasn’t an on-going bet that she had just won. His siblings never did tire of humiliating him.

He pulled away from Jon, getting closer to his sister for better privacy. ”You are not to tell anyone; whatever you think is going on is absolutely not.” 

She shrugged at him before motioning to their father on the other side of the room. ”Better to tell now. Press are hungry.”

Better a sweet teen love story than whatever scandal was on the corner? Damian looked around their table, noting the disappearance of some couples, knowing she was correct. Leave it to him to save his siblings’ asses, yet again.

Besides, he’d rather tell them himself than have everyone find out from the gossip chain that was the super-youth community. Now, how to go about it?

”Hey.” Damian tapped on the table to catch Jon’s attention, speaking low enough that only someone with super-hearing could reach. ”Do you remember your ballroom dance lessons?”

A quick, nearly impalpable nod followed. Damian hummed in interest before asking, ”If you think you’re ready, we’ll announce it tonight. Ask me to dance in a few minutes when this dance ends and the other starts.”

The twitch of his lips let Damian know Jon was fighting a smile and struggling to keep his nonchalance, only nodding again.

As the dance ended and the next one began, Jon stood slowly, bowing at the waist in an overly dramatic show, looking up with a grin. 

“May I have this dance, darlin’?” A hand was held out, but he stayed in a bowing position. Murmurs and muffled laughter came from their siblings, Damon rolling his eyes, the action offset by the fond expression and hint of pink on his face.

“I suppose you may.” He placed his hand in Jon’s, following until they were swept into the dance. They could both feel the eyes on them, one more accustomed than the other.

Damian could feel Jon tense and caught his eyes, impossibly blue, flecks of purple highlighting it all. They would always be the thing he could never fully capture in his artwork—icy pools, both still and stormy, pulling him in until he felt like he was drawing in their waters. 

”Don’t mind them; eyes on me, my love.” He murmured, his hand tightening from where it was draped across his shoulder and neck. Jon gave a lopsided smile, spinning them around with the rest of the pairs on the dance floor. 

”Your dad is being followed.” He remarked. ”You know this means we’re going to have to talk to them. Our parents won’t be happy this is how we decided to come out.”

“Better than news getting wind of where Todd and Harper are right now, or someone accusing my father of something.” Damian lowered his voice. “And now I can show you off, beloved. Don’t you want everyone to know I'm yours instead of speculating about all the people I could be dating?”

Jon made a huffing noise, a flush making his freckles more prominent. “You're so mean to me, D.”

“It’s not mean; it’s true.” Damian chuckled as they stepped in time with the slow rhythm. “And I'll use my knowledge of you to my advantage.”

“I'll just have to keep you happy, then.” Jon tapped his forehead with Damian's gently as he turned to face him, the other boy’s cheeks darkening.

They bow to each other as Damian whispers in response, “That shouldn’t be hard; you’ve already done it. You, Jon Kent, have my whole heart, and I have yours, and that is what makes me happy.”

“Oh my God.” Jon pressed a hand to his cheek, his face going red. “You can’t just say things like that in public; I'll explode.”

They stepped off the floor, forgetting momentarily that they had just given a major opening to expose their relationship. No one was making a big deal out of it yet, despite them all noticing. They’d stopped paying attention to the stares fairly quickly, so neither could really tell when they stopped.

Bruce was a few heads away, Lois dragging Clark through the crowds, trying to beat out Vicki Vale, who was on a warpath to them.

“We’re fucked.” Jon muttered to his boyfriend, a rare public curse leaving him. There was one more escape route open, and Damian tugged him towards it, suddenly accosted by a recorder in his face.

”Shit.” Damian backed up into Jon, who stumbled, righting himself and his boyfriend quickly. “Uh, hello? If you’d like an interview, please schedule with my father.

“Please, Mr. Wayne, just a moment of your time.” A reporter in a loose dress shirt and fitted slacks blocked their path, big hoop earrings swinging.

Watching theirs, Damian subconsciously touched the gold cuff in his own ear that connected to a chain in his lobe. “I don’t think I can-”

“Tell me, one question that I know is on everyone’s mind right now-HEY!” They yelped as they were hip-checked to the side—another two recorders in his face now.

Damian looked up in surprise as Vicki Vale replaced the earlier reporter, who was still holding out their recorder. Lois came out of the crowd, pulling her husband by his tie and holding out her own device. Clark had a notepad and a nervous look, scribbling down whatever Lois was telling him to.

"Well, Damian, let’s hear it. Is the Wayne Heir gay?” Vicki waited expectantly, with Lois and the other reporter fuming beside her.

Damian looked at the three black devices in front of him, looked at his father, who was coming up behind him, and then at the Kents, Lois, who was mouthing that he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to.

Then he looked at Jon. His Jon. He was tired of hiding and waiting, and he knew Jon was too. His taller boyfriend gave a tap three times to his arm, a silent permission on his side and a strengthening ‘I love you.’

He shoved down the nerves and willed his hands to stop becoming clammy, smirking at them as he leaned into the microphones.

“I don’t know.” Damian grinned, slipping his hand into Jon’s and squeezing it gently. “Maybe a little.”

Jon covered his mouth with his free hand, trying not to laugh, his mother giving him a nod. The amateur reporter smiled at him, Vicki lunging forward, before Bruce coughed loudly from behind them.

“If I could have a moment with my son, please.” He gave a pointed look at the two of them. ”Withoutrecorders.”

Vicki seemed about to retort; the other reported nodding frantically and scurrying away, not so subtly bumping into her as they passed, causing Vicki to follow after and yell.

“I know I said I wouldn't cause anything with the media, but-” Damian began, stopping as his father placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“While I wish you would have told me first so I could deal with the press properly, I want you to know that I'm proud of you and I love you how you are.”

He paused, confused, before he realized what he had technically just done and what his father was trying to say.

“Oh. Uh, thank you, Father.” 

“I would just like to say that I knew it.” Lois cut in, saving them from further awkwardness. “Jon couldn’t hide a secret about you in his life.”

“Mom!” Jon dropped his face to hide in Damian’s shoulder. “They don’t need to hear about that.”

“I would actually love to.” His boyfriend smirked as he groaned.

“I’m breaking up with you.” Jon informed him, his voice muffled by the suit. 

“You wouldn’t dare.” Damian reached up to tug on his curls. “You would perish without me, farm boy.”

“I would miss you too much.” He lifted his head from where it was buried in his shoulder before flushing and hiding again as his father cleared his throat. 

“Well, as lovely as this all is, you both need to be talked to. And sleepovers are postponed indefinitely. We are going to lay down some ground rules here, since you’re both still living with us.”

Damian sighed, while Jon groaned again. Lois laughed, reaching to ruffle both of their heads, getting the expected complaints. 

"Alright, lover boys, have your night.” She tugged on Bruce's sleeve, and Clark followed them both, leaving Jon and Damian standing in the crowd. 

“Wanna get out of here?” Jon whispered in his ear, his hands resting above his stomach and his chin on his shoulder.

“More than anything.” Damian responded, feeling the table with his siblings burning a hole in the side of his head. 

They untangle themselves from each other, slipping into the crowds and out through a window, Jon zooming them through the cloudy Gotham sky, before landing on one of their favorite spots, the rooftop of a Wayne Enterprise building. He set Damian down gently, sitting next to him, their legs swinging over the edge. 

“Well, we did that.” He bumped his shoulder, entwining his fingers with Damian’s. ”You did that.”

Damian laughed. “We did, didn’t we?”

They fell back into silence, watching the bright city lights shine below them. Damian leaned against him, letting out a breath of air. He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Jon’s, his taller boyfriend parting their hands to tug him closer, and then returned the gesture by kissing his temple.

There would be a media storm to deal with; siblings, parents, friends. But that was something for tomorrow.

Tonight, there were just the two of them, above the city and the lights, away from the cameras, where they could just be. 

[minecraftbookshelf]

I totally am not considering Empires Season 1 AUs

Jimmy, pouting: “Why do I have to get married for the treaty.”

Lizzie, eating breakfast: “Because the Wither Rose Alliance refused anything less than a marriage and I figured you would rather marry one of their allies than one of them.”

Jimmy, sulking: “So obviously I should marry the one we know nothing about bc his brother keeps him home under lock and key.”

Lizzie, spreading jam on a fish filet: “Well if the worst comes to worst and he’s absolutely terrible, at least you can just outlive him. Elves only live like four or five hundred years anyway.”

Jimmy: *opens his mouth*

Jimmy: *closes his mouth*

Jimmy: “How did that plan work out for you, then?”

Seablings: *look at each other*

Seablings: *look at Joel*

Joel, a perfectly normal, garden variety human. Who has inexplicably been married to Lizzie for ~600 years now: “is there something on my face?”

Lizzie: “Point taken.”

Meanwhile, in Rivendell

Scott, who has been relying on his brother’s lava magic to keep him from freezing their whole kingdom over for a long time now: “Oh yes this is going to go so well. We’re going to end up going to war with the Ocean because I accidentally turn the swamp kingdom into an ice skating rink. Excellent diplomacy, brother. You should get a prize.”