#fun facts about colour choices:

[cerealforkart]

Some simple s2 parent icons for no reason I���m not making a tierlist

1 | 2 | 3

#dndads #dungeons and daddies #doodly #sparrow oak #lark oak #rebecca swallows oak garcia #grant wilson #marco li #nick close #nicholas foster #cassandra swift #terry jr #veronica marlowe #offering these before I construct the bomb I mentioned the other day #some people won’t agree with some of my choices #but tbh I don’t care #fun facts about colour choices: #most of the teens use the same monochrome palette as their moms #exception being Link for obvious reasons #likewise most of the dads would use the same palette as THEIR dads from s1 #exceptions being Lark and Nicky who are their own thing #and Hero uses the Sparrow and Henry palette #but IF a s2 dad is interacting with their teen they’ll use the teen’s palette instead just because it looks nicer #enjoy these with credit they’re transparent #grant looks so mad lmao

[sc-intothedarknightofthesoul]

Part of the reason why I've started to screen record my Libra of Soul gameplays (similar to why I recorded my SWTOR gameplays in the past) are in fact because there are story scenes I really liked, but unfortunately cannot replay to an extent.

While yes, I can replay some missions, but only the ones with the fighting gameplay.

My short term memory nowadays also sucks, especially now that I'm writing a fanfic.

#soul calibur #soul calibur 6 #libra of soul #fun fact about me #star wars the old republic was my previous hyperfixation before catapulting myself into soul calibur 6 #swtor-project-peace is my other sideblog #i often have to create new game saves for when i picked the wrong choice or experiment to see what happens #most often to the detriment to the progress I've made at the time #also in true hyperfixation fashion #and that soul calibur 6 doesn't let you transfer characters you've created in CaS over to LoS #i wrote down every body clothing and colour detail in a book for both Kasta and Ezra #basically to make the process of creating new saves less tedious

[zedecksiew]

DECOLONISING D&D

In 2019, after seeing yet another round of alarmist discourse in Xwitter about how Dungeons & Dragons is FULL of COLONIALIST tropes and patterns, and needs to be revised, SCRUBBED of its PROBLEMATIC FILTH---I rage-tweeted this brainfart:

"Decolonising D&D"

I've seen this thread round the community, since. Humza K quotes it in Productive Scab-picking: On Oppressive Themes in Gaming. Prismatic Wasteland quotes it in Apolitical RPGs Don't Exist. Most recently, it was referenced in a 1999AD post about Western TTRPGs (an interesting discussion on its own merit; one that already has a counterpoint from Sandro / Fail Forward.)

If folks are still referring to it five years later, maybe I should give the thread a little more credit? Perhaps the fart miasma has crystalised into something concrete.

In the interest of record / saving this thought from the ephemerality of Xwitter, here is the text in full, properly paragraphed, and somewhat more cleanly expressed:

+++

"DECOLONISING D&D"

Firstly: saying "D&D is colonialist" is similar to saying: "the English language is colonialist".

If your method of decolonising RPGs is to abandon D&D---well, some folks abandon English; they don't want to work in the language of the coloniser. More power to them!

For those who want to continue using the "language" of D&D---

Going forth into the "wild hinterland" (as if this weren't somebody's homeland);

to "seek treasure" (as if this didn't belong to anybody);

and "slay monsters" (monsters to whom?)

Yeah. There's some problematic stuff here, and definitely these aspects should make more people uncomfortable.

But! I think it is an error to "decolonise D&D" by scrubbing such content from the game.

That feels like erasure; like an unwillingness to face history / context; like a way to appease one's own settler guilt.

Do you live in the West? Do you live in any Asian urban metropole? White or Person of Colour(tm)---you are already complicit in colonialist / capitalist (yes, of course they are inextricably linked) behaviour. (I can't speak for urban metropoles elsewhere, but I bet they are similar centres of extraction.)

Removing such patterns from the TTRPGs you play might let you feel better, at your game table. But won't change what you are.

I think it is more truthful and more useful NOT to avert one's eyes from D&D's colonialism.

The fact that going forth into the hinterland to seek treasure and slay monsters is a thing, and fucking fun, tells us valuable things about the shape and psychology of colonialism. Why conquistadors in the past did it; why liberal foreign policy, corporations, and post-colonial societies do it today.

Speaking personally:

I write stuff that evokes / deals with the context I'm in---Southeast Asia. An intrinsic part of that is looking at the ways colonial violence has happened to us---as well as the ways / reasons we now, supposedly free, perpetrate it on others.

A long chain of suffering. Heavy stuff.

I also write for people who want to have fun / kill monsters / pretend to be elves, of course. But for those people who want to consider serious stuff like colonialism: I offer no FIGHT THE POWER righteousness, no good feeling, no answers.

Only discomfort. Because the truth is uncomfortable.

Here's a screenshot of the Author's Note for Lorn Song of the Bachelor:

"Any text inspired by Southeast Asia has to reckon with colonialism ... This text presents a difficult situation; there are no easy solutions. "... If I offered a mechanical incentive for you to fight colonial invaders, you wouldn’t be making a moral decision, but a mercenary one. "The choice you face should echo ... the kind of calculus my grandparents faced."

I stand by that.

Also: might we be more precise and more careful about using the term "decolonising", please?

Here I quote Tuck and Yang's landmark and (sadly) still trenchant "Decolonization is not a metaphor":

"Decolonization brings about the repatriation of Indigenous land and life; it is not a metaphor for other things we want to do to improve our societies ..."

+++

Further Reading

So this post isn't just me reheating a hot take, here are some touchstone writings from around the TTRPG community about colonialism as a subject and mode of play in games:

+

"Jim Corbett was called upon to hunt down another fifty maneaters over the course of the next 35 years. Together, those tigers had killed over 2000 people, for much the same reasons as the Champawat Tiger - injury, desperation, starvation, and habitat loss. Would you look at that. The root cause was British colonialism."

D&D Doesn't Understand What Monsters Are from Throne of Salt

+

"Another effect of having colonizers in my setting would be giving players the opportunity to drive them away from the islands, their home. This maybe just be for the catharsis. After all, isn’t catharsis a big part of why we play roleplaying games?"

I’m Adding Colonizers To My Setting from Goobernut's Blog

+

"When you have a slime boy and the other characters are a really fat lizard and one's playing Humpty Dumpty, it completely shatters the straight-faced serious authoritarian illusion of race, and replaces it with complete fucking nonsense. I love the idea of proliferating the number and types of "races" into absurdity, to the point where the entire logical structure of it collapses in on itself and race as a category ceases to become coherent or meaningful in any sense."

Interview with Ava Islam - Designer of the RPG Errant from Ava Islam / The Lost Bay

+

"Perhaps most critically, the fundamental basis of power is not land or even money but manpower. That’s what local rulers fight over, and what Chinese commercial networks export, in return for unique island products. It’s what the European colonists really need (even if it’s not what they most desire). There is rich loot to be grabbed in the form of spices, Spanish silver, Indian gold, sea cucumbers (the Chinese love ’em), perfumes, dyes, cloth etc. so there’s ample opportunity for piracy, trade and smuggling, but the key to long-term success – the key to independent survival – is nakedly and unquestionably uniting people."

Counter-colonial Heistcrawl: previous high scores from Richard's Dystopian Pokeverse

+

"They worked their own land—which they dispossessed from American Indians—or became small shop owners or opportunistic gold diggers or bounty hunters or itinerant ranchers. To me, substituting these situations for one ruled by industrial monopoly ignores that the Wild West is a perfect example of how capitalism operates outside of (or prior to) mass industry, instead being composed of self-employers and self-sustainers."

Fantastic Detours - Frontier Scum from Traverse Fantasy / Bones of Contention

+

"... using the Western framing and D&D's baked-in imperialist and capitalist structure to get people earnestly participating in the experience of forming imperial power structures and the early roots of regional capitalism ... The PCs aren't the drifters on the train or the townsfolk watching with apprehension - they're the railroad itself."

An Arrow for the General: Confronting D&D-as-Western in the Kalahari from A Most Majestic Fly Whisk

+++

#colonialism #theory #ttrpgs #d&d #politics #lorn song of the bachelor

[essaytime]

A lot of productions (or production ideas) for Romeo and Juliet come up with elaborate aesthetics for both of the feuding families, and there is definitely a charm as well as a large degree of blessed creativity to this, but honestly, the more I think about the play, the more I feel the most resounding choice with me, given the play's meaning, would be to make the Montagues and the Capulets' costumes very, very similar. Almost identical - the same silhouettes, materials, everything. Have the only thing signalling which family it is be a ribbon or band tied around the arm, a particular embellishment at the collar of a dress or shirt, maybe some item of clothing that's easy to take off, like a vest or small cape, or a scarf. Maybe aside from the Lords and Ladies of both surnames, they could wear something that's entirely in their family's chosen colours/symbols, but the rest of the family and their supporters? Just these details. Because that's really one of the things that hit so hard in the text: there is literally no reason for the feud. There's no logically existing divide. We have two influential families of equal standing, who live by the same customs, whose children probably have the same education, who employ people with the same mindset and themselves presumably have the same mindset. They could very well live beside each other, they could very well switch places and be each other. These poor teenagers in Romeo and Juliet are forced to live in a world shaped by something that just doesn't exist. And they're mistreated, and they struggle, and they die - at more or less fourteen or fifteen! - for something that doesn't exist. Because at this point there is no reason to go on with this conflict, if there even was one in the first place, which I doubt. I think there is a lot of sense in the fact that we never learn why the Capulets despise the Montagues and vice versa. I wouldn't be surprised if during the time of the play there was just no one that could remember it. But still, this conflict, this absolutely empty, pointless, senseless conflict, wrecks the community of Verona, pitting citizens against each other and leading to innocent kids dying. And I think if I were directing the play, that's the thing I would emphasise: that they are really the same. Have Lord Montague make a similar scream, speak in a similar tone mourning his son as Lord Capulet did mourning his daughter. Have the servants at the beginning of the play use exactly the same gestures and mannerisms. Have the dear uninvited party-sneakers get along with Capulet youth at the ball and genuinely have fun together. And have the citizens at the end be all the same in their surprise and grief, virtually indistinguishable save for this ribbon or embellishment they can just rip off of their costume, becoming one whole crowd. All of these people could pass each other, say hello, gossip on the street with no problem - if it weren't for these details that somehow make them part of two different entities. For there is no border between the Capulets and the Montagues other than the artificial one they try to create themselves. And people die for it.

#the next best design option is of course one family wearing uggs and the other wearing crocs #romeo and juliet #shakespeare #my Romeo and Juliet rants

[hisui-dreamer]

YOOOOO CONGRATS ON 2K FOLLOWERS!!!

For the flower event, may I request a Leona x gn!reader with flowers that mean something like 'i love you' or 'you mean the world to me' but with flowers that is from a Chinese culture?

if its not possible, then regular ol' flowers are fine too

lotus bonds

Pairing: Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader

Synopsis: gifting leona a cool flower you found, but he seems to appreciate it more than you thought he would

Tags: fluff, reader is a bit oblivious?, domestic fluff

Word count: 420

Notes: i couldn't find a flower with the exact same meaning so i hope you're okay with this one!!

Masterlist

flower of choice: conjoined lotus

its unique characteristic of having conjoined flowers on one stem symbolizes unity and interconnectedness in love, mirroring the connection between lovers. if a lotus root is cut, there are "threads" that still connect them, meaning it is not easy to force them apart. if one flower is damaged, the other is affected as well, signifying the concept of growing old together and sharing life's joys and sorrows.

"Leona, Leona, look what I found!"

The slumbering beastman stirred from his nap at the sound of your voice, his heavy eyelids fluttering open. With a low grumble, he rubbed his eyes, attempting to adjust his eyes to the sunlit room. "What's all the noise about?" he muttered, his voice thick with drowsiness.

"I found these flowers at the lake today," you said softly, a hint of colour dusting your cheeks. "These two are conjoined together, isn't that amazing?"

With his curiosity aroused, he reached out, his fingers gently grasping the delicate petals of the flower, his touch careful and deliberate. As he examined each bloom, the concept of conjoined lotuses stirred a distant memory. He recalled reading about them some time ago, their significance in the Far East, a message they symbolized…

Conjoined flowers, a metaphor for the intertwining bonds of mutual love and affection found within marriages… with lotuses being the purest loves of all…

A flush of warmth crept up his cheeks as the realization washed over him. Glancing at you to study your expression, you seemed to be oblivious to the hidden meaning behind the flowers.

He chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his voice. You were far too daring for your own good. He brushed his hand through his hair in an attempt to cool the heat rising within him. You really have no idea of the effect you have on him, huh?

Setting the flowers delicately on his bedside table, he made a mental note to cast a preserving spell on them later.

"C'mere," he murmured, tugging gently at your hand, drawing you into his embrace. Resting his head against your shoulder, he savours the comforting press of your warmth against his chest. He delights in the way you nestled into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you leaned your weight against him.

...Maybe marriage with you wouldn't be so bad.

"Thank you for the flowers," he whispered against your ear, his arms enveloping you in a gentle squeeze.

"So, what other stuff did ya do today?"

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

fun fact: lotuses are most famous in ancient china for being a metaphor as a good king, with a poet saying "though lotuses grow from mud, they remain untainted". so you can interpret reader giving the coolest looking lotuses to leona as "you're the coolest bestest king in my eyes" :)

#✧2k! blossoming bouquets✦ #twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland leona #disney twisted wonderland #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingsholar #twst leona kingscholar x reader #twst leona x reader #twst leona kingscholar #twst leona

[darqx]

Hi I understand if you don't reply, but I was wondering if you have any advice to beginners who want to start making their ocs a reality? (Like in the sense of having Charecters that have been in your thoughts for a while, but it's hard to encapsulate them into physical form?) As I have some that id like to make either into a game or comic but I'm a little stuck..

Also I'm curious if there will be any other content with the best boy himself rire?? : 0

Hullo! Ah, (physically) designing characters, how fun ❤️ - there is part of a reason why I only have a handful of them lol XD; ANYWAY here are three things that help me, so hopefully they can help you as well :)

(I'll use Demon!Rire as an example as unless you are an old guard of mine, he will probably be the most recognisable of my characs.)

--------------

❓What do you know about them?

First of all since you already have your character in mind, congratulations you are most of the way there already! It's helpful to know the general vibe of them. And I don't mean the super detailed things that may arise from like..."Get to know your OC" quizzes - we are more looking for the core feeling of a character here. If you dumped this character into different AUs what things are going to stay the same/similar? Some things you should consider are:

What is their personality like? Why do they do the things they do?

Do I already have any physical traits for them in mind? Hair/eye/skin colour? Body type? Age? Name??

📝 Write a simple paragraph or some dot points about your character with these things in mind.

---EXAMPLE---

Sophisticated and charming, Rire outputs an aura of power and elegance. His pleasing physical appearance and gentlemanly demeanour usually enchants or commands people. Realistically, he is extremely manipulative and sadistic, and finds entertainment in the reactions of others.

---/EXAMPLE---

🤔 Make informed choices

Ok cool, you know something about your charac! Now build upon what you know to make them real - it is important here to try and match your design choices with the characterisation and "why"s of the character, and less with what you personally think will be cool/cute/whatever. What I mean by this is just pretend they are a person you are describing to a forensic sketch artist - you are giving "facts" as to what you think they look like not making stuff up (eg you would NOT be like "oh yeh she was totally a punk rocker however i'm going to say she wore a long flowing gown cos I think she'd look prettier in it?"*)

*Note that designing a character with opposites in mind can work out if you can at least answer the cursory "why" of it being a part of the character design. For eg maybe the punk rocker is secretly the alter ego of a socialite - flowing gowns and high fashion by day, grunge by night. Like Batman.

📝 Feel free to use dress up doll games and image searches for particular types of clothes/hairstyles/etc if you need inspiration. Thumbnail a bunch of different designs and see what works.

---EXAMPLE---

In my prev example paragraph I highlighted a few things in red. Here I'll break down how they can help craft a physical appearance:

Sophisticated and charming / elegance - to me, these combined make me think of ballrooms and black tie functions and nice suits. A well tailored outfit and someone who knows how to wear them.

Gentlemanly demeanour (well to some degree lol) - since I already know he's hundreds of years old (973 to be exact) I decided that an aristocratic Victorian-esque aesthetic would suit him. Somewhere in between a modern look and something with a bit more fantasy steampunk flair. He smiles quite genially until he's doing it with all his teeth.

Aura of power - he's got to be a bit of an imposing character so he's quite tall (or at least taller than all of my other characs) and carries himself confidently. Hooray for the ability to loom. Dark colours for this character, to cut an impressive figure.

Pleasing physical appearance - kinda stereotypical type of good looks that aesthetically most people would be like "yeh he's pretty". Athletic build - muscular but not bulky, broad shoulders, tapered waist etc etc.

Extremely manipulative - first of all, he looks rather human, for a demon - his entire species is designed very particularly like that. Then there's the sunglasses. The "why" [does he wear them] is they function to hide his eyes (one of the main parts of him that give away his demon-ness), but also as a bit of a red flag to the audience that something isn't quite right with him. I mean, look past his charm and he wears them all the time. The black and yellow colour scheme also ties in as warning colours ⚠️

Put them all together and this was one of my first sketches of Demon!Rire.

*Note that I already more or less knew how he looked other than his outfit; you will probably have a lot more sketch duds as you figure out what your character looks like.

---/EXAMPLE---

🔐 Don't lock yourself in

Despite the fact I've just said "pretend your character is a person", remember you're still their creator so obviously you have final say over them. Sometimes you'll find that they grow and change from what you initially thought of them (or you just evolve in how you draw them). Don't be afraid to make the tweaks and changes that enhance these - whether they be physical or core characteristics - and you'll get closer to the true character you always had in mind.

---EXAMPLE--

I now draw Rire with a more pronounced V-shape, longer, wavier hair, and somehow he ended up with way more pronounced eyelashes than I usually draw on my male characs. Which works out quite well considering how I tend to draw his eyes. Anyway the point of this is that these things developed over time as I kept drawing him.

---/EXAMPLE---

🍀 Try it out with your own characs! Have fun and don't force yourself to try and get it "right" on the first go.

#prettyboysmakegravezz #character design #ref #character design tips #hope this is kinda helpful! #also honestly have fun aye #long post #also as for other content with rire there kinda is but he's not really the main charac lol #also who knows when that will come out im a bit pedantic planning a webcomic #sz

[padfootagain]

When We Were Lying

Hi! Here is another Hozier fic! Had a lot of fun with this trope, as always, I hope you’ll like this little story! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x reader

Warnings: none… a bit of strong language and an awful lot of longing? Fake-dating AU

Summary: Your ex is attending your family gathering for Christmas and there is no way you're going to face that alone. Of course, you drag your best friend into this, and he's too smitten with you to say no when you ask him to pretend to be your boyfriend. Although, the fact that you both have feelings for each other might end up being a problem...

Word Count: 10055

Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

“Sorry… what?!”

Andrew was blinking at you. There was something unnerving in his frown and the intensity of his stare, but you had to bear it. After all, you had no other choice.

“You’re the only one I can ask to do this with me…”

“I’m absolutely not doing that!”

“Why not?”

“Why not?! Why not?! Do I really have to answer that question or have you found back your sanity?”

“Andrew…”

“I am not going to lie to your entire family at Christmas just to save your stupid arse!”

“But I said ‘please’…”

“Y/N!”

“Andrew!”

“This is a terrible idea! I’m not doing that!”

He stared at you as if you had lost your mind, and in all fairness, perhaps you had… for a part at least. Why else would you be sitting in your best friend’s comfortable sofa, in the middle of his large and yet welcoming living room, asking him to lie to your family and pretend that you were together? Only for a day though, just for the traditional meal on Christmas, the boring and tedious lunch on the 25th where you exchanged gifts and stabbing remarks with your least favourite members of your family.

Not that you were not used to face this tragedy on your own; if your arse of an uncle had been the only obstacle to overcome this year, you would have emerged with flying colours. But this year was different. It was different, because your cousin Samantha was coming with her boyfriend… aka your ex-boyfriend. The one she had slept with ten months ago. The one who had betrayed you and broken your silly heart. The one you wished you could put laxatives into his drinks, or pierce his tires, or put some very strong pepper into his tea… Something Machiavellian like that…

But as your chances of poisoning his food at the Christmas lunch were limited, you had to settle for plan B. Which was simple enough: convince your best friend to pretend to be madly in love with you, so you would not have to bear any comments from your family about your broken heart and the fact that you had been cheated on by your fucking cousin Samantha… and perhaps, with a bit of luck, you could also make your ex, Craig, jealous.

A brilliant plan, if there was ever any. Only, Andrew didn’t seem to share your optimism.

“You’ve lost it, this time,” he went on, eyes wide, aghast as he slowly shook his head.

You couldn’t blame him for thinking this. Especially given the fact that your feelings for him would probably end up being a problem. But despite your silly little crush on him… who else could you ask such a favour to? The two of you had known each other for years. He was your best friend, you were ready to do anything for him. No one else would accept…

“Andy… I know I’m asking a lot…”

“This will never work. Beyond the fact that this is pure madness, it will never work! Your parents know me! They know we’re not together!”

“Friends get together all the time!”

“No one will believe us. And you know me, I hate… PDA and stuff like that… I can’t… even when it’s real, I struggle with that stuff. I can’t fake it.”

“On the contrary, that’s great! Cause then, we don’t have to act too much like we’re together, and we can just blame it on your well-known aversion for PDA!”

“No. I’m sorry, Y/N, but this time… it’s a no. I’m not doing that. I’m not playing fake-boyfriend for you.”

You heaved a defeated sigh.

“And I thought you would kill for me.”

“I’m a pacifist… a punch across the jaw is the best I can do.”

“Lousy friend.”

“Fuck off! You think you asking me to lie to your entire family is better? Just so you won’t have to hear them complaining about you being single? You think that’s not worse?”

You saw the way his expression saddened when yours did, when the tinge of playfulness left your features. His voice was softer when he spoke again.

“Why is it so unbearable anyway, huh? You’ve forgotten how my mother can be? I’ve got that refrain sang to me all the time too. It’s not so bad.”

You bit on your lip and lowered your gaze before answering, holding back tears that came blurring your vision of Andrew’s soft carpet.

“Craig and Sam will be there. Together.”

You didn’t need to look up at him to know he was clenching his jaw.

“I don’t… I don’t want to have to face that on my own. I’m not sure I can…”

You barely had time to brush a tear away that Andrew was holding you close, arms wrapped tightly around your frame. And you let him pull you even closer, until your ear was pressed against his heart, until he could drop a tender kiss to the top of your head. He heaved a sigh.

“Could you still come? As a friend?” you asked, voice trembling even if you didn’t want it to.

You hated being like this. Fragile. Crying. Not over the betrayal. You wanted to wave a perfect life at your ex so he would see all that he was missing, until he regretted everything. It was petty, but true. Instead, you would be the one sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a couple of weeks, trying not to throw up nor cry while you witnessed your ex and your cousin playing perfect couple…

Andrew heaved a painful sigh.

“I’ll come.”

“Thank you.”

“No, I mean… I’ll do it. The whole crazy plan. I’ll do it. I’ll be your boyfriend for the day.”

You pulled away just enough to look up at him. There were traces of annoyance in his gaze, but a lot of tenderness too as his eyes met yours, hazel irises turning greener in the quiet light of a late afternoon.

“Really?” you asked, voice shy even though you craved for confidence.

“Really. But you’d better make sure that your mother still loves me when you break it to her that we’re not together anymore! I’m not giving up on her amazing lasagnas, not even for you.”

“I have the recipe, you know?”

“Your mother’s taste better.”

“Fucker!”

“Don’t insult me, or I’ll take everything back and let you deal with this bunch of assholes on your own!”

“Sorry!” you quipped, hiding your face into his chest again, and you heard him mumbling some complaints, playing grumpy, but you knew better.

You were smiling as you listened to his low voice lulling you back into a soothed state. You wondered how he did that. How a mere hug and some whispering were all it took to calm you down, to make you feel safe all over again, when you were so damn insecure all the time.

You lost track of your own thoughts when his large hand came to rest on the back of your head, keeping you close.

And you were glad that you could explain a lack of PDA in front of your family, because there was no way for you to survive a whole day with the man you secretly loved holding you like that…

“Do you hate me? For being selfish and dragging you into this?” you asked him, voice muffled by his woollen jumper.

“No,” he shook his head. “No, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.”

“Even if I called you to get rid of a body with me?”

“Erm… As long as I’m not the one cutting it into pieces.”

You both let out a chuckle.

“I’ll make sure to stain your carpet with the blood of my victims.”

“Now, that would make me hate you, for sure.”

“I knew you’d choose your carpet over me.”

“Yeah, but what a carpet it is!”

“It doesn’t make you lasagna though…”

“I only like your mam’s.”

You smiled, but remained quiet. You were serious again when your voice broke the comfortable silence that had settled over your two entwined frames.

“Seriously, though… I’m sorry I’m asking you this. I just… I just don’t see what else I can do. I don’t think I can stomach seeing the two of them as a happy couple while I’m still… desperately single. A real loser…”

“Stop talking about yourself like that,” he admonished, voice genuinely annoyed. “I hate it when you do that. You’re… you’re amazing, Y/N. More than you realise. And Craig and Samantha are terrible people. So… stop blaming it all on yourself. They can rot in hell.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in heaven and hell.”

“You know what I mean.”

A pause while you smiled, wool tickling your cheek.

“Thank you.”

He rubbed your back, gesture soft, taking his time.

“Don’t mention it.”

“You owe me so much…”

“I thought you said ‘don’t mention it!’”

“Don’t mention it, my arse…”

You laughed at him, you couldn’t help it. As Andrew and you walked together down the lane leading to your parents’ house, you couldn’t refrain your laughter. Andrew looked nervous… like the day he had met your parents for the first time, years ago.

“Stop acting like they don’t know you. My family adores you.”

“That’s until they learn I’m lying through my teeth.”

“You’re an infamous liar, anyway.”

“Hey!”

He faked outrage, making you laugh even more, and this time, he couldn’t refrain his own smile.

“I can’t believe you’ve convinced me to do this…”

“Me neither. You must have lost your mind, too.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it, and sealed his lips again. There was something almost sad on his features for a second, and you wanted to ask if he was alright, but you were already in front of the green door.

“You ready?” he asked instead, an encouraging smile adorning his handsome features now, the cold of December making his cheeks and nose redden.

And you had to struggle through missing heartbeats to nod your head. He looked lovely like this, hair in a half-bun, some curls still free, hair tied only to keep the strands away from his face. He was wearing the grey beanie you adored, chin buried in a huge matching scarf…

“We’ll be fine,” he reassured you, all traces of playfulness or annoyance gone from his warm voice.

“Let’s make Craig so jealous he’ll choke over some pudding.”

You both chuckled, and Andrew nodded, lovely crinkles forming at the corner of his eyes as he kept on smiling.

“Sounds like a plan.”

You took a deep breath before knocking.

There was no turning back.

You glimpsed at Andrew one more time as you waited for your mother to come and open the door, and you thought it truly was the worst idea you had ever had, to ask Andrew to do this… Andrew, of all people. If he was the only choice, he also was the worst one. You simply hoped you wouldn’t have to fake too much… because your heart sped up at the mere thought of holding his hand…

What an idiot you were, getting yourself into so much trouble… at what point had you imagined it was a good idea to ask the man you secretly loved to be your fake boyfriend?!

Your thoughts were interrupted though, as your mother finally appeared. You grinned at her as she hurried to give you a hug.

Andrew had barely closed the door behind him that he was receiving a warm hug as well.

“Ha! Andy!” your mother welcomed him, making him laugh. “It’s so good to see you, it’s been too long.”

“It has indeed…”

“And finally! You two came to your senses!”

You frowned, but didn’t have time to ask your mother what she meant. Instead, you were pulled into the whirlwind that was your family.

Andrew remained close to you, and you were not surprised. There were plenty of people gathered in the large living room, several generations together in the warmth of your childhood home, and Andrew wasn’t too good with dealing with so many people. When you turned to him to offer him a gentle smile, one he immediately offered as well, he seemed a little uncomfortable, hands in his pockets as if he didn’t know what to make of his long limbs, head slightly bent, as to appear less tall than he truly was, a desperate attempt at hiding. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, such a stark contrast with the confident musician he was each time he stepped on a stage.

You introduced him to the members of your family he didn’t know (including your terrible uncle, who didn’t fail to be rude, hence living up to his reputation). And everything was going fine, except perhaps for the uncontrollable burst that sparked through your heart and chest every time you called Andrew your boyfriend. You pushed to the side the longing that washed over you at the thought that you wished the word could be true…

But it wasn’t the right time for such consideration. After years spent as Andrew’s friend while harbouring feelings for him, you had grown amazingly talented at hiding the love that coursed through each of your cells every time you saw him, or heard him, or thought of him…

But that was not the right time for such thoughts. Indeed, a new couple was just entering the room…

… and suddenly everyone was quiet.

Samantha and Craig seemed to not notice the sudden silence, or else they were simply very good at hiding it. You couldn’t control your expression as you winced, turning towards the window.

But you were surprised by Andrew’s touch, as he reached for your hand. Fingers shy at first, barely the ghost of a caress across your knuckles. When you leaned closer, fingers searching for his too, he intertwined them together, and as you turned to him, he gave you the warmest smile. A silent gesture to tell you it would be okay.

You were even more surprised when he pulled you closer, a gentle tug at your joined hands. You had discussed, before coming to your parents’ house, the boundaries you needed to respect for today. Holding hands was okay. Touching arms, hair or a waist was okay. You had not discussed kissing, but you reckoned that it was a clear no. An arm around the other’s shoulders or back was good too.

But now, Andrew was pulling you gently closer until you were settled against his chest, and he bent to softly kiss your hair, lips lingering on the top of your head for several seconds. The gesture was so tender, you had to close your eyes…

And then his lips were gone, leaving behind the quiet sound of a kiss and their warmth. When you opened your eyes again and looked up at him, Andrew was blushing, but he was smiling too. And there was something in the way he was looking at you…

“Y/N! How good to see you!”

You turned towards Samantha, hence interrupting your train of thoughts, perhaps for the better.

You forced a polite smile, but didn’t go as far as to completely hide that you weren’t happy to see her.

“Sam! How are you?”

“Good! I’m good! What about you?”

She only then seemed to notice Andrew’s presence by your side, an impressive performance, given his height and the fact that you were still leaning into his chest…

“Oh, hi! Hmmm… Andrew, is it? I remember you! You’re Y/N’s friend!”

“Boyfriend now, actually,” you corrected her, and you were amused by the look of surprise on her face.

“Oh! Congratulations! Good for you!”

Around the room, conversations had started again, filling up space once more and giving you at least some privacy… although you knew it to be but a relative truth. Your relatives who stood closer to you were probably listening closely, unwilling to lose any crumb of the conversation and drama that might ensue.

Behind Samantha, Craig finally greeted you, more uncomfortable than his girlfriend was. He grew even more uncomfortable when he offered his open hand to Andrew.

“Good to see you again, Andy.”

You hated that Andrew had to let go of your hand to shake Craig’s, but his fingers found yours again as soon as the greeting was over. It was rare to see Andrew with a clearly forced smile on his face, he was generally better at hiding his discomfort, a habit of always being polite.

“Craig,” followed by a nod was the only greeting Andrew gave your ex, and you recognised protectiveness in the way he moved slightly closer to you, placing himself between you and Craig.

And you felt a little guilty for the sense of pride that you got from that gesture, knowing you shouldn’t be reading anything even remotely romantic into it… but then again, you were but human. And humans always liked dreaming…

“How are you two doing?” Craig asked, and you nodded.

“Good, we’re both doing good. You?”

“Oh, we’re great! We’re planning on going for a trip for our anniversary, don’t we, dear?” Samantha went on, turning to her boyfriend, who merely nodded… rightly uncomfortable.

“Amazing!” you managed to get out between gritted teeth.

“And for how long have you two been together, then?” Craig asked, changing the subject quickly.

“A couple of months,” you answered, a detail you and Andrew had agreed on.

“So, it’s still the honeymoon phase, then,” Sam nodded knowingly, although you weren’t sure what kind of knowledge that was…

“It’s pretty new,” you nodded.

“How lovely! But… I thought the two of you were friends,” she went on, acting confused.

“We were,” you confirmed, and when you struggled to continue, it was Andrew’s turn to step in.

“And now we’re more than that.”

The two of you exchanged a smile, and again, you noticed the way he was blushing.

Craig nodded his head, and you saw how he was frowning, the kind of expression he wore when he was upset over something.

“It’s funny that you were friends for so long and then all of a sudden… you decide to be more,” he spoke with a tinge of venom in a tone he tried to turn honeyed.

You looked for an excuse, but Andrew was the one to answer again. And you were taken aback by his words… and even more so by how earnest they sounded, although… although he could only be lying.

“We… we’ve spent a long time tiptoeing around that line. I think… we’ve had feelings for a while for each other. I guess we were simply afraid to lose everything we already had if we gave this a try.”

“And what decided you to give this a try, then?”

“I don’t know. Some courage, I guess.”

“Or an opportunity,” Craig proposed, making you frown. There was an insinuation behind his tone, and you didn’t quite know what to do of it.

Andrew seemed to understand better, judging by the way he clenched his jaw, slightly tightened his hold on your hand. He remained quiet though, refusing to rise to Craig’s challenge.

“These things can take time, you know?” you added, trying to pull the conversation away from the glares Andrew and Craig seemed keen to throw each other, a silent battle of thunder and storms. “Where are you planning that trip of yours?”

It was too easy to centre the conversation back onto Samantha, nothing surpriseing, though, considering her character…

Lucky for you, you were soon called by your mother to help in the kitchen.

Or actually, it was but a limited reprieve you were granted. It took your mother only a couple of minutes to bombard you with questions, while she made you cut some carrots, sunlight streaming on your hands from the window set above the sink as you worked. It enlightened the orange stains that slowly grew across your fingers while you dodged your mother’s queries, struggling to remain calm while lying. You thought you would be better at it, but as you peeled the vegetables, their forms made slippery in your hands, you were losing your footing, feeling increasingly guilty as the lies passed your lips again and again.

A first date in a quiet restaurant.

A piece of carrot thrown in the sink.

A first kiss in front of your door, as a tender goodbye, one that lingered in reluctance to part.

A blade slipping too fast.

No, you were not planning ahead for now, just taking things as they went, as they formed.

No, there was no words of love yet, don’t be ridiculous! It’s only the beginning…

“The beginning!” Your mother scoffed, throwing a potato in the sink, alongside your colourful pieces. “The man has been looking at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars for years! You’ve been stealing glances for so long… I don’t even remember when it started! It’s not the beginning, dear. The two of you have been in love for years. It is only a logical continuation.”

She frowned as she looked at you, finally lifting her gaze from the brown pile of peels.

“You’re okay?”

You were startled by her question.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I don’t know… you seem… almost sad.”

You couldn’t hold her stare, and you fought every bit of instinct in you to avoid recoiling from her touch as your mother, in a sweet gesture, rested her hand on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry yourself over Craig and Samantha. And before you ask, I wasn’t the one who invited them.”

You nodded, as if you were reassured, as if she was right about the cause of your worry, had aimed straight at the knot of your problems.

She hadn’t. And you were perplexed as you realized this too. Because you had thought that seeing your ex and your cousin together would be unbearable, and it was, indeed, a painful sight. But it was hurting your pride more than your heart, a sting at your ego rather than a tear at your soul.

Instead, the images you summoned in a fake reality with Andrew were the ones destroying you. Because these details, these anecdotes, these stories you made up for your mother were ones you genuinely longed for.

A quiet date in a restaurant you loved. A kiss bathed in streetlights. Hands holding that didn’t want to let go…

This was a terrible idea. A terrible… terrible idea…

“Andrew! Come here, lad! Give us a hand with these, would you?”

You felt his presence by your side before his hand appeared in your vision, reaching for a vegetable, getting to work without any protest or arguing. He would lose anyway, against your mother, and he knew it.

You chatted together for a while, conversation smooth and easy, as always with him around. You almost forgot that all of this was fake when Andrew leaned closer, as if he longed for your nearness. You reached for him before you could think, leaning closer as well, until your arms touched as you worked, the ghost of a touch that was enough to set your heart ablaze…

God… this was such a terrible, terrible idea…

You barely noticed your mother as she moved around the kitchen, until she reached for Andrew.

“I’m so happy for you,” she spoke in a smile. “After all this time… I’m glad the two of you have finally worked out all the things that kept you apart.”

She disappeared before you could speak to her, ask her what she meant. When you turned to Andrew though, he was blinking tears away.

“Andy? You’re alright? What’s wrong?” You asked with sudden worry in your voice, but your friend shook his head.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just… Erm…”

But he grew quiet, shrugged. You tried to guess, but were pretty sure to miss the mark when he reassured you again.

“Is my mother bothering you?”

“No! Of course, not. It’s weird lying to her, that’s all.”

There was something more to it, but Andrew interrupted you before you could question him further.

“Besides… we have another problem. A more important one. That’s why I was looking for you.”

“What is it?”

“Craig doesn’t believe us.”

“What?”

“He pulled me aside and told me he knew we were faking it. That he was going to tell everyone.”

“The son of a bitch!”

“My thoughts, precisely.”

“What did you answer?”

Andrew shrugged.

“That he was being ridiculous.”

“And?”

“That he was merely being jealous over the fact that he had let a woman like you slip between his fingers like a moron.”

You tried to hide the grin that formed on your lips at his praise.

“Nice… going all in on the ‘make him jealous’ wagon, I see…”

He took a moment to answer, voice less confident than his usual tone when he spoke once more.

“Just the truth…”

You ignored his remark, and you didn’t get why the same tinge of sadness made his hazel eyes greener again, the same way they had earlier that day…

“What can we do to convince him?” you asked, eliciting little more than a shrug from your friend.

You heaved a sigh, your carrots now all cut in the sink. Game over…

“Let’s see how all this unfolds,” was your only solution for now.

“And if he tells your family?”

“We’ll see, Andy. We’ll see.”

The meal was over. The gifts had been given, the kisses and thankful glances had been exchanged. It was time to settle in with some board games, for those willing, while others nibbled on some pastries and chatted in sofas and armchairs. The last remnants of cakes lingered in porcelain plates while coffee, tea and hot chocolate were being served. You laughed when Andrew picked up your warm beverage before you had a chance.

“Are you drinking my cocoa?”

“I’m trying it out. Just to be sure. In case of poison or something like that.”

You both laughed as he took another sip, humming in delight.

“You could have asked for a hot chocolate instead of tea!” you admonished, but didn’t try to take the cup from him, too happy to see him smiling to even think about it.

God, he could steal the entire beverage, as long as he kept on smiling like that… happy, and soft, and welcoming, calling for a smile of your own to answer his…

“Tastes better when it’s yours,” he laughed, all mischief and cheekiness while he looked at you and drank a third sip, a tiny one, just to get on your nerves.

The charm was broken though when one of the children running around bumped into him and made Andrew spill a little bit of chocolate across his chin. You burst into laughter.

“Well, that was… hot,” you teased while Andrew tried to hide his mouth and chin with his hand, looking around for a napkin of some kind. “Literally, I mean. It must be hot. Graciously so.”

“I hate you,” he glowered without any animosity in his gaze, making you laugh harder as you finally handed him one of the paper towels set on the coffee table.

On the other side of the room, people were playing a board game, but you felt better like this. Just you and Andrew chatting around a cocoa, or what was left of it. No one was truly paying attention to you, or so you had thought… among the five people who were casually chatting in small groups around the coffee table, it was easy to notice that all around the room, if gazes were directed towards your small group, it was to stare at Andrew and you.

Was Andrew aware of that scrutiny? Of the gazes fixed upon you?

“You’re okay?” he asked, frowning slightly, and you wished you could ease the crease between his brow with a brush of your thumb.

“Sure. I’m fine. Just… I think people are kind of watching us,” you added in a whisper no one could eavesdrop, leaning closer to him in the process.

He hummed, slowly nodding.

“Yeah, I think we’re kind of… the new thing.”

You bit your lip before making your next request, and you were surprised to notice that his eyes lingered on your mouth until you spoke.

“Is that okay if we act like…?” you left your question suspended in mid-air.

He nodded again, in silence, and there it was again, the flash of pain turning the hazel into full green…

You noticed the sharp intake of breath he took before finally speaking, the way his eyes narrowed just a little, for a second, while he hesitated… but then the words were out all the same, making his pale cheeks turn a bright shade of pink.

“Can I… tug that strand of hair behind your ear?”

You struggled to swallow and nodded, it was your time to be silent, you couldn’t trust your voice.

He was leaning closer when he lifted his arm towards you, shifting to be facing you, both of you sitting on a sofa that was too comfortable and too familiar for you to feel this tensed, almost frightened.

“You’re sure that’s alright?” Andrew asked again, and this time you let out a faint yes along with your nod.

Frightened wasn’t the right word though. You weren’t scared at all, in fact, you felt absolutely safe with Andrew sitting so close to you, your bodies almost touching, but not quite, just far enough to leave you longing to close these gaps. Slowly, his hand was lifted, all the way up to your face, pushing back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He was staring at you, something that went beyond softness, beyond the usual tenderness his gaze adorned when it fell on you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, guess what it meant. But then again, his thumb was brushing your cheek, and the ghostly touch made you too dizzy, anyway.

He leaned closer, unbearably closer, until his lips were next to your ear, his fingers moving to hold your face in place, palm cradling your jaw.

“Can I… Can I kiss your cheek?”

You were certain that your heart could not take more of this, of his intoxicating cologne, of the warmth of his skin across yours, of the delicate breath fanning across your ear…

You reached up for something, anything to hold onto, and your fingers met his woollen jumper, attached themselves to it as if holding a safe line.

“Yes, you can,” you answered despite your shaking voice and the fact that you had no air left in your lungs whatsoever.

Your rational brain wanted to remind you that this was not real, that it was all for show… but the world had vanished the second he had leaned closer. No… no, before that. When he had stared at you in this gentle way, when his hand had risen towards your face. You couldn’t even remember that you were at your parents’, in fact, you couldn’t remember your own name. Your entire world was being rewritten because this man was holding you close, a palm cradling your jaw while the other found its way to your waist; because he was moving slowly away, only to come back closer than ever, lips resting on your cheek. You closed your eyes the second his lips found your skin, their warmth coursing through your entire frame it seemed, his beard slightly tickling you, just enough to make it all the more endearing. He lingered there for what anyone would consider too long, but when you thought he was about to pull away, his lips merely hovered above your cheek, close enough for you to feel their warmth still, and the hurried breaths he exhaled. And then he was kissing your cheekbone again, and again, and with each resting of his lips upon you, you tightened your hold on his jumper, your free hand coming to rest right against his heart, in the end…

You both jumped at the sharp sound of something falling, glass breaking. As you turned, you noticed that someone had dropped a glass of water to the floor. Nothing too bad, your father was already heading towards the kitchen to clean up the mess that was made. Craig didn’t have a drink.

Before you could analyse the situation in depth, though, Andrew was turning his attention back onto you, and you had no choice but to look at him again too. You remained perfectly still for a moment, hazel eyes meeting your gaze in an unreadable expression, his hands still on you…

And then you both realised how close you were, how easy it would be to just lean a little further and to close the gap between your lips…

And you pulled away in a jolt, startled by your nearness, like two teenagers caught red-handed by an adult.

Andrew cleared his throat, rubbing his palms on his dark jeans, shifting like he didn’t know what to do with his own body all over again.

“I should… help clean the mess…” you mumbled, stuttering slightly, while Andrew was nodding and humming, averting his gaze.

You did just that, hurrying towards the table and picking up pieces of broken glass while your brain remained stuck on the feeling of Andrew’s beard on your skin, the softness of his lips, the way he held you closer…

Your heart was still pounding, your breath catching in your throat every now and then; in fact, every time you thought about his fingers slipping to your hair…

“Let’s throw all these away, darling,” your mother told you, nodding towards the shards in your palm.

You stood straighter without a word, headed for the kitchen…

… to fall face to face with Craig.

Wonderful…

“Sorry about the glass,” he said, breathless for some reason.

“Oh, you’re the one who broke it? Don’t worry about it, my parents have plenty of those. As long as you didn’t cut yourself…”

“I did, actually.”

You took a closer look, and indeed, he was pouring cold water onto a cut across his thumb. Nothing worth worrying about, but it would be quite painful and bothersome for a few days, still. The cut was long and clean, if not too deep.

You had walked closer to inspect the wound, and you didn’t notice the way he stared at you.

“It’s not too bad, but it must hurt.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just waiting for it to stop bleeding.”

“You should press something on it, then.”

You handed him a napkin, which he rolled around his finger as he thanked you. You finally noticed that you were alone in the kitchen, that everybody else was still in the living room either chatting or cleaning up the mess Craig had made.

“Actually, I… I wanted to talk to you, just us…”

You silently encouraged him to continue, but you were taken aback at the passion and hurt in his eyes when your two gazes locked together.

“I… Is it serious? With Andrew, I mean?”

“Yeah… yes! Of course, it’s serious. Why?”

He shrugged, but you saw the way he clenched his jaw.

“It’s just… you’ve been friends for years… why now?”

You shrugged, feeling uncomfortable now… and you blamed it on a lie, but you knew it was because of the longing that was stuck in your heart, and had been dormant there for too long for you to count.

“I don’t know… the timing was always wrong. He wasn’t single, I wasn’t single, he was touring, I was busy… we kind of… were never on the same page, you know? We… our lives never managed to align.”

Slowly, Craig nodded.

“But this time, your lives are aligning?”

“Yeah! I mean… we’re both single, both staying in Ireland for more than a couple of weeks… we… we both want the same things.”

“And what is that?”

“What’s what?”

“That ‘thing’. Whatever it is that you want, what is it?”

You struggled to swallow, looking for a lie, an answer, anything to say. And a weight fell on your chest as the earnest answer flashed before you, taking the shape of two hazel eyes, unruly curls, soft-spoken words and an infectious laugh…

You thought you wanted some revenge. To make Craig jealous, for him to regret leaving you… but the truth was, you had wanted another man all along. And you still couldn’t have him. It was only a game of pretence.

What a terrible idea, this whole fake-relationship scheme…

Craig took a step closer to you, bringing your bodies so close, as you looked up at him, he was but a breath away.

“What do you want? Why are you with him? Of all people, why Andrew, and why now? Do you want to know what I think about all this?”

You frowned at his tone, crossing your arms before your chest, a glare starting to cover your features.

“Oh, enlighten me!” you replied with challenge in your voice.

But Craig didn’t back down. He only leant closer.

“I think you’re trying to make me jealous. I think you’re not over us. I think that deep down, you still want me. And you turned to your best friend as a rebound. But you’ll be tired of him in a couple of months.”

You shook your head, but your ex still went on.

“Look, I know that what I did was horrible, okay? I… Samantha was a mistake… but we could still have this. You and I, we… we were great together.”

You scoffed, taking a step back, shaking your head some more in amazement. The guy had balls, you had to give him that, at least.

“A mistake you’re about to celebrate your first anniversary with…” you replied, tone acidic and bearing no regrets for it.

“Y/N…”

“No! I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, but you’re wrong, that’s for sure. I… you cheated on me! With my cousin! How could you possibly imagine that I would want to give you another chance?!”

He heaved a sigh, and you thought he would give in, but he didn’t, on the contrary. This was only the first round.

“So what? You’re bringing Andrew here and playing perfect couple just to get under my skin? To make me pay? To show me what I’ve lost?”

You looked for something to say, but couldn’t deny the plain truth.

“Because I already know what I’ve lost, okay?” Craig went on, tears shining in his eyes. “I know that. I don’t need you to pretend to be in love with someone else to see that.”

You let out a shaky breath. You could have walked away, but it felt good to let the truth out. A day spent telling nothing but lies, it was a relief to reveal the truth, even if it was but a fragment.

“You’re wrong. I love Andrew. In fact… I’ve loved him for years.”

He frowned at that, but you went on, a tear escaping your eyes that you didn’t even notice flowing down your cheek. You had been lying to yourself for a long time, pretending that all this made sense, that it was alright, that you were happy and content as Andrew’s friend. In truth, you were anything but happy, anything but content. And today, pretending to be his, pretending that he was yours… it only showed you more clearly that this was what you wanted. What you had always wanted. What you couldn’t have, perhaps, but what you needed.

It was a confession spoken to Craig, but made for you.

“I’ve been in love with Andrew for years. I’ve had relationships because… I wanted to forget him. Thought I could. Thought it was nothing but an infatuation, then nothing but a crush, and then nothing but a meaningless unrequited love that I would get over quickly. But the truth is, you were the band-aid, Craig. And he’s the one I’ve always wanted. And you know what? You’re right. Coming here with Andy today I… I wanted to come with him because I didn’t want to have to face you and Samantha on my own. Didn’t want to have to bear everybody’s stares and pity thinking I was the poor victim of a tragedy… And I wanted you to see that I was fine without you. That I deserved better than the way you treated me. That I… That I was worth keeping, and loving. But I… at the end of the day, if this afternoon has shown me anything, it’s that I don’t need you. I don’t want you. And I don’t give two fucks about you and Samantha. So… let’s be cordial, as we must, as you’re still part of the family for as long as you’ll be dating my cousin, but… I’m over you, Craig. I’m over all of this. And if there is one thing I want in this world, it’s Andy.”

Before Craig could say anything, before you could even process his reaction, you were storming out of the room. Or at least, you tried to. Because you had taken but a couple of steps towards the door, when Craig held you back, holding onto your wrist.

“Really? Is that how you feel?” he asked, clearly hurt, but also unmistakably angry. “I don’t believe you.”

“What?”

“I don’t believe you. You and Andy? I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. You’re faking it. You’re lying now and for what? To hurt me?”

You didn’t say anything, instead, you merely broke free. Walked out of the kitchen, angry and annoyed and not thinking straight but with a decision taken anyway…

“Andy?”

When you looked around, he wasn’t on the sofa anymore.

“Yes?”

You turned around again. He was right there, by the table, wet napkins in hand, as he had clearly been helping cleaning up the mess your ex had made, standing not too far from the door to the kitchen, your mother by his side while everyone was turning towards you.

He frowned slightly as you hurried towards him, making a bee line to reach him, not caring that everyone was staring at the two of you. Instead, you didn’t think, forgot about the world, focused your attention on Andrew and his unruly curls and the confusion in his hazel eyes, and the way his lips slightly parted as you approached. And then, you took his face in your hands, pulled him down and rose to your tiptoes to meet him halfway, and you kissed him.

You crashed your lips against his, nothing graceful in the gesture, but desperation pouring from every inch of you. You were taken aback though, by the quiet huff he let out, your brain finally kicking in again, and thinking that this was crazy, a terrible idea, and more than anything else, highly inappropriate…

… but Andrew quickly recovered from the initial shock, and before you could pull away and profusely apologise, he had dropped the napkins that hit the floor in a thud, and his arms were wrapping around your frame, pulling you to him. You felt his eyelashes brushing your skin as he closed his eyes, leaning into your kiss, moving his lips over yours to compliment your own movements. And if he was more graceful about it, softer than your rushed gesture, he poured such passion into the kiss that your knees grew weak, and you rested your weight on him, leaning into his chest.

It was over too soon, though, interrupted by the sound of someone – probably one of your parents, or your pain of an uncle – clearing their throat. Andrew was the one pulling away, clearing his throat as well as he took a step back, although one of his hands remained at your waist.

He was blushing when you opened your eyes. And you suddenly wanted to leave. To just go and disappear and pretend like you had not broken the best friendship you had ever had and that the man you loved would not hate you from now on for kissing him like that and that you had not humiliated yourself in front of your entire family…

But as you were about to speak, Craig was hissing from somewhere behind Andrew, making him turn around. Before his attention was pulled away from you, you noted the way Andrew was looking at you. Intensely, a little stunned too, like he wasn’t sure that it had happened, that you had truly kissed him, and yet, like he was searching for answers in your eyes…

But then he turned to face Craig. He had barely turned towards him, though, that your ex was grabbing Andrew by the collar, and pushing him against the nearest wall, Andrew’s hand leaving its resting spot on your hip in the process.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Craig shouted, the whole room too stunned to react while Andrew’s back collided with the wall, a hollow sound ensuing and making a couple of framed pictures shake with the strength of the impact.

“Get off me!” Andrew merely replied through his teeth, struggling to break free, but fighting had never been his strong suit…

“You fucking BASTARD!”

“Craig!”

The first people were finally reacting, hurrying to pull your ex away, but he kept them at bay, trying to keep on pushing Andrew against the wall.

“You were just waiting for your turn, you son of bitch! Dickhead! You were just waiting to get a chance to fuck that bitch!”

Andrew’s expression hardened, and this time, when he reached for Craig, it wasn’t to pull at his hands, but to grab the collar of your ex’s shirt and violently pull as well.

“Don’t you fucking dare insult her like that!” he growled, with such anger and threat, a tone you had never heard on his voice before.

“Both of you, stop!” your father ordered.

“Stop this! What are you doing?” you added, tugging at both their arms, but none of them seemed to care.

Instead, Craig went on, pushing on all of Andrew’s buttons…

“I can’t believe she did run straight into your bed like a whore…”

Before anyone could react, Andrew was pushing Craig away with so much force that he stumbled backwards and fell down.

For a second time, the whole room was too stunned to react, while Craig staggered back to his feet. Andrew moved away from the wall, and as your ex stood straighter again he was glaring at him, jaw tightly clenched. You had never seen so much wrath on his features before.

But it wasn’t over. Craig threw Andrew only one look before he was bending over and running to him, tackling him and making him fall back easily. You gasped at the loud sound of Andy’s head hitting the tiles.

Too stunned to move, Andrew didn’t even try to avoid Craig’s punch, and he got hit straight across the jaw. Thankfully, hands were then pulling Craig off of Andrew. You didn’t care though. You didn’t pay attention to your father and one of your aunts pushing Craig into the kitchen while shouting at him. You didn’t notice your cousin hurrying to join him, clearly worried. All you could do was to fall on your knees by Andrew’s side, holding onto his shoulders and gently shaking him while he blinked, clearly disoriented.

“Andy! Andy, you’re okay? Can you hear me?” you asked in a rush.

His unfocused gaze finally found you, and he blinked some more. You thought he was about to faint.

“Andy! Stay with me! Are you alright?”

Your hands moved from his shoulders to his cheeks. He took hold on your right wrist, touch firm and yet gentle still.

“Y/N…”

“You’re okay? Andy?”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re sure? How’s your head? Do you feel dizzy?”

“A little bit. I’m okay though.”

“Really?”

Slowly, he nodded. Your mother appeared by your side, asked Andrew how he felt as well. His answer was to slowly sit up. He looked exhausted, all of a sudden, paler than usual, but there was no cut across the back of his head, merely the beginning of a bump.

“I’m fine,” he repeated.

You helped him to his feet, your mother checking that he was unharmed too.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologised, but your mother was quick to dismiss it all with a wave of her hand.

“It’s not your fault, dear. Let’s seat you down on the sofa for a moment.”

“No, I’m… I’m fine.”

Samantha walked out of the kitchen, crying, and you wondered why. Or actually, you didn’t. You didn’t want to know. You didn’t want to stay for a minute longer in the same room as either her or Craig.

“Actually, I think we should go,” you interjected, and Andrew nodded.

“No, please… Craig is going to be kicked out, don’t worry about him,” your mother argued.

“No, really, I… I want to go home. Please, I want to go home.”

You were on the verge of tears, and so you turned towards the hallway, followed by your mother’s protests, along with some of your other relatives’ kind words. But you wanted to run now, disappear and leave all of them behind. You were tired of being looked at… you needed to be on your own for a while.

Meanwhile, Andrew was remaining silent. He only spoke to apologise once again to your family, clearly ashamed. You left before Craig could be let out of the kitchen, and were close to running to your car.

You climbed in, Andrew following suit in the passenger seat. You drove on, heading for home. You should have taken Andrew to his house, but you didn’t even think about it. The thought never came. You simply headed home, and Andrew didn’t protest, even though he obviously recognized the road you were taking.

Only when you arrived before your building did you realise that Andrew was still here, the ride had been filled with nothing but silence.

“You should come in, I’ll take a look at your jaw.”

Indeed, a bruise was forming under his beard, colouring the sharp angle of his face with yellowish hues.

“It’s nothing. Nothing broken.”

“Please, come in. Please…”

You stared at each other for a moment, but he yielded, nodding, at long last. You waited for him to climb out of your small car, and he held on the door before closing it, wincing as he unfolded his tall frame.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, just… a little dizzy, that’s all.”

“You need to go to the hospital?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it was just a punch.”

“And a hit on the head.”

“Thick skull. Don’t you know that already?”

You both chuckled, while Andrew followed you inside your home.

You rid yourself of your shoes and coat, aiming straight for the freezer to get a bag of frozen vegetables there. Andrew was by your side, leaning against the kitchen counter. He didn’t protest when you gently rested the cold bag against his jaw, merely winced at the sharp sensation.

“Thanks,” he breathed, staring right into your eyes.

But you didn’t acknowledge his words. Instead, your world got blurred by tears.

“You… are you angry?”

But Andrew shook his head.

“No. No, I’m not angry.”

“You should be.”

“Probably.”

“You… you had to lie all day long because of me, and then I kissed you without your permission and you probably hated that, and then you punched Craig, and you got punched in the face… all because of me. I’m a lousy friend.”

“The worst,” he corrected you, but there was a tender smile on his lips.

“You should be angry.”

“I’m not.”

“You should hate me.”

“I don’t. And I…”

A pause. He seemed out of breath for a second, wetted his lips, before he went on.

“I liked it, by the way.”

“What?”

“Your kiss. I… I didn’t hate it. I liked it. A lot.”

Your eyes merely grew round, and Andrew looked away, averting his eyes. He heaved a painful sigh.

“I told you this would be a terrible idea,” he pointed out.

“I know.”

“And you didn’t listen.”

“I know.”

“And now… what are we going to do now?”

You had no answer to give, you were plagued by this same question yourself.

A moment of silence, suspended in mid-air. Outside, the quiet of cars passing by and the wind flowing through branches and pushing clouds around. Inside, the cold of the bag making your fingers ache, a welcomed burn to distract your busy mind, while Andrew was taking a sharp inhale.

“I heard you, you know?”

His voice was quiet, low and deeper than usual. He blinked, focusing on you again, trapping you into these hazel orbs you adored.

“When you talked to Craig, in the kitchen. I heard you. I was right behind the door.”

“That’s creepy,” you tried to deflect the impact of that revelation with humour, speaking the silliest thing you could have uttered. It still made Andrew break, laughing despite his best effort not to.

“I was sent to put the napkins away. But then… I heard you. Didn’t interrupt. Wanted to know what you would say.”

He narrowed his eyes a little, the ghost of a frown forming a crease across his brow.

“Did you mean any of that? Or was that just… one more lie?”

The bag of vegetables slipped from the hold of your numb fingers and fell, but Andrew stopped you as you reached for it, holding your face in his hands to force you to look at him.

“Did you mean what you said? About me? About us?”

“What does it matter?”

He knitted his brows, tightening his hold on you. You noticed the way his breathing stuttered, grew shallower.

“What does it matter?” he repeated. “Are you serious?”

“You don’t feel that for me. So… what does it matter?”

He let out a shaky breath, almost a sigh.

“Why did you kiss me like that, though?” you asked, tears shining in your eyes but you were determined not to let them fall. Your tone was almost bitter as you questioned him. “On the couch. You kissed my cheek… God, that was so much more than what it should have been…”

He blinked, trying to read behind your words for their true meaning. He didn’t find it, reached in the dark and his hand closed on nothing.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I just… I didn’t mean to.”

“Why did you kiss me like that? That was so out of line…”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

“Why did you do that?”

Slowly, he shook his head. He looked almost stunned by your question.

“You really don’t know?”

He leaned back against the counter, and pulled you with him, until your faces were so close, you could feel his breath fanning over your lips.

“You really don’t know?” he asked again.

“I don’t know…”

“Did you mean it? When you said… when you said that you wanted me. Did you mean it?”

“I said a bit more than that…”

“I’m not foolish enough to hope for the rest to be true as well, I’ll settle for a ‘I vaguely like you’.”

It was your turn to chuckle even if you didn’t want to.

“If I answer earnestly, you’re going to hate me for wanting more and breaking our friendship.”

He shook his head, leaning closer, until his forehead rested upon yours. At long last, you reached up, holding on his forearms for support, and to make sure he wouldn’t go away…

You heard him wincing as he spoke, heard it in the way his voice was shaking. You had closed your eyes, and so had he.

“Let’s be honest with each other. Please… I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of denying the way I feel for you, or what I want when it comes to you, I’m tired… I’m tired of letting you slip away. So, please. Please be honest with me. I can’t keep on holding onto some mad hope. I can’t keep on pretending that I don’t… That I…”

He struggled to breathe for a moment, you tightened your hold on his arms but remained there, eyes closed, leaning against him.

“I kissed you like that because… because I wanted to. Because I let myself slip into yielding. Because I couldn’t help it. Because… because it hurt so fucking much to hold you like this, to be close to you in this way, to act the way I have longed for for years under some pretence, under a mask, as a lie… when it wasn’t a lie. When I… I wish it wasn’t a lie. I wish it could be for real.”

He sighed, long and painful and full of hurt, and you reached up to kiss him before he could say anything else.

If your first kiss at your parents’ house had been passionate and quite messy because of it, this one was slow, taking its time to learn each other’s taste and lips and mouth. You had no idea for how long you kissed, all you knew was that, while it lasted, there was nothing else in the world but Andrew kissing you; and that when it ended, you longed for it to start again.

“I meant it,” you whispered, bearing your soul in a confession that was so raw you couldn’t summon anything but a murmur, eyes still closed and lips barely parted from his. “What I told Craig, I meant it. I mean it. I want you… And this whole day has been torture for me too.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took me so long, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t either…”

“I almost said it a thousand times. Never had the courage.”

“Please… have it now, and kiss me again.”

He obliged, without protest or hesitation. You were lost in his embrace all over again, and rested your head against his chest when you eventually pulled away.

“So… what now?” you asked, voice muffled by his cardigan.

“We could go on a date.”

“I want to be wined and dined, just so you know,” you joked, making him chuckle.

“Duly noted. Anything else, for her ladyship?”

“I don’t know… I’m… I’m so fucking scared, to be honest.”

“Because everything is going to change?”

“Because it might not work out. Because… you might leave me, and I might give up and a thousand things can go wrong, and…”

But he softly shushed you, running his hand through your hair.

"Look, I… I’m not going to pretend that I’m not scared to bits by this. I feel like we have so much to lose. But I… I want you so badly. I want you so much, I��m ready to take the risk. We can take things slow, we don’t have to rush through this. I just… I feel like I'm truly myself when I'm with you. I want to be myself when I'm with you. So now, if you're scared, don't call it love yet. But whatever you want to call it, it's incredible, and I'm not going to give up on this. I'm not going to give up on us. I can promise you that, at least. That I’m ready to fight for this, for you.”

He was surprised by your chuckle.

“You’ve fought already. If you can call it a fight…”

“Yeah, exactly. I mean… he was about to seriously kick my arse but I did have a few seconds of manly glory there.”

You both laughed at that, the tension receding as a result.

“Perhaps, at the end of the day, that plan of mine wasn’t so bad,” you joked, making Andrew laugh harder, shaking his head.

“It was definitely a terrible idea. The worst idea you’ve ever had. Look at all the trouble it has caused!”

“Are you calling me trouble?”

“Of the worst kind.”

You were happy about this kind of trouble though, as Andrew was leaning down to kiss you once more, holding you close, unwilling to ever let go.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier x you #hozier x yn #hozier fanfiction #hozier fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #hozier oneshot #oneshot

[blueaetherr]

Can i request richarlison where he spoils her so much xx🫠

in thought of you

pairing: richarlison x fem!reader [she/her]

warning(s): none

summary: the one where richarlison spoils the reader in more ways than one

Richarlison has always been a giving person. It was something in his nature, in his person, something naturally of custom to him. And he enjoyed it—the giving part of things—because he knew he wouldn't be letting go of it any time soon seeing as he loved it so much. He associated giving with two kinds of people: those in need and those he loved the most. And Y/N, his partner, was just one of those people he loved the most.

And this part of Richarlison was most prominent in their relationship, towards Y/N, appearing in a few ways.

At first it came through as rather materialistic. He had the money, the resources and everything else one needed, why would he not cash out on her? He bought her the world: they spent their time searching for her choice of clothes, he was open yet careful when picking out her jewellery, so much so that she was soon drowning in luxury and prestige.

"They reminded me of you," he would say, every time he brought back the finest necklace, every time the two passed by an item and Richarlison knew he had to get it for his partner, every time his mom spoke highly about a certain item of clothing or jewellery. And he would say it all with the kindest smile one would ever see.

And Y/N would return the smile and say, "Thank you," because she was grateful. For how he chose to spend on her, for how he always had her in mind even when he went out shopping for himself. For how he let her feel herself in such glamorous wear, for his efforts to make her happy. For that, she was grateful. But it became too much for her; too flashy and far out of her comfort zone sometimes, so he had to switch it up.

Then there came the flowers; the gift offering simple presence and kindness. Richarlison gave them to Y/N whenever he could, the ones his mom kept in her assorted garden or the ones he always noticed walking past the local florist. Whenever they went out and he saw a flower, laying perfect and pretty, he would pick it up and personally hand it to Y/N. When he knew he would be gone for a few days for a match, he would have flowers, far delicate and dressed, delivered to their place.

"These reminded me of you," he would say or message, every time he brought back a bouquet or two home, every time he picked up that random flower off the side of the street, every time he had her favourite flowers, in her favourite colour too, delivered home. And he would say it with a smile, one rather favouring his nerves, considering that offering flowers wasn't his initial way of giving.

And she would say, "Thank you," nonetheless. She always loved the flowers, personally. For their pretty appearance, for their delightful smell, and for how Richarlison associated them with her. For how determined he was to get a flower even if it was really out of reach; he always made the effort for her, regardless of the challenge that came with it. She remained grateful for his will to give. But, soon enough, it became too much for both of them.

Not enough room in the house to place the flowers, not enough space in the garden to plant them. Not enough space in the kitchen or rooms to place them, bringing in too many insects and causing her allergies to act up. This one, Richarlison was reluctant to switch up—flowers grew to be his favourite item to give his partner. But for their best interests, he chose to switch it up.

Finally, there was the quality time. Now this one, when he could, Richarlison spoilt her with a lot of this and so much more. The mornings spent in bed, the afternoons cleaning the house together with spirits and music high. The evenings playing football in the backyard for the thrill and fun of it all, the days he would wait on her until she came back from a late night out.

And Y/N would say, "Thank you." In fact, she had more to present than just a thank you (even though Richarlison thought it was more than enough). She would hug him, kiss him and do everything she had to offer him (how could she not when he always managed to give her the world)? For the times he pulled her back into bed, for the times when they were belting song lyrics on their off days. For the times he waited up for her after a night out, for the times he chose to hang out with her over his friends. And there was no criticism to any of it; in simple, she was grateful.

In her eyes, in all ways was Richarlison spoiling her, gifting her, giving to her. Through the materials, through the flowers, through the quality time. And she loved them, she appreciated it all equally. Because whether he chose to spoil her in one way or another, at the end of the day, they reminded me of you, these reminded me of you, this reminded me of you—he did everything in thought of her, and that was enough for Y/N to be reassured in their relationship.

#richarlison #richarlison imagines #richarlison imagine #richarlison fics #richarlison oneshots #richarlison x reader #richarlison x black!reader #richarlison fanfic #richarlison fanfiction #richarlison blurbs #richarlison fluff #football imagines #football imagine #football fanfic #football fanfiction #football fluff #football blurbs #football oneshot #football oneshots #footballer imagines #1k notes #black!reader

[adobe-outdesign]

Thoughts on the Aisha? It’s been my favorite neopet ever since I got a mcdonalds plushie of it when I was like 8 before I even knew what neopets was

Aisha are great because they're almost somewhat normal cat-like creatures—except they have two pairs of ears, one normal set and one set sticking up like antennae. These ears are the most important part of their design, as they're both visually distinct and very memorable.

Aishas also vaguely implied to have some degree of extra-terrestrial origins due to the existence of alien Aishas, which is a nice bit of worldbuilding and helps explain the weird ears even more (not that they're that unusual by Neopet standards, but still, it's neat).

In addition to the four ears, the other main notable thing about Aishas is their near-constant closed eyes (though some Aisha characters do have theirs open), which are punctuated by a ring around the outside. The ring is nice, as it helps break up their otherwise solid body colors a bit.

I'd also argue that Aishas benefited greatly from customization. First, their old artwork was getting very dated and needed a refresh anyways, and secondly, the only real change is that they're standing now, which doesn't really affect anything.

But the other big benefit the Aisha received is that their collars became a wearable item that can now be removed. I'm not going to lie, I never liked the collars. First, they're weird because in-universe, Neopets are anthropomorphic, and indeed, no Aisha characters sport the collars. Secondly, as a species, where do those collars come from, and why do Aishas wear them? And thirdly, they tend to add unnecessary color to their designs (like how the blue and green Aishas shown above sport red and yellow collars—though this varies depending on paint job). The "A" tag also feels clunky. They're not the worst, but having the choice to remove the collars or keep them is the best of both worlds.

The only big benefit to the collars is that they do sometimes do some really fun things with them depending on the color, as I've spotlighted below.

Favorite colours:

Alien: No Aisha review would be complete with talking about alien Aishas, which are absolutely iconic in their own right. Species-specific colors are always enjoyable, and the fact that the alien Aishas have SIX ears is fantastic. I also like the spacesuit/helmet combo, and the red triangle at least accents the red color a bit if you choose to keep it on. I just wish they had done something fun and futuristic with the collar, instead of sticking to the standard version.

Darigan: The converted version of this pet isn't terrible, but the unconverted version is fantastic. The thin body looks great, almost snake-like, and the pointed tail matches the tall ears, which are given a delightful devil-horn look. The spots help break up the body a bit, as does the addition of an underbelly, and the collar changes shape to a D for darigan, which is fun.

Mutant: Mutant Aishas, my beloved! What a great design. Replacing the second pair of ears with mouths and then accenting the pink lips with floppy, tongue-like spikes on the back is just great, with the pink working great against the blue. Bonus shoutout for the singular eye and the mutated "A" on the collar. My only nitpick is that the collar tag should've been the lighter teal of the stripes on the ears, and the band should've been pink.

BONUS: I'm cheating by including this, but I have to give a shout-out to the baby Aisha for being downright adorable with its little binky collar and soft blue color. I'm not usually big on baby pets, but this one's actually pretty great.

#neopets #neotag #aisha #neopet reviews

[fitzs-space]

I want to talk about all the details I put into the Ties comic cause I worked on that thing for like a week and my brain likes to think about many things

Anyway, pspspsps I'm info dumping about my own designs gather round.

Notes for the character designs themselves

-The colours show if they are Red/Yellow/Green are different per character. Tango with bright colours, Skizz's are cool and dark, Impulses are more yellow, and Ethos are more desaturated. -Not all characters in the Life Games will get colour indicators in their eyes, the fact 3/4 of the designs here have it is unimportant shut -Impulse has a heart knot in his tie!! Look at it!! -Impulse cannot tie a tie. Tango does it for him. -Tango having his tie undone is his own choice -The choice of them having/not having pupils is intentional. -Etho only has the one on one side, maybe its cause the red eyes a little fucky in the vision, who knows though -Impulse has i's in the eyes -Skizz just straight up doesn't have em, but I normally don't draw pupils with that iris shape anyway. something something normally only draw that iris style with certain magical characters -I just stopped drawing with Tango with iris' at some point, idk -Skizz is designed as a fallen angel. that's why the halo's are all separated/broken, and why you can see darker feathers growing -maybe Impulse used to help him dye them white cause of some insecurity, maybe not -the lower his lives go, the less dark feathers are seen in his wings. like a cruel joke the watchers get a kick out of

-mullet Skizz MULLET SKIZZ!!!!!

-Etho is a sentimental mf /pos. they will keep and make a lot of patches for memory's and stuff. notable patches are, The NHO patch, a creeper cause of general Spazz, Canada flag cause Canadian /j, I normally add rainbow ones for the button saga of s7 but forgot to this time. -the rings are from all their divorces /J -the colours on the rings correlate to their owners (Bdubs, Cleo, Joel) lives. ie will be red if one of them is red kinda thing.

think that's the most of the design thoughts, now the Details in the comic itself,,,

-Skizz is the kinda mf who would fiddle//stim with random things in his hands. Many times its other peoples hands -dude will just hold peoples hands randomly when talking to them, team Ties just got used to it -That's why Etho took so long to notice the bracelet!

-their ass isn't phased by this kinda stuff anymore /hj -Skizz just enjoys contact man let me be -Throughout most of the comic Skizz has some sort of contact with Etho

-Tango and impulse also end up giving Etho bracelets as well -All the bracelets Etho gets share their colour indicator + the colour form the person who made it!

-you can see the colours slowly shift when Skizz ties on the bracelet, something something the magic of the world does some shit sometimes man.

-Skizz taught Impulse how to make the bracelets, so they have similar styles, Skizz's is more of a simple braid style though. -Tango went for something that took longer to do. it is a little scuffed /pos

-Ethos been getting their ass handed to them the episode before this, had to rightfully reflect that. you know? /j -the Slashes across their chest where form when Gem/Cleo killed them twice in that one episode. -The bite was originally supposed to be cause of Scars dogs. But someone in a reply made a joke about it, and frankly I think it'd be funnier if it was cause of Joel or some shit like they said.

-Had the axe as more of a battle-axe style. It was something Impulse made for Skizz (I forget who actually made it//Didn't want to go back to check) -I like showing characters having specific styles/ways they make armor and tools. -It's fun to show characters with tools and armor that can be distinctly seen as being made by another player

-That being an axe Impulse made adds more weight to the narrative of this moment and I want people to cry -something something for Etho its a moment of taking a weapon that Impulse made to protect Skizz, and using that as the tool that finally kills him -For Skizz this is a moment of his trust and care for his teammates. Being surrounded by people that he cares about and tokens that show their love for each other.

-Suffer, I could have been angstyier, and I will be actualy.

-Skizz is the one putting the axe to his own neck in this moment. Etho is putting as little force into it as they can. -Red king parallels who- -Etho also gets cut by the axe, something about sacrifice and how no life/time can truly be free in these life games -The blood wasn't actually intended to be golden ichor, I was just lazy and didn't want to draw red blood// wanted to have the cool lighting effect -Etho has the same colour in their blood too so, take it as you will

-I've had this comic planed since EPICODE ONE. had full intentions for it to go angsty in the end, and dam if the narrative didn't play right into my grubby little hands.

-I also just love how well I could parallel the moments in this comic. the comparison of the pages where both their faces are visible? the Joy in ethos face turning to complete anguish? the fact Skizz never stopped smiling? the way both moments start with an outstretched hand, and end with Skizz still holding onto Etho in a moment of trust? beautiful

-all the pages in the second part of the comic were framed specifically so I could avoid drawing Skizz ass.

#word dump #headcanon dump #limited life #fitzs' comics #legally #ethoslab #skizzleman #tangotek #impulsesv #I came back around with a steal chair frfr #tw blood #just in case #I carry so many thoughts about my works man. I just never talk about half of them #fitzs art #the never shown Fitzs ties references /hj

[geekgirles]

Nora's Design and What It Might Have Been Hinting at

There's a very high chance this will all feel a little incoherent and like I'm maybe grasping at straws, but I really do think I have a point here, so deal with me, please.

Okay, so, Nora. Nora's design.

Ever since it was first revealed, the general consensus has been that it kinda sucked, especially compared to her design for Islands of Wakfu. Because let's face it, when we take into account the Council of Six's more varied and detailed designs...

Compared to them (and especially her flashback self, look how cute, and eager, and fun-loving she used to be!), Nora is literally just a pink ninja:

Let's face it, it was underwhelming.

However, and I know I'm not the first one who's come to the realisation that Nora's current design and colour palette is indeed intentional, rather than a poor choice, I believe I understand now what Ankama was trying to do.

Nora's design was meant to be foreshadowing of her actual role in the season. More specifically, her role in allowing the Necromes free access to the World of Twelve.

If you think about it, all the major Eliatrope players this season followed a very simple colour palette that tied them to the Eliatrope goddess and marked them as forces of good: while white was a very prominent colour, blue was the one they all had in common.

All the actual protectors of the World of Twelve... Except Nora.

Her design is the one that clashes the most with the rest of her family. But unlike Qilby, whose more monstrous appearance served as a reminder of his past atrocities and kept both Yugo and the audience on their toes because surely he must be up to something, Nora's more down-to-earth design kept the focus away from her.

In fact, I'd even say her white hair was another deliberate choice to make us subconsciously believe she was on her family's side. After all, white is a very prominent colour in the Eliatropes' palette, especially in the Eliatrope goddess. What's more, deep down, she is on her family's side! These past few episodes showed us that it was Efrim who used Nora to advance his master's agenda, she had no agency or say in the matter whatsover.

And yet, her most promiment colour is pink. A clear opposite from her family's more prominent blue. And what does pink remind us of? That's right.

Stasis.

Death, destruction, stability.

The Necromes.

And just like the Necromes, even Nora's eyes are naturally pink. These parallels only become more pronounced once Nora becomes possessed by Efrim, when all of her, even her portals, have similar hues.

Both her colour palette and role in the Necrome invasion are opposite from Yugo, especially once he too has been captured and had his Wakfu stolen.

I refuse to believe this contrast between the two isn't intentional.

Because now, now that even Qilby has acknowleged him as his King, now that he commands the Eliatrope Dofus and the Eliasphere, now that the World of Twelve and his loved ones need him more than ever... Now everything about Yugo is blue.

Nora is the unwilling traitor, so the pink in her outift had to reflect that. Yugo is the hero stepping up to the challenge now that things are more dire than ever, and he wears his people's colours with pride.

#wakfu #wakfu season 4 #wakfu season 4 spoilers #wakfu spoilers #wakfu analysis #lokus #mon frère mon roi #my brother my king #character design #yugo the eliatrope #nora #wakfu nora #efrim #wakfu efrim #eliatrope goddess #adamaï #qilby #master joris #joris jurgen #amalia sheran sharm #eliatrope #necrome #toross mordal #ankama

[tadpolesonalgae]

Rhysand x reader: Peacock Feathers[*]

A/N: yeah, I like this one.

Summary: he always has something fun planned for Date Night.

Warnings: heavy voyeurism, heavy exhibitionism, fingering, not wearing seatbelts, sexual tension, 5.2k words

‘The most flamboyant lingerie set you have. Wear it for me.’

You huff at your husband’s minimal description for the dress code of tonight’s date. You rummage through your draws, flinging open the armoire, even the wardrobe in the corner, riffling for something. What did he even mean by flamboyant? Did he want you to strut out into the night cloaked in nothing but some sheer lace and heels? You bite your lip at the idea. It would be just like you husband to arrange something like that.

Flamboyant…flamboyant…

Flamboyant!

You rush back to the armoire, digging through the neatly set clothes, fingers searching for the material until you find what you’re looking for. You hold it up, and nodded. Yes, it would do. It would do quite well, in fact. Now, to find a way to conceal it…

You know he’s taking you out…somewhere. And unless he’s planning on smuggling you in, wrapped in a body bag, then you will need to find a way to hide the finely made lingerie from prying eyes. You sigh at yet another task to fulfil. You’re honestly going to bite Rhys’ cock off if this fails your expectations—for all the trouble he’s putting you through.

Once again, you search through your wardrobe, gazing at the menagerie of gowns and dresses. An array of satin and silk, garish and gaudy, jewels glimmering in the warm lamp light, winking at you temptingly. But no, you would choose something simple, something that would enhance your underclothes. You think about what your husband is likely to adorn himself in. If he asked you for flamboyant…it could be anything. Still, bright pops of colour weren’t really his style, preferring the brush of dark sleeves and silver cuffs than splashes of sparkling yellows or velvety oranges. The most flamboyant you’ve seen him in is a dark red suit, in celebration of a dear brother—and even then it had been so dark the crimson only showed if the light hit from a particular angle.

Having ruled out most options, you figure your best chances are either white or black, if he’s going to dress in a suit. White or black. You scan the wardrobe for anything that would fit with the lingerie. The choice is easy.

————

“Ready, darling?”

You silently move yourself to the top of the curved staircase, taking the one closest to your dressing chambers. Your husband’s eyes sweep over you, glinting with feline satisfaction as he drinks you in. One step at a time, you descend toward him, moving with elegant precision. You keep his eyes the whole while, basking in the heat of his keen gaze, and you wonder if you’ll even make it out the front doors.

A subtle string of rose quartz beads decorate your throat, the white satin of your gown flowing in smooth cascades behind you. The dress slims to your waist, the mini corset accented with small iridescent sequins that decorate the floral jacquard fabric. The heels you’ve selected hold a thin stilt to balance on, platinum lace weaving around your ankles, ensconced with silver thread keeping tiny beads wrapped snuggly against the ties. A single ring adorns your right glove, resting with grounding weight on your thumb. The band is silver, set with a moonstone, tiny amethysts framing it against the creamy silk of your gloves. Beneath the smooth fabric on your left hand lies your wedding ring, a beautiful sapphire welded delicately into the metal.

He drinks in the dusty red of your lips, matte in their texture and slightly dulled to not pull away from the rest of you. Divine. Enchanting. Refined. Perfectly attuned to him, having not gone too over the top when he’d requested flamboyance. Keeping in mind that you were a pair and would be seen together.

“You look positively delicious,” Rhys purrs as you reach the bottom of the staircase, gliding over to him. You give him a sultry smile, one that has heat shooting straight between his legs. He’s brought back to the Soirée last month, when you’d been sat on your knees between his thighs, dark rouge lipstick blurred at the edges of your mouth, perfect replicas stamped on his cock from where you’d kissed up and down the length of him until he couldn’t take it any more. He remembers how you’d swiped at the smudged tint, glaring up at him teasingly, “why is it whenever you take me out somewhere I always end up with my makeup out of place?”

Then there had been the masquerade party the month before, where you’d been set on keeping those damned masks on, hiding the beauty of your face from him. You’d insisted the anonymity had been thrilling, given a dark edge to the experience. It was this in particular that had him thinking. Turning over different venues and activities until he’s found one he believed would be pleasingly satisfying to your slightly sinister tastes.

“I could say the same about you, husband.” He looks ravishing. Charmingly debonair in his black suit, complete with smooth bow tie and crisp white shirt. Not a crease to be found. A kerchief makes a soft triangle atop his breast pocket, complete with a peacock feather decorating the smooth lapel of his jacket. “I don’t suppose you plan on informing me of tonight’s venue?” You inquire, settling a palm over his heart as you lean against him.

His hand raises to your jaw, tilting your lips toward his. “And ruin the surprise at the last minute? I think not.” He presses his lips to your own, coming away vaguely rosey from the rouge staining your mouth. You pout, fingers circling over his chest, “you like watching me squirm, don’t you? How cruel you are, truly. I cannot fathom—” you press another kiss to his lips, “—why I ever married you.” He offers you a feline grin, “maybe you enjoy the tension. The edge.” His fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him.

You’re pleased when his eyes darken as he feels the pattern of something thin beneath the satin. “What did you choose?” His voice has dropped, roughening and you suppress a shiver at the timbre. You peer up at him innocently, “and spoil the surprise at the last second? I think not.” Your teasing spurs him on, fingers deftly catching on the low collar of your dress, moving to pull it from your skin so he can catch a glimpse of what lies beneath.

Rhys gets as far as bringing a wash of cool air down your front before you’re jabbing two fingers into his chest—down his sternum. “Ah, ah, ah, husband.” You push him back, preventing him from peering down your top. “Leave something for dessert,” you chastise, a low growl sounding in the back of his throat. Pleasure sings beneath your skin at your husband’s antics.

Your fingers waltz upward, delicately hooking beneath his perfectly wrapped bow tie, pulling him downward toward your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite now, would we?”

“I assure you my appetite is depthless when it comes to you, wife.” His fingers latch onto your own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You flush with pleasure, “shameless flirt.”

“Promiscuous madam.”

You raise a single, neatly groomed brow, “a madam?” You echo, then press against his chest, allowing him to feel the soft plushness of your breasts. “And what’s a refined gentleman like you doing in the arms of a lady of the night, hm?”

He growls, grip tightening on you possessively. “She’s taken something from me. Something very precious. Plucked it straight from my chest, weaving her sinful fingers between the bones of my ribs.” His mouth brushes over your own, an erotic caress of his lips. “I fear the day she returns it, for the pain it will bring.”

Your eyes dip as they follow their quiet movement. “I took yours as payment for my own.” You whisper back, “I am merely human, and cannot survive without it.” His arm snakes around your lower back, forehead pressing to your own, sharing in the intimacy. “You took mine first, Rhys.” He releases a soft breath at his name on your lips. “It’s only fair.”

He laughs softly against your mouth, and you keen beneath the sound, pushing up onto your tiptoes, desperate for another taste—

“Shall we?”

He’s pulled back, leaving your chest cold, heat warming between your legs. Your husband holds out an arm, waiting for you to latch onto him, arrogantly expecting. You gift him a saccharine smile, already planning how to overthrow him for the evening, “lead the way.”

————

The lamplights reflect in the puddles as it drizzles. Already you can make out the faint wisps of fog rolling through the dark streets.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

You turn, propping your chin on your hand as you gaze at him before straightening, looking ahead. “I was thinking whether you’d enjoy the silk of my hands or the velvet of tongue.” You glance at him sidelong, pleased when he stiffens. You could swear you see his demeanour shift to match the darkness of the night. “Do you think it wise to begin this dance so early?” He drawls. You return your gaze to peering through the chauffeurs window, watching them cut through traffic. “That is true,” you contemplate, “it is usually your role to insist on foreplay.”

You turn in your seat, catching the dark glint in his violet eyes. You offer a coy smile, enjoying rilling him up before the event has even begun. He leans over, across the space between you, mouth lowering to brush the shell of your ear, “did you follow my orders for tonight?” You swallow as he pulls back to look at you, shifting to be beside you, the powerful lines of his body pressing to your own shape. “Are you so desperate to see me in my underthings?” A serpentine smile twists the edges of your rouge mouth, “I chose an appropriate set. I think it will appeal to your tastes.”

Again, his eyes dip to that teasing window of your chest, dress cut low enough to reveal mouth-watering skin, but not enough for him to catch a glimpse. No matter, he’ll find out soon enough.

Rhysand straightens, reaching to his pocket, “I forgot to give you this, for the night.” He retrieves a headband, accented with a single peacock feather at it’s crest, set with clear jewel you believe to be a diamond. “Put it on for me?” Your heart beat increases at the deftness of your husbands fingers, brushing strands of hair from your cheeks before setting the circlet atop your brow. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and you wonder if he meant to say it aloud.

His thumb brushes beneath your lashes as he stares into your eyes. You lean into the touch, indulging in the heat of his large palm over your jaw. He looks as though he’s considering kissing you, eyes dipping lower, a deep hunger roiling in their depths. “Go on,” you encourage, shifting your body to face his as your arms snake over his shoulders.

But the chauffeur pulls up a driveway, bringing the vehicle to a stand still.

Your husband pulls away with a grin, “enjoy.”

————

The red windmill.

An interesting name.

He’d guided you to the entrance, your silk encased hand gripping the satin hem of your dress to keep it from dragging on the floor. When the receptionist had asked for a name to place for the reservation, he’d given it over, and then the two of you had been escorted to a private suite. The server had shown you around, where things were, and then left you alone, together.

When the door clicks, you turn to Rhys. “Care to reveal your secrets now, sir?” His lips quirk as he settles in a large armchair, a deep red to match the atmosphere of the chamber, lit by warm lights and accented with blacks, reds and oranges. His legs spread as he gets comfortable, facing you. “Every garment you remove, I’ll let you in on a little more,” he purrs, readying himself for the show you’ll give him.

You roll your eyes, but pull the glove from your left hand, wedding band glinting in the light. He raises a brow at the small movement. “I didn’t take you for a coward,” he taunts, but you simply peer down at your nails, examining them. “Secret, please.” His mouth neutralises into an unreadable line, “we’re here for entertainment.” You roll your eyes again, “obviously.” He grins, silently ordering you to remove another item of clothing.

Teasingly, you remove the other glove, staring him down from across the room as you perch on the arm of the chair opposite him. You drop the silk onto the cushion, the pure white an erotic contrast to the dark colours shrouding the suite. “Both your voyeuristic and exhibitionistic tendencies will be satiated.” You blink, then narrow you eyes at the man. “Have you brought be to a sex club, Rhysand?” He chuckles at the use of his full name—you only use it when displeased with him. “Rhys, you haven’t,” you gasp, “what if someone sees?” Sometimes you really could strangle your husband.

But then he stands from his reclined position, prowling forward, hands wrapping firmly around your waist as his shadow swallows you. “Isn’t that the point?” He purrs, your spine arching against him. “Don’t you delight in their attention? Revel in it?” Heat flushes your cheeks at your husband’s accuracy. “I know how you like being perceived as an object of desire. Isn’t that why you didn’t bat a single, pretty eyelash when I made my request for the night?”

His hands glide up, tracing over your breasts until they cup your jaw, “I’ll ravish you in front of the whole world if it pleases you.”

“But a sex club!” You hiss, making him laugh. “Am I laughing, Rhys?” You snap, making him calm himself.

“I give you my word, it’s nothing as disreputable as a sex club,” he purrs, but the lilt in his voice suggests a loophole. “Why don’t you remove that dress of yours so you can get to the big reveal, hm?”

He steps away, allowing you to stand. To proceed with the show. You huff, turning your back to him as you begin slowly unslotting the tiny satin cushions from their holes. One at a time. Piece by piece.

Gradually, the smooth material begins its descent off the slope of your shoulders. His mouth dries as he finds the thin, platinum straps that loop atop your arms. The satin slowly gives way, showing off the latch of the brassiere you’ve donned. Pure, glittering white. He swallows as the gown lowers over your waist, caressing the intimate skin of your waist; hips.

The dress pools at the poised set of your heel adorned feet, the silver ensconced lace matching the delicious underthings you’ve selected. His breath catches as you glance at him over one shoulder, giving him a partially concealed view of your beautiful face. Your slim fingers waltz over the skin of your arm, trailing down as your eyes follow teasingly. The other hand is wrapped over your hip, playing with the thin band of your underwear: matching lace that clings to the plump curve of your rear.

“Turn around, darling. Let me see you.” His voice sounds rougher; more strained.

Ever so slowly, you step out of the waves of satin, turning to reveal yourself to him.

A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as he slips two fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, apparently in need of some cooler air. You smirk as you begin prowling closer, stopping only when you’re positioned between his muscled thighs.

Your husband enjoys himself as he drinks you down, eyes dragging so slowly over every fine detail, and you swear you can see the plans in his mind fading back to dust. He wets his lower lip, gaze darkening as he imagines where you’d enjoy being touched, whether you would prefer his fingers or his mouth over your perky nipples. Whether you’ll insist on keeping your lingerie intact, or whether you’ll be so desperate as he is by the night’s end that you won’t care about it being hastily removed. Strewn across the rouge carpet.

Sequins and pale glass beads are woven to the brocade fabric, indentations of peacock feathers shimmering in the light, iridescent thread glimmering. Tiny sets of diamond are dotted at the base of the brassiere, looping around your back and over your shoulders. Strings of pearls dangle from the base of the lingerie, hanging in crescent circles like ribs made of moonstone—reconnecting at the clasp. The underwear matches perfectly, accented with the same glittering platinums, silver embossed feathers curling over your hips.

“You’re divine,” he breathes, violet eyes reflecting your warm light. His hands reverently pull you closer, your own settling on the corded muscle of his shoulders as he places a kiss to your navel. “Divine,” he whispers, shakily. Your husband looks up at you, your fingers weaving through his blue-black hair, so soft to the touch. He keens at your touch, revelling in the press of the pads of your fingers, feather-light as you trace the sharp cleft of his cheek.

“What’s the big secret, husband?” You murmur, hooking one leg over his thigh as you slide into his lap. He moves for your mouth, lips parting, eyes sliding closed but you set a firm hand on his chest. “Now, now, Rhys. Behave.” He groans softly at the command, eyelids lazing open to look at you. Lust and hunger dance intimately, barely hidden in the now indigo hue of his irises. Your fingers settle either side of his chin, tilting his jaw toward you, his pupils dilated and burning.

“It’s your turn, Rhys,” you whisper alluringly, hips winding over his. He stifles another groan, “wicked, wicked woman.” A thrill of excitement brushes down your spine at his pained tone. His strong arms snake around your waist, clutching you to his body, hand settling between your shoulder blades, indulging in the drag of your breasts. He grips your ass, pulling you tight to his hips, feeling the prominent outline of something delicious between your thighs—against your stomach.

“Come on, now,” you chide, mouth dancing over his own, a sensual caress of breath. “Make good on your word, husband.” A strained sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest, eyes flicking up to yours. He swallows, and you trace the roll of his throat. Then both his hands drop to your ass, hauling you against him as he stands, your thighs wrapping snuggly around his hips. “Rhys…?” Your tones shifts to irritation and he chuckles.

Your husband moves fluidly through the suite room, opening a door the server hadn’t shown you. You try to turn but he presses your face to his shoulder, hiding the view from you. All you’re able to make out is the general volume of people, but it’s a bit far away, as if from a lower floor. Music rolls up to your ears, fiery, rhythmic, and you want to set your heels to the floor, if only to spin with your husband to the syncopated melody.

“Rhys? What is that?” Your husband sets you down on what feels like a balcony, his grip loosening, allowing you to peer about. “Look for yourself,” he smirks, stepping back a little. Your thighs tighten around him, tugging him back to your chest harshly as you take in your surroundings.

He’s seated you precariously on what is indeed a balcony, thick mahogany supporting you. Large, champagne coloured chandeliers hang from the ornate ceiling, light refracting through the glass diamonds, casting their golden glow throughout the hall. You’re on the highest floor, the room is cavernous compared to the booth he’d taken you to. Below, people chatter and make merry, dressed finely in anything from night robes to stunning silk dresses to flimsy underthings with a fan of feathers haloing their heads like crowns. A menagerie of fluidly colours: purples to yellow, stripes of pink and cream, splashes of oranges and greens, the glittering sparkle of sequins and jewels gleaming in the low light.

At the front of the hall lies what appears to be a small orchestra, and you zone in on the figure at the forefront of the music, just ahead of the elderly conductor. He’s playing what might be an accordion of some kind, the music frenetic, a frenzied tango of notes. “Is that a squeezebox?” You peer closer, still wrapped tightly around Rhys’ hips. He peers with you, “I believe that’s a copy of a French Flutina. Popular in the 19th century.”

You listen closer to the music, trying to place it. Your husband smiles as recognition sparkles in your eyes, “Libertango, Astor Piazzolla.” He nods, hand cupping your cheek, “indeed.” Your hold relaxes on him a little, allowing you more leeway to watch the crowd. His mouth drops to your throat, kissing a slow trail from your collar bones to your jaw. Your breathing deepens, then catches. His lips lift into a smile over your neck, “see anything interesting?” Then he receives a light smack to his shoulder, “Rhysand!” You scold, fuming, “it is a sex club!”

Sure enough, he can make out the groping hands on the floor below, the bent over bodies, the kneeling legs, the harsh snap of hips. All while the musicians play on. A symphony of pleasure singing through the room, a harmony of moans for accompaniment. “They prefer the term massage parlour. The clientele are free to engage with other participants in whatever way they wish. No one here is paid to do anything.”

Your raise a brow sceptically, “you’ve done your research, husband.”

“Only the best for my wife.” Your lower body tingles at the title. “I hope you know I refuse to step foot in that…pleasure hall. These heels are white. And very dear.”

He laughs against your skin, “why do you think I reserved a private room for us, my darling?”

You pout at the cunning man. “How obnoxiously sly of you,” you remark. “I’m always ten steps ahead of you, dear,” he murmurs over your lips, giving you a serpentine grin before twisting you round, so your back is pressed against his broad chest. “Rhys!” You squeak, hands flying for something to grip onto, feet weaving through the wooden beams withstanding the balcony railing.

“Enjoy yourself,” he drawls, opening his mouth over the unmarked skin of your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses to you. You moan softly. All those people, indulging beneath you, hardly an idea of what’s happening above them. “Relax,” he instructs, nipping at the pearled lobe of your ear. You whine. “You try relaxing with the potential of falling to your death,” you manage, even as his arm tightens around your stomach, letting you know you’re safe with him. “You know that, should you fall, I would plummet with you,” he whispers against your skin, drawing a bark of laughter from your throat, the rose quartz beads ringing at the sound. “I would have preferred reassurance you would not let me drop, Rhys,” you snap playfully.

“That too.”

You huff a laugh that turns into a hitch as his hand cups you through the finely woven lace. A moan slips from your lips as heat warms your skin, his fingers deftly rubbing over the apex of your thighs. “Rhys…” He kisses your jaw, “look below you. All those people revelling in one another, taking what they want until they’re drunk on pleasure.” Your breathing becomes shallow.

“Any one of them could look up—some already might’ve—see you spread out on the balcony, with my hand between your thighs.” You preen against him, melting into his warmth as his fingers dip lower, oscillating over your entrance. He pushes the damp silk to the side, scooping up your slick on his middle and forth finger before raising it to his lips, groaning at your taste. You release a sultry laugh at your husband’s actions, spreading your legs a little wider, “take more, if you want.”

Rhysand growls at the invitation, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at the people below. “How many people do you think are watching you right now, huh?” You. Not us. You. “How many people do you think have seen how you’re dressed—how you’re acting—and hoped to themselves you’ll be gracing their mouths later?” The heel of his palm presses to the top of your thighs, rubbing gently as his fingers circle you, before pushing in. “How many people down there, do you think, are pleasuring themselves to you?”

Your back arches against him, his clever fingers curling and dragging against your walls. You swallow, desperate to find your words, “I…I don’t know…” you manage, and his teeth nip at your throat, biting lightly. “Have a look, darling. Seek them out.” You moan, trying to follow his orders, but the light is fairly minimal, and the bodies are fading to an erotic dance of shadows. “Can’t do it?” He drawls, pressing his fingers deeper, up to his knuckles.

He laughs darkly beside your ear, “down near the front, a little away from the cellist.” You follow his directions, landing on a figure with their head raised, pleasuring themself. “Beside the third exit on the ground floor, wearing red.” Again you follow, finding a figure strewn over a table, gazing upward. “The floor below is, opposite.” You moan loudly, the sound getting wisped away in the music.

In the booth he’s talking about, a woman is bent over the railing, her petite breasts exposed to the air—to the audience below—while an older gentleman stands behind her, and you can see how her body is pushed forward with each snap of his hips. Her lips are parted, and were the room silent you’re sure she would be moaning as you are. Her eyes are hooded, but watching you, watching as your husband’s fingers push into you, how your back arches.

He does something wicked with his digits, and you gasp, head tipping backward onto his shoulder as he presses against your clit. “Rhys…” you moan out, feeling so high already, practically weightless, as if you could fly away. “Easy,” he orders, arms tightening around you as your hips buck. “Not tipping over that edge just yet.” The possibility has your heart rate increasing, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin, buzzing at your fingertips.

Your eyes return to the couple on the lower floor. “Do you think she’s an escort?” You manage, noting her scandalous clothing and exquisite gems adorning her throat and wrists. “Does it please you to fantasise about their outside lives, hm? Create a story for them, to get off to?” You moan at his words, nodding your head. “What do you think she’s thinking right now?” His fingers fuck into you harder, keeping their pace though the pressure increases over your clit. “I—…” you can’t manage anything: it’s so overwhelming.

“I think she’s wondering how you taste, what it would be like to have her fingers burying into you like this,” he punctuates his words with a flick of his wrist, digits dragging against that glorious spot inside you. “I bet she’s wishing you were coming on her tongue instead.”

You whimper, nails digging into the banister as you draw nearer and nearer. “Maybe she’s fantasising about you, what your story is. Perhaps she’s winding a filthy tale in her head of you being stolen away by a dark stranger, auctioned off to the highest bidder for your virginity.” You pant heavily, delighting in the wet squelching coming from between your thighs, proof of your arousal for your husband. At some point, dancers had appeared onstage, dressed in thinner and even skimpier clothing than you. Jewels, gems, and peacock feathers waltzing across the skene.

“Perhaps she’s creating a story of a failed marriage, love abandoned, so you’ve left to seek out some real pleasure, from someone who will treat this cunt right.” You whimper, so close to unravelling from his silver-tipped tongue. He’s always been quick on his feet when it comes to this, perfectly attuned to the darker parts of your mind, the more private thoughts you have. “Perhaps she’s telling herself you’re nothing but a dirty whore, trying to scrape together a penny or two by selling your pretty pussy.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air as your high hits you, fully seizing your body as you tighten wildly around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand as he pulls you through the euphoria. “That’s it,” he encourages, “show everyone what a filthy whore you are.” Your cunt is still fluttering around his steadily moving fingers. The hot breath from his mouth brushes over your ear, fanning across your neck, “you’re no better than a prostitute, are you?” He whispers, circling your clit slowly, working you down.

You pant heavily as your heart beat begins to even out in the aftermath. You swallow as his fingers drag out of your slick heat, coated in glossiness that shines in the low light. “Open.” You hardly have time to follow the command before the pads of his middle and forth finger are sliding over your mouth, like an obscene lip gloss. He pushes them in, against your tongue so you can taste your own arousal. His hips buck against your ass.

“So good, aren’t you. My good, little wife.” You whine at the title, and he helps you down from the balcony—carefully. He spins you around, pulling you tight to his hips, pinning you to the railing. “Think you’re all warmed up for me now? Or do you need some time to cool off?” He taunts. You buck against him, “I can take you.”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm but his eyes flick to the stage, filled with dancing song girls. “Looks like some of the entertainment is starting,” he drawls, giving you a light pat on the ass before he’s guiding you to a chair. Your legs give out when he pushes you, collapsing into the soft cushions. “Why don’t we resume after this brief intermission, hm? I’ll fetch us some refreshments.”

When you look like you’re about to stand to follow after him, he sends you a look over his shoulder. Promising more. “All I want you wearing is those gloves when I return.” His eyes darken as they drag over your body, male satisfaction glinting in his sharp gaze as he notes the slick glossing your thighs. “After all, you were so keen on finding out whether I would like your silk or velvet more.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the reminder, excitement zipping beneath your skin. Your eyes dip to his hips, “do you think you’re appropriate?” You smirk, noting the obvious outline of his cock, your tongue wetting your lower lip. He mirrors your grin, “think I should send you out there in my stead?” He drawls, sparking arousal in the pit of your tummy. “Maybe a dark stranger will whisk me away, auction me off to the highest bidder.”

“Precisely why I will be getting refreshments,” he smirks. “I’ll knock thrice, slowly, when I return.”

“Maybe I should lock you out. Make you wait like you’re doing to me,” you drawl, watching lazily from your half reclined position. His laugh is a lovers caress between your legs, “if you have the heart to.”

“It’s your heart,” you remind him, smiling.

“Exactly.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#Rhysand #Rhysand x reader #Rhysand smut #Rhysand x reader smut #acotar #acotar au #Rhysand date night #date night #date night with the bat boys #Peacock Feathers[*]

[annamarabella-grumble]

quick and dirty game review: KILLER FREQUENCY

it's really good!! why?

it's all your favourite 80s/onwards slasher flicks rolled into one

the premise is ropey as hell but it's self-aware enough to know that and make it FUN

the references are gonna be really obvious to horror connoisseurs but tbh for me they were subtle enough that they weren't overpowering the experience; it's not just fanservice held together by gaffer tape and string

there's one (1) jumpscare right at the beginning, so be aware of that, but it didn't send me running for the hills and while i haven't finished the game yet, it's fair to say the rest of the game does not rely on cheap thrills and scares

that said, the fact that there's a crouch mechanic deeply worries me

but still: without giving too much away, you experience the game by manning the radio station and taking calls from people being pursued by a serial killer. there's no narration or visuals, the tension relies entirely on voice acting and sound design -- and i think they did a spectacular job with that

there were so many moments where i (and chat, i was streaming it) was on the edge of my seat

the puzzles are absolutely doable but still really satisfying when you work them out; and there's timers only on some dialogue choices, so you have enough time to work things out in steps -- also makes it easier/more fun to let chat help hehe

when you do fail, you don't feel railroaded or tricked, which is important, though once or twice a lack of information can be a little frustrating because you're just gonna have to go with your gut

the characters have really interesting backstories, i can't wait to find out more 👀

according to the devs, the dialogue and backstories were all written collaboratively across the team, and the game somewhat responds to how well you do in keeping people alive

there's also clues throughout the story so you can try and put it together as you go -- delighted to find out what's the biggest red herring

devs say all players will get a satisfying resolution re: the killer's identity, but players who do well get a more complete picture -- raising the incentive for multiple playthroughs

there's moments of instant karma that are just *chef's kiss*

the environmental storytelling at the radio station ohmygod

is something lgbt happening to Peggy 👀👀

the dialogue choices match up with the tone of what your character actually says, so it's easy to mould his personality a little bit (and the bits where they get creative with punctuation to help convey that tone are really funny)

i'm about halfway through and so far nothing seems overplayed; instead the game just fully commits to the bit without being obnoxious

mechanics are simple: play records, play ad tapes, take calls, and occasionally run through the station for clues

sadly, you can't photocopy your butt

BUT you can shoot hoops from your desk (with paper balls) and the game tracks how many you got

if you're a horror movie or game fan, if this sounds like you'd enjoy it, i can only recommend it! i'm not super good with horror or survival games, but i had an absolute blast with this. here's a couple of screenshots so you can see the aesthetic they're working with:

it's got that cell-shaded telltale look -- easy on the eyes, colourful. and the carpets. my god

#killer frequency #game review #video games

[most-datable-datable-bracket]

QUARTER-FINALS MATCH 3

Claude propaganda:

"To say Claude has trust issues is an understatement—you have to spend half the game earning his. (Claude isn't even his real name!) Once you have it, though, he's absolutely ride or die for you until the stars go out. He is so full of heart and ambition: He wants both sides of his heritage to get along, he wants to open borders and eliminate xenophobia and promote equality between commonfolk, and deep down, I think he craves a partner to stand with him at that new dawn, or an equal who sees his vision for the future and will fight for it just as hard. Nobody believed in him when he was a kid, but if you put your faith in him, he'll return it tenfold. Some people don't like that he's calculating, or has to leave the player character at the end of the game to go back to his homeland, but both are necessary elements for his goals to change things. He will always come back, and everyone who bets against him and his love for his companions is wrong with a big fat W. #KhalidForMostDatablePrez"

"Claude is a fun little onion of facades. He calls himself the embodiment of distrust, he acts like he's carefree and without worries, an unscrupulous schemer--and so many in universe buy into that hook line and sinker. He's used to others viewing him with suspicion and uses it as armor to obscure his not-so-dark truth: that he cares immensely, that he values minimizing the loss of life, and that above all he has so much hope that people will fundamentally choose to do better given the choice.

His front guards a center that his conflict filled world would be happy to tear apart. As the child of people from two nations in constant conflict--one of which is explicitly isolationist and dehumanizes those outside its church's reach--he hasn't really had a place where he can be without his facade. As a child he thought he could run, but when confronted with the fact that this hatred existed no matter where he ran, he chose to instead try to create a more just and kind world.

His inability to let others in beyond his facade at first may lead to a sense of distance, but isn't it then all the more satisfying when you're allowed in? All he wants is a little trust, a little faith, and--like what he wants to give everyone--a chance to be better.

And like that you got a charming young lad with a fun personality that your grandma would be thrilled to have stay forever."

Milo propaganda:

“they were in the last contest sure but i feel like they could get farther. like they're literally a nonbinary grim reaper that's also an influencer and sure sometimes the influencer stuff can get kinda overwhelming i feel like it's very clear that they care about you and want to be around you. you guys go on a reaping date. their eyes and nail colour change based on their mood too and i think it's a really cute detail!! also SLIGHT SPOILERS but they even reference rocky horror in their special ending. they are perfect to me and i love them and i believe they deserve a second chance <3”

"Vote for Milo because they deserve it

They're literally so attractive

- They are a social media influencer

- They are obsessed with an adorable little kitty and will do everything in their power to make this cat the most beloved creature in existence

- They love makeovers and helping their friends rebrand (this includes working with Damien and the PC to help Jerry the Murderer rebrand so that they really has a brand identity)

- They are a grim reaper and even help the PC plan the PC's own funeral (special ending) and they give a great speech and it's super sweet

- They will sometimes take the PC on reaping jobs with them and shenanigans ensues

So in summation, vote for Milo because, as I repeat, they deserve it"

#claude von riegan #fire emblem #fire emblem: three houses #FE:3H #milo belladonna #Monster Prom #Monster Camp #Quarter-Finals #MDDC 2

[onehopefuldreamer]

Challenging a Queen - a love letter

Look, at first this post was going to be about Look into me (my first love when it comes to this game's soundtrack and still one of the songs I adore the most).

Then I wanted to wax poetic about You and I and You and I reprise (three different versions of the reprise depending on what you do with the throne and Mary Elizabeth McGlynn's glorious voice, yes, please! Plus Persephone and Grace is my personal OTP).

After that I moved on to The Throne because I think it's both absolutely awesome and absolutely bonkers you get two themes to mix and match there instead of only one (1st theme based on your first choice and the 2nd on your answer to Orpheus' question). It's still a huge, HUGE personal favourite.

(I will still write love letters to these three songs eventually.)

But then I read Austin Wintory's commentary on the Pantheon version of the soundtrack he posted on YouTube and it caught my attention that he called Challenging a Queen the most complex song in the game. Previous to reading that I had thought it was the same as a lot of the other songs - three main themes that you just get to mix and match but aside from that nothing much changes. Oh, how wrong I was!

Reading that comment made me curious about trying different combinations to see what would happen and once I started doing that I was completely blown away. Because it turns out that this song is anything BUT simple! The choices are even more interlinked here than in most other songs and the possible combinations that lead to different outcomes are so, SO many!

Based on my experimentation (8+ hours of gameplay that's only replaying this one song)  I have discovered the following:

1. The first choice you make directly influences the second. So if you go from Green to Red for example you get a completely different outcome than if you had gone from Red to Green.

2. The first choice also influences the third/middle one. BXGXX is not the same as RXGXX or GXGXX (X stands for any colour). In the case of middle Red, I think, there's the most possibilities because there the second choice also comes into play. For example the banter between Grace and Persephone is different if you go with RBRXX (which is the same as RRRRR) or RGRXX.

3. Then the third and fourth choices also influence each other and lead to different combinations. Say, XXBRX is decidedly not the same as XXRBX.

4. Last but most certainly not least that pesky first choice continues to have an effect until the very end. The combination between it and your fifth or, sometimes, fourth and fifth choice/s is what leads to all sorts of different and unique endings you can get.

That's already a super complex song structure that I'm still not sure I have figured out completely, to be honest. I continue to experiment with different combinations and plan to try to see if I can compile a guide to all the possibilities here. I'm very much not statistically or mathematically inclined so this has been a bit of a struggle but I'm also having so much fun trying to pick apart this song that I don't really mind.

I've never experienced anything like this in any game before and honestly playing around with this song has been a revelation. The amount of screaming I have done in front of my laptop every time I come upon something new is insane. I've come to a point where I have bits and pieces of Challenging a Queen rattling around my head at all times and I LOVE it! Because, as weird as it sounds, I have not become bored with this song even after so many hours of listening to it. I happen to love all the different permutations and listening to Laura Bailey and Mary Elizabeth McGlynn try to outperform each other is far, FAR from a hardship. In fact it's an absolute joy.

I'll leave you with what's probably my most favourite discovery about this song: there are 17 different endings you can discover. 17!!! That's insane! Or at least that's as many as I have personally discovered and I am still very much in awe. If you're curious about checking them out on your own, here goes:

1-4 - RRRRR, BBBBB, GGGGG with a Charming Grace and GGBGG or GGRGG with a Clever or Kickass Grace. These are what I call the regular or classic endings. You're pretty much guaranteed to discover these.

5-8 - BXXBG, RXXBG, GXXBG with Clever or Kickass Grace and one extra XXXBG ending for Charming Grace. The first choice does not matter for Charming Grace, the ending is always the same no matter what.

9-11 - BXXGR, RXXGR and GXXGR

12-14 - BXXBR, RXXBR and GXXBR

15-17 - BXXRB, RXXRB and GXXRB

What I find impressive (aside from the huge number of endings) is that the endings from 5 and onward are all genuinely combined endings. They're not just alternative versions of the RR, GG or BB endings, they're a combination of approaches and/or musical styles and I cannot even begin to express how much I adore that.

I'm not going to lie, doing the experimentation for the GR, BR and RB endings in particular hurt my feelings a whole lot because I'm a Persephone stan and hate to see her trounced by Grace so thoroughly when I know she's actively grieving Calliope. But what really broke my heart (again as a Persephone stan) is those BG endings. Those have made me cry actual tears (the only other ending that's had this effect was GG with Clever or Kickass Grace). They're also the only endings I've been able to discover that have the camera panning down instead of sideways and come with their own backdrop. Discovering my first version of them had me squealing like mad and feeling like an archaeologist who'd discovered priceless ancient treasures. They're probably my personal favourites, all of them. Both because they're so unique and because I love how compassionate Grace is in them. As much as I do think Grace is badass when she wins, I love her being soft and understanding towards Persephone a whole lot more.

I'll stop here because this is already a wall of text for which I'd apologise but this is not even all my thoughts and feelings on this song. I just have so many! Now off to listen to it again and work on my guide.

#stray gods #stray gods: the roleplaying musical #stray gods grace #stray gods persephone #nad talks about the things she loves #song analysis #sort of #long post

[novlr]

Hey! I'm a non native English speaker and i find it very hard to use wide variety of vocabulary in my writing. Any tips??

Just as a painter needs a rich palette of colours to make their art, writers need a diverse vocabulary to craft deep and engaging story worlds.

Your vocabulary as a writer is much like a paint box, with each word adding depth, contrast, and colour to your creation. So what techniques can you use to improve your vocabulary and give yourself more linguistic colours to choose from?

Read a lot

Reading is the best way to improve your vocabulary. It’s immersive, enjoyable, and will introduce you to more varied words. Make it a habit to read often, and try to read widely. Don’t limit yourself to one genre, age range, or style. Whether fiction, non-fiction, articles, or instruction manuals, reading as widely as you can opens your mind to words and styles you might never encounter naturally in your day-to-day life.

Write a lot

Write as often as you can. The more you write, the more often you’ll find yourself reaching for varying words and phrases to accurately convey your thoughts. Every written piece is an opportunity to experiment with new words. As with anything, practice is crucial—regular writing will naturally enhance your vocabulary and make your word usage more instinctive and fluid.

Use a thesaurus

A thesaurus introduces you to a variety of synonyms for the words you’re using and can help you express your thoughts with a bit more flair. However, using a thesaurus does come with a caveat: avoid using complex words just for the sake of appearing more sophisticated. Always choose words that best fit the context and effectively convey what you’re trying to say.

Join a writing group

Beyond being a place to talk about words, writing groups let you test your understanding of words in real time. Writing groups provide valuable insight into whether your word choices effectively convey your intended meaning. Seeing how other writers use their own vocabularies to share their own meanings is a great way to see how word choice can make your writing richer and more nuanced

Play word games

Playing word games is not only fun but is also an effective way to expand your vocabulary. For instance, games like Scrabble challenge you to form varying words from a set of letters, crossword puzzles can improve your understanding and recall of words, and games like Boggle can stimulate quick thinking around word formation.

Keep a word journal

Every time you encounter a new and intriguing word, whether through reading, conversation, or even during a TV show, jot it down in your word journal. Follow it up by researching its meaning, synonyms, and usage in sentences. Revisit these entries frequently, and try to incorporate these words into your writing somehow, even if it’s only during practice sessions. Over time, you’ll notice these new words naturally creeping into your vocabulary.

Sometimes simple is best

While having a broad vocabulary is an asset for any writer, it’s also important to remember that effective communication is what it’s all about, and sometimes, simpler words serve this purpose best. Not every situation calls for intricate or sophisticated language; in fact, often, using simpler, more direct language can make your message clearer and more accessible to a wider audience. More important than a wide vocabulary is an understanding of your readers and the message you want to convey in your text.

#writers #creative writing #writing #writing community #creative writers #writers of tumblr #writing inspiration #writeblr #writerblr #writing tips #ask a writer #writblr #writers corner #writing advice #resources for writers #writing resources #advice for authors #vocab list #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #helping writers #writing help #learn to write