#//nowhere tag pending

[outofthiisworld]

🎤🕸️🥐 teehee

send me 3 emojis and I’ll make an NPC based on those for my muse’s world/lore

INSOMNIAC

— a 24/hour coffeehouse nestled in downtown Nowhere; it's one part cafe, one part lounge, and one part venue for early birds & night owls alike!

The first floor is the coffeehouse that transforms into a comfortable lounge once the sun sets (and yes, of course they still sell coffee). The basement is a speakeasy venue where live performers (of all kinds) can hold shows & concerts! It's a really popular spot for the city, and usually one that gets written about the most in those tourist guide websites tbh.

On quiet nights (which are very, very rare)— strange scuttling noises can be heard from the top floor. Outside of the Insomniac owner, not even employees are allowed up there.

[ordinaryxxgirl]

Consider: She. Also Consider: Ana smooching you after you get close enough to her because it's how she shows affection

[dystopyx-blog]

Oops! Another yandere floyd post 🤷‍♀️

Everyone knows about Floyd’s infamous mood swings. He's in the mood or he isn't. If he's in the mood to do something, he will, if he isn't, he won't. There’s no real rhyme or reason to em, and they can be extremely inconvenient.

But it’s not until Azul’s complaining about it to you that you realize… you don’t really experience any issues with it. He still has em, of course, but with you it’s different. Out of every time the two of you have hung out, not a single time has he left you out of sudden boredom. It’s not that he’s just so interested in every single activity you two do together, or that he didn’t experience any mood swings during them, because he has absolutely had instances of them while doing something with you. But even when he becomes didinterested in whatever you’re doing, he could never be disinterested in you. So whatever you wanna do, he’s happy to tag along. And no matter how bored he gets with the activity, he remains a good sport for you throughout the whole thing.

With some exceptions.

Y’see, Floyd doesn’t really like sharing his Shrimpy Time (trademark pending) with others. Not even his brother.

You ask Floyd if he wants to join you on a hike and he’s like ‘??? Why???��� He gets Jade’s thing with hiking: it’s an experience they can’t get back home, like basketball and other leg-related activities. But you??? Are from land??? Why would you care about hiking?????? But Floyd isn’t really in the mood to interrogate you, so he’s like, “uh, nah, not really.”

Then Jade shows his smarmy face.

“So just us, then?”

Uh, nuh uh. Ain’t NO WAY he’s gonna let you wander off to the middle of nowhere alone with Jade. And like that, he’s up, and he’s joining. Even if you hadn’t invited him, as soon as he realized you were going out with Jade he would have insisted on tagging along. And since he’s Floyd, you wouldn’t have been able to refuse him, cuz he’d just follow you anyway.

So that’s how you ended up on a hike with Jade and Floyd.

Floyd is boredly trailing behind you and Jade, who has all sorts of interesting facts for you. Floyd couldn’t give less of a fuck. But he’s a good sport, for the most part. Or, at least a decent sport.

The three of you stop at an old tree with mushrooms growing from it so Jade can tell you all about them.

During the actual walking part of the hike, even if Floyd wasn’t interested in whatever Jade had to say, he at least got some satisfaction watching you walk ahead of him. It was obvious that even when Jade purposely lessened his pace, you struggled to keep up with him. And that, at least, offered something. But now you’re just standing there, watching Jade drone on and on about who fucking cares and he swears he’s never been so bored in his life. His mind wanders, his gaze drifts, until he sees some pine cones and decides he wants to try juggling. You can’t really do that in the coral sea, gravity is funky underwater.

He calls your name excitedly, and you turn to see him holding a bunch of pine cones in his arms. Then he just kinda—throws them all into the air. Floyd looks at the pine ones, disappointed. “Juggling’s harder than I thought.” He says. You laugh and join him where he stands, now surrounded by pine cones.

From then on, Floyd is able to keep your attention on him instead of his brother. And to his surprise, he finds himself having fun! He even offers to join the two of you again—though Jade turns that idea down real quick by saying that to go anymore hikes, you have to join the Mountain Lovers Club.

And this is the pattern for basically any activity you try. You tried out Gargoyles Study Club, wanting to support your friend Hornton. But Floyd tagged along. Just like on the hike, he mostly just trailed along in the back. You’d tried to get him involved in conversation a few times, but he’d loudly announce his disinterest in gargoyles, so you stopped. When the three of you stopped in front of an actual gargoyles, you expected Floyd to, y’know, just stick to the back. You were certainly not expecting him to start climbing it. You managed to get him down before he nearly broke the structure’s horns off. You swear to god Malleus was about to strike him down with lightning.

The only times Floyd would be a good sport is if he happened to be in the mood, or if it was just the two of you. At the end of it all, Floyd asks you what club you’re interested in. You tell him you don’t know. “Aw, that’s okay.” He says with a big grin. “You don’t need a club, anyway. You got me!”

[demcnsinmymind]

They want you back. They want you back and they're going to kill you. They want you back. They want you back and they're going... The thought keeps repeating in Lance's mind, over and over again. Panic bubbling right back up, even harsher so, when people are starting to come nearer as well, drawn in by the commotion. By the message they just received. This guy is crazy. This guy is a fucking killer. This guy needs to go. This guy needs help. From them. They want him back.

Instinct is taking the upper hand now, winning over reason and proper thought. The urge to run, to flee, to get the hell away from them. He's but a split second away from just running when things go downhill. Fast. And it's Miriam now, who has a fork to the guy's throat. Staring at him. Wildeyed. Expecting. Just as insane.

Fuck.

And just past her, right behind her in fact, two guys are trying to approach, looking for a way to disarm her while she has her back turned to them. Further back still : the waitress. Just as panicked and wild eyed. On the phone. Trying to call the cops without a doubt. Others too. Phones in hand as well. Recording. And Matt, in the middle of it all now. Fork to his throat and staring right at him. Loving this. Laughing. The look on his face saying it all. They're coming to get you.

There's too many people in here. And time is running out. What the fuck is he supposed to do? Grab a knife? Threaten people to stay the hell away? 130pounds soaking wet, malnourished, tired and scared as hell? With a companion who's just as insignificant strength wise? Compared to the hunks of men approaching her from the back? And fuck. Now he's freezing right the fuck up. But not because of this thing in his head. Oh no. Fucker doesn't seem alarmed by any of it at all, can't be bothered to step in and take over. Obviously loving all this chaos. Leaving him to stand here like a fucking deer caught in headlights, terrified.

Lance barely manages to call out and tries to take a few steps forward when the two guys behind Miriam are on her already, trying to pry her off of her hostage. A hostage who's still all eyes on him now, gleeful, excited, over the moon despite the fork to his throat, the commotion behind him. Ends the look with a wink.... And the draw of a gun. Blink and you miss it.

"WATCH OUT!" Lance cries out and tries to leap forward instead of trying to dodge anything, hoping to come to his friend's aid. But it's not the friend the gun's getting pointed at next. It's the men behind her. Still wrestling with her hand, trying to dislodge the fork. Gone but a second later when multiple shots ring through the air, bullets hitting them square in the face, tearing them right off of her and catapulting them to the ground in a spray of red and brain matter. It's making his ears ring, drowning out not just Lance's horrified scream, but everyone else's when the gun is pointed at them next. One at a time in quick succession. A warning, but no more shots for now. Until the muzzle switches back and forth between Lance and Miriam.

"I don't know about you, Sean, but I'm not much of a fan of being here when the cops arrive. What do you say?" Matt announces, then keeps his gun aimed at Miriam's head while tossing him his car keys. Once Lance has caught them with a half horrified, half furious look on his face, Matt's shooting another look at Miriam. Gives her a smirk and a nod towards the door.

"You two were on your way out anyway, right? Let's go for a ride together."

A lot happens at once, voices buzzing in her ears like flies. She is urged back, away from Lance. Shock grasps her by the throat and locks her shoulders in place. As Matt barricades her behind his frame, wide blue eyes search fearfully for Lance, his outburst still echoing in her head. Matt meanwhile keeps talking. Someone was hurt. Sean needs help. He knows just the place. He lays a claim to her travel companion that she has seen a hundred times before. Over the accusations, her unsettled stare meets Lance's and there she sees everything that strangles the words in his mouth.

Not this, he seems to scream, I am not this.

Matt plays lion tamer, hands out stretched like he's soothing a rearing horse. Miriam is crowded in behind him as the sparse patronage of the diner finally draws nearer. Few look to join the fray but they stand at the ready, like a battallion of puppets on loose strings, waiting for a command word. They mutter and murmur. Matt's words upset them. Fortunately, perhaps, for Lance, his words mean little to Miriam.

She barely knows what psychiatry is, only that hack doctors will drill into your skull and kill you with electroshocks if you're a bad bad girl and won't stop telling lies. She's been told again and again that school medicine, as it is so fittingly called, is worldly heresy. Only prayer, her mother's voice whispers in her ear. Only prayer can aid the sick, only God can work this miracle. So right off the bat, she is on Lance's side. A bizarre tangle of misinformation and faulty frames of reference easily make her Matt's enemy.

She cowers a little, at the thought of people getting hurt. So many people always get hurt. That is the same everywhere. It frightens her but it doesn't surprise her. One look at Lance, at his snarling, at the tension he carries in his hands... Yes, she can imagine him killing a boy. But not someone like her. He wanted to escape. She has done worse for less.

The way Matt is talking, soothing, establishing the target for all to see, it turns her stomach. It reminds her of the men back home, how they used to circle the false believers. There were always one or two. The bodies were kept in the shed, weren't they? Her inner eye flashes with the image of Lance, hanging from a butcher's hook, cleft in half, blood pouring out. She feels sick now. Everybody always ever wanted to help and it was never true.

"He's already been helped." She says meekly, her voice cracking in her throat. "Thank you for your concern but we're fine. Please let us go now." Her hand silently creeps towards the fork, moving like a foreign animal across the tabletop. She watches it with wide eyes, wondering idly what it means to do. "We really need to be going now, sir. It's for the best if you leave us be." Her fingers close around the sharpest object she can find and she brings it up to the unattentive man's neck in a slow deliberate movement. She poises it inches away from pink breakable skin, where a quick stab to the nape could unravel him.

Over Matt's shoulder, she is looking at Lance like a sleepwalker, waiting.

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 8

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Content Notes for Part 8: Grief, Mourning as themes; loss of parents

Part 8

Two Weeks Later

It was difficult for the Eldar to get drunk. Not unheard of, certainly - Dwarvish ale and the liquors of Men were seldom up to the task, yet the Elves’ own wines could often render one senseless. There were casks in the royal cellar, in fact, that Gil-galad had been wary of breaching. 

But now, as he stared at the page in front of him, now might be the very occasion.

Her tender heart I feel

O! Beloved!

Her tender flesh I taste

O! Beloved!

Her tender kiss I share

O! Beloved!

A river flows, a lily blooms

A proud tree rises as a sapling in springtime.

This was getting him nowhere. 

He was sure that Círdan’s advice had been well-meant, but the shipwright had never wed. He would have no concept of whether Rúmil’s writings were accurate - and indeed, Gil-galad was not sure he would either, even after his wedding night. The language was so vague and couched in metaphor, there were any number of things it might apply to.

But perhaps that was the point. Perhaps Rúmil was attempting to describe something that could not be described.

Although that bit about tasting…?

There was a soft knock on his door, and with relief, Gil-galad looked up.

Quickly, he closed the book and slid it under one of the stacks of papers on his desk. As useless as it was, he was not fond of the idea that someone might realize what he was attempting to do. This was private, and the only one he desired to be thinking about it besides himself was Linnea. 

He wondered what she was thinking. Did she share his trepidation? She had no more experience than he did, after all. Would she worry about pleasing him, just as he worried about pleasing her? 

The idea nearly made him laugh, and it offered reassurance. The heat that welled up in him every time he kissed her - no, she had no cause to fear. And he had seen the desire in her eyes, felt her tremble at his touch. They would find their way together.

The knock came again, and he rose. “Enter.”

Gil-galad had been grateful, all told, that Elrond had spent so much of the past weeks in Imladris. Construction was proceeding rapidly, and he knew that much of it was due to Elrond’s attention to detail - as well as his way of kindly encouraging the best from anyone around him. 

It had been a necessary sacrifice, losing his herald to bigger and better things. And one he had not resented bearing - save for the matter of his pending wedding. More than once he had wished for Elrond’s help; they had worked together for long years, and while his replacement Nendir was entirely competent, it was just not the same.

He had been too proud to ask, but he was not too proud to have felt relief when Elrond had arrived two days ago, and had - very politely, and very delicately - begun assisting Nendir with composing the letters of invitation. Elrond’s arms were laden with them now as he entered, a dozen neatly rolled scrolls that awaited the royal seal and Gil-galad’s signature.

“High King.”

“Lord Elrond.” 

Elrond stepped over to the desk, beginning to set down the scrolls and arrange them. Linnea and Adabes had dealt with the list of recipients, and he was glad to see that it had not expanded since the last time he had seen it. That thought of privacy pushed at his thoughts again; it was not too late for him to toss Elrond’s efforts into the fire and go find Linnea and have it done with. 

But a royal wedding was more than just the bonding of two souls; it was an opportunity to renew friendships, plant seeds for the future, strengthen alliances. 

And perhaps, rebuild them as well.  

He glanced over the letters that Elrond had opened and set ready for him as he re-seated himself at the desk. Oropher and his family, yes; Amdír and Amroth of Lórien; various other lords and high Noldor that were already well aware of the wedding, but the formal invitation still had to be sent. And drafts of the proclamations that would be issued throughout Lindon and carried to Imladris as well, Linnea’s coronation at the Tree that was open to all.

He smiled at that last page, and Elrond saw it. “There will be a great party of the survivors that come from Imladris, High King,” he murmured. “Lady Linnea is one of their own.”

“I trust you have informed Adabes of their number?”

“I have. The arrangements are all well in hand.”  

“Good.”

He calmly reached for his quill, betraying no hint of his plans, and began to sign the pages. Elrond fell into their old rhythm quickly; no sooner had he finished with the quill than Elrond was ready with the hot wax, and he pressed his seal to stamp it. Easy and familiar; it would come with time, with Nendir, but the resumption of routine, even for a few moments, was peaceful.

Unfortunately, he was about to shatter that peace.

Gil-galad sealed the last of the announcements, and set the brass seal off to the side. “I have another task for you.”

“Of course, High King.” Elrond’s attention was on organizing the finished pages; his tone was distracted. “I am, as ever, at your service.”

Gil-galad had written it himself. He had thought long and hard over the matter, and he knew it wouldn’t even be considered a slight if he didn’t; they could simply send an announcement after the fact and have done with it. There would hardly be any expectation otherwise.

In the end, as he suspected he would do so often in the years to come, he had asked Linnea what she thought.

A wedding is a time for joy, she had said, as they had shared their evening tea. Let that joy be the mortar that fills the cracks between Elf and Dwarf, and the water that smothers any fires that yet burn.

He took the letter, and passed it to Elrond silently. And it only took the former herald one glace to understand.

“ ‘Esteemed Prince Durin,’ “ he said quietly, his eyes flicking across the top of the page. “High King, I - “

Gil-galad held up a hand. They had spoken little of the late arrival of the Dwarves to Eregion; it had not been a subject that they needed to discuss at length. And apart from sending a polite acknowledgment of their help, and thanks for the offer of further aid, there had been scant correspondence between the realms since the siege.  

But they would need every ally in the fight to come. 

“You will deliver it personally,” he said, keeping his voice firm. “We must begin to mend this rift between our two peoples. What has transpired is past. Your friendship with Prince Durin may be the key to unlocking the power of the Dwarves against our enemy, and you know as well as I that it will be needed.”

“High King,” Elrond said again. And this time there was heat beneath his voice, the coals of betrayal that had not yet burned low. “We placed our faith in Durin once. Our dead might have been fewer in number had he held to his word. It is a fool who stores his jewels in the same casket they have already fallen from.” 

“And yet, the Dwarves have reason to mistrust us as well,” Gil-galad said quietly. “They bear the consequences of our lack of sight, of Celebrimbor’s pride in allowing Sauron’s influence over his craft. The Dwarven rings cost them dearly, as Durin himself knows full well. There are wrongs on both sides, and someone must be the first to extend a hand.”

Elrond stared down at the letter in his hand. “A mighty hand indeed, to invite the Prince of Khazad-dûm to the High King of the Noldor’s wedding.”

“Khazad-dûm still roils with unrest. None of the factions competing for the throne after King Durin’s passing shows any signs of triumph. This may be our chance to tip the scales. Our public acknowledgment of his claim - to the exclusion of all others - sends a message.” 

Elrond looked thoughtful. “Some of the lords may count it as much curse as blessing. They may withhold their support of Durin knowing he allies with us.”

“You speak truly, but Durin did come to our aid at Eregion. Those who would deny him their backing will have already done so. And those who are swayed by power will see that Durin has our confidence.” 

Elrond licked his lips, glancing down at the page again. And what he said next proved just how far he had come, in so short a time.

“Does the lady Linnea approve of this?”

He almost chuckled at Elrond’s implication. It was possible that there would be times to come when he would have to overrule her wishes for the sake of the realm, but he would never have considered it for this. If she had objected to the Dwarves being invited to their wedding, he would have found another way.

“My lady bears no grudge,” Gil-galad said. “And if she does not, we have no grounds for it.”

Elrond winced. It was true that what he had said was an oversimplification, but the underlying principle was clear. Elrond had not been wrong when he had said the Dwarves might have stemmed their own losses - but that also held true for the brave defenders of Eregion. Linnea would have had more reason than most to object, and she had not.

The thought seemed to take the wind from Elrond’s sails. His shoulders relaxed, and he looked down at the letter for a moment more before he began slowly rolling it. 

“As you command, High King. I will depart immediately for Khazad-dûm.”

“Oh, Eressie.”

The dressmaker smiled, casting her eyes shyly down at the floor. For her part, all that Linnea could do was stare, letting her eyes drink in the beautiful sight.

It had taken her weeks to decide on the fabric, but Eressie hadn’t wasted the time. By the time she had finally found it - a heavy cream silk shot with gold and copper, almost as if it were lit from within - the design had been complete, and Eressie had taken her scissors and needle to the stunning fabric with more bravery than Linnea herself would have shown. 

And this was the result.

The neckline of the dress draped softly around Linnea’s chest, revealing the soft swells of her breasts above a corset that covered from breast to hip and laced in the back. The skirts fell from beneath the bottom of the corset, layers upon layers of the heavy silk, lapped one over the other like the petals of a rose. Tight undersleeves, made of pale gold silk, were fitted beneath longer, fuller sleeves of the cream. The edges of the neckline were embroidered with golden leaves and accented with pearls, as were the cuffs of the undersleeves and a band of the oversleeves around her upper arms. More leaves were embroidered here and there on the layers of the skirt - giving the impression that they had been captured in mid-flight, falling from their tree.    

It was beautiful. It was incredible. It was perfect.

She had almost been afraid to touch it. But she knew Eressie needed to see it on her one last time, to make any final alterations. The wedding was in two more weeks, and knowing that the dress was done would be one thing off the list that she needed to think about.

Two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks.

“My lady? Will you step up, so that I may check the hem?”

This had been the very reason for her visit; her shoes were finished, retrieved just that morning from the cobbler. She moved to the wooden dais that Eressie had set up for just this purpose, and stood still as the seamstress knelt and fussed with the edge of the dress.

She wondered what Gil-galad would be wearing.

He would look stunning, whatever it was. But he had adamantly refused to tell or allow her to see any bit of it. The only hint that she’d gotten was when he had asked what color her dress was, and had looked immensely smug when she had shown him a small sample of the fabric. But he wanted to surprise her, and so she had followed his lead, making that glimpse of color the only clue he got in return.

Eressie finished with the hem and sat back on her heels, smiling up at Linnea. “I need do no more, my lady. Your dress is finished. And I shall have your nightclothes completed within the week.”

Nightclothes. Yes. She slept in silk and satin now, not the soft cotton and linen she had always known, but for this night she had wanted something even more special. She would only have one wedding night in her entire long life, and so would Ereinion. He deserved for her to come to his bed as beautiful as she could make herself.

Her heart quickened, thinking about it. Thinking about the wisp of a gown that Eressie was finishing, about how Ereinion’s hands would look on the soft white fabric. 

And how they would feel once that fabric had been removed.  

But she kept her composure, stepping down and turning so that Eressie could unlace the back of the dress, and then quickly changing out of it and back into her regular gown. She handed the wedding dress to Eressie, who swathed it carefully in a long strip of pure white wool to protect and conceal it.

She was just finishing when there was a soft thud from the back of the shop, and a small blond boy came hurrying out.

“Mother?”

Eressie’s son was still very young by the standards of their people - and every time she saw him, Linnea’s heart ached just a little, knowing how difficult it must be to grow up without his father. But the child seemed to be doing well, if a trifle shy, although perhaps that was simply his nature. Eressie herself was such.

The boy saw her and instantly halted, bowing. “Your Grace,” he said, very politely. “Mother.”

“Negen,” Linnea greeted him, smiling. “I am pleased to see you. You look well.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Eressie looked nervous at the interruption; she had become more comfortable with Linnea over the last months, but she was still finding her way around the propriety that had been drilled into her for interacting with the nobility. “Negen? Is aught amiss?”

“No, Mother. But I have finished my reading for the day. May I have some fruit?”

Eressie let out a small breath of relief. “Yes. Yes, of course you may. You know where it is.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Negen turned and departed the way he had come, through the door in the back of the shop that led to their living quarters. The sight made Linnea’s heart ache in a different way; their weaving shop in Eregion had been built in a very similar manner, and it felt as if she herself could walk through that door and be in their little kitchen, with her mother washing vegetables over a basin and her father tending the fire - 

“My lady?”

Linnea shook her head, pushing the thoughts back. And it was not for the first time.

The memories of home and family had lingered close over the last weeks, and they had prickled at her mind like thornbushes that she was gingerly trying to find her way through. Every so often, she was scratched.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly. “It is just - being here reminds me so much of home. I was distracted for a moment. You are fortunate in your child; Negen is a fine boy.”

Eressie dipped her head in a small bow. “Thank you, my lady. He - he has dreams of being a soldier like his father.” 

Oh, she could not imagine how that must feel for Eressie, to have her son’s ambitions lie in the same direction that had been his father’s downfall. Linnea swallowed hard, past the tightness in her throat, and tried to think of something to say.

“I am sure that whatever path he walks, he will succeed,” she managed, and was proud that her voice stayed even. Another sign that she was learning how to be a queen.

She was saved from having to find more words by a soft tap on the shop door. A moment later, it opened, and Hellathas leaned inside.

“Lady Linnea,” she said quietly. “The light begins to fade. We should return to court as soon as you are ready.”

That had been another change over the last weeks. 

Work was still ongoing to bolster Lindon’s defenses, and with the army so reduced, Gil-galad had issued orders that only the most necessary activities were to be pursued after sunset. The streets were now quiet in the darkness, the only steps to be heard those of patrolling soldiers. It had lent itself to an aura of caution and agitation among the inhabitants, but Linnea could not fault his reasoning; it would be much easier to identify intruders this way. 

Lindon itself breached. The thought was scarcely conceivable, but it was Gil-galad’s role to do just that, to consider every possibility and plan accordingly.

Their role.   

She nodded at Hellathas. “Thank you. I will be with you directly.”

Hellathas stepped back and closed the door, and Linnea turned to Eressie. The momentary distraction had helped her settle herself, and she was able to smile fully at the seamstress.

“I will return in a few days for the nightclothes,” she promised. “As always, your work is beyond compare.”

Eressie blushed, dropping her green eyes to the floor even as she dropped herself into a curtsy. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”

Adabes was lying in wait when Linnea returned.

She had tried to establish that when she was out, Adabes was welcome to enter her rooms and wait for her if there was need. But Adabes hadn't gotten quite that far yet; she stood outside the door, holding her writing desk, as poised as she always was.

“My lady,” she said, as Linnea stopped at the landing. “The King is still in session with the council. Do you wish to dine before we review the wedding ceremony?”

Inwardly, she sighed. She had been hoping for a quiet dinner with Gil-galad, but council meetings had been extending longer and longer as of late. He would not expect, or want, her to wait.

“Have you eaten, Adabes?” she asked. “You are welcome to join me, and we can converse at the same time.”

“I have eaten, thank you. But you need not delay on my account, Your Grace. I am happy to wait until you have refreshed yourself.”

Linnea shook her head; that simply felt rude to her, and like an abuse of her position. “No, please come in. We can talk first. I am anxious to hear about the ceremony.”

Adabes stood aside then, and Linnea opened the door to her rooms. 

She had added a few furnishings since her arrival in Lindon. Although she had been fairly sequestered, still acclimating herself to all of the change, some of the ladies of the court had taken it upon themselves to seek her out. She had added more seating in her front room as a result, and also a small frame loom in the corner. The looms in the weaving room were much larger and more suitable for bigger projects, but this one would accommodate scarves or shawls or similar things. She was weaving one such now, in fact - a gift for Adabes, a silk shawl in a pattern of deep gold and pale green. It had made her smile when Adabes had admired the colors, and she was looking forward to the surprise. 

One rather nice thing about being the future queen was that her needs were always anticipated. Even though she had been absent from court for several hours, someone had come and lit the lanterns and candles, and had built and lit the fire. The rooms were toasty warm, and Linnea settled down on one of the chairs by the hearth, motioning to Adabes to sit as well.

She had been eager for this discussion, an outline of what the actual ceremony would entail. She had of course attended weddings before, but that was quite different than it being her own. And she was anxious to ensure that there were no traditions she needed to be aware of, things that the Noldor did but that the Sindar did not.

Adabes positioned her writing desk just as she liked it, across her knees, and took out her quill.

“The ceremony itself is quite short,” she began. “As neither you nor the High King have living parents, you will invoke the blessings yourselves. There is no traditional point at which to carry out the ritual, but I would suggest waiting until the end of the feast, and then proceeding directly to the coronation.”

Linnea nodded. She had learned very quickly that any suggestion Adabes made was well-considered and had ample reason behind it, and the logistics of what she was saying were sensible. “I agree. Are there - that is, the blessings I know are traditional for the Sindar. But are there different words used by the High Noldor?”

“Not to my knowledge, my lady. Obviously there will be some slight alterations, as you will say the words yourselves, but they are no different in essence. The King will say, ‘May Manwë Lord of Wind watch over us’, and you will say, ‘May Varda Star-kindler hear our calls.’ And each will end with, ‘And may the - " Adabes paused, clearing her throat. “ - the Father of All bless us.”

Linnea understood the slight pause. It was no light thing, to invoke the name of Eru Ilúvatar; that would wait until that very moment when she and Ereinion were holding one another’s hands, the blessings hovering between them, one of the silken threads that bound them together for the rest of eternity.

She tried not to think about how that call to Varda and to Eru would sound from her own lips, and not her mother’s.

Lhénes had had a low, quiet voice. Perhaps it would have rasped slightly as she spoke, as she held back tears of joy at seeing her daughter wed so well. Being queen would not have mattered to her, but the knowledge that Linnea had found love, that her true soulmate had been out there - that would have pleased her greatly.

More of those thornbushes. She pushed them back, returning her attention to Adabes.

“Very well,” she said. “And the exchange of rings afterward?”

“Yes, Your Grace. The wedding bands have been commissioned from the smiths. You will return the King’s betrothal ring to him, and he yours.”      

Linnea smiled. She had a suspicion that the silver star would find its way back onto another of her fingers soon after the wedding; it was too beautiful to be set aside and kept in a casket. “It seems simple enough. I had feared the Noldor would have other traditions, especially for a wedding of this importance.”

Adabes hesitated.

It was an uncommon occurrence, and it made Linnea look at her more closely. Adabes was ruthlessly efficient; this was most uncharacteristic, and she wondered at the cause.

“Adabes?”

Efficiency won out, and Adabes gave a small sigh. “There is one thing, Your Grace. I am sure that it is of no consequence, given that you are Sindar and that your parents are no longer with us.”

Her stomach twisted. 

“And what is it?” 

“It is customary among the Noldor for gifts to be given to the bride and groom, by either their parents or another relative. The father of the groom to the bride, and the mother of the bride to the groom. A jewel that can be worn is the most traditional. But again, I am sure that no one will expect it. Certainly the King will not.”

He might not expect it, no. But had it been something he had hoped for? Would he feel any lingering sadness that the wedding had not been quite what he’d dreamt of? And the other Noldor lords - the conflict between Noldor and Sindar that went back thousands of years - would this validate some long-buried judgments, that she was not worthy of their High King if she could not manage so simple a thing?

She felt Adabes’ eyes on her and looked back up. “I see. I will consider that, thank you for telling me. Was there anything else?”

Adabes looked like she wanted to hide - which was, again, most unsettling. “No, my lady. Once the rings are exchanged, the public ceremony is finished and the coronation will begin.”

On another occasion, Linnea might have asked about that part as well. But she knew that she would need Gil-galad for that; he doubtlessly had plans, likely a speech to give - or more than one. There was ample reason to delay that discussion, even if she had been able to manage it at this moment.

Her mother Lhénes would never see the wedding dress she had tried on that day. She herself would speak the blessings that Lhénes should have. Lhénes would never choose a jewel for Ereinion, something he could wear to remind him of his wedding day; her long and elegant hands - so like Linnea’s own - would never give it into his keeping, much the same as her only child.

She took a deep breath, and couldn’t keep it smooth. Not with the memories crowding around her, not with the thornbushes drawing in so tight.

“Thank you,” she said again. “Then I believe that is all for tonight?”

To her vast, vast credit, Adabes seemed to sense that anything she might say - any apology or condolence - would only make things worse. Instead she quickly stowed her quill and rose, curtseying briefly, and murmured. “Yes, my lady. I shall see you in the morning. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

And she left.    

Linnea sat, her mind fixated on what Adabes had said, like a fish caught on one of the cruel hooks that Men used.

It is customary among the Noldor for gifts to be given to the bride and groom. A jewel that can be worn is the most traditional.

I am sure no one will expect it.

Well, they had not expected her, had they?

She rose then, her hands clenched into fists, striding over to the ironwood chest that sat next to the frame loom. Sinking to her knees, she flung the lid open and plunged her hands into the neatly folded fabrics that were stacked inside, scattering the dried lavender and rosemary that had been set to keep the moths away. She had traded three lengths of fine silk for Ereinion's ring, but much remained of what she had saved from Eregion.

The Noldor had enough jewels. Enough finery. But she could make Ereinion another gift; she was upending tradition anyway, with no female relative to perform the task. She might as well embrace it.

Her fingers dug deeper. She was barely aware of the tears that had started to fall, dripping down and landing on the floor beside the chest as she touched the cloth. Each one held memories; her hands had woven parts of many of them, the work of her mother and her father and herself all intertwined. Impossible to tell who had done what anymore. 

But this - 

She pulled out the object of her search. 

The fabric was deep brown, a blend of wool and silk. Lhénes had finished it not long before the siege; it was one of the most versatile fabrics she had ever created, woven both for warmth and for lightness. And Lhénes had employed every aspect of her craft - not only was the fabric itself a marvel, but she had laid protective charms over the threads. It would offer concealment to the wearer, and would turn a blade or an arrow that was not crafted by skilled hands.

Linnea had helped her warp the loom when she had begun.

We oft know what our work’s purpose will ultimately be, Lhénes had said, as they had threaded the heddles together. The threads speak to us of a gown, or a wall hanging, or some such. Yet this I do not see, only that it wishes to be made.    

Not a gown, no. Not a wall hanging. Not a blanket or a robe or a table covering.

Her hands could wield a needle, not as skillfully as Eressie but enough for this. There was time enough to complete the task. She would finish what her mother had started, and this would be her gift at the wedding. 

A war-cloak for a King. 

She hoped Lhénes would have approved. 

But that dam that she had sensed when first she had arrived in Lindon - the dam that she had known would eventually burst - it finally broke, as she held the fabric and felt Lhénes’ love woven into it, her care and concern and the magics she had employed, the magics that would ultimately protect her daughter’s husband and the father of her grandchildren. The bolt of brown wool dropped into her lap and Linnea collapsed, a sob tearing from her as she fell forward onto and into the chest, clinging to it like a raft in the middle of the sea. 

There had been no time. Grief had been pushed aside, but it would have its due.

She didn’t know how long she cried, her tears salting the wood of the chest and the fabrics within. The entire tower might have fallen down around her and she wouldn’t have noticed.

Melethel?     

The whisper caressed her ear, and Linnea looked up, her body still shaking. 

Her rooms were empty.

She leaned back down, resting her forehead on the edge of the chest, tears still running down her face and onto the floor.

But then, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. And there was only one place they could be coming from, for them to be so clear. 

Gil-galad had just returned; that much was plain as he emerged from the stairs that led up to his rooms. He was still wearing the silver samite robe he preferred for council sessions, but the weariness that normally dragged at his handsome features after the meetings was nowhere to be found. Instead, his face was filled with concern as he saw her, and he hurriedly made his way across the room, dropping to kneel at her side and putting his arm around her in one unbroken movement.

“I felt you,” he said, with no preamble. “I felt your sadness, melethel. What has happened?”

She was not too proud to lean into his strength, letting him tighten his arm and draw her even closer into his chest. It felt so silly; she would see her parents again in Valinor someday, they would even be able to meet Gil-galad, although hopefully that day was long hence. 

She felt him run his hand over her curls. “Tell me, I beg you,” he whispered. “Whatever burdens you, it is mine to carry as well.”

That made the tears start flowing again. He had so many cares, especially now; the idea of adding to them was too overwhelming.

“I heard you,” she whispered instead. “I thought it was the wind or my own fancy. But I heard you…”

His hand was still stroking her hair. “I called out to you in my thoughts. But I did not expect you to hear - I did not think the ósanwe would be so strong so soon.”

He was right; she hadn’t even considered the idea. The ósanwe, the interchange of thought,  normally took time to develop between Elves - although perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. She knew enough to know that it was strengthened with affinity, with urgency, and with authority. She had no trouble believing that Gil-galad’s power as the High King was enough all on its own to reach across the forests of Eriador. And with love and worry backing it? She could likely hear him from Valinor itself.

The reminder of that love loosened her tongue, and she let herself speak.

“I have thought of my parents today, more than any other,” she murmured. “And when Adabes told me about the ceremony, about how we must change the words of the blessings…and the Noldor tradition of the gifts, and I knew that my mother could not do that for you, that that would be a part of our wedding that you would not experience, and…”

“Oh, melethel.” She hadn’t thought it was possible, but his arm tightened even more. “Think you I care for such things? I vowed to you that we could be wed in an instant if you desired it. I need only you.”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against the softness of his robes. “I know it. But it seemed so important, with everything else. And I have no other to perform those offices. The other Noldor, they may find me unworthy…I am alone, I bring no great House to ally with yours…”

Ereinion’s free hand worked itself between them and tipped her chin up.

“No one of any consequence would find you unworthy,” he said firmly. “There is none in Arda that I would have at my side, save you. There is none other I would have as queen; there is none other I would have as the mother of my children. I regret only that I will not know your parents, and that my parents will not know you. I would have taken joy in their knowing how fortunate I have become. But someday they will know, and until then, I need only you.”

He always knew what to say. Doubtlessly it was a skill he had built over the long centuries as King; his rule had been, for the most part, peaceful, and he had more often wielded diplomacy in lieu of blade. And he was speaking true; she could feel that. None of it mattered to him. Their wedding would not disappoint, no matter how it took shape. 

“I wish they could have known you, meleth nín,” she whispered. “They would have liked you.”       

She felt his lips gently press against her forehead. “It means much to me, that you speak so. That they would have found me worthy of you.”

That made her laugh - a small chuckle at least, punctuated with hiccups, but it was a laugh. It would be a rare thing indeed that he was unworthy of. At the sound, she felt Ereinion relax as she leaned against him, relieved that she was starting to recover herself.

“Come,” he murmured. “I would guess you have taken no food yet this evening, and I have not done so either. Let us go see to that. And afterward, you need not return here. Not this night.”

She jolted backward, staring at him. She understood immediately what he was offering, and it was tempting, so tempting, but -

“The guards,” she said, her voice catching. “They will know. And the servants - it is still two more weeks until the wedding, we should not - "

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Hush. Often the crown is more prison than privilege, binding us to tradition and obligation. Yet with it comes the power to disregard those things on certain occasions. And in my mind and my heart, you are as much my wife as if we had been married a century ago, and had lain together a thousand times since then.” He smiled, gently caressing her still-damp cheek. “And I would be a poor husband indeed if I left you to be alone in your grief. Stay with me tonight, melethel. Rest in my arms. Let me ease your pain as much as I am able.”

Any argument she had had crumbled in the face of that. 

And besides, she had been in Lindon for months. Since the day she'd arrived, her rooms had been directly beneath his, connected by the private staircase. If anyone were going to talk, it would have happened already. And their kind knew when another was wed; it was in the eyes, the voice, unmistakable. As much as she and Ereinion were already bound together, it would be obvious to anyone who looked that their union had not been consummated yet, regardless of where she had spent her night. 

And so she nodded, and he got to his feet and then helped her up. 

“I will summon your attendants,” he murmured. “And I will tell the guards. All you need do is come to me when you are ready.”

He wasn't being the King, not at that moment, but it was simply part of his nature to take charge when it was needful. She was grateful for it, and more; she knew it helped him, feeling like he was doing something about her hurt besides just being there. 

He brushed a kiss over her lips and then turned, moving purposefully towards the door as she seated herself at her dressing table. She heard the door open, heard the brief instructions he issued with absolute certainty and not a care in the world.

The queen will remain above tonight. Fetch her attendants.

The door closed, and she heard his steps coming back to her, pausing in the doorway. In the mirror she could see him, his eyes still full of concern for her, making him somehow even more beautiful.

“Gi melin,” he murmured. “I will await you.”

Continue to Part 9 - WARNING, SMUT AHEAD!

[ao3feed-itafushi]

Itadori Yuji's Totally Foolproof Plan to get Fushiguro Megumi to Fall In Love with Him

by kentuckyfriedmegumi The way he gets so focused in a book, his eyebrows furrowed, leaning slightly forward. All these little things that made Fushiguro Fushiguro were now surfacing in Itadori’s mind. But how do you even navigate something like this? Having a crush is one thing, having a crush on your friend is another thing, having a crush on your friend who you are not even sure is into other guys or even dating in general? Where do you even begin? How can you confess your feelings to someone without having the slightest idea of what the answer could be? And with your best friend at that, what if it ruins the friendship? What if it messes with their missions? What if Fushiguro decides he never wants to see Itadori again because it’s so weird that he just developed a crush out of nowhere and now he stares like a creep every chance he gets? __ Itadori Yuji is battling a recently-surfaced crush on his best friend and partner in battle, Fushiguro Megumi. But everything will be totally fine, because he's come up with Itadori Yuji's Totally Foolproof Plan to get Fushiguro Megumi to Fall In Love with Him (better name pending). There's no way he can't fall for his boyish charm and Grade-A cooking. Words: 3170, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga), 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Characters: Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi, Kugisaki Nobara, Gojo Satoru, Ieiri Shoko, Nanami Kento Relationships: Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji, Fushiguro Megumi & Itadori Yuuji Additional Tags: Light Angst, Pining, Mutual Pining, Fushiguro Megumi is Bad at Feelings, Itadori Yuuji Needs a Hug, Happy Ending, no beta we die like junpei, first fic, fuck it we ball, Canon Compliant, Fushiguro Megumi Loves Itadori Yuuji, Itadori Yuuji Loves Fushiguro Megumi from AO3 works tagged 'Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji' https://ift.tt/ZE2iA6Y

[cuffmeinblack]

Hold me like a grudge

Leander Prewett x f!reader

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | ao3 for both parts

Summary: The whole school now knows you slept with Leander Prewett, and you're sure as hell going to own it. What you hadn't bargained for was pesky feelings.

4.5k words

Tags: explicit | smut | Slytherin!reader | fingering | unprotected sex | public sex

A/n: Joint winner of the 'what shall I write next' poll. Unashamedly smutty. Also I added secret Garreth x Imelda because I love the stereotypical brash Slytherin and sunshine Gryffindor pairing 🫶

As much as you enjoyed Leander’s company, you weren’t quite ready to reveal the Room of Requirement to him just yet. That left you with the choice of abandoning the night or putting your money where your mouth was and sneaking into Gryffindor tower. It shouldn’t be hard, given your notorious stealth and the bumbling portrait guardian’s lack of oversight at the late hour—the more worrisome part was potentially coming into contact with other Gryffindors. If you were to run into Nellie Oggspire, it would be awkward, but not something that would usually bother you. Confrontation was all part and parcel of being a brash Slytherin with a sharp tongue. No—fuck Nellie Oggspire—the thought of publicly being involved with Leander Prewett was far more terrifying. 

Dressed again, he stood next to you, waiting for your answer. As your eyes ran up and down his towering form, he turned his head and shot you a shy smile with those damn kissable lips, sending a shiver down your spine and only serving to deepen your arousal. 

"Take me to your dorm, then," you said, resigned.

"Really?"

With a nod of your head, his hand entwined with yours and you were on your way to the lion's den. Every step brought more trepidation and much more excitement, the thought of having him again quickening your step until you were practically jogging. There was no question of turning back—if you were doing this, you would own it. Getting into the common room was easy enough with a disillusionment charm and a quiet step, navigating the room was altogether trickier. You dropped the charm and allowed Leander to lead you upstairs, drawing attention the entire way. Head held high, you ignored them all and kept your eyes on the flaming mane ahead of you.

As soon as the curtains around his bed were drawn and silencing charm uttered, you were in his lap and against those soft lips. It had been all of fifteen minutes since you’d been fucked by him in an abandoned classroom, yet your hunger was nowhere near sated. He groaned as you pressed your weight into him, your eager moan lost in his mouth with fierce swipes of tongues. His roommates went to bed and slept soundly as Leander had you falling apart over and over again within the confines of his bed. His confidence grew and touch became more assertive as the night drew on and you questioned whether there was an inch of your body he hadn't explored. Suffice it to say, neither of you managed to sleep much that night.

-

You awoke early anyway, taking a second or two to realise why you were so warm and adjusting to the foreign feel of the mattress below you. Leander was pressed against your back, his long arm draped over your waist and nose nuzzled into your hair whilst soft breaths tickled your neck. The room was quiet and still dim, only the gentle sound of birdsong an indication of the pending sunrise. It would have been nice to stay a while, enjoy being held in Leander's arms and maybe make the most of the time before breakfast in his bed, but now was the perfect opportunity to sneak back to the dungeons without drawing too much attention. You couldn't pass it up, so regretfully you peeled his arm off you and began a hunt for your clothes. 

Whilst pulling on your shirt, you heard him stir; a low murmur and shuffle of bed sheets that drew your attention back to his sprawled form. The more you looked at him, his lean arms folded behind his head, freckled torso visible as the sheet crumpled around his waist, the less likely you were to leave. You bit your lip and took one last look before sliding off the bed to make your escape. On your way back to the dungeons, you wondered how long it would take for the whole school to know that you'd been seen sneaking off to Leander's dormitory.

The thing about Hogwarts was, there was no stopping the gossip—it spread like fiendfyre, fueled by your own reckless disregard of others' opinions that sent you striding into Gryffindor tower in the first place. Of all the surprised mutterings, most were merely curious or mildly amused at the match. Even Imelda, who'd you'd expected to be furious about sleeping with the competition, seemed only mildly incredulous.

"Prewett?" she asked, for what might have been the third time that morning. "Was it just a one-time thing?"

You sighed and looked at her over your bowl of porridge.

"I don't know, Imelda. Anyway, don't knock a Gryffindor until you've tried it," you smirked back.

She looked over her shoulder to the Gryffindor table looking less than convinced, drawing a few return glances. You watched as she caught Garreth's eye and he grinned back at her, with that wide and bright Weasley smile that had charmed countless witches and wizards. She looked away grumbling but you definitely caught a blush creep over her cheeks before she dipped her head to shovel eggs into her mouth. With an amused chuckle, you returned to your own breakfast, pouring a strong cup of tea as you thought on her question.

Was it just a one-time thing? Truthfully, you didn't want it to be. Whether or not he'd feel the same, you couldn't be sure, but he'd certainly seemed to enjoy himself immensely. You tried not to dwell on the fact that he was missing from the breakfast table. When you saw him next, you'd play it cool, let him come to you. Resolved, you finished your food and dragged Imelda off to your first lesson of the day—Potions. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you knew you wouldn't see Leander there since he'd dropped the subject after O.W.Ls, but of course the potions prodigy himself, Garreth Weasley, was there to grill you for information.

He'd barely spoken to you, yet here he was asking all sorts of private questions in the middle of class, whilst Professor Sharp limped around the tables keeping an eye on their progress. You could usually rely on Imelda to throw a harsh word to anyone bothering you, being the defensive and protective friend she was, but instead she remained silent with her head down, eyes occasionally flicking up to watch Garreth. Regretting your earlier comment that appeared to have lodged itself in her brain, you sighed and turned to the redhead whilst cutting up your beans.

"Nellie and Leander had an argument, I asked if he was alright and then we…"

"Ended up sleeping together?"

"Yes," you hissed. "Why can't Prewett tell you this?"

"I haven't seen him this morning."

"Oh, right."

"What are you up to?" he asked, eyes narrowed whilst idly stirring his cauldron.

"What the hell, Weasley? I'm not up to anything."

"Girls like you don't sleep with guys like Leander."

You felt a flutter in your abdomen whilst thinking of all the reasons why girls like you should sleep with guys like Leander. He could be a bit of a goof and cripplingly insecure, but you'd seen another side to him that intrigued you. The way he'd been so confident in bed, surprisingly so…and sweet, attentive…

"That's a horrible thing to say about your friend, you know," you commented, banishing the memories until later.

"I think he'd agree with me. Not that I like to tar all Slytherins with the same brush, either…"

"So don't," Imelda said from beside you, finally breaking her silence.

"Right…"

The bewildered and slightly awestruck murmur from Garreth signalled the end of his interrogation, and you could finally get on with your assignment whilst your two table partners made eyes at each other all lesson.

When you finally saw Leander, it was in double Charms that afternoon. Professor Ronen had decided to have everyone practice a basic summoning charm, with the added complication of doing so without speaking the incantation. The lesson was oddly quiet, with uttered frustrations and occasional whispers between the students as they all tried to pull books towards them. To say you were distracted was an understatement, and judging by Leander's flushed cheeks you'd guess he was aware of your eyes on him. He'd not approached you, or even acknowledged you since you'd walked in, and your resolve to let him come to you was slowly crumbling with every passing minute.

Suspicion and confusion devolved into panic, and the book you'd been summoning almost knocked you out as it flew haphazardly across the room. Why was he ignoring you? You couldn't bear not knowing and decided to corner him after the lesson, annoyed at how he managed to make you look so damn desperate all of a sudden.

"Leander," you said, catching up to him as the class filed out of the room.

"Hey," was all he had to say, and your stomach twisted.

"Where have you been?"

Leander shuffled his feet, finally meeting your gaze with those deep brown eyes that drew you towards him.

"Oh, you mean breakfast? I overslept…I didn't think you'd notice."

"Why wouldn't I notice? After…after last night," you asked, glancing around at the passing students as you lowered your voice.

"Well, you left this morning. I thought you regretted it."

You had the impulse to hit him right then, to smack the stupid out of him, but he had a point. You should have said goodbye, and an odd and unwelcome guilt settled over you. He was far too sweet, and it made you want to run as fast as you could.

"I didn't. Don't. Not one bit," you sighed.

"Oh," he said. "I had a conversation with Nellie afterwards. I told her about us. You."

"So she's out of the picture, then?" you asked.

"Definitely."

"Good."

"Is it?" he asked, apparently surprised.

Nodding, you stepped forward and gripped the front of his robes, guiding him down to your level to whisper in his ear.

"Well I can hardly sleep with you when you have a girlfriend. I'm not a harlot, Prewett."

"You want to do it again?" he mumbled, a hand finding your waist.

"What part of last night made you think I wouldn't?"

The heat from his face was so apparent now and his fingers flexed against your skin, tips digging into your flesh. He loomed over you with his head dipped, the smell of his aftershave reminding you of being nestled against his neck whilst he fucked you so thoroughly. Everything reminded you, truth be told—just being in his presence seemed to send your libido skyrocketing, a mad craving to have him buried inside you taking over all rational thought. That part of your brain was apparently long departed as you tugged his tie to pull him into a kiss in the middle of the corridor. 

You expected him to pull away and mumble something about going somewhere more private, but he once again surprised you by pinning you against the wall and reciprocating the kiss with a fervour that took your breath away. Those soft lips sent your head spinning and body screaming out to be ravished. His hands didn't dare roam whilst in such a public place, but he gripped you tighter and pressed himself against you regardless, his obvious arousal almost making you cry out in desperation. The moment was interrupted by Professor Ronen stepping out of his classroom and tutting loudly until Leander stepped away, clearly mortified.

"Can I see you later?" Leander asked quietly, watching the professor skip away down the stairs

'Please, Gods yes' would have been your truthful response but you settled for an 'okay' and flirty smile that sent him on his way merrily.

-

To say you couldn't keep your hands off each other was a stretch—you still had some modicum of self control, but it wasn't too far from the truth. For weeks, you slept in his bed or he slept in yours if the hour was late enough that the Slytherin common room wasn't packed with aggressively territorial snakes. Leander had already had to endure Sebastian's unpleasantness and Imelda's disbelief; the Gryffindors were slightly more accommodating, yet still baffled. 

The opinions of the rest of the school didn't stop you from enjoying every minute with him, even if whatever you had was just sex (it was just sex, right?). Though if that were true, it didn't explain the tightness in your chest and nervous fidgeting as you watched him change into his Quidditch kit that afternoon. He'd be playing Ravenclaw in less than an hour, and you hoped you hadn't worn him out too much before lunch.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"You. You look damn fine in that uniform, Prewett," you replied, eyes skimming over his torso, admiring the way his jersey hugged his lean muscles.

He gave you a soft smile that hinted at his anxiety and before you knew it you were in his arms, giving him a final kiss goodbye and muttered 'good luck'. You knew then you'd be cheering for Gryffindor, even if the rest of your house were supporting Ravenclaw.

You made your way down to the pitch soon after parting, meeting Sebastian and Ominis on the way. Whilst the latter couldn't truly enjoy Quidditch, he did come along for Sebastian's commentary and to kill some time—he said the atmosphere alone was enough to draw him to the stadium. As you settled down next to Sebastian amongst excitedly chattering students, a roar came from the far side of the stadium—the Gryffindor team had just walked onto the field. Some boos erupted around you but your attention was elsewhere, namely on the tallest member of the team striding alongside his captain. 

You'd so far not had the privilege of seeing Leander in action, but as soon as he'd swung his leg over his broom and soared towards the goal hoops you knew you'd be watching nobody else. There was that unexpected confidence again, the way he handled the broom so sure and graceful. It made sense that he was a keeper with those impossibly long limbs, but apparently he was much more than just a conveniently tall player. Your face must have been burning as Sebastian tutted beside you, muttering to Ominis about how you couldn't tear your eyes away from Prewett.

Fuck it.

"Come on, Leander!" you shouted.

It wasn't likely he'd heard you over the hubbub, especially as the Ravenclaw team made their way onto the grass, but still you swore he'd grinned in your direction. Heart racing and heat pooling between your legs, you kept your eyes on him through it all; every save and every slap on the back of one of his teammates, every time he ran his hand through his hair or lifted his shirt to dab sweat from his brow, revealing his toned stomach. He must have been doing it on purpose, purely to torture you until you could drag him to bed later. Gryffindor were playing well, but it all came down to the snitch, and the moment you took your eyes off of Leander to wonder where the seekers were, the crowd erupted with gasps and even a few screams.

All you heard from then on was a dull thudding, a loud hum as you watched Leander fall to the ground, unconscious. His fall was slowed by a quick spell courtesy of Professor Hecat, but the thud when he hit the ground indicated she might have been too late. You couldn't stop the bile rising in your throat or the way you shoved anyone in your way to the side as you raced down the stands. They wouldn't let you onto the pitch, hands grabbing your robes and someone telling you to leave it to the professors—all you could do was watch uselessly as he was levitated back to the castle, forced to wait outside the hospital wing for what seemed like hours with his teammates.

Your frantic pacing in the hallway was interrupted by Nurse Blainey, who ushered forth his captain and a worried Garreth Weasley.

"Can I see him?" you asked, barging Weasley out of the way.

"Are you family?" she asked, rather testily.

"No, I'm…a friend."

"Well, then…"

"She's his girlfriend," Garreth said, looking at you with green eyes that seemed incapable of lies.

"Fine, come on then," the matron sighed, waving you into the room.

Truth be told, he looked fucking awful, but Nurse Blainey assured you that he would be out of the hospital wing in a day, once he'd finished regrowing his bones. The bruises that were scattered across his exposed ribs and left arm were quite the sight; purple and blotchy and fading not nearly as quickly as you'd have liked.

"Can't you used a cream or something on his ribs?" you asked.

The matron merely raised an eyebrow and strode off, leaving you frowning in her wake. Turning back to Leander, you noticed he had a grin plastered on his face that he had no right having.

"Come here," he said, holding out his hand.

You obeyed his wishes, walking in a stupor, clearly still foggy and in shock. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you clasped his hand in yours, taking in his appearance with a mixture of concern and something else simmering beneath the surface. Apart from dishevelled hair and a slight sheen of sweat, his face looked incredible; it was only his battered body that looked tender and in need of some loving care. The thought of being the one to rub in his bruise ointment made you blank for a second before blinking and returning your focus to his eyes.

"I was watching the seekers, what in the hells happened?" you asked.

"Their chaser collided with me, I bounced off a post and then…well, I don't remember. I suppose I hit the ground pretty hard," he said, trying and failing to lift his arm up in demonstration.

"Mr Prewett needs rest. He'll be out sometime tomorrow," Nurse Blaimey said, lingering behind you.

"What time tomorrow?"

"Whenever I deem he's fit to return to the castle."

You frowned at her answer but nodded, asking for just one more minute. As she walked away, heels clacking on the stone floor, you leaned in close to Leander's ear, his breath hitching slightly as your lips brushed his skin.

"I'll come back tonight," you whispered.

"How are…oh right, you're sneaky."

You smiled and kissed his cheek before turning to leave, thanking the nurse politely whilst inwardly seething. Once you'd left, his other friends were allowed a minute or two to say hello—you dodged Garreth's questions, making a quick escape back to the Slytherin common room to wait.

-

The rest of the day dragged on as you waited for the sun to set and curfew to descend upon the castle. You'd told only Imelda where you were planning on going, and she knew better than to try to convince you to stay. Once the common room emptied and the hallways fell silent, you took it as your cue to cast your disillusionment charm, shuddering as the cold slithered down your neck and your body shimmered and faded. This was nothing you couldn't handle, though you felt a little bad about dragging Leander into your schemes.

As predicted, the journey to the hospital wing was easy enough, and you hit the jackpot when you arrived to see the door ajar and Nurse Blainey napping on a spare bed with her mouth ajar and soft snores filling the room. You crept through the ward towards the only other occupied bed at the far end, slipping inside the curtain that now surrounded the bay. Leander lay where you'd left him, his arm bent at an awkward angle and those horrible bruises visible even in the darkness. You could still make out his features from the flicker of candlelight and soft moonlit glow, his parted lips drawing you closer.

You dropped your charm, body shimmering as you clambered onto the bed and whispered his name softly to coax him out of his slumber.

"Leander…"

"Wha…oh, you're here," he muttered groggily as you shushed him and hastily cast a silencing charm.

"I told you I would be. I had to wait until after curfew."

"I'm glad you did come," he whispered. "Where's Blainey?

"Asleep. It's just us," you replied, the implication causing ripples of tension as you looked at each other.

Your body took over, straddling him as carefully as possible before dipping your head to kiss him. All of that worry from earlier in the day seemed to melt away as he responded eagerly and slipped his uninjured hand around your waist to pull you closer. His tongue flicked across your lip, drawing a soft moan from you and a twitch beneath the bed sheet where your body met his.

"Careful or you'll get me hard," he gasped, pushing your chest away gently.

You smirked down at him, wriggling your hips against the growing bulge beneath you, groaning at the delicious friction.

"That was rather the point. I wore something special just for you," you purred, grasping his hand and guiding it underneath your skirt.

He muttered a 'fuck' laced with pure lust as he realised what you were wearing underneath. His fingers brushed against bare skin between your crotchless underwear, tentative strokes that made your breath hitch and eyebrows peak in a pleading look.

"Lee…"

He responded with a firm press of his hand that parted your folds, his fingers delving to your entrance, already wet and aching for his touch. 

"You're fucking soaking already…," he muttered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You kissed him again, sloppy and desperate as you writhed against his hand, his fingers circling your clit with a practised ease that made your head spin. It had been barely a day, but the events of the afternoon had made you frantic, stoking the flame of desire and an overwhelming and confusing need to be as close to him as possible. Leander watched intently as you peeled back the bed sheet and shuffled down his underwear, his stiff cock springing free and twitching with anticipation.

"You're really going to…?"

"I'll be gentle," you replied, your hand already wrapped around his girth.

Leander moaned as you gripped him, his fingers leaving your throbbing clit to grip you hard on your hip as you lined him up with your entrance. Lowering yourself slowly, you sighed as he stretched you, his own groans drowning you out. Once you were sitting on his lap, you wriggled to take him deeper with a smirk down at him, to which he responded with a hard pull on your hips and a thrust upwards that had you crying out. He was so fucking deep, the moment you started to rock your hips you lost all composure. You wanted to tease him, make him beg for it, but you were so unashamedly desperate for his cock, you couldn't have stopped if you'd tried.

Leander pulled and pushed your hips into a steady rhythm, his soft moans echoed by your own. You were gentle by your standards, avoiding his bruising whilst you rode him, lost entirely in the endless caress inside you and his intense gaze. You felt as if you were falling, deeply; into what, you weren't sure.

"You feel so…good," he groaned, his jaw clenching.

The rustle of movement outside of the curtain brought you back from the brink, your eyes widening in horror. The matron had awoken and was now shuffling around, clinking bottles in her stores. You should have stopped, but your body had a mind of its own and Leander had absolutely no intention of letting you off his lap.

"She won't come in here…not if she thinks I'm asleep."

His grip was bruising as he pulled you down hard onto his cock, your eyes rolling back in your head and legs shaking in anticipation of your release. Your body fell forward, hands gripping the sheets and Leander's hair as his lips found your pounding pulse and he began nipping at the sensitive skin below your ear.

"Fuck…"

"That's it…you're such a naughty girl fucking me like this," he whispered in your ear.

He'd learned well and knew exactly how to have you begging for him to make you come. That sultry voice that filled your head was all the encouragement you needed. He took over from below you, thrusting up fast and steady whilst all you could manage to do was whimper into the pillow as your orgasm rushed forth. 

"You're so close, aren't you?" he teased.

"Yeah…"

Another clink of glass, a muttering and shuffle of parchment. The matron's footsteps grew louder, closer, and your chest contracted just as your abdomen clenched.

"Don't worry about her, just look at me," Leander said, his voice rasping and breathing heavy.

Ignoring the noises, you met his eyes as he licked his lips and pushed you down on him hard. The sound that left your mouth was almost a shriek as your body shuddered and your orgasm crashed over you, whimpering gasps muffled by the pillow as your head collapsed next to him. He fucked you through the waves of pleasure, his moans becoming ragged until he met his own release. He filled you with every pulse of his cock, thrusting his cum inside you until he finally collapsed back on the bed, messy and satisfied. 

The footsteps had receded again, followed by a click of the door, apparently none the wiser of your amorous activities. You relaxed and nestled against his glistening neck, kissing him over and over again, clinging tightly to his hair, cheek, jaw, anywhere you could touch that wasn't bruised.

"Are you okay?" you asked breathlessly.

"Mhm. A little sore. Worth it," he said through deep inhales.

You nodded and resumed your lips' attack on his face and neck.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked amusedly, his uninjured hand clasping your cheek, forcing you to still and look at him.

The vulnerability you felt as you thought over the past day was unfamiliar, unwelcome.

"Don't ever get injured again," you said, completely seriously.

"You really can't go one night without me, hm?" he chuckled.

"No, but... I've never been so fucking scared in my life. Just…be careful."

"Really?" he muttered.

He really was dense, sometimes. He looked up at your with those gorgeous brown eyes and you sighed, resigned to the fact that you'd have to talk about your feelings at some point.

"I really like you, Leander."

He grinned, looking adorably triumphant. You almost rolled your eyes, adopting your usual defensive mockery; really, you were terrified that he didn't feel the same.

"Be my girlfriend, then," he finally replied, stroking his thumb across your kiss-swollen lips.

"About time you asked, Prewett," you sighed.

[imagineitdearies]

Do you have any writing tips when it comes to building tension?

You are so good at it! I see the happy ending tag, I know the happy ending is coming and yet I've never been so stressed out.

Hi anon! What a great but complicated question 😂

Tension is intrinsically tied to so many other aspects of a story. For instance, you have to spend time on character development--if your readers don't care about the character all this is happening to, why would it matter what they're facing?

Another big one is to develop a conflict that continues to raise the stakes--in Perfect Slaughter, Tyrus starts out with the conflict of Cazador forcing eternal slavery on him, right? But that's only the beginning. Tension rises as he develops a relationship, because then the antagonist can also threaten the one source of joy/love he has, which is arguably even more important. Giving your protagonist more to lose throughout a story really heightens the stakes!

I'll cover just a couple more: foreshadowing and pacing.

Foreshadowing is a huge tool, because how else would the reader know what to fear/anticipate? I like to create conflict even in my foreshadowing, too. In Perfect Slaughter, there's all kinds of story beats and scenes where having hope and doing good increases love/happiness (at a cost), and succumbing to corruption and evil helps you gain power (at a cost). These two different truths battle each other a lot and sit in conflict with each other, building up the tension as readers wait in anticipation for which truth the narrative will follow and which cost is worth it. Sidenote: when you have two threads of foreshadowing that seem irreconcilable, having a third, more subtle truth that trumps them both at the end really pays off the tension in an exciting way.

When it comes to pacing, you can add tension if you vary the fast action scenes and the slow, contemplative scenes, because readers can always be anticipating a change (when it's slow, it's about to ramp up; when it's fast, they can reward themselves with a cooldown if they keep reading). If it was high stakes all the time, that would get boring pretty quick.

And one more thing about endgame pacing--keep a "rule of three" when it comes to failures in building up tension for the final conflict, though I would personally say "at least three," haha. And if it's a long story, you can mitigate that by having overarching failures as well as failures in the climax itself. (spoiler warning for recent events below!!)

Some overarching failures in Perfect Slaughter include but are not limited to: 1) Tyrus forms an alliance with Ulma, but it goes nowhere, 2) When he tries to slow down the Ascension, Cazador quickly learns and intervenes, and 3) When he starts enacting his plan, the other people involved in it change things up!

Failures in the climax: 1) Lady Amanita, 2) Cazador coerces Tyrus into drinking the sick victim, 3+) **Pending** lol.

These should be broken up by successes, of course, like Tyrus learning how to control Chatterteeth, allying with Lady Incognita, marrying the Ascension rite and Perfect Slaughter rite together, etc. Basically crafting a "Will they, won't they?" of the highest order with your main conflict!

There's so much to story crafting, so others can feel free to add commentary/advice! But I hope this was helpful 💙

[its-actually-minicika]

Brotherly Affection (18+)

Quick drabble set in the "Yule Ball" AU - Part 1 - Part 2;;

This is a repost, since it wouldn't show in the tags the first time :")

Pairing(s): Aemond x Reader, Aegon x Reader - both implied;

Warnings: strong language, possessive Targaryens, allusions to sex, NO INCEST;

Author's Note: based on this series of headcanons about your life at Hogwarts;

In a weird twist of fate, Aegon finds himself in the predicament of loving you. And as bad as it sounds, he will do anything to make you feel the same way.

Even if he has to fight with his own brother.

Aemond's jaw tightened in disgust.

There his brother was, holding onto her by the waist, scraping at her soft flesh with his dirty fingers.

He had to admit, Aegon had one-upped him. It was he who was supposed to ask you to spend Christmas with him and his fucked up family. It was he who was supposed to be dancing with you now.

And yet there he stood. Gawking at the pair like a hawk, a caged bear, wholly ignoring Daeron's persisting attempts of starting a conversation.

A small giggle from her makes him want to get up from his seat and pluck out Aegon's eyes. He grips his knee tighter, and positions his body in such a way, that his good side is exposed to their pending interaction.

"The food is ready, Mistress." The meek voice of a kitchen elf cuts through the jazzy music that Helaena put on display.

"Thank you, Hooky. You may bring it over." His mother saves the day, smiling sweetly at her children and guest, gesturing them to take a seat at the table.

Before Aegon can make any other gesture towards his (Y/N), Aemond gets up from his seat near the fireplace, and pulls out a chair for her, right next to his own.

Brother clashes with brother - the elder throws Aemond a dissatisfied smile, eliciting a small hum from the perturber.

The food is served, and girl turns her attention to the grumpy old Vhagar, who suddenly appears - seemingly out of nowhere - and jumps straight into her lap.

A small smile tugs at the corners of Aemond's lips.

"She's really fond of you." He remarks, softer than she'd expect, though still loud enough to grab Aegon's attention. The boy's deep voice grazes her ears in a deliciously blissful way, leaving goose-bumps in their wake.

(Y/N) can almost swear she feels his breath on her exposed skin, upon hearing him mutter, "Though, I suppose that was to be expected - given she is my cat. Like calls to like."

A familiar warmth spreads through her body, but before she can reply, Aegon's voice cuts in.

"(Y/N), after dinner is over, you should let me introduce you to Sunfyre." He muses with a wide smirk, locking eyes in between her and Aemond. "He's less tedious company than Vhagar."

The girl's eyebrows raise in slight surprise, but she smiles and nods quickly at his proposition.

"I didn't know you had a pet, Aegon!" She tuts with her melodic voice, eliciting a small snicker from the man of the hour.

"Oh, Sunfyre is not a pet."

Confusion etches on her face, which greatly pleases a brother and irritates the next.

Aegon shakes his head again, lowering his eyes to glance at the fermented wine resting in his cup.

Taking one swing of it, emptying it's contents before Alicent can register and chastise him, the eldest Targaryen licks his lips. "He can purr like a cat, but that's as far as his similarities with Vhagar go."

With her eyebrows furrowed in a twist, (Y/N) leans back on her chair, looking at Aemond with a questioning look.

"Aegon, that is enough for now - let us say our prayer, in thanks to the Seven for the food in front of us. You may take (Y/N) for a flight later." Alicent intervenes sharply, putting an end to his playful riddle.

"You'll see." Aegon assures her with a cheeky whisper, while clasping his hands together for the traditional prayer.

"And since you're in a mood for flying, you should take your siblings with you, as well." Their mother adds with her eyes closed, earning a loud groan from her eldest son and a pleased hum from Aemond.

"Mother, Sunfyre doesn't have the capacity to hold so many people." He tries to wiggle his way out of the unpleasant affair.

"Aegon." Alicent warns, putting an end to the conversation.

"Hey, mum, it's okay." Daeron interjects while giving a wink to his brother. "Helaena and I actually had plans to photograph those Pixie Faeries in our garden."

Helaena nods softly at their mother, and Alicent sighes.

"I'd love to go, brother, thank you." Aemond interjects with a defying look, quirking his head to the side.

If Aegon wanted war, he would give it to him.

"You hate it when I use Sunfyre, brother. It's too muggle-esque for you." Aegon clicks his tongue at Aemond, leaning onto the creme wall of his room for support. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"l could easily ask you the same thing." Aemond asserts calmly, "If you think for a second that l'd let you be alone with her, in a car, you're sorely mistaken."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Aegon snarls through gritted teeth, approaching his sibling slowly.

"You know full well." Aemond retorts with a wild glimmer in his eye. "You had enough fun by playing the jester tonight. I won't let you breathe in her presence more than you already did."

"I'm sorry, who are you to make her decisions for her? She looked more than happy to go alone with me."

"Don't flatter yourself. She didn't know what that entailed. She still doesn't, yet." Aemond accentuates his every word, straightening his back to look downwards at his brother. "She'll be more than thankful that I tagged along"

Aegon chuckles through a short exhale, measuring his brother disdainfully with his eyes. "Get off your high horse, brother, it's exhausting." He snarls at Aemond, trailing his eyes over his form. "As if you don't get it wet every night to the thought of her – " He ducks away from Aemond's attempt to grab him.

"(Y/N) may be oblivious, but I see the way you look at her; and a load more than that." Aegon says with a wide smile, savoring the way his brother's eyes widened momentarily.

"Hey, tell me, Aemond: why do you always go to the guest room she sleeps in at night?" He wets his lips and frowns at him in a feigned confusion. "Do you just sit there and jack off over her?"

His words make Aemond snap. Before any of them can register what's going on, the taller Targaryen grabs his brother by the collar and pushes him against the wall. He prepares to do a lot more than that, but a sweet, melodic voice calls out to them through the closed door.

"Aemond, Aegon? Are you guys coming?"

Aegon raises his hands in mock surrender, shrugging his shoulders at Aemond's deep scowl.

"Oh, you have no idea." He muses in reply, whispering the words to his brother's face, and wiggling away from his grasp.

"Sorry to make you wait, Princess." His mellow voice echoes into the long corridor, as he struts closer to the girl's side.

For the second time that night, Aemond is left to fume by himself.

"This is Sunfyre?! Oh my God, Aegon, that's insane!" (Y/N)'s elated voice breaks through the heavy silence the brothers established on their walk to the garage.

She sprints past them, and circles the golden car twice, before finally letting out a low whistle. "It's amazing." She confirms with her cheeks ablaze.

Aegon's lips part in a low chuckle, and he clicks his tongue arrogantly. "You haven't seen anything yet."

He makes his way towards the front right seat, opening the car door and bowing his head respectfully. "Fair lady..." He purrs expectantly, waiting for (Y/N) to get in.

She lets out a small huff at the nickname, and rolls her eyes playfully.

Once she reaches the car herself, the girl stops and chews on her lower lip. "Are you sure we should drive tonight? You and I both had a little wine."

"Barely a glass!" Aegon defends his sobriety with a hand over his chest. "And in any case, we won't be driving on the highway, Princess."

"I haven't drank anything." Aemond's deep voice cuts into the night, raising an expectant brow at his brother. "I can drive you both."

"Absolutely not." Came Aegon's curt reply, not even a heartbeat later. He shakes his head adamantly, and places his hand on the small of (Y/N)'s back, encouraging the girl to get in the car with a boyish smile.

"You would really put (Y/N) in danger because you want to impress her with your questionable driving?" Aemond approached the two in three wide steps, placing his hands atop the girl's shoulders. "Just get in the back seat and put your pride aside for the night."

"How about you quit trying to fuck up our fun? How's that for an answer?"

"Boys." (Y/N)'s voice falls on deaf ears. She feels wildly uncomfortable, stuck in between two men who, for one reason or another, were openly comparing dick sizes in their own accord.

"What the fuck is your problem." Aemond demands more so than asks, reaching to place (Y/N) behind his back, and bring her further away from Aegon.

"My problem is that you've spent this whole night antagonizing me. You really get a kick out of it, don't you?"

Aemond lets out a rumbling laugh, and sneers at his brother aggressively.

"Ever the spoiled first son, thinking everything that happens around you is about you." He remarks dryly and buries his fingers into (Y/N)'s flesh unknowingly.

"You little --"

"Boys!" The girl tries again, this time successfully twisting herself away from Aemond's cold hands.

Her decided shout echoes throughout the night, and both Targaryens turn to her as if burned by wild fire.

"(Y/N)..." Aemond's soft tone is laced with worry and guilt, and he slowly extends his arm out to grab her hand and bruising shoulder, reaching for comfort.

"Princess..." Aegon mutters in his own right a second later, biting his inner cheek and moving from one foot to the next.

"Look, I have no idea what kind of fight you guys had, but I suggest you sort it out amongst yourselves, without putting me in the middle of it."

Having said that, (Y/N) turned swiftly on her feet and started walking back towards the opulent Targaryen mansion.

".. This is all your fault, you know."

"Sod off, Aegon."

The rest of the night was spent in painful silence.

Although Alicent could tell something had happened between her two eldest sons, she didn't dare ask or demand them to do anything.

Instead, she settled on giving them a warning look, pointing at the guestroom (Y/N) was to reside in until the next day.

"Play nice and apologize to the poor girl. She barely said a thing before excusing herself to go to bed, and she was with the two of you mere hours ago."

Aegon sulked into his armchair, while Aemond ran his eyes over the languid fireplace, wearing a tight expression.

Their mother kissed both of them goodnight, and departed to the master bedroom, with Daeron and Helaena fast on her footsteps.

"Don't stay up too late now." She instructed them sternly, although with lingering softness in her eyes.

Left completely alone, the two wavered on talking, until Aemond let out a strained breath. "Come." He uttered dryly, without sparing his brother a glance. "She's our friend."

Groaning in frustration, Aegon rose up to his feet, and slowly approached the door to (Y/N)'s room.

The two knocked and waited politely, until a muffled 'Come in!' was heard from the inside.

The two Targaryens went through the door at the same time, bumping shoulders in their wake, coughing nervously at (YIN)'s tired form.

Her eyes were locked in between the two of them, traveling from one face to the other, waiting with her arms crossed to her chest.

"We.." Aegon began after a long pause.

"We wanted to apologize for making you uncomfortable today. Believe us, it wasn't at all our intention."

"Yeah. What he said" Aegon added awkwardly, pouting slightly at her neutral expression.

It took three, maybe four seconds for the girl to shake her head and let out a long sigh. When she got up from the bed, (Y/N) was smiling sweetly at the two of them, running a hand through her hair as she spoke.

"Thank you for the apology, Aemond, Aegon. It's quite alright. I'm... not mad at you or anything."

"You're not?" Aegon asks with eyes widened out of proportion.

"No, of course not! I'm just.. worried about you two, I guess." She shrugs her shoulders in an attempt to pause and think on her next words. "I've never seen you bicker like that. It's very unlike you."

Aemond sighs, while Aegon swallows thickly.

"You're family. It sucks to see you so put up against each other."

(Y/N)'s mouth presses into a fine line, and she shifts her weight from one leg to the next.

"Is... is there something I can do to help you guys?"

"No." Aemond asserts decidedly, while taking her hands in his. "This... is something between me and Aegon to figure out."

"Yeah.. We don't want to... put you on the spot like that." The eldest Targaryen adds through knitted brows.

"Mm, we'll be fine." Aemond hums in agreement, running his thumb over the girl's knuckles. "Did I bruise your shoulder?" He whispers to her softly, before gently massaging her wrist with his long fingers.

"No. Don't worry about it, Aem." She hushes right back, squeezing his hand tightly.

"Well." Aegon declares loudly, eliciting a growl from Aemond, "Now that this whole thing is over, we should probably let you rest."

Aemond throws (Y/N) one last dejected loo, before slipping his hands away from hers, instantly missing their warmth.

"Rest up. I'll see you tomorrow." He promises her with a hazy look in his eyes.

"Ēdrugon sȳrī, gevie." Aegon sighs as well, offering her a playful smirk.

Noticing her curious expression, Aegon adds, "Ēdrugon sȳrī means 'sleep well'."

"And gevie?" (Y/N) asks impatiently.

To that, Aegon simply raises his eyebrows at her. He turns on his heel and winks over his shoulder, smiling like a carbon copy of the Cheshire Cat.

"Pay him no mind." Aemond accentuates with a feathered touch over her cheek. "Good night."

"Good night..."

As the two brothers walk up the stairs and turn for their respective rooms, Aemond pauses in his ascent.

"I hope you know I'll never let you have her."

Aegon smiles wistfully to himself, but doesn't bother to turn around.

"Then it's a good thing that that's not up to you."

The younger Targaryen scoffs, and clenches his jaw tightly.

"You will never touch her."

Aegon shrugs and twists his lips in taciturn amusement.

"And neither will you."

[sylvctica]

𝟑-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

███  -  hunter green

███  -  tea green

███  -  raw umber

███  -  bronze

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

fresh grass, like the type you have rubbed into your clothing because you were rolling around in it too much, staining your knees green.

floral scents, buried in their shampoos and soaps they often use and make.

clean linen, freshly washed.

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

low cut blouses, openly showing off skin and chest ... and perhaps even their back, wearing them with confidence and pride in their appearance (even with their scar peeking out).

warm and bright colours, or monochrome to draw the eyes to them—sylvie has no qualms in what colours they wear as long as it is pleasing to the eye.

loud and bold, revealing but without intention to draw people in. look, but do not touch; their fashion is a statement of art and themselves, not something else.

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

their dendro vision, albeit fake, is something they tend to carry on hand at all times; although they do not need it, it is a symbol of their power, and what they are.

a wedding ring embedded with geo and dendro that sits proudly on their left hand.

a gentle sprig of leaves adorning the side of their head, nowhere near like a wreath that makes a crown.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

their ears sometimes speak more than their face if you know them well, quick to shift up and down pending on the conversation.

their hands are almost never still when they talk, often used for gesturing or to fiddle with items on hand or their own hair / clothing.

confident, relaxed, and open; sylvie doesn't hide themselves or make themselves seem closed off when others talk to them, even if they may not be doing the same as they speak.

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

forests, greenery, sunlight and warmth, and whatever you'd like to think about when you think of nature. sunflowers, tulips, bouquets and such on; they are the very embodiment of it, to the grass under your feet, to the trees towering above. like a warm embrace.

mask of a fool, often on the smiling side. it's not like they are not kind, far from it, but their ditzy, silly personality sometimes is just on the surface ... what's below is harder to see.

smoky makeup and lipsticks in bold colours, 6-inch heels that'd break your ankles, the most slutty dresses you can find.

sharp teeth. they are still an animal, too, after all.

tagged by:   @afacere (MWHA MWAH) tagging:   if you wanna do it, tag me!!!! this is a fond threat!!!

[outofthiisworld]

💅🏻🗣️🍰

send me 3 emojis and I’ll make an NPC based on those for my muse’s world/lore

Bonnie Bellbottom

An audacious and boisterous old woman— Bonnie Bellbottom is a retired model & fashion designer who became smitten with Nowhere’s peculiar vibe and quaint lifestyle while on tour during her prime. Her fashion is wildly known for its eccentricities: BRIGHT COLORS, BIG SHAPES— BOLD AND BRASH, BABY!

Though she’s now retired, that doesn’t mean she’s out of the game— now she just has more time for her passion projects✨ (and to forcefully dress up whoever catches her eyes on the streets)

She’s also the town gossip— if you have a secret, she probably knows it. While not a snitch so-to-say, if you happen to have some of her favorite sweets on hand, then she won’t say no to some chit-chat.

Her and Doc do NOT get along. You think they would, since they’re both cut from the same ‘wacky old geezer’ cloth, but neither of them know how to back down. Her and Ophelia get along, though! Bonnie gave Ophelia that big fluffy coat she loves so much and is currently teaching the strange girl tricks of the trade!

[duckprintspress]

Meet Aether Beyond the Binary Contributors Em Rowntree and Kelas Lloyd

Today, we spotlight two more of the creators contributing to our current crowdfunding project Aether Beyond the Binary(a collection of 17 aetherpunk settings starring characters outside the gender binary): Em Rowntree and Kelas Lloyd!

Cadillac’s Bus by Em Rowntree

About Em: Em Rowntree’s first foray into the world of writing was with a story called The Magic Land that featured a unicorn and a flying carpet the size of a country, and they’ve been chasing that high ever since. They’ve been sharing their writing online for almost nine years, and have had poems and short stories published in anthologies. They live in the UK.

Links: Twitter

This is Em’s second contribution to a Duck Prints Press anthology; they also wrote a story for Add Magic to Taste.

Title: Cadillac’s Bus

Tags: pending

Excerpt: 

From their vantage point, the kid couldn’t see the rally racer inside. Couldn’t see the black gloves with one white star of pure aetherlight painted on each fingertip. Couldn’t see the curled mess of long grey hair. Couldn’t see the steely, hungry, fiercely joyful look on their face as their vehicle plunged on through the moorland. But the kid could picture it all, down to the last detail.

They put their hands in the air.

“CADILLAC JONES!” they yelled, loud enough for the cow to hear them a few hundred yards away and lift its head – but nowhere near loud enough for Cadillac Jones themself to know their name was being screamed as they disappeared out of sight, away down the track. “CADILLAC JONES FOREVER! YES! THE BEST –” The kid turned to left and right as though looking for someone to tell, but there was no one beside them. “THE BEST! CADILLAC JONES FOREVER! YES!”

They stood, overwhelmed, keeping the moment alive as long as they could. A few minutes after the rally racer had turned the next corner and gone out of sight, another vehicle came hurtling round the bend after them. The kid lifted their arms again – and this time turned their open hands into raised middle fingers.

“YOU SUCK!” they screamed in delight, a smile of joy splitting their face.

True by Kelas Lloyd

About Kelas: Kelas is a disabled, trans, bi author and artist currently (unfortunately) living in Texas. They graduated from the University of Central Florida with an English degree and love cats, tea, and all things speculative fiction. A lot of their writing features magic or disability or both, and they’re often found in Star Trek, Mass Effect, Babylon 5, and Untamed spaces. You can also find them in a lot of bead and resin spaces, because they love making sparkly jewelry of all sorts. 

Previously published pieces include an article on disability in The Last Of Us, short stories in two publications by Shacklebound Books, a pair of poems about being trans, an essay on disabled life, and a whole bunch of pieces about San Diego Comic-con. They’re single, an Ernie looking for their Bert, but they have a found family that stretches around the globe and some of their birth family accepts them for who they are. 

You can find out more about them at kelaslloyd.com

Links: Personal Website | Archive of Our Own | Twitter

This is Kelas’s first time writing with Duck Prints Press.

Title: True

Tags: character study, foster family, found family, friends, genderfluid, magic use, non-binary, present tense, self-esteem issues, teenager, third person limited pov, transphobia (mentions of)

Excerpt: 

“Oh,” Eva says, trying to recover. “Yeah, okay. So what’s the procedure? Are you gathering up all the ducklings and then herding us over?”

Paul looks at them as if they can see through the joking tone Eva’s adopted. “You’ve got a map in your booklet. I’m here, so I introduced myself, but there’s a schedule in there too. Everyone here is old enough to herd themselves; I’m here for support.”

“So you catch us in the trust-fall exercises,” Eva says, opening up the booklet to find the map and schedule.

“No, I make sure to drop everyone during those.”

Eva’s gaze snaps up to catch Paul’s grin just before it turns into a faint smile.

“You’re here because you’re struggling with aether,” Paul continues. “Most of the time a teen is struggling, it’s because they don’t know themselves well enough yet to let it flow through them the way as it’s supposed to. That’s what I help with.”

Make sure you visit our Kickstarter campaign page to learn about the collection, take a peek at the merchandise, read more excerpts, and more!

[starandcloud]

Being Hunted By Natasha Romanoff

Tag, you’re it - Melanie Martez

Wheels on the buss - Melanie Martez

Hey Kids - Morning Late

I can’t decide - Scissor sisters

My Boy - Billie Eilish

Just a Fan - Roar

Dollhouse - Melanie Martinez

Psycho - Mia Rodriguez

CHOKE - I Don’t Know How But They Found Me

Pumped up Kicks- Foster The People

Sorry Sorry - Kiako

Oh Ana - Mother Mother

Yandere - Jazmin Bean

Paparizza - Lady Gaga

Nowhere To Run - Stegosaurus Rex

I love you, I love you - Jun Togaw

Meant to be yours

Hayloft - Mother Mother

Run Rabbit Run - Hanagan & Allen

Wires - The Neighborhood

Who Is She - I Monster

This Hurts - MSI

Runs in the family - Amanda Palmer

Hatef–k - The Bravery

Hushh - Aviva

Puppet loosely strung - The correspondents

We’ll meet again - She & Him

After Dark - Mr. Kitty

Daddy issues - The Neighbourhood

All The Good Girls Go To Hell - - Billie Eilish

Sick thoughts- Lewis Blissett

Grind me down- Lilianna Wilde

Mad hatter - Meline Martez

Stalker’s Tango - Autoheart

Super Psycho Love - Simon Cutris

Bloody Mary - Lady Gaga

Honey, I’m home - Ghost and Pals

This Is Love - Air traffic Control

Habits - Our Last Night

Animal - Chase Holfelder

Sarcasm - Get Scared

Flesh - Simon Curist

Cry Baby - American Avenue

Another Way out- Hollywood Undead

Little Game - Benny

Killer In The Mirror - Set It Off

Crazy = Genius - Panic! At The Dicso

Freak - Suburban

Exocism - Lollia CreepP

Whisper - Burn The Ballroom

Livin’ La Vida Loco - Patent Pending

Middle of Night - Elly Dune

Miss Wanna Die - Judy Phonic

Happy Face - Jagar Twin

Boyfriend - Dove Cameron

Teacher’s pet - Melanie Martez

Fan Behavior - Issac Dunbar

Villain - K/DA

Cannibal - Ke$ha

Sex, Drugs, Etc - Beach Weather

Killing Butterflies - Lewis Blisset

Black Sea - Natasha Blume

Angels Don’t Cry - Ellise

Sharks - Imagine Dragons

Crazy in love - Daniel De Bourg

Crazy in Love - Eden Project

I Want it all - Cameron Grey

Darkside - Neoni

Yes & No - XYLO

All the things she said - Poppy

Hate me - Nico Collins

Borderline - Nico Collins

Siren - Kailee Morgue

Little girl gone - El Chinchila

If I Kill Someone For You - Alec Benjamin

Blood//Water - Grandson

Rock Bottom - Grandson

BackStabber - Ke$ha

Look What You Made Me Do - Taylor Swift

Bad Blood - Taylor Swift

Lose Yourself - Eminem

Side to Side- Ariana Grande

Touch it - Arianna Grande

Part of Me- Katy Perry

I gotta feeling - Black Eyed Peas

Someone told me -The Killers

Maniac - Conan Grey

[lchufflepuffcorn]

The only one that matters (Dabi x Fem!Reader) Disney!Mulan inspired.

Words: 1146

Warning: Spoilers if you didn't catch up with Dabi's back story (at the least). Ambiguous ending.

Author's note: This is long overdue, but I have good excuses! First, I worked on the changes in the ask, and then lost the document (mistakingly did a control X instead of a control C), worked my ass off to find the thing again, only to find out the changes were not made in that version, then works has been crazy. But here we go!!

Tags : @ambro-main

Masterlist OG W Masterlist

Dabi knew many things that tasted like ashes. Burnt eggs and rice, dry dirt from the outside garden of his house, Fuyumi's báizhōu, and disappointment. 

Clutching his side, Dabi stood as best he could. Trying to make sense of what was happening before him. Blurry faces and unintelligible shouts near him, too fast for his liking. The world was spinning enough already… His sword scraped the ground. From Dabi's loose grip on it, he didn't care for his father's heirloom -not really-. From what he could see, they were losing anyway. What served his sword if he was going to die before he could use it? Dabi closed his eyes for a moment despite the chaos surrounding him and imagined that the cold breeze held the smell of grass from early spring and the screams were echoes of his friend and sisters playing. Just for a second, just for a moment of peace. 

Somewhere, someone screamed his name. 'Todoroki!'

He had to reopen his eyes -he always had to. But for those few seconds, he'd sell his soul to the Underworld Gods if need be. Heaven, Dabi couldn't remember why he went to war instead of his father anymore. No honour he would bring back, his corpse… maybe. If his mom was lucky enough. He couldn't see anything except shapes and colours, and nothing screamed his name anymore. 

"To defeat the Huns," said General Aizawai. Not much defeating was done at the moment. Even in the blurry state of his world, Dabi could gather that much. The man forced his eyes to stay open and his senses to stay alert. Everything in his body was heavy, and the mere thought of moving made him want to cry. 

A sharp cry echoed against the snowy mountain tops, and Dabi ducked by reflex. 

Crips and cold snow made the man's ascension toward the rest of his brothers-in-arms difficult and exhausting, even more so with the harsh fall he had off his horse earlier. Dabi always hated the snow. It reminded him too much of his failure to his father, brothers and sister. It reminded him of his mother… Oh, such a sad face his mother would have to see him in this state. He could hardly bring any honours like this with grime and blood all over the once-shining armour of his father. 

Dabi preferred not to think about his father too much. The cold reminded him that his burning wrath was nowhere near where Dabi wanted it to be. Nor the tender warmth of his best friend. Dabi had left his home with the cover of night, hiding behind his father's helmet or a hat to cover most of his face; it served him well for the year he spent training. But he'd also left without a word of goodbye to his best friend, (Y/N). 

At this moment, Dabi would have taken whatever punishment his father deemed fit for him if it meant seeing (Y/N) smile at him again one last time. 

His ribs throbbed, cutting his supply of air short once more. Dabi lost his footing against the battered snow and harsh pending of the valley.

His battalion finally made it to the valley, two more walkways to reach the emperor and provide him protection. But the Huns ambushed them. 

Wait a minute… A valley! 

Using his sword as leverage, Dabi stood to his feet once more. He recalled seeing some fireworks in the chariot... Maybe he could try something stupid… 

He'd probably die either way. It didn't mean he couldn't die trying something nobody would think of. Make his father proud… 

There's not much Dabi recalls after that. More shouts, a grip on his shoulder, the burning in his fingertips. A loud cracking sound and then silence for a moment. A bird, familiar somehow, had red wings stretched in the wind and a voice that couldn't be screaming near him, echoing in his ears. Chaos and flashes of darkness and light. 

The truth of something warm in his side before he had to push a blurry face down in the falling snow. 

And then the cold surrounded him. 

** 

Dabi woke up in pitch black. A figure standing near him in the shadows. The man thought of his father. A flickering memory of the silhouette Enji'd been in his life, but the figure was much smaller. It was the lack of echo in his voice that made him realize. His helmet had been removed sometime during his slumber. 

When he tried to sit up. A sharp pinch in his stomach made him wince, doubling down to cradle his body, and the figure straightened. 

"Your services are not required any longer," said the figure. 

It had General Aizawa's intonation but something awkward about how he said the words. As if his body was difficult to operate. 

"I can still fight." Dabi tried to argue. 

"Your abilities are not well-liked within our forces." Spoke the voice again. And the cold returned to Dabi's vein as if all his fire had died out. 

And warmth was all Dabi ever had in life. Even when he had his freak accident - the fire in his nursery was not his fault. It still left him with horrible burnt wounds and disfigured his youngest brother. Dabi could feel the figure's eyes scraping every part of his scared body. And while he was good at faking boredness now, the man felt his throat close tightly on itself. 

Disappointment tasted like ashes, even if it wasn't his father who stood before him. Who would've known? 

The battalion left in the following hour. The army left and gave Dabi only enough for a makeshift shelter and two days of rations. Maybe they hoped he would die of hunger or freeze to death. 

The cry of a bird flying over him made the man look up. Redwings stretched against the white sky. The bird made circles over him for a moment before flying off somewhere over the mountain. The man didn't move. 

A whistle cut the heavy silence, echoing against the snow and the sky, making only one at this altitude. A bird responded with some other sharp cries. Dabi ducked like he did while running up the mountain, but nothing dropped on or near him. 

And, a figure, shadow really, making it's way toward him. For a moment, Dabi could only wrap around himself more, without the strength to hold his sword nor self up to a defense pose. The wind seemed to wrap around him like a harsh blanket, deafening him to all other sounds, and Dabi could only look at the figure walking closer. 

Then, his name echoed around him like a salvation. A name he'd all but forgotten, in a voice he thought he'd left behind at home. Safe. 

"Toya, come with me." 

[indecentpause]

There Will Be Love There - Dona and Pascal

alone in the moonlight / heading to nowhere / gone is the solar flare / don’t follow me here tonight

mika feat karen mok - stardust // the bluetones - sleazy bed track // cartel - if you do, if you don’t // patent pending - brighter // imagine dragons - demons // heavens to betsy - complicated // o.a.r. - heard the world // city and colour - waiting // the hush sound - you are the moon // pvris - hallucinations // the goo goo dolls - black balloon // stars - dead hearts // the airborne toxic event - the graveyard near the house // gregory and the hawk - boats & birds // mr little jeans - oh sailor // birdy - shelter // the dresden dolls - sing

[listen here]

[read on wattpad]

[read on ao3]

General taglist:  @ohsugarfoot​​​​​​ @abalonetea​​​​​​ @only-book-lovers-left-alive​​​​​​ @poore-choice-of-words​​​​​​ @leadhelmetcosmonaut​​​​​​ @jasperygrace​​​​​​ @drippingmoon​​​​​​ @viskafrer​​​​​​ @thelaughingstag​​​​​​ @athenswrites​​​​​​​ @kaiusvnoir​​​​​​​ @magic-is-something-we-create​​​​​​ @fictionalbullshitter​​​​​ @idreamonpaper​

also tagging @riftversus​ just for this one because you mentioned wanting to read it when you have the time and this adds a lot of ambience :)

EDIT augh I linked to the wrong playlist

fixed!

[saiyanqueenreads]

Hunter-Centric Fanfic Recommendation List for The Owl House: Fics starting with M, N, O, & P

***Please observe any tags/warnings on each work before reading, as some stories may deal with triggering topics and situations***

The list will be updated periodically as I find great new stuff.

Making His "Mistakes" by im_bored_hi Making Waffles by LadyLorena mama’s crying for you by boopiejokes Maybe. by Polyhexian memento mori by AquaQuadrant Mercy by EmeraldArt Merely A Flesh Wound by true_serendipity messy by LavenderTrash39 Midnight Barbershop by bethanyisinjail Misfits and Misunderstandings by DefinitelyNotACryptid Missing by kiixi Missing Pieces by sleepy_catz Mistleo Hung Where You Can See by SpaceButterflies "More Weight" by TheFloof Muscle Memory by theprincessofdenial My Dearest, Willow by puckishpal my family always said i was the bad child by Polyhexian My Father's Eyes by ChildlikeGoblinQueen My Mind, It Weeps For You by HollowIsTheWorld  My two legs are broken (but look at me dance) by Bewildered_bird

New Parents by CassiePoppy45 New Scars, Old Wounds by HexAltiora Not So Silent Tears by Ace_of_diamond Not What It Looks Like by im_bored_hi now it's over for me, and it's over for you by rnelody Now you are here by Thousand_Springs Nowhere Else to Go by Sergeant_Sporks nowhere to go but here by sleepy_catz Numb Little Bird by JustWanderingSpace

october sunflowers by clovariia Of Balanced Stones and its sequel by EldritchRaven Oh, drunken gods of slaughter by perhapsitiswitchcraft   Oh, you're so traumatized it makes me want to cry by Thestarswillburn on the mantle by unexpectedchair One Step At A Time by ShadySadie29 Only Natural to Harden Up by redrasberries Open Heart by true_serendipity Operation Recover and Adopt  by ExploretheEcccentricities Our Gentle Devotions by Kohpon Out of Sight (Close To Mind) by HollowIsTheWorld Over before it could begin by Melonteal Overcast by Semi_ObscureFandomWriter overwhelmed so easily by Iamfrustrationnn Overworked by kiixi

Pack Animals by melancholiaapologist Pages Remain by Lollytea Painful Understanding by Sequentials2468 Palistrom Rot by Leeisdoingtheirbest Panic by CassiePoppy45 Peace on Earth and Goodwill to All Grimwalkers by ObabScribbler Pending Parental Approval by CassiePoppy45   People who won’t make you feel worthless by wigster Permanence by CassiePoppy45 Permission by Polyhexian Pink and yellow, purple and blue, I like this and that but especially you by Lollytea Poisoned by CassiePoppy45 Poppies and Lemon Trees by Polaris649 Popular by CassiePoppy45 Press Play by orphan_account 'Pretty': Day 6, Scars by daydreams_and_honeybees Promisedland by OfMonstersAndM Pumpkin, Witch and Bloody Gore by ObabScribbler Purring and (a myriad of other things) by ForThoseWhoWait

Fics Starting With: A / B, C, D / E, F, G / H, I / J, K, L / M, N, O, P / Q, R, S / T, U, V / W, X, Y, Z, #