#faes fangirling

[acourtofquestions]

Real life fangirl pet peeve: Wishing I was Aelin so I could have a literal wall of fire to avoid ever getting bug bites… then REALLY wishing I was Aelin so I could have my boyfriend heal said pre-existing bites…

[ninthcircleofprythian]

I think I broke my therapist today.

But he also agree to read ACOTAR so....winning?

I need a fucking nap.

[acourtofquestions]

The more I think about it the more I actually think it would work perfectly (and not just because he is absolutely stunning & I could happily fancast him for any fictional crush because the face card never fails) but like “logistically” speaking:

He has experience playing a Norse god (which is basically how Aelin describes him😂), he’s supposed to be VERY tall & VERY shredded to the point he towers over everyone (Chris Hemsworth is inhumanly built… it would mean no casting concerns for any other actor dynamics… the difference would be easily & apparently fae), he’s got the voice & the accent (and while I frequently debate what Maas actually means by all these “accents”/differences & what they should “realistically” sound like; HE’S GOT THE ACCENT), and he’s one of the few actors I think looks good with both long & short hair + he also (as shown in these images) looks great with a tattoo (& blonde hair can easily take some bleach to “silver” it). Age wouldn’t be an issue as Rowan’s centuries old (& let’s be real they never cast 19-year-olds as 19-year-olds so Aelin will probably be cast as someone in their late 20’s). So, as For casting purposes: he’s a Hollywood Chris, with the added history of Hemsworth’s having success YA hit adaptations, making both a win for a great film. And for acting: he’s used to working with CGI for magic (which would probably appear similar as Rowan also has lightening), and he would be stunt-man ready for plenty of action sequences. He has the emotional range to easily nail Heir of Fire’s brooding silent start, or the whole “rage in Rowan’s eyes” that could burn the world in a single look vibe (or burn all of someone’s clothes off in one glance too😂), all the while preserving & having the emotional range for Lyria & KoA, a sweet reuinion in QoS, & a very VERY good love story.

Throw in a pair of contacts & we have Rowan Whitethorn folks & fans *gets out stamp* Approved!

CHRIS HEMSWORTH 2024 | Georges Antoni ph. for Emidio Tucci Fall/Winter Campaign

[lostgirlinthewoods]

CRAZY STUPID LOVE | park wonbin smau

pairing. guitarist!park wonbin x athlete!fem!reader

synopsis. lee y/n, a competitive swimming athlete, just wants to finish her degree as a scholar. no drama. no distractions. and certainly, no romance. park wonbin, a music prod student and the siren’s guitarist, just wants to make music. no crazy fangirls in line to date him. no insane dms from random people declaring their love for him. and certainly, no dating. imagine the shock on y/n’s face when she received a message from her brother, anton, asking “since when did you and wonbin started dating?”

genre. social media au, college au, fake dating, fluff, crack

status. ongoing.

start: 25/06/2024 → end: ________

notes. this is my first smau, so be easy on me. this is gonna be my first work in this blog after 2 years before i decided to abandoned it to move. i just really love riize and my mind is itching to do something about it. ignore timestamps unless otherwise stated.

taglist. open. send an ask or reply to this post.

© lostgirlinthewoods. Do not copy, steal, or translate any of my works. 

profiles.

01. chlorine squad 02. pull it back that siren 03. girls only

chapters.

01. saturday gig 02. chanyoung's older sis 03. corner cafe 04. secretly a nerd?? 05. wonbin the black cat 06. lunch 07. hangouts 08. y/n's tiny little crush 09. rumours 10. twitter thread 11. anton's text 12. we are dating 13. how to boyfriend 101 14. so in love 15. im just a cat 16. swim meet literally 17. twitter thread pt 2 18. eunseok's pov 19. should we break up? 20. y/n and wonbin's break up mission 21. the joe alwyn to his taylor 22. 23. 24. tba...

meme and reaction pics archives. (will upload after i finish the series)

taglist. (closed. reached maximum mentions allowed.)

@molensworld @wonychu @yoursyuno @siuewnb @gyehyeonist @binoyu @secretiny @started-with-f-ends-with-uck @seokton @fae-renjun @nujeskz @i03jae @daegale @kyusqult @riki-shenanigans @revehosh @nctrawberries @wonbins-black-cat @parkwonbinie @saranghoeforanton @tommina @chuutaroo @000rpheus @p-d1ddy @starwonb1n @ikiqui @taroddori @blossominghunnie

@aloverga @brachioswrld @toriblogkk @miyawwn @intakstars @naviiy @bebubilu @soheendo @otblous @katarinaesqa @intakstars @yla-aira @i1uvc4ke @maleegayuh @renjuneoo @whoisgwyn @hakkkuu @endtostartbreathin @yngjngwon @flaminghotyourmom @deonuism @film-sea @babigriin @ssweetreveries @bunni

@onlyhyunjin @adoresoapy  @donutswjam @dearestjake @icyona

asks. for any thoughts, messages, and feedbacks; or even just for a conversation.

[jaetyun]

your biggest fan

06. operation loverboy cancelled

previous - masterlist - next

since your brother formed a band with his friends in high school, you've had a massive crush on the aloof and reserved wonbin. him never paying you mind never bothered you until they became famous, and now you have to share him with every other fangirl. now that they're on tour, it's the perfect opportunity to make wonbin realize he doesn't want to share you either.

taglist @jvngw0nlvr @tocupid @seunghancore @molensworld @starwonb1n @yizhoutv @yipyipmorals @gyehyeonist @icewons @renjuneoo @soobiverse @fae-renjun @nujeskz @woonagi-lemon @miy-svz @binoyu @ricecakeslove @i03jae @meowbini @https-yeonjun @snowyseungs @p-d1ddy @saranghoeforanton @secretiny @aloverga @potatosoulp1h @dimplewonie @taroddori @suzayaaa @brachioswrld @flaminghotyourmom @haowonbins @kyusqult @talk022 @pookiepiee18 @naviiy @wonychu @i1uvc4ke @soheendo @blooqz

[acourtofquestions]

Another Rowan the bird-boy post for ya😂:

Ever notice how often Aelin is compared to a cat?.. Whether it be by “saying words like a purr” or “moving with feline grace”… well that totally explains their Rowaelin dynamic; he is Tweety bird & she is a cat with a mouse (or I guess… bird… it still works!?!😂)

[its-actually-minicika]

I screamed. I love you.

I AM ACTUALLY - HDBSJS BIGGEST GIRL CRUSH FRFR

Letters Perished in Dried Ink (18+)

Pairing: Aemond x Reader;

Warnings: vivid descriptions of male masurbation, slight angst, a lot of lousy grandpas who have and will continue to butt into your situationship with Aemond;

Word Count: 6.5k;

Author's Note: I struggled with major writer's block this month. I suppose it happens to the best of us :") While I'm still working on the three fics I promised you guys, have this tiny one-shot to make up for the lack of updates ♡

I tried to be poetic. Alas, I miserably failed. See you in the next update (which is going to hopefully present much better)!

How could a misunderstanding ruin everything seven years of love has built?

Her steady hand reached for the quill, and the girl settled her feather over the small and modest piece of paper. For two, mayhaps three seconds she paused, thinking well on what she would like most adherently to convey.

Her eyes glossed over with the swirl of mischief, and the Lady smiled to herself, while expelling a tantalising and brisk breath.

To my dearest, Aemond

While I was afraid that my time in King’s Landing would change the perception I had of my homeland, I must admit that I was wrong. I might push as far as to say that everything remains the same; not a change since I last saw it. My chamber, with the dolls I left on the goose-stuffed pillows, the training grounds – none the grander as the ones in the Red Keep, mind you –, and the large halls of Riverrun… all seemingly frozen in place.

Albeit the doors feel smaller now, and I can reach without the help of a stool where I once could not, I find that I am underwhelmed, and dangerously melancholic over the time I spent in your company, which accounted for so much of my early girlhood.

Grandfather has taken to my return quite well. He is still bedridden, but somehow more vivacious that his blood is nearer yet.

I look at the portraits that adorn the walls of our darkened castle, and sometimes think back to my elder brothers. I think grandfather does so, as well.

But such terrible quarrels have no place in my dull writings! This new life isn’t as tedious as I make it out to be. I was acquainted with my Septa, though much of my education will be taken care of by grandsire now. Yesterday I walked the grounds for hours on end, and managed to spot some old and familiar faces. I had forgotten how kind the riverlords can be.

One thing that must be noted – and recognised as drastically peculiar – is how quiet it is here. Naturally, there is no active Court to gossip and flaunt back their wealth and actions.

You would like it here.

And I’ll say this much: I’d like it better if you were here, too.

I end my musings with burning questions, that you simply must answer in your next correspondence:

First and foremost, how have you been? Secondly, how are our good Queen and King? Word reached the Trident that your father’s fallen sick, and so I pray piously without stray that he recovers well and quickly. Thirdly, how is sweet Helaena fairing? Last I heard of her, the babe was close to being born.

I readily await for your reply, and urge you to make haste with it!

Until then I remain, as always,

Your inquisitive and loyal friend

His eye trails over the slight curve of her writing. And the Prince catches himself smiling, humming in admission at her carefully picked-out words.

He notices, with great perplexion, that despite his hardest efforts of stifling such impropriety, the ache inside his chest arouses. His heartbeat hammers out of him, granting a slight tremor in his lax and calloused hand.

And he stands this way, hovering over the pristine parchment, whilst bringing his hand out to pinch the bridge of his nose – rub his throbbing blinder with the back end of his hand. His broad chest heaves with every laboured exhale, and Aemond sighs with proper longing.

To my good friend,

I hope this letter finds you in good health, and in higher spirits than the day you wrote to me. It is very unlike you to barely fill a page. I expect your next communication to hold greater details of your life in the Riverlands.

King’s Landing is the same as you remember. Smells like shit and feels like shit, especially now, as I'm denied from the raptures of your company.

My routine too, remains identical. I am seated next to Aegon when we break fast as of late, and I must stress how greatly I preferred my view beforehand.

I report with great sorrow that hardly any intelligent conversation has been had since your swift departure. I'm left longing at the dinner table, for your calculated thoughts, for your sweet melodic voice, and for our elbows to be lightly touching.

Mother is overwhelmed with higher duties of the Court. I try to help her as best I can, with whatever tasks she may yet entrust me with. I lack the patience to sit idly, and so I’ve taken to Aegon’s share of duties. I fulfil them better than he ever could, and the exercise proves itself useful: for I scarcely find the time to think of you throughout the day.

The nights and morrows are harder yet, as my thoughts reach out to you, wondering helplessly how you spend your better days, so painfully far from me.

A dozen maesters tend to Viserys, each saying he will get better as time has its murky say. Yet ‘til that “eventual better” makes itself known to us all, he nurses his body with milk of the poppy, and lets mother do all his work.

Helaena is well. She dreamt the babe would be a boy, and already settled on a name for him. She wishes to call him Maelor, something that hasn’t been rebuked by Aegon.

She misses you greatly. As do I.

As does Vhagar.

The Red Keep feels empty without your fits of laughter.

Beckon your reply quickly.

Your most dutiful servant,

Aemond

A little over a week had passed since his Lady’s last reply. One week and four full days, to be exact... though Aemond would never own up to counting.

His sour mood grew to exceed all expectations, and the Prince bit his tongue through most of dinner, barely uttering a single word. His quiet nature wasn’t something to be troubled of, but even his drunk-out-of-his-mind brother noticed something had been irking him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so brooding, brother.” Aegon voiced out his concern, after another hefty gulp of alcohol. An impish grin spread across his puffy face, and Viserys’ first-born son leaned over in his chair to soothe him. “Am I right to assume that this has something to do with the lack of reply from a certain lady of the Riverlands?”

A low growl etched from deep within the youth’s throat. Aemond regarded Aegon with a cutting look, and extended his arm forward to grip the base of the wine pouch. He took a moment to ponder on the gaucherie of getting drunk, but settled on thrusting himself to the momentary relief that a hazy mind could offer.

Briskly, he took a swing of the burning liquor, and disregarded the way in which his mother absent-mindedly glared at him.

A loud snicker echoed through the quiet room, and Aegon clasped his hands together, pouting acutely at his brother's actions. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

A knot of heartfelt disregard tightened in Aemond’s throat, and his fist clenched painfully right above the wooden table. His free hand gripped the handle of the knife with a knowledge untoward, and the Prince shared a look with his elder brother, while rotating the blade about.

“Careful, Aegon. There are plenty of sharp objects around this table. And you haven’t been spotted in the training yard for quite some time."

His purple eyes widened to rounded specs of unreliant fear. Still he put on a lazy smile, and merely shrugged his shoulders. Aegon’s mouth opened again, threatening to spew out words that would grant no happy ending to their cosy dinnertime.

Eventually, it was Alicent’s glacial tone that interrupted their clash of wits.

“Boys,” She warned them both, not even bothering to look at them, “That is enough.”

Aegon’s mouth slouched childishly, and the man scoffed in rebuttal, while pointing at his rowdy sibling. “I was merely expressing my concern for Aemond, mother. He’s been very affected, now that his lady love abandoned him.”

Immediately Aemond rebuked his cutlery, and in the span of a single second, the Prince latched onto his berating brother. A dangerous look drew across his Targaryen features, making them all the sharper and unforgiving. Woefully he gripped his collar, hoisting him off the ground with an unnatural and vexing ease, and settled on squeezing Aegon’s gorget as he muttered to him darkly. “Either keep quiet on your own accord, or I’ll gladly silence you.”

Four white cloaks swarmed around them, and Otto Hightower nearly screamed, but the brawl reached an early end as the elder nodded rapidly at Aemond, and the latter loosened the hold he had over his bouchered vest.

“Seven Hells…” Aegon had cursed, mumbling lowly whilst feeling his neck for any sores, “Didn’t know it was such a delicate subject.”

Throwing a jaded look around the table, the One-Eyed Prince clenched his jaw.

He frowned deeply, and let out a tired hum at the notion of his sister’s face, so shocked and confused by his sudden outburst. As he felt his own grow numb, no doubt reddened by the scene he’d single-handedly played out, Aemond’s lips pursed to a tight, embarrassed line.

Whilst his hands itched him in shame, and his eye desperately avoided his mother’s, the young man instead focused on the erotic tapestries that adorned the stone-hedged walls.

His lone orb remained fixated on their arched positions, but, as his brother laughed again, Aemond begrudgingly returned his stare.

“Pardon me.” He muttered coldly, whilst giving a slight bow to the silent gathering, and, with one elegant but hurried movement, grabbed the full cask of wine, as he turned tautly to retreat to his chambers.

He swallowed thickly at his swift undoing, and chastised himself for losing touch with what was proper and allowed. His long fingers clasped painfully behind his back, digging at the flesh of his calloused palms, making him click his tongue in disarray; he notices, mayhaps too late, that all his blood had run elsewhere – thus the man takes wider steps to reach the confinements of his room, and lets out a choked-out breath, as the clogged air of his chamber finally hits his nose.

Methodical, aware and present, he sets the wine aside from him, pouring himself a generous cup, and fiddles with the expensive sheets that lay across his wooden table. His hand stumbles over the ink bottle, and the Prince levels out his rapid breathing, preparing himself to write again.

To My Lady,

A gulp of the liquid courage is all he needs to decidedly settle his red feather over the wilted paper.

Your lack of response to my latest confession irks me to no bitter end. I am a patient man, but I will not be denied entrance to your life. I will not have you refuse me the candour of communication.

Not when I spent my entire life waiting submissively by your side.

If your perpetual silence is owed to something I said, or something you’ve heard about me, I demand that you scorn me for it. Write a lengthy paragraph of all my near and far shortcomings, as you so often did when we were children. I promise to make a praying altar of that letter, grovel over it and at your feet, until my indiscretion should be forgiven.

Do not attempt to drive me away with petty ignoring. Such a feat is beneath you.

Another gulp of bitter wine is what allows his hand to flow more freely.

I confess that days and nights I have spent laying restlessly in bed, praying to the Seven to grant me passage to a single thought of yours. I ached to hear your words and feel your voice touch me so deeply. I am afraid I became brazen and unkind in the tortures of your absence.

I lest conclude that this should be a leisure letter to write – words should come easily, and in short, it should be simple for me to tell you how desperately happy I was to open your communication, and see your sweet and narrow writing.

Aemond halts his hurried musings, and encouraged by the hotness of the room, thinks back on the sinful indulgence he’d committed with her letter.

How he kissed over the parchment a million times thereafter, and how he licked at its bent corners, shuddering at the thought that her hand had ghosted over – perhaps even rested on – the marginal and flimsy paper.

He abjures his thoughts to the back of his mind, and lets out a low curse at the throb that forms over his missing eye.

A Prince should never bow, nor beg, nor relent. Yet here I stand, forever obediently at your beck and call, begging you to write again.

His patch fell heavily upon his skin. The nerves of his face stung the stimulated bit of skin, and Aemond huffed out an exacerbated breath, as he decidedly yanked the blinder away from his handsome face.

My duties at Court make it such that it is impossible for me to leave the proximities of King’s Landing. But should you make the mistake of not replying to me again, I’ll have no choice but to mount Vhagar and fly over to you myself.

… So reign your anger on me, should you need to. And just grant me with a quick reply.

Aemond.

Not even bothering to read it over, the man reached for the stamp she gifted him, inspecting its sapphire hilt with a scorned look over his face, and an angry furrow to his brow. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, as he passively set the hilt aside.

His next movements were slow, methodical – Aemond folded the paper in half, and poured the hot wax over it; grabbing the stamp, and lowering it on the paper, allowing the Targaryen seal to leave its mundane mark behind.

Harsh thoughts swirled inside his head, and the Prince lowered the parchment, promising to send word out on the morrow, and personally deliver his Lady the much-improved, insistent letter.

‘The best of friends for seven years,’ he scoffed bitterly to himself, recalling the oath they’d made each other.

He wouldn’t allow her to walk away. He wouldn’t allow her to forget about him. And he would force her to look at him, and explain the means of her reaping silence.

The gentle rays of morning wash themselves over his handsome features. The heatwaves of summer lick over his translucent skin, and the golden rays of daybreak thread themselves into his silver hair.

Aemond groaned in roaring anguish, as he ran a calloused hand up and over his throbbing cheek.

The discarded eyepatch, now resting on the floor. The littered parchments, still laying on his table. The lone letter, which had been written so angrily, just to be resentfully abandoned as his ire simmered down the night before.

Each object served as a dull and pained reminder of his lack of princely conduct, of the effects of the wine… of her brazen and determined silence.

The Prince bit over his lower lip, and fluttered his eyelid tightly shut. Enwrapped in his fine silks, and under the comforts of his chambers, he allowed his mind to lead to her again. To the image of her sprawled-out form, waiting for him inside his bed.

He sighs deeply, and questions his sanity – or lack thereof –, his patience, his virtue. What he wrote in his confessions was the fair and honest truth – In the few moments of solitude that he grantedly took for himself, the riverlander scarcely ever left his thoughts.

Aemond writhed into the mattress, and peeled the cover away from his heated body. He needn’t have looked down upon him to see the quaint trailing effect that his friend had had on him; but he did, and in the process, hastily pulled his throbbing cock out of his breeches, to begin to pump himself – mayhaps relieve the stress and anger that ruled over his very being.

A tender hiss escaped his lips, as his movements sped up in pace. The Crown Prince bit over his lower lip, and a shaky hand came to rest over his parted mouth, to dull the shameful and alluding sounds that escaped his burning throat.

He ran his thumb over the leaking tip, gathering up his seed in singular and striking swipes, guiding the clear droplets of liquid to trail towards his aching stones, and coat over his impressive length.

A low grunt slipped past his hand, and Aemond sank his teeth into the tender flesh, stifling down any further moan or laboured breath.

"F-Fuck… my Lady…"

His back shuddered from the blinding pleasure, and his free hand came to rummage under his pillows in the most desperate of searches.

His eye opened but for a moment, as his digits grazed the bent edges of the first letter she'd addressed him – the one he'd cherished with ample reverence, and secretly carried with him to every place he went.

His lilac orb trailed over the contents of the wilting parchment, which by then he knew by heart, but stopped at the very beginning of her scattered and bereft writing.

'To my dearest, Aemond' – either by crude mistake or heinous design, she'd flicked her wrist right after dearest, drawing out a bold and elongated pause, that hence consumed his wakened days.

It must have taken her no more than seconds to descend her quill upon the page, yet for Aemond, the mundane piece of calligraphy became his most burdensome slither of hope.

Before he could catch himself in his lustful daze, the Prince brought the letter to his lips, and kissed over the dried ink with devotion untoward, accelerating his ministrations as he pressed into it harder.

He pictured her alone and writing, enraptured by the dead of night, dressed up in her modest nightdress, and her hair loose from her bun. She must have made some able pauses, to glance up at the moon, perhaps, or sigh in puckered concentration.

Had she shared with him everything that was on her mind back then? Or did she hold her secrets in, choosing instead to only hint at all that they had left unspoken?

Did she also think of him, as he nightly thought of her, and in her attempts to clear her head, brought her hand out to her ruddy pearl? And did she dare to rub it gently as sinful fantasies of him emerged?

Did he plague her every thought – visited them, at the very least, nestling inside her mind, as she so oftenly did to him?

His unanswered plethora of questions only fed into his fire. His hips began to move languidly against his hand, and the familiar licks of release beckoned in his tired loins. But fucking his hand would never come close to how he envisioned fucking her would be like. How tight and welcoming her cunt must be, how she herself was so untouched, so pure, unaware of the pleasures he alone could make her go through.

How breathlessly she’d gasp against him, and leave her lascivious mark over his skin, in the form of clawed-out patterns, adorning his pale and muscled back. He would return her favour in kind, pressing himself deeper inside her, molding her warmth to the shape of his cock, leaving bruising kisses over her breasts and neck and claiming her – over and over, again and again.

His. His, his, his and his alone.

Propriety be damned, he’d have her. Ensure she’d never leave his bed thereafter.

She’d make for a fantastic mother, he caught himself thinking with abhorrence, and a new heat wave of pleasure enveloped his arched, unyielding back.

His despair reached new peaks of torture, as his mind led him to the memory of her crouching form, playing with Helaena’s twins, with such a pliant and kind smile upon her agonizing lips. How she’d chase them through the royal gardens, how the sun would catch her hair aflame…

Often during the long nights of winter, he’d shut himself inside his chambers, and touch himself repeatedly with the oils gifted from Aegon – with only that specific recollection playing tricks inside his mind.

Whilst elating her as his wife inside his head, the man slumped further into the bed, focusing on working his shaft up and down in blinding delight.

Her voice, her laughter, her handwriting and eyes – so wide and curious and always ready to look upon him, to really see him for who he was. She’d been the only one who never glanced directly at his scar. She’d focus in on his remaining eye, and listen to what he had to say. Intently. Remarkably so. She would remember his favourite book, the passages he’d read her last, and would partake in conversation – urging him to share his thoughts.

His climax neared him closer still, and Viserys’s second son focused on fucking his fist at a wilder pace than done before. Droplets of precum rolled down his cock, as forming sweat coated his brow. A final swipe of his rough thumb over the tip of his manhood, and a tender caress of his tightened stones was all it took for the man to drive himself over the edge, and feel the warmth inside his chest spread across his lower body.

He hissed painfully into the open letter, spending all over his chest and stomach and spilling her name from his parted lips.

He heaved out one breath after the other, and gingerly ran his hand over the written testament of her thoughts. He wanted to curse the Gods for making him so, for giving him the thirst for knowledge of a man fitting his station, but the crass bashfulness of a ruddy stable boy.

For the first time in his life, Aemond wished he were born different. A softer and more patient man, who’d find himself worthy of her; one more handsome, courageous and outspoken – a man who could express his feelings, without so much as a second thought, who didn't allow hesitation and carelessness to break his strengthened up resolve.

He ached to tell her all the things he’d left unsaid, when he saw her leave his sight. That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong – but not so wrong that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without exactly meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near.

That love within him laced with doubt. Longing with predestined pain. That he prayed night after night, obsessively, tentatively, that she’d grant him passage into her life again – that whatever held her from speaking to him would absolve itself with time, and he’d finally be free again.

Free to love her from afar, to revel in the bottled hope she’d grant him with the lightest touch, the faintest smile, and the most mundane of glances.

To delve further into the sweet delusion that mayhaps she'd learn to love him. That somehow he’d be deemed to be enough.

As he stood there, unmoving in his very bed, his warm seed rolled off his stomach, staining onto the silken sheets. A long sigh escaped his lips, and Aemond propped himself onto his elbow, cleaning the mess he’d left behind.

His want for her ran hard and deep, and the Crown Prince tensed once more, feeling his stomach tighten in such familiar hot knots of pleasure, that his cock went stiff again. He hummed in admission of his solitary fate and reached for the sinful oils with a shaky and extended hand. Through the musings of a quiet moan, he aligned his hips to his waiting hand, preparing to grant himself the second peak of his cursed and debauchered morning.

Alas, a lacklustre knock put an end to his self-indulgence, and Aemond stifled back a groan. He swallowed up his lust with haste, pushing himself back into his linen breeches and off the ruined satin bed – running a hand through the forming mats of his silver hair, to make himself seem more presentable.

Frustration and madness welled up within him, but he merely sucked in an irritated breath, whilst grabbing forth a shirt to adequately front himself.

“Yes, what is it?” His shaky voice barks out for him. He listens intently for any noise outside his door, and a great displeasure settles in his gut, as the voice of a servant boy echoes through the quiet walls.

“A letter for you, Your Grace. I beg your pardon for disrupting you –”

Readily he jumps out of his bed. And as if burned, as if possessed, Aemond opens the door with a readiness unperturbed, descending his anger onto the poor, expecting boy. The letter rests upon a silver platter, shaken with the messenger’s panicked voice. The Tully emblem that seals over a vast calligraphy drives the Prince to the brink of hysteria, and the Targaryen grabs a hold of the boy’s bouched shirt, pushing him further down into the hall.

“When.” He questions breathlessly, “When did the letter arrive.”

“L-Last night, Your Grace – near the hour of the wolf –”

A feral scowl settles over his sharp features. Aemond takes a step forward, tightening his fist over the cheap material, and calmly professes to the whimpering boy.

“For waiting so long to bring it to me, I should have you flogged and executed.”

The child's blabbering reaches deafened ears, as Aemond reaches for the letter crassly presented to him, and offers the youth a pressing look.

“Get out of my sight, before I should make the call of feeding you to my dragon.”

A clumsy courtesy is followed by a tantalised “Your Grace”. The echo of footsteps gets lost through the depths of the narrow hallway, and the man hums absentmindedly, before shutting himself inside his room again.

He wants to rip the envelope in a violent and perusing fashion, but his first instinct is to trail over the paper gently, to run his digits where her hands had been, to touch the edges of her writings with such a desire to be close to her that it scared him.

In a slow and gentle act, he peeled her seal away from the pesky parchment, and sucked in a hectic breath, as he scanned the contents he’d so longly dreamt about.

His hope shattered as rapidly as it came. And Aemond nearly ripped the letter, as his heart clenched painfully inside his chest.

To Aemond,

I thought about what I might say, and word it out in such a way that won’t leave you perplexed or angered.

I think it’s best for us to move along, and stop with these childish musings, that have hence occupied our time since I moved from the Red Keep.

I will forever cherish our acquaintanceship and hold your friendship in the highest regard. But I am a woman grown now – you, a man in all his right –, and we must both start to think about the survival of our families.

Please do not send me any more letters, as I won’t reply to them, and focus instead on your best interests.

The Lady Tully of Riverrun

His feet carried him close to his bed, as he grabbed a hold of her first note. Desperately, he began searching for differences – in the means that it was written, in the handwriting he’s known since his early adolescence, in the marginal and flimsy paper.

The sting of rejection fell heavily over his shoulders, but rationale trumped his crushed spirits – for there must have been something, anything inside the new communication, that would explain its fabrication.

It was impossible those were her words. She’d never been a jousting woman – never regarded her tens of suitors as less than wanting, for the simple fact she didn’t desire them. She would have let him down more softly. She wouldn’t throw away his company.

Contentment can emerge in the quietness of separation, but their friendship endured years of scorn from the gossips of the Court. Her good opinion of him just couldn’t have changed so suddenly.

A final reach entered his mind, as he folded the paper roughly, and settled it atop his table.

If those were truly her words within that letter, and she wanted him to keep his distance, she’d have to tell him to his face.

More than a week had passed since she’d sent him her first letter. A week since she’d awaited his reply, inquiring every messenger within the castle on the arrival of a straying raven, all the way from the Red Keep.

In spite of her avid efforts, each day repeated the same encounter without so much of a hitch – the scrawny boys shaking their heads, as they ceaselessly informed her that nothing addressed to her has reached the tower of the West Wing.

Since then she’d sent out two more hurried manuscripts, despite never once being graced with a reply. All hope seemed lost when she’d woken up that very day and was still met with livid silence.

Through all their years of rapid friendship, Aemond had never ignored her so. As she cut into her plate, the Lady gnawed at her bottom lip, thinking hard on what possibly could have happened to make him turn so cold towards her.

If her status quo were any different, she’d have taken the Red Fork road on horseback, to reach King’s Landing, and confront her oldest friend on the reasons for his dreaded silence.

But her grandsire had fallen ill, and little to no progress was made on his state of brittle health. Her duty thus assigned her to the Riverlands, despite her need of seeing him.

“You have been very quiet, sweet girl.” The husky voice of Grover Tully echoed through the silent chamber. The girl’s cutlery stilled upon the half-full plate, and her eyes raised from her lap, clashing with the stilling blueness, the knowing assessment of his own.

“Apologies, grandfather,” She uttered rapidly with a forced smile upon her face, “My mind was otherwise engaged.”

“As it has been for the past week.” He concluded with a quirked-up brow. The softness in his gaze enveloped her, giving her a rapid sense of security, and her grandfather coughed in the back of his hand, drawing a pattern over the motifs of their tablecloth.

“I suppose I miss some aspects of King’s Landing. I have spent most of my youth there… – though the Riverlands are just as beautiful.” She was quick to intervene.

“Is King’s Landing all that you miss, or is it a certain boy from there?”

Her bright orbs widened with her grandfather’s suggestive tone, and her cheeks reddened in place, as her voice denied it brashly, “Certainly not, I – Aemond and I are friends.”

“It might seem like a long while has passed since then, but I’ve also been young once.”

When her reply was met with sarcasm, she swallowed thickly and drove on, “We are… really good friends, but that is all.” Once again, her stare dissolved, “Though… I’m not sure we’re exactly friends anymore.”

A knowing look adorned his face, and Grover turned his attention to the family crest above their heads. He took a while to pounder, thinking longly on a vast reply, but he eventually nodded to her, and graced the child with an unperturbed, brilliant smile. “I’m sure the Prince is very busy – as are you, my sweet child. Men, and young men especially…” He muttered the latter of his teachings, “Aren’t exactly prone to sentimentality. Not in the way that women are.”

Her lips pursed into a tight line, as his words rang in her ears.

But not Aemond, she wanted to say. He was hardly like the other men she knew – he could be kind and good and comforting. He cared for her, and for their friendship. He wouldn’t just ignore her, just for the sake of not being overly attached to writing.

Although she couldn’t possibly say such a thing – for then her grandsire’s teasing would have been a certain. The girl made herself busy cutting up a piece of meat in carefully drawn-out halves, until she beckoned a reply.

“Indeed. … You’re right, I should stop being so concerned.” She strained herself to answer him. The older man hummed disconcerted, and returned upon his plating. They continued eating in silence, till he mauled himself to tell her.

“... I know how hard this is for you. But our family depends on you. I had to bring you back to Riverrun, to get the other Lords used to the image of a woman in our ancestral seat.”

“Gods, of course, grandfather – and for that, I’m more than thankful.”

Grover raised a shaky hand, and cut her off with a gentle smile, “You do understand… as much as we both hate the idea, I’ll have to soon match you with someone.”

She gripped the goblet of wine before her, and wet her lips with the bitter liquor. “... Of course I do. It is my duty.”

“Your claim will be stronger with an able man around. And if the Gods are good and you also bear a son…”

“I know.” She sighed into the ample cup, “My claim would be thus undisputed.”

“Aemond was not the right match for you.”

The girl bit over her lower lip, wanting to both negate her feelings, and contest upon his honoured values. But she simply nodded to the greying Lord before her and offered a lacklustre smile.

“Perhaps a change of scenery will do you good. I was thinking that you might like the Reach better than the Riverlands... Lyonel Tyrell is an especially kind and thoughtful host.”

A relocation was the last thing on her mind, no doubt, but the Bliss of Riverrun turned her attention to the latter of his eversion.

“Visit the Reach? You think of marrying me off to the boy of Highgarden? … He’s not yet fourteen.”

Silence washed over their council.

“Boys grow swiftly into men. I'm assured he'll be a good one for you."

“He’s a child.”

“You’re seventeen.”

“It still makes for quite the difference.”

“You won’t have to mother children until he’ll also come of age. It gives you three more years of freedom – other ladies would kill for a faction of what you have.”

“I don’t like the finality of your words."

A long and pressing breath beleft his pale and tired lips.

“I couldn’t send you to the North. Jason Lannister has no sons. The Greyjoys are ghastly savages.” As he presented her his trail of thought, Grover Tully shook his head, “And the Targaryens…”

“You’re childhood friends with King Viserys. A match would not fall outside our rank." She slipped and added restlessly, much like a frail and foolish child. Even before he could answer her, his granddaughter raised her hand, as she brushed off her latter thought. “A succession crisis will ensue.” The young woman muttered in his stead.

“I’m old – I’ve seen disputes start for much less. But here we’re talking of the Iron Throne.”

“You think a war is in its midst.”

A cutting silence washed over them. Grover lifted first from the dinner table and breathed in an anxious breath.

“I pray for the sake of the Realm that such a thing will not take root.”

The languid fires of their threshold illuminated her conflicted face.

“Then it’s a good thing Aemond didn't bother to reply to my letters.”

For but a second, Grover’s face was etched with guilt.

“We all have to protect our own.” Sometimes the means to do it are less honourable than we'd wish to.

For all that was worth on that rousy and portentous night, her fate had been agreed upon. And ever the loyal and oppressed servant, the young lady of the Riverlands left with the first callings of dawn, for the impetuous and striking gardens, which were smugly kept inside the Reach.

She would then leave, with her soul and heart all torn to pieces – yet still completely unaware that she’d never see Aemond again.

Never, at the very least, to how she’d known him to always be.

His wide and calculated steps led him to the stronghold’s gates. So easily it came for him to pass the cluttered training grounds, and disregard Ser Criston Cole with a mere shake of his head.

Above all else, he thought it then, he needed to feel his love again. He needed to hold her near once more, and ask all the outlandish questions he endured inside his head, counting for so much of his weakened days. He needed to reach a resolution, after being disregarded for so long. He needed the closure that her voice could offer him, that her mouth would utter out – that this had all been a grave mistake on her behalf, that the note never belonged to her, that she loved him as he loved her, and had merely been scared of it.

His morning session could very well await him, as he so viciously awaited the perfect chance to get away.

Two days away from the arrival of the pesky letter, Aemond had finally managed to slither unperturbed from his neat and tidy prison. Neither his mother nor grandsire had caught him in the act of it, Aegon had been too drunk to notice him dress up for a morning ride, and Helaena had solely clicked her tongue and scowled at him.

As he anxiously secured the belts of his dragon’s saddle, the man hummed in disarray – Riverrun was but a short flight away, but the despair he felt to hold her inside his arms again trumped over his better senses.

With any luck, he figured, she should still be found in bed. His love had never been an early riser, and she loathed getting out of bed in the damning morning light.

He didn’t waste time figuring out pleasantries to share with Grover – much less the words needed to explain his unprompted visit.

His sole purpose was to get to her, ask for her hand, make her his wife and forever be done with it.

He had the biggest claim to her – a Prince bonded with the largest dragon in the world, the one who’d seen and grown with her so many years inside the Keep.

The command of flying was given to his formidable dragon, and the Prince took off for the Trident's three heads.

Hopefulness emerged with unforsaked determination – but as his actions would dictate him from then on out, his efforts would be all for nought, torn apart in stinging vain.

Perma Tag-List: @welcometothelioncage

Specific Tag-List for the Fic: @howyouloveyourdragon @diamantesprincess @carriellie

[acourtofthought]

Lucien lost the female he thought was his mate.

Because she was murdered.

And he was forced to watch.

And he truly loved her.

Though she was a "lesser fae".

Forbidden romance that ended in tragedy.

But it was a pure and true love. It shows that he already suffered one of the cruelest fates and has felt sorrow and loss for centuries as a result.

In what world would an author then have a character who lost so much already lose his actual mate?

The one who took him by surprise? The one who took the author by surprise? The one who like him, likes nature? The one who like him, doesn't enjoy violence? The one who like him, enjoys parties and socializing and is good talking to others?

I'm sorry people think Lucien is so irrelevant that they overlook his involvement in almost every open ended plot within the ACOTAR series and his affiliation with three different courts as well as being a major ally of the Night Court.

But those people forget that the author, despite her love for her FMCs, still fangirls over her male love interests just as any reader would.

Lucien was not only given a name oddly similar to one of her favorite book boyfriends but also created based on the likeness of a TV show actor playing the role of another character she's obsessed with.

Knowing all that, why would she have him end up with anything less than the best?

Why would she have his first love murdered and his mate reject him only to end up with a love that could not, by the authors own admission, go deeper than marriage? A love not blessed by the mother?

I think some are afraid to acknowledge Lucien's importance to both the series and SJM because in doing so, they know she would never have him end up with anyone but his mate.

[acourtofkindness]

Thank you for sending in all the stories, here you can find the collection! Some of these are one-shots, some are longer stories, just click your way through them and also check out their other fics!

A Court of Vice and Victors

by @wishcamper Acosf rewrite where Nesta actually gets help and she and Cassian have a healthier dynamic, plus an Illyrian murder mystery

Pages Turned

by @climbthemountain2020 A character study on Nesta Archeron, the hardships she's faced through her life, and how they've shaped her as a person.

Could You Love Me While I Hate Myself

by @witch-and-her-witcher Humans have just been freed from servitude to the fae after years at war on Prythian and times are desperate for Nesta Archeron. With Feyre MIA and Elain a shell of herself, her options are becoming increasingly limited. When one of the young fae warriors, Cassian, who has carved a name for himself on the battlefield proposes to her after recognizing a mating bond between them, Nesta doesn't see any choice but to agree to take him as her husband and move herself and her sister to his home Court and the wilds of Illyria. War brings them together, a bond binds them - but is that enough for two broken people to find love with each other?

Firm and Fragrant Still the Brambleberries

by @foundress0fnothing When Nesta became a nurse at the start of the war, she could not have predicted a patient as challenging as Lieutenant Cassian Davies, nor he a nurse as captivating as her. As the same war that brought them together threatens to tear them apart, Nesta and Cassian must navigate the complexities of love and duty to find the way back to each other. A WWI historical AU.

Wreck My Plans, That's My Man

by @c-e-d-dreamer Drummer for the Bat Boys, Cassian has a large following, but sometimes Nesta doesn't appreciate fangirls calling themselves "Cassian's future wife."

It Looks As Though You're Letting Go

by @Darkcat18 (on ao3) Everyone is born with an arrow on the back of their hand which points to their soulmate at midnight on their eighteenth birthday. After her parents' disastrous marriage and her father's subsequent depression following the death of her mother, Nesta realized a soulmate is nothing more than guaranteed heartache and ruination. On the eve of her eighteenth birthday, she packs up her car and leaves her family and life behind forever. What she doesn't count on, however, is having a soulmate like Cassian, who may be the one to prove to her that a soulmate is what she needs.

I Guess It's Half Timing (And The Other Half's Luck)

by @moodymelanist Nesta and Cassian have a steamy one-night stand while out celebrating St. Patrick’s Day, but their lives are changed forever once Nesta realizes her period is late. Follow along as Nesta and Cassian navigate preparing to become parents, balancing their other life stresses, and figuring out their feelings for one another!

Amidst the Madness

by @This_Immortal_Hope (on ao3) Love and war have always followed the same rules: Quick to ignite, slow to extinguish. There aren't many things Cassian has dared to openly want in his 500 years of existence. Not even the position he currently occupies as Lord of Windahaven (far too lofty a spot for nothing more than a well-blodded bastard, if you ask the other Illyrian Lords), but from the second Nesta Archeron stepped foot in his camp, the entire world ebbed into a single truth. She is his. He is hers. Everything else - the war he is meant to lead, the people relying on him, the legacy he should be fighting to protect, cease to exist the second his eyes are caught in roiling silver flames. There is pain in this female, his female. And retribution will be exacted. Rhysand has his war, and now so does Cassian. Whether the two align ... only Nesta can give that order.

Sweetest Con

by @separatist-apologist Nesta Archeron has been trapped in witness protection for the past five years, hiding a secret no one can ever learn. All she has to do is wait out the criminals back home determined to punish her and her sisters for a lie they told years before. She can handle anything- even the new agent sent to keep her safe.

The Whole Truth

by @TheTeaQueen (on ao3) A beautifully heartbreaking story about what if Papa Archeron used/sold Nesta back in their village, and the IC learning this truth. It features Rhys and Nesta sibling bonding over their respective SA traumas. And Cassian helping Nesta to heal and feel comfortable with touch again

The Nesta Variation

by @persegrace (on ao3) A modern AU where Cassian is a military vet and Nesta is a former ballet dancer. They're both dealing with trauma, and meet in AA.

Ultima Ex Nobis

by @fieldofdaisiies Six years into a global pandemic which was caused by a mass fungal infection that turns hosts into zombie-like creatures and makes the whole of Prythian collapse, the former army general Cassian Cadell is tasked with one very special mission – escorting Nesta Archeron, one of the few immune survivors, across a post-apocalyptic Prythian to a group of people of the name L. Their identity is unknown but they can make an antidote.

you make my motor run

by @wilde-knight When Nesta and Cassian are set up on a blind date, neither of them can imagine their families feeling whole again. But with sparks flying between them, will they finally be able to imagine the road ahead?

[violetlunette]

Whats your headcanons for malleus and Female silver’s relationship? (platonic i mean but ship if you have any ideas too, lol) Would stuff change since silver is a girl?

I mentioned most of my headcanons for Silver here.

For the most part, not much would change for Malleus. However, the few things that would change would have a significant impact.

One is that Malleus would feel a bit more melancholy as, thanks to Silver’s developed body, he couldn’t ignore the fact she was growing up. Often, he would feel sad that Silver is growing up so fast and dreads the day she may leave him to get married.

Malleus worries about Silver more than he does about male Silver. Not because she’s weaker or lacks faith in her, but because girls tend to attract more unwanted attention than boys. He frequently frets that she may accidentally place herself in a dangerous situation due to her naivety. Therefore, he tries to watch over her from a distance.

Thirdly, Malleus would be careful to keep a professional distance from her in public so that gossip about them being a couple wouldn’t start.

This, mixed with Malleus’ somber attitude at times, often makes Silver feel that Malleus doesn’t care for her as he used to, which makes her lonely in his presence, as he used to dote on her. Of course, this is all just a misunderstanding, as Malleus still adores her as much as ever.

Due to the miscommunication, Silver second-guesses herself and even wonders if Malleus wants her as a guard or if he only allows her the role due to Lilia. This leads to her being a bit nervous around him.

Silver also used to deal with bullying from Malleus’ (and Lilia’s) fangirls in her first years due to their jealousy. Thankfully, Lilia quickly stopped that. (Don’t mess with his girl.) Malleus also gets animosity from Silver’s admirers (not that they’d do anything, as they’re not suicidal).

Aside from this, they’d be the same as Canon.

Some cute headcanons are:

*Malleus taught Silver to dance the waltz (and then Sebek when he got jealous) as Lilia was too spazztic.

**They recalled this memory as they danced together during the GM event.

*When Malleus first noted how "developed" Silver was, his eyes grew three times their size. He stared at her in shock (not lust) till Lilia knocked him out of it by “accidentally” kicking him in the shin. After that, Malleus had trouble understanding how Silver could go from a little girl to a woman in such a short time. (Remember, humans develop faster than fae.)

*Malleus used to let Silver braid his hair and such when it was long. She was a bit sad when Lilia cut it as she couldn’t style it anymore.

**Silver liked his long hair and let hers grow partly because it reminded her of it.

***Malleus will occasionally braid it for her.

*When Silver was alone for the first time, he came to check on her and put a barrier around the house so no one could get in. However, it worked too well, as Lilia couldn’t enter either when he returned from his trip.

*When Uterus demands his sacrifice for the month, Malleus will use healing magic to help her with the cramps.

I never thought of the two in a romance, so I don’t have any headcanons right now.

Anyway, I hope this is enough for now! Thank you so much for the ask. I’m glad female Silver is getting attention.

[lostgirlinthewoods]

CRAZY STUPID LOVE | park wonbin smau

20. y/n and wonbin's break up mission .｡.:*☆

ignore timestamps unless otherwise stated.the swimming terms im using in the series are the words used in my local university. it may be different from where you came from so please bear with me.

notes. i contemplated a lot whether i should publish anything today in light of the recent news - that affected me a lot because ive been an nct fan for so long. but im only ever free on weekends and it's not fair to keep you guys waiting

back . masterlist . next

pairing. guitarist!park wonbin x athlete!fem!reader

synopsis. lee y/n, a competitive swimming athlete, just wants to finish her degree as a scholar. no drama. no distractions. and certainly, no romance. park wonbin, a music prod student and the siren’s guitarist, just wants to make music. no crazy fangirls in line to date him. no insane dms from random people declaring their love for him. and certainly, no dating. imagine the shock on y/n’s face when she received a message from her brother, anton, asking “since when did you and wonbin started dating?”

genre. social media au, college au, fake dating, fluff, crack

status. ongoing.

taglist. closed. reached maximum mentions allowed.

@molensworld @wonychu @yoursyuno @siuewnb @gyehyeonist @binoyu @secretiny @started-with-f-ends-with-uck @seokton @fae-renjun @nujeskz @i03jae @daegale @kyusqult @riki-shenanigans @revehosh @nctrawberries @wonbins-black-cat @parkwonbinie @saranghoeforanton @tommina @chuutaroo @000rpheus @p-d1ddy @starwonb1n @ikiqui @taroddori @blossominghunnie

@aloverga @brachioswrld @toriblogkk @miyawwn @intakstars @naviiy @bebubilu @soheendo @otblous @katarinaesqa @intakstars @yla-aira @i1uvc4ke @maleegayuh @renjuneoo @whoisgwyn @hakkkuu @endtostartbreathin @yngjngwon @flaminghotyourmom @deonuism @film-sea @babigriin @ssweetreveries @bunni

@onlyhyunjin @adoresoapy  @donutswjam @dearestjake @icyona

asks. for any thoughts, messages, and feedbacks; or even just for a conversation.

likes, reblogs, comments, or any type of engagements are appreciated. thank you <3

© lostgirlinthewoods. Do not copy, steal, or translate any of my works. 

[dreamlandcreations]

Which one of my fics would you guys enjoy reading if I turned it into a book?

(obviously it wouldn’t be a reader insert anymore but I’m just curious since I’m considering writing a book and have so many ideas - based on my fics - but I’m not sure which one I want to commit to first)

Any suggestions?

[hanafubukki]

Hi Hana! I think as a fellow Lilia liker I wanna tell you one of my headcanons :3

So as we know from Lilia's ceremonial robe vignette, he "shrieks" (as Cater put it) to which Lilia says "Screaming like that is my specialty." because he likes metal, and likely knows how to do multiple types of metal vocal fry growls and screams and the like.

In my little brainwaves, I hc that he's been doing that for longer than metal music has been around, and his "shrieks" are repurposed battle cries from war, intended to frighten the enemy, and are indeed his specialty ad he said!

(I have no idea if any of this makes sense bc I'm still eepy tired, but I hope you see my vision asdgdskjgkg)

Hello Darcy 🌷🌺💚

YESS!! I love this!! Have you seen his M3 magic Darcy? He literally goes “SHAAAA” in that card. Ahhhh I love it!! Absjsjshs okay okay trying not to go into fangirl mode right now ahhhhhh 🤣🥰

Okay okay okay, you know what I love about this idea? The implication that what if he influenced it? What if he was the reason for there being screamo in music?

I know many musicians take inspirations from history or events they lived through, so what if he was the reason for it to happen? I can think of two ways this could be.

He’s in history books right? What if it was written that the General of the Fae would give these war cries that echoed and made his enemies tremble? Even better? Oral history where people would pass down events as they traveled and his battle cry was one such tale? 👀

He’s really well known after all! The humans recognize him right away, so I can see it happening. Ohhhh what if during music class it’s mentioned? And Lilia just smirks and nod his head, “Yup, that was me! And I still got it.” Of course, no one would believe him initially…until they find out he’s 700 years old 😆

Or what if? Lilia during one of his travels just took an instrument and started doing his vocal singing during a festival or something?? And that just?? Became a genre in time that he influenced??

I very much think it’s his specialty. 😂😂 I believe Silver in the 4 Koma comics basically implied that one of the lullabies was Lilia’s “singing” in that vocal way 🤣🤣

Thank you for sharing your headcanon Darcy, it’s so much fun to think about 🙌👏 and I hope you have a good sleep 🌺🌷💚🫂

[werewolfsister]

Zora OCs— Double Trouble!

Y’all out there fangirling over Sidon while I’m fanning myself looking at @savvyzelda’s Loch & wishing I were @candy-fae’s Sturgeon brawler 🫠 I think I mis-read Loch as Loach, so my bad!

[sketchyallstar]

Got inspired by a song to make a ship happen, so I came up with my first male monster high oc to ship with the monster high version of my ever after high oc, Tara Lin. She’s a fae ghost, he’s a goblin, and they’re chaotic and adorable. Rory Tricorne is the son of the Redcap, a goblin who lives in ruins where violence took place or on old battlefields, getting their signature red hat by dying it in the blood of the fallen. Rory himself is quite squeamish in the presence of real blood and gore, but he’s fine with movie blood effects or animations and images of blood as long as they don’t look too real. To make Rory, I had to prepare because I don’t often make male characters, so I practiced by drawing male monster high characters in my style. It took a while but eventually I figured out his look, which I’m very happy with. I envisioned him as a history nerd, a movie buff, a gamer, an urban explorer, and a TikTok influencer (Monster High has EekTok as the equivalent) who talks about history anecdotes, historical accuracy in movies, shows, and games, as well as movies, shows and games he just enjoys. He also posts about his adventures in urban exploration, of course. The way I figured out his connection to Tara is that she was a fan of his on EekTok and finally meets him when she transfers to Monster High, and although he immediately gets a silly goofy crush on her, she’s wary of being a parasocial fangirl so she starts out keeping him at a distance.