#genuinely haven’t drawn this much in a while

[negativespace06]

i spent my weekend drawing deltarune characters playing baseball

[coin-z3fs]

After school chatter.

[nickeverdeen]

Hello! May I request a headcanon of Ekko with a woman who is essentially an introverted foreigner who ended up joining the Fireflies, and Ekko falls in love with her?

Ekko falling in love with an introverted foreigner woman who joined the Fireflies hcs

The arrival of a foreigner in Zaun doesn’t go unnoticed

You’re quiet, reserved, and keep to yourself, making you stand out among the boisterous inhabitants of the city

Your skills and knowledge, honed in your homeland, quickly earn you a place within their ranks

Ekko, being a leader figure among the Fireflies, decided to help you get acclimated

Your initial interactions are formal and brief

Ekko tried to engage you in conversation, but your nature makes it difficult for you to open up

Of course Ekko respects your boundaries

As you go on missions together, Ekko starts to see glimpses of your true self which earning his respect

You, in turn, begin to see Ekko as more than just a leader as he slowly becomes a friend

Ekko makes an effort to reach out to you in small ways

He shares stories about Zaun, introduces you to his friends, and shows you around the city (when possible)

Ekko hopes that this makes you lower your guard a bit

Your quiet conversations become a regular occurrence

You both talk about your pasts, your hopes for the future, and the struggles you face at the moment

You find yourself drawn to Ekko’s optimism and resilience, qualities that contrast sharply with your own nature

An unspoken understanding begins to form between you two

You don’t need to talk constantly to feel connected; your each other’s presence alone brings comfort

He appreciates your silent support

Ekko becomes increasingly protective of you which doesn’t go unnoticed by others

He’s always looking out for you during missions, making sure you’re safe

You notice his concern and starts to rely on him more, feeling a sense of security you haven’t felt in a long time

There are moments of vulnerability when you open up about your past and the reasons you left your homeland

Ekko listens without judgment, offering his support and understanding trying to heal your old wounds

Ekko starts to realize his feelings for you

It’s not just admiration or friendship; it’s something deeper

He finds himself thinking about you constantly, wanting to be near you and make you smile

You begin to notice Ekko’s subtle signals

The way his eyes linger on you, the gentle touches, and the genuine concern he shows

Slowly your own feelings start to mirror his

One night, after a particularly intense mission, Ekko finds the courage to confess his feelings

You both are sitting in a quiet corner of the Fireflies’ base, when he tells you how much you means to him and how he’s fallen in love with you

You might be kidna taken aback at first, but you reciprocates his feelings

It’s a tender, heartfelt moment that solidifies your bond

You both navigate your new relationship with care and respect

Ekko understands your need for space and quiet, while you make an effort to engage more with him and the Fireflies

(No preassure)

You guys find a balance that works for both of you

You share your dreams for the future with each other, both personal and for Zaun

Trust becomes the foundation of your relationship

You learn to rely on Ekko, knowing he’ll always have your back and Ekko does the same

Your relationship becomes a support system for both of you

You face the dangers and uncertainties of life in Zaun together, drawing strength from each other

The Fireflies notice the change in the pair, seeing how your bond has made the lovers even more formidable

You balance your duties to the Fireflies with your personal relationship

It’s not always easy, especially for Ekko, but he makes it work

You become each other’s anchor, a constant in a world that’s often chaotic and unpredictable

Your love story becomes a beacon of hope for others in Zaun

It’s a reminder that even in the darkest times, love and connection can flourish

(That sounds cheesy, my bad)

As your relationship deepens, new threats emerge

Rival factions, internal strife within the Fireflies, and the ever-present danger of Zaun’s underbelly put your bond to the test

Both Ekko and the woman make sacrifices for each other

Ekko takes on additional risks to protect you, while you step out of your comfort zone to protect and support him

There are moments of doubt and fear

The pressures of the environment sometimes strain your relationship, but you always find your way back to each other

Despite the challenges, you find joy in the little things like:

Quiet moments together, shared laughter, and the simple pleasure of each other’s company

Your relationship has a positive impact on the Fireflies

You start discussing long-term goals, both for yourselves and for Zaun

Your vision for the future includes not just survival, but thriving and building a community where others can find the same sense of belonging you’ve found in each other

As time goes on, you start to talk about creating a future beyond the Fireflies

A life where you can build a home, have a family, and live in peace

Your bond becomes unbreakable

You become a shining example of what it means to fight for love and to build a life together, even in the most difficult circumstances

(That was also cheesy and I apologize for that, but I’m not removing it)

[topzsun]

AM I NO GOOD?

── ♡ MR CRAWLING

from the abyss of your mind, he crawls in. your last remnants of humanity. cw: familial death, suicide idolisation

Your ceiling fan has a creek in it. It groans melancholy as it slowly spins, barely giving enough breeze in your poorly ventilated, dingy apartment. Despite how the sound tempts you to rip your ears off, it still stays on as you lay in bed, vacantly staring at the ceiling as it rotates until you can’t bear hearing it anymore.

Your room is dimly lit, curtains drawn and your lightbulb a mess of shards that you haphazardly brushed aside. You haven’t had the energy to buy a replacement bulb, fix it, and carefully throw away the remains of your old one. The process felt long and arduous, like most things these days. It was taking you a Herculean amount of strength to get up for work, but it’s not what your co-workers or managers see when they cast judging glances at your sunken eyes and unstyled hair. Perhaps, if you had always been this sloppy, their stares wouldn’t have burned holes into you as much. There was a time when you had cared for yourself, your work clothes iron-pressed, hair carefully decorated, and skin glowing. Now, it felt like a distant memory concealed by thick fog in the crevices of your mind.

People were hardly the same after burying their mother.

There is shuffling underneath your bed. Once, the sound had scared you. Now, it’s welcomed. It gives you a faint flutter in your stomach when you see a grey-tinted hand, marred in grime, reach outwards. Reach for you. You lift yourself into a sitting position, and a genuine smile graces your lips when you see him crawl from the space. Appropriately, you named him Mr Crawling. A man with long, dark tresses that fall over his shoulders, concealing his face like a curtain. From the bridge of the nose, in replacement of his eyes, is a wide red slash caked with what you assume is dried blood. His unnerving, foreboding appearance should predictably scare you. Yet, it doesn’t. He is born from the rubble of your mind, how can you hate the only friend you have left?

You have severely outgrown the age of having an imaginary companion, and yet he is an anchor, even if communication is hard and there isn’t much for you both to speak on. You weren’t aching for conversation anymore, anyway.

“Hi Mr Crawling,” You greet him, almost affectionately, and while you know he doesn’t understand your tongue, he seems to have grown used to the syllables that leave your lips and the tone of your voice, a toothless grin stretches across his face as a result. You flop from the bed to the floor, sitting beside him as he perks up straighter, supporting the weight of his body with his arms. He lets you lean into his side, strands of hair tickling your cheek. The gown draped over his body is raggedy, stained and tattered, and yet he seemed the most put-together inside the mess of your home. If you had the energy, you would have laughed.

Your fingers graze his skin and he is ice-cold, like the dead. Yet beside him was the warmest you have been in a long while and you savour it. It’s the closest you have got to another person’s loving touch.

“Work was tough today,” You mumble under your breath, and he stiffens when you speak in his vernacular, or whatever you managed to pick up over the months. “It’s difficult.”

He garbles something close to “Leave” and a breathy, humourless laugh leaves you, hoarse against your dry throat.

“I can’t. I’ll die without money,” Your fingers twirl the end of his hair and he takes it as an invite to drop his head on top of yours, becoming bolder at your contact. “Maybe it won’t be the worst thing in the world.”

He doesn’t reply, and you aren’t sure if it’s because he didn’t understand or if he’s displeased by what you said, seeing as his grin has left and been replaced with the neutral press of his chapped lips. You felt a kick at his reaction, disgusting but innate, pleased that someone cared enough if you died, and guilty that you wanted to put him through the same cycle of grief.

Mr Crawling was kinder than most people you have met, and somehow you felt that even a being curated from your imagination deserved better than you.

You blearily sit up, hit with a sudden wave of nausea and inertion that makes your head spin. However, you attempt to fix yourself upright quickly, even when Mr Crawling asks if you are sick, reaching with a single hand at a poor attempt at breaking any sudden fall. You weakly smile at him as reassurance. You crouch over to the TV positioned at the end of your room. It was incredibly old, evident by the boxed screen and antennas sitting on top of the plastic frame. However, it was your mother’s, recalling nights when she would lay in her bed watching the jittering coloured shows as you blundered through making yourself dinner. You had rolled it into your room shortly after your impromptu burial of her. Your clothes had still been stained with dirt, a shovel tossed to the ground as you clumsily attempted to fix the device. When you laid in bed that night and flipped through channels much like she once did, you didn’t understand the appeal.

However, Mr Crawling was utterly fascinated by the moving pictures on the screen, so for him, you turned the old thing on. When it flickered to life, his grin returned, much to your relief. You took your place next to him again, pressing your knees to your chest as a soap drama whose title you were unfamiliar with played. Honestly, you couldn’t have cared less. Mindless entertainment lost its appeal around two months ago, with you spending your time after work lying motionlessly in bed or sitting around with your new companion. You had already tuned out the show, blankly staring at the eye-straining colours with disinterest, your mind already wandering. The floor beneath you, the chipped walls, and even Mr Crawling beside you felt as if they were worlds away. The soil from the plot of land next door, visible from your bedroom window, curls within itself. It shakes. She is desperately clawing away and reaching out when you—

He makes a confused sound next to you, and you snap your head away to meet the tilt of his head. Once again, he’s not smiling and your heart seizes. You begin to stammer out an excuse when he points at the screen and you follow his finger to the television screen. There is a bright wedding scene playing, two characters standing at the alter as they exchange vows, the male actor’s hand encased around his pretend bride’s as he beams at her. Carefully scripted lines, perfectly painted masks and flawless costumes. You could almost admire the craft.

However, Mr. Crawling isn’t of the same opinion as you, unable to understand what was happening outside of the funny laugh tracks and comical acting. His confusion is almost cute, though you don’t voice this out loud.

“That’s a wedding,” You say and when his expression doesn’t change, you switch to your shoddy understanding of his language. “It’s a party. For love. Love between two people.”

He sits up a bit straighter and you assume he’s starting to comprehend what’s happening and he fixes his gaze back to the screen where the scene has now moved onto what seems to be the after-party. He seems pleased that the show has gotten back to the humour and repetitive laugh tracks he likes as opposed to the more emotionally heavy wedding he is unfamiliar with. However, not long after he momentarily turns his attention back to you.

“Me,” He points to himself. “You,” He points to you. “Love,” and finally he points to the screen. “Party.”

This stupifies you into silence, your eyes widening as you digest the confession. You are sure the meaning of love varies for him, just like it does for people here. He doesn’t understand the type of love that is involved in marriage, perhaps him meaning something akin to the care between two friends.

“One day,” You reply flippantly, but you lean into his shoulder anyway, letting his long tresses conceal your line of vision as if it were a curtain between you and the damn window. “If only you were real, Mr. Crawling.”

Unable to see from where you have hidden yourself at his side, his smile drops into something more contemplative. How odd humans are. They could be holding someone in their arms, and still not believe they exist.

[lovedrruunk]

‘Take ur heart!

Venture (Overwatch) x reader

Authors note!!! (¬‿¬ ); (UPDATE: PLEASE GO READ MY OTHER POSTS INSTEAD CUZ I LITERALLY HATEE THIS ONE AHHHH THE OTHERS R SM BETTER I SWEAR!! IM STILL LEARNING!!!) First fic ever (and last knowing me!) and ofc it’s overwatch related…. I’ve literally never written a fanfic before so pls give me feedback!! I feel like it’s a bit boring just cuz we haven’t learned a lot abt them yet so it’s very surface lvl!!

“I got this one while digging in Acropolis! And this one from a site in Giza!” They said enthusiastically pointing to some scars on their forearm.

You and your new colleague, which you now know goes by Venture, had met on the rooftop of your work building about an hour ago when you both had coincidentally needed some fresh air. You hadn't even been there for more than 5 minutes before you heard the door to the rooftop open. Despite having just met, you found yourself immediately drawn to their easygoing nature. They spoke with a lightness and joy that seemed contagious and you couldn’t help but be caught hook line and sinker.

“And this one—" they grinned awkwardly, pointing to the chip in their front teeth. “This um���” They lowered their finger, looking away a bit embarrassed. “It was nothing.”

You chuckled at how much of a bad liar they were and as curious as you were, you didn't want to pry into anything that might make them uncomfortable, so you decided to swiftly take the attention off it.

"How'd you get this one?" you reach out to take their hand pointing to a deep scar you had noticed on their thumb.

"Oh I got that one fighting a monkey for a rock in Suravasa." they shrugged and you couldn't help but laugh at how casual they were.

"Scary!"

"Nah, just annoying! Little dude didn't know what he had coming... I may have been scathed but I won the war!"

You shook your head in amusement at their nonchalant attitude towards what sounded like a crazy life and as you leaned against the railing you noticed yourself admiring them more and more.

After a bit of rambling Venture seemed to have come back to their senses stopping abruptly. They took a second to look at you closely noticing how you were genuinely interested. You weren't still there out of pity or asking questions for conversations sake, you genuinely liked listening to them talk which Venture had realized pretty early on that in professions like theirs, was pretty rare. They couldn't help but feel flustered under your gaze, quickly trying to put the attention off of them and on to you.

"Well what about you? Any things you're passionate about?"

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself sharing stories of your own, although they were average compared to theirs. Nevertheless, they listened with genuine interest, nodding along and occasionally butting in with words of praise or curiosity.

Before you knew it, the sun had begun to set and the evening breeze was ruffling your hair as you stood in silence, content with each other's company.

"I bit a rock."

"...hah?"

"I bit a rock... and it chipped my tooth."

"..."

(* ^ ω ^)

[thewritingofamadwoman]

Stress Relief

The way Roy Kent (and Brett Goldstein) live in my head rent free 24/7.

Pairing: Roy Kent x Fem!Reader (established relationship)

Warnings: Fluff, some making out, and Roy Kent being a cocky little shit

Enjoy!

You wiped your hands clean on a towel and smiled at the young man on the table.

“Okay Sam, you’re all done. Continue to work on those stretches at home and you’ll be in tip top shape for the game next weekend.”

Sam Obisanya smiled back at you, slowly getting up off the table.

“Thank you again, so much. I will do all the exercises you’ve recommended, and I will also look into Pilates classes.”

You gave Sam a quizzical look.

“You don’t have to do that Sam, it’s just a sprained ankle…”

The young man laughed.

“Oh no I know, I just am interested in Pilates. I’ve heard it does wonders for your body, core, and state of mind.”

Sam looked at you so genuinely, that you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. He was absolutely precious. Sam smiled at you again and waved goodbye before exiting the treatment room. Between Sam’s ankle, Dani’s knee and Jamie’s hamstring, you had been working nonstop all week, doing your best to heal them as best you could.

You were jotting down notes in Sam’s folder when you heard a knock on your door.

“Come in!”

Roy Kent walked in, shut the door behind him and let out the deepest sigh/growl you’ve heard in a while. You looked up and put the folder down on your desk, taking a second to admire the grouchy coach. Roy stood there, arms at his sides and shoulders back in his usual stance. His biceps bulging from underneath the short sleeves of his coach jersey, the watch on his right wrist gleaming under the florescent lighting in the treatment room. Your eyes trailed to Roy’s face; his brows drawn together in their usual frown and his lips following suit.

“Well hello to you, too,” you greeted playfully.

Roy raised an eyebrow at you and rolled his eyes warm heartedly.

“Hi,” he exhaled, his deep voice reverberating through you. God you loved his voice.

You waited for him to continue, seeing the thoughts running through his mind. Roy took another breath and let it all out.

“These fucks have got me more stressed out than the “girls nine under nine” ever did. Fucking shits.” Roy points a finger to the door behind him. I swear, if I have to hear Zava go on about his fucking avocado farm one more time, I’m going fucking quit and go back to being a fucking pundit.”

And there it was. You nodded sympathetically and moved off from the desk you were leaning on and waved your hand to the table in front of you, signally Roy to have a seat. The coach followed suit, letting out a huff of air as he did. You stepped on a mechanical lever underneath the table, causing the table to lower so that Roy was at a comfortable height for you. You placed your hands on his shoulders gently before giving them a tight squeeze.

“You’re not going to quit, baby. You just need a second to relax. You haven’t been to Maureen’s house in a few weeks now that I think of it. When was your last yoga session with the ladies?” You pressed down on Roy’s shoulders again, feeling the immense amount of tension he was keeping at the base of his neck.

Roy grunted at the feeling of your hands, slowly leaning into your touch.

“Maureen’s been dealing with her son’s upcoming wedding, and Carol’s neice is going through a divorce so we’ve all been pushing back our next yoga date.”

You smiled at how invested Roy was with his little yoga group. He always managed to melt your heart with the simplest of things.

“Well then, the solution is simple. You need a little bit of stress relief. You’re so tense Roy, all this pent up pressure isn’t going to do you any good. I’m going to take care of it, okay?”

You spoke as gently while beginning to massage Roy’s shoulders. You’ve been told by the team that you give the best massages known to man. And while it was part of your job as the team’s physio, right now you weren’t a PT. You were Roy’s girlfriend, ready to help your man relax. A few moments pass in silence, the only sounds in the room were of Roy’s deep breathing, and occasional moan whenever you came across a particular tender spot.

“Fuuuuuuuck” Roy groaned, relishing in the feel of your hands digging into the knots in his neck and shoulders. “That feels incredible,” he sighed, getting lost in the feel of it all. You smiled to yourself, glad to be able to help him in any way. Thirty minutes go by until you could no longer find any strained muscles under his shirt. You gave Roy’s shoulders one final squeeze, leaning down to give him a small kiss on the back of his head.

“All done. Hope you’re feeling a little less stressed, my love.”

Roy turns his head to face you, his eyes glossy as if he were in a dreamy state of mind.

“That was fucking mind blowing and exactly what I needed. Fuck you’re amazing. Thank you,” he praised, slowly turning his body and swinging his legs over the other edge of the table so that he was facing you. You beamed at his compliment, moving forward as well so that you were standing in-between his legs, the table allowing you to finally be able to stare directly into Roy’s eyes. Those deep, chocolate colored eyes that you’ve been in love with for quite some time.

“You’re welcome, baby.” You reply, leaning forward to give Roy’s a quick yet sweet peck on his lips. You loved the feel of his soft lips, plush and pillowy against your own. How something so soft could voice so many “fucks” in a day, you’ll never understand. But you loved it nonetheless. When you pulled back, you noticed Roy’s brows had softened significantly and there was a look of adoration in his eyes. You were sure it mirrored the look you gave him 95% of the time.

“Once Maureen and Carol get settled, and your yoga routine goes back to normal, your stress levels won’t be as high anymore. But until then, I’m more than happy to help you relieve it. Whether here or at home, you just come to me and I’ve got you. Okay?”

You gave Roy another little peck before you felt his lips twitch up into a smirk. You pulled back to find him looking at you mischievously. The hands that were unconsciously placed on your hips while you kissed began to slowly slide up your sides and back down to your hips.

“Going to help me relieve some stress, hmm? And at work no less? How naughty.”

The look he gave you in that moment set your insides on fire, and Roy took that moment to pull you closer to him, arms locking behind you to keep you in place. You couldn’t help the smile on your face as you wrapped your own arms around his neck, scooting as close as you could, your chest pressed up against his.

“Me? Naughty? I’m an angel,” you teased, drawing a pretend halo above your head.

Roy growled and leaned in, claiming your lips with his. You sighed into his kiss, your nails gently carding through his hair at the back of his head. Roy broke the kiss first but didn’t relent, moving his lips to your neck and planting wet kisses up and down the column of your throat. You felt your knees weaken, like they always did whenever Roy found that deliciously sweet spot right below your ear. You gasped, and Roy smiled onto your skin, kissing his way down slowly once more. His hands began to roam your body as yours found purchase on his shoulders.

“Oh God, fuck,” you whispered and giggled as you shivered when you felt Roy lick and suck at the base of your throat. Roy’s deep chuckle vibrated against you.

“Aww baby, you can just call me Roy,” he mused and rolled your eyes.

“Little shit,” you said breathlessly, pulling back as far as Roy would allow you, his arms still trapping you to him.

“As much as I’d like to continue this, I do have both Bumbercatch and Zorreaux due for an assessment soon. Buuuuut I can absolutely help you with your little stress relief issue at home later, okay?”

Roy smiled at you and nodded, grunting in agreement.

“Just one thing though, darling. You and I both know it’s not a “little” stress relief issue. Shall I remind you of last time, when you struggled to get all of me insi-“ you immediately cut him off, your hand cupping over his mouth, a blush engulfing your cheeks.

“Shuuuush! Shush! You know what I meant for fucks sake. Anyone can hear you, these walls are paper thin, you heathen!” You berrated, a giggle bubbling in your throat. Roy laughed against your hand and kissed your palm while you shook your head at him.

“Glad you’re feeling MUCH better, Coach Kent. Now shoo, send in Bumbercatch if he’s out there and I’ll deal with you later.”

Roy continued to smile at you and when you removed your hand, you got the full effect of his perfect smile. You couldn’t help your own smile as Roy hopped off the table and retreated to the door. You crossed your arms across your chest again as he turned around one final time before winking at you before exiting. You heard him loud and clear as he made his way back to the locker room.

“Oi! Bumbercatch! You’re needed in physio. Move!”

You shook your head and laughed to yourself before you wiped down the table and set up the room. This was going to be a very long afternoon.

[mynicosensesaretingling]

One glance, A Second Chance

Nico Rosberg x fem! reader

Summary: Nico and (Y/N) unexpectedly cross paths at a charity event in Monaco. Old feelings resurface and they wonder if they might be able to give love a second chance.

Warnings: none

Note: Just a little thing that came to mind. I hope my fellow Nico enthusiasts enjoy this <3

————-

The Monaco Charity Gala was in full swing, the grand hall filled with the glittering elite of the racing world and beyond. Chandeliers cast a golden glow across the room, while the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses blended with the sound of an orchestra playing softly in the background. Amidst the glitz and glamour, (Y/N) stood confidently, her black gown hugging her figure as she scanned the room with ease.

She was no stranger to events like these. Her success in the business world had made her a regular at high-profile galas, but tonight carried an extra layer of significance. It had been years since she’d been in the same room as Nico Rosberg. Their paths had diverged sharply after their brief, intense relationship years ago, back when his racing career was in full swing and her career was just taking off.

"Still can’t believe you got me to come here," (Y/N) murmured to her friend beside her, holding a champagne flute in hand. "I thought I was done with these types of events."

Her friend laughed lightheartedly. "Oh, come on. It's Monaco! And you look like you own the place."

With a small subtle smirk forming on her lips, (Y/N) clinked her glass with hers. "Fine, you win this one."

As they chatted, (Y/N)'s gaze drifted across the room—until her eyes came to an abrupt stop. There he was. Nico Rosberg. He hadn’t changed much since she’d last seen him: still the same confident, relaxed demeanour, his blonde hair swept back, and those striking blue eyes that had always drawn attention, were still holding the same sparkle that she remembered so fondly. He was deep in conversation with someone, but almost as if sensing her gaze, his eyes found hers across the room.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Nico’s expression shifted, surprise flickering across his face, quickly replaced by something more unreadable. His lips curved into a small smile as he excused himself from his conversation and made his way toward her.

(Y/N) took a steadying breath, not out of nerves, but to prepare herself for the inevitable conversation. She wasn’t the starry-eyed girl she had been when they first met. She had changed, and so had he. But there was a history between them, a spark that never fully faded, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

"Surreal. But seeing a friendly face makes it a bit more real," Nico said as he approached her, his smile soft but genuine.

"Oh, really?" (Y/N) teased, raising an eyebrow. "Just a friendly face? I’m wounded, Rosberg."

Nico chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Okay, maybe a little more than just a friendly face." He paused, letting his gaze linger on her for a moment. "You look stunning, by the way."

(Y/N) smirked. "I always do."

There it was—the banter that had always come so naturally between them. Nico's grin widened, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. "Fair enough. But you still surprised me. I didn’t think I’d see you here in Monaco of all places."

"Surprised myself, honestly," she admitted, taking a sip of her champagne. "But it’s Monaco, as you said. And it’s always fun to see old friends."

"Is that what we are now? Old friends?" Nico leaned in slightly, his tone low, playful even.

(Y/N) met his gaze head-on, her smile unwavering. "Well, considering you haven’t spoken to me in what… three years? Yeah, I'd say old friends is a good place to start."

Nico laughed, clearly not fazed by her confidence. "Touché. But to be fair, you’ve been busy conquering the world, and I’ve been—"

"Retired?" she finished, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, I noticed."

He raised a brow, clearly amused by her boldness. "I prefer 'champion-turned-entrepreneur,' thank you very much."

(Y/N) gave him a slow, approving nod. "That does indeed sound better."

Nico flashed a smile, clearly enjoying the subtle praise, but there was something more behind his eyes. “So, what about you? I remember you always had a million things going on. What’s kept you busy lately?”

(Y/N) leaned against the bar, turning her body slightly toward him. “Busy would be an understatement. Expanding the company, travelling... you know how it is.”

Nico tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “You always were ambitious. But what brought you to Monaco? I mean, it’s not just for the racing, right?”

She chuckled, swirling the champagne in her glass. “You’d be surprised. I’ve always had a soft spot for Monaco, and not just for the obvious reasons. It’s got charm, a pace I can appreciate now.”

“Now?” Nico raised a brow. “Has something changed?”

“More like I’ve changed,” (Y/N) replied, her gaze briefly meeting his, her expression softening. “Life moves fast. Sometimes you have to slow down and appreciate what’s right in front of you.”

Nico’s smile widened. “You sound like someone who’s finally found balance.”

“Maybe I have.” Her eyes flicked toward the stage where guests were mingling. “But enough about me. Tell me, does retired life suit you?”

Nico leaned in slightly, his voice lowering in a conspiratorial whisper. “Retired isn’t the word I’d use. More like… strategically exited.”

(Y/N) laughed, the sound drawing a few glances from the nearby tables. “Strategically exited? Wow, that sounds like something you’d put on a résumé.”

“Hey, if I’m going to leave on a high, might as well make it sound good, right?” Nico grinned, clearly amused by their back-and-forth. But then his tone softened, and he glanced at her with a more genuine expression. “But seriously… life after racing, it’s different. Calmer. But I can’t lie—I do miss it sometimes.”

(Y/N) nodded, understanding more than he knew. “It must be hard to step away from something that’s been your entire life for so long. But you seem to have transitioned well.”

“I’m doing my best.” Nico shrugged, his eyes never leaving hers. “And honestly, moments like this—seeing old friends again—they make it a little easier.”

There was a pause, the weight of his words settling between them. (Y/N) felt the familiar spark, the one that had been there years ago, flickering again.

“You know,” she said, breaking the silence with a smirk, “you’ve become quite the charmer since your ‘strategic exit.’ Was it part of your post-racing training?”

Nico laughed, shaking his head. “No, no training required. I just remember how to keep up with you.”

Before (Y/N) could respond, a voice interrupted the moment. "Nico!" A fellow guest had come up to greet him, and Nico gave them a polite smile before turning back to her.

“Duty calls,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his tone. “But don’t disappear on me, okay?”

(Y/N) gave him a playful smile. “I’ll try not to, but no promises.”

Nico’s grin widened as he stood, but before he walked away, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. “I’ll hold you to that.”

As he moved back into the crowd, (Y/N) watched him go, feeling the undeniable pull of their connection. It had been years, but something about tonight felt different—more electric, more certain.

The night continued, with flashes of conversation and laughter, but her mind kept drifting back to Nico. They hadn’t crossed paths in so long, but now that they had, the chemistry between them was undeniable.

Later, as the event began to wind down, (Y/N) stepped outside to get some fresh air. The cool night breeze was refreshing against her skin, a welcome reprieve from the warmth of the crowded gala hall.

She heard footsteps behind her and wasn’t surprised when Nico appeared at her side, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. “Escaping the madness too?”

“Just needed a moment,” she replied with a smile. “It’s been quite the night.”

Nico nodded, standing close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “It really has.”

They stood there for a few moments in comfortable silence, gazing out at the city lights twinkling over Monaco’s famous harbour. The night felt peaceful, but there was an undeniable tension between them—one that neither of them seemed eager to break.

Eventually, Nico spoke, his voice softer than before. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something.”

(Y/N) turned to look at him, curiosity in her eyes. “Oh? What’s that?”

He hesitated for a second as if weighing his words. “We’ve both changed. A lot. But standing here with you, it feels… easy. Like no time has passed.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt the pull again—stronger this time. “It does,” she agreed, her voice just above a whisper.

Nico turned to face her fully, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “I don’t want to miss the chance to reconnect. To see where this goes.”

(Y/N)’s breath caught in her throat, the weight of his words sinking in. She had always been confident, in control, but right now, with him, she felt the stirrings of something more—something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She smiled softly, her heart pounding in her chest. “I’d like that, Nico.”

The smile that spread across Nico’s face was genuine, full of warmth and something more—something hopeful. He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. “Sunday, after the race. Let me take you out. No galas, no crowds—just us.”

(Y/N) didn’t hesitate this time. “It’s a date.”

Nico’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction, and he took a step closer, his presence intoxicating, as he repeated his words from earlier, “I’ll hold you to that.”

As the night wrapped around them, the moment between them lingered—filled with the promise of something new, something that had been waiting to be reignited all along.

[the0doreslover]

For the first time, part II | t.n

Theodore found himself strangely preoccupied with thoughts of you after that short encounter. He couldn't help but wonder what it was about you that intrigued him so much. Every time he saw you around the school, he felt his heart race a bit faster. He found himself looking forward to breakfast just to catch a glimpse of you, and he often caught himself daydreaming about what it would be like to have a conversation with you that extended beyond a few words.

Days turned into weeks, and Theodore's curiosity about you only grew. He discovered from his friends, Blaise and Pansy, that you were known for the way you were quite the mystery, always appearing out of nowhere and disappearing just as quickly. Theodore was captivated by your enigmatic presence.

One day, as the weather started to shift towards autumn, Theodore found himself walking alone in the courtyard after class. Lost in thought, he was startled when he heard your voice behind him.

“Lost again Nott?”

Turning around, Theodore saw you leaning against a nearby tree, a mischievous grin playing on your lips. He chuckled, surprised by how comfortable he felt around you despite barely knowing you.

"I suppose I have a tendency to wander," he replied, his lips curving into a small smile.

You pushed yourself off the tree and took a step closer. "Well, I must admit, I'm intrigued. You don’t look at me with disgust like the other slytherins… it’s nice”

"Is that so?" Theodore raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious about your perspective.

"Yeah. You're quiet, but you don't exude the same air of superiority that most of your housemates do."

He shrugged, leaning against the tree now. "I find that whole superiority thing a bit tiresome, to be honest."

You nodded in agreement. "Me too. So, what do you do when you're not wandering, Mr. Nott?"

Theodore chuckled. "Well, I enjoy spending time in the library, reading and researching various subjects. And I have a penchant for painting."

"Painting, huh? I wouldn't have pegged you as the artistic type."

He smirked. "Appearances can be deceiving, don't you think?"

You laughed, the sound light and pleasant. "Touché. Well, maybe you can show me some of your paintings someday."

"I'd like that," he admitted, feeling a warmth spread through him at the thought. "And maybe this time Hermione won't drag you away from me," he laughed.

As the conversation continued, Theodore found himself opening up to you in a way he hadn't with others. Your easygoing nature and genuine interest in him put him at ease. It was a feeling he wasn't used to, but one he welcomed wholeheartedly.

Little did he know that this conversation marked the beginning of a deep and unexpected connection between the two of you.

Over the following weeks, you and Theodore's friendship blossomed into something more profound. Your witty banter and shared interests formed a strong foundation, and the mysterious air that surrounded you only intrigued him further.

As the months flowed by, the bond between Theodore and you deepened. Each passing day seemed to lock in the connection you shared, an unspoken understanding. The initial curiosity that had drawn you two together evolved into something more profound—an undeniable closeness.

Conversations that once centered around casual topics soon dived into the depths of your hopes and dreams. Theodore found himself sharing his aspirations with you, discussing his fascination with magic's intricacies and the fervor he felt for painting. And you, in turn, bared your soul, revealing your desire for adventure, a hunger to explore.

One serene evening, with the sun casting its last rays across the Hogwarts grounds, you and Theodore stood by the Black Lake. The water flowed, reflecting the fading light, while a gentle breeze tousled your hair, intertwining it with the sweet scent of blooming flowers.

“i haven’t drink anything for weeks” you said looking at the boy who looked almost painted

“i’m glad” he smiled

“i think… we should play shot trivia” you said hopefully

“absolutely not… for all i know you could end up at the hufflepuff table with cedric diggory”

you both laughed

"Have you ever wondered about your path after Hogwarts?" you asked, your gaze lingering on the horizon.

Theodore leaned against a nearby tree, a thoughtful expression playing on his features.

"I've given it thought. Continuing my studies, perhaps looking into obscure branches of magic, and certainly nurturing my love for painting."

Turning to him, a playful grin tugged at your lips.

"So, a wizard with a penchant for artistry? Quite the intriguing combination."

A soft chuckle escaped him. "Appearances can indeed be deceptive. And what about you? What do you envision for your post-Hogwarts days?"

A wistful sigh escaped your lips, and your gaze grew distant. "I've always been more captivated by the present than the future. Yet, I can't help but entertain the idea of traveling."

Theodore nodded in agreement. "That sounds like an awe-inspiring adventure."

Silence settled between you, and Theodore felt a surge of courage, a yearning to confess the feelings that he could no longer suppress.

"Y/n," he began, his voice tender, "there's something I've been wanting to share with you."

Turning toward him, curiosity lit up your eyes.

"What is it, Theo?"

Taking a deep breath, he traced intricate patterns on the tree's bark, the words forming in his mind.

"Every moment spent with you has shaped my life in ways I never even realised till recent. From the minute you sat next to me at the Slytherin table, I haven't been able to think of any name but yours."

Your eyes widened, and the world seemed to still. Then, a smile bloomed across your face. "Theodore Nott, are you implying that you have a crush on me?"

He smirked, his cheeks warming. "I suppose you could say that."

Your grin widened, and you stepped closer, a playful glint in your eyes. "You know, Theodore, I've been secretly hoping you'd say that."

He blinked, amusement filling his eyes. "You were?"

Your nod was accompanied by an unwavering gaze. "Absolutely... I've been feeling the same way too."

Relief and contentment surged through him, and a genuine smile graced his lips. "Really?"

A playful smile accompanied your response. "Definitely. I guess we've been dancing around these feelings for quite a while, haven't we?"

Theodore chuckled, his nerves giving way to a sense of reassurance. "Seems that way."

Reaching out, you gently took his hand in yours, your fingers intertwining with an easy familiarity.

"So, what's the next chapter, Mr. Nott?"

Theodore stared at your face, the way the sun hit it in just the right way made heat rush to his face. In that heart-stirring moment, he leaned in, his heartbeat echoing the anticipation in his chest. He pressed a tender, lingering kiss to your lips.

"I say we travel around the world, I'll draw you in every country we visit."

"Promise?" you asked.

"Promise," he confirmed before placing another sweet kiss on your lips.

“so still a no to shot trivia?”

“still a no”

“okay just checking”

[bitsbug]

good evening rainworld community. look at my ocs NOW

YOU CAN ASK THEM QUESTIONS BTW. please do I’ve been marinating them for months. finely cured.

multiple paragraphs introducing each under the cut !

Curtains Drawn Over Bone - he/him

The first of my iterators, and frankly the most developed. Curtains is incredibly young for an iterator, made at the tail end of the last generation, and was subject to some.. negligent planning during his construction. He was placed in an area of dubious rain quality and worse ground stability; the conditions were considered acceptable back then, but millions of cycles later that's no longer the case.

 Despite this glaring issue, he's been handling it better than you'd expect. Having recognized the long-term affects of his placement early on, Curtains took an interest in maintenance and optimization in order to survive, completely disregarding the Great Problem. He's broken some taboos in the process, and surprisingly didn't contract rot while doing it. His efforts have paid off with a suite of purposed organisms and a significantly more advanced, upgraded facility.

 Some things would be impossible to address, though. Despite his best efforts, erosion and earthquakes now threaten to topple his can; something he's scrambling to fix.

 Curtains is generally regarded as a finicky, flighty person by his group. He's a recluse and a workaholic, driven by some desperate ferver to avoid the worst. When he does appear in chatrooms, he seems constantly wound up, often vanishing as quickly as he arrives. He was like this long before his current situation. But do not mistake his nervousness for ineptitude, because Curtains is very meticulous and dedicated in his endeavors, backed by his thorough understanding of iterator anatomy and a genuine passion for his work.

Twenty Taken in Vain - they/them

The only iterator in this damn group who isn't a social recluse. Built in the golden age of the Ancients, a time of prosperity and uneventfulness, TTiv found their place in the bustling global communities of their kin. They're of the belief that research is best done collaboratively, and constructed their workflow around this frame.

But, really, they never much cared for that work or their purpose. Devoting themself to tireless research for something likely impossible just wasn't a good use of time, nor did they find the process very interesting, so they sought to fulfill their life in less desolate ways. As much as a sentient, static building is able to, at least.

In particular, Twenty Taken in Vain pursues a variety of art forms! There's a critical lack of artwork made with iterators in mind (While interesting to discuss, most Ancient books can be read in less than a second for example), so they seek to fill that gap. Their main passion is literature, but they do dabble in many other subjects, such as digital painting, textile weaving, 'false memory' qualia fabrication, and DMing a tabletop roleplaying game for their local group.

Their social proclivities haven't served them well in recent years, because the global communications decay has left them more isolated than ever before. Losing contact with multiple close friends has drained them of motivation, and made them fearful of losing those they do have left. Imagine like, depression but on a supercomputer scale.

In personality, TTiv is as chatty as you'd expect of them, but without the energy associated with extroversion. Their charisma is carried in their nonchalance and humor, with an undertone of snarkiness - only occasionally with any bite to it. They're adaptable as well, without a fixation on one subject and a willingness to introspect. Since the comm failure, they've become a lot quieter and more irritable, stress they've barely kept under wraps.

Anxiety Practice - it/xe

Polite and inoffensive, AP is an easily overlooked iterator. It appears frequently in chatrooms, but always in the shadow of its kin, and rarely draws attention to itself. Despite this demeanor, xe certainly aren't shy or nervous - that's already taken by Curtains - xe just prefer xer distance and privacy.

 As it currently stands, Anxiety is the only member of its group actively working on the Great Problem. It prefers exploring more unorthodox theories for ascension, with a fixation on Karma flowers and their properties. As part of its experiments, its created a few.. curious organisms hybridized with the flower. It also collaborates closely with Distant Humming for information on the grander Cycle and general advice. Thus far, it's made a few fascinating discoveries, but predictibly no breakthroughs on the Triple Affirmative. Oh also, sometimes xe put karma-affecting drug cocktails into xer water intake. normal iterator behavior i promise.

 Even at xer most comfortable and nonchalant, AP keeps an aloof, almost stoic nature. Chronically icy cool, xe seem incapable of expressing anything besides calm indifference. This isn't true, of course, xer composure is just nothing to scoff at. It even uses its reputation for comedy at times, usually through deadpan delivery or 'breaking character'.

Distant Humming - she/Her

An anomaly in existence, the first iterator to almost reach ascension. Distant Humming became an echo by her own hand, using heavy adjustments to her retaining wall and filter pumps to essentially bathe her facility in void fluid, solving the issue of her kinds' distributed conscience by just addressing all of it. at once.

 Her subsequent failed ascension left her systems broken and mutated in impossible ways, but she functions nonetheless in her ethereal, undying state. The warping irreparably affected her memory and personality though; she considers herself a different person from the Humming before.

 Despite her uncanny nature and haunting appearance, Distant Humming is a surprisingly amiable person, if vague or foreboding at times. Her detached state of existence allows her the breathing room to appreciate the world for what it is, and insight into the Cycle that'd be impossible to gain from within it. She's happy to share her observations with anyone who'd listen.

 About once a year, Humming's karmic cycle aligns with that of her local group, affording her a limited time to speak with them. She appears totally non-existent outside this period.

THAT’S ALL BYEEE

[xo-hugs-n-kisses-ox]

Rumination

Ruminate

(v.) To think about something deeply

After Edward left her, Bella Swan fell apart. Desperate to try and save his eldest daughter, Charlie brings his youngest daughter to Forks to see if she can bring her sister out of her depression.

Now, y/n must try to help her sister find her way back to the light while also trying to navigate her Junior year of high school in the odd town of Forks.

Chapter Two: Adjustments

Now Playing: It Almost Worked by TV Girl

Chapter warnings: unwanted advances, cursing, mentions of alcohol/beer. Nothing overly described.

Jacob had gotten bigger since I last saw him.

It was a given, obviously, since I had last seen him when I was nine and he was seven with a missing front tooth and a slight lisp because of it.

But it was more than that, I think.

He had shot up like a tree, tall and lean now, but it was visiblethat his muscles were starting to bulk up. His hair looked thicker and his face was losing its boyish roundness, turning into sharp cheekbones and almond eyes.

I hopped out of the truck as Bella turned it off, and I walked into the barn with a flourish, not bothering to knock.

“Oh, oops,” I said, realizing Jacob had more friends over.

They were two boys sitting with Jacob, who stood when I walked in.

“Sorry,” I said, “I didn’t realize Jake had friends over.”

“No, no, it’s ok,” one of the boys said, standing also and turning to face Bella and I fully. “No worries, right, Embry?”

Embry, also standing now, is tall and thin. His hair falls in slight waves around his head and his eyes are soft and dark.

Jacob rolls his eyes at his friends, coming over to give Bella and I a hug.

“Quit getting taller, you ass!” I grumble as he gives me a hug. He just laughs.

“Are your friends staying..?” Bella asks, looking at them. Jacob shrugs.

“If you two don’t mind.” He says, turning again to look at me. I shrug, wandering to the back of the garage and pulling out a blanket and pillow that I had stashed away.

Quil and Embry, whose names I learn quickly, stay and watch Jacob and Bella fix up the bikes.

I talk to them, amused with their humor. They were a bit childish, but it wasn’t annoying.

Quil was cheery and all smiles, and Embry was more reserved and quiet. They were both such genuine people. It was refreshing.

“So, what did you guys do for winter break?” I ask, looking towards Embry and Quil.

Eagerly, Quil tells me about the bonfire they had and all the food he ate. I smile as I listen to him talk, his story-telling humorous and fast-paced.

Before he launched into another story, Jacob interrupted Quil to ask, “Y/n, would you get some waters from the fridge?”

I nod, standing up from the pallet I had made in the ground and wandering into the house to grab bottles of water for everyone.

I pass them out, and Quil picks up where he left off without hesitation. I laugh more than I have in a while because of his stories and Embry’s sharp tongued quips when his friend got a little overzealous with his descriptions of events.

I knew Bella was having fun, too.

She would snicker at Embry’s sly words and Quil’s fanciful stories, looking up to watch them argue before going back to helping Jacob, a smile on her face.

I smiled wider, contentment blooming in my chest.

---

“Hey, guys!” I greet, smiling as I walk up to where Sam sits with Jared and Paul in the booth.

“Hey, y/n,” Sam says, looking weary and tired.

Concerned, I ask him, “Are you alright, Sam?”

He smiles, rubbing his face.

“Haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.” He tells me, and I’d believe it.

His skin is paler than normal, his face looking drawn and thin. The skin under his eyes is ashen and ruddy, a clear sign of his lack of good sleep.

Jared doesn’t look much better. His hair is fizzy around his head, the braids he kept it in messy. It’s clear that he hasn’t had a chance to redo them in a while, which is unusual because he takes great pride in the appearance of his “luscious locks.” He, too, has heavy eye bags. He’s not pale like Sam is, instead looking flushed, almost feverish.

Paul, who I don’t have much to compare with, seemed in rough shape, too. He has a bruise on his jaw and a scabbed over cut through his brow, looking like he got into a fight. His expression seems grumpier than it normally does, which is saying something.

“Milkshake, Pepsi, water?” I ask, glancing at the three of them.

Paul looks up from to table to make eye contact with me.

“Coffee, please.” He said gruffly, and I nod. He sits stiffly in his seat, his shoulders tense and his face drawn.

I bring them their drinks quickly, setting a bowl of sugars and creamers down beside Paul’s hand. His fingers twitch, almost a flinch.

“What do you boys want to eat tonight?” I ask, pen to paper as I wait.

Jared ends up getting a large stack of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. Sam gets his usual sandwiches and fries, and Paul decides on a chicken sandwich, pulled pork sandwich, and a large basket of fried pickles.

Tonight’s slower than ever, save for a group of men on the other side of the diner who have come this way to have some beers. Why they chose Roy’s is beyond me, but it’s probably because they’re dirt cheap.

I get them their food quickly, turning around to help Chelsea bring bottles of beer to the table she was working.

As I set them down on the table, one of the men put his arm around my waist and pull me to his seat.

“Well aren’t you just darlin’,” the man says, his eyes struggling to focus on me. My face twitches before I can stop it, my lips pulling up in disgust.

His friends laugh at him, wolf whistling at him.

“I don’t think she like that, Freddy,” one of them snickers, and Chelsea tries to tug me away.

“Come on, sit with us a while!” The dunk man says, trying to tug me into his lap. I try and politely refuse, but he just pinches my side and pulls harder.

“Enough, asshole,” I say, shoving away from him and quickly taking a step back. “I’m working, and you’re old enough to be my father. I’m not sitting with you, I’m not going home with you, and I’m not serving you any more drinks.”

Chelsea grabs my hand when the man, outraged, staggers to his feet to look over me.

My heart drops to my stomach as the drunkard takes a lumbering step forward, but a hand reaches out from behind me to shove him back into his seat.

“She told you to fuck off, didn’t she?” He says, his voice rough.

“She don’t know what she wants,” the man before me slurs, trying to stand again.

“Sit your ass down before I sit you down.” My eyes grow slightly wide as I glance at Paul, his face contorted with anger. He’s shaking slightly, and I reach back to push Chelsea farther away as I scurry a step back

“Paul.”

All three of us turn when Sam comes over, reaching out to grab Paul’s shoulder. He gives him a meaningful look, and Paul begrudgingly takes a step back.

Paul turns back to Chelsea and I, reaching his arm out to usher us back to the other side of the room, towards where Jared sits, watching.

I take a moment to really look at Paul as he guides us closer to the kitchen.

He’s tall, taller even than Jacob is now. He’s not quite as tall as Sam, who’s bordering on 6’5”, but I think he might be close. His shoulders are broad and muscular, his arms thick with cords of muscle. Like Jared, his shirt is tight around his chest and arms, but loose around his abdomen. His hair is loosely hanging around his face, a few locks curling around his jaw and ears while the rest hangs down to his collar.

As if feeling my gaze, he looks down at me when we stop walking. I clear my throat, looking away from him and back to Chelsea.

“Thank you, Paul. I appreciate your help.” I say quietly, my hand still firmly locked with Chelsea’s. She nods emphatically, her ringlet curls bouncing with the force.

He only nods, his jaw still clenched. Sam returns to the table as the group of drinks leave, grumbling to themselves.

“Are you okay, y/n?” He asks me, looking between Chelsea and I. I nod, shrugging.

“Disgusted, but yeah. It’s not the first time those guys have come here and made us feel gross.” I tell him, sighing.

Sam sighs, reaching out to pat my shoulder as he sits back down.

“Thank you for getting them to leave!” Chelsea blurts out, staring at Sam. He nods, taking a sip of his Pepsi.

It’s nearly empty, as are the rest of the drinks at their table.

“Oh, here, I’ll get you guys some more to drink.” I say, reaching out for their cups.

“That’s ok, y/n, you don’t have to,” Sam says, “We need to get back to the house, and you should probably be home soon.”

I blink, then nod, “’Kay, I’ll get you the check.”

Chelsea and I quickly get the check, and she slits from my side to go tell the cooks about what happened. I pay her little attention as I grab a few slices of the remaining chocolate pie and put it in a box, going over to hand Sam both it and the check.

He pays, hands me a twenty, and the three of them leave. Paul gives me a long look before he turns to follow Sam and Jared, and I find myself wishing that they had stayed a little longer.

---

“Yeah, that guy then tried to pull me into his lap and shit, and Paul came over and shoved him away and back into his seat—” I said, retelling the events of the previous night to everyone in Jacob’s garage.

His head turns, his face scrunched.

“Paul who?” He asks, and I tilt my head, trying to remember his last name.

“Um, Lahote? I think?” I say, unsure, “Friends with Sam Uley.”

Quil and Embry share a look, and Jacob sternly says, “Stay away from him. All three of them are bad news, y/n.”

“What?” I ask, baffled, “Why? They all are pretty good to me, and Sam saved Bella in the woods, didn’t he?”

“Sure he did, y/n, but the three of them are in a gang.” Embry says, his voice serious.

“Or a cult. Judy’s still out on which one.” Quil adds, and I share a look with Bella.

“Yeah, okay. Sam Uley is in a gang and/or a cult leader, and Charlie just lets it all happen. Sure.”

Jacob stares at me, “Y/n, I’m serious. Stay away from them. All three of them are nothing good. Trust us on this.”

I sigh, rolling my eyes but relenting.

“Okay, whatever. Stay away from them, I got it.” I reply, knowing that my promise would only last for so long. It’s not like I could ignore them or change shifts, and it’s not like I really wanted to.

Besides, I never saw them outside of working at Roy’s. It wouldn’t hurt to stay friends during my shifts.

---

I didn’t see Jacob and the others for a few weeks. I was busy trying to study for a test in physics, a quiz in history, and writing an essay for English. It seemed that my teachers like to conspire and make everything due at the same time just to make my life difficult.

When I finally picked up another shift at Roy’s, I was greeted by the confusing sight of Embry sitting with Sam and his group. I smile and greet them, confused why Embry was with them when he had, to my knowledge, hated them previously.

I get their drink orders and ring them in, bringing them out quickly and getting their orders for food. I don’t have time to chat today, since Roy’s is unusually busy for this time of night.

I do manage to catch Embry in his way back from the bathroom, and I notice that he’s gotten taller. His chest and shoulders have filled out more, and when I snag his arm, he’s burning up.

“Em, you’re burning up!” I tell him, my hand recoiling like I’ve been burned. He opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it.

“Also, I thought you couldn’t stand Sam and his ‘gang-slash-cult’? What happened to that?” I ask, my brows furrowed as I stare at him. He just sighs.

“Y/n, it’s complicated, I can’t really explain it.” He says, a pained look in his eyes. “Just—don’t make a big deal of it, okay? It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” I ask, packing him in the chest. He winces. “Embry, you’re covered in bruises and you look scared out of your mind! How is that not a big deal?”

“Y/n, I promise, you’ll understand later. I’ll tell you everything, I swear. Just give me time to figure it out myself, okay?”

I stare at him, searching his face.

“You have two weeks before I start searching for answers myself.” I tell him flatly, “And whatever bandaid is hiding shit, I’m ripping it off.”

He smiles thinly, thanking me before going back to his table.

The rest of my shift is quiet and uneventful. Sam and his gang/cult/whatever the hell leave, and Embry gives me a look before he walks out the door. I just sigh.

---

“Bella,” I said, sitting down with my sister at lunch. She looked up from her salad, waiting for me to continue.

“Since when has Embry started hanging with Sam? I thought the three of them thought Sam and his friends were a gang or something!” I demanded, knowing that she was my last chance to learn before asking Jacob and Quil, who would lecture me about breaking promises.

Bella blinked at me for a second, then responded, “Couple weeks, probably? Jacob and Quil won’t talk about it other than to insult him or Sam, and I stopped asking because they just rant.”

I sighed, “Sucks for you then, I’m about to grill them about it.”

---

“Since when was Embry running with Sam?” Jacob looks up at my words, his brows furrowing.

“How’d you know he was?” He asks, and I’m quick to reply.

“I asked first. Answer my question.”

“Y/n,-”

“Jake.” I say, stern. “I need to know if he’s in trouble or not. You said Sam was running some kind of gang or cult, didn’t you?”

Jacob sighs, closing his eyes.

“Yeah,” he replies, “We think so. Embry stopped hanging with us about a week after you stopped coming over so you could study. He started skipping school and running around with Sam and his goons and wouldn’t talk to us.”

“Do I need to tell Charlie?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

“Nothing he could do. We don’t have proof of anything.” He tells me, “Besides, everyone loves those freaks for whatever reason.”

My lips thin, and I sigh.

---

“Have fun at the movies!” I call to Bella as she walks out the door. She said that her, Mike, and Jacob were going to see some action movie. I had declined the offer, since I had picked up an extra shift at Roy’s so I could sleep early tonight.

Roy’s was basically dead for my entire shift, so I got cut early and could go home. When I got back, Bella was sitting in my room, waiting for me.

“Hey?” I asked, wondering what was wrong. “How was the movie?”

“It was fine,” she said briskly, “When Embry joined Sam, Jake and Quil said that he had started to get agitated and irritable. Then he started running fever.”

“…okay..?” I asked, wondering where she was going with this.

“At the movies, Jake was irritable and mean to Mike. He was rude to him about his tolerance to the gore, and when I touched him, he was burning up.”

“So, you think he’s going to run off to Sam or something?” I asked, and she nodded. I pressed my lips together, and sighed.

“Let me go shower and change. We’ll talk when I’m done.”

I was quick in the bathroom, showering with haste and changing into my pajamas before walking back to my room.

“What do you want to do about Jake?” I asked, and she just shook her head. She was staring at her hands, and my brows furrowed. “Bells?”

She sniffed, rubbing her eyes, “I just don’t want to lose him, too, y/n. I don’t think I can handle it.”

“You won’t have to,” I assured her, coming over to hug her tightly. “I’ll beat his ass.”

She laughed wetly, her tears soaking into my sleep shirt.

I made a mental note to call Quil tomorrow, to see if he knows anything.

[braisedhoney]

[PART ONE] - PART TWO (you are here!)

“Sorry,” Skulker bites out as soon as Plasmius loosens his grip. “I only meant, once I find it, it’s going to take a while before he’s back to normal.” - (Our Pupils Grope for the Shape of What We Know, CH 3.)

second part of the comic, original fic by @ectopal here on tumblr and ao3!

OKAY SO LET’S CHAT!! welcome to cap’n ney’s art context corner!

the layout for each page was something that really gave me a headache, and tbh i would probably have no idea how to assess if they make any sense. but my favorite page, by FAR, is in part one where vlad is yelling at skulker (“i gave you a job…”) etc. the idea was depending on how angry someone was, they’d break through the panelling more and more.

this. took. forever.

well not forever, only like. four days. but that’s because this had such a fucking grip on my brain that i genuinely dedicated almost all my spare time to it. i did a couple other doodles (that you probably saw yesterday) but man. i haven’t drawn this much in one sitting in a while.

this whole thing gave me so much more respect for the new graphic novel that’s coming out btw, because holy shit this was draining. i can’t imagine doing literally almost 200 pages.

thank you so much again to ectopal for sharing your fantastic works with us. and thank you to all of you for indulging my nonsense o7

i’d say i’m sorry for the spam, but really this will probably happen again someday. can’t help it if fics blow my mind :’D

[kix-mm]

Before & after Charlie’s disguise was revealed

@inkydoughnut gave me the suggestion! I haven’t drawn these two in forever

Remember horror clowns? Murder clowns? Well in this world they’re a very real, and very much known about thing. These creatures are not human, they are ACTUAL monster clowns. All out for flesh. What they consider fun usually is morbid in the eyes of humanity. They are especially dangerous to those with a childlike mind. Spreading both laughter and screams across any town they enter.

Charlie was one of these monsters. Infected with the spores while still in the womb… making him rip his was out of his mother which lead to her death. Now he only has his father, who also got infected, but still managed to keep a sliver of humanity… whenever he does manage to grasp back those small moments it’s usually to grieve the loss of his wife.

Harold on the other hand, is human. That works in the circus. He’s well aware of these monsters. But somehow never suspected Charlie to be one, even if his friend was rather odd at times. Like the fact that Charlie never went out of “character” and always wore his face paint… or that Charlie seemed genuinely disappointed when he saw Harold out of character. Or the endless amount of stunts Charlie could pull without a drop of sweat. That Charlie was always so close to telling him something but could never build up the courage to just tell him. The list goes on…

So imagine Harold’s surprise when Charlie was finally forced out of his disguise… there was a lot of panic, screaming. Running. And Harold ran too, hiding the best he could. But it didn’t take him very long for Charlie to find his friend…

The two once inseparable friends… now looking at each other with such worry, grief… they both knew things wouldn’t be the same from then on… it took 6 hours to calm Harold down, and another whole day before he would say something to Charlie. The first thing he asked was why he had joined the circus, to which Charlie responded that he just wanted to make people happy without hiding what he was.

[sl-ut]

a princess's order

pairing: rhaenyra targaryen x fem!reader

description: rhaenyra tries to come to terms with the fact that y/n is betrothed and will soon be leaving king’s landing, but it is much more difficult than she had anticipated.

warnings: descriptions of sex, slight hints homophobia, arranged marriage

words: 4.4K

date posted: 20/12/2022

next part

“Have you ever kissed a man?” 

The question was a bold one to be asked by one young princess to her lady as they took a stroll through the gardens, and a few older ladies seemed to perk up as she asked it while they passed by. Gossip was a very expensive luxury in King’s Landing, and so late in the afternoon on the evening of a royal feast, very few were eager to pass up points of conversation to bring up with those who they are seated with. However, anyone who genuinely knew the princess and her lady would know that this was not entirely out of context. The two young girls liked to spy on others at court, spinning their own tales about which lady was after which lord, and what aspects of their personal life would jeopardise such a match, making sly comments about the men who served the princess’s father so dutifully (and the queen, on several occasions), but never had they truly ventured into their own sexual appetites, for they were both young and unmarried, so they were expected to have not taken part in anything below their station.

Y/n’s face beamed with heat, embarrassment creeping up her spine at the princess’s question. She lowered her gaze to the fabrics of her skirts, picking at them anxiously with her free hand before she shook her head.

“Of course not,” She glanced over her shoulder to spy the princess’s sworn protector, Ser Criston acting as if he was not at all listening in on their conversation from several paces back, “It would be unbefitting of me.”

“Hm,” Rhaenyra hummed, “Interesting.”

"Rhaenyra," The lady hissed, "Please tell me you haven't-"

“Lady Y/n, do you dare question my virtue? As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne, I could have you hanged, drawn, and quartered for such a thing.”

“Lady Y/n, do you dare question my virtue? As Princess of the Seven Kingdoms and heir to the Iron Throne, I could have you hanged, drawn, and quartered for such a thing.”

Y/n scoffed, bumping the silver haired princess with her shoulder as they continued to walk. Rhaenyra chuckled at her, pursing her lips as she thought up her next inquiry.

“Have you ever been with a man?”

“Rhaenyra!” Y/n sneered under her breath, “I’ve already told you that I haven’t so much as kissed a man, and now you ask if I’ve-” She glanced back at Ser Criston once more before lowering her voice even more, “-lost my maidenhead?”

“Oh please, it does not require kissing.”

Y/n furrowed her brows. She did her best not to imagine how her parents had been while performing their marital duties, but she did know that they were very in love and did not hold back on their affection when in the company of their own families. As the lord of a powerful house from the Riverlands, Y/n’s father was betrothed to the most suitable bride, and it was considerable luck that they grew fond of each other. Y/n dreamed of a marriage of her own that resembled that of her parents, and she certainly could not imagine allowing someone to be inside of her without even so much as a kiss.

“Would you wish it without?” Y/n asked.

Rhaenyra debated her answer, “Depends. If he is old and ugly, I think I could do without, but I think I would quite prefer it if he were to be quite handsome.”

Y/n remained quiet at this. The days were growing sparse in the time that they had left together like this; Soon enough they would be married off and unable to spend so much time together in favour of caring for their husbands and children. Rhaenyra at least had the luxury of having a choice in the matter, and the fact that she would remain in King’s Landing regardless of who she married, while Y/n was under the complete control of her father and could be shipped off to the other end of Westeros to marry any old lord at a moment’s notice. In fact, she knew for a fact that her father had already been corresponding with several lords around the nation for a match for her, whether it be for himself or for his son, and from her father’s perspective, many seem eager to take such a fine young lady to wife. 

“I think we should return, Princess,” Y/n murmured, “The sun is setting, and you still need to be bathed and dressed before the feast.”

If Rhaenyra took note of her friend’s change in attitude, she did not make it clear to her as she quietly agreed, holding her arm tighter within her own as they began the trek back into the Red Keep and up to the tower where her chambers were. 

The hours of the evening passed quickly with so much to do. Rhaenyra took her time in the bath, preferring to make life more difficult for her ladies and handmaidens than it truly needed to be, while Y/n carefully laid out her gown for the evening before taking care of her own appearance. The young lady donned a gown of scarlet silk, a colour that Rhaenyra insisted that she wears more often–not only did it compliment her features tremendously, but it also meant that she wore the colours of the royal house. The dress had short, capped sleeves, and an intricately embroidered bodice of gold, white, and amethyst, allowing her space to breathe and giving her a more womanly figure, which her father insisted that she must begin to present. 

Rhaenyra smiled at her when she took in her appearance, kissing her cheek and telling her that she was lovely. The young lady blushed at her words, surely Rhaenyra must be blind to compliment her when she always appeared so radiant herself. Rhaenyra’s gown was extravagant for such a common event, though she seemed to prefer more mature designs as of late. It was grey in colour, but took on multiple shades of thread that decorated the entire length of the gown; It was a beauty that Y/n imagined that her father would need to sell all of his titles and lands to even hope to afford, though it was likely gifted to the princess, as many of her finer articles were. The princess struggled to disguise her sneer when her handmaidens suggested that tonight she would attract many suitors in such a dress, and even joked that she would change if they thought such a thing.

“You look beautiful, princess,” Y/n wrapped her arms around her shoulders from behind as they stared into the mirror at one another, “Like a queen in her own right.”

Rhaenyra smiled at her, the apples of her cheeks growing red at her praise, grasping her hands within her own to thank her. 

The princess did not expect to find someone so dear to her after Alicent became queen, and she hadn’t expected to feel so close to someone else in such a way that made her heart soar upon her kind words and her stomach clenched at the mere sight of her. Rhaenyra admired her friend’s beauty, sometimes finding herself unable to look away even when she was caught. She, too, understood that their friendship would never stay the same after they were both married, only she was under the impression that she would be able to call upon her dearest friend whenever she needed her, and that Y/n would never agree to a match that required her to pick up and leave her behind. 

The feast was grand, a celebration of the young princess Helaena’s second name day. It was not an occasion in comparison to the ones held in honour for Rhaenyra’s own name days, nor was it as grand as those held for the prince Aegon, but it was still a large scale event that befits a member of the royal family. Rhaenyra, of course, is seated at the right hand of her father, glowing in the candle light as she overlooks the masses that have gathered, eyes constantly falling over to where her beloved friend was sitting with her own father, who scarcely took a break from socialising with the other nobles around him to notice that Jason Lannister had taken up the seat next to his daughter and was speaking very closely to her ear. 

Rhaenyra sneered at this. Jason Lannister had once made an attempt to seduce her, and once she had made it clear to him that she would fly to Casterly Rock and burn it to the ground before she became its Lady, he made haste to turn his attentions elsewhere, and unfortunately for her, he had seemed to set his gaze upon Lady Y/n. She appeared to be equally as unimpressed with his honey-coated words as she did thankful for some sort of entertainment, but Rhaenyra was sure that Y/n wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall for whatever he was telling her, especially since she had been the one to tell her many things about Jason Lannister several years before when he had tried to seduce the princess at Aegon’s name day hunt. 

Still, the princess found herself downing the remainder of her honey wine–funnily enough having been provided for the feast by Jason Lannister’s brother, Tyland–before she descended the small staircase and slowly made her way through the crowd in the direction of her lady.

“Lord Jason,” Rhaenyra interrupted whatever he was saying, “If you wouldn’t mind, I am in need of Lady Y/n’s assistance.”

“Princess,” The lord appeared peeved at her for stealing the young lady away, but offered no interference, “Why of course.” He paused to kiss Y/n’s knuckles, “I hope you might save me a dance, Lady Y/n.”

Rhaenyra snickered as she led her friend away from the lords, “I’ll accept your thanks later. You truly mustn’t keep such dull company, dear friend.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, “That is why I accompany myself with you, Princess. Never a dull moment. Though, I’m afraid my father won’t be happy with you dragging me away from yet another potential betrothal.”

Rhaenyra glared, “You and Jason Lannister? He is hardly worthy.”

Y/n sighed, “I’m starting to think that you believe that no one is worthy.”

“Because no one is worthy of you,” Rhaenyra grasped her hand within her own. “Nor will they ever be, and I promise I will feed any man who claims otherwise to Syrax.”

Rhaenyra was serious with her threat, and though she knew better than to think that she could just feed anyone to her dragon for simply glancing in her lady’s direction, it did not stop her from releasing the wrath of her own inner dragon on them.

Over the next four weeks, Rhaenyra made sure to have lords embarrassed or sent away from court as they began to interrupt her time with Y/n, few of them brave enough to make propositions to both of them. Rhaenyra was growing suspicious of Y/n’s father, who never seemed to be too far from his daughter these days and always seemed to be peeved with the amount of time that the two young girls often spent together. 

During the fifth week, Rhaenyra set her sights on Lord Robert Crane, the heir to a northern house. It had happened during one of their many strolls through the gardens, Rhaenyra had stepped away from the beaten path for a moment as she spied a small red flower with dark black blooming around the edge of each petal, plucking it for her dearest lady only to find that the young lord had taken her place, offering her an even larger flower of gold and amethyst–the colours of his own house. 

“Lord Robin, how lovely to see you,” She greeted him with a sickly smile.

“Princess,” He bowed his head to her, then shrugged as he corrected her, “Apologies, but it’s Robert.”

“Oh, how foolish of me,” Rhaenyra smirked, “I have a hard time remembering names of those who are scarcely mentioned at court.”

Y/n widened her eyes at her as a silent sign to stop speaking, though the young lord did not seem to even understand the insult, or if he had, he did not allow her to see the fact that he had been so affected by her words. 

“No offence taken, Princess,” He shrugged once more, “My family does not come to court often, as we are so far away.” Robert glanced over to hold Y/n’s uncertain gaze, “My father and I have come to find me a suitable match, I’m to inherit the seat of Denmerhell someday. My home is the source of more than half of the realm’s rubies, and I would hope to someday shower my bride in jewels just as precious as she.”

Rhaenyra sneered at him, then at her lady who seemed to be soaking up every ounce of attention that he was offering her. 

“Yes, well we usually prefer even more precious materials here in the capitol, isn’t that right, Lady Y/n?” She turned to her friend, reaching to lift her hand to show him the dainty ring that sat on her finger, “Valyrian steel. I had a second made so that my lady and I could match.”

“Valyrian steel?” He puckered his lips in thought, “Now that is hard to come by, though I suppose it is quite a waste to melt it into jewellery rather than weapons. Beautiful as it may be, this ring could be a dagger–I could make you one, my lady, and encrust the hilt with as many rubies as you please.”

Rhaenyra could not help the slight drop of her jaw. He could not have just offered to take the ring that she had made for Y/n to make it into a dagger–How bold could he be? She was the princess, for gods’ sake, and someday would be queen. Though, at least she now knew who her first war would be waged against.

“Thank you, my lord, that is a very kind offer.” Y/n smiled politely.

“We must go, I’m afraid,” Rhaenyra took Y/n’s arm, “Womanly duties, I’m sure Lord Reginald understands.” 

“Of course,” He pressed a kiss to Y/n’s knuckles, “My lady.”

He sauntered off without even acknowledging the princess once more, leaving both of the young ladies to watch his back as he disappeared around one of the many long walls of hedges. Rhaenyra was baffled to find somewhat of a dreamy glaze coating her friend’s eyes as she stared after the young lord, and grasped her arm tighter within her own in order to return her attention to her. As the sole child of the king, Rhaenyra was more than accustomed to being spoiled with goods and attention, and while many suitors have cut in on their time together in search of her own hand in marriage, she did not appreciate having Y/n’s attention stolen away–sharing was not something she was ever required to do. 

The weeks that followed had plagued Rhaenyra. Y/n’s father had been hard at work to find his daughter a match, and as hard as she tried, Lord Robert Crane did not scare as easily as the others. To be quite plain, the man was boring, sure he had titles and wealth, and perhaps he may be an accomplished knight, but he was selfish and spoke solely of his own accomplishments rather than inquiring about Y/n. It was clear that he was quite taken with her, and he would be incredibly glad to take her as his wife, and for some unknown reason, Y/n was just as taken with him. As far as Rhaenyra was concerned, Y/n was the only confidant that she had remaining, and Robert Crane was a clear threat.

The princess began taking extreme measures, requiring her lady’s attention to be entirely on her for most hours of the day, while also requesting that she break her fast and eat her dinner with her each day, and some nights she even asked her to lie next to her, claiming that she was having trouble sleeping. These nights would be spent in quiet whispers, gentle touches of fingers beneath the sheets, and soft giggles as they struggled to remain quiet enough to avoid being heard by Ser Criston from his post outside the door, though nothing could prevent the gleeful snickers from escaping the room. It was a way of keeping her close, keeping her loyal to her and only her.

The silver-haired princess was less than pleased one evening, upon crawling beneath the sheets of her goosefeather bed only for her lady to turn over and curl into herself. Curious, Rhaenyra took in the sight of her figure beneath the covers, and scooched closer so that she may reach around her and grasp her cool fingers within her own. Curling into her, Rhaenyra rested her chin on Y/n’s shoulder to be able to see her face.

“Are you angry with me?”

A small sniffle left Y/n before she spoke, voice wavering, “Angry? I could never be, princess.”

“What is the matter?” She asked, “Are you harmed?”

“No, princess,” Y/n turned to lay facing the princess, allowing her to peer at her red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks, “My father has betrothed me.”

Rhaenyra gulped, her gaze hardening as she spit out, “To whom?”

The young lady paused before she whispered her answer, “Lord Robert Crane.”

The princess laughed humourlessly, “Your father is a fool to believe that he is worthy of you.”

“Worthy? Rhaenyra, House Crane is much wealthier than my own, and they are a powerful force in the north, second only to House Stark. I am marrying well above my station.”

“And yet, here you are. As my lady, you are in the highest position any lady could dream of, save for queen. You are among the most precious beings in this realm, much too precious to be wearing his rubies.”

Y/n giggled sadly, shaking her head, “I wish we could stay like this; Neither of us would need to marry or have children. We could simply be together.”

Rhaenyra flushed at her words, “I would like that, too. I long to keep you at my side, and I can imagine you at the side of no one except myself. I would take you as my own wife to keep you near.”

Y/n furrowed her brows, “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“I am serious,” Rhaenyra sat up, “I do not understand why I must marry a man. If it is for the sake of children, I would take a husband simply to provide heirs, but you would be my consort. Aegon the Conqueror took two wives, so why can I not?”

“You are not meant to take any wives, Rhaenyra,” Y/n noted, “In truth, I understand it as little as you, and I cannot say why it is wrong, only that the world would not allow it.”

“The world is mine to claim,” Rhaenyra smirked at her, “When I am queen, I can change the law and do as I please.”

“Careful, Nyra,” The young lady told her, “You begin to sound like a tyrant.”

“I would be,” The princess moved to straddle the girl, “for you.”

“Rhaenyra–”

“Do not speak,” The princess crouched to hover over her, nudging her playfully with her nose.

Carefully, Rhaenyra lowered her face and gently laid a quick kiss to her friend’s own li[ps. She pulled back enough for the young lady to make any sort of refusal to the union, though after receiving none, she pressed even closer.

She moved to press her kisses along the expanse of Y/n’s collar bones, fingers carefully tugging the neckline of her nightgown so that she could access even more of her supple flesh. Y/n whimpered under her touch, one hand reaching to tangle her fingers in the long silver locks of the princess, while her other palm pressed into her waist. 

Pulling away, Rhaenyra sat up once more and quickly tugged her own silk nightdress over her head, leaving her bare to the world and to her young lady, who had seen her in such a state many a time before, though it was always during her bathing or when Y/n was helping her dress, and never in the sense that she was exposing herself to her lady in the sexual manner that she had been now. Y/n’s eyes widened, taking her time in actually admiring the princess’s form as she hovered over her. She whimpered her name as Rhaenyra began to trace her breasts through the sheer gown, pinching her nipple gently until it hardened into an erect peak.

“Shh…” the princess whispered, “Allow me to perform my wifely duties, my sweet.”

The nights over the next few weeks followed suit. Some nights they simply lay side by side and talked until exhaustion would take over, sharing sweet kisses and gentle touches. Other nights, Rhaenyra would waste little time ridding herself of her nightgown and they would bring each other to the edge as many times as it took for each of them to be satisfied. Y/n understood this to be lust, something that her mother had always warned her against, though she had strictly mentioned that she needed to be careful of the lust brought on by the influence of men–that falling pregnant prior to marriage would ruin her reputation, and by association, her life. This, however, was not a threat with Rhaenyra, it was harmless fun that may or may not have provided her with some comfort in the feelings that were beginning to flourish in her chest each time that she crawled into bed next to her. For Rhaenyra, it was different. She hadn’t been joking as much as her friend had believed her to be, and fully intended on keeping her at her side for the rest of her life. She understood that most wouldn’t accept Y/n as her consort, but she would certainly be the love of her life while whatever man would be held responsible for helping her bear heirs would be just that and free to do as he pleased as well. 

And then she heard the news. It was announced at a small feast one evening–scarcely thirty people in attendance–that Y/n and her betrothed would be leaving the capitol in a fortnight and were to be wedded once they arrived in Denmerhell, which was thousands of miles from King’s Landing. 

Y/n knew from the glare that she received from the silver-haired princess that she would not soon hear the end of her anger. The atmosphere in the princess’s chambers was not as calming as usual when she arrived that night. She called her name twice before she found her curled into herself beneath her silk sheets. 

“Rhaenyra,” she sighed, rounding the bed to sit on her knees behind her, “Please speak to me.”

The princess rolled onto her back, icily staring up at her friend, “What do I have to speak about? I could tell you that he is not worthy of you, that I would take you as my consort, that I would let them all burn for you. I’ve told you all of this before and yet your father hopes to send you away. Tell me, what did his face look like when you refused?”

Y/n’s bottom lip quivered, “I would not know.”

“You haven’t told him yet?”

“Rhaenyra, you know that I cannot–”

“You can. You can refuse him, stay with me until I take the throne and become a queen. You can, and you will, just as I have said no to countless men so that I can have you.”

“You know it isn’t the same, Rhaenyra.”

“Do I?”

“You are the heir to the Iron Throne, men are throwing themselves at your feet in hopes of being chosen.  I am the youngest child of a lord who just so happens to be in favour with the king, I have three older sisters who have already wed powerful lords, and I am simply lucky enough that my father cares for the station of the man I marry. In the last year, I have had three potential suitors, all of which you have chased away, and one man who managed to propose before you could. I do not have the same luxuries as you, Rhaenyra, and this is one of them.”

“Do not speak to me of responsibility, remember which of us is in line to inherit the Iron Throne.”

“Don’t think I have ever forgotten. You have been praised for the mundane and promised things I could never even dream of, you wear the finest of clothing and are gifted the most beautiful of jewellery in the realm, you get to do things that would ruin anyone else without consequences, and you don’t even take into consideration of what others give for you.”

Rhaenyra sneered, fingers grasping at Y/n’s wrist before she could clamber away from her, “So it is jealousy, then? You cannot spare to see me with fine things or hold my birthright?”

Y/n wiped her cheek, pulling away from her iron grasp as she began to pull her robe over her shoulders, “You have been granted great things, Rhaenyra, but you cannot begin to know what it means to not be the royal heir. The lords scarcely accept you as heir, do you truly think they would accept me as your wife?”

“Where are you going?” 

“My own chambers.”

Rhaenyra stood from the bed, “No. You will sleep at my side as you always have. You will tend to me, as you always have, and if you still wish to be a northerner’s whore, then I am powerless to stop you.”

Y/n’s spine visibly stiffened, “Is that an order, Princess Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra sniffled, “Yes.”

Rhaenyra did not find sleep that night, nor many of those to come. A fortnight passed seamlessly, leaving her to watch from afar as a wheelhouse was prepared for the long trek north. She had yet to speak to her friend about that night, scarcely speaking to her at all beyond orders. 

“Princess,” One of her handmaidens appeared behind her, “Do you wish to bid farewell to Lady Y/n?”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze back down to the sight below her, catching the gaze of her friend from hundreds of feet below. Tears welled at her waterline, begging to be freed as the young lady raised a hand to her. 

Wiping at her cheeks, the princess turned to march back into her chambers, “I would not.”

She disappeared within the palace walls in a flash of silver, leaving Y/n’s final glimpse of her to be one of utter betrayal.

[ash-is-dying]

Temporary Tattoo

A/N: Felt compelled to write a quick blurb after drawing one of these on my own hand. Idk guys the delulu is really getting to me today. Anyway enjoy!

Shy!Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 782

Fluffy / Mildy Spicy Blurb

---

“Just stay still Eddie!”

“But you’re taking forever!”

The pen runs over his knuckles as you outline the bones on his hand. You had spent the entirety of calculus at the back drawing on Eddie’s hand. He had breached the topic of getting a skeleton hand tattoo so you had made the generous offer to be his temporary tattoo artist.

His various rings had been scattered across the desk and the sleeve of his hellfire shirt had been rolled the full way up his arm exposing his actual tattoos alongside the detailed sketch on his left hand. You sat knee to knee with the boy as the arm you’re drawing with pins his arm to the table and the other holds his hand flat.

For someone who was covered in hidden tattoos you’re genuinely surprised by how much he moved while you were working and how whiney he was being about you taking too long.

“How long?”

“Eddie I haven’t even done your wrist yet. Chill your balls. We’ve still got half an hour anyway.”

He throws his head back and sighs deeply. His other hand starts to fidget, miming the chords for some metal song or another. His eyes close and he looks like a toddler who’s been denied chocolate from the shops. His head lolls to the side to look at you.

You’re completely oblivious to the look he gives you as he studies your concentrated face, biting your lip and your brows furrowed as you smoothed over the outlines you had drawn. Unbeknownst to you the real reason he was so all over the place wasn’t because the tattoo was taking too long.

It was because you were the one drawing it.

When you had started your gentle touches had left him flinching, moving towards your warm hands. Hence the need for physical restraint. Eddie’s cheeks flushed the moment you had wrestled his arm under yours, your closeness making his heart jump start. He could spend hours here just having you draw all over him. He’d let you fill every gap between his tats if it meant he could keep you like this.

The only reason he was now encouraging you to hurry was because he didn’t need the artist girl he’d been crushing on for months noticing the semi he was sporting. He had tried to slide further under the desk to make it less obvious but the hold you had on his arm was making things increasingly harder.

In both ways.

“I don’t think we need to do the wrist, just my hand is fine-” he said sharply.

“But didn’t you want a half-sleeve anyway? Thought you wanted me to try the whole tattoo.”

“As cool as that would be I kinda need my arm back sweetheart-” He says with an edge of panic in his voice.

“Okay okay, I’ll be done in ten.”

The next ten minutes were probably the longest ten minutes of his life.

For the fine detailing you had made the decision that you needed to get even closer. You had rotated his arm and had folded your leg over his, just adjacent to where he desperately needed you not to be. He watched anxiously as you shifted to finish off the tattoo. He genuinely tried to sink into his chair and disappear. If you had even a hint of what was happening under the desk he would be absolutely mortified.

“Why do you get so many tattoos Eds?”

Her sudden question pulls him out of his head. “Oh- um. I guess because they look cool? And they help me express a part of myself that I want to show people rather than tell them about.”

“Fair enough.” There’s a long pause. “Can I ask you something?”

Eddie’s brows raise in concern. “Yes?”

“Do you get this turned on for all your tattoo artists or just me?”

The silence is deafening as his eyes widen in shock and realization. He stutters as you move off of his lap unable to find the words. The bell goes and you begin to pack up your things not sparing him a glance until you put your hand on his shoulder and lean to whisper in his ear.

“If you ever need another tattoo done… call me okay.”

You give his cheek a quick peck as you turn away and walk out of the room with a flush on your face, leaving behind an extremely flustered and red faced Eddie. He looks down at his arm. It’s amazing of course. But what really catches his eye is the messily written phone number on the underside of his arm.

Maybe he will get another temporary tattoo.

[evilwriter37]

What made you ship Viggo and Hiccup? I'm curious

Well, it started with the term of endearment “my dear Hiccup” and kind of spiraled from there.

Plus it just became so much more genuine from Viggo’s perspective to me in seasons 5 and 6. He doesn’t correct Krogan when he pretty much points out his admiration/possible affection for Hiccup. He just tells him it’s fine as long as it doesn’t cloud his judgment.

His death scene in Triple Cross is 100% what sealed it for me. I’d been shipping them for years at this point, but Viggo dying for Hiccup, giving his life for him, really made it canon in my eyes.

Also, I just, will never forget how tenderly he says “Hiccup” in one of his last lines about how he’ll defeat Krogan and Johann. While taking his hand. Oh gods. Oh no. Here come the tears.

Anyway, yeah, Viggo’s attraction/respect/eventual love for Hiccup is pretty much canon to me. I have to make interesting scenarios and AUs for those feelings to be returned by Hiccup, because, as much as I write Hiccup being queer, I think he’s the token straight friend. Plus I’m a multishipper. I like Hiccstrid, Dagcup, Hicclegs… you name it. I can spin scenarios to make Vigcup sweet, sexy, romantic, or just downright horrible, twisted, and depraved. It all depends on what mood I’m in. (All this to say that I think canon Vigcup is one-sided.)

So, uh, yeah, there it is. Pretty simply reasoning. I think it became one of my favorite ships because of how compelling and intriguing both these characters are to me. Viggo is up there as one of the best villains to grace animation. It’s a shame lots of people haven’t seen the shows and haven’t experienced him. I was drawn in with his opening monologue.

[campgender]

i was scrolling your “life is in your home too” tag, which I love btw, and saw a post about how you learned to be a good dom from experienced expert doms by reading how they dom and some of their best scenes, do you think you could point me in the direction of some resources for me to study that too? thanks in advance, if not, thanks anyway!

(post referenced is here - link 1)

first of all tysm for this ask (+ your incredibly kind follow-up), it was a delight to receive + i’ve been wanting an excuse to talk about a lot of this for a while so i very much appreciate the interest!

as always please keep in mind that i am Just Some Fem, nothing is universal including when it comes to D/s & i can only speak to what works for me. i try to focus on starting points rather than specifics but ultimately my advice will always be limited by what i needed to hear & wasn’t told, which may not be what’s helpful for a different person. with that being said, here’s some suggestions!

i’ve posted a previous reading list (link 2) with relevant recs; particularly the practicality + sex writing sections have the kind of thing you’re looking for. specifically, The New Topping Book (2003) is a solid starting point; i definitely have my issues with it (haven’t read it recently enough to recall many specifics but i have the sense of general pervasive racism & ableism) but it did a good job at making me think & i appreciate the supportive tone they were going for

another book added to my tbr since then is Coming to Power (link 3), released by SAMOIS in 1983

other authors whose sex writing has been influential in my life: Sandra Cisneros, Natalie Diaz, Joan Nestle, Judy Grahn

the fic At The End of His Rope by Letterblade (link 4) is genuinely some of my favorite sex writing of all time & accomplishes the incredibly impressive feat of representing a broad array of dom styles & changes over time in the same piece

my “impurity culture” tag (link 5) houses the building blocks of my sexual ethic

i’ve found many of those foundations by poking around the incredible bodies of work original & archived @newsmutproject @woman-loving @gatheringbones

for me, studying sex is the same as studying poetry – reading for craft is a different process than for pleasure (not that there isn’t a great deal of pleasure to be found in such practice, especially for sadists – perhaps that’s why as a child i never resonated with Billy Collins’ “Introduction to Poetry,” like i love tying poems to chairs & beating them idk what to tell you). so, keeping in mind that these are suggestions not requirements, here’s how i read for + work on craft:

there is no such thing as too much journaling. this can take whatever form you prefer – voice memo, discord message to yourself, the noble notes app, your own personal sexy red string corkboard, a vast & stunning array of other approaches i can’t even begin to imagine. i personally have an elaborate web of spreadsheets & google docs lmao. what matters is developing a collection of ideas you want to play with + a practice of continually reflecting on past experiences.

pay attention to structure, not just content. find a scene you think is disjointed and pick at the seams, brainstorm better transitions. then find a scene that flows so smoothly it carries you with it and figure out what makes it work.

rewrite a scene you’re drawn to or affected by to suit your own preferences. i first did this when i couldn’t shake “Interlude 3” (link 6) from my head after reading The New Topping Book; you can read my variation on the theme here (link 7) if you’re interested.

write or think through a scene fantasy you have from negotiation to aftercare. obviously it’s very difficult if not impossible to fully script a scene in advance; the purpose isn’t planning something you’ll later do but rather getting used to coming up with ideas to get from one disparate moment / act to the next.

revisit a scene you’ve read, written, thought about, etc and list the physical & mental acts that are required / expected of the sub (eg, kneeling for 10 minutes; making eye contact; counting to 30, etc). then rework the scene for a sub who has the same interests & goals who cannot do 20% (or 50%, or any) of these acts.

revisit a previous scene and list the places where you think a sub might safeword & why. then rework it with the sub safewording somewhere that isn’t any of these places.

i also recommend keeping in mind that like… for me, reading about ethical sex can often be a very distressing process for the same reason that it’s liberating: because it proves that things i’ve experienced are not the way sex has to be. i’ll tell this story in its fullness one day but the first time i read S/HE by Minnie Bruce Pratt i literally had a flashback to events i’d repressed for years, it was devastating, i’m so grateful for it. hell, in the process of compiling resources for this post i cried twice editing this quote (link 8) because between reading that book the first time & now someone did “respond with scorn or ridicule” when i safeworded. so i would really encourage folks to approach this kind of work with as much grace & comfort for yourself as you can muster or borrow – if it’s really fucking hard, you’re not alone in that, & it’s okay to take your time + pace yourself + seek support.

your + others’ interest is definitely motivating me to actually write posts i’ve been tossing around for months so thank you again & feel free to keep an eye out for more shut-in sex tips in my new “tomorrow sexting will be good again” tag. would love to hear your thoughts on any of this post / these or other books / whatever really lol. wishing you all the best & i hope today is kind to you! 💓