as if i dont have enough wips to think abt, the thought of figure skater!blade is in my head....
like,,,, just imagine him in the figure skating attire, in a form-hugging black muscle tee which flatters his physique and grey sweats during practice, in a pretty black or navy body shirt with matching slim-fit trousers — should there be any accessories other than his signature mismatch pair of earrings, it would consist of gold trimmings and crimson accents for small, intricate detailings, sometimes a few sequins or crushed jewels would be added depending on the genre of performance.
(oftentimes he will silently revel in your awe at each of his new costumes, his confidence boosting at your approval. if you're there to watch his practice in the rink, he will go the extra mile to show off in hopes of impressing you. if no one else is occupying the rink, he will skate his way over to you before taking your hand, pulling you along with him after getting you into your own pair of skates, his hand entangled with yours as he gently spins you into his arms. he doesn't let go of you; if you fall and tumble onto the ice, then he will gladly go down with you if it means he can still hold you.)
imagine him with his hair in differing styles; sometimes he will leave it loose and flowy, other times he will have it styled in a half-bun or ponytail. during competitions he will have a hair ornament more often than not, one which compliments his chosen costume and genre, with fans wondering how secure it must be to not fall out with all the jumps and spins he does.
(if you ask, he will let you play and fiddle with his hair. he finds himself relaxing at your slightest of touch, the tenseness of his muscles melting away from your warmth, scent, and laughter. sometimes he will ask for you to be the one who styles his hair before a competition, proudly wearing the hair ornament and style you yourself chose for him. if anything, he finds himself performing better when there is a remnant of you with him out on the rink.)
imagine him in a big puffer jacket, his mask-covered face tucked behind the collar with his hands stuffed into the pockets as he makes his way to the venue. it is all-white with black trimmings and stops just below his knees. there's not a moment where he isn't seen without it — as he walks to the venue, as he waits for his turn to come up, as he goes about in public, as he sits in the 'kiss and cry' awaiting his score from the judges, as he slouches against his chair in the changing room before and after his performance; the only time he is seen without his signature puffer jacket is when he is on the rink.
(blade likes the sight of you in his clothes, his puffer jacket in particular. he likes the way it swallows you in your entirety, the way your eyes shine and laughter tinkles with delight makes his heart swell when showing him how far past your hands the sleeves go, and the way both your conjoined hands easily fit inside his pocket, to name a few. but most of all, blade likes the way your scent lingers on the fabric, eventually developing a habit of burying his nose along the inside collar to bask in what remains when you can't be with him pre-competition. in those moments, he makes a mental reminder to have you wear it again so that your lingering perfume can refresh.)
yeah... figure skater!blade.....
297 notes
·
View notes
Rest
Guess what? I've got more Jamil x reader for y'all.
You can also find this on ao3.
No warnings, just 866 words of kinda fluffy(?) caretaking stuff with gender-neutral reader.
At this point, you know Jamil’s schedule almost as well as he does. So, when you have the chance, you head to Scarabia’s kitchen, hoping to spend some time with Jamil while he and the other students prepare dinner.
However, when you enter, it takes you but a moment to notice Jamil’s uncharacteristic fumbling and the tired look in his eyes. The way Jamil’s chopping the vegetables has you worried about him cutting himself with that knife he’s usually so adept with, and it seems it’s only force of habit that’s keeping him on track.
You frown, and when your eyes meet Jamil’s, you can already see him put his guard up.
So he knows what state he is in, huh? And still, here he is.
It seems Jamil is reading your thoughts, all of him telling you drop it before any words are even said.
At least he still lets you lean in and give a quick kiss to his cheek in greeting.
“Hello love. Do you still have a lot on your agenda for today?” you ask, keeping your tone low for at least some semblance of privacy in the busy kitchen.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” is the response you get.
Of course.
It takes a little more pestering before Jamil actually answers your question. Your lips purse. That list is far too long to your liking.
You take a moment to think, juggling your own plans and to-do list against the urgency of the things Jamil mentioned.
“Will Kalim be eating from that?” you ask, pointing at the food Jamil is preparing.
“Yes.”
“Alright, I won’t be touching that one, then. I’ve gotta do a few things but I’ll be back when you’re done here.”
“Don’t,” Jamil says with a glare, clearly aware of what you’re thinking.
Yet even his disapproving look doesn’t have the usual weight behind it.
“Yes. I will,” you say firmly, even as your heart curls inwards with another bout of concern.
Really, when did he get so tired?
And how did you not notice it earlier?
You leave the kitchen before Jamil can protest further, hurrying through the dorm corridors to find Kalim.
Soon you have an enthusiastic – and concerned – supporter for your plans. You have Kalim point out a few reliable Scarabia students to help with a few of the most urgent matters Jamil mentioned – cleaning up the common areas, delivering some paperwork to Crowley, preparing some dorm-wide notices – while you see to Kalim getting his school supplies in order for the following day. You even recruit a couple of third years to help Kalim with his homework.
You’ll see to the rest tomorrow – after all, you do also have a boyfriend to look after.
Your conversation over dinner can hardly be called anything else than an argument – despite Kalim’s best attempts at acting as a moderating force between you two. It is very tempting to ask Kalim to tell Jamil to take the rest of the day off – it’s not like Jamil would be willing to openly disobey a direct order. Still, you really don’t need to remind Jamil of his position on top of everything else that you’re already doing more or less against his wishes.
Eventually, however, Jamil’s had a square meal, the most urgent things on his to-do list are being taken care of, and you’ve managed to drag him to his bed.
“I really wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard,” you murmur, your arms wrapped tightly around Jamil. You’re telling yourself you really do just want to cuddle, to offer some respite to Jamil. Still, there might also be a part of you worried that if you were to let go, he’d just jump up and get back to working himself to the bone.
Yet, for all his protestations, just the fact that you’ve gotten Jamil to lay down with you speaks volumes of his current exhaustion.
“I can’t just leave my duties, albi. You know this.”
“Making yourself too indispensable, is what you’re doing,” you protest.
Oh, you know it’s not so simple. Not with his background, not with all the expectations and assumptions.
But sometimes you really wish it would be.
Jamil merely scoffs in response to your words.
Still, it is undeniable that he is slowly beginning to relax in your arms, slowly bringing his head closer to yours. His eyes are starting to flutter, too.
“I will still need to help Kalim with his homework, at the very least.”
You wonder who he is trying to convince more, you or himself.
“Amin and Khalil are helping him. They’re basically top of their classes, aren’t they? I’m sure they’ve got it.”
Still, Jamil frowns.
You sigh. He really is not letting go, is he?
“Do you want me to go supervise?” you ask.
And leave you, unsaid yet hanging there right after your words.
“Don’t,” Jamil eventually says, the word barely more than a breath.
It seems he has accepted his fate.
You softly caress Jamil’s hair, listening to his softening breathing.
And when you wake up, wholly unaware of having been lulled to sleep in the first place, it’s to the lightest of touches from Jamil’s fingers.
Tagging @diodellet @twstgo @crystallizsch @jamilvapologist @jamilsimpno69 as per request
If you'd like to be tagged for any future works, let me know!
150 notes
·
View notes
Do you think bugs fall in love?
Their small bodies host even tinier brains. Built to crawl through soil and rocks bigger than itself. Running on a simple software bouncing between eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate.
V1 is smarter than a bug. It must be. It’s a war machine, so it must be. Its programming is complex enough to fry several motherboards; the internals are heated from constant, unrelenting processing needs. If it updates its optical data intake to any greater degree than these rough, messy polygons, it’d surely perish from the overwhelming information.
V1 is built to kill first, survive second. To be fair, survival would ensure more killing, so it’d be more effective. Moving through the battlefield, culling lives, drawing blood. Perfectly aligned with its programmed objectives, then.
Gabriel is smarter than a bug. He must be. He’s an angel, so he must be. He’s one of the best soldiers in the heavenly realm. Armour and swords glistened with pride and justice. He sees all. He judges all. His loyalty and perfect track record have earned him a high rank within the order. Leaving behind the creaturely "it". His light burns hot and bright within his constitution.
Gabriel is built as a messenger of the Father, then a judge of Hell. To be fair, the role of a judge was assigned to him by the council, so he supposes that his placement can be summed up as the bearer of the divine authority to bring right to all other creatures. Perfectly aligned, then.
Bugs… Well, they’re the same. I suppose. Small beings. Running pre-programmed orders derived from centuries of evolution: eat, sleep, fight, flight, and copulate. No role. No responsibilities.
Bugs are built naturally and fully, unlike humankind; but formed and ready to go within seconds from their births, like machines and angels.
So. Do they live?
When the machine and the angel escape their chains, do they see themselves in bugs?
Bugs are born to live, temporarily, fleetingly, yet live nonetheless. Do they, then, deserve to live, freeing and meaninglessly. No role. No responsibilities.
So. Do bugs love?
Do they learn that they can go beyond their basic structures? Do they see their own reflection in each other’s compound eyes? Do they recognize each other’s bodies, scents, heat? Do they feel the desire for closeness?
To flutter wings like a dance of waltz. To brush antennae like butterfly kisses. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.
To move through the sky in battle, in passion. To clash swords and fists and bullets. To greet and caress and lie next to each other near their death.
The same cells in the same blood coursing beneath the same suit of exoskeletons.
Machine, angel, bug. Boiled down to the barest essence of existence; crisp simplicity.
To live, to love.
155 notes
·
View notes
Okay so this has been eating at me so much. That last scene between Gillion and Zamia in ep. 112.
-See? You didn't have anything to be worried about. Looks like you found yourself a new oath, paladin.
-How have you done it? Being so devoted to your oath?
-I think when things seem worse, when things seem dark, I...look around. And never far from me is someone to remind me what I'm fighting for. [looks at Chip and Jay]
-So your power comes from people you care for too, then?
And this is when Gillion starts stammering really hard and ends the conversation, as if something horrible were to happen if he admitted to it. Grizzly metions something about him almost becoming an Oath Breaker, and this makes me wonder what kind of oath Gillion is under to not be able to fight and draw courage and will to keep going from those he loves. And please mind, I do not have Patreron, so if more details were listed somewhere there, then I have no access to it, but the way I see it, whatever he was forced to swear that would make him react like that must have been an awfully cruel promise. To not be able to admit that other people give him strength, to have this burden of always distancing himself away from other's warmth. I don't think whatever oath Elders prepared for him all these years ago is worth keeping anymore, and it is inevitable for Gillion to realise it one day and finally break it. Break it, and make a new one, one that will allow him to devote himself to the ones who were always by his side, just like Zamia did.
Do you think he was thinking about it? About his own place in the world among the joy of celebration? He felt excitement and happiness for the girls of course, but maybe a pang of jealousy too? A pang of emptiness? When he said to them "May you both be each other's destinies," it felt...important. It felt like words that carried weight to them. Because Gillion doesn't say the word "destiny" lightly anymore. But he was sincere in it. There is nothing more beautiful than to dedicate one's destiny not to fate, or god, or a principle, but to a person. One you chose to walk the rest of your life with, one you chose on your own. I think about Gillion standing there between the two lovers, giving them a new beautiful purpose in life...and being left to wonder how ironic it is, that as the one standing here, making this possible, he feels like he has no purpose at all. That he is being led the path that slowly feels more and more meaningless, and that the only reason he does want to keep going is because of the people he is not allowed to love. How when he talks to Jay, he says he hopes that the two of them finding him was just a coincidence. How much he wants their love, and how much he wants to give back in return, but how he is so, SO afraid, that everything they've been through together is something he was forced into as well, that it's not real. But he wants it to be so bad. Because he loves them so much it hurts. Because he can't bear to carry this burden anymore without them. Because he's lost and all he wants is for them to reach for him and hug him and take his hand and walk gently with him through the path of their own making.
He wants to do all of that so bad, but he can't.
Somehow, he just can't.
Not yet.
But one day, he will.
271 notes
·
View notes
When was the Final Control Room built?
Do you guys remember that Eret said that there was a tree stump on top of the Final Control Room and that she put a dirt block on top of it to remember the location? In case something went wrong? Using this information, we can pinpoint when exactly the Final Control Room was built!
First, take a look at this screenshot from Dream's stream from July 31st:
Here, we can see the tree stump in the bottom right corner. There were many tree stumps around L'Manberg that day, since the Dream Team had burnt down a lot of the trees, leaving only the stumps. But our focus should be this particular stump, as t stands directly above the coordinates of the fcr.
This stream was the one where the Dream Team bombs L'Manberg with TNT canons and Eret is all alone to defend the country, if anyone was wondering.
We can clearly see the bright top side of the stump, meaning no dirt block was placed on it yet.
However, if we take a look at this screenshot from Tommy's stream not even 24 hours later:
We can see that there is now a dirt block on top of that tree stump. Meaning that the Final Control Room was built.
This means that Eret built the fcr between the evening of July 31st and the evening of August 1st british time.
Considering Eret's timezone and the fact that none of the others caught her in the act, I think it's save to say that Eret built the room that very night.
165 notes
·
View notes