#you only truly learn to code with practice

[vanilla-voyeur]

As someone who dropped out of college, I would not have the job I have today without a college on my resume. I don't have to tell them I didn't graduate. Going to college is very useful even if you don't graduate.

Is college worth it?

NO! But maybe :) depends on what you plan to do, I wouldn't spend 200000 dollars to 'explore' your interests - know what you're going in for, it's not time to fuck around!!! and make sure it's not some curriculum you can pursue on your own for cheap, or else you'll put yourself in DEBT fuck for nothing. Also don't go for creative pursuits, I love graphic design and music and 3d art and game development, and I can learn all of these things on my own.

[nezuscribe]

part one

you could admit, to some degree, that you knew the danger you were putting yourself into volunteering to become one of the realm's seven holy knights.

but the dangers were something you've grown accustomed to not caring much about.

you knew from an early age that there weren't many paths for noble women. it was either become wives, mothers, widows, or in lucky cases, spinsters. you realized early on that this would be the most terrifying outcome you could think of. so you begged, pleaded, sobbed, and begged even more until your father allowed you to learn how to fight, how to hold a sword and bow properly.

the years bled together, and sooner or later you found yourself with quite a reputation following your wake; a faceless knight who nobody had ever heard of.

you were able to earn a spot as one of the seven holy knights, protectors of the crown and its livelihood. you were lucky that it was in the code of honor not to reveal one's face, as it was unheard of in its centuries of existence to have a lady fighter, but you had slipped up a couple of times, almost revealing your true nature.

thankfully, all the other men were oafs and couldn't tell if you took your helmet off and revealed your face outright.

for a few motnhs you seemed to go undetected. or so you fooled yourself into believing.

the younger prince, gojo satoru, had a knack for busying himself with the lives of the knights. he often trained with you all in the daytime, hanging around during the night as he skipped dinner with his family to eat with you all.

and although you were careful enough not to talk or even lift up the bottom half of your helmet to eat something, it felt like his eyes were always on you.

it also didn't help that you kept besting him in almost every practice. sword fighting, arrow shooting, hunting, anything you could think of, and suddenly the prince, who was revered for his knight-like abilities, was paling in compassion to you.

so perhaps it was your paranoia or your inability to read people's thoughts, but somewhere deep inside, you had a sneaking suspicion he was onto you.

gojo always singled you out in conversations, trying to hear more than a grunt or a nod. all the other men had given up, but gojo persevered, needing to know who was lying underneath all that armor.

"do you enjoy the countryside?" he asked one day, following you around after everybody had hung up their bows, the two of you the only ones left in the courtyard.

you roll your eyes in annoyance, sighing deeply through your nose as you nod once.

"say, the way you hold your bow is reminiscent of some ocean tribes. have you lived there? near the ocean?" gojo crowds around you, watching intently as you put your bow on its hook, watching from the corner of your eyes, seeing the way his smile was eerily deceptive, something cold and hard beneath his cheerful demeanor.

you grunt, not giving a definitive answer.

gojo felt his lips twitching, fists balling at the fact that you had gone on for more than four months without uttering a single word, somehow holding conversations with just two movements.

"some of the men and i were talking earlier," he starts again, and you turn around, hoping he'd get the hint to leave once you start walking towards the corridors that lead to the private quarters, "and we think we'd like to see the town nearby one of these nights."

you still, your armor clanking as the prince halts by your side. he looks down to your helmet, trying to look between the metal slits that help with your breathing.

you don't say anything, sweating bullets as you wait for him to continue.

"we would be honored to have the best swordsmen join us," gojo tries to say, his voice dipping slightly on the word "men," as he tries to gauge any reaction from you.

you blink, wondering if his blue eyes were just a gimmick and they were truly the only interesting thing about him. it's not very often you can see him this close, and you find yourself thinking that the ladies that fawn over him have never seen him panting and groaning and sweating as you hold a knife to his leather-clad chest.

you grunt once again, shaking your head in disbelief that the other knights would risk breaking their code of honor and defacing themselves just so they could get closer to the prince. a prince who isn't even in line to get the throne.

you clank through the stone halls, trying to fend him off as he matches your pace, his face slightly flushed and his cheeks pink.

"is that a yes?" he asks, staring at you as you breathe heavily, the sound echoing around your mask.

you stop at your door, your head tilted down as you shake it.

hearing his muffled shouts of confusion, you almost barricade yourself inside your room, panting heavily as you shed off your armor. You wipe at your brow bone, drenched in sweat, heart hammering wildly in your chest.

you were right. he knows your secret. and it's only a matter of time before others follow suit.

[cultkinkcoven]

The hard truth about occultism and witchcraft is that you genuinely do have to be willing to lose your mind. That’s not me romantisizing mental struggle or psychosis.

The thing no one talks about, at least not honestly, is the threshold one passes in initiation, where the mystical, psychological, symbolic and literal merge. When I say you have to be willing to lose your mind, I mean you have to be willing to accept the possibility that you may in fact be crazy. Your worst possible fear, none of this is real and it’s all happening in your head. What will you do if you realize you’re simply crazy? The wise man will turn away, but the initiate, the alchemist, will be unphased.

All people who dabble with spirituality and occultism will eventually meet this threshold. When things actually start working, when your spells yield results, when the impossible occurs and you truly have no other explanation. When the Gods finally respond. Be willing to lose your mind, be willing to experience things you cannot explain. And be willing to talk to yourself with the honesty that you simply cannot know. That’s what makes your faith and pursuits worthy.

The most talented and most powerful witches and magis are those who do not flinch when the impossible occurs. They no longer question themselves about the absurdity, they no longer wonder if any of this is real because they know it doesn’t matter. And that’s why they’re so powerful, they have complete faith that their work is very real. And when someone challenges that, they don’t crumble, they rise. Because the challenge in that idea is worthy of pursuit itself. Maybe we are crazy, maybe this is just in our mind. The significance however, that is real and that stays, regardless.

Yap yap yap

We talk a lot in this community about the concept of “awakening” to your psychic abilities. Sensing energy, having divine intuition, telling fortunes and affecting the world through intention. But we hardly ever expose that before those gifts explode, there is always a period of what feels like insanity. The mind interrogating itself. Sensitivity to the mystical. It feels like being given access to the background code of your simulated reality, and realizing that the same code is written into your flesh, mind and soul.

Tldr. Witchcraft is very aesthetically pleasing, very pretty. We often don’t show the very ugly side of it, the white knuckles, the tears and chaos. Inviting these forces into your life is not trivial, not at all. They will force you to change and they will force you to lose your mind, even if only to teach you how to find it.

Every few months a friend of mine who is also a witch will come to me and express that she thinks she’s losing her mind again. And I smile because I know that she must be growing so much, getting so much more powerful. And a couple days ago, when I went to her and expressed that I was losing my mind again, she laughed too.

“Welcome to the next phase of your journey with Lord Lucifer!”

and her saying that immediately made everything click. I’m still being tested and cultivated. This bought of insanity is surely far from the last i will experience. Getting this far and surviving means I am not only advancing, I am continuing to grow into the role I was meant to serve for him.

Anyways, if you get to that point in your practice where you feel like you’re at your breaking point, I won’t fault you for stepping back. That’s the logical decision.

But I can also assure you, you are not alone. The mystic floats in the same waters the psychotic drowns. It may feel like you’re drowning and struggling, you may in fact just be learning how to tread water. and if you think you’re beyond this phenomenon, if this has never happened to you.

Oh, just you wait.

[sweetwolfcupcake]

Can you please write yandere headcanons for John wick x female reader? Thanks 🫶🫶

Sure! Here is what I could come up with. A cliche plot, but discussions with @johnwickb1tsch, and @treedaddypuff inspired this. I hope you like it.

Secret Garden

Category: Headcanons

Yandere John Wick x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warning: Sexual themes, predator/prey coded, hints of cannibalism if you squint (not intended, only used as metaphor), NSFW, hints of power imbalance and the general yandere toxicity, the reader is a bit naive, allusions to violence and darker themes

Dividers by @cafekitsune

GIF belongs to the rightful owner, I am simply thankful to be able to use it.

Unedited. Pardon the errors.

In John’s eyes, you are a rabbit. Sniffing about with thumping feet and twitching ears. You are adorable in his eyes. But what do rabbits do when they sense a wolf nearby? Salivating, sharp-toothed creatures with eyes burning through your skin and peering into your very soul?

They run, of course. They run and hide away in their little burrows where no wolf can reach, even if it pleads that its intention was never to eat the rabbit.

In John’s eyes, you are a rabbit, and he knows that if you ever come to know of his true nature, you will run. And even thinking about that fills him with an odd cocktail of fury and arousal.

John knows that he is the worst of them all— the biggest, the baddest, with sharp claws and pointed teeth. If he were, literally, a wolf, he would practically drool at the very sight of you.

So he wraps himself up with a sheep’s skin. Drops his ears, curls his tail and lets his sharp eyes dilate into puppy-softness. He looks inviting, approachable, harmless and gentle. He bends to your level, wipes off the drool around his mouth, hides his tongue and teeth and waits. He waits and moves with an easy steadiness that wouldn’t startle you to alertness but will gently introduce him into your territory.

It does not come as terribly hard or boring, for the most part. John does not intend to sink his teeth into you; after all, he truly means no harm. He has to work on it, yes, but you are worth it; his love for you is worth it. 

To his relief, you do not sniff the danger that trails with his shadow, to his utter delight, you welcome him—not immediately, but you warm up to him eventually. The warmth seeps into his form. Maybe deep down, something in you knows that he means no harm?

You are a cautious person. Reserved in nature, the cautious trait has evolved within you with the life-lessons that came along the perks of being a wallflower. You observe, and try to learn. And over the years, you have learnt that precaution is always better than cure. Unless it’s love.

Love is supposed to be a free fall, surrender, and trust. But before that, you get to choose who you let in. That is where the role of caution begins and ends. Deciding whether someone is worth the free-fall after all.

If anything, John Wick has proven to be more than just worth it. He is everything and more. He is kind without noticing, his hands are calloused, but you feel the tenderness with which he holds you. A gentleman. That’s what John is. In more than a few ways.

He is gentle with the way he tries to read you and your perception, like he is admiring and trying to decipher you at the same time. You feel it in his gaze as it runs over your form with the perfect blend of heat and adoration. You feel it in the sincerity of his sweet brown orbs when they look into your eyes. 

He is considerate in the way he listens to you—even those drunken rambles—he leans in close and nods and smiles, laughs at your terrible jokes and scoffs when you laugh at yourself. He is considerate in the way he fixes your sink without you even having to say it, or even notice at times. He is considerate in the way he never forgets to restock your favourite seasonal fruits or snacks. He is considerate to keep track of your cycle even without you having to tell him.

John is considerate in many subtle and obvious ways, you often lose count of—because he brings consideration into mundane things, barely noticeable until you take a second look—you see ot then, and it warms your heart in dangerous ways. In ways you are afraid to imagine—like having a ring on your finger.

John is observant too. He notices the smallest of twitches, the slightest of falters and changes and he is grasping it like he has a special training on it or something. You admit that initially, it was unsettling, but you settled eventually. You are now used to him mentioning something you do not even remember telling him. It must have been one of the many unconscious or off-handed comments you make in passing. But nothing escapes John’s notice, you realise. Dog nose. He has a dog nose, but for information. 

John makes you feel heard, seen and appreciated. What more can you ask for? What more would you want? What more would anyone want?

John is more than what you could ask for. 

And yet, there is something deep inside your brain that holds back from that freefall, the complete surrender. You are in love with John, you do not doubt that because it seeps into your every thought, your every action. Every other thing reminds you of something related to him, or of him. It’s like every road leads you to him. And yet, something in you simply refuses to settle in and be at complete ease.

Not that you are not comfortable with him, he makes sure that you are. But you are a cautious creature by nature. Skittish even at times.

And you feel that tiny part of your brain throbbing, calling your attention when you realise that John listens deeply, for long, but prefers not to speak much. He works in the ‘crisis management’ department of an expansive and looming organisation. And there are various non-disclosure documents he has already signed, so digging for more information is futile. He follows the rules, you realise–with military precision and discipline. 

You feel that part of your brain flutter along with your stomach when his reflexes show. The glass of water about to fall and ruin your dress? His hands stop it faster than you can succumb to your fate. Sure, must be a stressful and demanding job, you surmise when he waves his hand and says ‘practice’ with a tone that feels deliberate in its casual approach.

You feel that part of your brain nudging at you when you trace his tattoos. The ink on his skin, mostly his back and the slump of his shoulders. You trace and map them with your fingers and feel the faintest of shivers passing through his body, and then the stiffness when you question. ‘Fortune favours the bold’, the Latin words translate. Something he learnt in his early years and decided to etch on his skin, he tells you. He has a reason and tale for every other tattoo of his– fascination, local band, his birthplace, his childhood. You believe every story behind each of the tattoos, you have no reason not to. 

And yet, that tiny, annoying part of your brain is persistent. It points out that his stories are either too vague or too specific. Short and flat. There is no fondness in his tone or eyes, not even close to the kind of tenderness and excitement they have when talking about you and your relationship— his thoughts, his experience involving you. No, these stories sound more or less like reports. That tiny part of your brain keeps telling you that he is holding back. 

But it is tiny, hence easier to ignore, especially when his hands are parting your thighs, especially when he looks at you with reverence. There is the kind of vulnerability in his soulful brown eyes that swats away all the wisps of doubts. 

And yet you cannot bring yourself to squash that part of your brain. Not when his eyes darken the way that makes him seem like something that sits on the top of the food chain and a part of you wants to run. But you tell yourself it is the light that falls that way, an illusion, a lie. 

The mindful part of your brain screams when you play chase with him. It is the loudest then. You feel his feet drumming against the floor, but barely hear him. You run as fast as you can—adrenaline pumping, heart thundering. You know that the fear is never real, just something primal. But it overtakes your senses as you push yourself to outrun him, not with any competitive intent, but with a deep-seated survival instinct that rings abruptly shrill and persistent, telling you to run and hide.

But John is fast, quick and silent on his feet. Quiet and precise to the point it feels dangerous. His grip is iron when he catches you, taking the impact on the ground if you both lose balance, or simply picking you up like he is picking his favourite fruit from the ground—easy, smooth and quick. You feel weightless and powerless at those moments, and that instinct in you screams, makes your legs fail, and your heart drop to your stomach. As if you are being hunted. 

But how can it be true? It is just John, smiling, laughing, breathing, mixing with yours when he slants  his lips on yours, swallowing every little sound you make. You are safe, you are safe, you are safe. You have to keep reminding yourself for a few moments before the bells stop ringing and the instinct and fear return to their burrows.

But that faint throb in your brain refuses to be silenced. It turns bolder when you look into his dark eyes, when he wrestles you under him. You may laugh playfully, but your stomach flutters with anticipation and a kind of thrill that one gets on dancing with danger. His eyes always appear darker after a chase, like you have struck the right spot and something in him is howling. He looks wild with his tresses over his face and his eyes peering through them—something close, barely hidden, but still out of your reach. 

That faint throb in your brain, however, is no match for the fire that ignites in your abdomen when his hands reach all the right places. Sliding between your legs, fingers in your mouth, or around your throat. Just caressing, never pressing, simply testing.

Everything is forgotten with the taste of milk and honey. You can barely remember your name with just his fingers against your walls, slow, deliberate and precise. Curving the right way, at the right place and you have the moon and stars floating before your eyes. You want to remember nothing, you remember nothing but John. Your John, who makes you feel craved and desired. Who is not shy of showing how hungry he is for you. All the time, every time.

Oh, how beautiful bliss is! The sense of surrender when his manhood slides beyond your throbbing, slick nether lips, fitting right in where it belongs. As if something had been taken away from you by the divine and then returned as a reward. As if your years without John had been your penance. You are his and he is yours. In this moment, you feel the ring wrapping around your finger. You feel you need no ring, you have him inside you, fusing into your soul, reaching and discovering the deepest parts of you in ways you could have never imagined before.

But every time you dare to and are compelled to open your droopy eyes, you see a crazed look— a storm being, a darkness that can swallow you whole, and you shiver. You shiver with something unknown. The tiny part of your brain never stopped throbbing, you realise. It is just easier to ignore when you are at the pinnacle of passion.

You often gasp when he dips down at the curve of your neck and his teeth graze against your pumping vein. Your mind is a battlefield there— the urge to surrender and embrace whatever agony he feels to be capable of rewarding you with, fights against that deep-rooted survival instinct that makes you squirm and try to move. It ends with your leg thrown over his shoulder and body bent to an angle that has your vision darkening with each thrust. The most delicious, intense torment, hell and heaven merging, and you tip-toe between salvation and damnation. 

Instincts, doubts, caution, everything is overshadowed by his name. John, John, John. It leaves your lips like prayers, but it is you who feels worshipped. A part of your soul feels infected with him, and you will gladly take it. You will take his energy, his deeds, his past, his present, every part of him. 

You bloom, only for him, to your fullest, to your widest, to your happiest.

Like the fragrance of a delicate dawn-bloom on the damp soil, he lingers in you long after he has pulled out. He lingers in you in the form of the essence that dribbles down your thighs, he lingers in the form of the musk that surrounds you. He lingers in the form of the comforting numbness that comes when he caresses you like you can break with one wrong press. His lips kiss over every mark, every place you have felt his hold tightening. He lingers with you, holding you, and that is when that tiny, annoying and persistent part of your brain goes completely silent.

You have never felt any safer, no pair of arms has managed to bring you the comfort and elation like John’s do. So you close your eyes and sit with him in the bathtub, imagining that the world is empty and it is just two of you as he tends to you like he is tending to a garden— precise, careful, loving and attentive. 

Instincts are always powerful. John has learnt that a long time ago. But for you, he can manage it. As long as he has to wait. At least until he has his ring binding you to him forever. He has donned the sheep skin for so long, it now feels like a second skin. Maybe it has even grown into him— but for you. Only you.

His teeth still glint and his claws remain sharp. But he is patient and loving. He does not give in to his instinct of devouring you whole, even if something in him keeps screaming and demanding to do so. No, he does not want to frighten his little rabbit. 

John loves you with every atom of his being, but he cannot deny what that surprised and fearful flash in your sweet eyes does to him. It makes his teeth itch and his claws sharpen.

The chase only makes it worse. When he catches you, his manhood throbs, demanding a reward. You, lying under him has the most primal gears of his brain turning. 

John’s instincts demand that he sinks his teeth into you and tear and twist you until he has your soul and devour it. Have the taste of the light he is so undeserving of yet so tempted by.

He has been trained to hunt, and watching at your endearing efforts to outrun him make his limbs move even before he realises it.

But John is not a monster. Not to you, at least. He loves you. So he satisfies himself with only grazing your delicious skin with his teeth, plunging his length as deep as he can into you, hoping to touch every part of you until he has you tained by him and shielded from the world. 

John’s instincts demand that he claims you– body, mind, heart and soul. Yes, your soul is what he covets the most. And he knows he is closer when your eyes flutter cloe in momentary surrender.

You fall apart so beautifully for him. Eyes wide with desire with wild mewls and screams. The wolf in him is temporarily sated, to see you so plaint under him, so welcoming, so receptive, so responsive. 

He takes pride at the traces of your nails behind his back, your nails, your fingers bruising his biceps and your teeth marking his shoulders.

You do not even bite down, just hold, ground yourself and he lets you. But a part of him wants you to bite down, to scratch harder until he bleeds, dig your nails over those cursed inks and overpower his past deeds with you light, with your love. He wil have something permanent of you on him, something permanent he actually wants. 

But alas! You don’t. You hold back, just like the way you hold back from complete surrender that he wants, needs. He cannot have your soul if you do not let yourself go and embrace the free fall. He will catch you, he always will. But his little rabbit is cautious by nature.

He feels it when he looks at you from between your legs. He sees it in your eyes when you sink on your knees for him. He feels it in the tremble of your lips, the movement of your head with his hand siting your hair while your mouth devotes itself to him, taking him deep and good. But it can never match his devotion, not until you surrender to this love like he has. 

You hold back, not wanting to hurt him, and it makes John chuckle. Sweet thing, as if you can ever hurt him. 

But he is close, he knows he is. He can almost taste it on his tongue, like he tastes you.

Like morning dew on flower petals, your arousal sticks on your nether lips, served for him to lick clean. He can settle for devouring this for now.

You squirm as if you have any chance to run. Escape? From him? It makes him want to throw his head back and laugh, but it so makes something boil in him. So he holds you tighter. If you you can never silence that caution in your brain, he will. He will bend you to silence it, tear it out of you and fill that part of your brain with his name. 

That faint throb never goes away. It may be silenced for a while, but it comes back every time. Slow and steady, it climbs to the surface of your brain, the closest it has ever been, when you return to your shared home from work hours earlier one day.

It rings a bell. Faint, when you catch John’s cologne lingering in the air as soon as you unlock the door. But slightly louder when you see the basement door, that is always locked, unlocked for the first time since you moved in with him. 

The cautious, alert part of your brain turns bolder and bolder with a strange flutter in your stomach when you descend down the stairs.

The bells ring louder when you see a perfectly clean and secure basement when he has told you that it has some faulty walls and doorways so he had to shut it down permanently.

The bells, though begin to ring shrilly when you find two briefcases laying on the floor and a work table with a vintage phone sitting on it .

When you click open the briefcases, your ears are ringing. The faint voice of caution in your head now screams for you to flee as you look at the various knives, guns and syringes in one briefcase and lines of gold coins on the other.

You move on pure instinct then, following  the voice, glad that it never gave up on you, relieved and horrified that it proved to be right. As you climb the stairs, your hands are sweaty, stomach is in knots and your heart paces erratically, as if you have run miles.

But your heart skips a beat and the bells turn into drums that beat at your survival instinct when you see John casually leaning against the kitchen island, on your way. Right on your path, blocking it.

He looks the same but feels foreign. Eyes once so kind are now dark and stormy. You know that you are looking into the eyes of something that is ready to pounce, something that is at the top of the food chain and it knows that.

His eyes move between the basement door wide open and you before his lips curve into something unfamiliar and cruel, like the glint in his eyes.

“Run” John whispers gleefully.

And you do, despite knowing the outcome already, you give into your instinct, just like he does. Finally.

****

[blondejellykitty]

₊♡ ˚⊹ your lucky you're pretty ₊♡ ˚⊹

୨୧ hermes x goddess reader ୨୧ truly how infuriating can he be? when will he learn that it's not working? a/n: (0.6k words, requested) sorry this is so short x

The waves crashing onto the rocky beach was a calming noise you otherwise would love to sit and listen to. But now it was just all too much. The sound of your two unavoidable colleges and two reluctant friends. Their constant bickering echoed so loud any mortal in the area who hadn't yet fled at seeing their arrival would be burned to a crisp from their show of godly power.

Hermes, god of travelers. Son of Zeus and messenger of the gods, was currently waving his hands around dramatically as his winged sandals fluttered hyperactively against his ankles.

Triton, a sea god. Son of Poseidon and messenger of the sea, stood tall and stoic at the sight of his aggravating friend. His brow was furrowed and his lips were in a tight frown. Every now and then his left eye would twitch.

You'd lost track of their beginning argument. It had swapped subjects so many times you were sure they were arguing for the sake of it. Although the dead may rest, you did not. And as the underworld's messenger you were feeling restless as the two gods were taking their sweet time fighting like children.

"That's not what I said at all, please you call yourself a messenger. You can't recall what I just said!" Hermes scoffed as he spoke.

"I'll have you know, random words that don't form a coherent sentence is hardly a message" Triton rolled his eyes and stood with his hands on his hips.

"You don't know that! Maybe it's a code" He whined at his so-called friend.

"Was it?" Triton narrowed his eyes in annoyance.

"That's not the point" Hermes huffed, pursing his lips.

"Boys! Seriously, even single time we have these meetings you both start quarrelling with each other!" Your hand flicks around with emphasis.

"We don't quarrel" Hermes scoffed as if he'd been horribly offended.

"Yes, we do" Triton smirked, angering his friend further.

"Shush, honestly you know you always do that-" He whined out in a tantrum state.

"Would you please stop fighting like a old married couple and finish handing over the messages, I have places to be" You could feel the start of a headache coming on.

"Where Asphodel?" Triton snorted.

"The only married couple i want to be with, is you sweet cheeks" Hermes attention shifted to you, he flashed you a wide smile.

Despite the glare in your eyes, your cheeks blushed golden. Urgh, he's such a terrible flirt... But it's kind of nice directed at you.

"Pff, whatever" You kicked your foot out and rolled your eyes in faux annoyance.

Triton looked between you and Hermes before reaching out and handing a bag of scrolls to you. You graciously took them and teleported them back to your desk in Hades' home.

"Thank you" You smiled slightly at your water-companion.

"Uh huh, you're welcome" He nodded although he looked a bit creeped out. You thought he would've been used to your aura by now but you didn't think too hard about it.

"Yep, here you go!" Hermes pushed Triton out the way and handed you a slightly bigger bag filled of scrolls. You teleported the bag next to the last one while Hermes was puffing out his chest at Triton who was rolling his eyes at him.

"Thank you too" Hermes practically beamed at your words.

"...Okay I've got to go but you to have... fun together" Triton shuddered out and walked back into his domain.

You'd never seen Triton leave that fast before. Odd.

"Are you busy?" Hermes placed his arm around your shoulders.

"I'm always busy" You said in as much of a monotone voice as you could.

"Ookay. Want to go on a date?" He grinned and bounced on the ball of his feet.

"Right- Right now?" You almost couldn't believe it but the flutter in your chest told you you weren't dreaming.

"Yep-o I've got the perfect place in mind" He outstretched his hand and you giggled as he bowed theatrically.

"Fine, you're lucky your handsome" You sighed nonchalantly and his face blushed with a golden tint.

You placed your hand in his and the world around you flashed to gold.

[sillygoofyqueer]

My brain right now: *screaming sobbing shaking* GUYS WE'RE ON A SCHEDULE IT'S BEDTIME SOON!!! The other half of my brain: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!! MAD SCIENTIST AU! WE MUST PREVAIL!!! Let's look at how everyone's doing since Wei Wuxian 'died', starting with Xue Yang and the Wen siblings!! *checks notes* Okayyy, sssooooo....they're all depressed and hate everything. Ever since Wei Wuxian 'died', there have been two mini wars - the Wen siblings + Xue Yang against all of the Wen, and then Xue Yang against literally all of the Wen. He tolerates Wen Qing and Wen Ning more than the rest of them because at least they actually cared about Wei Ying and he can sort of see why they never told he and Wei Ying about the truth (see, this is Wei Ying's influence at work because he would never do this in canon). Despite this, he still fucking despises the fact that they lied to them, something that led to Wei Ying's breakdown and demise. He would be alive if they had just told them the truth. Even though Xue Yang does know the truth, he also has to pretend that he doesn't so that he doesn't end up dead like Wei Ying.

The Wen really don't trust the Wen siblings or Xue Yang anymore, not after what happened to Wei Wuxian (and Wen Zhuliu), so they send them to Yiling both to head a supervisory office and for 'practical research'. Yes, this is also to mock them by reminding them of their dearest brother, the last one to lash out against the Wen and died because of it. Xue Yang is even more infuriated by this, and becomes a lot more volatile with everyone around him, clinging to all of Wei Ying's work and trying desperately to break the code of the notes so that he can connect with his gege again, so he can hear his voice and be reminded of how brilliant he always was. Not only does he hate the Wens, but he also despises the Nies for their part in Wei-gege's death. Nie Huaisang was the one who broke the news to Wei-gege, and Wei-gege had a qi deviation because of it. He makes it very clear that Nie Huaisang killed Wei-gege, and then refuses to keep up the communication they once had.

Nie Huaisang feels sick when he receives a note that only says 'Wei Wuxian was beaten and thrown into the Burial Mounds because of you.' He had begun to see Wei Wuxian as a friend, as a confidant that he could gossip and joke with, and now he's learned that Wei Wuxian was caught and handed a fate worse than death because of it. He panics, he hyperventilates, and it all comes spilling out to Nie Mingjue when he finds him. Nie Mingjue should be mad, he will be mad, but not while his didi is like this - even afterwards, when he's calmed down, Mingjue just cannot fully yell at him because Didi looks so miserable and guilty. So he grumbles something about "at least not all Wen are monsters" and asks to see all of the letters that Wei Wuxian had sent to Nie Huaisang just to be sure - if this boy truly was good, and had died an awful death, then he deserves Nie Mingjue's respect (He is good, of course he's good).

Meanwhile, Wei Ying is really going through it in the Burial Mounds. Even with the apparent coddling from It, he's still basically trying not to die all of the fucking time because Mama doesn't raise a weakling!! He's limping along with his fucked up legs, trying to find food and a water source and anything to hold the water source in and something to make a fire in and - sigh. He's in literally constant pain, with bad days and really fucking bad days, and the only light in the darkness (aside from the Burial Mounds whispering love and encouragement in his mind) is the qiankun pouch that he finds tucked into his inner robes. A cherished blanket to wrap around him and keep him a little warm without his usual layers, his beloved Suibian brings so much comfort and protection to him, pages upon pages of notes that will surely prove helpful in his environment, and! The sword from the Xuanwu, having been tucked in for safekeeping. It whispers to him.

Of course, during his time in the Burial Mounds, Wei Ying is most certainly changing. He's becoming more fucked up by the second with all of the spirits and voices whispering to him, a constant low murmur in the back of his mind that sometimes becomes screams for blood at any sign or thought of violence. He obsesses over all of his notes, all of the half-formed thoughts dancing through his mind, and rejects modao - it's not like he has any living humans around anyway - instead creating another new branch of cultivation based around ghosts. Guidao. He forgets to eat and sleep for days upon end without anyone there to bully him into taking care of himself, and the Burial Mounds equal parts forgetting and just generally unaware what is good for humans. He's working with resentful energy all of the time, he's made his own flute and is weaving it into every experiment. He's experimenting on himself. He's changing.

[lambilegs]

hi s, i understand writing can be really mentally draining so i don’t expect you to write this and post it immediately as that’s too demanding on you as a person. but if/when you write it here are my requests :)))

redolent

selcouth

pyrrhic

knight!sevika x knight!butchreader

sfw + nsfw, yearning lesbians who can’t be together because reader is being sent to war or smth like that

THE CREASE OF YOUR ELBOW, FELT AGAINST MY MOUTH

1K DRABBLES: REDOLENT, PYRRHIC & SELCOUTH redolent: having a strong distinctive fragrance; serving to bring to mind. pyrrhic: won at too great a cost selcouth: unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet wonderful

note: thank you so much for being so understanding and kind in your request :(( it means the world to me love. AND THIS REQUEST. ate. ate. as soon as I got it, my mind was flashing with all these ideas bc like, knight x knight pining??? I'm in love contains: very loosely historical (bc probably not accurate in terms of clothes and such), reader is a butch, mentions of binding, reader being sevika's butch4butch awakening, mentions of violence, injury and blood, sevika using alcohol to cope, also YES that one scene is inspired by the meeting on the turret stairs, I also listened to crush by ethel when writing bc someone on tumblr once said it's butch4butch coded and I agree

the immediate thing that awakens in sevika's mind when she remembers kissing you for the first time is: grass.

she remembers the way you two had gone out for training early that morning. you, whose eyes had beamed bright under the glaring sun, who muscles had rippled, sheen with sweat, when you wrestled with her. you, whose thumping pulse brought her back to life when it pressed against her nose upon you tumbling into her.

it was a kind of desire that felt foreign to her, even though she had always known her desires were unorthodox, to say the least. while most the women in court fluttered their lashes and hid coy smiles at the men, who were polished in gold and sleek with velvet, she found herself sneaking out of her lord's home through the windows in order to spend the night pleasuring women in the darkest alleyways, using her tongue and lips against them, amidst the murky scent of dew-kissed leaves, until they were convulsing.

but, she never expected to find her mouth aching for one of her fellow knights. it had started as a budding curiosity, you being new to the lord's home, from some faraway village so isolated that no one ever bothered to learn the pronunciation of it. your skills were fresh and evidently never given the one-on-one practice required in order to hone them in and truly craft them to a steady force you could wield with ease.

sevika had been tasked with the responsibility of helping your skills become sharp, refined blades, perfect for sinking into the flesh of the lord's enemies and quick enough to only be spotted as fleetingly as flame springing to life. she didn't want to do it, not at all. she already had enough on her plate, and now, time she could've spent flirting, fucking, releasing was now designated to helping you through your stumbles and trips. but, her loyalty to her lord never faltered -- his word was as good as hers.

and so, evening after evening had been spent fighting, training, and to her initial displeasure, conversing. she didn't want to talk to you, she didn't want to prolong these sessions that had been thrusted onto her without her permission. but, as your fellow knight, someone who you'd one day fight side by side next to, she felt an obligation to give you at least some kind of response, whether it be a monosyllabic grunt or a silent nod.

but, then, one day, on your shared walk back to the manor, you had done something. you had pointed at the sky and regaled her in the tale of the constellation, stitching together a story that was profound and dramatically retold, the stars the small holes that your words threaded through.

and sevika? she had actually listened. actually found herself hooked onto every word, something in her flipping from just how passionately you spoke. she had never known that kind of passion for anything other than fighting. but, you seemed to have that delight for the world, raw and childlike, drenching every word.

it made her curious. and so, after some internal resistance, telling herself she didn't need a new friend, she didn't need to get personally involved, she asked: "what made you want to become a knight?"

your words about wanting to protect the world, wanting to keep people safe and away from the fear you saw in your own village, left sevika clenching her jaw.

for years ago, she had spoken those same words. before the violence and horrors of her position had rendered her to a hardened block of steel.

steel that with your burning words and fiery glare when facing her off in a match, was slowly melting away. she was losing the armour made solid through years of defensiveness and a fierce opposition to anything resembling the soft, plush material of tenderness. it thinned out everytime she saw you flirt with someone else in the tavern, everytime you smiled in glee upon beating her, everytime the knights were sent on a dangerous mission and she insisted fighting next to you.

it shattered into pieces the moment she had you pressed onto the grass, and unable to resist any longer, crashed her lips onto yours. you returned it the way you fought -- eagerly, passionately, riding on your instincts. your body, so similar to hers in how you bound your chest, donned trousers and dirt-smeared blouses, thrummed with the natural masculinity she herself had never been able to chase away no matter her parents' prayers. but, so different in shape, so alluring in the slope of your neck, the edge of your collarbone. she ran her tongue along those parts, moaning into the skin as you raised your hips against hers, rocking, silently begging for more.

she usually enjoyed teasing her partners, drawing out the pleasure until her self-restraint snapped. but, tasting the sourness of your sweat, breathing in the scent of oils you had once stolen from the lord's bedroom as a dare, she couldn't resist grinding down against you, both of you pumping against each other's thighs, over and over again until your pants and moans crawled and tipped at a crescendo, birds flying away in startled shock as you bit her lip, licked her blood, wailed against her.

it is these memories that keep her warm when you are away. and far from her.

she had gotten injured in a brawl. a stupid, reckless, drunken brawl, of all things. a brawl that now haunts her visions and fills her with a bitter well of regret.

for the next day, irony ever present in the face of unpredictability, the lord had announced a journey to be taken to a nearby state, the goal being a battle in order to seize some land he claimed was rightfully his. sevika never understood the greedy bastard's need for more land, more money, when he was richer than the whole lot of the knights combined. but, all she could do was grit her teeth and watch as everyone around her nodded in obedience. everyone, but her. for her injured arm had been deemed too great a risk.

she had begged you not to go, shoving you against the stairwell the morning before the party left, casting you both in the shadows, and saying in a low tone, "you're not going. I won't allow it. you're staying here, with me."

"I can't just not go, vika," you hissed, eyebrows furrowed up at her. "I'll get casted off if I refuse."

"I don't care," she snapped, glaring down at you. "you can get a job elsewhere. anything, I don't care. just don't go. the kingdom we're taking on -- I've heard of their knights."

"and what, I'm not ready?"

"you're not," she deadpanned, trying to smother down the twinge of guilt sparking in her gut from the wounded look in your eyes. "you only joined six months ago."

"and not for lack of reason. I joined, and got knighted, because I already had prior skill. you simply built upon a foundation that was already there, that I had already established without your help for years."

her jaw clenched at your stubbornness, gaze burning like wildfire as she muttered, "I don't care. I want you safe. don't go." she was never one to beg, never saw the worth in losing one's pride for someone who won't listen. but, now, she found herself unable to keep the pleading tone from her voice. even if the battle ended up victorious for them, anything done to harm you would be too great a cost. "just stay with me."

"sevika, I can't," you whispered, shaking your head with insistence. "I need to do this, I've been working towards this my whole life. please, don't ask me to--" your voice caught on your breath, eyes glossy.

"what? stay?"

you nodded silently, lips pursed together. she faltered at that, knowing she hit a weak spot.

but, she knew it was worth it to prod at it, sink her words into you until you finally understood.

"stay," she firmly said, lowering herself so her eyes were levelled with yours.

you shook your head silently, bottom lip caught behind your teeth.

"stay," she murmured, leaning in until your nose brushed hers.

your resolve was made of stone, hard and unflinching in the way your gaze focused on her without waver.

"stay, please," she whispered, her lips ghosting yours.

tears dripping from your eyes, you yanked her by the collar, your lips meeting in a hard clash of teeth and spit. it tasted salty, filled with the all-consuming rage she felt towards your stubbornness, your insistence, your ability to get her so soft. your handsomeness, your love, your affection that leaves her stomach tight with every quiet word.

she held you against that wall, kissing you against and again until your body felt hot under her palms, her fingers digging under your shirt, toying with soft cloth wrapped around your chest.

you two only parted when footsteps began echoing down the hallway, signalling the arrival of someone. you immediately turned to race up the steps, the arm that had been braced against sevika's shoulder sliding against her broad chest as you left.

with her fingers wrapped around your wrist, her lips pressing one last, reverent kiss to the crease in your arm, she let you go.

and she hasn't seen you since, spending day after day in her cot, her body longing to feel yours.

she's even taken to acting like some lovesick hero, someone who she's never been before now. the patch of grass you two kissed upon is her constant refuge, the scent of it becoming stained with the drops of alcohol she slurps up when the nights of silence get too difficult to bear.

such a miserable haze encompasses her entire being that she's convinced the sound of the horn one morning is a figment of her imagination, that the sight of your face, worn and bruised, is a vision God has sent her out of pity.

but, then, you smile and kiss the scar on her cheek, and for the first time in months, she is brought back to life, the scent of grass flooding her.

[theeartuaist]

Love Etiquette 101: A Beginner’s Guide on How to Care for Your One and Only

By Anonymous

PREFACE

So you've found them.

That one person who makes your heart race, your hands shake, and your world tilt just a little to the left. The one who makes your heart's beat becomes thunder in your ears, drowning out all else.

Where others might crush and move on, you've begun to orbit your love like a planet circling a dying sun, pulling closer with each revolution. Accept this about yourself. The heart wants what it wants. And yours wants everything.

Welcome, newborn. Welcome to the first day of your new existence.

Finding "the one" isn't easy in this day and age. But love—true, pure, soul-gnawing love—is worth everything.

I still remember the first time I saw mine. The way the fluorescent lights of the convenience store caught their profile as they reached for that carton of milk. The universe contracted to a single point. That moment has been seared into my memory ever since, like a brand on cattle—permanent, painful, and oh-so-necessary.

Today, I will help you navigate this journey ahead with ease and teach you everything I know.

CHAPTER 1: FIRST STEPS

First Impressions Matter

Nothing says "I'm a well-adjusted individual worthy of your affection," like appearing completely normal. Keep your breathing steady. Maintain eye contact, but not for more than three seconds at a time—I've timed it. Practice your smile in the mirror until the muscles in your face ache. It should reach your eyes, but not too much. Too much, and they'll notice it and be off-put by you.

Be Present, Always

Every newcomers first instinct is to watch. To learn. To absorb every detail of your Darling's existence like a sponge soaking up bathwater.

There's an art to this.

Start small. A casual glance at their schedule. A memorized route home. The contacts in their phone, names alphabetized in your midnight notes.

Remember: three hours outside their bedroom window is devotion. Four is where the neighbors start to notice.

Rotate your locations to avoid... complications — the coffee shop they frequent, the gym they visit, the route they take home that passes by that charming little park with the dense shrubbery perfect for observational purposes.

Remember, don't be obvious about it. Coincidences happen all the time. Lightning strikes. Meteors fall. And you just happen to be shopping for groceries at 11:17 p.m. on a Wednesday, just like them. The universe works in mysterious ways.

Document everything in your journal, but keep it analog. Digital leaves traces, and traces lead to restraining orders. Write in code if possible. Personally, I use invisible ink. The truly dedicated people have been known to memorize everything and keep it locked in the basement of their minds.

Thoughtful Gestures

Everyone appreciates thoughtfulness. Its in our nature.

We, especially wants to shower our person of interest with evidence of pur devotion. A lock of hair. A handmade doll with button eyes that match theirs exactly. A sixty-page manifesto of your future together.

Resist.

Begin with conventional tokens that won't send them running for the nearest exit. Store-bought chocolates, not homemade ones containing your tears. Flowers purchased from a shop, not stolen from their neighbor's garden at 3 AM.

Save the handmade shrine for your own private worship. They're not ready to see how deeply you care. Not yet.

CHAPTER 2: Distractions

Remove Distractions

Their life is cluttered with people who don't appreciate them like you do.

That coworker who makes them laugh? A temporary obstacle. The childhood friend who "knows the real them"? A relic of the past. That attractive neighbour who gets a little too friendly? A threat that needs... addressing.

Your blood will boil. Your vision will narrow to a pinpoint of rage. This is normal. What separates the amateur from the professional is restraint. Kitchen knives are traceable. Hair-cutting incidents make the local news. Acid is messy and leaves evidence.

Instead, try:

• Subtle social sabotage

• Anonymous warnings

• Rumours and character assassination

Creativity is key. Like that time, I arranged for my beloved to find those "accidentally" sent texts on her ex's phone. He's gone now. And my darling needed a shoulder to cry on. Convenient, wasn't it?

Remember: if your Darling chooses them despite your interventions, you haven't loved hard enough. Or quietly enough.

Contingencies - Rivals

Sometimes, despite your best efforts, a rival proves particularly stubborn. Like a tick buried under the skin, they cling to your Darling with disgusting tenacity. The occasional rumours and social manipulation haven't worked. They persist, like a cancer that refuses treatment.

Always develops contingencies.

First, information is your greatest weapon. The persistent rival has weaknesses. Everyone does. Perhaps it's an embarrassing medical condition. A family secret. Academic fraud. Financial troubles.

Digital dust is impossible to erase fully. Find what they've tried to hide and understand where to apply pressure.

Second, recognize what you are dealing with and adjust. Are they a childhood friend (most dangerous, entrenched)? Someone in their workplace or a classmate (proximity advantage)? An Ex Who Won't Disappear (emotional leverage)? Or a new flame (fresh, must be extinguished quickly)?

Each requires different tactics. The childhood friend must be gradually discredited over months, not days. The Ex can be reminded why they're an Ex. The New Flame hasn't had time to build defences.

For particularly entrenched rivals, consider befriending them, gaining their trust, then position yourself as their confidant about your Darling. You become the bridge between them, controlling information flow like a dam operator decides which valley floods. Other alternatives include geographical solution. Distance does what confrontation cannot.

Contingencies - Risk Management

Sometimes, despite your elaborate precautions, someone notices. Perhaps it's the school librarian who sees you checking out the same books as your Darling week after week. The barista who realizes you've memorized your Darling's coffee order and schedule. The neighbour who spots you during your nightly vigil.

Or worse: the friend who glimpses your shrine. The parent who finds your journal. The classmate who connects your multiple accounts.

These are what I call Potential Exposers—ordinary people who've accidentally stepped through the veil separating your two worlds. They see fragments of your devotion and, in their pedestrian minds, mistake it for something sinister.

First rule of exposure: deny, deny, deny. Do not panic—that confirms suspicion and creates poor decisions you will have to clean up later.

Be calm and deny, "Me? Following anyone? What a strange thing to say." Laugh it off with just the right touch of confusion. This is when your practice in the mirror from chapter one comes in.

When digital evidence threatens you, remember the power of alternative explanations. Your seventeen accounts following your Darling? "Oh, I'm doing a social media project on engagement metrics." Your detailed logs of their movements? "I'm learning time management by observing successful people." The shrine? "It's a visualization board for my photography class."

Develop cover stories for everything. Then develop backup cover stories when the first ones falter.

For the particularly dangerous Exposer—the one who knows too much and cannot be misdirected—consider the preemptive strike. Before they can tell your Darling what they've seen, tell your Darling first—but frame it differently. "I'm worried about Sam—they've been saying some really strange things about me stalking you or something? I think they might be jealous of our friendship."

Plant the seed of doubt before the Exposer can.

To avoid situations like this or having multiple people suspicious, develop a carefully crafted persona of absolute averageness. Average interests. Average schedule. Average social media presence. This cloak makes any accusation seem implausible by contrast.

If all else fails, permanent resolution can be used. Sparingly. It is difficult to undo what things when your hands get dirty. But that is for another blog post.

CHAPTER 3: Digital Footprints and Research

Research Shows Interest

Knowledge is power, and love demands power.

Learn everything. Their middle name. Their childhood pets. Their blood type. The name of their teacher who once told them they'd never amount to anything.

In this modern age, the internet is both your greatest ally and potential downfall.

DO create a finsta to follow their accounts.

DON'T like their Instagram post from three years ago at 2:17 AM.

DO learn their friends' names and interests.

DON'T create fifteen sockpuppet accounts to infiltrate their Discord server.

Remember: stalking is just reconnaissance without permission. And the best reconnaissance goes undetected.

When creating shrine folders on your computer, use encrypted drives. Name them something mundane, like "Tax Returns 2017" or "AP Chemistry Notes." No one looks in those folders. No one.

Social media is your friend if used well, but don't stop there. Public records exist for a reason. So do binoculars and telephoto lenses. Information is just sitting there, waiting to be harvested like ripe fruit ready to burst.

The Art of the "Chance" Encounter

Fate needs a helping hand sometimes.

Once you cleared the distractions, got your act right, and studied their schedule until it became your own heartbeat, you are now finally ready. Know when they'll turn that corner, enter that elevator, reach for that last box of cereal at the store. And then be there—casual, surprised, meant-to-be.

FINAL THOUGHTS:

They are your life now, not just a phase. Their happiness is paramount—even if they don't understand what makes them happy yet. But they will - oh, they will.

Protect them. Love them. Obsess quietly.

Love finds a way. It always does.

After all, they're not truly yours until they have nowhere else to go.

And if all else fails, there's always chloroform and tranquillizers. But that will another blog, another chapter for another day.

______

[Editor's note: The publisher disclaims any responsibility for actions taken based on this satirical work of fiction. Please seek professional help if you identify with the narrator of this guide. This is satire.]

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

As a NB, Taash is a huge blow to non-binary representation. Yeah, give the non-binary rep to the rudest, most emotionally immature, hypocritical companion. Make their personal quest about them getting all defensive when their mom reasonably asks about what being non-binary is, because oh my God how dare Mom be ignorant to this super abstract concept that is difficult to articulate to someone who does not perceive the world that way, cancel her with death. Make Taash coded autistic to give them the excuse for being a poorly socialized brat that gives you no option to tell them to shut the fuck up like any reasonable person in the real world would tell them to do because autism is no excuse for rudeness and casual disregard for other peoples’ feelings.

Like why are we feeding into the stereotype that NB people are immature brats who expect the world to freeze when they’re misgendered and for people to flagellate themselves with stupid performative punishments when they slip up or don’t immediately grasp the concept? This is literally how Republicans and conservatives see us. These are the jokes they make about us to invalidate us because they think that’s how we behave, and then you have Veilguard literally say “Yeah we’re like that lol”. If it’s some sort of subtle attempt at satire, it’s a shitty one that I’m not laughing at because it’s a waste of NB rep just to be ironic. If it’s sincere, it’s an embarrassing power fantasy that only the lamest and most miserable person on earth would find cathartic.

Imagine if Emmrich was the non-binary companion. Keep his personality and appearance (ok tweak it so it looks far less modern), but you learn in his romance ‘actually gender is not that much of a concern for me. In death we are all the same.’ and the reason he looks like *that* is because he likes it. You could add more depth to his fear of death with the question of “Have I lived as my most authentic self? Am I truly who I am, or have I fallen into the trap of reflecting what society expects of someone born with the body that I have?’ because there is this worry that some NB people like myself have where we’re not outwardly “NB” enough, like we don’t practice what we preach. Most importantly, Emmrich would never use the term “non-binary” to describe himself. He would have a term or phrase he would use to describe his feelings that someone of that setting would use to represent how queer people would characterize and conceptualize their gender and sexuality for themselves before they had access to all the precise modern labelling. He could call himself some untranslatable word that he’s transcribed from some foreign language—Tevene, Qunlat—or he gleaned from some epitaph while working with the Mourn Watch, an epitaph for a Planasene tribe member who was given the designation that roughly translated to “neutral” for referenced sex (gender and sex being interchangeable to these ancient peoples). SOMETHING cool like that. Something thoughtful and full of far more depth than thunk “I’m non-binary”.

Personally to me, non-binary is a political philosophy as much as it can be personal expression. You can dress “binary” and be non-binary because the point is that it doesn’t matter, and that is the beauty of it. There’s freedom in that nihilism and exploration, and Emmrich would’ve been a cool gateway to that sort of ‘live as you wish because we’ll be dust eventually’, especially from an older man. We have very little queer older men rep in media, and far, far less rep of NB individuals over 30 just in general. Being NB is seen as a phase dominated by young people. Emmrich would be that bridge and perhaps even that door for older individuals who might not have considered they were non-binary because it’s a young person thing or what have you.

And you know we could explore these ideas more if Veilguard had, I don’t know, extensive dialogue trees and opportunities to talk to our companions outside of demarcated “hey I need to talk to you” events, shitty banters, and lil intramurals between the companions that Rook is just a bystander to like a camp counselor or head of HR.

[widefuturesss]

it’s crazy, confusing and humbling reaching this stage in my becoming where I’m no longer the youngest in the midst of my fellow co-creators

and by young, I even mean young in the practice of becoming a creator of worlds; I had wide eyes and was happy to connect with anyone willing to share knowledge, resources, space and simply: validation,,, yet my willingness to share my potential (because I didn’t exactly know how to or what direction to cultivate it in) led to a lot of uneven relationships with power hierarchies and various forms of abuse & exploitation. It was like I was yearning for community in an industry of cliques, which reminds me of how as a kid I always caught the eye of popular kids but could never fully fit into their spaces because through and true I’ve always been an outcast, a nigga attracted to soul beyond an exterior, I feel truly seen in the margins; and I can truly see the non-visible, it is where I find most realness, I mean real roots is indeed in the underground

But yea, all this to say that I’m at a place where I can rlly see how we’re inspiring and influencing another age of young people, most especially femme spirits. It’s been an honor to be able to validate and advice and also give platform to y’all because it really feels like I’m giving it to 15 year old me that rlly just wanted to grow. Yet it is also an eye opener as I come to forgive the older sistahs that made me feel small, because I understand how industry makes us competitive and feel as though there’s a scarcity that we must need to fiercely protect in order to maintain our relevance

I also just understand the insecurities of this existence, and how capitalism tells you there can only be One best according to a fixed and rigged standard of value based production… i understand the tensions of jealousy and rivalry, it’s crazy cuz it doesn’t just come from u but the people around you, back in Nigeria, niggas was telling me “this person is copying you”, this person is soo you coded blah blah blah but damn! This shit is poisonous to the mind — I want to become so my sistahs may become, so we may all become and raise the frequency of our collective space and materiality,,,

yet it’s easy to be power hungry in this world, especially when people actually wanna be fans/followers as supposed to co-creators… it’s hard not having an ego when some ppl straight up wanna worship u

I’m tryin my best and learning fr on this journey of figuring it out, most especially also learning my boundaries! Because it’s one thing being inspired and honoring the legacy and heritage of where our languages and methods are being sourced from, versus straight up just imitating and duplicating an aesthetic that limítates the ecosystem we’ve been building

much more to say but I feel grateful to be sharing these thoughts because wow, what a journey it has been already

[dreamdolldiary]

a simple, no BS rundown on how to ACTUALLY reach your goals

Because grass is greener where you water it. Not the other side.

1. Stop the overconsumption

This is #1 for a reason because just like the majority of individuals who set goals and research how, we often find ourselves stuck in a

"get inspired > overconsume self care content > we get that quick dopamine > never actually pursue our goals or cannot go 1-3 months without being consistent." cycle.

That all ends with this post. Let me keep it simple and straight to the point. Your brain is not designed to hold an overload of information at once for something so straightforward as the pursuit of goals - there is never a need to go down a YouTube or Tumblr self care post rabbit hole when they all essentially regurgitate the same, core information.

Besides, no amount of information will prove beneficial if you aren't willing to commit to goal execution.

2. Identify your ULTIMATE goal

Look back on all the years that have gone by. What aspect of your life makes you feel like you need to improve? What do you truly want to achieve right NOW?

Was it the lack of exercise you got? Your low grades? Your poor relationships with others and yourself? Mental health issues? Unhappy with your job? Financial stress? Pinpoint the areas of your life that carry the most weight at this time.

Depending on what you feel, you may feel unhappy with the way you handle your responsibilities or the way you can't seem to navigate through your hardships.

An example goal to combat these problems would be: to be more self reliant.

Now, narrow down your focus to three pivotal habits that will guide you toward this ultimate goal.

3. Focus on 3 KEY HABITS that help you achieve that ULTIMATE goal

I think being self reliant should be or is a subliminal goal everyone has. I mean, this is your life, only you can make things happen and that all depends on your self reliance.

Narrow down your focus to three pivotal habits that will guide you toward this ultimate goal.

The 3 Key Habit Areas:

Productivity

Skills

Exercise

Pick 1 for each.

Why only 3 habits? What person doesn't want to be good at a million things? While wanting to constantly reinvent ourselves and have a reset or implement the 12 week year into our lives, it’s very easy to get carried away.

Yes, not even the sky's the limit! You can be and do whatever your heart yearns if you know it's your calling or if you truly know it'll make you happy but when it comes to goal setting, we will pile so much more than we can handle at once and you know what that does?

Creates excitement

As we try to tackle all these goals/habits, it gets overwhelming- unsustainable.

And because it got overwhelming, you'll start to "fall behind" on being consistent in every one.

If you "fail" to be consistent or expect yourself to be a master at it within the first 2 weeks, you'll throw in the towel and say "Well. Since I can't do this, I might as well give up altogether."

And you go on living the same life you wanted to improve from.

So AS MUCH as you want to do it all right now, take it slow and easy. This isn't to say you can't be all the things you aspire to be. I am saying to take it one step at a time. You have to walk before you can run.

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

Ideas for those 3 key habits

Habit: a settled or regular tendency or practice, especially one that is hard to give up.

Productivity:

Practice the 2 minute rule

Create a time block schedule that is flexible

Plan the next day and set priorities on your to-do list

Practice digital minimalism

Wake up at 5-6am and allocate “me time” before you jump into work/studying.

Skills:

Learn a tech skill (coding, editing/design, typing)

Learn a high value language (immerse, learn the alphabet)

Have better handwriting

Learn calligraphy

Dedicate AT LEAST an hour to this habit everyday. Choose something you enjoy. Don't make this feel like a chore.

Exercise:

10k steps a day

Practice dance (choreography online, ballet, jazz, contemp.)

Martial arts inspired exercises

100 crunches a day

Add stretching to these habits

3. Create a SIMPLE, fail proof plan that works for YOU.

"If you fail to plan, you plan to fail."

3 habits. 2 of which should take at least 2 hours of your whole day. If you can't do that then you need some self-assessing to do.

Assess whether you work better in the morning or at night

Plan what hours you're going to do them.

Print out a paper with a time block schedule, set it infront of your desk, make it a widget on your phone, tape it on your room wall- anywhere where you can easily keep track of the time and what you should be doing now and in the next hour.

Example schedule that most people can relate to:

Productivity | Skill | Exercise

Wake up at 6am - me time (skincare, calm music, stretch)

7am - Full body exercise.

8-9am - Get ready for the day and head to work

13:00 - Break time (read a book, walk around for some peace of mind, or immerse yourself in the language you chose)

17:00 - Come back home and rewind. (eat, settle down, walk the dog)

18:00 - Learn how to code

19:00 - Get ready for the next day by planning

20:00 - Shower & get ready for bed

4. Reflect, always!

Keep a track of your consistency. 

This doesn't have to be an inconvenience or all set to be pretty and aesthetic.

Print out a habit tracker and tape it, along with a pen on a wall, next to your vanity, wherever is convenient and hard to miss so you can easily mark it off.

If it's close to bedtime, make it a routine to check what you have yet to accomplish.

You knocked off learning how to code, your phone says you walked 10k steps, but you see that you forgot to drink water? Then drink a sufficient glass of water, and place a check in the box.

Quick. Simple. Easy. No excuses.

There. 1 week goes by, soon 3 weeks, then a month, that month turns into 2, then 3, and those "goals" are now habits. A part of your daily routine. They become non-negotiables.

Just like how it's routine for you to go to wake up, brush your teeth, and get dressed everyday. 

Now that you created a set of habits, you can build upon them. In a few months time when you feel that it is right, create another action plan and introduce 3 new habits.

For example, you can try another dance style, wake up at an even earlier time, and you can learn how to speak another language or to put it simply, make it goal to reach an advanced level of your new skills

Another example could be towards a more specific ultimate goal. Like taking care of your outward appearance.

Habits for that ultimate goal can look like:

Putting on skincare oils to reduce scars

Growing your glutes + massaging your muscles

showering + brushing your teeth everyday

Rinse and repeat.

Remember that only you can save you. Only you are there for you. Your future is built now.

You don't need luck. You need self love.

— dreamdolldiary ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚. 

[ash-says]

hiii ! i love your post about being audacious 🩷 do you have any tips about improving people skills/ being more charismatic? thank youuuu 🤭

Hello girlll!!! Thanks for sharing your thoughts on the audacious post. It's one of my fav tbh I literally came up with it while I was cooking. So coming to your question let me see how I can help you out tbh I share my opinions and what has worked for me so far. So practice discernment and take everything with a pinch of salt✨✨

Tips to improve People Skills/ Being more Charismatic:

1) Find your USP:

USP means Unique Selling Proposition. What makes you unique and I mean it in a personality sense more here. You can extend it to your looks but start from a personality trait cause it will be forever and very personal to you. Even if someone copies it, it will always be a cheap one.

I will elaborate on this with an example:

One of my ex colleagues was really good at socializing. He was 27 years old but I kid you not he looked like a 20 year old or even younger at times. He had a boyish charm and he used it to his full advantage. He literally had a child's energy and would jump here and there in the office, act like a literal child when not working. He had a refreshing energy to him the type that reminds you of your childhood days. Heck after a meeting with the CEO he used to watch cartoons to destress and made us watch it too so we could also relax but when it came to work he was smart, efficient and knew how to use his easy going socializing energy to generate sales. So you get my point right?? Find what attracts people to you or what value you can offer to them.

2) Knowledge. Education.

I personally swear by this. Be as disgustingly educated as possible. Know about various topics at least the basics of current trends or what's hot and some off topics. This adds dimension to your personality and helps you to hold a conversation with anyone. Plus you never run out of topics to speak on.

3) Confidence. No elaboration needed.

4)Sense of humour.

Why bore people to death by reciting the merciless nature of Julius Caesar when you could present it as a joke when something relatable comes up??? People are more likely to find you charismatic if you can make them laugh.

5) Master the art of Storytelling

This!!! Right here is a cheat code I tell you. You don't have much knowledge to speak on for now? Fine as you gradually work on it hold conversations by sharing bits of your life in a colorful way. Engage people with your life stories. Make them fun and a little dramatic. I am not advising you to lie. There's always a way you can convey something in an entertaining manner. Master it. I personally use it a lot and it's fun to connect with people cause they too loosen up and share their stories and then you link it up with your sense of humour by adding a nice comment or comeback.

Warning : Never share details that are very personal to you. Only share funny incidents and situations that won't bring you in trouble if gossiped about. Practice with discernment.

6) Learn positive body language and develop empathy. Empathy truly helps you in connecting with people on a deeper level and creating a bond based on trust and emotions.

7) Smile. Don't grin like a fool but when you see someone you know make a note to address them. Wish them good morning ,etc . Pass a genuine smile towards them. Be polite.

8) Be genuinely interested in other people but not in a nosy way instead in a healthy way. Help them out if you can. A good deed never goes to waste.

9) Have a positive outlook on everything. No one wants a pessimistic person around them. Even on days you can't. You know the mantra ," Fake it till you make it".

10) Support people. Be kind. Soft spoken. Know your place. Don't downplay yourself in front of people who are clearly not at your level and don't overestimate yourself in front of people who are professionals in those fields. Get a grip on how to act with whom. You won't know it until and unless you won't do it. Have a strong sense of self, be opinionated, confident and be witty. It's fun that way. Push your limits and don't be afraid to network with new people and talk to strangers. Who knows what will happen??

Possibilities are endless.

I hope this helps you out✨✨

[rei-ismyname]

Uncanny X-Men #13 Review

TLDR I liked it!

This is an interesting issue, certainly more ambitious than anything in the run so far. It has direct continuity with at least three issues in this run, yet it introduces mostly disparate plot elements at the reader out of nowhere through three mostly separate concurrent narratives. Sadurang, the oddly misogynist dragon from issue #1 shows up, we follow a new young black mutant in the 1920s from segregated Chicago to Jim Crow Louisiana, and the Outliers channel Scooby Doo. A lot happens, which is good, but the mystery is thick and it's mostly setup. Understandably, as it's Dark Artery part 1/4 - so I'm parsing questions instead of answers.

Loving the makeover, dude. Ice suits you

Gambit can't sleep in part because Rogue steals all the blankets. They're both cold. Sadurang the God Snake showing up might have something to do with that - it's not explicit, but Gambit suggested he fuck off to Antarctica when they first met and it seems he did just that. Gambit has been using the Eye of Agamotto he stole to blast children and teleport around, but Sadurang doesn't seem to mind right now. Or does he? Feels like he's kinda hitting on Remy a little bit tbh.

Logan and Sadurang should have a sniff off

He's got questions - very personal and specific questions. 'Where's the bird, thief? You harbouring giant Latverian birds here? I'm asking questions I know the answer to but srsly, spill the tea bestie.' Mind your own business, buddy.

Gambit has no idea what he's talking about, and probably doesn't know about near-immortals fucking either. After Storm and Logan banged, DOOM sent a giant bird to talk to her. Sadurang doesn't really care, it seems he was just making conversation as befits la noblesse oblige. No idea where Gambit kept got those cards from seeing as he's only wearing underpants, but the dragon isn't here to fight. Gambit hops on his back and they fly away. It's refreshing to revisit a plot point that's actually been set-up instead of just springing out of nowhere - I was wondering if we'd truly have to wait a year for his promised return. It seems not, the perceptive icy weirdo has a proposal.

This is Miss Henrietta Benjamin, or Henry. She's a schoolteacher from Chicago who's a mutant and she's leaving for Louisiana to fulfill a duty - and putting her mother, also a mutant - to rest is part of it. Markers of segregation and systems of black solidarity are everywhere, though it's difficult to tell whether the marks she's making are mutant-related or a system of pictorial communication for black folks. Underground railroad code-style. I was only aware of this stuff through the Hobo Code and Skyrim, though pictographic code is much older than that. I assume it's the latter, but the 'Midnight Bark/M' is used in a few pages which confuses the subject. Could be both.

I did quite a bit of research for this (which is why it's later than usual), as the US history we do learn in Australia is about as accurate as our own black history - not very. We pretend to be post-colonial when we're anything but. I want to say it's the 1920s, though I'm going to miss a lot of context. I feel like I should say that upfront - plus I don't want to speak over or for black voices. Henry is seemingly heading to set up the Outliers plot, which promises to be important to mutant history.

I think if you're going to explore (three) hundred year old mutant lore (as has been done before,) striving for authenticity by telling it through black POV has a lot of merit. Uncanny is occasionally a Southern Gothic book, and I'm interested to learn why a young black woman would head south when when black folks were migrating north en masse (The Great Migration) in response to much harsher laws and extralegal discriminatory practices. X-Men has a reputation for diversity, but honestly it's pretty damn white if you look at the numbers, the leadership, and definitely the creators. Uncanny is more diverse than usual, though the 2D black villain that is the Podcaster makes no attempt at exploring the dissonance of her behaviour and motivations intersectionally.

It's a positive thing to have minorities in fiction that aren't solely defined by that, though Warden Corrina Ellis in particular is a visible black woman operating a monument to mutant oppression that she built. Before that she hosted a popular anti-mutant podcast and got a prominent government contract off the back of that. The tactics she's using to systematically break the will of an outgroup - torture, dehumanisation, brainwashing, indefinite imprisonment, even chattel slavery (she was going to sell Beast and did sell Calico) and legal indentured servitude - it beggars belief that she wouldn't have complicated feelings or delusions about what she's doing. Her blackness is kinda relevant and the absence of any depth so far certainly makes me ... vigilant. Wary.

There's a lot of potential for exploring black history and the mutant metaphor but there's also a great many potential pitfalls, something Marvel in general doesn't have the greatest track record with. Much has been made of the 1963 run being inspired by the Civil Rights movement, but I don't buy it because it's not on the page at all. 6 white people with wealth who collaborate with the establishment and use force to keep other mutants in line - I don't see it. Marvel is historically super white and clumsy at best with matters of race. It's not a coincidence that Kitty Pryde has dropped the N bomb 3 times over the years. This history doesn't mean that the mutant metaphor and segregation can't be done well together, or at least inoffensively, but it's all in the execution. 

Henry's train ride is uneventful but for a black conductor making the 'Midnight M' signal several times, which she ignores. She can't take the risk that he works for The Service, a nebulous group of mutant hunters. I've been iffy on the M as a modern invention, but it being a known quantity a hundred years ago (exclusively amongst black folks so far) suggests it's a contemporary appropriation or revitalisation. It ties the signal to a significant and specific time in history, which I'm honestly not sure how I feel about. Henry refers to the (Dark) Artery in Louisiana as her duty - interring her deceased mother with 'their kind.'

I didn't have space for pics of most of the Outliers adventure - Ransom is woken up by Deathdream's hand over his mouth and he wigs out. Deathdream gathered all the Outliers, but no adults, to go to the Dark Artery right now. He doesn't really explain that, just says spooky shit and speculates that this is what called them here. We find out it's a graveyard, so I assume Deathdream is communicating with the dead, or they him. Calico especially is scared and Ransom assures her she can sit this out if she wants. She has a crisis of identity, so the others assure her she's a mutant. With that, she's committed. Acceptance and validation from the outgroup/community you're connected to is important, especially for young people. Given her upbringing, I think it's realistic that she keeps backsliding and retreating to her mother's awful mantras. Her initial acceptance happened way too easily after Gambit's 3 panel pep talk, so I enjoy that it's an ongoing process for the most sheltered and socially privileged of the group.

Marcus St Junior and Alice watch them go and clearly know something about the 'door' or Dark Artery. That they're black people who own/run Haven, Henry's destination, suggests a historical link of some kind. Maybe. Probably. Alice seems concerned while Marcus leaves it in the hands of 'our Father' - most likely God, but it often pays to note exact wording. Henry came here for her parent, so a family connection is possible. Either seems reasonable, though if Alice has a reason to be concerned maybe they should be accompanied by the adults whose care they're in? Simone has a Raid on Graymalkin - four issues to tell this story, so we shall see.

Meanwhile, one of the aforementioned adults has been dropped in The Savage Land by Sadurang. Gambit is still without britches, so it's a good thing Marcus doesn't know. Haven has a couple of rules - everyone pitches in, the kids go to school (maybe it's the holidays,) and wear fucking pants. It's come up more than you'd think.

Sadurang is unimpressed with Gambit's efforts to take down a Tyrannosaurus Rex (or an Allosaur maybe, idk) and steps in. It doesn't do much so Gambit blows it up in an act of ecological crime. I have it on good authority that the Savage Land is a protected ecosystem. Lucky Ka-Zar or the RSPCD aren't around - Sauron would certainly object too.

The big cold snake says he admires Remy because they're alike. Feels like a backhanded compliment, or at least a manipulative way to build rapport. He calls him 'admirable' for not wanting to kill the dinosaur - admirable like he used to be. As if to demonstrate, he asks Remy if he objects to eating the dead dino, which he obviously doesn't.

Apparently the Eye of Agamotto (the left one at least) makes you crave flesh. Animals at first, then people, those closest to you. Sadurang will generously take the Eye back, sparing Remy this fate but it's a one time deal. Choose now! Limited time offer. This feels like a scam, lol. He politely asked if he could eat a dead dinosaur, which is probably what dragons do anyway - eat stuff. Agamotto has shown up here and there and we saw no evidence of cannibalism. Doctor Strange has worn one of his other eyes for decades (there are 3,) as have previous Sorcerers Supreme. This Eye certainly does different tricks even for the untrained Gambit. Portals aren't new though randomly blasting people is. This curse or whatever would also be new. It doesn't mean he's lying, necessarily, but it feels like he is. Sadurang was going to come and get it in a year anyway, so it's blatantly not a one time deal. We don't know what Gambit chooses, but I suspect he'll give it up and really need it later or something. We shall see.

Henry arrives in New Orleans and looks to continue on to Haven ASAP. A local porter gives her the lowdown on what's safe and allowed for black folks, but they're interrupted by Jacob Miller from The Service. He's either been following her or had eyes on the train because he questions her about the M, calling it a 'hex sign.' Dude probably was with The Service too. They duel with courtesy and innuendo but Henry's a sharp customer.

Miller offers to carry her bag, not taking no for an answer, then rips it open. She has bricks and a journal in there, neither of which interest him. He doesn't approve of her being educated/able to write - as a black woman it could be either or both - but he arrogantly doesn't read it. As he bids her goodbye with false politeness he instructs his partner/subordinate to follow her. He sucks.

'If she isn't a moonflyer she knows one, I'll wager' - suggesting that The Service are mutant hunters, proto-Purifiers perhaps - while introducing a new old mutant slur (alongside 'Johnny Devils' and 'abbhorences.') Henry notices a mark meaning 'beware' on the train station sign. Her eye glows red, Cyclops style, as she affirms that The Man is watching while vowing that they're almost there and her mother can rest soon. Her thoughts are stylised as journal entries,with the framing of her writing this letter about past events.

The issue ends on the Outliers reaching their destination - a circular room with coffins laid out neatly. A graveyard underneath a swamp, as Calico says. Ransom picks up a book from the centre of the room that's not a match for Henry's diary, and there's torches burning. Deathdream confidently states that they've been doing so for 300 years, but offers no explanation for how he knows that. 300 years is a long time - whatever this is would have been established for 200 years before Miss Henrietta Benjamin made her journey. The French founded New Orleans in 1820, so we're talking early or even pre white history in the region. There's a Latin carving inscription on the wall that Jitter translates as 'bring us your own to rest forever.' Everyone except Deathdream is spooked, and he repeatedly tells them to not be afraid. They literally walk past interred bodies standing up with their arms crossed. It's objectively scary.

The cliffhanger is that this place is guarded by the Man-Thing. Deathdream is characteristically calm while the others are not. Hopefully they can overcome that, or not get touched by The Man-Thing, because nobody wants to burn. Most people, anyway. I am not a Man-Thing expert, though I do know that he guards The Nexus of All Realities in Florida, and has only been doing so since ~the sixties. This doesn't look like the Nexus of All Realities or Florida, but that's a mystery for next issue.

Uncanny X-Men #13 is all questions and set-up, but it passes a vibe check for a Southern Gothic mystery from history. It's a little railroady in that all characters spend the time travelling to a place and just arrive there, but there wouldn't be room for much more without cutting the Gambit plot. It didn't seem to have much to do with the A and B plots in different time periods - which is fine - it just distracts from the definitely connected journeys of Henry and The Outliers. It's a little jarring to cut from Southern Gothic to dinosaurs in the Savage Land, but it's part 1 of 4, so they may well be connected. Right now I'd prefer the other plots be more fleshed out, but I suppose it's a good thing to leave us wanting more.

It's certainly ambitious in its scope and I'm invested in the mystery that's being built here. I'm happy to say it feels like Simone is hitting her stride, leaning into the setup without replaying Rogue angst beats or having to worry about Xavier's dense gravity pulling the characters into his orbit. The issues I do have are caused by infrastructure - the book has a lot of characters and Jubilee and Kurt especially feel like NPCs. Marcus and Alice just watching the kids head into a swamp underscores their position as passive characters, but that's okay right now. Aside from doing a bottle episode, there's no way around that, so playing the cards as they lay and centering The Outliers is a strong move.

Dark Artery part 1 feels like a strong start for four parter, and for the first time I'm delighted to say that this issue is worth reading. A good issue even, with more of the elements I like and less of the undeveloped fluff. Henry is a mystery with some pretty big hints and The Outliers' Scooby Doo-ing Southern Gothic feels organic with me asking 'what's next?' I've been harah on this book, which I don't apologise for, but fair is fair. #13 is solid.

[raisedbythetv89]

Ok ooooook OK SO.

Spike was literally made for Buffy because he was made for and by Drusilla, and Buffy and Dru are the same person:

Innocent, kind-hearted young girls, with special gifts that cause them to carry more guilt/burden than others and they are used/abused/traumatized by angelus/angel, then neglected and abandoned, with Spike being there to pick up the pieces and nurture, care for, and love them the best he can to help them move past their angel trauma (which is actually an impossible task with Drusilla because of the sire aspect but isn’t with Buffy)

WHICH is why I believe William’s first act as a vampire was to try and save his mother. He was literally created to be Dru’s knight. Not only her protector but her healer. Which is why his first instinct when it should be all about blood lust is instead, to heal his mother who he still loves even as a vampire. I mean even Dru, a certified nutcase, is like you wanna do WHAT?!?! When Spike tells her his plan to save his mom😹

This is also why I believe angel trying to mold Spike into his image never really took or rather Spike was able to break free from it. Angel was created by darla for the intent of death, torment and destruction.

Spike was created to care for and love Dru. Which required an OBSCENE amount of patience, determination, humility, and love of a challenge. Which is why he was so intrigued by slayers, another seemingly impossible task - but the joy/fun was in the TRYING, the thrill of the unknown and the unpredictability of it all. Which are all the traits he needed to be there for both Dru and Buffy while also ensuring he never gives up on them as long as they want him there, and then some lol.

IM FREAKING OUT ABOUT THIS

Because also this is soooooo not where I planned on going with this but “I was made to love you” episode title is now drawing in the connection of, is this why Spike didn’t initially see the problem with the Buffy-Bot until he saw the reaction of Buffy herself who often acts as his moral compass as he relearns what is “good” after 100+ years living by vamp code because him AS A HUMAN, in his vulnerable, dejected and devastated state was killed and made into a vampire for the sole purpose of loving and caring for Drusilla selflessly, without regard for himself, much like the bots were!! So why would he see the harm in creating something like that for himself when no one was going to die in the process and it meant he could stop fixating in the real buffy? Both of which to a vamp who’s only been trying to live by human morals again for like 14 episodes vs 120 years with NO help just trial and erroring his way through becoming a white hat which his starting point is “I would like credit for not taking advantage of bleeding disaster victims” and “what do you mean building a shrine to show how deep my devotion is and chaining you up, offering to kill my ex, and forcing you to talk to me and admit your feelings aren’t the way to do this??” 😹😹😹 like he gets it so wrong, it’s comical in season 5 because he truly is so earnest about all of it because while yes it is all for a chance with Buffy, he genuinely wants to be better for her so he can earn that chance. As he says to Riley “a fellas gotta try” after saying he doesn’t think he has a chance with her.

He was an Eleanore who desperately needed his Chidi. Which Buffy is his moral compass but she ends up being a “let them fail/push them into the deep end” kind of guide. So he makes A LOT of mistakes along the way as many of us often do in general but especially those of us who were raised by abusive parents; who in our adulthood, have to learn to discern what is healthy vs abusive to be a good person to both yourself and others and be in actual healthy relationships with boundaries and respect with zero practical experience or good instincts to go on.

NONE of this excuses any harm that Spike causes at all. That is not the point of this to say “oh he didn’t really do bad”, no he did. Spike caused a lot of harm but this perspective that I’ve finally been able to put into words is why none of the harm ends up being a deal breaker for me and many spuffys because it puts his choices in the right perspective which is not that of a human even though he looks like one a lot of the time.

Spike pre-soul, making the mistakes he makes isn’t the same as a human or a vamp with a human soul making the mistakes because he doesn’t have his human soul motivating and informing the decisions he makes. It really mimics different cultures in a lot of ways as anya really demonstrates during her wedding with all her talk of demon culture and tradition (and her own struggles to assimilate into the human world again and she HAS a human soul and xander to help her) and the initiative being VERY n*zi coded and Riley being called a bigot because he is ignorant to much of demonology. So un-souled spike has a more potential for forgiveness of his mistakes than human soul havers because he is always genuinely TRYING to do right by Buffy even when he gets it horribly wrong. And the characters in the show always hold him accountable and make him feel TERRIBLE for the mistakes he makes.

Why does he have such potential for forgiveness you ask? The best example is to think of the concept of someone trying to assimilate themselves into a new culture. We can’t expect them to blend right in perfectly and get all the culture norms right, right away (again -anya-but also a real life example - when I travel in Italy and catch up with friends there I STILL always stumble and forget they’re always gonna go in for a double cheek kiss greeting - pre covid anyway - and I KNOW it’s a thing but if I’m out of practice it takes me a while to start greeting people that way again and it makes for some AWKWARD ENCOUNTERS until I get it down😹). It takes time, and normally guidance and patience from others that spike honestly doesn’t often have except in the form of being yelled at or beat up until he gets his soul. But his willingness to TRY anyways despite failure, rejection, ridicule and cruelty. How can I not love him?? He is me, I am him!! I was also met with so much unhelpful criticism and cruelty when I was just trying to learn and do a good job.

Both as someone who is autistic and didn’t know it for a lot of life; I too felt like I was blundering through without a guide or a rule book and I was sure I was making mistakes because people would get upset but I had NO help identifying what exactly I did wrong or what to do instead. So I knew I was messing up but had to keep guessing and trying anyway and getting it wrong again and again!

And as someone raised by an emotionally distant/abusive narcissist, navigating healthy relationships became even MORE difficult and I made a lot of bad choices along the way that landed me in some awful relationships much like what spike and Buffy devolve into towards the end of season 6 because both of them are up stream without a paddle when it comes to healthy relationships, healthy coping mechanisms, and communication. They know pain, avoidance, fighting, torment, and ecstasy from always living in extremes and life or death situations (notice Buffy struggles the most in the season with no threat of the apocalypse until the last two episodes - season 6 - which is SO common for people with trauma, you really fall apart when things are low stakes)

It’s why the tenderness and gentleness of season 7 means SO MUCH. Both of them experiencing these tiny pockets of true peace with each other after everything they’ve been through individually and together. Experiencing true peace like we see from them is one of the hardest things to accomplish if you have severe trauma.

I’m always really happy when I can digest these complex themes enough to communicate why I love them so much and why they’re so important to me. The fact that this show had so much in-fighting amongst the writers and misogynists trying to make spike pathetic and accidentally making him one of the most complex characters, plus episodes based specifically on neurodivergent/queer peoples’ traumatic coming of age experiences because the parallels are SO strong there no way they’re not lol. This all means I can probably spend the rest of my life dissecting the layers of this show and learning about myself in the process and always find something new 🙃🙃🙃 and clearly I love all aspects of spuffy so god damn much as they each embody a big part of my life experiences in so many beautiful yet tragic ways.

[myimaginedcorner]

A THANK YOU

Hello my dear readers,

We have now hit two weeks since the official launch of Scales of Justice: Book One. So far, it has received quite a bit of feedback from the community, both good and critical, and is currently still holding top of the page in Hosted Games. I am incredibly grateful for all your comments, ratings, and engagement with his game. You have made this journey magical, and I am beyond happy with its outcome.

I am, perhaps, one of the main critics of my own work. I began this game as my first ever project in English, still green as a writer, an amateur with nothing but a silly dream of telling stories. This game has been my debut in many ways; it pushed me to publish, it pushed me to practice and improve my skills, and it pushed me to engage with a fabulous community that has helped me direct my work so others could enjoy my tales through my writing. During the hard times of Covid, it brought me to finally start working towards my aspirations, and I cannot be more grateful for it. I am grateful for everything this game brought me as a writer.

Now, I am someone with more than 3 years of experience in multiple accounts of writing. I am a graduated historian, a graduated writer, and a programmer working on my last master's degree in STEM. I have written and coded so many new things, tried new genres and styles, experimented with ideas. I have heard your feedback throughout this WIP, and I am listening to everything people have to say now that it's published. I am planning to continue with my work - I am planning to make the next book better, taking into account all the knowledge you've all taught me throughout this journey.

I've been listening to everything that people have suggested as improvements and criticism, but I'm also curious what parts of the book people truly enjoyed and would like to see more. Forgive me if this sounds a little selfish, but I do wish to hear more from everyone, and of course, there's nothing more pleasant for a writer than to see their story being loved (that is, of course, not to discourage anyone from critical feedback; it helps greatly with improving my faults). Please, continue sending your feedback. Tell me what parts have been the most compelling, alongside any other feedback you may have. I am still here to listen, still here to learn. The only way is up.

With all my love,

Julia xx

[lees-chaotic-brain]

So happy for your 300 followers! For your event, can I please request Nanami. The song is Mine by The Chainsmokers. Genre, maybe keep it cute and fluffy, domestic romance?

WC: 4.1k (holy shit i have no idea how that happened)

CW: reader is called a girl once, angst to fluff, lovers to strangers to lovers, marriage proposal, a ton of sappy dialogue, light swearing, if the readers emotions make no sense because they're all over the place it's because reader is me coded (as always lmao)

a/n: hi vee tysm!!! this somehow became not very cute and fluffy, but i hope the ending makes up for it :') special shout out to @not-enough-homestuck-upinthis @hcdwigs @valentiraa + @yeshnn for help with headcannons for teenage nanami!!!

listen to this while reading

Event Guide | Event Masterlist | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

You had known Nanami since before your days at Jujutsu Tech, your friendship spanning all the way back to middle school when you moved in next door. In high school, the two of you dated, falling deeply in love only for your relationship to end suddenly with the death of Haibara.

One day you were dating your best friend who you knew better than you knew yourself. You knew that he was a bit of a dork who had My Chemical Romance paraphernalia hidden around his room.

You knew that he was shy, and that he placed so much importance on doing the right thing. You knew that when he was thirteen he wanted to learn to play the stylophone and electric guitar so he could start his own band. That he unironically spoke in an old fashioned manner for a few months because he wanted to be “proper.” 

You knew that he always brought extra pens in case you forgot yours; his favorite type of bread, and why he loved it so much. You knew that blue was his favorite color because it reminded him of the ocean, that he wanted to go to Malaysia so he can experience true peace without the chaos of the jujutsu world around him.

You knew everything about him, from the bigger aspects to the small quirks that made him him, then you didn’t. After Haibara’s death the boy you knew and loved just…disappeared. He withdrew into himself, stopped talking to you, didn’t show up for your date, unresponsive when you reached out to him. Then after graduation, he just left. He didn’t break up with you, didn’t even say goodbye. He left a note informing you that he was leaving the jujutsu world, and that was it. 

So when you bumped into him outside the gates of Jujutsu Tech, to say you were surprised was an understatement. Honestly, you had given up hope of meeting him again a long time ago, resigning yourself to remain in this weird limbo where you had no closure but no means of getting it either.

But there he was, completely different from the man you used to know. The lankiness of his teenage day had long been outgrown, replaced instead with sheer muscle and power. His long hair had been cut neatly into a practical style that was low maintenance and kept it out of his face. His shyness had morphed into reserved stoicism.

Locking eyes with him, the two of you stared in silence for some time, neither sure where to even begin speaking. All you knew was you felt like you were looking at a stranger. Not the boy you had once loved.

I look at you and you look at me Like nothing but strangers now

Despite both of you being so different, falling back in love with Nanami Kento was so simple, like slipping into the familiar warmth of a well used hoodie, because you had never truly fallen out of love with him. 

It had only been weeks since you had seen him again outside of the school gates, but you were already back to the way you had been a decade ago; young and in love. It was like nothing had ever happened. Like the past ten years never happened.

The two of you left work together every night and walked over to the food stall you visited every day in high school for dinner. You checked in on each other before and after missions, made sure the other was drinking enough water and taking care of themselves. It wasn’t until Shoko pulled you aside and mentioned it that you realized you had never actually addressed the slight awkwardness in your relationship due to his leaving.

And maybe it was stupid, or selfish, but you didn’t want to talk about it with him. You had missed him so much you just wanted to enjoy spending time with him now that he was back. Your hearts seemed to be the same as they were then, young and burning with the force of your love, so why would you do anything that could potentially jeopardize that? Was it really so bad that you didn’t want to risk extinguishing the passion that seemed to still exist?

Two kids with their hearts on fire Don't let it burn us out

Eventually you realized how much you needed to have the conversation with him. You couldn’t pretend that nothing had happened. For the last ten years you had lived in a weird existence in which he hadn’t broken up with you, so you were technically still together, but he had abandoned you without even a proper goodbye.

Now he was back and the two of you had fallen back into your old relationship without addressing the massive elephant in the room. Up until now you had convinced yourself that you were fine with that, the only thing that mattered was that he had returned. But as the weeks went by you began to realize that you were lying to yourself.

Of course you weren’t okay with what happened. You were angry. You wanted answers. How dare he just disappear one day, then waltz back into your life one random day almost a decade later?! Amping yourself up, you gather the courage to bring up the topic you had spent so much time and energy avoiding.

Which brought you to your current predicament, sitting across from him as you ate dinner together, hyping yourself up for the conversation ahead of you. Clearing your throat awkwardly, you got his attention, setting your chopsticks down in your bowl.

“Listen, I know we’ve both been trying to avoid this conversation, but I’ve been thinking about it lately and I realized some things.” He looks at you intently, something strange crossing his expression before disappearing. Taking his attention as agreement, you take a shaky breath then continue. You can do this. Just like you practiced in your head. Easy as pie.

“I’m not okay with this!” All prior thinking and planning goes flying out the window as the words burst from you, and once the dam broke there was no going back, the words flowing from your mouth as irreversible as a floodgate breaking.

“I’m really not okay with this. I mean, I don’t even know you now! I can’t keep doing this. I can’t allow you to waltz back into my life and my heart when I don’t even  know why you returned! Or even why you left! You said you came back because of your morals. That you couldn’t live with yourself if you sat by as innocent people suffered. But if that’s the only reason you returned, and I’m only a side perk that comes with being part of the jujutsu world, I'm not going to be part of your life at all.”

You take a moment to catch your breath, feeling like a weight has been lifted off your chest as you lay down your ultimatum. You were nearly giddy, woozy with relief. It was up to him now, and what he said next. You didn’t have to worry about this any longer. It was all up to him.

“So. Tell me. Do you need me in your life? Am I important? Or am I going to walk out of here tonight and never see you again?”

Think about what you believe in now Am I someone you cannot live without?

In the aftermath of the line you drew in the sand, a boundary you constructed to protect yourself, you find yourself holding your breath. As liberating as it felt to pass the burden onto him, your fears only intensified because it was truly up to him now. 

As much as you talk the big talk, you’re not sure how you’re going to survive if he tells you he doesn’t need you. Because even after ten years, you still don’t know how to live without him. And you really don’t want to learn now.

'Cause I know I don't wanna live without you, yeah

He sat perfectly still for a moment, and you waited for his reaction, your inability to see past his stoic mask just another reminder of everything the two of you had lost. Awkward silence permeates the air, coiling its oily tentacles around your throat and making it hard to breathe. 

You can’t do this. You have to get out of here. Screw standing up for yourself and protecting your heart. You’re not brave enough to sit here and look him in the face as he tells you he doesn’t need you. 

Just as you go to push your chair back and flee, his voice cuts through your panic, its familiar warmth pulling you out of your panic. “I’m sorry.”

Bring it all back to the bar downtown When you wouldn’t let me walk out on you, yeah

You almost break your neck with how fast you meet his eyes, stunned as you notice him fidgeting with the edge of his napkin. You had forgotten that he did that when he was anxious or uncomfortable. Suddenly anger bubbles in your gut, and you explode, unable to hold back any longer.

“What does that even mean at this point?!” Your voice is sharper than you intended, and you see him flinch slightly. “You walked out on me! You disappeared! You didn’t even say goodbye. Nanami I-”

“Kento.” He interrupts you, looking at you oddly. Was he…hurt? You make a vague sound of confusion, too distracted by the pain and guilt in his eyes to formulate a proper response. 

“That’s my name. Kento. I’ve put up with you using my family name these past few weeks, but I can’t tolerate it any longer. To you I am Kento. Never Nanami.” 

Slight vulnerability shines in his eyes, the first real emotion he’s let you see all night. But you can’t bring yourself to care, too caught up in your own anger and rage. “You know what, Nanami?” You place emphasis on his family name, not caring how petty it was. 

“I only call people I’m close to and know well by their first names. And unfortunately for you, I no longer consider you someone I’m close to. You’re a stranger to me now. I don’t know why I’ve been pretending otherwise these past few weeks.”

Sighing, you lower your voice, suddenly exhausted. “Yeah…I have no idea why I’ve been pretending you’re anything more than somebody I used to know. Please, let’s just forget these last couple weeks and go back to the way things were before, each of us leading separate lives.”

You grab your purse and take out your wallet, hoping to pay the bill and get out of there as soon as possible. You went into this night a mess of emotions, willing to let bygones be bygones as long as he told you he still cared. Only for you to realize that you weren’t okay with that, and he’s hurt you too badly for your relationship to recover.

 In the wake of your rapid emotional development, you’re left feeling dull and empty, which probably accounts for why you didn’t realize he was even speaking to you until he reached out across the table and grabbed your wrist.

Distantly you hear him saying your name, but you’re so out of it you don’t look up until he stands and rounds the table, dropping to one knee in front of you as he gently tilts your chin up and takes your hands.

Nanami Kento, all crisp ironed lines and strict discipline, knelt on the ground before you, dirtying the knees of his pristine slacks as he grovels. People around you are staring, and while some distant part of your brain is embarrassed, the vast majority of it is occupied by the feel of his hands holding yours.

You hated yourself. You hated your traitorous hands for seeking the warmth of his, your stomach for filling with butterflies against your heart. You hated your heart and mouth for staging a mutiny against all common sense, hardly believing the words that left your lips.

“I’m sorry.” You blink down at him. “I missed all of that. Do you want to go somewhere quieter to talk?”

Unfettered relief filled his face and within seconds he was flagging down the server and paying the bill, not even allowing you to open your purse. He zipped you up into your coat, making sure  he had all of your belongings and was ushering you out of the restaurant in two minutes flat, as if he was convinced that if he gave you any longer you would change your mind.

Which he wasn’t entirely wrong about. You were already feeling your apprehensiveness creeping back in. Who in their right mind would consider taking someone back just because they knelt on the ground and took your hands. Apparently you, although you didn’t feel like you were in your right mind at the moment (you never were when he was involved).

The two of you loitered awkwardly on the sidewalk, neither of you sure where to go before you finally mustered up your courage and spoke. “There’s a bench in a park around here that I like to go sit on a lot. And it’s fairly secluded, although I doubt many people will be in the park at this time of night.” He just nodded, and the two of you set off for the proposed destination, you leading the way.

Which is how you found yourself perched next to him on your bench, the quiet practically screaming at you. Say something!!! You screeched telepathically at him, hoping he got the message. Please don’t make me regret this. Prove to me that I’m not an idiot for giving you this chance. Please just-

“Listen I-” He cleared his throat, cutting off your attempts at sending him your thoughts. “I know that what I did was unforgivable, and I will spend the rest of my life regretting the hurt I caused you by leaving.”

His shoulders drooped, and you could practically feel the remorse emanating off of him. “Trust me. If there was any way I could go back and time and punch myself in the face I would. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do to change my poor decisions.”

“But you can’t.”

“I know that.”

“Can you at least tell me why you did it?” Your voice cracks slightly, and he graciously ignores it. “Can you at least tell me what was going through your mind? What led you to abandoning me without a word? You say you loved me, but if you did, why did you leave?”

“I left because I loved you.” His deep voice is full of regret, and you pause, incredulous. “Kento, that makes no sense.”

“I know that.” He takes a deep breath and holds it for a second before letting it out in a great whoosh of air. “After Haibara died, I realized how powerless I truly was. I was right there, yet I couldn’t save my best friend. Hell, I could barely save myself. The only reason I made it out alive was because reinforcements arrived.”

The desolation in his voice hurt you, so against your better judgment you reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He squeezed back, and continued, this time with tears hanging on his water line.

“And if I can’t trust myself to keep myself safe how can I trust myself to keep you safe? And you-you’re just  better than me. You’re braver and stronger. I knew that no matter what I said you wouldn’t leave the jujutsu world because you weren’t a coward like me. So I convinced myself that the best option was for me to leave.”

“Kento I-” You start speaking, suddenly flooded with guilt. You had had no idea he was struggling that much. But he simply squeezes your hand and gives you a look that asks you to allow him to continue, so you shut your mouth.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to survive losing you. That I wouldn’t be able to live knowing that every time you left I might never see you again. And since I wasn’t strong enough to protect you, I decided I needed to leave the jujutsu world. At least then there was a chance you would leave the jujutsu world to follow me. And if  you didn’t, you could be with someone who wasn’t such a selfish coward. Someone who deserves you.”

At this point he was crying, and you were too. Your anger fades away, and in its place comes sorrow and…relief. Sorrow for all the years you lost, but relief because he didn’t leave because he stopped loving you. Relief because he still loved you even after all these years, he hadn’t stopped loving you once.

“Hey.” You brush his tears away, your own tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’re a dumbass, you know that?”

“I know. I spent every day for the last ten years regretting the decision I made. I’m so sorry that it took me so long to work up the courage to come back to you. But I need you to hear this.” His face grew serious, and he held your face in his warm palms as he looked at you intently.

“I will stay in your life as long as you permit me to, and spend that time repairing the damage I have inflicted. If that is only a week, then that will be the most cherished week of my life. If it is only a month, then I will use every second of it. And if it is the rest of your life, then I will spend the rest of mine loving you.”

He paused, cheeks reddening slightly. “The latter would be my preference. As long as what you plan to do with your life has space for me, I will occupy it gladly. I do not care if that means you leave me in a year, two years, three. I just-”

For the first time since he had reappeared in your life you laughed. And laughed. And laughed some more. Clutching your stomach and wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, you looked at him, eyes shining.

“Kento.” Your voice was soft, despite the traces of mirth still lingering in it. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I don’t even know what I’m doing for the rest of tonight, let alone for the rest of my life. Why don’t we just take it one day at a time, okay?”

He slumped forwards in relief and wrapped his arms around you. 

“Thank you. Thank you. That sounds much more than okay sweetheart. Sounds perfect, actually.”

You said, "Hey, whatcha doing for the rest of your life?" And I said, "I don't even know what I'm doing tonight"

Time went by, and you relearned everything about the man named Nanami Kento. You learned that he still wanted to go to Malaysia, and that he moped around for a month after his favorite bakery closed down. You learned that he had tried to take up painting as a hobby in his early twenties only to discover he was extremely bad at it and quit, and that he pretends to be reading when Gojo is around so he has an excuse to ignore him.

You noticed that he was less open with his emotions than he used to be, but that didn’t stop him  from expressing his affection in other ways. Be it always greeting you with your favorite pastry and a coffee in the mornings, or going out of his way to profess his feelings towards you, he made sure that you never had another reason to doubt his love for you.

It took time, and while it never fully went away, the hurt and anger faded until it was unnoticeable. When he left you had been in love with the eighteen year old version of him, and you got to experience falling in love with him all over again, this time with his twenty-seven year old self.

Fast forward two years, and the two of you are taking a nighttime walk in the park from two years ago, holding hands as you enjoy the peaceful night air when he suddenly speaks, startling you.

“Love.” You jolt looking up at him. “Yes? What’s…”

Part of you relished in the fact that you could see past his stoic facade straight to what was in his heart again, but tonight the intensity of the emotions swirling in his warm brown eyes caused you to trail off.

They weren’t bad emotions, in fact, they were far from it. He was looking at you like you were his whole world, like he could spend the rest of your life gazing into your eyes and still not have enough of your face. A little flustered under his full attention, you spluttered, then became deathly still.

Maintaining eye contact the entire time, your boyfriend got down on one knee just like he did all those years ago in that restaurant when he was begging for another chance. Except this time he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a velvet ring box. And suddenly a simple, yet elegant diamond was twinkling up at you from where it was nestled in the plush velvet.

You looked at me and I looked at you Like we'd never look away

Your hand flies up, covering your mouth as tears fill your eyes. “Ken are you…?” He smiles tenderly up at you, and the sweetness of the moment absolutely nearly gives you heart palpitations.

“Y/N.” He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on with so much conviction that you can’t help but believe him. “The first time I met you I knew you were the one for me. I-”

“Hold up.” You hold a hand out, cutting him off with a watery giggle. “The first time you met me I was laughing so hard about a dick joke Shoko made that I shot soda out of my nose. That’s what sealed the deal for you?”

He chuckled dryly. “What can I say, I saw a beautiful girl who was unafraid of expressing her joy to the fullest extent. When I heard your laugh, it literally gave me butterflies. It was beautiful, unrestrained and full of joy, just like you are.”

Taking a deep breath, his expression sombered slightly and he continued. “I know that I hurt you when I left. I will never forgive myself for that. And I will never stop being grateful to you for giving me another chance to prove my love to you. I won’t be as bold as to ask you to be mine; I know I don’t deserve that”

At this point you were openly crying, the moonlight glimmering off the unshed tears in his eyes as well.

“But, if you would give me the honor of being yours, of becoming your husband, I promise you won’t regret it. I promise that you will always be supported and valued. I promise that I will stay by your side and love you through thick and thin. So, would you give me the honor of being yours? Of staying by your side and loving you for the rest of our lives?”

You fling yourself at him and wrap your arms around his neck, crying into his shoulder. “Save the vows for the wedding loverboy, what are you going to say when we get married now that you’ve already made all of your promises to me? Huh?”

“When we get married?” His arms wrap around you as his voice trembles. “So, is that a yes?”

You lean back the salt from your tears mixing as you plant a sweet kiss on his lips. 

“Of course it is. You’re mine. That’s something that’s never going to change. However, Mr. Nanami Kento, would you give me the honor of being yours?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “Of course I will. Is that even a question you have to ask?”

And as he slips the ring onto your finger (it fits perfectly, of course) you know that being his is the one decision you will never regret.

And you said, "I never regretted the day that I called you mine" So I call you mine

taglist: @ponderingmoonlight @arlerts-angel @m0k0k0 @starlightanyaaa