#like I don’t want people to fall in love with him because of the halo effect. I want to love him because he’s dumbass you’d study in a lab

[hyperions-light]

- Rook’s owl imitation =)

- Gus the nug!

- The ritual you can find out Cyrian was doing before you ever meet him; the way Bellara says his name, then ;-;

- Ziplining!

- Rook’s almost-falling-over animation when they stand on the edge of stuff!

- The way the spectral wolves point at the Fen’Harel altar prizes =3

- The crow’s feet at the corners of Neve’s eyes <3

- The coffee making stand outside Lucanis’ room

- That Rook and Harding AND Neve are like… why r u living in the fucking pantry dude get a real room

- How the plants in the Lighthouse keep growing as things improve and your team settles in!

- How representatives from each faction show up in the Crossroads to hang out with the spirits!!

- Mourn Watcher Rook gets a special line during Cyrian’s funeral

- The dialogue with Heir changes for Crow Rook!

- Viago likes Crow Rook so much… they’re his little guy

- Sometimes when they ride the zipline Rook says Whoo! =D

- ‘So, the Demon of Vyrantium.’ ‘Ha ha.. the name wasn’t literal, when I got it.’

- ‘If the Butcher cares so much for Treviso, he’ll make sure we have the proper ingredients for this risotto!’ Random civilian pinpointing the important issues 👍

- Lucanis taking care of the people who worked at the Dellamorte vineyard that the Antaam burned down

- Giant golden nug in the finance district!

- ‘Any day spent with the seventh talon is a good day!’ ‘She wants to plan Caterina’s funeral.’ ‘Oh… right.’ Pfffft lmao

- Neve’s idle animations at her clue wall!

- If you use the Nevarran theme for the Lighthouse courtyard, they put the huge funerary vases on either side of Harding’s door which is ;-; if she dies

- If Harding dies Emmrich tells you that he and Bellara(I think? Can’t remember exactly) are going to keep watering her plants =(

- If Harding dies and you instigated the Taash/Harding romance, Taash says they ‘should have known’ because everyone they love dies ;;;-;;

- The ring of keys on Ashur’s belt

- Neve’s freckles!! =D

- When Bellara is trying to fix the Nadas Dirthalan and gets frustrated and hits it with a wrench

- When Teia flirts with you!! <3

- ‘Teia! Don’t flirt with my… associate.’

- Lucanis is so worried about Illario being murdered and he’s so fucking bad at communicating that lmao

- Dorian pretending he has blackmail material on the First Warden lol

- The way Neve says Elek the first time you meet him

- The way the raindrops sit on Neve’s jacket!

- Ferdinand the cat by Halos’ fish stand !

- omg I almost forgot ;;-;; if Manfred dies for real Spite has a dialogue where he says ‘Curiosity. Where is it?’ And then when Emmrich says he’s gone Spite says something like ‘Bring it back. It should be here!’ What if I cried ;;;-;;

Round 2 of Veilguard (Watcher first, Crow second), going to note the little details I love (SPOILERS):

- When my rogue Rook is jogging I can hear the sound of the arrows in their quiver clinking against each other

- When you take Harding to practice her stone powers, after she moves the second one she raises her hands up in victory. Cute!!!

-The companion outfits!! They’re so detailed! The embroidery on Harding’s shirt, the intricacy of Bellara’s sleeves!! How elegantly Neve’s clothes are cut and draped! The little crow skulls on Lucanis’ buttons and fasteners!!

- The way the light glances off of Bellara’s earring. The hairs at the back of her neck that aren’t caught up in her bun

- The expressions!! They’re so good! The way Bellara’s brow wrinkles in the middle of her forehead under her Vallaslin; how she blinks rapidly when she’s talking about Cyrian (Bioware why can’t I hug her ;-;). How Neve smiles at you! Ahhhhh! Dare you not to fall for Lucanis when he looks at Harding all soft after he makes her coffee and she hates it!!!

- The way the grocery list/cooking rotation paper on the wall in the kitchen changes throughout the game

- Little notes everywhere where your companions write to each other and the people they care about! Harding’s letters to her mother! THE BOOK CLUB!

- The little references to the other games everywhere! Joining chalice, Aura’s letter, Blackwall’s commendation, Malcolm Hawke mention in Weisshaupt! Finding Thom’s little rocking griffon! Arainai’s Talon! The thing that made the Harvester in Golems of Amgarrak! The dog named Ostagar! The Arishok refusing to split from the Qun! Heir in the Diamond!

- Elgar’nan thinks Lusacan used to be bigger and Ghilan’nain still cares for her halla

-the whole Necropolis but ESPECIALLY the gardens

-the candlehops!

-How when you pet the cats the rumble feature activates on the controller because they’re purring

- THE MINRATHOUS CAT CAFE <3

- The vendor in the market in Antiva who tells you the story of how she killed her husband if you return there repeatedly

-the two novice Crows on the balcony who complain about how hard it is to correctly throw the crow graffiti thing

- when you tell those two lovers to escape antiva they show up in the necropolis

- the watchers are sooooo put out that they missed the undead dragon lol

- the necropolis moves! And if you return there sometimes it’ll spawn new rooms and you can go in them!

- there are tabletop games in Thedas and Hezenkoss was super into them

- Emmrich keeps Hezenkoss’ skull in his room to talk to lol

- How Rook is so— sometimes unexpectedly— wise and caring, so thoughtful and considerate! I love them!

- The way the choir crescendos and then cuts out right before Solas says ‘Vhenan’!!! AHHHHHHH

- The way he bends in on himself and clutches at the dagger when Mythal is talking to him; the way he says her name

- ‘I don’t know how to feel’ ‘I do. I know exactly how to feel.’ ‘Just don’t leave.’ ‘Never.’ ;;;;;;;;;;-;;;;;;;;;; FUCK!!! You can’t just say that that way!!!

More soon…

[lintwriting]

some of y’all are so weak when it comes to being horny. excuse me if you think that nobody can be into a milf young man pretending to be an old man with the prudiness of a fine young mistress, excuse me if you think the only way men can be attractive is if they’re peak gender role—muscled and abbed for days. what, you think I’m pretending to want to IMPREGNATE Shizun???? you think only a man designed to be a male power fantasy harem protagonist can be fuckable? stop projecting

don’t get me started on those who make Shen yuans prior self unimaginably pretty. fashionable clothing with tasteful glasses and a beautiful two block haircut and an ulzzang face.

don’t talk to me until you’ve thirsted imagining a horribly ugly incel Shen Yuan with a NON trendy short buzz cut that makes his fucking hair spiky thanks to how asian hair texture works, a weak chin, those terrible thin rectangle glasses that most real life nerds seem to land on, and an anime shirt ugly jacket combo that I saw everywhere growing up in a Asian American high school.

the algorithm brainrot has gotten to you if you can’t imagine old Shen Yuan that way, tbh. Mans was a lying flat syndrome hikkikimori neet aka an incel aka likely not the most interested in the extremely niche beauty standards that the algorithm pushes onto you, and trust me I’ve seen my share of Asian dudes that look like how I’ve described. God, I go on here and I feel like I’m TOO weird and freaky for thinking that Asian guys don’t gotta look like Pinterest boys to be beautiful.

[amuseoffyre]

I’m emotionally ruined by the fact that Aziraphale hasn’t broken out of his heavenly conditioning. He still loves doing good. He gets happy when people tell him he’s an angel and says “it’s nice to tell people about the good things you’ve done now that I’m not reporting to Heaven”. He will literally put himself in harm’s way to make sure he does the Good and Right thing.

It can’t be understated how much Heaven’s influence still impacts on him. Aziraphale has been created, ordained and conditioned to believe it and he can’t just switch it off or walk away. Crowley didn’t get the choice. He was Fallen. He was kicked out and - as per the rules of toxic and terrifying cults - Aziraphale was always told for centuries and millennia, Falling was the worst thing that could happen. If you’re bad, you’ll be forced out. If you’re bad, you’re not one of Us. You’re one of Them.

When he did something he perceived as Right (ie. saving innocent children from death), but knew it wasn’t what Heaven intended, he broke down. Crowley found him a crying, shaking wreck afterwards because he was so convinced he was Evil. He was so convinced he was going to be dragged to Hell and that he was now a demon because he did one thing that saved some children but because it wasn’t a specific directive, it was Bad.

It shapes so much about him and it’s why the whole series looks like he’s having so much fun doing silly human things, but there’s this brittleness to it. He’s happy and excited and he’s doing his human-life things and having a lovely time, but he’s also constantly stressed because of the Need To Do Good. From the moment Gabriel turns up, he’s a nervous wreck and is trying to hide it by Doing Good, by Solving the Problem, by Fixing Things, by being so active and reactive rather than letting himself think about it. It’s a sign of exactly how frantic he is that he starts giving away his books and letting humans touch them.

Watch his face when the Archangels show up unexpectedly: that isn’t joy. That’s blind terror. He’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing in Heaven’s eyes, even though he made the active choice to do so because it was the Right thing to do. He’s a Guardian and he will protect, but he is so very afraid of the repercussions, even now. 

At the end of S1, Crowley said “they’re gearing up for the big one” so Aziraphale’s not oblivious. He knows a big one is coming. He knows something worse than the Antichrist will be on its way. And he’s trying so hard to pretend that everything is normal and fine and if he ignores all the looming bad stuff, it won’t happen. If we don’t say anything about it, nothing has to change.

But then the changes come knocking at his door holding a box and the choice is gone. He can keep trying to blinker himself to it, but then there are angels and demons in the bookshop and he’s had to use his halo and everything is falling apart.

So when he realises that he can get himself into a position where he can guarantee those repercussions won’t happen to Crowley? He will absolutely take it. He says himself “I don’t want to go back to Heaven”, but the instant the Metatron offers him a free pass for Crowley, to take Crowley out of both Heaven and Hell’s sightlines, to keep him safe (Another bee inside the hive, if you will), no wonder he grabs it with both hands.

The tragedy is that Crowley thinks that when they saved the world together, that was the end of Heaven’s influence in Aziraphale. When he was cast out the split between him and Heaven was sharp and clean. He doesn’t - he can’t - understand how deeply it has tangled around Aziraphale. It’s built into Aziraphale’s entire being and unravelling it isn’t that simple. Aziraphale’s trauma is a horrible, terrible Gordian knot and Crowley can’t understand that he couldn’t simply cut through it, because that’s just not how Aziraphale works.

[sreidisms]

Stress Release

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!GN!Reader

Summary: Spencer needs you to take care of him after a rough couple of days at his new job.

Genre: smut

Word Count: 861

Warnings: pegging, reader is GN but uses a strap-on so?? afab implied, slight cum play, slight overstimulation if you squint, many many pet names (sweet boy, love, sweetheart, darling, baby).

A/N: I needed something to get my creative juices going because I've been in the worst writing slump of my life, so enjoy this quick little blurb of the cutest, subbiest Spence <3

Spencer was splayed out on your shared bed, his previously-gelled hair tousled and spread out on the fresh sheets like a halo around his head, however juxtaposing the current situation he was in - it was far from holy as your strap-on was gliding in and out of him with lewd ease.

The excuse from your boyfriend was that he needed the stress fucked out of him - maybe not put as crudely as that, but you knew what words were floating through his head. Paperwork, cases, and meeting people had been too much for the new agent, and he just wanted you to fuck him dumb for a while, for positive psychological purposes only obviously.

“How’s that feeling, sweet boy?” you cooed, pressing his knees further back to get the right angle to hit that lovely spot deep inside his abdomen.

“Mmm … g-great,” he mumbled, licking his lips and letting his mouth fall open once again.

“That’s good, Spence. Keep your legs like this, please, love.” Your hands moved to hold his slender and naked waist, thus providing you with the perfect leverage to smoothly thrust the thick dildo into his tight hole.

Pegging had been a recent addition to your sex life and you had been surprised when Spencer brought it up one day, timidly explaining how he had stumbled upon it online and wanted to try it out; little did he know, you had been dreaming about that scenario for months. With gentle steps and a good amount of research, it soon became a favourite activity for the both of you.

Spencer didn’t know why he liked it so much. It was probably a mix of being able to let go for once in his life and let someone else do the taking care of, he reflected. And besides, it was nice to not have to think about the logistics of something for a change.

For you? Oh, you loved watching your bright and loquacious genius be reduced to whines and pants every once in a while. It wasn’t a secret that he overworked himself and so you wanted to allow him the space to lay back when needed.

Now, one of your hands had found its way to your boyfriend’s throbbing cock, setting a relentless pace, up and down to give him more relief.

“O-Oh fuck,” he whined as he grasped your arm with a tight grip. “Don’t … stop, d-don’t …” His sentence was cut off when your thumb stroked the underside of his tip, forcing out a guttural moan and a harsh thud as his head hit the mattress again.

You hushed him. “You don’t have to worry, darling. Just relax, I’m here to make you feel good.” He nodded frantically, sucking his lower lip with his teeth to stifle the noises that were begging to escape his mouth.

As much as it was embarrassing, you were sure that your neighbours on the floor beneath your apartment could hear the never-ending squeak of the bed frame grinding against the linoleum, but you couldn’t care less in that moment. Your mind was set on bringing the highest of pleasures to your boyfriend as you skilfully hit his prostate over and over, each push of your hips punctuated with a moan from Spencer.

“P-Please …”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you asked worriedly, quickly cupping his cheek with the hand that was resting on his waist. “Are you close?”

“Uh huh … please, please l-let me …” The sentence died at the back of his throat.

“Go ahead, you’ve been such a good boy, you deserve this.”

You stopped your actions for a second and swiftly pulled him closer to you from his legs, accidentally ramming the tip of your strap-on painfully hard against his sweet spot. It wasn’t your intention but cum gently dribbled down his flushed dick as he panted.

In an effort to not leave him with a ruined orgasm, you planted your fists on the bed, Spencer’s angelic face between them, and you hiked your knees up onto the edge of the bed before picking up the pace once more and driving the fake cock deep inside him.

“O-Oh …” The man was too far gone drowning in pleasure to have the energy to make noise, eyes screwed shut and fingers fisting the sheets.

“There we go,” you purred. The feeling of more cum being fucked out of him spread across both of your stomachs, creating the most delicious mess you could imagine.

You eventually took pity on him and slowed down your hips and teasingly pressed on his legs to spread them further, pulling back to see his weeping length softening against his porcelain skin.

“You did so well, Spence.” You took your pointer finger and spread the viscous liquid across his tummy, and then slowly traced it to the head of his cock. His hips bucked forward and he hissed.

“D-Don’t … sensitive.”

You giggled and leaned down to give him a soft kiss. “Sorry, baby, you’re so easy to tease.”

Spencer’s eyes opened to meet your loving expression and he smiled in return. “I love you.”

“I love you too, always.”

I hope you enjoyed this! I promise I'll get to writing all the suggestions in my inbox eventually, it means so much to me that people show interest :) thank you

[aemondapologistfrfr]

Does the Devil Have a Name?

modern!aegon x fem!reader 

Summary: Your friends drag you to a halloween party that you had no intention of going to. After meeting the host you’re thankful they made you come. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, drinking, drugs, oral(f receiving), p in v, unprotected

Authors Note: the plot is i love this man and i have to have him 🧎🏼‍♀️inspired by that tvd scene bc it was life changing but instead of i feel so close to you it’s more like slow down by chase atlantic 

Word Count: 3k

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

I stare at my friends with a straight face as they try and pry me from my bed. I wrap my hands around my headboard as they pull my ankles. One of them starts to pluck my fingers and I gasp as I’m flung off the bed. The three of us land on the ground in a fit of laughter as I push them off of me. 

“It’s a Friday night and you need to get over him. You can do so much better.” I roll my eyes at my friend Krystal’s words and try to crawl back up my bed. 

“Absolutely not.” Rhiannon says pulling me back. “Go take a shower and we’ll go grab your costume from the car.” 

“What do you mean my costume from the car?” I look at them with raised eyebrows. 

“We knew you wouldn’t buy one for yourself because we knew you would try and back out of it.. so we got you a costume.” Krystal smiles pulling me to my feet. 

“What kind of costume?” I glare at them. 

“It’s a surprise. Go start getting ready.” Rhiannon nods her head to the bathroom and I drag my feet across the floor and slam the door shut. 

I know they mean well but I had full intentions of bed rotting and watching movies all weekend. I turn the shower on and connect my phone to my speaker before letting the steam consume me. I come out with my hair and body wrapped up in a towel and enter my room to see my friends giggling and setting out a costume. 

“Let’s see then.” I walk over to the bed looking down at the costume. “Are you fucking kidding?” I look at my friends who fall back into a fit of giggles. 

“You don’t like it?” Krystal says wiping her eyes. 

“It’s just the most cliche option you guys could’ve picked.” I say snatching up the white feathered wings. “A fucking angel.” I sigh shaking my head at the ceiling. 

“Just put it on. You’re going to look perfect.” Rhiannon coos. 

I grab the white mini dress and push into my closet. I pull the dress on and look at myself in the mirror. I walk back out to my friends and they shower me with compliments. We all begin to work on hair and makeup before adding finishing touches to each other. I slip on my wings and they place a halo around my head and pull me out of the front doors. We slide into the uber and I look out the window wondering how I allowed them to drag me along. 

“Enough with the pouting. Here.” Rhiannon shoves a pen in my hand and I inhale deeply before blowing it out the window. 

“This is a smoke free uber.” the man says. 

“I’m sorry. Do you want a hit?” I raise my eyebrow at him in the mirror. 

“No, put it away.” I chuckle at his words before handing it back to Rhiannon. 

The drive is longer than I anticipated but soon we’re pulling up to a massive house surrounded by cars. The uber stops in the center of the road and we quickly get out and start walking up the walkway. I hold my hand out for the pen again and we all pass it back and forth before we make it to the front door. 

“Host says angels get in for free.” the man at the front door nods his head back into the sea of people and I shrug and enter leaving my friends behind. 

There was no way I was paying to enter a party I didn’t want to attend anyway. I turn and they come up behind me with smiles as we look around the house. Cheap halloween decorations are taped to the walls and ceiling and I smile at the drink table. I turn to see if my friends will come with and they seem to have found their own way. 

“Of course,” I mumble. A new song starts and the bass has my body thrumming. I look over the array of drinks and bottles and settle for their jungle juice. I take a sip and almost cough as it slides down my throat. It’s like they put every liquor known to man in here with a splash of fruit punch. 

“Angels can have better drinks.” I turn around at the velvet voice and see a man in a beautiful red suit with dark horns poking out of his head of silver locks. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a bad idea. 

“Where are these better drinks?” I look him over and smirk. 

“Come,” his fingers lace with mine as he brings me to the kitchen. This must be one of the only off limit places surprisingly. The lights are dim as he snakes us around the counter and opens up the cabinet. 

“Are you running a bar?” I laugh as I take in all the bottles and mixers.

“No, I’m hosting a party.” he grins pulling out a whiskey. 

“Absolutely not, that will turn me into a menace.” he barks out a laugh at my words and pulls two shot glasses down. 

“Just a shot, angel.” he licks his lips. 

“You’re a bad influence.” I grab the bottle from him and pour us an overflowing shot each. We tap the shot and down it. I shiver as the amber liquid burns going down. 

“Not so bad, right?” he smiles as I grab my chest rubbing it.

“You might be the actual devil.” I clear my throat laughing. 

“I never said I wasn’t.” he starts rummaging through cabinets. 

“Mm, and does the devil have a name?” I lean against the counter. 

“Aegon,” he turns with a wicked smile. “What is my angels name?” he hums walking toward me with a clear bottle. 

“Y/n,” I watch him grab a shaker and start making me a drink. I lean over the counter and watch him as he pours it into a glass. 

“Try this.” he smiles sliding it over to me. I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip. 

“Damn,” I sigh. “That’s like really fucking good.” he smiles at my words and begins to prepare himself a drink. 

“Thank you,” I don’t miss his cheeks reddening. 

“The devil blushes?” I giggle and his eyes snap to mine. “Who would’ve thought?” 

“I didn’t know that angels teased people.” he raises an eyebrow to me with an amused expression. 

“Is that teasing to you, Aegon?” I let his name come out a little breathier as I lean over to show him more cleavage. 

“What a naughty angel.” he tsks looking to me with dark eyes. I finish my drink and he looks to me as he downs his. “Dance with me.” it’s not a question and it doesn’t need to be at how fast I’m nodding my head. 

He comes around the counter and grabs my hand tugging me back into the party. He weaves us through the sea of people until we’re surrounded and pulls me against him. My hands land on his chest and I’m quickly sliding them up around his neck. The hand on my lower back is keeping me mended to him and the hand on my upper back travels to my hair as he tilts my head. I smile at him with low lids waiting. 

His lips crash to mine and I hold him against me. My hands behind his neck slide into his hair as we continue to move with the music. He presses his lips down my jaw until he’s nibbling at my neck. I gasp holding him against me as we move against one another. He licks across my throat before going to the other side and I don’t hold back my moan. He chuckles against my neck and pulls up to look at me and hovers his lips above mine.

“I would say that’s teasing.” he licks across my lower lip and pulls back. One of my hands travel down between our knit bodies and stops against his erection. 

“Seems like you got more worked up than I did though.” I squeeze against him before bringing my hand up his chest. 

“I need to have you right now.” his pupils blown. 

“We just started dancing.” I pout biting my lip. 

“Real quick.” he pulls me from the crowd and back into the kitchen. He has me bent over the counter the second the door clicks shut and is pulling my dress up. I press my cheek against the marble as he pulls my panties to the side and tracks his fingers through my wetness as I squirm. 

“You’re dripping.” he groans as he removes his fingers. I hear his zipper and soon he’s pressing into me. 

“Fuck Aegon,” I moan as he stretches me open. 

“I’m gunna fuck you real quick then we’re going back to my party.” he pulls out and dips back in. “Then I’m gunna kick everyone out and absolutely devour you.” his hips snap against me as my walls hug around him. 

His fingers dig into my ass as I push back into him. I whine as I feel my pleasure begin to build. With every roll of his hips I’m gasping and searching for something to hold on to. His fingers find my bundle of nerves pulling a moan from my lips. I give up trying to find something to steady myself on and let him slide me against the counter as I feel my high approaching. 

“Gods look at you just taking it.” he grunts as his rhythm speeds. His fingers push me over the edge as I start to pulse around him. He curses as his hips still and I feel him fill me. He slides my panties back and pulls my dress back down. I continue to rest against the counter trying to catch my breath. He pulls me up chuckling as I look to him with pleasure glazed eyes. 

“Another drink?” I turn to him and smile at his words. He makes us drinks to bring out to the party and brings us back out. 

“Where have you been?” I turn at Rhiannon’s voice. 

“With him?” I nod my head to Aegon. 

“And who is him?” she raises her eyebrow at us. 

“The devil.” 

“Aegon.” he says at the same time. 

“They’re pretty interchangeable.” he laughs at my words. 

“How did you two meet?” she looks to me. 

“The drink table. A match made in heaven.” I sigh batting my eyelashes. 

“There you are.” Krystal sighs walking up to us. 

“And here I go.” I say not in the mood for another interrogation. I pull Aegon along with me back into the crowd. They wanted me to have fun and forget so it shouldn’t be a big deal. “I wanna dance again.” I pull him against me and he dips down to my ear. 

“It’ll end the same way it did last time.” I gasp as his hand gives me a quick spank. 

“You said you would kick everyone out next time.” I hum licking across his neck. 

“Don’t tempt me.” his fingers squeeze my waist. 

“Kick them out and we can party alone.” I softly bite his neck and I hear him moan. He pulls me back and I hear him take a deep breath. 

“Alright, everybody out.” his voice carries around the room and the music stops. “Party’s done. Go home.” people start muttering and filtering out. 

He gets a few of his friends to make sure everyone leaves while I text my friends to get an uber and I’ll get home on my own. It took a FaceTime call to prove I wasn’t being kidnapped or forced before they relented. He tugs me up the stairs and pushes open the doors to his room. I step in and his hands are immediately on me. 

“I hope someone told you how good you looked tonight before I take this off.” my hands slide up to his shoulders as I start to pull off his suit jacket. 

“Tell me.” he chuckles as I start on his buttons. 

“When I first saw you I hoped I would end the night with you between my thighs.” I hum pulling off his shirt and running my nails down his chest as he groans. 

“I was searching for my angel all night and when you came to the drink table I felt my cock throb for you in this tight dress.” he pulls the zipper on my dress and pushes it off my body. His hands grab my exposed breasts and my body hums at his touch. I start to push off his pants and he’s stepping out of them backing us up to the bed. My knees hit the bed as I fall back and he kneels before me. 

“Who would’ve thought the devil would be on his knees.” I look down with a smirk. 

He chuckles and pulls my panties off slowly. His lips brush against my leg as he makes it between my thighs. He bites down on my soft flesh and I gasp sitting up to watch him. When his tongue slides up my center I fall back again with a moan. He slowly circles my bud as I move against his mouth. 

“Aegon,” his name falls from my lips and he chuckles against me. He slides two fingers into my core and I cry bringing a hand to his hair. He pulls me closer to him before curling his fingers. My legs start to shake around him as he relentlessly pushes them into me. The pleasure becomes too much and I come undone squeezing my legs around his head. I cry out his name again as he keeps wringing pleasure from me. His tongue moves even faster and I’m trembling above him. 

“Yes, Aegon, please,” I mewl arching of the bed. His fingers never falter as he adds a third. My breath is coming out in pants as I feel my high building again. My hand leaves his hair and joins my other on my chest. He groans into me watching me roll my nipples. Our eyes lock as lashes against me. My breath catches and I burst across his face. He pulls up and looks down at me with a wet face. 

“You taste absolutely divine, angel.” he kisses up my body stopping at my breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth and teases it with his teeth. He licks across my chest to give the same attention to my other peak as I push my chest into his face. His lips trail up my jaw before crashing his lips to mine in a bruising kiss. He nibbles on my lower lip before pushing his tongue into my mouth. I bring my hand between us and wrap around his hardness. I stroke against him and he moans into my mouth. I trail his tip through my wetness and whine into his mouth as it brushes against my bud. 

“Fuck me, please,” he chuckles at my words. 

“Line me up, you’re the one teasing yourself.” I slide him through my wetness and lift my hips when he’s at my entrance. He won’t push in and I whine frustrated. “Look at you begging and squirming.” 

“Aegon, ple-“ he snaps his hips into me taking my breath from my lungs. 

“This what you wanted?” he chuckles as I nod my head as moans continue to pour from me. He slows his pumps and my toes curl feeling every inch sliding in and out. He nibbles at my neck letting his hair tickle my chest. 

“Faster.” I buck my hips up into his. 

“Mm but I like the feel of you shaking beneath me.” he hums into my neck grinding himself into me. Every time his hips are flush against mine he rolls them perfectly to brush against my wanting bud. I wrap my legs around him hoping it’ll get him to move faster but all I got was a grunt.

“Please, please Aegon.” I beg as I’m on the cusp of pleasure. 

“Okay angel.” he shushes before he starts to swirl his fingers around my bud. My legs hold him close as he pulls pleasure from me. His fingers move quickly and with his slow pace my eyes are rolling back as I pulse around him. The second he feels this he starts pounding into me. My pleasure feels like it goes on forever until I can catch my breath. 

My nails dig into his shoulders as he continues to rut into me. Whimpers flow from my mouth before he presses his lips against mine to swallow them. His pace falters slightly and I know his pleasure is close. I clench around him and he moans into my mouth. 

“You’re so naughty.” he chuckles against my lips before dipping back down to kiss them again. I whine into his mouth as he pushes into me faster. His fingers swirl my bud and my body goes taught as my high slams through me. He gives one last harsh thrust before he’s filling me. He slowly jerks into me causing us both to whimper before he pulls out. 

“Gods Aegon,” I sigh. “You fuck so good.” I turn my head and see his smile. He pulls me on top of him and we continue to get lost in each other for the rest of the night. 

⊹˚₊‧꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

masterlist 🔌 

i was this 🤏🏼 close to making vampire!aegon jk unless 🫣 it’s actually in the works

taglist ✍️

@clarityisnofun @gabriella-aesthetic @callsignwidow @llynx7 @violetiss3lfish @ka1afbr @akiko-oo @papichulo120627 @lizzylovebooks280501 @thatgirl101blog @ashovertheriver @zanygot7straykidsbonk @hueanhdang @malfoycassimalfoy @april-notthemonth69 @anaviieiraaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @neocockthotology @thereaderwitch

[uc1wa]

We got uni!dick x virgin!fem!reader (delicious writing btw) but what about frat boy! or uni!jason x virgin!fem!reader 👀?

unlike his older brother, jason is cool, calm, and collected. jason takes his time with you—not because he wants to, but because he knows as soon as he makes the first move, he’ll have you like a bee to honey. he’s confident in himself and in your attraction towards him, but it doesn’t drip off of him the way it does with dick.

instead, jason pulls you in with small touches. using knuckles to push your hair behind your shoulder, hand resting on your thigh when he’s helping you study, getting close enough that he can smell the lingering coffee on your breath but doesn’t dare to kiss you.

it’s like a game to him. hell, what type of frat brother would he be if girls weren’t more than a game to him?

when he’s asking you about guys one day, asking you about his fraternity brother, roy, and the way you got real close to him at the last kickback he invited you to, it’s only strategy to figure out just how many bodies you have.

the words ‘virgin’ leave your lips, and jason eggs you on to say exactly what he wants you to say.

"what would make you wanna lose it? i’m not gonna believe you if you’re a ‘wait ‘till marriage’ type of girl," he snickers, his chin sitting in the palm of his hand as he sits backward on a spinning chair. big thighs on either side of the back of the seat.

the question makes you laugh, "haven’t found a guy I liked enough," you smile through your lashes, and jason doesn’t miss the shy look to the side you give your wall before meeting his eyes once more.

"ya haven’t?" jason questions. not out of self-consciousness, but more-so to play into what you want to hear. "don’t you think you’ll be embarrassed to tell the guy who you decide to fuck that you’re a virgin? some guys don’t like that," he huffs like it’s nothing. but now your brows furrow, and your head tilts to the side.

"guys don’t like virgins? i thought guys usually like when girls are virgins," a nervous laugh slips past your lips, and he has you right where he wants you. he nods, "most of my brothers hate when they have to fuck a virgin. they have to be patient and nice and all that. they’d rather fuck somebody with a little experience."

jason’s lying through white teeth. guys like him love a tight pussy, but he loves it just a little more than all the other guys. he craves the purity that reeks from you, craves knocking off the invisible halo from the crown of your head with a nice, good, first fuck.

"y'know, i could always show you how to have sex. won't make anything weird, promise," jason offers with a cock of his brow, words falling off his tongue like it's a casual conversation. like he's fucked hundreds of people, well... because he has, but you haven't.

"are you sure it wouldn't be, like... weird?" you ask with a rapidly increasing heartbeat, nervousness taking over your senses. it's hard to meet the dark eyes that haven't left yours; overwhelming intensity felt under his gaze, your skin heatening while jason barely bats an eye.

a genuine and sweet smile spread across his lips. "i've had hookups before, y'know i don't linger hard on girls. plus, you're my friend. I won't make things weird," jason begins stepping out of the seat he's sat in, making his way with heavy steps towards the edge of the bed until he's looking down at your form.

a hand rests on your thigh, and not another question is asked. jason leads you to lay down, takes your pretty panties off, and shamelessly shoves them in his pocket without a second thought. he's spreading your legs with ease, but it's when you're singing sweet moans on his big cock that he's oh-so grateful to have you as a friend.

this is what friendship is all about, right? luring your sweet virgin friend to your cock 'till she comes back drooling.

[dyeher]

“We should get married.”

The sun is too hot. You’re too sweaty and dehydrated and horny and miserable to even entertain Mikey’s lackluster proposal. It’s not even a question. It’s a statement.

He looks serious too, and hot and sweaty and delicious. You want to lick the stray beads of sweat that have collected at the base of his throat.

But you can’t because it’d be unprofessional. So, you ignore him. Adjusting the lens on your camera to snap a few more pictures of him in the natural light.

There’s a giant hibiscus tucked behind his right ear and his head is tilted up to face the sky. He’s glowing. Between him and the orange hibiscus you’re not sure who the sun is loving more.

“Did you hear me?”

“Don’t move,” you instruct, ignoring him again. He’s turned to you for acknowledgment and the light catches in the strands of his hair. It frames him in a halo of light, and in this position the hibiscus pales in comparison to him. Him and his entirely too beautiful face. His upper body flexes lightly with the movement, exposing his tattoos for the camera and when he lifts a brow at you, your mouth goes dry.

“Don’t ignore me.”

“It’s too hot Mikey,” you complain. You’re still snapping away because Mikey is moving and every shift in the muscles of his arms as he turns toward you fully, the clenching of his abdominal muscles, you aim to capture them all.

“This was your idea,” he points out.

He’s right. It was your idea and you don’t regret it. Not when you get to see him like this (because there are very few people who can see him like this and you’re truly honored to be one of them).

He sits back, pressing his hands into the soft grass behind him and elongating his torso. His jacket falls open wider and more of the small tattoos scattered across his torso are revealed. You snap a few quick shots of him from the neck done.

“I know,” you smile as you sink onto the grass next to him to click through the last five pictures you’d snapped. They’re your favorite so far.

The first is a body shot that highlights the golden pendant that’s nestled in the hollow of his throat. There’s a small butterfly tattoo on his left collar bone and Roman numerals on his right. The tattoo above his Adam’s apple matches the wording in the pendant. ‘Monster’ printed in typewriter font.

The second is a torso shot. His skin is damp from a thin layer of sweat and the sun casts his normally pale skin in a golden glow. You’d managed to capture a bead of sweat as it trickled down between his abs.

The third makes you freeze.

“Delete that,” Mikey says from over your shoulder. The heat from his body seeps into your thin shirt as he plasters himself to your back.

He’s smiling in the picture. His head tilted downward as he looks at you through his lashes, a secretive smile playing on his lips. It’s breathtaking. You’d captured his entire top half. The flexing muscles in his arms, the bunching of the muscles in his shoulders.

“Nope!” you giggle, holding the camera out of his reach. Mikey glares playfully at you.

“The only way—” he lunges, eyes locked on your own, and snatches the camera from you, ignoring your indignant yelp“—you’re keeping this is if you say yes to marrying me.”

You squint, folding your arms in front of you. “You’re not serious.”

Mikey places the camera down carefully and turns his attention to you. “I am.”

He reaches for your hands and drags you into his lap, guiding them to his shoulders and settling his own on your waist. Your eyes narrow further as he pulls you closer to him. “I’m very serious.”

You’re a little taller than him like this and when he tilts his head up to look into your eyes the hibiscus falls free from behind his ear.

“I want to marry you,” he continues. “And then you can take as many pictures of me as you want.”

You swallow, your heart suddenly thundering as Mikey continues to stare at you. “As many pictures as I want? Do you promise?”

Mikey chuckles. “I promise.”

You eye him skeptically.

He presses a soft kiss to your chin. “I’ll even let you post some of them.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?!”

He presses a kiss lower to your throat, his hair tickling your chin as he nods.

“You’re not trying to trick me into saying yes right?”

Mikey lifts his head to level a blank look at you. “Would I need to trick you?”

“Fair point,” you acquiesce.

He leaves a kiss on your right cheek and then the corner of your mouth and when his tongue comes out to lick along the seam of your lips you sigh.

He takes advantage of that and kisses you deeply. When he pulls away you blink dazedly at him.

“Ask me to marry you again after I’ve had a shower,” you blurt.

Mikey’s brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m too sticky and sweaty and hot to think straight and your cock is right—” you roll your hips, dragging your clothed sex along his erection “—there! I’m not thinking straight.”

Mikey chuckles. “How about after I’ve fucked you ?”

You pause. “In the shower?”

Mikey groans, head falling against your shoulder. “Sure, I’ll ask you again after I’ve fucked you in the shower.”

“And I’ll say yes.”

“You fucking better,” he says. “I’d hate it if you forced my hand.”

You pretend you don’t hear the threat in those words.

[floylia]

# MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾

04. I’m so wet tonight 💌

Destiny and fate are liken to strings you can’t untangle with ease. Two simple words with inexplainable concepts. A belief split into millions of definition.

But this might be fate—a doomed fate.

Cerulean eyes meet yours upon striding inside the store. The contact lasts longer than necessary. But within those few seconds, recognition is acknowledged on both sides.

That fateful day when a guy embarrassed himself and you watched it unfold.

You thought that was the last of it. Perhaps not.

You scan the small dairy isle, searching for an energy drink and a bucket of ice cream, while ignoring the pleads in the back of your head—constantly screeching about the humiliating past.

But who are you to feel embarrassed for him?

Why do you feel shame in the first place?

“Cash or card?”

“Cash.” You pass him the total amount, grabbing the wrinkled change you had in your wallet.

He takes it hesitantly, “By the way, about last time...”

Here we go.

“There was a rat in the locker room so I ran out like that. As for what I said… I don’t remember why I did that. But I promise, I’m not… a pervert,” The last phrase was faint as he whispers it in a breath.

You chuckle, “It made me laugh, don’t worry.”

One moment ago he was a grey cutout, now colors are back in his face as a grin reaches the wrinkles of his eyes, “So we’re cool?”

He looks like a dog wagging his tail after seeing a treat.

You nod, “Was that bothering you for a while?”

He breathes a sigh of relief—staring at you as if he had been derived of oxygen, “Yes! I was tossing my body back and forth that night, because my head refused to stop replaying the scene every time I closed my eyes. Can you imagine yourself doing that? Here I thought I was being mysterious.”

Not a single bone in his body was mysterious.

“People remember their own embarrassing moments more than other people’s, don’t stress about it.”

He shows his paper white teeth, “You have a way with words.”

“And you don’t,” You blurt out, recalling that moment.

Laughter engulfs the tense atmosphere.

“Fair enough. Fair enough. I’ll never live that down. My friends tease me enough already,” he hands you your change and the plastic bag worth of snacks.

The pit-a-patter outside makes your head swerve towards the window. Rain droplets fall from the heavens, gearing up as you spend minutes inside the establishment.

Checking the weather today slipped your mind, otherwise you would have brought an umbrella. Even though your dorm is nearby, running through the heavy downpour is not something you enjoy doing on a school night.

Navia would jerk her head in disapproval.

The ginger must have realized your conundrum.

“Here,” He offers you a small black umbrella, “You can use this.”

“No, no it’s alright. You might need to use that later.”

He shakes his head, “The store owns it. We have extra. Just borrow it for tonight. Then you can come back and return it. Think of this as an apology.”

“Thank you. I didn’t want to be drenched today. I’ll return this, I promise!”

A gentle smile pervades his face as he waves a goodbye. He observes you, crossing the street from the foggy window until your silhouette fades with the night sky.

In truth, the store didn’t own the umbrella. They don’t have an extra. It was his — but that is his little secret.

No harm done with a white lie.

NOTES:

kinda rushed (wrote the written parts in one night, i dont usually finish fics in one sitting)

ig he gained aura points?

was gonna post this later but fuck it 🤷‍♀️

SYNOPSIS: There’s a line Childe knows he shouldn’t cross; A line built on years of friendship; A line that happens to cross you, his best friend’s younger sister, grieving her first love; A line where he plays savior, wears a halo, then feign ignorance, because love is a game for fools—and he happens to be the biggest idiot when it comes to love.

When a new stranger invades your life and an old poet writes back.

CHILDE x FEM!READER

masterlist | previous | next

TAGLIST (OPEN!): @thegalaxyisunfolding @stratusworld @tiramizuloz @miy-svz @trulyylee @batatinhafriita @scaradooche @yuminako @m1njizzie @mtndewbajablasted @fadedpinkpen @vavrin @kioffy @kokoomie @ashveil @tired-jaz @nia333 @riabriyn @kyon-cherri @kitsunetori @morgyyyyyyy @kazumiku @ichorstainedskin @hanilessa @s4ikooo1 @matolka @appy-slicez @monocerosei @mostlymoth @heathnyfangirl @meigalaxy

[lucygxybaird]

billy x reader - you feel the baby kick

tw: pregnancy, tw: nausea (mention)

Sitting on the front porch, a pile of mending in a basket at your feet, you lean back in the chair and close your eyes, tipping your face up. A soft spring breeze plays with the tendrils of hair falling from your braid, sunshine splashing into your lap, and if you listen hard enough, you can hear Billy singing to himself as he repairs a saddle in the little shack that passes for your stable.

Oh, how I love her, ain’t that a shame…oh, how I love her, good-bye, Liza Jane…

You smile to yourself, absently humming along. More often than not lately, you’ve started dozing off in the afternoons, a habit which you know alarmed Billy at first — though he promised to fuss over you less (and  he’s definitely gotten better), you did overhear him taking the doctor aside after a recent visit, asking if it was normal for you to be so tired.

“Yes, son,” the doctor had assured him. You’d been pretty sure you could hear the smile in his voice. “It’s perfectly normal, and in fact, I’d encourage it. It’s a lot of work, bringing new life into the world.”

Without opening your eyes, you smooth a hand over your belly, your faint smile widening. Loose nightgowns can’t hide your condition anymore, but you don’t mind, because with every change to your body, you know your baby is growing. Not to mention Billy simply can’t keep his hands off you. 

Most often, he’ll start with his hands on your shoulders, coming up behind you and squeezing gently, resting his chin on the crown of your head. Then his hands will slide down your arms, pausing to cup your elbows and pull you flush against him. You’ll relax in his arms, glad to take the weight off the small of your back, and he’ll spread one large, warm palm over the curve of your belly.

“How’re my girls doin’ today?” he’ll ask, which never fails to make you giggle. 

“What if it’s a boy?”

Billy always shakes his head firmly. “Mm-mm, that’s my baby girl in there,” he’ll tell you. “I know it.” 

When the two of you are laying in bed together, Billy will hold you in his arms all night, both hands resting protectively over your stomach. Other times, throughout the day, he’ll pause just to kiss you — your lips, each cheek, your forehead — before putting his palm against your ribs, thumb moving in soothing circles over the fabric of your dress, which is becoming more and more tightly stretched with each passing day. 

“You’re so pretty,” he’ll tell you, smiling in a dreamy sort of way, like he can’t quite believe this life is actually his. Or he’ll ask you how you’re feeling, or he’ll ask you what you did today while he was working, or he’ll tease you with more whimsically intricate Gaelic baby names (Gobnait, Odhairnaith, Dubhghlas, Muircheartach). 

Sometimes, when you find yourself worrying — about the pain to come, about taking care of another little living being, about if you’ll be a good mother, a good wife — you think of that smile.

You have always known that Billy’s story diverges from the man, a tributary branching off from a river; the truth was clear, cold water, sweet and filling, but it seemed most people weren’t interested in that. They were rabidly fascinated by that little stream, by the waters churning with blood, spent shells, dirt and sweat. Tears. You love all of Billy, tributaries and all, but you know that he earnestly wants to follow the river, tracings its path to the future. A future with you, with your baby.

When you see his peaceful smile, his contentment radiating from him like an angel’s halo, you’re reminded of how far he’s come. Of how much he deserves this peace, this life the two of you are making together, and you feel at peace yourself. Whatever comes, physical pain or self-doubt, you know you can take it on, as long as you have him by your side.

Which — 

Your eyes flutter open as his shadow falls across your face, and you smile up at him. “How long have you been standing there?”

Billy grins sheepishly, shrugging. Rather than loom over you, he kneels beside your chair, putting his hand against your stomach. “Not long,” he says, as you cover his hand with your own. You can smell the scent of leather clinging to his skin, mixing with his natural musk, and you’re glad that your stomach has finally settled. A few months ago, even scents like this — scents you loved — would have driven you to a bucket. 

You remember how attentive he had been then — not that he was any less attentive now — even though your illness had embarrassed you. You’d known, logically, that you couldn’t help it, but it had made you cringe, nonetheless. You worried that he would find you disgusting like this, but you should have known better. Billy had never once flinched, instead holding your hair safely back, helping you into bed afterwards, fetching you water to rinse your mouth and crackers to soothe your tender stomach. 

“What are you thinkin’ about?” You feel his fingers grasp your chin, turning your face toward his. You smile and shake your head.

“You.” 

Billy raises an eyebrow, a faint smile coming to his lips. “Good things, I hope.”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head expansively. “Only about how you repulse me, actually.”

“Ah!” He puts his hand over his heart, as though mortally wounded. You bite your lip to keep from giggling. After a moment of consideration, he says: “That makes having my baby a little awkward for ya, huh?”

“A little,” you agree. 

He leans up to kiss you, moving his hand from your stomach to the arm of the chair to brace himself. It’s then, as your own palm settles on the curve of your belly, that you feel it. You gasp against Billy’s lips, and he straightens up at once, his eyes widening.

“What?” he says. “Is somethin’ wrong? Is it the baby?”

You just smile at him, shaking your head. You hold up your free hand, indicating that you need a moment, and Billy sits back on his heels, his forehead still furrowed with concern. “Here,” you breathe, and you take his hand, putting it over the spot where you think you felt something.

“Darlin’, wh—?” His voice falters as he feels the same thing you felt, and his eyes go wide, his face shining like a child on Christmas morning, faced with every gift he could ever want. “Is that…?”

“I think so,” you say, laughing weakly, tears starting in your eyes like a pair of stars winking into life. “I think it is.”

And then it happens again, and you’re certain. 

“Billy, here,” you say, taking his hand and moving it to the new spot. 

It feels like a fish swimming beneath your skin, a fluttering sensation that reminds you of ripples in a pond — and then — 

“Oh!” 

The two of you exclaim at the same time, and under normal circumstances, it would make you laugh. His deeper voice melding with your lighter one is like a kitten and a mountain lion being startled in unison. But all you can think about is the strong, solid jab you both felt — you, against the drum-tight curve of your stomach, and Billy, in his cupped hand, as if he’s catching a firefly. 

“Do it again,” Billy says, wide-eyed, and you almost tell him — gently — that you can’t really control it, when you realize his eyes are trained on your stomach. “Please? Do it again for your papa, please?”

You both sit there for a moment, waiting, and then — 

Another little flutter, like the baby is rolling over inside you, and you guide Billy’s hand over the ballet beneath your skin. There’s another sharp jab to your ribs, right into Billy’s palm. “Oh, my sweet girl,” Billy says softly, and it isn’t until he looks up at you with glittering eyes that you realize he’s talking to you this time. “That’s our baby.”

You lean down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Ours,” you agree. You love the sound of that word. 

“And she listened to me,” Billy says, offering you a cheeky grin. “You think that makes her papa’s girl already?”

“What are you going to do when this baby is born and it’s a boy?” 

Billy smiles. “Then we’ll name him Patrick William, and we’ll try again.” 

You snort, raising an eyebrow. “And how many babies do you think we’re going to have, Mr. Bonney?”

He leans up to kiss you again, brushing his lips, butterfly light, over the curve of your cheek. “As many as you’re willin’ to give me, honey. An’ you know I’ll love every one, whether it’s just this little one, or…”

He cuts his eyes over at you, raising his eyebrows to give you a cue. You laugh and hold up two fingers. “Or two more,” he finishes, and you giggle.

He sits in the rocking chair next to yours, pulling your feet into his lap. “You know it doesn’t matter to me, boy or girl,” he says. “I just want ’em to be happy and healthy. That’s all.”

You lean your head back as his thumbs dig into the arch of your foot. “I know,”  you murmur.

There’s silence for a moment, and you let yourself drift idly, relaxing at the pleasure of his touch, of his words. 

“I was thinkin’, though…”

You crack an eye open. “Hmm?”

“If we have a little girl…my ma would have liked…I mean, she woulda…she really woulda loved…”

His throat works, and you lean forward, taking your feet — with no small measure of reluctance — out of his lap, taking your hands in his instead. “I know,” you say. “Our firstborn daughter was always gonna be Kathleen Bonney, whether it’s this baby or another one.”

He smiles, his eyes bright again. “Thank you, darlin’.” 

You kiss him gently, before pulling back with a grin. “Much better than Gobnait…”

His head tilts back with the force of his laughter, his broad shoulders shaking. “Aw, come on now, you didn’t really give that one a chance…”

“And I won’t,” you say, shaking your head with a giggle. “No matter how many we have.” 

[meelkiewee]

Hello!

As a first post i wanted to share my favourite bubbies and since tumblr seems more text oriented than the other socials I have, I'd like to explain what was going on in my head while doing their character redesigns~ [BOOKS SPOILERS MENTIONED]

INTRODUCTION

These character designs were made back in winter 2022 for a sort of animation thesis. Many things didn't go according to plan in that school year so for lack of time and motivation I've never really finished the animatic but I will include a wip at the end of this post. The animatic was about my interpretation of their story, finding a person to call home while in a crude and terrible world.

XIE LIAN

Xie Lian is the first of the two I made, his character design was very clear in my mind since the start. It's not largely distant from your official usual XL but I thought it already fitted very well.

The three main colors for XL are white, black and golden yellow. The prevalence of black and white colors was inspired by two main factors:

I personally see XL as a heavily dichotomy based character, not only in the association to the White Clothed Calamity but also in the way he's described as pretty as a flower but skillful with the sword, following a chaste path but mingling with a ghost king, all kind smiles to others but struggling with his own hope, etcetera, etcetera. He is in a constant struggle to find a third option that is better than simply bad or good, mostly in his early God's days, and also later on with ‘not knowing whether to laugh or cry’. So in here, black and white represent the reality of human nature, where you have bad and good qualities alike, a concept I think XL struggled with a lot since he was brought up as the perfect and pure prince that can do no wrong.

According to my research of the meaning behind colors in the chinese culture I discovered black and white can symbolize many things, some of which I found quite fitting for where I wanted to go with my character design. Black can stand for sadness and bad luck. White represents brightness, purity and innocence. In some instances, however, white is also associated with death and is a color commonly worn at funerals. Moreover in my own culture black and white, along with deep blue, are very elegant colors to wear. Simple and elegant is what my XL wants to look like.

Another important part of my XL character design is his bamboo hat.

Following some good old christian imagery I used his hat as an halo. Most of the time I even ignored perspective to make sure his head is always framed in this golden saintly circle In my animatic storyline specifically it represents XL perfection. Soon the hat is lost in the mud and brought back later on by HC with a new meaning of finding yourself in a safe environment with safe people. 

For most of the other design choices I took decisions based on pure aesthetics such as giving him a very elegant mole under the eye, very long and lucious hair and a very very long hanfu with some very very long sleeves. Yes, I wanted him to be very very everything because I very very love him!

Here are some other very very outfits i drew him in for fun and didn’t need for the animatic:

_____________________________________

HUA CHENG

As a premise to my HC character design I want to say I am very amused at people’s different reactions to it. They are usually neatly split in two: either they hate it with a passion or just fall head over heels in love with it, no in between. I personally am in the ‘love it’ side (duh of course I am, I designed it lol) but I also understand if your first thought is “WHO TF IS THAT?”, so let me explain my thought process here.

Firstly, hot take: official HC character is made to be your perfect cool-hot-mysterious-boyfriend™ that has it more together than you do and we don’t like that in this household, at least not always. Yes he is XL’s most devoted believer, yes he is a very powerful supreme, yes he’s always there for his Gege but in the end he’s also a very traumatized person that has had a crush for a guy for 800+ years.

What I’m saying is I wanted him to be a little more relatable and goofy than what books show us so I integrated some of his personality hidden away in E’Ming. From here I got the puffy messy hair, the big round eye and the doubtful expression.

Next up let’s talk about the palette. He also has, like XL, three main colors:

Blue. Mostly of the time he spends around XL he does it in his true form, wich is the form of a dead person (even dead more than once;;). This is pretty self explanatory, when someone dies the hue of their skin goes to blue and also ghosts in general are frequently represented pale blue or white in color. As a little side note to this, I really enjoyed the blue demons HuaLian episode in donghua S2, it made me feel less alone in my smurf choice lol.

Red. This is canonically HC’s color and rightfully so! Red is widely recognized as China's color of good fortune, and in my culture, it is frequently used as a symbol of passion and the color of blood. There is really nothing better than red for Mr. Crimson Rain!

Lilac. Although I'm not sure about my research on this color in Chinese culture, I've read that it modernly represents love or romance. However, growing up in my hometown, purple (and all its shades) was always associated with ugliness and was thought to be a bad omen if worn. Whoever had the nerve to wear it was regarded as a distasteful and ominous weirdo. I think it fitted perfectly with how every other Heaven Official other than XL sees HC; someone who makes blood rain for fun and a potential and actual threat to the Heavenly Court.

As for XL, other choices I made serve a mostly aesthetic purpose. HC’s boxy build, pointy ears and the opened robe to see tiddies(🤩) are some of the notable ones.

HC would not be complete without E’Ming, obviously. After comparing some different blades and trying to integrate a butterfly in the design, I opted for keeping it simple and I ended up with this wobbly shaped hilt made to resemble HC’s bang. The fact that now E’Ming looks like it has a big nose is just an added charm honestly.

CONCLUSION

Thanks for reading until this point I hope you enjoyed my yap and make sure to have a nice day/night! <33

I'll leave the link to my animatic wip here, please note once again that it is not finished in the slightes and there are also some funky expressions that don't really fit the mood lol enjoyyy!

-Sole

[missredherring]

No Solo Riders

Dieter Bravo x Fat F!Reader

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1.1k

Contents: fluff. allusion to drug use.

Summary: The ride operator calls out, the music explodes, and the world falls away around you.

A/N: This is for the Summer Lovin' '24 event! This is a silly little thing but I love the idea. Thank you to @pegito @chaotic-mystery and @amanitacowboy for setting this up. <3

Lovely moodboard by @pedgito.

Not beta read; all mistakes are my own.

You might have to get new friends, you think, as they pair off to get in line for the Zipper. They’re close together, heads bent over a phone, oblivious to the problem they left you with. Jesus, they didn’t even offer to do rock-paper-scissors or for one of them to come back and ride with you. Did they just assume you were over the weight limit? No, issues with weight limits and fitting into seats never even occurs to them. 

Knowing this doesn’t make it sting any less.

“No Solo Riders” the sign says in big bold letters. The sign is dirty and half covered in graffiti, but there’s no missing it. It’s probably for safety and weight distribution which is important when you’re being spun around in a metal cage. At least it's posted at the beginning of the line so you don't have to endure the embarrassment of the operator yelling for volunteers to ride with you.

More people pass by to enter the line, and you resign yourself to waiting, your mood souring as you wonder if they’ll just rush past you on their way to the next ride.

“You wanna do it with me?” A voice asks at your elbow. Being propositioned was not on your list of possibilities tonight and all you can do is stare at the man who’s standing next to you now.

He’s tall and broad enough to block out some of the neon lights behind him. How far into your own head were you that you didn’t notice him coming up to you? That’s just unsafe.

He has a big nose and pouty pink lips beneath it surrounded by salt and pepper facial hair that hints at being groomed at some point. It’s wild and patchy across a nice jaw and you immediately want to scratch along the line until your fingers meet at the point of his chin. His hair is just as chaotic with wild brown curls haloing his distracting face. 

He dips his head to look at you over his sunglasses, his thumb jerking towards the sign and showing off the collection of bracelets around a thick wrist. You don’t even care why he’s wearing sunglasses at night. It completes his casual outfit of a threadbare t-shirt and lounge pants. Like he’d just rolled off the couch and decided to come to the carnival because why not?

Holy shit, he’s hot.

“Yea- yes! That’d be great, thanks.” 

“Amazing.” he says and waits for you to join the line before following behind you, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching a little against the metal barrier.

In between rounds of people screaming as they're tossed around he tells you his name is Dieter.

As the line moves you try for small talk, but the only response you get is a mumbled declaration about something “kicking in” before he goes quiet, entranced by the flashing lights of the ride. 

Maybe he’s afraid of heights and trying to get better with some immersion therapy? If so, the Zipper is an extreme choice. You leave him to it, not wanting to make his fears worse with good intentions and end up at the front of the line.

The gate opens and you’re ushered into the car, Dieter is squishing in next to you, and suddenly he's touching everywhere from your calf to your shoulder.

It would be nice if the hot humid air of the night wasn't making everything sticky. 

The operator swings the door closed and the lap bar pushes uncomfortably into your stomach, but it latches and you relax all the muscles you’d been clenching. 

“Oh, shit. Ok.” he says, his voice a little shaky as the car tips back and forward just from the little momentum of moving up so the next car can be filled. 

He looks green when you study his face, even after the lights change color from green to blue to red. 

Your thigh is pinched between the lap bar and the side of the car so you press back to move the skin, sending the car rocking and he makes a noise and grabs for purchase.

“Is it ok if I hold your hand?” 

You don’t bother answering, just offer him your hand and he takes it, squeezing hard already. His other hand is already on the padded bars attached to the door. You mirror him and adjust his sweaty hand in your for a better grip. 

The ride operator calls out, the music explodes, and the world falls away around you.

Outside of the car it just looks like they’re swinging back and forwards, but inside it feels like your stomach is trying to escape via your throat. 

Adrenaline spikes and you can’t stop your eyes from squeezing shut when a wave of dizziness washes over you as you spin and spin and spin. 

Dieter is screaming next to you, and you hope it’s in delight and not terror. You feel more movement from him and squint over to see him actually moving out of his seat, the lap bar that stopped at your stomach allowing him more wiggle room. 

You feel it too: the second your ass lifts off the seat and thuds back down. It startles a yell out of you and Dieter answers with a yell of his own. 

It’s been a long time since you’ve made so much noise; always keeping quiet, keeping to yourself to be out of the way when you unintentionally take up so much space in the world. It’s a giddy feeling and you let it bubble out and keep going: screaming with all the air your lungs can pull in while you flip around.

His hold on your hand is getting sweaty and you’re sure you’ll have marks from where his nails are digging in, but it’s all a blur and it’s over after a few exhilarating moments. 

The door is opened and you stumbled out on shaky legs. Dieter blindly leads you away, only dropping your hand to brace on his knees when he bends over, gasping like he’s trying not to throw up. 

“Can you hold my hair back?” He groans out. His hair doesn’t even come down past his ears, but there’s some curls sticking to his forehead and maybe it’s too much after the ride.

You only hesitate for a moment before swiping his hair back until the curls start to spring free. God, why is his hair so soft? It’s unfair and you can’t stop the small motion of your fingers to feel more of it.

He sighs and breathes deeply in through his nose and out of his mouth. At this angle his dark eyes sparkle with the carnival lights as he looks at you over his sunglasses, like you’re holding his heart instead of his hair. 

Dieter brings up his other hand, his closed fist catching on his pant’s pocket, to show you a wad of crumpled tickets. 

“Wanna see how many times we can flip?”

[licorice-tea]

You’re An Angel When You Sleep

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Content: angst, drowning, a little “off-screen” violence, hurt/comfort, near death experience

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: literally wrote this in between classes so hopefully it doesn’t feel too rushed! not edited super closely yet, the grammar might be a little off. inspired by the song “Around The Bend” by Pearl Jam, specifically the last verse <3

Edited 2/28/24

Law is sinking, and there’s nothing he can do.

People call it “The Curse of The Sea.” They say that “she” turns her back on you when you eat a devil fruit. It’s simply the price to pay for such immense power.

And he has never had to worry about it before. His devil fruit ability affords him the security of being to prevent trips into the ocean. Not that he ever would fall- Law is far too careful a man- but he has plenty of crewmates and friends/allies that could somehow knock him overboard.

How sickening, that the first time it actually happened was at the hands of an enemy. And how disappointing, that it had only happened because of his own pride. A foolish disregard of taking caution while standing close to the railing on the enemy ship, when one of his opponent’s underlings threw something that didn’t even really hurt, but sent him overboard. In the midst of a battle where everyone was expected to hold their own- Law could expect no help as he plunged into icy waters.

It’s cold enough as it is, and his curse does nothing to help. He tries his hardest to stay conscious- perhaps he can still use his power if he thinks hard enough. People awaken their devil fruits all the time, so there’s no reason why he can’t do it now. But, no matter how badly he wants to simply teleport back to the deck of the ship, he can’t. The feeling of impending doom only serves to weaken his resolve, and soon enough Law is unwillingly giving up and giving in to the sea.

He’s about 10-12 meters down now. The weight of the water makes it feel nearly impossible to hold his breath for longer, so he lets out an exhale ever so slowly.

But no one is coming, and it’s time to accept his fate. “This is it,” he thinks, “just another pirate lost to the sea. That’s how it ends for me.”

He takes a moment to reflect on life up until now. So much pain and suffering, but in the end he just can’t stop remembering what little good there has been. His crew, who, no matter how much they bothered him, were his family. His blood family and Corazon, who he hopes to see again soon if there is any sort of afterlife. Then there’s you- with your uncanny ability to make him smile and laugh, your clever personality and friendly nature, all your strength and intelligence, and seemingly unwavering good morals. Law feels he barely deserves to have known you in this life, let alone fall in love with you as he has. Which is why he never shared his feelings with you or anyone, in all the time you’d been on his crew. Before this moment, he’d at least had the comfort of knowing there would always be the future, and therefore more time to open up to you figure out his feelings.

“How foolish.”

Law is just about to close his eyes- at least then it might be a more peaceful demise- when there’s a splash that breaks the surface of the waves. His eyes shoot wide open as he tries to figure out what it is, as it’s rather difficult to see clearly with his vision blurring and on the verge of losing consciousness.

All he can be sure of is that it’s a person. The light from above the waves surrounds their silhouette giving them an angelic halo, but simultaneously blocking out all their features from his view.

Law wonders, “Are you here to seal my fate? To ensure I don’t find some way out of this?” If he could, he’d ask that they do it quickly. Still, that painfully hopeful little part of his mind can’t help but come out in what are more than likely his last moments alive. “Or, are you here to save me? Are you gonna give me a second third chance at this? I don’t deserve it, but I will accept it. I’ll use it to do more; work harder, fulfill every goal. Confess to y/n.”

And that hopeful streak seems to take over his body as he uses his last iota of strength to reach upwards. Law’s angel continues swimming downward, but he can’t hold his breath long enough to see them reaching out to him, too.

His last thought is of you. He swears he can see your face on this mystery person as they get closer; your pretty eyes and lips, your hair swirling around your form underwater. Could it actually be… No, he doubts you’d even seen him falling overboard. But maybe he’s already dead, and you really are an angel. Law doesn’t get the chance to fully consider either reality though, as he finally blacks out.

-

“Gimme gimme gimme… a man after midnight…”

This is how Law taught you to do CPR on someone whose heart had stopped. Years ago, when you were struggling with keeping count of 100-120 beats per minute, he told you to “think of a song with the same count.” Most everyone’s go-to CPR song is “Stayin’ Alive.” But, you prefer the classic ABBA song. You pause every 30 compressions to administer 2 breaths, and as you remove your lips from his, a thought crosses your mind. “He looks so peaceful like this.” And even while unconscious, he’s handsome… angelic, even. Nevertheless, you’d much rather have an alive and annoyed looking Law than a dead and calm one.

“Is there a soul out there… Someone to hear my-”

Law coughs suddenly, and shoots up into a sitting position, gasping for breath.

“Law!” You throw your arms around his neck, nearly knocking the man back over.

And though he’s still catching his breath and coming to his senses, he lets you, and puts an arm around your back. “Y/n,” another cough, “what happened?”

You release him (much to his disappointment) and explain how the fight had ended soon after the crew lost sight of him; their captain. And, while the others quickly overtook the enemies, you dove overboard where you’d last seen him. It was pure luck, though guided by your intuition, that you found Law beneath the surface.

“Then I swam over here-“

“Which is where?”

You nod in the direction behind him. “Just around the bend from the harbor. The Polar Tang and the enemy’s ship can be seen from there, so I thought it’d be best to hide while you…”

“While I was dying.”

“Don’t say it like that,” you scold him with a frown, “you’re alive.”

“But I could have died.” Law says with very little pride. He sounds a little out of it, which makes sense considering the circumstances. “I could have died, and you saved me.”

“Well, any one of us would’ve, Captain-“

“Thank you, y/n.”

You shake your head bashfully. “It was no problem, really.” That’s a lie, and you both know it. The water in this part of the ocean is freezing, but through some incredible resolve that you hadn’t been aware of before, you pushed through it. For him. “So… We should get back to the fight, yeah?”

You move to stand up from your place on your knees, but Law stops you. With his hand on your shoulder, he pulls you back down to his side. “You said the fight is over?”

“Mhm.”

“Then let’s just… stay here, for a moment.”

He leans toward you hesitantly, though you’re not sure if it’s because he feels weak or he just wants you to hold him again. Either way, you wrap your arms around him and rest your chin on his shoulder. You hold onto each other with gentle force, and you feel him exhale deeply.

“I need to tell you something.” Law mutters.

You pull back enough to see his face. “Right now? Can’t it wait, Law-“

“I can’t want any longer.” And he really can’t. He’d tell you about how he had mistaken you for a living, breathing angel another time. For now, he just needs to fulfill his promise to said angel (to you?), and confess his love for you.

“Ok… What is it?”

Law is very straightforward as he says it. “I’m in love with you.” And he makes it impossibly hard to return to the battle when he asks that you never leave him in this life, like so many others have. Which you promise not to, of course, though it’s not exactly your decision. You tell him that you love him too, and in turn demand that he doesn’t die on you, either. Law nods against you.

The two of you stay there a while longer, in each other’s arms around the bend.

[callsign-rogueone]

hi liz!! how are you doing?

I just wanted to ask if you could do a halloween edition of all the girlfriends dressing up

hope you ok

hi!! I’m doing okay. long weekend this week 🥳

here are my thoughts!! I had the hardest time picking costumes for some of them that could be possible in their universe — so like not pop culture references or anything. and I added how they’d be at a party, too.

Duchess is the one hosting the party, despite it being Xaden’s house — he lets her have the reins because he doesn’t do holidays, even if they’re dark and broody. I’m stuck on what she would dress up as. her and Brennan might not, honestly, with the excuse that “they’re getting too old for this” but at the very least she’d wear a nice fall-colored dress, not her rider’s clothes. she also lets her hair down for the occasion, which Brennan likes very much.

Angel dresses up as an angel, of course. cute, peaceful, and a reference to her nickname from Garrick and the boys. it’s easy enough to put together; a little white dress and a halo. Gare is a big fan of the exposed leg and the wings she’s got on. he’s going to try to pull her away from the party multiple times that night, but Angel is too polite and too shy to leave early, so Gare is a little pouty about that.

Spark is one of those people who does not care about any holiday ever. but Liam is excited about it, so she’ll play along, because she does care about him. Her costume probably consists of a t-shirt and pants, maybe a hat or a headband, but that’s it. Plunk some ears on her, and she’s the black cat to Liam’s golden retriever. Love attempted to convince her to let her draw some eyeliner whiskers — that went about as well as you’d expect it to.

Peach, our sweet healer girl, borrows someone’s flight jacket and dresses in all black to be a rider. (Dain gets over it when he sees how starry-eyed Sawyer is about this.) Later in the night, she steals the hat from Sawyer’s costume, looking him in the eye while she does. he blushes so hard, nearly choking on his drink, but thankfully these city kids don’t know the rule: wear the hat, ride the cowboy.

Darling is hand-making treats for the occasion, obviously, because she’s extra like that. she borrows a dress and shoes from Love or Duchess and is a ballerina 🥹 (this will make more sense whenever I finally finish one of her chapters… anyway) she’s classy and practical through and through, so she’s wearing tights under. and she encourages everyone to drink water and eat some real food to balance out the alcohol and churam.

Love dresses up as a fairy (because she has Tinkerbell energy). it’s easy enough to put together — a little pastel dress (of which she has dozens) and some wings, which she can make flutter with her little wisps of air. she’d make a dramatic entrance by floating down the stairs. Dain is probably a little anti-Halloween in the sense of it being “impractical” and “for children”, because there is no whimsy or fun allowed in the Aetos household, but when he sees how happy Love is, he’s on board. like Garrick, he’s into the dress and the wings, but he has the restraint not to drag her away from the party.

Sweetheart doesn’t want to stand out too much. she’s probably not going to dress up. or if she did, it would be something simple. maybe she’s another black cat with Spark — Liam plays that sunshine role for both of these withdrawn, “cold” girls. she hangs back at the edges of the party most of the night (with Xaden!) and watches it all unfold.

Sunny is also one that’s stumping me right now. she wouldn’t have any impractical clothes or shoes to wear, so she’d have to borrow something from one of the girls or make something herself. she spends a lot of the time bartending for the party, as she’s experienced in that. Aaric stays closeby the whole time, helping her, even though he has no idea what he’s doing. he probably didn’t dress up — he doesn’t seem very whimsical.

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The Widow - Chapter Eight (Finale)

Chapter Eight

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: "Family Don't End with Blood," takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her, is what happens when she falls in love again?   

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader (past) | Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, feelings, heart-to-heart, fluff, kissing 

Words: 2,641

A/N: That's all folks! Thank you all for reading and for coming on this journey with me. I appreciate all of you more than you know! 💖 I'm sure going to miss these two, but it was fun getting them to where they needed to go.

Huge thank you again to my gorgeous beta: @negans-lucille-tblr I’m not sure this would’ve even been posted without your encouragement, and thank you doesn’t seem like enough 😘

Now… go and grab those tissues!!

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist     AO3    Ko-Fi

Y/N’s POV

The first few minutes in the car are spent in awkward silence and it kills you. The relationship you have with Dean has always been easy and to think it’s been damaged beyond repair makes you sad.

“So…” Dean finally breaks the silence between you when you stop at a red light. “Good lunch?” He glances over at you and you scoff.

“That’s where you wanna go here? How was lunch?” You laugh, but it’s not the humourous kind.

“If you don’t mind, I’d much rather we get to the point and just agree that last night was a mistake and won’t happen again. So let’s do that, let’s pretend it never happened, not talk about it ever again and try to go back to the way things were.” You finish and turn your head to look out the car window.

“Before we do that, I need to say something. Last night meant everything to me,” he looks over at you and waits until you turn back towards him and meet his gaze. “Everything, Y/N. I don’t know when it happened, but I do know when I realised I was in love with you.”

“Dean…” you mutter. His words shock you, that’s about as much as you know right now, and you’re glad Dean ignores the interruption and continues talking, because you have no idea how to respond.

“It was when your car broke down on the hottest damn day of the year,” he chuckles at the memory, “and you called me for a tow. I was driving down the road you were stopped on, and I saw you sitting on the hood of your car, and you looked so beautiful. I swear you were glowing in the sunlight. It was like you had a goddamn halo or something! And my heart just stopped, and I thought ‘shit, I’m in trouble here,’ since then, I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re the first thing I think of when I open my eyes in the morning and the last before I fall asleep. Fuck… I tried to stop, I swear I did…

“I know this is hard for you to hear and it’s probably the last thing you want to deal with right now and that’s okay. But, I need you to know you were not a mistake, sweetheart. I don’t regret what we did and I never will. I know we have something that could work if you give us a chance, because you can’t fake the kinda connection we had last night. But if you want to pretend last night never happened and go back to how things were, then I’ll do that for you… but if I’m right and you feel something more for me, please, tell me.”

You remain silent and take in his confession. He’s right, you do have feelings for him, the trouble is, you don’t know if you can trust yourself. Are they real feelings, or are you mistaking them for the comfort and familiarity Dean gives you?

And then you ask yourself where this can even go. He’s your husband’s brother; people will talk. And it’s not that you care what they’ll say necessarily, there are other factors involved here. Including how John will feel, and the impact such a “scandal” could have on the family business. More importantly, though, you don’t know if you can do that to Sam.

“You know what? Forget I said anything. Your silence says it all, Y/N. Let’s just sweep last night under the carpet and chalk it down to bad judgement,” you know Dean is hurt because his voice comes out weak and defeated and you despise yourself for it.

“It wasn’t,” it’s barely audible, but at least you got something out.

“Wasn’t what?” Dean asks.

“Bad judgement,” you clarify. “And I do feel something for you, I just…” you sigh, and let your thoughts hang in the air as you try and decipher what this all means and what the best thing to do is.

“Alright,” Dean nods his head. “When we get home, we’re going to talk about all of this, okay?” Dean fixes his gaze on you and you nod in agreement. “We need to lay our cards on the table and hear each other out. It’s the only way we’ll be able to get past this, whatever this is, or ends up being.”

Again, you know he’s right. You need to get it all out in the open and be completely honest with each other because it’s the only way you’ll be able to keep Dean in your life.

“Okay,” you agree with a nod.

You go back to spending the journey in silence, but it’s not quite as heavy and suffocating as before, and you have the tiniest glimmer of hope that everything will work out just fine.

Sitting on your sofa next to Dean, you hand him a tumbler with a decent measure of whiskey and untuck the bottle from under your arm to place it on the table. In a bid for more time, you take a long sip from your wine glass as you desperately try to figure out what the hell just happened and how you ended up in this position. Dean speaks first and you sigh in relief as you’re at a complete loss for words.

“I just wanna start by saying I meant what I said,” Dean begins. “All of it,” he adds before you can question him. “I have fallen in love with you, and last night did mean the world to me.” With that, he downs the whiskey in one gulp and refills his glass. Now, at least you have your first question.

“So why didn’t you stay with me? Why did you get up and drink all night?” you ask quietly.

“We got so caught up in the moment, and neither of us even stopped to think,” he looks down at the floor and you can see and feel the shame radiating from him in waves.

“When we were finished and you were sleeping in my arms, it was like everything came crashing back to reality. I felt guilty for doing that to Sam, I felt ashamed for taking advantage of you when you were upset, I knew I’d ruined things between us and I knew I had no one to blame but myself.

“I didn’t mean to stay away all night,” Dean says, looking at you for the first time since he’d started to explain himself. “I only intended to have one or two to help me sleep, but I got upset and… two became four, and well… you saw me this morning.”

“You know you didn’t take advantage of me, right? That if I didn’t want it to happen, it wouldn’t have?” you ask him, reaching a hand out to cup his cheek and pushing gently to make him look at you. “Dean, I swear to you, I wanted it too…” you begin, but a scoff from the green-eyed man next to makes you frown.

“So this morning was what?” He looks at you pleadingly, like he was silently asking you to tell him that he hadn’t been a mistake.

“One big miscommunication, apparently,” you chuckle sadly. “Dean, when I woke up this morning, the first thing I felt was guilt for doing that to Sam. And when I turned over to seek you out, to get some comfort and to be told we didn’t do anything wrong, I was met with a cold bed.

“Fine, I thought, maybe he feels some of the guilt I do and was awake early, or couldn’t sleep… but when I came downstairs and saw the empty bottle and the bloodshot eyes, I went to the worst thing I could think of. Regret. And I went on the defensive, and for that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left without talking to you.”

“And I should’ve never left you alone. I’m truly sorry, sweetheart. Not once did it cross my mind that you’d feel the way you did. You know, knowing that makes me feel worse than the guilt ever could.” Dean’s words are full of sincerity and you nod, believing everything he’s told you tonight.

“Okay, so we both agree we did nothing wrong and that it wasn’t a mistake, but I still feel like we haven’t resolved this,” you say looking up at him. Dean nods his head in agreement, but remains silent, staring at you intently. You know this part is up to you–he’s already told you how he feels–but you stall by taking a few more sips of wine.

“I know Sam is gone, and no matter how much I want it, he’s never coming back. I know he’d want me to be happy and to find someone to love and who loves me,” you glance up at Dean and see hope in his expression. “But I feel like I’d be cheating on him or something if that person is you. And,” you continue quickly, wanting to get everything out at once, “I don’t know if I really feel what I feel for you, or if I’m confusing your familiarity with Sam for real feelings.”

Dean nods and reaches his hand out to stroke your cheek. “I understand that, sweetheart. I feel the same way, but you’re right, he’d want you to be happy, and if that ends up being with me, then we’ll get through it together. And if it isn’t with me, then I’ll help you get through it.”

You think about what Dean said, your heart filling with hope that no matter what, he’d still have your back. “How do I know if what I feel is real?”

“Well, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “I can’t help with that, that’s gotta be all you. Only you know how you feel and what’s real or not.”

Placing your wine glass on the coffee table, you shift closer to Dean and tentatively place your head on his shoulder. You smile as you hear him sigh happily.

“C’mere,” he opens his arms and lets you cuddle into his chest before putting his arms around you and kissing your forehead. The warmth and safety of Dean’s embrace spreads over you like you’ve just lay down in a hot bath, and it makes you hum in pure contentment.

His arms squeeze you tighter into his body and you find yourself raising your head to look at him. Really look at him. His bright green eyes show you nothing but tenderness. You scan your eyes over the freckles that dust his face like a beautiful, undiscovered constellation; he truly is a stunning man.

Dean licks his lips, bringing your attention to them and your memories drift to last night and how those lips felt on yours and your body. Slowly, you tilt your head and move closer to him, gently pressing your lips to his.

Hesitantly, Dean opens his mouth and you take him up on his invitation, deepening the kiss and moaning as your tongues meet. The kiss is gentle and slow, neither of you in a rush to be anywhere but right here at this moment.

With your lips still attached to his, you straddle him and settle down in his lap. Feeling the beginnings of a bulge in his jeans, you grind your core into it, smirking at his groan.

“Y/N, sweetheart.” Dean is breathless, and you find the effect you have on him intoxicating. “If you want a repeat of last night, I’m all yours, but I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you, Dean.”

Six Weeks Later

“Hey, handsome,” you smile. “It’s been a while and I’m sorry for that,” you say as you sit cross-legged at Sam’s grave. “I’ve had some things going on that I needed to work out,” you pause and pick at the strands of grass around you. 

“Something happened that I never thought would. I fell in love again. He makes me happy, Sammy. And I know he’s a good man and he’ll treat me right. If he doesn’t I’ll kick his ass,” you chuckle. “Then I’ll come here and beg you to haunt him!” your smile quickly turns to a sob.

“It’s Dean, Sam. I fell in love with Dean but I didn’t mean to. It just happened. And I need you to know that I never…” you need to stop talking to make way for the tears that won’t stop falling.

“I never felt that way about him when you were here. And I need you to know that. This is new and unexpected for both of us. I’ll always love you, Sammy, and I miss you. So fucking much every goddamn day! It’s just that I love him too. And I hope you can forgive me.”

You sit in silence for a while, just being. You know you should leave soon. Dean and John are waiting and you know they’ll be starting to worry about you. Movement catches your eye and you turn your head to see a butterfly fluttering nearby.

It lands on Sam’s gravestone and you smile, feeling a childlike joy at seeing the red admiral so close and so late in the year, even with the mild fall.

It remains perched and unmoving for a while longer before it flies over and lands on your knee. That’s when you know that this beautiful creature is a sign, and that Sam is with you.

You can feel him next to you, and you have the overwhelming feeling that everything is going to be alright and that he approves of you and Dean. The red admiral takes flight once again and circles your body.

You don’t know if it’s a laugh that erupts or if it’s a sob–maybe it’s a mixture of both–but it’s something, and you feel at peace with yourself and everything around you as you sit by his grave.

All too quickly, the butterfly takes off and flutters back into the nearby shrubs.

“I love you, Sam. Always and forever,” you say as you kiss your fingers and place them on his headstone before standing up and brushing the dirt from your jeans.“I’ll be back soon. I promise not to leave it so long next time.” 

Walking away, you feel lighter than you have in a long time, and you know that finally, you’re at peace with your husband's death and with the path that has led you to looking forward to a life with Dean.

“Hey, sweetheart, you good?” Dean asks as you wrap your arms around his waist and hug him tight. You can’t bring yourself to speak, so you nod against his chest and once more you let the tears fall, knowing that this time, they’re happy tears.

“You’re alright, Y/N, I’m right here.” Dean murmurs, and you feel another hand stroking your back.

“Sam would be happy, you know that, don’t you darlin’?” John asks. “For both of you.”

Pulling away from Dean’s embrace, you wipe your tears away and smile, “I know he is.”

You saw a red admiral at every big life moment after that day at his grave. You saw one the day Dean proposed, and again at your small, intimate wedding. One flew in the kitchen window on the day you found out you were expecting your first child, and one appeared on the day you found out about the two that came next! On every birthday and holiday, on the day you gave birth to each of your children, and on their first days at school.

It gave you immense comfort, and though at first Dean, John, and Jody put it down to coincidence, after the first few times it happened, they started looking for the butterfly on the special days too.

THE END

@deans-spinster-witch @muchamusedaboutnothing @kazsrm67 @twinkleinadiamondsky @waters-2567 @leigh70 @waynes-multiverse @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @chriszgirl92 @stoneyggirl2 @marilynnlew @ilovedean-spn2 @deans-baby-momma @acitygrownwillow @xxsovereignsarayaxx @frozenhuntress67 @lacilou @rach5ive @iprobablyshipit91

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Daniel/Max

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We've had a couple of Maxiel related asks recently so thought this was the perfect time to get a general list together! :)

nsfw: give, give, take by hungerpunch and thermocline | E | 3.7k

PWP in which transmasc Max tops Daniel for the first time. This PWP is so hot your circuit board may be in danger, fair warning. The characterisations and dialogue are great, Daniel with terrible "sexy" lines and Max a little surprised but very willing to give it to Daniel when he asks for it. I really like how Max's (probably pretty understandable) expectations of Daniel are subverted by the request.

Daniel props himself up on a forearm, cradling his chin in his hand. “Maybe, but—” he affects what he probably thinks is a sultry moue. “—when are you gonna get me on your strap, though?” Max can’t help the way his eyes widen. They’ve been fucking long enough that he supposes it’s not weird of Daniel to ask, but normally the type of men he attracts aren't as… self-possessed about busting it open. He goes from vaguely tired and mellow to wide awake and horny in less than a second; his body suddenly more electricity than muscle. "Uhh," he thinks aloud, his mouth buffering a beat slower than his brain, "... now?"

wish you away in my dreams by @vicsy | M | 7.5k

This is a stunning story, that, through the medium of Max and Daniel's relationship, examines the concept of fear, loss, and misplaced emotions. Everything this writer shares is stunning, but I particularly loved the use of imagery in this one. Beautiful!

Before him, Daniel’s form is incandescent in a golden glimmer, his unruly curls illuminated like a halo around his head. It pulls a punched-out breath out of Max’s lungs. He’ll rip the reconciliation from out of his soul if he has to, he’ll race it to the end, do what he does best, not a drop of fear tipping the scales against him this time.

nsfw: Through the Ages by Bells33 and Whippasnappa | E | 9k

A beautiful examination of Daniel and Max over the years, from 2017 to 2023. Brilliant writing and incredible graphics are interspersed with facts and figures, and it makes for a truly special read.

And here’s the thing; when Daniel laughs, it makes Max laugh too. So they’re laughing, and Daniel is helping Max extricate himself from the table where it’s folded in a bit and grabbed him like a snappy crocodile. And then there’s just this fucking moment where Max is finally upright, they’re stood way too close, inches apart, and he’s still holding on to Max’s arms for some reason. They're the same height, now. Daniel can’t remember when that happened. One moment, he’d been taller than Max. And now, Max meets him directly eye to eye.

nsfw: tender is my heart by @missyourflight | E | 10.6k

This is a Never Let Me Go AU. Daniel works in a cafe by sea. One day, a man walks in and orders a meal. Daniel can tell there is something strange about him, but isn't sure quite what. Eventually, he learns that Max is a clone, created to be an organ donor. This fic is atmospheric, sad, and explores the horrific ethics of the situation Max has been born into. He has been conditioned since birth to accept and embrace his fate - that one day, his organs will be harvested and he will die so that others may live. Daniel is horrified but is fighting against a lifetime of indoctrination to make Max see why.

“Because I thought you were a fucking – closeted Mormon, not –” “I told you I was a donor, you could have asked me to explain, you could have asked me –” “Explain it now, then!” Daniel explodes. “Fucking go on and tell me, Max, I’m all ears.” When Mr Gianpiero had explained it to them, before he was sent away from Hailsham, he’d said, not unkindly and quite clearly, so they understood, “You’re not people, not legally. Your bodies are not your own.” And he’d told them the truth, about the donations. About how long they’d get. “It’s what I’m for,” Max says, the only explanation he has. “It’s not,” Daniel says, grabbing Max’s hands in his. “This –” They’re moving together, as close as they can get, their foreheads pressed against each other, salt on both their faces, and Max feels it, the way he feels it every time Daniel touches him, the rightness of it: this is what his body is for. “This is so fucked,” Daniel says, and it hits Max like ice water. “I shouldn’t have told you,” he says, and when he steps back Daniel doesn’t reach for him again.

nsfw: caught you coming alive by anonymous | E | 17.9k

This is a dystopian future AU in which people are matched by computer before marrying. They meet their matches while blindfolded and are expected to have sex to determine if they're physically attracted and compatible. Daniel is disillusioned and cynical about the process after years of failed matches. It's Max's first time. The ache of loneliness around Daniel is palpable, and Max's guilelessness is completely in character. Max is carrying the baggage of family expectations. Their connection is natural and immediate. The worldbuilding of the story is deft and elegant and never detracts from the character work. Also, it takes a very talented author to write double-blindfolded smut.

His hand is still resting against the inside of Daniel’s bicep, and he inhales like he’s preparing for something. It is so quiet for so long that Max almost asks if Daniel wants to stop. But then they are in motion again and his fingers travel across the crook of his elbow again to the top of his forearm. “I have a little cupid here,” and the Max’s hand is only there for a moment before it’s on the move again, down, “and a bit of love underneath him. In case he needs a boost.” There is a crack, minute, and so quiet Max wonders if he only heard it because he can’t see. Maybe he wouldn’t have noticed the hitch in Daniel’s voice if he was too caught up staring at his face or tracing tattoos he can only shape in his head. But it’s there. Breaking around the word love and not quite putting itself back together by the time he’s finished speaking. Max wishes he could see him, if only to lean in to kiss him without risking a black eye for them both. “And to round off the top half of the tour, we have my beautiful rose.” Daniel’s light, teasing tone is back, and he has laced their hands together, Max’s right in Daniel’s left. “If you just do this,” and he rubs his thumb across the top of Max’s hand, “you might feel it. No thorns to worry about.”

nsfw: glory, from a high rise by @yekoc | E | 24.3k

Another AU, this one featuring Daniel as a bartender and Max as a troubled finance worker who tries to drink (and fuck) his sorrows away. This is one of the first maxiel fics I ever read. It's kind of a greatest hit in Maxiel fandom to the point where I wondered if I should even rec it. But the chance of someone new coming along to the pairing and missing out on this masterpiece is one I can't bear to take. Max's sadness and self-punishment in this story is crushing, and his emotional unavailability makes this relationship's early stages very difficult. Daniel is emotionally mature enough to protect himself and be realistic and clear about what he wants and needs in a partner. It's a long journey for them (and us), but absolutely worth it.

He couldn’t look at Daniel. Daniel didn’t need to apologize; Max knew what he wanted was fucked up, something desperate and out of his control. With Daniel sometimes it had felt better, like it was something okay; like he was good. But Max got it. Daniel wanted a—a boyfriend, someone he took home and went out to dinner with and introduced to his family at Christmas. He was thirty. His friends had families. Daniel deserved that too. He would be good at it.

nsfw: one step closer and i'm real by whichisgolden | E | 24.7k

Max time travels through different universes and falls in love with every version of Daniel. I loved the ending so much (and I won't spoil it but it's absolutely adorable). I also loved the characterization of both Max and Daniel, it felt so real!

“Daniel kissed the side of his face, his eyebrow. “If I did choose,” he said, haltingly. “If I wanted to come back, and what you’re saying is right and you got zapped away into another dimension— I don’t think there’s any universe where I wouldn’t want to do this with you. All Daniel Ricciardos want to kiss you.” Max opened one eye. “What if I have the defective one?” Daniel burst into laughter. “I think we’re all defective, actually. That’s why we like you.” “Okay, shut up.” Max wrestled him down on the couch to kiss him, and then they had to go celebrate.

Anonymous by @boxboxbrioche | M | 26.4k

This fic is partially told through emails & social media messages, and takes place in a parallel-canon 2022 season, where F1 has taken some PR hits because the drivers are constantly getting into fights. The FIA hires an expert public relations manager, who has some... creative solutions, including an anonymous messaging feature between drivers. Every part of this makes me smile: the warm, dry humour, the perfect characterisation & Maxiel dynamic, the PR shenanigans... and, of course, the "anonymous" messages. It feels like a love letter to online friendships, not just anonymous ones - celebrating how you can be your honest self and share what you might not share with people irl (and, if you're Max and Daniel, fall in love all over again in the process!)

P.S. - A big congratulations to Roscoe Hamilton for signing on for a new modelling contract, showing off a range of very fashionable luxury dog jackets. Although the adage goes - ‘never work with children or animals’ - I do sometimes wonder if it would be easier on both counts.

nsfw: there was always warmth between us by @freeuselandonorris | E | 32.1k

Max brings a sex toy to a race and Daniel inevitably finds it. What ensues is rising sexual tension and tiptoeing around each other. I really liked this fic for how it made this single event, Daniel finding Max’s toy, into a deeper story with rising tension and a lot of humanness. I think that was my favourite part about it, how human both this Max and Daniel are, even within the context of sex. The character development was a lot of fun to read and made the pay off even more worth it!

Dan smiles at him in an unfocused sort of way, his hand brushing against Max’s knuckles. Max twitches. Is he doing it on purpose? He glances at Dan’s face but finds it inscrutable.

nsfw: come on, star boy by @yekoc | E | 42k

A high school football AU of Max and Daniel! Featuring past Brocedes and a little bit of angst with Jos being a sucky dad. They live in Alabama and it explores their story in high school love! I loved the writing style so much! I feel like high school AUs are also not super common in the F1 fandom, so it was so nice reading it!

“Do you miss it?” Daniel asks. “Not school, I mean. Soccer. Football.” “Yes,” Max says. He draws his feet up onto the seat and wraps his arms around his legs, chin on his knees. The strap of the seat belt pulls against his broad shoulders. It can’t be very comfortable. Daniel can’t get his head around it, that Max and his dad moved all the way to what, to fucking nowhere Alabama, so that he could play football instead of soccer; so that he could grab hold of some faint trail towards stardom.

nsfw: right where you left me by TheNorthRemembers | E | 54k

It's 2018, and Daniel and Max are driving for Red Bull. It's the Azerbaijan GP, and the inevitable crash happens. Max goes to sleep, but once he wakes up–he finds that he's in a time loop. This is my favorite time loop fic ever! "It's race day" quotes haunt me in my sleep in the best way possible, and the fic delves so much into Daniel leaving Red Bull and how Max deals with it.

All Max can do is stare, his heart beating so hard, he can feel it in his voice as he speaks. “You are leaving.” How are they supposed to be together if Daniel is leaving? If he hates racing with Max so much that he wants to give up his seat with Red Bull, his chance at winning, at winning it all. How can they- He never says ‘I love you’ but he just called Max a child, he just said he’d leave. And what the fuck does that say about them? About Daniel’s feelings for Max? “I’m doing what is best for my career,” Daniel says, like that means anything at all.

this list was compiled by @lydia-petze, @boxboxbrioche, @maaxverstappen, @blueballsracing, @singsweetmelodies

[ms0milk]

𝟏 | 𝐀 𝐖𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐚 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐩

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"The prince meets you with a ferocity that probably stops people’s hearts and with his mother’s halo of silvery hair and decisive eyes, it’s lovely enough to stop yours too."

no cw big time fairytale castle, blunt bkg & silly co. reader's a lil stiff bc character arcs aren't built in a day, let the slowburn begin. i am not immune to aizawa in any universe. author does not attempt to hide how very badly she wants to ******* *** **** bkg's mama. 3.8k

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Waking up is so peaceful this morning. Gentle and warm.

"..…"

That sweet kind of rise between waking and dreaming, where you’re able to say goodbye to your dreams and the people in them with a tip of your hat and wave goodbye. Forgiving and patient.

“..Y/n…”

The queen was in your dreams tonight. And you were in your hometown– you’re there now. The fields are golden and heavy before autumn harvest and your neighbors have no need for locks on their doors. She is beautiful today, and she is your sister, your mother, your Lady when you try to look past the sun’s rays to her face. Up, up, up into her eyes, why can’t you find what you’re looking for? Higher and higher until it’s the stars you’re on your knees for.

“Y/n.”

You jolt at the sudden sensation of falling with a quick and panicked grip on your pillow but you’re back in your room, stuffed mattress and all. Every part of your body is grounded to woolen blankets and the weight at your feet. Someone laughs at the foot of your bed when you sigh in relief and you jump again, because this time it’s the queen.

“I’m sorry to wake you.” She smiles behind her hand. You’re staring. And then it’s been a second too long before you gather yourself like a member of the castle with some respect and make a move to stand for formal greetings. But you only get as far as sitting up when she stiffs her palm to your forehead. “Stay.”

From your spot still tucked in bed you muster a, “Yes, your Majesty.”

The queen’s hair is wild and silvery by the light of a candle she holds at her chest. The only light in the room. Heavy fur cape clasps fit neatly into the bodice of her nightgown– gown almost isn't the right word. You love her. There isn’t a citizen alive that doesn’t love her, “I have a question for you, Y/n.”

“Anything, Majesty.”

What time is it? Your curtain is drawn, but still there doesn’t seem to be any morning light trying to peek through.

“My son’s been invited east to celebrate a new observatory.” The queen pulls a once-neatly-wrapped envelope from her pocket, “The end of some momentous constructional undertaking or another,” she laughs. She extends her hand to you and smiles at just how dumbstruck you still seem to be by candlelight, “I’m sorry it’s so early.”

“Not at all.” You move too quickly and too slowly somehow– you curse yourself– while taking it from her, and regret what a silly child you must look like the way she has you perched against your pillows.

“I just received word from a Takoban messenger. A letter from their queen.” You nod, turn the letter over in your hands until it falls open. “He’s leaving today and I would very much like you to accompany him.”

Your apartments on Castle Southside are suddenly less like one modest room and more like the very stables you live above, wholly unfit for her. She’s still smiling at you. You’re still tucked-in. “Majesty, me?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“Of course not. But wouldn’t– shouldn’t Master Jeanist go?”

“Jeanist stays with me.” And you realize in horror– too many emotions for one woman to manifest only minutes after waking up– that you implied the queen may have made a mistake. “Don’t apologize,” she catches you before you can open your sleep-addled mouth again, “Captain of the Guard stays here. But you’ve trained with Jeanist for years Y/n, you’ll be my son’s captain soon.” She scoots closer to you. She takes your hand, “Can I trust you with this mission?”

It's fuzzy, hearth warmth and happiness when she uses your name, “With anything.”

Queen Mitsuki handed over one more letter before leaving you to prepare for your morning. Just a thank you card, she’d said. For you to deliver to the eastern queen, the Queen of Takoba.

As long as she asks you might do anything, although spending the most time with Jeanist meant nothing by way of his successor. The next monarch will choose his own captain. Spending the most time with Jeanist only means that you haven't given great priority to making your own friends.

The click of your heels down the stone hallway line up with another’s as you round the corner to your station. A tree today. Trees and wildlife grow freely in the Bakugous’ Aldera Castle and make the palace warm even in the grip of winter. Knobbly trunks and grasping vines twist in and out of windows, fruit rolls down the halls in fall. Squirrels and birds get in so regularly that members of the guard each have one shift a week exclusively for hoisting the creatures back out.

Fresh air is never far away. In the springtime you are all tasked with sweeping blossoms off the castle floors before they wither or trip a staff, and from the very second the first magnolia blooms in March you’re swimming in flowers til June.

Jeanist stands under the lichen of Castle Southside’s oak tree when you arrive, and the soldier he was speaking to has already strode away. Tall, black hair.

The oak tree is four stories tall to have arms reaching this far inside and is older than any historian could recall. It is precious family. It reaches up and over the banister at the edge of the hallway and dips down into the library like a leafy chandelier, causing much headache in autumn when Aldera's tallest ladder is procured for the poor novice whose job it is to clean the books underneath.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

“Sir.”

Jeanist only smiles under the high collar of his red uniform. You rarely get the chance to stand beside your mentor anymore, now that the prince needs only a senior guard on diplomatic errands. Your uniforms were meant to stand together just like this– warm next to each other. Yours are the only two of their kind and your mentor made these himself, blood red gambeson and white bone clasps. You assume your position beside the tree and stare dead ahead, happy, if only for a second, if only on the inside, to belong once again to this group of two.

“Y/n?”

“Sir.” You don’t break eye contact with the far wall. Dawn is dim on the fifth floor of Southside. All you have here to entertain yourself is a tapestry you’ve memorized every stitch of, until another soldier comes to relieve you.

“Did you speak with the Queen?”

“Yes, sir. Early this morning.”

“Earlier than dawn?” Jeanist chuckles and turns to gaze out the window through the ancient knots of the oak tree. The sun crests the mountains somewhere farther than you’ve ever traveled and spills into the folds of his uniform. It warms the back of your head. “What did you tell her?”

“That I would be honored to comply with Her Majesty's request.”

“And how do you feel?”

“Privileged, sir.”

“Y/n." Your eyes tug at your periphery, confused by the general chattiness of the old guard this morning, “I’m proud of you.”

Your head turns fully at this, in surprise and without your permission, and you realize it hasn’t yet struck you to ask why he’s at your post in the first place.

“Go on.” He’s looking at you too now, as he has been the whole time, “They’ll leave without you at this rate.”

You stare for another two seconds at this strange mentor of yours. You try to keep your heart from spilling onto the floor is actually what you do; it’s all you can manage. “Yes, sir.”

If anything you’ll be the first of the entire party to arrive in the Great Hall, but you still let Jeanist assume your position and even turn in surprise again when he rests a hand on your shoulder. He taps one of your small earrings with a gentle finger and with his other hand unclasps the dragontooth brooch from his breast.

“How long did you stare when the queen spoke with you this morning?”

Ears go hot immediately under his knowing gaze, but he only smiles. He pulls your hand forward and rests the dragontooth in your palm with an amount of pressure that can only mean, be careful. And so you will, you determine, and turn to make your way to collect your things.

“Word of advice!” In a neverending morning of spinning, you drag your foot and face him again. Jeanist is nearly laughing and trying very well to hide his worry, “If you stare at the prince the way you have the tendency to do, he might just take your head off.”

He doesn’t get to see you smile often, but it does feel fitting now for you to nod your goodbye to him with the look of yours he loves so much, “He might try, sir."

It didn’t take more than a few months in the castle, at six years old, for the prince to rectify his opinion of you. To clarify his disdain in the event that his mother’s favoritism towards the orphan gave anyone the wrong idea about his own priorities. You could hardly say it mattered. Hundreds of new faces fill the castle every year and he had forgotten yours just as quickly as you had been whisked into Jeanist’s care to begin your training and earn your keep.

Today your satchel is packed, your hair’s braided back, and the prince thinks no more or less of you than he always has. Indifference will make your job easy.

The whole sprawling maze of stone buildings warm in the morning sun as you make your way to Castle Northside, although autumn is here and soon heavy curtains will need to be draped over windows and trees. Soon too, it’ll be time to sweep fallen leaves out of the hallway and collect ripe peaches from the branches of the western stairwell. You’ll need to have your winter uniform cleaned when you return so the white fur of the collar glows, because when the queen happens to see you on duty she always remarks on how well you care for her colors.

Even your earrings– tiny suns, gold and dangling– represent your love for Aldera down to the smallest detail. They were a gift, and you swell when her eyes jump from one carefully polished detail on your body to the next. To Jeanist, she is personification of meticulous craft. You know that’s why he loves her. Each hulking winter cape in her collection drops her into the background of some priceless painting or ethereal scene and for this reason alone, winter is your favorite season.

Sometimes in cold weather, when she sneaks to the kitchen in the middle of the night, Her Majesty wears battle gauntlets to stay warm and is altogether too Alderan in delicate furs and armored gloves.

It is just at this moment of routine admiration that, out of an auxiliary hallway to the kitchen, saunters a tall boy you’ve never seen before wearing the white soldier’s greaves. He's hardly dressed, greaves aside, all loose undershirt and lazy stride. He knows your name and he calls to you as he approaches.

“Yes soldier?”

His limbs are knobbly and his mouth hitches uncomfortably upwards when he finally gets close enough to you to speak, “Hanta ma'am, Sero Hanta.” Tall and disrespectful. “Master Jeanist sent me to fetch your halberd from the smithy but when I came back–”

“I don’t keep my halberd in the smithy.”

He shifts his weight between two legs too long for his greaves like he has somewhere else to be, “Whoever’s it is, Kirishima has it now and we’ve all been searching Southside like madmen trying to fin–”

“Who–” You shake your head and turn to face him fully now, “Why does the master–”

“Sero! Oh my everloving gods you found her!” Another boy, quite blond, scrambles out of a different hallway– oh, he’s tripping on the decorative runner– out of breath to the soldier’s side. “Kirishima–”

“You found her!” One last voice shrills over the banister of the hallway above. This one belongs to a lithe pink girl and she hops the last five stairs to land at your side, “Don’t you look nice today Miss Guard.”

“Excuse me?”

She addresses her companions instead, “Where’s Kirishima?”

You have half a mind to take the closest person by the arm and hold them for questioning. How have they gotten so far into the center of the castle unaccompanied? To whom do they belong? “Identify yourselves.”

“No time for that,” Soldier Sero snaps and links a hand under each of his companions’ arms, “We’ll parse out introductions once we’re not all about to be hanged.” Without direction or permission, the three of them are down the last stretch of hall quicker than north wind through bare branches and great iron doors scream open.

You’ve walked the Hall ten thousand times and so the gold trim, the fireplace and both it's stories, the sappy scent of pine, and the rows of tables long enough to seat whole families of dragons, only bring tears to your eyes on occasion. The floor is cobbled with river stones that catch fruit and nuts in their grooves but glow a molten-glass purple when the sun comes in through windows. It gets warm, too warm, when it’s full of staff at mealtimes so you take your dinners elsewhere. It’s too stuffy. You’ve never managed large crowds in tight spaces so times like these are precious, when it’s empty before breakfast and still clean from the night's housekeeping.

Except it’s not empty now, is it? There are three fools and two brand new strangers loitering in front of the fireplace at the other end of the room, just waiting for you to call for reinforcements. Sero begins to take off his pants–

“Soldier!” You shout down the Hall almost as quickly as you cross it.

“Good morning,” an altogether new voice pools between your exclamations.

Of the five people in the empty room, two of them obviously belong someplace very far away. Somewhere unkind. Blue tunics and windswept hair. You slow your warpath and try to take in the details of the two new men that Aldera's three fugitives have approached without an ounce of concern or respect for personal space.

The younger of the pair repels hair ruffles and claps on the shoulder from your three trespassers while the taller man, worn and travel-sallow, peers over the bustle to you.

His eye contact doesn't match the way he holds his exhausted body. It is this one part of him that threatens, surely only in your own tired mind, sudden and practiced violence. You move closer.

“I am Master Aizawa."

When he blinks the threat vanishes and you buckle a bit in the whiplash from danger to gentle authority. You are unarmed for a second– suddenly a schoolgirl again, pitied by her teacher in a classroom full of people who haven't learned to talk to child soldiers.

"Your party will be under my protection and instruction beginning today.” Disarming eye contact aside, Master Aizawa, this fourth stranger of the morning, looks as if he could barely be trusted to remain upright on a sunny day, let alone manage other people. “This young man is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he tips his chin to the boy trying to stand tall beside him, still speaking only to you over the chittering crowd, “my apprentice and your second in command.”

Windswept, violent, exhausted, trespassers, guests, useful, useless– these people do not matter. You are meant to be waiting for the prince and his convoy not chasing strangers in circles around the castle, when a much worse thought comes clear to center focus. In your rush this morning it hadn’t occurred to you that this group of people might share your objective. The iron doors grunt open again in your confusion but louder than the doors are the people walking through them.

“Oh amazing, you found her!”

“I could hear you horrible fucks all the way from the courtyard.”

Your blood doesn’t rush properly for a second most likely because your heart has stopped pumping it out. The prince. You square your body to the back wall immediately and bow with fists at your side, trying to bury the incorrigible urge to stare.

Even from half a Hall away it is palpable, the tremendous confidence that swells to every corner of a room when he enters. He wears an Alderan vest lined with furs and you know the clasps at his neck are gold because the queen wouldn’t settle for less. The red cape they grip sweeps in an arc as he navigates tables, and walking duly tall beside him is the prince's champion, Kirishima, who holds a polearm in one hand while waving to the group with the other.

The two familiar faces put you at a strange kind of ease. Kirishima is a joyful addition to the castle, always smiles for staff in passing, and the prince– the prince is taller now. It’s been years since you’ve stood near him properly. Castle staff are meant to bow their heads when a royal approaches. You’re fairly familiar with the details of his boots but not much else.

“Good morning, Highness,” Master Aizawa is the first to reply and his voice simmers just above a growl. You raise your head so that you’re standing tall when the prince finishes his march to the group but you’re too practiced in looking away to keep your eyes up for long.

“Long time no see old man.”

“Ready?”

“Let’s get this over with.” The prince doesn’t offer you a glance, not even a blink, before he’s tossing a rucksack from the man’s outstretched arm over his shoulder.

Soldier Sero calls after him, “You clean up nice,” and lifts his arm to give the prince a playful swat, but you’re already holding his wrist behind his back and he’s standing on tall tippy toes to keep the pressure in his knobby elbow from breaking it. The prince squares himself to the yelping and now he’s looking at you.

“S-sorry Y/n! Friendly fire.”

You drop Sero’s arm and try to speak– it's your only chance for appropriate introduction– but the prince meets you with a ferocity that probably stops people’s hearts and with his mother’s halo of silvery hair and decisive eyes, it’s lovely enough to stop yours too. His coalfire gaze is quick and flickering. Like he hopes to avoid looking at you altogether. You try to speak even less successfully than the last time, to wet your lips, try to make a sound, but he’s already rolling his eyes and ushering the two blue guards towards the door.

“I don’t need a fuckin’ babysitter. The rest of you, hurry up.”

They do. The prince, two escorts, and three guests are back out the iron doors without so much as a greeting, explanation, or itinerary. You stand next to the cold fireplace, still half bowed in greeting.

As the Great Hall stills, empty now except for Kirishima, the redhead sidles closer in the quiet. He watches you excitedly, as you exhale and adjust the travel bag at your hip, eager to present you with the weapon he’s been carrying.

“Mornin’, I think this is from Jeanist?" He chirps and twitters with a smile and precisely no clue what it is he’s handed to you. He’s straightforward and confident and warm.

It’s been a long time since a day so new has been so active. Since dawn, nothing but one heart palpitation after the next. One pair of red eyes to the next. The prince’s red burns your vision like sunspots, Aizawa's turn grapes to wine, but Kirishima’s is patient. You’re slow to remove your gloves before handling the weapon and take it from the champion who vibrates in the new quiet. He is not particularly good at standing still.

Shifting in your hands is a halberd. Its balance is even and it’s not the cherrywood weapon you’re familiar with, the one that’s hopefully still hanging up in its slot in the Keep. This weapon is a deep blood red from shaft to socket. You nod your head without taking your eyes off the shimmer of the metal polished so fine it's turned white, and on any other day there might be tears in your eyes.

Kirishima is still smiling as you fiddle with the rivets, “You have lovely taste, it’s beautiful.”

“It’s not mine,” you whisper, because it’s Master Jeanist’s.

Outside of the castle gates, a particularly dazzling blue carriage is waiting, pulled by a team of white horses. You squint at the three fools wrestling with each other next to a quilted door of the most delicate vehicle you’ve ever seen. Like something out of a storybook, like something built by fairies. The prince tiffs with a less-than-interested Master Aizawa in the grass a ways off and taps his foot angrily just like his mother.

“Are you the Alderan escort?” Shinsou, the spitting image of apathy, appears between you and Kirishima as you trek the stone path to join the party. He hands you each a sizable knapsack.

You nod, “Y/n, apprentice to Captain Jeanist.”

“The one and only?”

“Captain?”

“No, the only apprentice,” Shinsou corrects and smiling eyes betray his disinterest, “I’ve heard stories. It’s nice to meet you, Y/n.”

“Likewise,” you murmur as he leaves you with a bag in both hands, and strides back to the crowd to help load luggage. The champion is long gone and mingling with friends and so you’re alone again, left to fiddle at a distance with your halberd and the leather sling used to carry it on your back.

When you gaze back over the group from afar, it does seem that everyone but you already quite likes one another, and it probably feels that way because it’s true. They know each other somehow and you are the only stranger. A foreigner at the front gates of your home.

Next to the stack of luggage, Sero opens the door for his two friends and you must watch them all curtsy before trying to wrestle each other inside. Shinsou catches the blond when he trips backwards on the single carriage step, Sero is finally wearing pants that fit him, black and pleated, and the prince is now stamping his foot on the ground in conversation with the most unfazed man you’ve ever met. Master Aizawa, you suppose, from Takoba.

Behind you the warm castle whistles with wind and morning activity. Your home. In front of you the pink-haired girl blows kisses to imaginary admirers and Kirishima hoists the prince into the carriage by force. It hasn’t been more than an hour and it is already good, true, and apparent that this caravan will have your full attention or else start a war.

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