#this got long but I couldn't resist

[breannasfluff]

fairy!! (Hyrule)

congrats on 500!!!!!!

“Wars? Can’t you teach me to sew?”

Hyrule glances up to watch Wild sit next to the captain, fabric in hand. 

Warriors looks surprised as well, but puts aside the book he was reading. “Sure. What are you making?”

“Just need to learn some basic stitches.” The champion neatly avoids the question.

With a shrug, Warriors grabs the thread and string. “Ok, first you’re going to need to make a knot and…”

Hyrule rapidly loses interest in the description. He knows how to sew enough to mend rips, but not make new outfits. It’s too bad, because his fairy form is stuck with the same outfit time after time. While he can buy a new tunic, where is he going to get clothes sized for a fairy?

Still, it’s a silly need and Hyrule pushes it away. They’ve got bigger things to worry about.

Hyrule and Wild are wandering through the woods, enjoying both the peace and the time to explore. The champion keeps shooting him darting look; something clearly on his mind.

The traveler gives him a smile and lets him be. He’ll get to it when he’s ready.

“Hey, Roolie…” Well, he didn’t need to wait long at all. Wild stares at his slate screen, then finally taps it for something to materialize. “Here.”

“What?” He’s not expecting something small shoved into his hands.

Wild’s clearly embarrassed. “Sorry it’s not better quality.”

“Hey, let me actually look at the thing first.” Hyrule holds up the item, but can’t hold back a frown as he tries to figure it out. It’s a small tube with a little elastic on one side. 

“Wow,” he says, because what in Hyrule is it?

“Oh, here’s the other part.” Wild passes over another piece of fabric.

Rather than help, this only adds to the confusion. It’s an even smaller tube, stretchy, with two long strips attached to one end. 

Hyrule juggles the pieces before finally turning to Wild with a sheepish look. “Ok, I give up, can you explain it?”

If Wild was embarrassed before, he’s rapidly turning red as a tomato. “It’s…clothes.”

Clothes. Tiny…clothes? Why would Hyrule need–

“You know, for your fairy form. Thought you might like something new.”

Oh! Hyrule stares at the items in his hand again, mentally adjusting the size. He’s so used to his fae side being a secret that it never crossed his mind. 

“You…you made me clothes? New clothes?”

Wild plucks the items back and holds them up for explanation. “This is a skirt. I know it’s simple but…I’m not great at sewing. And this is a top. See, the strips are so you can wrap it in different styles around your arms or neck. I saw it in Gerudo Town once and it seemed pretty cool.”

The rest of the explanation slowly fades away as Hyrule stares at the clothes. Wild…learned to sew…for him? The stitching isn’t perfect and the shapes are simple, but it doesn’t matter. Wild made something just for him, for a secret that no one else knows.

“Wild,” he interrupts whatever rambling story Wild has moved on to. Hyrule makes sure to catch his eye when he says, “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.”

The champion ducks his head with a shy smile. “Want to try them on?”

“Absolutely. Now give them here!”

[mayhemspreadingguy]

Beautiful Nightmare 🖤

[amusingmusie]

I know it's not going to happen but what do you think a child between Nel & Alastor would be like? Personality wise or appearance

History Repeats Itself

This is goddamn ridiculous.

Heels click against shiny vinyl flooring as Nel tears off down the hallway, speeding past flyers promoting honors ceremonies and painted murals of happy children. Pushing open door after door and stomping hard enough to make her knees shake, she does nothing to hide her rage over such a bullshit situation. Her fingers twitch with the need for a goddamned cigarette, but she doesn’t trust herself to not light this private school aflame with it. Oh no, she’s not chancing that, not when she’d ruin the career she fought to earn and the schooling she pays out the ass for in one fell swoop. 

Her warpath only halts when she reaches a thick wooden door simply labeled as Dean’s Office. It’s becoming increasingly familiar as of late. With a barely contained growl, she knocks the door open, steps into the room, and prepares for battle.

“She is evil!”

“That’s a strong word. I prefer the term strong-willed instead.”

“Shut it! You’re a malignant tumor on this school!!!”

“Wow, that was a good one. You’re improving your vocabulary, congratulations!”

“DEVIL!”

“You know, anything you say can be held against you in court, I’d mind your words if I were you.”

“WE ARE NOT IN COURT!!!!!”

Nel watches a teenage girl hiss and spit pure venom with all the rage of a feral creature. Her dark eyes are blazing with unfiltered fury, something Nel herself recognizes all too well. There’s no need to ask what has her raging- oh no, Nel is aware of the issue, she sure fucking knows exactly who is responsible for this mess. 

Turning on her heels, Nel stares down the little shit sitting primly in a chair by the flabbergasted dean. Not a curly hair is out of her place on her head, with each chocolate strand pinned neatly back with a stylish bow. Quickly, she gives a small pat to her immaculate bumper bang like she’s brushing away some invisible dust that could possibly disrupt her picture-perfect image. 

She’s a doll with smooth caramel skin and large hazel eyes. 

She’s adorable with pearly white teeth and freckles dotted across her cheeks. 

She’s precious with her long, poofy skirt and long, poofy hair.

She’s perfect.

Except, her mother knows better. Oh, does she ever know better. 

“Sweet Christ,” Nel sighs with something that isn’t quite disappointment, but certainly isn’t glee. Nobody has breathed a word of what events called her down to the private school, again, but she’s certain that her spawn is somehow responsible because she is always responsible when chaos occurs. “Evie. What in the hell is going on here?”

“Momma, there you are!” Bouncing out of her seat, Evie skips over to her mother without a care in the world. She doesn’t bat an eye at her classmate glaring daggers at her or the dean blinking in exasperation since she’s too busy sidling up to her revered birth-giver. “Listen, this is all a big, silly mix-up. I’m completely innocent-”

“Lies-!”

“It was Roxxy who dumped the paint on her own bag to frame me-”

“NO, I DID NOT-!”

“Because why would I ever do such a terrible thing?” Looking for backup, she moves her gaze to the dean, who simply nods his head in slight agreement. “I would never jeopardize my perfect record with the threat of a conduct mark, and for what? To upset my good friend Roxxane with a ridiculous prank?”

“We are not friends!” the other teen growls, her skin turning an intense shade of crimson from the wrath boiling in her bones.

“You’re right, we’re best friends! Thank you for reminding me,” Evie chirps, her toothy smile growing wider.

Nel swats away unfortunate flashbacks that threaten to overtake the moment. 

“Okay, kid, put a pin in it. Just, God, come on, we’re leaving, now. Go.” Once her daughter departs from the room with a final wave to her so-called friend, Nel stares at the dean. “Stop calling me for this bullshit. I pay this school too goddamn much money to run up here each time there’s an issue with these two- next time, deal with it.”

The door slams shut behind her, and she marches on. 

Leather pumps and leather oxfords click together in time down the hallway. 

“What on God’s green earth possessed you to do that?” Nel scoffs, not pausing her march to freedom for a moment. It hardly matters since her kid already has at least an inch on her, because of course she does, her legs are more than long enough to keep up with the redhead’s shorter stomps. “Dumping paint on someone’s bag? Shit, did you just forget any home training I gave you?”

“Momma!” Evie gasps in offense, her round eyes going wide. “You don’t believe in my innocence?”

“No.”

“Okay, fair enough.” Just like that, the act drops and she shrugs, clicking her shiny saddle shoes on the floor. “But I didn’t do it for fun. Well, maybe I did, but she also deserved it.”

“You cannot continue to terrorize that girl. This is the third time that there’s been an incident in the past five weeks. Every time you get yourself into a mess, I gotta hightail it up here to drag you home, and that’s time I lose with my clients, and that’s money I lose to spend on you. You think it reflects positively on me when I’m unable to run my firm because I’m wrangling my daughter?”

“I know, but-“

“Genevieve Marie Sheridan-“

“You don’t understand!”

“Then enlighten me.” 

“She’s terrible!” Uncharacteristic irritation crosses over Evie’s sharp facial features, contorting them into a disgruntled expression eerily similar to the one worn by the ginger walking next to her. “I’m telling you, I have never met someone so absolutely dull and unpleasant in all my life! Sure, I’ve only been alive for fourteen years, but I’ve had a worldly fourteen years!”

“Oh, really now?”

“Momma, forget the details! What I’m trying to explain to you is that she is awful, so I’m attempting to help her become less awful with some harmless fun.”

A familiar feeling creeps along Nel’s skin. It’s a distant feeling, one she hasn’t felt in nearly fifteen years, but it’s one she can never forget, not ever. It’ll haunt her til the day she dies, and long after that too. 

Cold realization begins to dawn on her.

“...What makes this girl so bad?”

“What doesn’t?” the teen snips, rolling her eyes. “She always has to argue with me or oppose me, she can never just listen to anything I say! I don’t understand. Everyone else loves me- as they should, I’m amazing.”

“Mhm.”

“But not her! Never her. She’s been against me since we moved here, what, seven years ago? All because everyone adores me due to my benevolent nature and because she’s an envious ball of rage with no friends.”

“Mhm.”

“And I always think of how repulsive she is, especially at the worst times! Did you know that I dreamed of her nasty little face the other night? She’s a true nightmare at this point. I can’t escape her even in my sleep.”

“I bet.”

“So, in conclusion, she is my number one enemy, and I will destroy her.” Evie raises her upturned nose into the air with a slight huff. “In completely legal ways, of course. Such as kindness. And a few ink bombs too.”

There it is. 

Pausing at the front of the school, Nel faces the little turd fully, her initial anger fading. Hell, she can never stay mad at the kid for long; that’s her baby, no matter how tall she grows or how ruthless she becomes. 

When Evie returns her mother’s softening gaze with a kind one of her own, Nel swallows down an old sadness that’s taken root inside of her. It’s been there for years, always hovering like a ghost in the background, always lingering no matter how long she ignores it. But, its presence isn’t so heavy with her kid here, even if she wears a dead man’s face and speaks in his same chipper tone. 

It would be just like Alastor to have a child so eerily like himself. He could never quit the game; he’d always leave some version of himself behind to plague Nel. 

Fitting. He always had to have the last laugh.

“You know, I know a thing or two about having an enemy.”

“Oh, like the DA?”

“No, not that son of a bitch, though he’s worthless,” she grumbles. “No, I had someone else I swore to destroy a long time ago.”

“Well, did you?” she asks, and Nel gives her a strained, tired smile. 

“Yes and no. That’s a story for another day. For now, all I’ll tell you is that you need to be careful, and that maybe you should spend some time using that big brain to decide what you really think of this nemesis of yours.”

“Well, I hate her. I don't need to think about that.”

Nel rolls her eyes. “No doubt, but hate can sometimes…ah, fuck it, I’ll save it.” With a shake of her head, she waves away her words. “You’ll figure it out, baby. Now come on, we’re getting the hell out of here. Goddamn ridiculous school.”

“Yes ma’am!” Evie skips along happily next to Nel, contagious cheer radiating off of her. “We need to go anyway. I’d like to be at least down the block before the dye bomb I placed in Roxxy’s locker detonates.”

“...The what?”

There’s a distant pop, and then a muffled scream from deep inside of the school building.

Evie blinks innocently, and then Nel sighs. 

History always repeats itself. 

[sh5]

I wish my brother could always be happy / but because he isn't, he is strong just like me

don't tag as ship please 🙏

[daddy-long-legssss]

[empressofthelibrary]

🌲, 🌿, 🌾, 🌸 and 🌻 all for my best girl, Drina :D

🌲 What is the kindest thing your OC has ever done for someone? What is the kindest thing someone has ever done for them? On the flip side, what is the worst thing your OC has done to another person?

Hmmm... I think... I think the kindest things Drina has ever done are the things she does just. without thinking about it. because that's what you do.

Rounding up two little tiefling boys, then a quiet awakened zombie, and then a very frightened gnoll, and giving them all a good meal, a blanket, and a warm bed when she could. Making them family.

The kindest thing that's been done for her... Is pretty much the same. The Hammerhearths taking her in, and then Orn helping her find her way out of the grief when she lost them. Ideal and Margo signing on to help her take down Arthas in that one timeline, and then them still choosing to be her brothers when they reunite much later in the "main" timeline.

The worst thing Drina's ever done... I don't know. I didn't get to see a lot of the aftereffects of her mistakes in the game, unfortunately. I think... Hm. I think, when she was a kid, she had an opportunity to share her night's shelter with another street urchin. A kid who was bigger and stronger than she was, but wasn't trying to oust her... Yet. No, they offered an alliance -- two heads together, watching eachother's backs.

It was a gamble, trusting someone. She'd lost shelters that way before -- older street rats sweet-talking her into letting them in, before they turned around and stole what little she had, leaving her out in the cold. She decided not to take the risk, and told the kid to find somewhere else to shelter -- They were older, and bigger. They'd be fine.

...Two days later, she saw the kid getting hauled away by the city guard for stealing. And the guards weren't being nice about it, either. The kid made brief eye contact, just long enough to give Drina an understanding smile -- he got it. He didn't hold it against her. He understood.

Years later, she still thinks about that boy. Wishes she'd let him in, brought him in to stay with Mama Ferga at the inn. She promised herself she'd never let it happen again.

🌿 What is something true about your OC that they refuse to admit about themselves? Is there any reason to this besides embarassment?

Hmm. Drina struggled a long time with admitting that she was in a leadership position in her adventuring party. This was mostly due to a lack of confidence, which was also part of why she didn't want to admit she'd gone and fallen in love with the party's rogue. There was a lot of complicated stuff there, including Drina's fear of vulnerability, and her own lack of understanding of emotions -- both her own and other people's. I wish we'd gotten the chance to play it all out, but the world is what it is. That same kind of thing was repeated in the timeline with Molly, where Drina didn't want to presume anything, but came to terms with the fact that she had adopted Molly as a daughter, and been adopted as Mama in return.

🌾 What would your OC be like if they were evil. Or if they’re already evil what would they be like as the good guy?

Oh my god, Drina is a woman who is absolutely ruthless when she's angry. She came real damn close to being a villain, in fact, in her need for revenge against Arthas. In the version of events that lives in my brain, it was the party (and Damian) that pulled her out of that mindset and grounded her again. But Drina is... She's fall. Warm campfires and harvest season and s'mores and ghost stories. But she's also storms and frost and clouded skies and bare trees.

Drina, as a villain, is vengeful. Singleminded. Cold. Focused on the total annihilation of whoever invoked her fury. You can't stop her any more than you can stop the turning of the seasons. She won't rest until she's made her enemies pay.

🌸 What would your OC do if they were given god-like powers or the ability to change anything about the world for a whole day?

"...I get to be a god? For an entire day?" Drina laughs. "Okay, first of all -- No more children go hungry or cold. There's a million people out there who wanna be parents, and a million kids out there who need 'em. Let's match them up. Second of all, let's get the Forsaken who want to be human again back to that, and stabilize the ones who don't. Third, I'm calling a permanent end to this stupid war -- No no no, you said I got to be a god for the whole day. You sit back down. Have some soup."

🌻 What advice would your OC give to their younger self? What advice does your OC need now?

Drina, nine years old, cold and frightened, stares up at this warrior. She carries herself with easy grace, her copper hair streaked with gray and twisted into complicated braids that wind around her head and fall down her back in a single heavy plait. There's nicks in her ears -- two in one side, one in the other. She's strong, she has to be. Her arms are well-muscled despite her age, and she's got the kind of softness to her that comes from eating well. She wears a simple apron dress, fixed with two large clasps on the straps and decorated with embroidery and trim. It's some kind of nice, sturdy wool, too. Warm and heavy -- nothing too fine for work, but miles better than the thin, ill-fitting clothes Drina stole off a washing line.

This must be the Lady of some House, a Hero like in the stories she vaguely recalls her nannies telling her, the stories she tries to hear again when she sneaks up to the window of the schoolhouse.

The woman kneels in front of Drina -- tiny, grubby Drina -- and kisses her on the forehead. Her hands stroke Drina's dirty, tangled hair and wipe the tears from her eyes.

"It's gonna be alright, little lamb." The woman pulls Drina in for a hug. "I wish I could take you with me, but the magic won't allow it. You'll just have to trust me -- and I know how hard that is right now. But if you take it one day at a time, one hour at a time if you have to, it'll be alright. Head down towards the Merchants' Quarter, when you can. You'll have better luck there than here in the Mages' District."

And just like that, the woman disappears. Left in her wake is the smell of cinnamon and petrichor, the warmth of a campfire.

--

Back in the kitchen of the New Hammerhearth Inn, Drina sinks into a chair that Ideal had waiting for her. Margo passes her a mug of mulled wine, and Molly lays a blanket over her shoulders. Blitz, ever the therapy dog, lays her giant white head in her ranger's lap.

"Did we fix it?" Drina looks to her little brothers. "Did we close the loop?"

Ideal shrugs. "Well, we're all still here. I think that says a lot."

Drina sips from the mug. "...I wish I could do something more useful than just... Maintain what happened. I want to keep you guys from going through everything you went through. I want to fix things. For all of us."

Margo shakes his head, ghostly white hair still floating in a cloud. "If all of that hadn't happened, Drina, then we wouldn't be here in your kitchen, would we?" He bites into a fruit pie, continuing with his mouth full. "An' I wouldn' be ea'ing thish tas'ee foob."

Drina laughs, pretending not to see as Margo slides another pie up his sleeve. She hears the words under what's spoken -- Focus on what we have, not what could have been. I love you and I'm glad you're my sister. "...Right. Can't take spices out of the stew, after all."

"Exachly." Margo nods, shoving the rest of the pie in his mouth.

"Save some for the rest of us, you greedy little twerp." Ideal reaches over Margo's head to grab a pastry off the platter. There's no anger in his voice, just the exasperation of a loving brother.

"I can make more," Drina insists. "If Blitz'll move, that is. Scooch, ya lump! Molly-lamb, do you want to learn your Grunkle Farrus' dessert recipes? I think there's some less-sweet ones you'll enjoy..."

[kindacreepy-kindaugly]

Why do I still hate myself for not livin up to the person I used to pretend to be

[dahkis]

GUUUUWAAAHHHHHH!!!! THE 2024 ANGELIC CLASS ALBUM JUST GOT RELEASED

THE FRONT PAGE AND THE DESIGN OF THE PHOTO ALBUM ARE SO CUTE!!!! CHECK IT OUT

[griseldabanks]

Had a facepalm moment earlier of discovering the brilliant fic you wrote for someone’s Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan prompt and hoping you’d write more, and then…several days later…realizing…PROMPTS. That’s how this works. Anyway, can’t believe I didn’t send you one earlier, but: Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan for "I missed you”, if you’re up for it?

Let Me Count the Ways ask game

It had been a long, exhausting day, but Obi-Wan didn't feel tired in the least. Packing up all of his belongings (few as they were) and moving them across the Dune Sea would have been a tiring endeavor, even if he hadn't just come from a harrowing trip halfway across the galaxy. And then, of course, there was a new cave to find, preliminary preparations to be made before nightfall in order to make his new home habitable...but none of that mattered.

Wrapping his cloak around himself against the chill of the desert night, Obi-Wan sat on the shelf of rock where he'd placed his bedroll. He pulled his legs up onto the blanket, closed his eyes, and opened himself to the Force.

Warmth and light that had nothing to do with his small heating unit suffused him from the inside out. For a moment, he hesitated. Then he reached out tentatively and murmured, “Master Qui-Gon?”

“Obi-Wan.”

His eyes popped open, and there, sitting beside him on the rock as if he'd been there the whole time, was Qui-Gon. Translucent and tinged blue—like a hologram and yet not—Qui-Gon looked the same as he had the day he'd died. The same twinkle in his eyes, the same hint of humor lingering in the creases at the corners of his eyes, in the twitch of his beard, in the lilt of his voice....

“You're here,” was all Obi-Wan could think to say.

Qui-Gon nodded patiently. “So I am.”

“I missed you.” Unbidden, tears welled up in his eyes. “I missed you so much, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon's eyebrows knitted together with a look of sympathy. “I know.”

If he'd been here physically, he would have reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. Now, he didn't move, but Obi-Wan felt a gentle ripple in the Force washing over him, warm and familiar. Obi-Wan closed his eyes to savor that feeling, something he hadn't experienced in so long.

How many times a day would Obi-Wan feel that presence brush against his, like the touch of a hand? Checking to see where the other was, reassurance in a moment of trouble, a brief reminder or admonishment that needed no words. As unique and unmistakable as a voice, as a fingerprint forever marked in his soul.

And yet, for some twenty-odd years, he hadn't felt Qui-Gon's presence even once.

When Obi-Wan opened his eyes, he felt like a boy again. Like that twelve-year-old boy who had just become a Padawan and wondered if he would ever truly please his Master.

“I needed you,” he whispered, the desperation in his own voice surprising him. “I called to you, again and again. Where were you?”

Qui-Gon's eyes were as kind as ever as he folded his arms inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe. “Tell me, Padawan: What happens to us when we die?”

Now he really did feel like a boy again. This was a question even the youngest of younglings could answer. “We become one with the Force.”

Qui-Gon nodded, as though that settled the matter.

It didn't take a genius to understand what Qui-Gon was getting at. The dead became one with the Force, and the Force was a Jedi's constant companion. In a way, Qui-Gon had never really left.

And yet, Obi-Wan still couldn't shake the feeling of abandonment. He dropped his gaze to his hands clasped in his lap. “There have been so many times I needed your guidance, Master,” he whispered. “And never, not once, did I hear your voice.”

“And were you listening?” Qui-Gon's voice was gentle, oh so gentle, but still it made shame swirl in Obi-Wan's gut.

Because he hadn't been listening. He had closed himself off from the Force for so long, terrified of being found out, of being hunted down, of unintentionally betraying Luke to those who would kill him in an instant. And if he didn't leave even the slightest crack open for the Force to seep through, that meant Qui-Gon couldn't reach him either.

He really was like a child. A child with his fingers in his ears, demanding to know why no one would talk to him.

A warm brush of the Force, like a consoling hand placed on his back. Qui-Gon didn't even have to say anything, because he had already said it a thousand times, in a thousand situations over the years they'd worked together. Accept the shame, then let it go. You are not your mistakes. Learn from them, and they will help you grow.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan envisioned his lungs filling with stale air from the years he had languished here on Tatooine. The years he had let the burden of his guilt press down on his shoulders till he could hardly raise his head in the morning. Then he breathed out, imagining the guilt and shame floating out like wisps of smoke on the air.

Opening eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed, Obi-Wan turned to look at Qui-Gon again. “I called to you when I went to face Vader.”

Qui-Gon nodded, eyes warm with compassion. “I was there.”

“I needed you...so many times...here on Tatooine.”

“I was there.”

Qui-Gon's form wavered, and Obi-Wan blinked, letting tears trickle into his beard. “When...I went to confront Anakin...on Mustafar...when I-I thought that I had...that I had....”

All he could see was his master's eyes, full of sympathy and compassion, understanding and acceptance. “I was there, Obi-Wan.”

For a moment, he held Qui-Gon's gaze. Then he dropped his head into his hands and let the tears flow. “So...every time....”

“Always.”

“You saw...every time I've failed....”

“And every success.” Like a warm blanket, Qui-Gon's presence folded around him in an embrace he felt in the depths of his soul. “I am proud of you, Obi-Wan. You have become a greater man and a greater Jedi than I ever could have foreseen.”

The heat of the twin suns seemed lodged permanently in Obi-Wan's chest. “Only because of your guidance, Master.”

They smiled at each other, and even though they looked nothing like they had when Obi-Wan had been an apprentice, the connection between them was as strong as ever.

[ekleipsi]

4) sender takes receiver’s chin between their fingers while receiver is smiling or laughing so they can kiss their dimple. ( for Haru )

--- To some, homes were a place of socialization and revelry- where families gathered or where people invited friends over for gossip, or even where relationships blossomed from budding romance to deeper levels of intimacy and passion. To others...to Koharu, home was a sanctuary; a place of privacy that few knew about and even fewer were invited into.

--- Her home was a single bedroom, spacious loft with plenty of space and hardwood, mirrors, and a pole for dancing- carpeted living area for lounging, and an open concept kitchen. Contemporary with little to hide because what did she have to hide in the comforts of her own safety? In a place where she could relax, and be vulnerable and let walls crumble away and yield to a slightly softer side from the one she so often displayed in public.

--- The public needed to see her as an untouchable, flirtatious, coy fox. Cold and only just out of reach, dangerous and tempting- she made people feel as if they could have her and simultaneously made them feel as if they never could. Here though, upon the plush and light carpet of her home with the detective she'd invited ( why had she invited him? Law enforcement, to some extent? ) there was...a breach in regularity.

--- Music played over the speakers- familiar rap beats from multiple different artists, if only because she'd come to learn he was surprisingly fond of them. It was a discovery that had made her laugh aloud, but not one that had pushed her away since she enjoyed them, herself. Words of familiar verses spilled past lips in time with rhythm as she sang and rapped along before bursting into giggles on occasion from the comfort of the floor.

--- Sitting next to him was...natural. More than it should have been, and if she were sober, maybe she'd have been more cautious and wary. Bottles of wine and whiskey were splayed upon the table before them along with a mix and match myriad of take out foods, a rich red brought to her lips before she took a sip and another giggle ushered forth. Laugh lines creased her mouth, her cheeks, drawing her brows together light heartedly.

--- ' C'est ridicule! Qui dirait que Nicki n'est pas une reine!? ' [ That's ridiculous, who would say Nicki isn't a Queen!? ] the French spilled past well intoxicated lips, stained with the alcohol she'd been drinking. She hadn't been paying attention to how much he'd had, but his company alone was...surprisingly calm, to her. Where she might have felt on edge having someone in her house, instead she felt as if she could trust him. A mistake, she might have thought, were she not inebriated...but all the same...

--- Chin was taken between his fingers, prompting her surprise as mossy hues went wide and before she could protest or ask what he was doing, he'd leaned in to press and tender and chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth, along cheek and jaw- just shy of where her smile dimpled her features. A flash of color dusted across the bridge of nose, a quiet settling on the tip of her tongue before flushed visage was drowned in another sip of her alcohol, clearing throat. ' What...was that for. ' a huff, every attempt made to not pout.

--- The only response he offered in turn was a scoff, loud and obnoxious, that nearly prompted her to shove him sideways, before he was lifting glass of whiskey to his lips and taking another long sip of his own...very intentionally not meeting her eyes. A shrug lifted his shoulders. It was all she'd get out of him, at least for now.

[greatearth]

Fingers brush against the familiar handle of the flower shop she used to visit often. Karna's flower shop, to be exact. The gap in her memories had been enough to signify to her that something had happened, a void existing between the months she'd disappeared until waking up one day in an unfamiliar bed and sitting up in an entirely different room. Panic had been her first emotion, had she forgotten something important? No, her memories remained intact. She remembered everything, including the fond feelings she'd garnered for the lancer.

But she knew all too well how cruel fate could be. He had been the first to disappear, and she not long after. No time to mourn the loss, nor any to process what her next steps were. And that's exactly why she finds herself hesitating in front of the door, wondering whether or not she should bother to be here in the first place. If he didn't remember, it would crush her in such a way that she was entirely unsure of how she'd react. If he remembered, however, well…

Ereshkigal steels herself and opens the door. The sound of bells chiming as she enters, flowers neatly placed on display as they always were. She cautiously moves around the room, her heart threatening to leap from her very chest as she stops to stand in front of an arrangement of red peonies.

This is a mistake, she can't help but think to herself, and as soon as the thought comes to her, she's heading toward the door to leave. As she reaches for the handle, her departure is cut short by the sound of someone else walking into the room from the back. She freezes, bracing herself before finally turning to look at who it is. "…It's you." Who else could it be, really? There, Karna stands in the doorway.

Ereshkigal does not move to meet him, instead opting to keep her distance. But she can already feel the beginnings of what are certainly tears begin to form as she tries not to give herself too much hope.

@danaravi

[oculusxcaro]

@arkhmlcst in relation to this post

just like in Minecraft … * puts Khare in a water bucket *

It feels nice but the bucket could be bigger.

[maellor]

I'm at the cinema, watching a movie that I don't like with some friends. And Return of the King is playing just a couple of doors away, so i casually walked out this room and got into RotK for a bit

[siixkiing]

“...I may have some regrets but I did a killer job on her hair, so I'll take it.”

Just going to ignore the fact that he has some pink splotches decorating his fur, mostly on and around his arms. Those should fade sooner or later — least he hoped. NEXT time he’ll remember to use protection when he touches up FeiFei’s hair.

[musical-chick-13]

Not me...putting all my time into.......a fandom event..............that I didn't even plan to participate in...................................

[asjjohnson]

I was numbly scrolling through job listings and happened across the kindest-sounding job page I've ever seen. Saying there was no requirements at all (besides being happy or something), that they'll walk you through everything and train you. And that they're happy to hire anyone, no matter how young or old, whether it's your first job or you want a little extra money on the side or you're retired and want something to do.

The feel of the wording was like, "Aww poor baby—here, have a blanket and a hot chocolate and I'll make everything better." While the job listings I usually see are like, "Working nights, weekends, and holidays are required. And if you don't know these five obscure things by heart and have eight years of experience, don't even bother applying."

And the place is close enough that I should be able to get there easily on rollerblades (if I can finally get use to the pair I bought awhile ago).

...But then I'd mentioned to my dad that I might apply for a job, and he reminded me that I hadn't wanted to be tied up during the day of the eclipse, and suggested I wait to see if it's still available after that.

...And then I checked my desk calendar and saw several other days I need to be free for scattered throughout the next two months.

...I'm beginning to think I'm just not cut out for working.