#reiinstated

send me a url and i'll tell you the following✿ accepting

my opinion on;

character in general: lmao which one because you have a million of them??? obvs you only had minjae back when i first followed you, and literally the reaction angharad had to his bio physically pained me. i’m always going to love minjae, and i’ll admit that being so attached to him made me kind of wary of starting threads w/ your other muses at first but oH BOY AM I GLAD I DID??? every new muse you come up with makes my heart hurt & i’m always trying to come up w/ ways to get them & angharad talking because i just love them all so much???

how they play them: literal perfection!! i get so excited every time i see you’ve replied to one of our threads ( and i’m guilty of reading any other threads of yours that i come across on the dash ) because i love your writing so much & i love your muses & i’m such a dumb excitable baby!!

the mun: buttercup is a god damn national treasure!! literally i love you to pieces & i’m so glad we ended up talking because you’ve turned into one of those friends where like idk what i’d do without you?? you’re always so sweet & you put up w/ me going on & on & on about any old random shit at stupid hours and you always send me pictures of elsa when i ask for them and i jUST LOVE & APPRECIATE YOU A LOT

do i;

follow them: at this point i’ pretty sure i’m gonna follow you until the end of days

rp with them: y e s ! !

want to rp with them: always!!

ship their character with mine: *slides every single time we’ve plotted for hayden & angharad under the rug* shipping?? whats that??

what is my;

overall opinion: for those in the back that didn’t hear it the first time, buttercup is a god dam national treasure!!  legit you’re such a sweetheart & such a good writer & i’m going to be your ride or die for life tbh <33 i really hope that one day people see either of our urls and instantly think of the other half of our dynamic duo, and i just rlly hope life goes the way you want it to & you’re happy and healthy and get nice things for birthdays & christmas and everything

**Note: Mun’s answer are all to be completely honest. Don’t send url if you don’t want brutal honesty.

      it’s one of those plans that could either end spectacularly well,       or be absolutely mortifying. iolo’s back at hers, safe and       sound with a babysitter, and she’s bribed hayden’s dad into       making himself scarce for a few hours. all that’s left is to wait       for the man himself. she’s half asleep on his bed when she       finally hears the front door open. she’s left him a trail of       candles and rose petals to follow up to his room, which is       equally littered with candles and flowers, where she awaits as       his prize. dressed only in her sexiest lingerie ( which hasn’t       seen the light of day since before iolo was born ), she drapes       herself across the bed, and greets him with a soft,       ❝ welcome home. ❞

               ‘  - no . no . i’m not doing that , no. no no no . no .  ‘

               ‘  promotions are over so i finally get a little time to myself ... but i’d rather spend it with you .  ‘

send a ✿ for a kiss ✿ accepting

15. last kiss

      all things considered, theirs has been a life well lived. they have      their children, and their grandchildren ( and many more to come,      angharad hopes, even if they might not be around to meet them      all ). they have fulfilled dreams, conquered mountains. they have      known nothing but love and happiness. most people dream of      wealth, or fame, or popularity, but all she has ever wanted is      someone to lie with her at night. someone to share new      experiences with. someone to build a life with. someone to love,      and to be loved by in return. and hayden has given her that a      million times over.

      which is why the least she can do is give him the dignity of dying      in his own bed, rather than trussed up in some hospital with wires      and tubes sticking outing of him. she wishes she could keep him      here a little longer, but there’s only so much her magic can do,      and she couldn’t live with herself if she made him suffer for her      own selfishness. a hand brushes his brow softly, magic seeping      from her fingertips to dull any pain he might be feeling.

      she promised herself she wouldn’t cry. promised herself that      she’d be strong, for his sake. she has never feared death, but      now that he is facing it, she has never been more scared in her life.      but she endeavours to keep her tears silent, even if he can no doubt      feel them dripping onto his shoulder. ❝ rwy'n dy garu di, cariad. ❞      she doesn’t speak her mother tongue often, and even now it’s      whispered into his flesh, as if it’s some secret shared between the      two of them. as if her affection is something for his ears, and his      alone.

      white hot pain sears through her chest as their lips meet for the last      time. she wants to savour every second. to remember, in that one      embrace, every time their lips have brushed in all their years      together. to remember each soft caress, each intertwining of      fingers. each hot press of mouths to bare flesh, each sweaty,      post-orgasmic embrace. but there isn’t enough time in the world to      recall it all, and his breaths grow weaker by the minute. so she      wipes her eyes with one shaking hand, and steers him gently into      one last embrace, his back resting against her chest. and softly,      quietly, another secret reserved only for them, she starts to sing to      him, the same song she has sung to soothe their children through      their nightmares. and she hopes, as he draws his final breath, that      is has helped soothe him too.

she sits, perched, on a tall stool; weight leaning against an elbow she has propped on the polished counter of the bar -- legs crossed beneath the spill of her dress, louboutin heels peaking through as if to say hello to those who walked past her. a glass of gin sits by her touch, a little stout glass resting on a place-mat with tracks of condensation running down the sides, collecting in little puddles at its base. she would’ve been the picture of nonchalance if not for the empty seat beside her, but her company would soon arrive.

the hotel bar was one she frequented often; the food in the restaurant was good and it wasn’t too far from her own home - often choosing to meet with her clients here for the initial dinner. her agency had also bought shares into the business to peruse its halls as a meeting spot for its escorts and clients. this kind of polished lifestyle was her job, to be the pretty thing on someone’s arm, to speak business with men of high caliber (and thick wallet), to be perfect. so she sits and waits for her company to arrive, eyes watching a particular man in the corner of the room with a purse of her lips - only mildly minding the soft music the band played.