#seldom encountered

[pratchettquotes]

"Fascinatin'," said Ridcully. "Sapient pearwood, eh?" He knelt down in an effort to see underneath.

The Luggage backed away. It was used to terror, horror, fear, and panic. It had seldom encountered interest before.

Terry Pratchett, Interesting Times

[astrxq]

Soulbound Flames

jacaerys velaryon x reader

words: 15.7k

notes: based on this request!

In the shadowed corners of Westeros, where the ancient blood of Old Valyria still held sway, stories of soulmates and dragon bonds had long been whispered but seldom believed. These tales, passed down through generations like precious heirlooms, spoke of a connection so profound that it transcended the already miraculous bond between dragon and rider. It was said that in those ancient times, a dragon could sense the one person who was destined for their rider – a rare and almost mystical connection, deeper and more profound than anything known to the world of men.

But those days were long past, faded into the mists of time and legend. Few alive still entertained such tales, dismissing them as fantastical relics of a bygone era. Now, these stories were spoken of only in quiet corners, among the old and the hopeful, or in the halls of Rhaenyra's court, where intrigue thrummed like a low, constant hum beneath the surface of daily life.

You were no stranger to these whispered legends, though you had never expected to find yourself at the heart of one. The very notion seemed absurd, a flight of fancy better suited to the dreams of children than the harsh realities of life in the Seven Kingdoms. 

You had grown up in the court of Princess Rhaenyra, a place where politics and power wove through every interaction like golden threads in a tapestry. Your father, a man of keen intellect and unwavering loyalty, had been a member of her council for as long as you could remember. He was deeply entrenched in the delicate dance of alliances and loyalties that made up the backbone of the court, a world you observed with careful, curious eyes from the sidelines.

As his daughter, you were afforded a certain standing -- a place close enough to power to be seen, but far enough that you could move quietly, observing the world around you with a perspective few others shared. It was a unique position, one that allowed you to see both the glittering facade of court life and the complex machinery that lay beneath.

It was there, within the imposing stone walls of the castle, that you first met Jacaerys Velaryon. The memory of that initial encounter was etched clearly in your mind, a moment that would prove to be more significant than you could have possibly imagined at the time.

The prince had been little more than a boy when you first encountered him, his face still soft with the roundness of youth. At one and ten, he was caught in that peculiar stage between childhood and adolescence, his body growing faster than his confidence could keep up. And yet, even then, there was something about Jacaerys that set him apart from the other children of the court.

It wasn't his lineage, impressive though it was. Nor was it the way the adults seemed to watch him with a mixture of hope and expectation, as if already envisioning the man he would become. No, what struck you most about Jacaerys was the intensity in his dark eyes, a depth of feeling and thought that seemed at odds with his youthful appearance. Those eyes, you would come to learn, could convey volumes without a single word being spoken.

Your first meeting had been unremarkable by most standards -- a chance encounter in one of the castle's many winding corridors. You had been hurrying back to your chambers, arms laden with books from the library, when you quite literally ran into the young prince. The collision sent your carefully balanced stack of tomes tumbling to the floor, the sound of their impact echoing off the stone walls.

"I'm so sorry!" Jacaerys had exclaimed, immediately dropping to his knees to help gather the scattered books. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

You had been prepared to be annoyed, perhaps even a little indignant at the interruption. But as you knelt beside him, reaching for a particularly ornate volume on herbal remedies, you caught sight of his face. The genuine concern in his expression, coupled with the slight flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks, immediately softened your mood.

"It's alright," you had assured him, offering a small smile. "No harm done."

Jacaerys had returned your smile then, a tentative quirk of his lips that seemed to light up his entire face. As he handed you the last of the fallen books, your fingers had brushed against his, and for the briefest of moments, you felt a strange tingling sensation, as if a spark had passed between you.

"You like to read?" he had asked, eyeing the impressive stack of books with curiosity.

You nodded, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about your literary choices. "I do. These are mostly about herbs and their medicinal properties. My father says it's important to understand the healing arts."

Jacaerys' eyes had widened with interest. "That sounds fascinating. I've been trying to learn more about dragon lore myself, but the maester says I need to focus on my history lessons first."

The conversation flowed easily from there, both of you discovering a shared love of learning and a curiosity about the world around you. By the time you parted ways, a seed of friendship had been planted, one that would grow and flourish in the years to come.

The whispers about you and Jacaerys had started early, though at first, you paid them little mind. They were nothing more than the idle gossip of the court, after all -- soft-spoken observations about how often you and the young prince seemed to find yourselves in each other's company.

The women of the court, always eager for a new story to dissect and discuss, had their theories. Some said it was nothing more than the innocent friendship of children, a natural camaraderie born of proximity and shared interests. Others, however, hinted at something deeper, more magical. They spoke in hushed tones of the way Jacaerys' dragon, Vermax, seemed unusually interested in you, even from a young age.

"Have you noticed," they would whisper behind ornate fans and goblets of wine, "how the prince's dragon watches her? It's not natural, the way those golden eyes follow her every move."

"Perhaps," another would reply, voice lowered conspiratorially, "there's truth to the old tales after all. Dragons and soulmates, imagine that!"

But you had never paid the rumors much mind. After all, they were just stories, weren't they? Fanciful tales spun by bored courtiers looking for entertainment. You and Jacaerys were friends, nothing more. The notion that there could be anything magical or predestined about your relationship seemed laughable.

And yet, as the years passed, you couldn't help but notice the way Vermax's gaze seemed to linger on you, those intelligent eyes watching with an intensity that was both unnerving and oddly comforting. There were times when you could have sworn the dragon understood more than he let on, as if he were privy to some great secret that eluded both you and Jacaerys.

You and Jacaerys had grown up together in the court, your paths crossing often in the gardens or the corridors of Dragonstone. He had always been kind to you, though shy in his attentions. There was a gentleness to Jacaerys that set him apart from many of the other young nobles, a thoughtfulness that manifested in small, considerate gestures.

You, in turn, had found a quiet comfort in his presence. There was a simplicity to your relationship in those early days, a kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you felt the need to question. You could sit together in comfortable silence for hours, each absorbed in your own pursuits, or engage in spirited debates about everything from the properties of various herbs to the intricacies of dragon anatomy.

But as the years passed, that simplicity began to shift, evolving into something more complex, more charged with potential. The easy camaraderie of childhood gave way to a deeper connection, one tinged with an awareness that neither of you quite knew how to navigate.

Your childhood with Jacaerys had been marked by small, innocent moments that, in retrospect, held far more significance than you had realized at the time. Days spent in the castle gardens became treasured memories, each one a building block in the foundation of your relationship.

You had always been drawn to the quiet magic of the natural world, finding solace and purpose among the neat rows of herbs and flowers. It was there, surrounded by the heady scent of lavender and rosemary, that you felt most at peace. And it was there that you often found yourself in Jacaerys' company, sharing your knowledge and passion with the curious prince.

One particular memory stood out vividly in your mind -- a warm summer afternoon when you were both on the cusp of adolescence. You had been gathering herbs with a care that belied your age, your fingers moving deftly among the fragrant leaves and stems. Jacaerys had watched you work, his dark eyes bright with curiosity.

"Here," you had said, offering him a carefully arranged bundle of lavender and rosemary. "For you."

Jacaerys had accepted your gift with a puzzled smile, turning the herbs over in his hands as if trying to decipher some hidden meaning. "I don't understand," he had said, his voice tinged with a mixture of amusement and genuine confusion. "Why do you always give me these?"

You had shrugged, your hands covered in the rich scent of the earth. "They're for protection," you explained, recalling the lessons your mother had taught you long ago. "My mother used to say that rosemary wards off evil. And lavender helps with sleep and calming the mind."

Jacaerys had laughed then, though not unkindly. His eyes had sparkled with mirth as he asked, "And you think I need more courage?"

"It couldn't hurt," you had replied with a grin, pleased to see the way his face lit up with amusement. "Besides, everyone could use a little extra protection, even princes."

There had been something about that moment -- something in the way his laughter had faded into a quiet, thoughtful smile -- that stayed with you long after. Even then, you had sensed the way his feelings for you were beginning to shift, though neither of you were old enough to truly understand what that meant.

What you didn't know then, and wouldn't discover until years later, was that Jacaerys had kept every bundle of herbs you had given him. He had hidden them away in a small, ornate box beneath his bed, a secret treasure trove of memories. Though their scents had long faded, their meaning lingered, a tangible reminder of the bond you shared.

As you both grew older, the innocent exchanges of childhood gave way to something more nuanced, charged with an energy neither of you quite understood. You began to notice the way Jacaerys' eyes lingered on you a little too long, the way he seemed to find excuses to be near you.

There were times when he would reach out, his fingers brushing against yours as he helped you plant a new seedling, and you would feel a spark of electricity pass between you. It was a connection that defied explanation, a current of energy that seemed to flow between you, dragon, and rider.

And always, always, there was Vermax. The prince's dragon had been a constant presence in Jacaerys' life since he was no more than an egg. The bond between them was instantaneous and profound, as it was with all dragonriders. But there had always been something unique about Vermax, a keen intelligence that seemed to go beyond even the considerable intellect of his kind.

From a young age, the dragon had been fiercely protective of Jacaerys, following him with a loyalty that seemed almost human in its depth. But as the years passed, you began to realize that Vermax's interest in you was not entirely normal.

At first, it had seemed like little more than curiosity. Dragons were intelligent creatures, after all, and it wasn't unusual for them to take an interest in the people around their riders. But Vermax's attention had gone beyond that. There were moments when you would feel the weight of his gaze on you, heavy and expectant, as though he were waiting for something.

It was unsettling at times, though never frightening. In fact, there was a strange sense of comfort in the dragon's presence, as though he were watching over you just as much as he was watching over Jacaerys. It was a dynamic that you couldn't quite explain, but one that felt inexplicably right.

As you and Jacaerys entered your early teenage years, the dynamics of your relationship began to shift in subtle but unmistakable ways. The easy camaraderie of childhood gave way to a more complex interplay of emotions, fraught with the uncertainty and excitement of first love.

You found yourself hyper-aware of Jacaerys' presence, your heart quickening whenever he entered a room. The sound of his laughter, once simply pleasant, now sent shivers down your spine. You caught yourself watching him when you thought he wasn't looking, admiring the way he had begun to grow into his lanky frame, the way his jawline had sharpened and his shoulders broadened.

Jacaerys, for his part, seemed equally affected by the change in your relationship. His usual confidence would falter when you were near, his words becoming tangled as he struggled to maintain the easy conversation you had once shared. You noticed the way his eyes would follow you across a room, lingering on the curve of your neck or the sway of your skirts.

The whispers in the halls continued, handmaids and courtiers alike softly mumbling about the prince's obvious crush. You tried to ignore them, and you liked to think Jacaerys did too, but their words planted seeds of possibility in your mind that you couldn't quite shake.

One particularly memorable afternoon, you had been tending to the castle gardens, carefully snipping away at the overgrown tendrils of ivy that threatened to choke out the more delicate plants. You were lost in thought, your mind wandering as your hands worked automatically, when Jacaerys joined you.

You heard him before you saw him, his footsteps crunching softly on the gravel path. "You're going to turn this place into a jungle," he teased, his voice carrying a warmth that made your heart skip a beat.

Looking up, you saw him leaning against a stone pillar, watching you with an amused expression. His hair was tousled, likely from the wind, and you noticed a wooden practice sword at his side. He'd been training with his younger brother Lucerys, you realized, a fact that explained the slight sheen of sweat on his brow and the healthy flush in his cheeks.

You felt a smear of dirt on your own cheek and resisted the urge to wipe it away, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. Instead, you straightened up, brushing your hands on your apron. "I happen to think that a bit of wildness adds character," you replied, unable to keep a smile from tugging at your lips.

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, his own smile widening. "Character, or chaos?" he asked, pushing off from the pillar and moving closer.

"Chaos, definitely," you admitted with a laugh. "But it's the good kind of chaos. The kind that reminds us that not everything needs to be perfectly manicured and controlled."

He nodded, his eyes scanning the garden with newfound appreciation. "I suppose I can't argue with that. As long as you promise not to let the roses take over the entire castle."

You hummed in agreement, though you both knew you had no real intention of reining in the roses anytime soon. Their wild beauty was part of what made the garden so special, after all.

Jacaerys moved to kneel by your side, his hands mimicking yours as he began to help with the pruning. You worked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sounds the snip of shears and the distant call of birds.

"How was training?" you asked eventually, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He shrugged, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Lucerys is getting better. He almost managed to disarm me today."

You couldn't help but chuckle at the mix of pride and mild indignation in his voice. "I'm sure you'll always be able to best him in something," you teased. "If not swordplay, then perhaps in your ability to brood dramatically while staring off into the distance."

Jacaerys let out a bark of laughter, nudging you playfully with his shoulder. "I do not brood," he protested, though his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Oh, but you do," you insisted, your voice taking on a mock-serious tone. "It's quite impressive, really. Very princely."

He playfully glared at you, moving to mirror your position and watch as you threaded the herbs in your hands. Jacaerys spoke of the latest lessons he'd been struggling with, his brow furrowing slightly as he recounted a particularly challenging session with the castle's maester. 

"Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever truly understand all the intricacies of statecraft," he confessed, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret. "There's so much to remember, so many nuances to consider."

You paused in your pruning, turning to face him fully. The vulnerability in his admission touched something deep within you. It was rare for Jacaerys to express doubt, especially about matters related to his future role. "You will," you assured him, your voice soft but firm. "You have a good heart, Jace. That's more important than memorizing every law and precedent."

His eyes met yours, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, more intense, swirling in their depths. "You always know what to say," he murmured, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with an energy that made your heart race. You were acutely aware of how close you were sitting, of the way the afternoon sun caught the highlights in Jacaerys' hair, of the slight quickening of his breath. You cleared your throat, hoping to hide your fluster. 

Suddenly, a mischievous glint appeared in Jacaerys' eyes, breaking the tension of the moment. He reached over and plucked a small, vibrant flower from a nearby bush. With exaggerated ceremony, he tucked it behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

"There," he said, his voice soft. "Now you look like a true spirit of the garden."

You felt a warmth creep into your cheeks, your heart fluttering at the gentle gesture. "Thank you," you murmured, reaching up to touch the delicate petals. "Though I'm not sure I can compete with the actual flowers."

Jacaerys' gaze softened, his eyes never leaving yours. "I think you outshine them all," he said, his words barely above a whisper.

You found yourself leaning in slightly, drawn by the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you in this secluded corner of the garden.

But before either of you could act on the moment, a distant call broke the spell. One of the castle guards was approaching, likely with a message for the prince.

Jacaerys sighed, reluctantly stepping back. "Duty calls, it seems," he said, a note of regret in his voice. "But... perhaps we could continue this later?"

You nodded, trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. "I'd like that," you replied, offering him a small smile.

As Jacaerys turned to leave, he cast one last glance over his shoulder, his eyes lingering on the flower in your hair. The moment may have passed, but the promise of more hung in the air between you, sweet and full of possibility.

The days that followed your encounter in the garden seemed to pass in a haze of stolen glances and lingering touches. Every interaction with Jacaerys now carried an undercurrent of anticipation, as if you were both waiting for something to happen, though neither of you quite knew what.

You found yourself seeking out his company more often, your steps unconsciously leading you to the places you knew he frequented. The library, where he would often be found poring over ancient tomes of dragon lore. The training yard, where you would watch from afar as he honed his skills with sword and shield. And always, always, the gardens, where you both seemed to find a sense of peace amidst the chaos of court life.

The day you felt a shift in your heart, Jacaerys had invited you to join him in the open fields near the Dragonpit. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape. Vermax, ever watchful, was sprawled lazily on the grass, his massive wings folded neatly by his sides.

You approached cautiously, feeling the familiar thrill of excitement at the sight of the dragon. Vermax lifted his head, his golden eyes following your every movement. There was something almost playful in his gaze, as though he were waiting for you to do something entertaining.

“What do you think he’s planning?” Jacaerys asked, coming up beside you.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s plotting some sort of mischief,” you replied, your tone light. “He always seems to have that look in his eyes.”

Jacaerys chuckled, a sound that was quickly drowned out by Vermax’s sudden, exuberant leap. The dragon bounded toward you, his massive frame causing the earth to tremble beneath him. You shrieked with laughter as Vermax’s warm breath ruffled your hair, and he nudged you playfully with his snout.

“Careful,” Jacaerys warned with a grin. “He might decide you’re his new favorite toy.”

You ducked as Vermax playfully tried to grab your skirts with his claws, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I think he’s already made up his mind,” you said, trying to catch your breath between giggles.

Jacaerys joined in the laughter, his face flushed with amusement. “Well, if he’s decided you’re his favorite, then I suppose I’ll have to share you.”

You swore your heart almost jumped out of your chest, you noticed Vermax’s huff at the prince’s comment.

At first, it was just a matter of curiosity. Dragons, as intelligent and formidable as they were, often took an interest in those around their riders. Vermax’s gaze would follow you with a keen, almost feline curiosity, his golden eyes tracking your every movement with a level of intensity that was both unnerving and oddly comforting.

You had grown accustomed to his presence. He would appear near the Dragonpit, his massive form casting a shadow over the land. His keen eyes seemed to follow you, watching with an intensity that suggested he was waiting for something. At times, he would perform small acts of assistance – igniting a pile of leaves with a controlled burst of flame or helping clear debris with a gentle sweep of his tail.

The dragon would often follow you, hovering just out of sight, his golden eyes always watching. It was during these moments that you began to realize the depth of Vermax’s fascination. He was not merely curious; he was attentive, almost protective. 

Jacaerys began to notice Vermax’s behavior as well. “He’s been following you a lot lately,” he remarked one day, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and concern.

You shrugged, brushing a speck of dirt from your dress. “He seems to enjoy my company. I don’t mind.”

Jacaerys frowned slightly, his brow furrowed. “It’s not just that. He seems… different around you. I’ve never seen him act this way with anyone else.”

You met his gaze, searching for an explanation you didn’t have. “He’s always been attentive. Maybe he just likes being near me.”

With each passing day, Vermax’s playful spirit drew you in further, his antics becoming a source of joy and wonder. You found yourself captivated not just by his impressive size and strength, but by the way he seemed to understand you in a way few others did. The warmth of his golden eyes held a depth that hinted at a connection you couldn’t quite grasp, igniting a blend of curiosity and exhilaration in your heart.

The salty breeze whipped through your hair as you stood atop the cliffs of Dragonstone, your eyes fixed on the horizon where sea met sky. The pungent scent of herbs clung to your fingers, a reminder of the morning spent in your personal garden. You were already making a name for yourself among the castle's inhabitants as a skilled herbalist, following in your father's footsteps but carving your own path in the world of science and medicine.

You breathed in deeply, savoring the crisp air that always seemed to invigorate your senses. It was in these quiet moments, away from the bustle of the castle, that you felt most alive. But as always, you weren't truly alone.

A low rumble from behind made you smile. You didn't need to turn to know that Vermax had followed you out here. Again.

"I know you're there," you said, your voice carried away by the wind. "You're not as stealthy as you think, you overgrown lizard."

Another rumble, this time sounding almost indignant, and you couldn't help but laugh. You finally turned to face the magnificent creature that had become your unlikely shadow over the past few years.

Vermax's scales shimmered in the sunlight, a mesmerizing dance of bronze and gold. His intelligent eyes watched you with what you could only describe as curiosity. It was a look you'd grown accustomed to, ever since the day he'd first started following you around the castle grounds.

"What do you think?" you asked, gesturing to the basket of freshly picked herbs at your feet. "Think we've got enough wormwood for that new tonic I'm working on?"

Vermax tilted his head, nostrils flaring as he sniffed at the basket. You chuckled, shaking your head at the absurdity of consulting a dragon on herbal matters. And yet, there was something comforting about his presence, a constancy in the ever-shifting world of Westerosi politics that surrounded you.

A sudden gust of wind threatened to topple your basket, and you quickly reached down to steady it. Vermax, in a surprising display of gentleness, used his wing to shield you and your precious cargo from the blast.

"Thank you," you murmured, patting his scales appreciatively. "Though I'm sure Prince Jacaerys would prefer you were with him instead of playing nursemaid to me and my plants."

At the mention of his rider's name, Vermax's head swiveled towards the castle. You followed his gaze, your eyes landing on a familiar figure making his way along the winding path towards you.

You felt a familiar flutter in your chest, one that you promptly ignored. Jacaerys had been your friend for years, ever since his family had sought refuge on Dragonstone. You'd grown up together, sharing lessons and adventures. But he was a prince, and you... well, you were just you.

"I thought I'd find you two up here," Jacaerys called out as he drew nearer. "You know, most people would be terrified to find a dragon following them around."

You shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "Vermax is a perfect gentleman. Aren't you, you big scaly brute?"

Vermax preened at your words, puffing out his chest and eliciting a laugh from both you and Jacaerys.

"I think he likes you more than me sometimes," Jacaerys said, reaching out to scratch under Vermax's chin. The dragon leaned into his touch, eyes half-closing in contentment.

"Nonsense," you replied, busying yourself with your basket of herbs to avoid meeting Jacaerys’ eyes. "He's your dragon. I'm just... a distraction, I suppose."

Jacaerys was quiet for a moment, and when you finally looked up, you found him watching you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm.

"You're not a distraction," he said softly. "You're..." He trailed off, seeming to struggle for words.

An awkward silence fell between you, filled only by the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs below and Vermax's steady breathing. You cleared your throat, desperate to dispel the sudden tension.

"I've been working on a new tonic," you said brightly, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. "For headaches. I thought it might help your mother, with all the stress she's under."

Jacaerys’ face lit up, his earlier hesitation forgotten. "She'll be so grateful."

There was that flutter again, stronger this time. You pushed it down, reminding yourself of the realities of your positions. Jacaerys was kind, had always been kind to you. But kindness wasn’t love, and you knew better than to dwell on such thoughts. You were content with the friendship you shared – its warmth was enough.

You crouched down, reaching into your basket to inspect the herbs, trying to focus on the familiar rhythm of your work. The scent of rosemary and wormwood filled the air, grounding you, but you were still keenly aware of Jacaerys standing just a little too close.

"Your garden’s thriving," He remarked, crouching beside you. He wasn’t one for keeping his distance, never had been. It was one of the reasons why you treasured your time together – there were no walls between you. No formalities, just the easy companionship of two souls who had grown side by side.

You smiled, plucking a leaf from a stalk of lemon balm and holding it out to him. “Smell that. Calming, isn’t it? Perfect for stress relief.”

Jacaerys leaned in, the closeness sending an unexpected warmth through you. His nose wrinkled as he inhaled, and you couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.

"Calming? It smells like... old socks."

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Only because you don’t know what to look for. Trust me, in the right hands, it works wonders.”

He shot you a sideways glance, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "In your hands, I’m sure it does."

The words hung between you, and though they were casual, they carried a weight you couldn’t quite ignore. You glanced up at him, finding his gaze once more. 

You could have let it linger, but instead, you cleared your throat, standing abruptly. "I should head back to the chambers and start working on this tonic. It won’t make itself,"

You started to gather your herbs, your movements quick and purposeful. You tried to shake off the tension that still hung in the air, but Jacaerys’ presence was hard to ignore.

“Wait,” Jacaerys said, stepping closer. “I’d love to help with the tonic, if you’d have me.”

You hesitated, looking up at him with surprise. You raised an eyebrow, feigning contemplation. “Are you sure you want to trade the view of the cliffs for a kitchen filled with herbs and potions?”

He grinned, a playful sparkle in his eyes. “I’d trade anything to spend more time with you.”

The flutter in your chest intensified, but you pushed it aside. “Alright, then. I’ll need an extra pair of hands. But be warned, it might get a bit messy.”

Jacaerys laughed, a sound that mingled effortlessly with the crash of waves below. “Messy sounds like fun. Lead the way.”

When you reached your chambers, you paused by the door, holding out a sprig of lavender. “Here,” you said, your voice slightly hesitant. “Take this for your chambers. It’ll help with relaxation, especially after all the stress.”

Jacaerys accepted the sprig with a genuine smile, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I’ll make sure to keep it close.”

Without a second thought, he tucked the lavender behind his ear, where it nestled among his dark hair. He offered you a cheeky smile, his gaze met yours, and there was a gentle, playful light in his eyes, as if he had just shared a secret with you and the world around you had receded, leaving only the two of you in its warm embrace.

You found yourself momentarily lost in the way the lavender added a touch of whimsy to his otherwise princely appearance. It was a small, almost insignificant gesture, but it transformed him into something unexpectedly beautiful, a blend of the regal and the endearing.

You couldn’t help but smile, admiring how the lavender seemed to accentuate his features. “You look quite charming,” you remarked, unable to resist the compliment.

Jacaerys blushed slightly, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks. "You think so?" Jacaerys asked, his voice tinged with mock seriousness as he adjusted the lavender, his smile widening.

"Absolutely," you replied, your own smile growing as you observed the slight flush that colored his cheeks.

“I suppose I’ll have to make sure to wear it often then."

And he did, each time you saw Jacaerys, there was the lavender – a constant reminder of that afternoon. It became a part of him, woven into the very fabric of his routine, and its presence was a silent testament to something unspoken.

You noticed it the first time he arrived at your herbarium, the soft purple hue of lavender peeking from his pocket. It seemed to bring a new kind of lightness to his demeanor, as if the charm of the flower was somehow intertwined with the growing affection you sensed in his gaze. After he saw your faint blush on your face, and the small smile you tried to hide when you noticed it, he’d started to wear it every day.

Rhaenyra’s invitation to join the court had been a momentous occasion for Jacaerys. At eighteen, he was eager to embrace the responsibilities and privileges of a more mature role within the castle, seeing it as a step towards adulthood. 

The dynamic between you and Jacaerys shifted, though the change was subtle and gradual. There was a newfound awareness in the way you interacted, a heightened sense of connection that simmered just beneath the surface of your everyday conversations.

You would find yourselves lingering a beat too long in each other's company, fingers brushing as you passed one another in the castle corridors. Stolen glances across crowded rooms held a weight that had been absent before, and the easy laughter that had once flowed so freely between you now carried an undercurrent of nervous energy.

Yet, through it all, your friendship remained steadfast. You continued to seek each other out, drawn together by an unspoken bond that defied the conventions of court life. Whether it was trading stories in the gardens or simply enjoying the comfortable silence of each other's presence, there was a sense of security and belonging that you found in Jacaerys' company.

It was during one of these chance encounters that you truly began to realize how much things had changed between you. You had been walking through a secluded part of the castle grounds, lost in thought, when you quite literally bumped into Jacaerys as he rounded a corner.

"Oh!" you exclaimed, stumbling slightly. Jacaerys' hands shot out to steady you, gripping your arms gently but firmly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. But as you looked up to meet his gaze, you saw something else there too – a warmth, an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing, of the warmth of his hands on your arms. "I'm fine," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you."

Jacaerys didn't immediately let go, his thumbs tracing small, unconscious circles on your skin. The touch sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself leaning in ever so slightly, drawn by some invisible force.

For a moment, you both stood there, frozen in time. The air around you seemed to hum with possibility, with all the words left unsaid between you. Jacaerys' gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest of seconds before snapping back up to your eyes, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"I..." he began, his voice husky. But whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps and voices.

You both stepped apart quickly, the spell broken. A group of courtiers rounded the corner, their chatter filling the once-quiet space. Jacaerys ran a hand through his hair, looking flustered.

"I should go," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "I have a meeting with my mother and the council."

You nodded, trying to hide your disappointment. "Of course. I'll see you later?"

Jacaerys smiled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Count on it," he replied, his voice warm with promise.

As he walked away, you couldn't help but feel that something fundamental had shifted between you. The easy friendship of your childhood was evolving into something deeper, more complex. And while part of you yearned to explore these new feelings, another part hesitated, aware of the complications that could arise.

After all, Jacaerys was a prince, heir to the Iron Throne. And you, despite your father's position at court, were still just a noble's daughter. The gap between your stations, which had seemed inconsequential in childhood, now loomed large and imposing.

But as you watched Jacaerys disappear around a corner, his tall figure cutting a striking silhouette against the stone walls of the castle, you couldn't quite bring yourself to care about the potential obstacles. There was something growing between you, something that felt important, even vital.

And unbeknownst to both of you, high above in the Dragonpit, Vermax stirred in his sleep, his golden eyes fluttering open for a moment as if sensing the shift in the air. The dragon let out a low, rumbling purr before settling back down, a sound that seemed to echo with satisfaction and anticipation.

As promised, you sought him out, as you walked the castle grounds, you stumbled upon Jacaerys in a quiet alcove, poring over a stack of parchments. His brow was furrowed in concentration, a sight that was both endearing and familiar.

"Hiding away from the world, I see," you teased, your voice light and playful as you approached.

Jacaerys looked up, a warm smile spreading across his lips. "Hardly. I'm simply attempting to make sense of these endless reports. Surely you know how tedious court life can be."

You nodded, settling down beside him on the stone bench. "I do, indeed. But I must say, you seem to be handling the burden with more grace than I ever could."

Jacaerys chuckled, the sound low and rich. "Practice, I suppose. Though I have to admit, it's much easier to bear when you're around to distract me."

The words hung in the air, charged with a subtle flirtation that sent a flutter through your chest. You met his gaze, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"Is that so? Well, in that case, I'll be sure to interrupt your work more often."

Jacaerys leaned in, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Please do. I find I'm in dire need of a distraction."

The air between you crackled with an undeniable tension, and for a moment, you were both lost in the intensity of the moment. It was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, your hearts beating in sync as you lingered in each other's space.

Eventually, Jacaerys cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as he turned his attention back to the parchments. "In all seriousness, I could use a break. Would you care to join me for a walk?"

You nodded, the smile on your face widening. "I thought you'd never ask."

As you fell into step beside him, your arms brushing with each stride, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. The tension may have been palpable, but there was also an underlying comfort in the familiarity of your bond. It was as if you had known each other forever, despite the ever-changing nature of the world around you.

The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by bouts of laughter and playful banter. Jacaerys spoke of his latest lessons and the frustrations of court politics, while you shared tales of your explorations in the city, weaving vivid descriptions that had him listening with rapt attention.

At one point, as you recounted a particularly harrowing encounter with a flock of noisy geese, Jacaerys reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingertips lingering on your skin. The simple gesture sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself lost in the warmth of his gaze.

"You know," he murmured, his voice soft and low, "I always enjoy our conversations, but I find myself looking forward to them more and more these days."

You felt your heart flutter, and you couldn't help but lean a little closer, drawn to the intensity of his presence. "As do I, Jacaerys. As do I."

"I thought I'd enjoy court a bit more," Jacaerys confessed, his brow furrowed in a slight frown. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the opportunity, but it can be… overwhelming at times.”

You glanced at him, sensing the weight of his words. “It’s a lot to handle, isn’t it?” Reaching for his arm, you linked yours together. “It’s one thing to hear about it, and quite another to live it every day.”

Jacaerys sighed, his gaze wandering over the castle grounds, where the late afternoon sun cast a golden hue on the landscape. “I thought I’d be more prepared, but it seems like the more I try to understand, the less I actually know.”

“You spend every day locked in that dusty library,” you made a face, “Perhaps a change of scenery is exactly what you need.” 

Jacaerys glanced at you, his lips curving into a small, appreciative smile. 

“Or a good distraction,” you added with a playful grin.

He moved your linked arms to elbow your side, his eyes softening with gratitude. “I suppose you’ve been quite the distraction for me. And I’m not sure how I’d have managed without it.”

You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks at his words. 

The warmth of Jacaerys' gaze, paired with his words, left you momentarily breathless. There was a sincerity in his voice, a quiet vulnerability that you hadn’t heard from him before. For a brief second, the world around you seemed to blur, the rustling trees and distant clamor of the castle fading into the background. All that remained was the two of you, arm in arm, walking through a world that felt uniquely yours.

“You would’ve managed just fine,” you said, nudging him lightly, trying to keep the mood light despite the flutter in your chest. “But I’m glad to be your distraction anyway.”

Jacaerys' lips twitched into a smile, but his eyes remained focused on you, studying your face as if committing every feature to memory. "Still, I’ve come to appreciate it more than you know."

You turned your head slightly, the afternoon breeze stirring your hair as you walked side by side. There was a new depth to the conversation, an unspoken understanding that your relationship had grown into something beyond friendship. The stolen glances, the accidental brushes of skin, the way your words seemed to hold more meaning than before—it all pointed to a shift that neither of you could ignore any longer.

And yet, you found comfort in how natural it felt. Jacaerys had always been your closest friend, the person you could talk to about anything. That foundation hadn’t changed. If anything, it had only deepened, strengthened by the shared moments and quiet, growing affection between you.

As you passed beneath the shade of an ancient oak tree, Jacaerys slowed his steps, tugging gently on your arm. 

“Wait,” he said softly, glancing up at the sprawling branches that created a cocoon of privacy. The dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting warm golden patterns across his face.

He turned toward you fully, and for the first time, you felt a quiet intensity in the way he looked at you. There was a question in his gaze, though he hadn’t yet voiced it aloud. His fingers, still linked with yours, tightened slightly, and you realized how close you stood to him now, barely an arm’s length apart.

The wind stirred again, a soft breeze that seemed to carry with it the weight of the moment. You felt your heart thudding in your chest, as if echoing his.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and uncertain, like he was tiptoeing around something fragile. 

“Would it be terribly selfish of me to ask for more of your time? Away from… all of this?” He gestured loosely toward the distant castle with his free hand, the spires glinting in the late afternoon sun.

You blinked, taken slightly aback by the request, though your chest warmed at the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t asking out of politeness, nor was this a casual suggestion. This was something deeper – an unspoken desire for space, for more moments like this one, away from the noise and demands of court. Just you and him.

“I–” you started, unsure how to respond at first. A soft breeze rustled the leaves above, and you realized you didn’t need to think too hard about it. “No,” you said quietly, your smile gentle. “It’s not selfish at all.”

Jacaerys' expression softened in visible relief, his shoulders relaxing slightly. He let out a small breath, one he hadn’t realized he was holding, and his eyes brightened as they met yours. 

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said, the familiar warmth returning to his voice, though the undercurrent of something more remained.

His hand, still linked with yours, tightened ever so slightly, as though he feared you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself leaning into the connection, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the fluttering of your heart. 

The world seemed to slow around you, the gentle breeze playing with the strands of your hair, the golden sunlight casting a soft glow across Jacaerys' face. His eyes, those deep, dark pools you had known since childhood, held something new now – an intensity, a vulnerability that made your breath catch.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The leaves above rustled softly, and the distant sounds of the castle faded, leaving only the steady rhythm of your breathing and the quiet tension that hung between you. You could feel the weight of the moment, the way everything seemed to hinge on what might happen next.

Jacaerys stepped closer, just a fraction, but it was enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him. His free hand lifted hesitantly, as though he wasn’t quite sure if he should, and then he gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I think,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, “that I’ve always wanted more time with you. I just… I didn’t know how to ask.”

His words, so simple yet so full of meaning, sent your mind reeling. You had always been close, always shared moments of laughter and quiet companionship, but this—this was something different. It was as if the lines you had both drawn so carefully over the years were blurring, fading into something neither of you could fully understand, but both were willing to explore.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry, and met his gaze. “Jacaerys,” The words caught in your throat, unsure of how to express the swirl of emotions inside you. But the look in his eyes told you that he understood, that he didn’t need you to say anything just yet.

His hand lingered near your face, his fingers lightly grazing your cheek. For a moment, it seemed like the whole world held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

But before you could speak again, before either of you could close the distance between you, a voice called out from the castle. A courtier, no doubt, summoning Jacaerys back to his duties.

The moment shattered like glass, the spell broken by the harsh reality of the world beyond the oak’s sheltering branches. Jacaerys pulled back, his expression one of reluctant resignation, though his fingers lingered on yours for just a heartbeat longer before slipping away.

“I…” he began, his voice strained. “I have to go.”

You nodded, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin. “I know.”

But as he turned to leave, he hesitated, casting one last look over his shoulder. His gaze met yours, and in that moment, it felt like a promise, unspoken yet understood. There would be more time, more moments like this – when the world didn’t press in so tightly, when you could simply be Jacaerys and yourself, without the weight of court life bearing down on you.

And with that, he was gone, his figure disappearing down the path toward the castle, leaving you standing alone beneath the oak, the fluttering leaves above a soft reminder of what had almost been.

As the days turned into weeks, you found yourself increasingly aware of Jacaerys' presence in your life. 

You began to notice the little things, the small gestures that spoke volumes about Jacaerys' growing affection. The way he would seek you out in crowded rooms, his eyes lighting up when they found yours. The gentle brush of his hand against yours as you walked side by side through the castle corridors. The way he listened intently when you spoke, hanging on your every word as if they were precious gems.

One particular evening, you found yourself in the castle library, surrounded by towering shelves of ancient tomes. You had been searching for a specific book on herbal remedies, standing on tiptoe to reach a high shelf, when you felt a presence behind you.

"Allow me," Jacaerys' voice came softly, his breath warm against your ear as he reached past you to pluck the book from its perch.

You turned, finding yourself face to face with the prince, barely a breath of space between you. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice catching slightly as you met his gaze.

Jacaerys’ fingers lingered on the spine of the book, his proximity causing your pulse to quicken. You could smell the faint scent of leather and parchment mingling with something distinctly him, a subtle warmth that made the space between you feel smaller, more intimate. The soft light from the library’s candles flickered, casting shadows on his face and highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw that had grown more defined with age.

"You're welcome," he murmured, his voice low and filled with an unfamiliar weight. It was his nameday today, turning nine and ten, and though the castle had been buzzing with celebration all day, it was this quiet moment in the library that felt the most significant. The festivities seemed far away, drowned out by the quiet hum of his presence beside you.

You felt a nervous flutter in your chest, one you couldn’t quite control, as you tried to speak, to break the silence that hung between you like a fragile thread. “I didn’t expect you here,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the edge of the book he’d handed you. “Shouldn’t you be at your nameday feast?”

Jacaerys smiled, a small, almost sheepish curve of his lips that sent warmth through you. “I should be,” he admitted, his eyes holding yours. “But I needed some air... and maybe a bit of quiet. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

You nodded, understanding immediately. The weight of expectation that came with his name, his birthright, was always heavy. "I imagine it must be. All those people, eyes on you."

He let out a soft sigh, his hand brushing against yours as he shifted the book to you more securely. “Exactly. And... well, I was hoping to find you.”

Your heart skipped at his words, and you blinked up at him, momentarily lost for a reply. 

“I’m glad you did,” you managed to say, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Jacaerys stepped just a fraction closer, the space between you shrinking as he tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. His lips quirked into a playful smile, the kind that had always made your heart stumble in your chest. 

"You wouldn’t believe the amount of gifts I’ve been forced to graciously accept today," he said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “Half the court is vying for a chance to be in my good graces, hoping one of their children might become my future Hand when I take the throne.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as if the thought were absurd, though you knew the pressures that came with his title weighed on him more than he liked to admit. There was something in his eyes – an unspoken weariness, a hint of the heavy responsibility he bore, even as he tried to make light of it.

You couldn’t help but smile, the image of Jacaerys surrounded by lavish gifts from eager courtiers painting a rather amusing picture in your mind. "Let me guess, dozens of finely crafted swords, books you’ll never read, and enough embroidered tunics to last you a lifetime?"

“More than I know what to do with,” he said with a dramatic sigh, leaning a little closer, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you. “One lord even gifted me a statue of a dragon, carved from some rare stone. It weighs more than Vermax himself, I swear.”

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the quiet of the library, and for a moment, it felt like the world had melted away, leaving just the two of you in this small, secluded space. “What are you going to do with all of it?”

“I’m thinking of donating it to the maesters,” he said, his voice playful but with an undertone of sincerity. “They’re always looking for more clutter, aren’t they?”

His humor was infectious, and you found yourself grinning, shaking your head at him. “They’d probably find a way to use it in some lesson about the history of Valyria.”

Jacaerys chuckled, his eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and something softer, deeper. The air between you grew thick again, the earlier tension returning, but this time, it felt different. Less uncertain, more sure. 

He lifted his hand, slowly, tentatively, as though he were testing the boundaries of whatever was blossoming between you. His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist, tracing the skin there in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. The gentle touch was intimate, delicate, as though he were savoring the moment, reluctant to let it end.

"You know," he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, "all those presents – they don’t mean anything. Not really." His gaze locked with yours, the intensity in his eyes making your breath catch. "I only wanted one thing today."

Your heart raced, your pulse quickening under his touch, and you found yourself leaning in ever so slightly, drawn to him in a way that felt both natural and terrifying.

“And what’s that?” you asked softly, your voice barely more

Jacaerys’ eyes never left yours as he spoke, his voice low and soft, a quiet intimacy threading through his words. “You,” he said, the single word hanging in the air between you like a confession, vulnerable and raw.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding so loudly that you were sure he could hear it in the stillness of the library. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. All you could feel was the weight of his gaze, the warmth of his hand against your wrist, and the undeniable pull that had been building between you for what felt like years.

His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your wrist, a silent plea, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. 

“I’ve spent so much time in the court,” he said quietly, his voice low and filled with the weight of his thoughts. “Handling affairs, playing the part of the prince, always doing what’s expected of me. But lately… I’ve missed you.” His words carried an ache, as if the time apart had been a slow, painful realization of what he truly wanted. 

Your heart fluttered at his words, the depth of his confession settling over you like a warm blanket. You felt a tightening in your chest, the emotions you’d been trying to keep at bay now rushing to the surface.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you reached into the folds of your dress and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package. You had agonized over this gift for weeks, wanting it to be perfect.

"I have something for you," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "For your nameday."

Jacaerys' eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and curiosity crossing his features. He loosened his grip on your wrist, allowing you to place the gift in his hand.

"You didn't have to–" he began, but you shook your head, silencing him with a gentle smile.

"I wanted to," you assured him. "I suppose you can add this to the mountain of gifts you've received today. Though it might get lost among all those rare stone dragons." you jested.

Jacaerys chuckled softly, but his eyes remained intense as they held yours. "Anything from you could never get lost in a pile," he murmured, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your wrist. "It already stands out from anything any lord could offer."

Your breath caught at his words, the depth of feeling behind them unmistakable. Jacaerys glanced down at the small package in his hand, his fingers running over the careful wrapping.

"Aren't you going to open it?" you asked, suddenly feeling a bit nervous about your choice of gift.

Jacaerys shook his head, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Not yet," he said. "I want to savor this moment a little longer."

Your heart raced as you realized how close you were standing, the warmth of his body radiating towards you in the quiet of the library. Without overthinking, you leaned in and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek.

"Happy nameday, Jace," you whispered, your lips brushing his skin as you spoke.

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze once more. His eyes were wide with surprise, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the charged atmosphere between you.

Then, gathering your courage, you took a small step back. "I should go," you said softly, though every part of you wanted to stay. "You have a feast to return to, after all."

Jacaerys nodded, seemingly still stunned by your gesture. As you turned to leave, you glanced back over your shoulder. Jacaerys stood there, the small package clutched in one hand. The look on his face was one of wonder and longing, as if he had just been given the most precious gift in all the Seven Kingdoms.

He smiled to himself, a mixture of joy and longing filling his chest. As he finally moved to rejoin his nameday feast, he knew that this moment – this gift – would be the one he cherished most from this day forward.

In the days that followed your moment with Jacaerys in the library, you noticed a distinct change in Vermax's behavior. The dragon, always attentive to you before, now seemed utterly determined not to let you out of his sight.

It started the very next morning. As you made your way to the herb gardens, a familiar shadow fell over you. Looking up, you saw Vermax circling overhead, his bronze scales glinting in the early sunlight. You thought nothing of it at first – the dragon often flew over the castle grounds. But as you reached the gardens and began your work, you realized Vermax had landed nearby and was watching you intently.

"Hello there," you called out, amused by his intense gaze. "Come to help with the weeding?"

Vermax huffed, a puff of warm air ruffling your hair. He settled himself more comfortably on the grass, his tail curling around him like a cat. His golden eyes never left you as you went about your tasks.

As the day wore on, Vermax's presence became a constant. When you moved to a different part of the garden, he would follow, sometimes knocking over pots or uprooting plants in his eagerness to stay close. You found yourself having to work around him, like a gardener might work around a particularly large and scaly cat.

"You're being rather clingy today, aren't you?" you muttered, reaching around his massive form to grab a watering can. Vermax merely blinked slowly at you, looking utterly content.

The pattern continued over the next few days. Whenever you left your chambers, Vermax would appear, following you around the castle’s outings with a single-minded determination. He would curl up outside the great hall while you dined, much to the bewilderment of the other courtiers. During your walks in the castle grounds, he would lumber along beside you, occasionally nudging you with his snout as if seeking attention.

One afternoon, as you sat in a quiet corner of the courtyard, attempting to read, Vermax decided your lap looked like the perfect place to rest his head. You found yourself with a lapful of warm, scaly dragon, your book forgotten as you absently stroked the ridges along his snout.

"What's gotten into you?" you wondered aloud, scratching behind one of his horns. Vermax rumbled contentedly, his eyes half-closed in bliss.

It was during one of these moments that Jacaerys found you. His eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sight of his usually aloof dragon behaving like an overgrown housecat.

"Well, this is new," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I've been looking for him all morning. Should have known he'd be with you."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks, remembering your last encounter in the library. "He's been... rather attentive lately," you explained, trying to keep your voice steady.

Jacaerys moved closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Attentive? It looks like he's adopted you."

Vermax opened one eye to look at his rider, then promptly closed it again, snuggling closer to you. You couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm not sure what I've done to deserve such devotion," you said, your fingers still absently stroking Vermax's scales.

Jacaerys' expression softened, his gaze moving from Vermax to you. "I think I might have an idea," he said softly, so quietly that you almost missed it.

For a heartbeat, you didn’t dare breathe. You had heard the whispers – the soft murmurings that floated through the halls of the castle, spoken behind fans and shared in hushed tones over goblets of wine. They were the same rumors that had always been dismissed as mere fables: ancient tales about dragons and soulmates, myths that most of the court laughed off as fantastical relics from a bygone era.

You had grown up with the legends, just as any child of Westeros had. It was said that in the ancient days of Old Valyria, dragons could sense the one person destined for their rider, a bond so profound it went beyond even the magical connection between rider and dragon. This connection was rare, deeper than anything known to man, and some believed it tied the fates of the rider, dragon, and soulmate together, forever.

But those were only stories, weren’t they?

The thought made your heart race, even as Vermax nudged your hand, demanding more attention. 

Jacaerys seemed to sense your hesitation. He sat down beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the warmth of his presence both reassuring and unnerving. The weight of those whispered legends hung in the air between you, heavy with possibilities neither of you dared voice. You could feel the question in the space between you, but neither of you seemed willing to give it life, to allow the old stories to weave themselves into your reality.

Vermax huffed contentedly, his golden eyes half-lidded as you continued to stroke his scales. The warmth of the dragon’s presence, combined with Jacaerys’ closeness, made the world feel smaller, more intimate. And yet, the thought of those legends, of the connection they hinted at, stirred something deep within you.

But you weren’t ready to confront that – not yet.

Jacaerys cleared his throat softly, breaking the silence with a casual tone, though you could hear the undercurrent of something more in his voice. "Vermax has always had a mind of his own. I suppose it’s not so strange that he’s taken a liking to you." His words were light, but there was a subtle tension in them, as if he, too, was choosing his words carefully.

You let out a quiet laugh, grateful for the shift in conversation. "He’s a bit of a menace, truth be told," you teased, brushing some dirt from your hands. "I don’t think I’ve ever had a dragon try to uproot my herb garden before."

Jacaerys grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced at Vermax. "He has a habit of getting in the way. I’m surprised you’ve managed to work around him."

You shrugged, smiling despite yourself. "I’ve learned to make do. Besides, it’s not every day you get a dragon for company. He’s surprisingly good at weeding, though I’m not sure he knows that’s what he’s doing."

Jacaerys chuckled, and the sound eased the tension in your chest. For a few moments, the weight of the unspoken words between you lightened, and you both fell into an easy rhythm, the kind that had defined your friendship over the years.

"I suppose I should count myself lucky," you continued, your voice teasing. "Not many people can say they have a dragon who’s decided to follow them around like a lost pup."

Jacaerys leaned back on his hands, gazing at Vermax with a fond smile. "I think you’ve charmed him," he said, his tone playful but gentle. "Though, to be fair, you tend to have that effect on people."

"I think it’s the herbs. Maybe he likes the smell."

Jacaerys turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that made your heart skip. Your heart raced as Jacaerys' eyes dropped to your lips, his breathing slowing ever so slightly. 

You watched as Jacaerys’ gaze flicked back to your eyes, the intensity there nearly making you forget how to breathe. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you. His face leaned closer, his lips only a breath away from yours, and the heat of his proximity made your pulse quicken.

Vermax, sensing none of this, shifted lazily beside you, his warm breath ruffling your hair as you absentmindedly stroked his scales. The dragon’s presence had always been comforting, but now, with Jacaerys so close, you felt a different kind of warmth, one that had nothing to do with the huge dragon lying next to you.

Jacaerys cleared his throat again, but this time, the sound was more hesitant, as if he were about to wade into dangerous waters. He glanced down at his hands before turning back to you, his voice quieter now, almost cautious. 

"Have you ever… thought about marriage?" His tone was casual, but you could hear the tension beneath it, the way he was testing the waters with the question.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. You hadn’t expected him to ask something like that – not after years of avoiding the topic, of keeping your interactions light and playful. The mention of marriage, especially from Jacaerys, felt like stepping too close to the edge of something vast and unknown.

"Marriage?" you repeated softly, buying yourself time as your mind raced. 

You glanced at him, searching his face for clues, for some indication of what he was really asking. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held a strange intensity that made your stomach twist with nerves.

"Yes," he said, his voice steady, though you could sense the underlying current of uncertainty. "I mean… you must know it’s a topic that comes up often in court. Especially for someone like you. I imagine there have been offers."

You hesitated, unsure of how to answer. It wasn’t that the subject hadn’t crossed your mind – of course it had. You were of an age where most noblewomen were already spoken for, and though your father had never pressured you, there had been whispers, suggestions from the court that a match should be made soon. But you had always brushed those conversations aside, content with your life, with the simple joys of herbcraft and your time with Jacaerys.

"Offers, yes," you admitted after a moment, your voice quieter now. "But I’ve never taken any of them seriously."

Jacaerys tilted his head slightly, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read your thoughts. "Why not?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain some semblance of nonchalance, though your heart was racing in your chest. "I suppose I’ve never felt… connected to them in that way." The words felt heavier than you intended, and you quickly glanced away, focusing on Vermax instead of the prince beside you.

For a long moment, Jacaerys said nothing. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, and though you were tempted to fill the silence, something held you back, as if speaking too soon might unravel whatever fragile thread was holding the moment together.

"I see," Jacaerys finally said, his voice soft but laced with something unspoken. 

His eyes searched yours, as though he were trying to decipher the meaning behind your words – your hesitation, the quiet way you had admitted to have been looking for love. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, and though Vermax lay contentedly beside you, his warmth comforting, it did nothing to quell the flutter of nerves building inside you.

"What about you?" you asked, your voice softer now, almost hesitant. "I imagine you've had many offers as well."

Jacaerys' expression shifted, the playful edge that had always been a hallmark of your friendship disappearing entirely. His face grew serious, his gaze lowering as he seemed to consider your question. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer, that perhaps you had ventured too far into territory neither of you were ready to explore.

But then he sighed, his voice quieter than before, almost reflective. "There have been offers," he admitted, his tone neutral but with an undercurrent of tension. "Plenty of them, actually. It comes with the title. People see a future king and want to secure their place in that future."

His words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else, someone far removed from the boy you had grown up with. You could hear the weight of his responsibilities in his voice, the burden of being a prince, always expected to make decisions not just for himself but for an entire kingdom. 

"And yet," he continued, his eyes lifting to meet yours once more, "none of them ever felt right."

Your breath caught at his words. You hesitated, unsure of how to navigate the delicate tension between you. "Why not?" you asked softly, echoing his earlier question to you.

Jacaerys smiled, though it was a small, almost wistful expression, as if he were contemplating something he wasn’t sure he should say. His hand, which had been resting on the grass beside him, inched closer to yours, the tips of his fingers barely brushing against your own. The touch sent a shiver through you, a subtle but undeniable connection.

"I suppose," he began slowly, his voice thoughtful, "I’ve been waiting for something… more." He paused, glancing away for a brief moment before looking back at you. "Someone I feel connected to. Someone I trust. Someone who sees me, not just the prince."

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The silence stretched on, charged with the unsaid, the emotions neither of you could fully express. The space between you felt smaller, more intimate, as if the world outside this moment had faded into nothing.

Jacaerys shifted slightly, his hand finally closing the distance between you, his fingers curling around yours. The touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were still testing the waters of whatever was growing between you. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, and the simple gesture sent a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the dragon resting beside you.

"Do you think…" he began, his voice barely above a whisper now, "that it’s possible for someone like me to have that? To choose for myself?"

Your breath hitched at his question, and for a moment, you were unsure how to answer. Jacaerys, the future king, bound by duty and responsibility, was asking you something so personal, so vulnerable. The weight of his title, his future, pressed down on both of you, and yet, here in this quiet moment, it felt as though it was just the two of you, free from the expectations of the world.

"I think," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest, "if anyone deserves to choose, it’s you."

Your words seemed to settle over him, a quiet reassurance that made the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. He gave you a small, grateful smile, one that made your chest tighten with something you weren’t ready to name.

Finally, Jacaerys broke the silence, his voice soft and filled with a quiet resolve. "Maybe one day," he said, his thumb still tracing slow circles on your hand, "we’ll both get to choose."

The weight of Jacaerys' words lingered in the air between you, a tangible presence that seemed to weave its way into the very fabric of the moment. You could feel the quiet intensity of his gaze, his thumb still brushing against your hand, a gentle, rhythmic motion that seemed to steady both of you.

His hand remained entwined with yours, and you noticed the way his fingers moved, absently tracing the lines of your palm. There was a tenderness in his touch, a delicate acknowledgment of the closeness that had grown between you.

As if to seal the moment, Jacaerys leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand. The sensation was warm and electrifying, sending a shiver up your arm. His lips lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, and the intimacy of the gesture made your heart race. His fingers played with yours, the touch light and exploratory, a silent communication that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

Jacaerys’ eyes met yours, and in that look, you saw a reflection of your own feelings – a mixture of hope, uncertainty, and an undeniable connection. His hand remained in yours, a comforting presence that felt both familiar and new.

The quiet was filled with the unspoken, the space between you charged with possibilities. The weight of your shared silence felt like a cocoon, wrapping you both in a moment that was yours alone, away from the eyes and expectations of the world outside.

Finally, Jacaerys’ lips curved into a small, genuine smile, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I should probably go," he said softly, though he made no move to leave. "There's a council meeting I'm meant to attend."

You nodded, understanding the weight of his responsibilities, even as a part of you wished he could stay. "Of course," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "Duty calls."

Jacaerys sighed, his eyes never leaving yours. "It always does," he murmured, a hint of resignation in his tone. But then his expression softened, and he added, "Though I find myself wishing it didn't, at least not when I'm with you."

The admission hung in the air between you, laden with unspoken meaning. You felt a flutter in your chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness at the implications of his words.

Vermax, who had been contentedly dozing beside you, stirred slightly. The dragon lifted his head, his golden eyes flickering between you and Jacaerys as if sensing the shift in mood.

"I think someone's getting jealous," you teased lightly, grateful for the momentary distraction from the intensity of the moment.

Jacaerys chuckled, reaching out to pat Vermax's snout. "He's not the only one who enjoys your company," he said, his voice low and tinged with meaning.

He stood slowly, reluctantly releasing your hand. As he did, his fingers trailed along your palm, a lingering touch that sent shivers down your spine.

"Perhaps," he began, a hint of hesitation in his voice, "we could continue this conversation another time? Away from prying eyes and dragon chaperones?"

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'd like that," you replied softly.

Jacaerys' face lit up with a warmth that made your heart swell. He took a step back, his eyes still locked with yours. "Until then," he said, his voice filled with promise.

As he turned to leave, Vermax huffed, a small puff of smoke curling from his nostrils. The dragon's gaze followed his rider, then settled back on you, as if to say he'd be keeping watch.

You sat there for a moment longer, your hand still tingling from Jacaerys' touch, your mind replaying the conversation. The weight of what had transpired, of the words spoken and unspoken, settled over you like a warm blanket.

The days passed in a haze, the absence of Jacaerys more palpable than you had expected. His words, his touch, the warmth of his presence lingered with you, like a song you couldn’t quite shake from your thoughts. Every hour felt drawn out, the stillness of your chambers amplifying the emptiness that came with his absence.

You tried to busy yourself, distracting your mind with small tasks, but nothing seemed to quell the gnawing sensation that something was missing. Jacaerys’ parting words had left a subtle hum beneath your skin, a quiet longing that you couldn’t quite place, or maybe didn’t want to.

By the time night fell, the soft glow of the candlelight casting long shadows against the walls, you found yourself sitting by the window, your thoughts wandering back to him. You hadn’t expected to miss him this much. The bond you shared had grown in such a quiet, natural way, yet now that he was gone, the absence felt stark and undeniable.

The evening stretched on, and you were beginning to resign yourself to the solitude when a soft knock sounded at your door. Your heart leapt before you could even think.

Rising quickly, you crossed the room and pulled the door open, and there he was – Jacaerys, standing in the dim light of the corridor, a smile brighter than the candles behind him. His eyes sparkled, and there was an undeniable energy about him, a joy that radiated from his very being. 

"Jace," you breathed, a wave of relief washing over you. You hadn’t realized just how much you missed him until now, until he was standing here, looking at you with that familiar warmth in his eyes.

He stepped inside before you could say anything more, and the door closed softly behind him. There was an almost giddy excitement in his movements as he crossed the room toward you. 

His eyes were bright, his smile wide and unguarded in a way you'd rarely seen before. There was a lightness to his steps, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"I've missed you," he said softly, his voice filled with a warmth that made your heart flutter. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm in a gentle, almost reverent touch.

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks at his words and the intensity of his gaze. "I've missed you too," you admitted, surprised by how easily the truth slipped out. "You seem... happy."

Jacaerys' smile grew even wider, if that was possible. He took another step closer, closing the distance between you until you could feel the warmth of his breath. 

His fingers, resting against your arm, traced a soft, soothing pattern, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. "I am happy," he said, his voice low, filled with that same lightness. His eyes held yours, and for a brief moment, it felt like there was no one else in the world, just the two of you standing in the quiet intimacy of your chambers.

You felt your breath catch in your throat as Jacaerys took another small step closer, closing the already narrow gap between you. His hand slid gently down your arm, capturing your hand in his, his fingers lacing with yours as if they belonged there.

“I’ve been waiting all day to see you,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper, and there was something in his tone that tugged at your heart – something deeper, more meaningful, than just his words.

Your pulse quickened at his closeness, at the way his gaze never left yours. “It’s only been a few days, Jace,” you teased lightly, though the emotion in your voice betrayed the longing you had felt in his absence.

He chuckled softly, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand, a familiar, soothing gesture that now held an extra layer of intimacy. “A day can feel like an eternity when you’re away from someone important,” he murmured, his eyes softening with sincerity.

There was something about the way he looked at you tonight, something in his touch, in the subtle tension between you that felt different – heavier, more charged. As if the unspoken things that had lingered between you were finally on the verge of surfacing.

“What happened today?” you asked quietly, your curiosity growing stronger. He had been away all day, and yet here he was, practically glowing with happiness. It was as though something had shifted, and though you didn’t know what it was, you could sense the importance of it in every move he made.

Jacaerys hesitated for a moment, his smile faltering ever so slightly, as if he was carefully considering how to answer. His hand squeezed yours gently, reassuringly, before he spoke again. “I spoke to my mother,” he said, his voice holding a note of quiet significance.

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing in confusion. “About what?” you asked softly, though your heart was already beginning to race, sensing that whatever conversation he had with his mother had something to do with you.

He exhaled slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, though there was a flicker of nervousness in his eyes now.

Jacaerys took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke, his voice was soft, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

"Do you remember," he began, "when we were children? How I used to follow you around the castle, always trying to be wherever you were?"

You nodded, a fond smile tugging at your lips. "Of course. You were like my shadow."

He chuckled softly, his thumb still tracing gentle circles on your hand. "I was, wasn't I? Back then, I didn't understand why. I just knew that being near you made me happy. It was... instinctive, I suppose. The way love often is for children."

Your breath caught at the word 'love', but Jacaerys continued, his voice growing more earnest.

"As we grew older, I started to hear the whispers. The stories that would float through the halls, passed between servants and nobles alike. Tales of a connection so rare and profound that even dragons could sense it."

He paused, his eyes searching yours, as if gauging your reaction. "I never put much stock in those stories. They seemed like fairy tales, meant for songs and legends, not for real life. But then..."

Jacaerys' free hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch feather-light and reverent. "Then I realized that after all these years, I still feel the same way. That instinct to be near you, to seek out your company, to find joy in your presence – it never faded. If anything, it's only grown stronger."

Your heart was pounding now, each beat echoing in your ears. Jacaerys' words hung in the air between you, heavy with implication and unspoken emotion.

"Jace," you whispered, your voice barely audible. 

He smiled then, a soft, vulnerable expression that made him look younger, more open than you'd ever seen him. "I spoke to my mother today about something I've known in my heart for a long time. Something I think – I hope – you might feel too."

Jacaerys took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I asked her for permission to court you. Properly, openly, with the intention of... of marriage, if you'll have me."

The world seemed to still around you, narrowing down to just this moment, just the two of you standing in the soft candlelight of your chambers. Jacaerys' words echoed in your mind, each one carrying the weight of years of unspoken feelings, of a connection that had grown so gradually and yet so powerfully that it took your breath away.

"Jace," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're the prince, the future king. Surely there are political considerations, alliances to be made-"

He shook his head, cutting off your words with a gentle squeeze of your hand. "I don't care about politics or alliances," he said firmly. "Not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to us. I want to choose for myself, remember? And I choose you. I've always chosen you."

Your heart felt like it might burst from your chest, a mix of joy and disbelief coursing through you. "And your mother? What did she say?"

Jacaerys' smile widened, his eyes sparkling with barely contained happiness. "She said yes. She said she's known for years that this was where my heart lay. And she... she approves. Of you. Of us."

You felt tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, overwhelmed by the enormity of what Jacaerys was offering. A future together, open and acknowledged, no longer hidden in stolen moments and meaningful glances.

"I... I don't know what to say." you murmured, your free hand coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. 

He leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. "Say yes," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Say you'll let me court you, that you'll consider a future with me. That's all I ask."

The joy that lit up Jacaerys' face was radiant, brighter than any dawn you'd ever seen. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a tight embrace. You could feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of your own.Your throat tightened, words catching somewhere deep inside as you stared into Jacaerys' eyes. His forehead pressed softly against yours, his breath warm and steady, while your heart raced uncontrollably. The truth of everything he had said wrapped around you, too much to process all at once. You had dreamed of this – of him – but you never imagined hearing it, feeling it, like this.

Your chest swelled with emotions too big to contain, the joy so sharp it almost hurt. A smile tugged at your lips, so wide it made your face ache, but you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t want to stop it.

Jacaerys was offering you everything. A future, his heart, and the freedom to choose him. His words echoed in your mind, soft but sure: I choose you.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t trust yourself to speak without your voice cracking. All you could feel was the overwhelming happiness surging through you. He wanted this. He wanted you. The enormity of it all made you dizzy.

Without thinking, without planning, you moved – instinct, just like he said. Your hand tightened slightly on his chest, pulling him closer, your heart hammering as you closed the distance between you.

Jacaerys barely had time to react before your lips met his, soft and sudden, a rush of emotion driving the kiss. His breath hitched in surprise, but it only took a heartbeat for him to respond, his free hand sliding to the small of your back, gently drawing you closer.

His fingers pressed gently into your skin, grounding you both in the here and now, in the quiet certainty of what was happening between you. What started as a tender, soft press of lips quickly became more – a release of everything unsaid, everything that had simmered between you for so long. His mouth moved against yours with urgency, one hand cupping the back of your neck, the other tightening its hold on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands, tugging slightly, and you felt Jacaerys’ breath hitch against your lips. His mouth parted, and without hesitation, you responded in kind, the kiss growing wetter, more breathy as his tongue slid against yours in a slow, tantalizing dance. The taste of him, warm and intoxicating, made your knees weak, but Jacaerys held you steady, his body pressed firmly against yours.

The room felt smaller now, the air charged with the heat between you. His touch was everywhere – his hands roving across your back, your sides, as if trying to memorize the shape of you. You gasped softly into the kiss as his fingers trailed down your spine, the sensation sending shivers through your body. 

Every breath was shared, every movement synchronizing as you poured every unspoken word, every hidden desire, into this moment. His lips, soft and insistent, claimed yours with a raw, palpable need, his tongue flicking gently against yours, teasing, exploring, drawing small, breathless sounds from you that only spurred him on.

The world outside ceased to exist, fading into nothingness as Jacaerys pressed you back against the nearest wall, his body solid and warm against yours. His kiss grew more passionate, his breath ragged as he angled his head, deepening the connection between you. The taste of him, mixed with the faint scent of salt and wind from the sea, enveloped your senses, making you dizzy with want.

You could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours as his lips parted further, the kiss becoming open, wetter, more desperate. He kissed you like a man who had waited years to do so – his lips, his tongue, exploring you with a reverence that made your pulse race, made your skin burn.

His hand slid down your side, lingering at your hip before pulling you flush against him, and the feel of his body pressed against yours made a low, breathy sigh escape your throat. You felt Jacaerys respond, a soft groan rumbling deep in his chest as his hand slipped beneath your tunic, his fingers skimming the bare skin at your waist. The touch was gentle, reverent, but it sent a fire through your veins.

He broke the kiss for only a moment, his forehead resting against yours, both of you gasping for air, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. His eyes, dark with desire, searched yours, and in that brief moment of silence, you saw everything – years of unspoken feelings, of longing, of love. 

Jacaerys' breath came in short, ragged bursts, his forehead still pressed against yours as he tried to steady himself. His fingers, warm and trembling, grazed the skin at your waist, the sensation grounding you both in this fragile, beautiful moment. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, breathy, but filled with a raw honesty that made your heart clench. "I used to believe," he whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke, "that you were a gift... sent by the gods." His thumb traced a slow, reverent circle along your hip, his gaze searching your face like he was still in awe that you were here, with him. "Even when I was little, I thought... maybe they made you just for me. Maybe that's why... I could never stay away."

His words wrapped around your heart, tightening with a tenderness that made your breath hitch. Jacaerys had always been a steady presence, always at your side, but to hear it now – to hear that he'd felt this way, even as children – left you speechless. 

His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin as he stared into your eyes. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmured, voice shaking with emotion. "Longer than I even understood."

His confession hung in the air between you, soft and fragile, yet so filled with meaning it made the weight of his feelings unmistakable. You could see it in his eyes – the years of unspoken longing, of a quiet yearning that had finally spilled over.  

As Jacaerys held you, his breath fanning over your lips, you became aware of the subtle scent clinging to him – the faint, calming fragrance of freshly picked lavender, mingling with the salty tang of the sea. It was an unexpected but gentle contrast, delicate yet grounding. The lavender must have been tucked in his pocket, its presence weaving into the natural scent of him, a gentle reminder of the day you told him it suited him.

Jacaerys’ thumb continued to trace slow circles against your cheek, his eyes still fixed on yours with a look so tender it made your heart ache. The lavender lingered, soft and sweet, mixing with the warmth of his body, the salt of the sea. It was intoxicating, wrapping around you like the feel of his arms, like the weight of his confession.

In the quiet of your chambers, with the soft glow of candles casting a warm light around you, you and Jacaerys held onto each other, savoring the start of something new, something that had been years in the making. And somewhere in the distance, as if sensing the shift in the very air around you, you could have sworn you heard the contented rumble of a dragon, approving of the love that had finally been acknowledged between its rider and the one who had stolen both their hearts.

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[marwhoa]

My signature color doesn’t exist on mobile tumblr 😭😭 this is closest though so—

Tall or short || Spicy or sweet || Cute or cool || city or Country || mountains or Ocean || Forest or desert || Witch or knight || vampire or Werewolf || Cats or dogs || Outdoors or indoors || speed or Strength || Brains or brawn’s || fangs or Claws || wings or Tail || chaos or Order || hot or Cold || Together or alone || Books or television || close combat or Faraway Sniping || Electricity or ice ||You or me || fluffy or Smooth || firm or Soft || Black or white || day or Night || Spring or fall || Summer or winter || men or women (Or the secret third option: Neither)* || Rice or bread || meat or Vegetables || short sleeves or Long Sleeves || Sweaters or jackets || Pastel or neon || Friends or family || purse or Backpack || competitive or Casual || Silk or faux fur || sporty or Preppy || money or Love || life or Death || Sky or earth || think or Leap

I did this while i was sleepy and had to turn it into a draft to finish when i woke up lmao

*: i’m aroace lmao women are pretty, men are… scary, thin ice, but yeah that’s that

taggies !!

not sure if any of my friends are actually into this, especially with how tedious it is, so if you see this and wanna do it, consider yourself tagged !! :3

THIS OR THAT?

Highlight your choice in your signature color. You cannot choose more than one option. Think hard and choose wisely.

Tall or Short // Spicy or Sweet // Cute or Cool // City or Country // Mountains or Ocean // Forest or Desert // Witch or Knight // Vampire or Werewolf // Cats or Dogs // Outdoors or Indoors // Speed or Strength // Brains or Brawn // Fangs or Claws // Wings or Tail // Chaos or Order // Hot or Cold // Together or Alone // Books or Television // Close Combat or Faraway Sniping // Electricity or Ice // You or Me // Fluffy or Smooth // Firm or Soft // Black or White // Day or Night // Spring or Fall // Summer or Winter // Men or Women (Or the secret third option: Neither) // Rice or Bread // Meat or Vegetables // Short Sleeves or Long Sleeves // Sweaters or Jackets // Pastel or Neon // Friends or Family // Purse or Backpack // Competitive or Casual // Silk or Faux Fur // Sporty or Prep // Money or Love // Life or Death // Sky or Earth // Think or Leap

—

@magicmike5000 @red-rage-machine @nardos-primetime @chessman-protocol @artsyannierose @dotbot2012 @donnieslefteyebrow9000 @theoneandonlyneonleon

Anyone who sees this may also join :)

[afewfantasies]

Hii, love your works!

Can you do a feyd rautha x reader?

They are married and he takes her to meet the harpies because she's curious, they start to like her and become protective of her because she doesn't take feyd away and she cares and treats them good.

Thanks

"PETS" - Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.1K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd-Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Same as the ask but they aren't married yet.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Fluffy with mentions of gore.

Sorry for the wait @kitty95 but here it is 😊

Telling you ‘no’ felt like the only sin Feyd would be slow to commit. He revelled in your happiness and appreciation. The two of you had grown close and he felt like he didn’t need to hide all of his ugly. He’d already taken you into his armoury and then the torture chambers. Aside from the iron rich smell of the blood he watched and listened for something to change about the way you felt about him. But your hand only slipped into his in search of protection and assurance. Your eyes never wavered when you looked at him. Feyd never found you shrugging out of his touch. Somehow this felt different, it was different in every way. Unlike weapons, poisons and his violent delights there was no eminent danger to you. Weapons had to be deployed to be dangerous, his Harpies were anything but safe. They were creatures that lived for his satisfaction and held more bloodlust than even Feyd himself. Unlike most pets, Feyd’s Harpies survived on the flesh of his enemies. Feyd was their only friend. He was the only person they refrained from hissing at, snarling, snapping or biting. His were the hands that fed them and he seldom went to them empty handed. Seeing them gorge didn’t disgust him but it would disgust you. Feyd knew that from the moment he bit into a rare steak on your first night together.

“Feyd please I want to meet them” you ask employing doe eyes knowing they’re his weakness.

“They’re unpredictable, territorial and jealous” he rasps closer to a no than he’s ever been. He looks away and you get out of bed heading to the window to watch the double sun rise on the Giedi Prime.

“Come away from the window” Feyd hisses and you do padding over to him slowly. It’s the speed you can manage after being the subject of Feyd’s insatiable appetite for your flesh. His eyes roam over your naked body. His chest rises and falls as he holds out a hand to stop you. Your feet rest on the cold black tile as he gets out of bed closing the distance to you.

“Don’t you ever, show anyone what’s mine” his tone is harsh while the hold he has on your chin is soft.

“I let you have all of me freely and yet, you do not trust me with your Harpies” you whisper, holding his dark eyes. His conscience plays at him and he swallows his jaw clenching.

“Will you withhold from me should I hold fast in my position and not allow a meeting?” Feyd raises his hairless brow.

“No” you respond without needing to think it over. “But it will hurt,” you confess, grabbing a robe.

——

Your heart rate triples as you enter the forbidden sect of Feyd-Rautha’s quarters. You hear sharp whispers and laughter. You hold a covered platter of liver, the Harpies’ second favourite food according to Feyd. You press the doors open and all three of them are still until they realise you are not Feyd. Their movement is unlike anything you’ve ever encountered and one of them hisses showing off black teeth and gums. Another comes with a raised hand but stops dead in its tracks. Their eyes go white in the centre of their black orbs before dilating back to black. They smell their master all over you.

“I brought you food” you whisper while holding the platter out. The third Harpy takes the platter from you and the smell of the meat snaps them out of the daze caused by your intrusion for a moment. They eat savagely, licking the plate as you watch on in wonder.

“Masters newest pet” one says and you nod. “You smell just like him,” it says, causing you to blush. You’d had a shower prior to this visit and yet it’s done nothing to free you from the scent of Feyd.

“You let him come see us” another says and you nod.

“She isn’t disgusted by us or jealous” another one says looking at you with wide eyed wonder.

“No, you don’t disgust me” you correct. “I love Feyd and he loves you, I just wanted us to meet” you explain and they smile. You hear steps in the distance and they pick up. As Feyd’s concubine you know danger is everywhere and panic. Cold hands grip your arms dragging you behind the large black couch in the centre of their room. Weapons materialise in each of their hands, as well as snarled teeth and violent expressions. You hide, doing as you’ve been instructed only silence befalls the room as the doors open. You count to ten before looking over the couch to see Feyd. His anger fades into amusement as he sees his Harpies ready to defend you with their life. The image of you hiding and them ready to defend you brings him too much amusement. All of his most beloved possessions in one place. You stand and go to walk over to him when one of the Harpy’s grabs you again.

“He’s upset,” she warns, familiar with Feyd’s violent temper.

“I will take her punishment” one of them proposes, causing Fey’s lip to curl up in a smirk.

“No, it’s alright” you say, holding her arm. They all gasp at the gesture. The physical touch and connection most people are terrified to participate in. All four of them pile into a group hug holding you and purring all around you. It’s an overwhelming amount of affection. They purr for a few minutes before turning to Feyd with angry eyes.

“I won’t punish her,” he says, picking his battles wisely. Once you say your goodbyes the Harpies let you go.

“Come back soon!” The one with doe eyes calls before the door is shut. Looking up, Feyd stands in his regalia withholding a smile. You take a deep breath in anticipation of his punishment but he holds a hand out. You slip your hand into his and he smirks.

“Don’t disobey me again” Feyd warns.

“I didn’t, you never told me I couldn’t come at all” you correct and he brings your hand to his lips kissing your fingers softly.

“Tread lightly” he warns and you stop to look up at him. Moving from his side to in front of him you reach your hands up wrapping them around his neck. His head bows automatically. Feyd can’t find anything but utter devotion to him in your eyes. It’s what makes him relent. He pulls you to him by your waist.

“You’re good just as long as you never forget that nobody and nothing adores you more than me” Feyd hisses. Smiling you nod hoping he knows the feeling is mutual.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading all of you Feyd lovers 🖤🖤🖤🖤. Something quick and easy🩶🖤 Let me know if you liked it!

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

the elitism in magic education

HELLO 🤡 I have come to you today with an analysis of Fellow Honest's motives and what they imply about the mages and non-mages in the world of Twisted Wonderland, as well as the state of magic education as it relates to one's social status. It's a doozy, so let's get right into it! ***WARNING: Spoilers for Stage in Playful Land!!***

Fellow's resentment of the elite harkens back to something I've always suspected but also something that Twisted Wonderland has seldom gone out of its way to shine a harsh spotlight on. That "something" is the discrepancy between the "haves" and the "have-nots" in terms of magic. With the main setting of TWST being a private magic school, of course the lens through which we view many events will be from this perspective as well... and that limits what we see and hear. Most of the NPCs we encounter (even the annoying ones, such as the Magicam Monsters from the first Halloween event) endlessly praise the NRC students just for attending a famous magic school. If we look closely though, we’ll start to see cracks in the shiny rose-colored lenses (which, coincidentally, is how Fellow’s UM name is written).

To begin with, we are told that only 10% of the human population (for the sake of argument, let's assume that most other races also have low magic rates) is even capable of magic to begin with. Of this 10%, the majority of people with the aptitude for magic only have enough to barely be able to lift a cup. In order to qualify for a prestigious magic school like Night Raven College or Royal Sword Academy, you'd literally have to be the cream of the crop and get lucky in terms of genetics. Magic cannot be learned by someone that was not born with the innate ability for it, and not everyone who is the child of a mage will be capable of magic themselves. This is already one HUGE barrier for entry. We now have more to consider.

Night Raven College is notably a private boarding school. This potentially means that students may need to pay a tuition fee for classes, room, and board. Perhaps this tuition doesn't exist, since NRC doesn't take applications but rather hand-selects its students. Additionally, NRC is based on a British school, and most European schools cost little to nothing to attend. However, it's hard to believe a school as fancy as NRC is a private institution that runs solely on the charity and goodwill of donors (though we do see Crowley happily accepting donations as well, specifically from the local town and from Kalim’s family). Realistically speaking, Stuff Costs Money, and if you Want Stuff, you also Need Money. NRC is not raising these mages of the future out of the goodness of their hearts, NRC is raising these mages because there is profit and prestige to be gained from the endeavor. What if there are students who are picked to go but end up having to leave because they can’t afford it?? This point is just speculative though; I won’t count it as actual evidence since there is no in-game lore which confirms tuition. We do know, however, that students do at least have to pay for their dorm uniforms, as Ruggie has mentioned he could not afford one—hence why he wears a hand-me-down from Leona. We also know students are on their own when it comes to paying for their food, as both Ruggie and Deuce mention being low on cash in reference to buying meals/snacks. Buuuuut even if we discount that money is a factor that gatekeeps some selected students from attending or having the cash to just get by on a daily basis, what we cannot ignore is that money inherently puts some people ahead of others before magic schools even recruit them.

Because the majority of those in Twisted Wonderland are incapable of using magic, magic is not typically included in general education. This means that if your kid manifests magic and you want them to be "ahead of the curve", you'd need to seek out resources for magic training and education. Now, this could mean reading materials, private tutoring, or reaching out to mages you know of. The problem with all of these things is that they tend to require money and/or connections, which are things not everyone has access to. Idia even says in book 6 that Riddle has an “artificially large” pool of magic due to how young Riddle started his magic training, meaning that the wealthy has the resources to just produce “better” mages. The rich also have more money to throw into items to help with magical training, such as bigger and better magestones (which must sell for substantial amount in the first place since Ruggie tries to save some to pawn off later in Vargas Camp) to keep mages healthier for longer (since magestones help absorb blot). This keeps power concentrated in an already elevated class. (Note: research has shown that money opens up and expands one's connections, which still puts the rich in an advantageous position compared to the less fortunate. There are also studies that show impoverished people who happen to have rich friends have a better chance of raising their own social standing just because of the doors and connections that rich friend can open for them.) Look at who in the main cast remarks on having formal magic training: literal royalty like Leona and the upper middle class like Riddle. Again, one could say that because schools like NRC appear to hand-pick students regardless of how much formal magic training they had prior to enrollment. However, the fact remains that it simply looks better to potential recruiters (using this blanket term because we don't know how magic schools besides NRC gets its students) and better prepares the child for magic school curriculum to get an early start on it.

Looking back at the 22 boys that make up the main cast, close to three-quarters or ~75% of them come from at least upper middle-class backgrounds and quite a few could classify as wealthy:

Riddle's parents are both doctors, with Riddle's mom in particular being well-known and well-regarded in their home community.

Cater's dad is a banker; his position is high enough up that he needs to relocate every so often (presumably to service their largest or most important firms).

Leona is a literal prince. Even if he isn't destined to be king, he still has access to the resources and wealth avaliable to a royal.

Azul's mom owns the most popular restaurant in the entire Coral Sea (have you seen how large the Coral Sea is on the world map???), and his stepdad is a lawyer.

The twins' family is said to be well-off; they are able to afford luxuries like fancy clothes and Mr. Leech stresses the importance of manners and presentation. He is implied to have business associates who are also well-off and would like to get in his good graces. (Popular fan speculation is that the Leeches are a crime family.)

Kalim is the heir to a massive family fortune and trading business. He also has relatives (by marriage, I believe) who are royals.

Jamil, as Kalim's attendant, is also from a reasonably well-off family; they receive benefits unique to being closely tied with the Asims, such as exposure to elite society and lessons to acquire various skills, albeit these benefits comes with being in the lower social position of a servant.

Vil's father is an A-list celebrity, and Vil is also one himself.

We don't know the specifics of what Rook's family does, but it must be well-paying, as we learn in book 5 that the Hunts have villas all over Twisted Wonderland, as well as permissions for international travel via warp pads.

Idia and Ortho's family run a secret organization that researches blot. S.T.Y.X. is so secretive that basically only those in super high positions like Crowley and Leona would know about them. Let's also not forget that the Shrouds have ties to the Jupiter Conglomerate and the Olympus Corp, which is a tech giant in the world of TWST.

Malleus is prince AND the heir to his kingdom’s throne. He is also one of the top 5 most powerful mages in the entire WORLD.

Lilia is a renown war general and a close friend of royalty. He raised a young Malleus as well.

Silver is Lilia's adopted son and is actually a prince himself.

Sebek's parents are dentists. They must make mad money. His grandfather is also a respected knight that served alongside Lilia.

Notice how all the dorm leaders are upper middle class or higher; the vice dorm leaders have ONE normal person (Trey); in Playful Land, Trey confesses to living a comfortable life so we know he must be at least middle class.

We can try to argue all we like that NRC doesn't discriminate based on social status for their selections, but if that's the case then why are so few of the main cast from impoverished or low-income families? Only Ace, Trey, and Jack count as squarely middle class. Ruggie is the only example we have of someone from a very low socioeconomic status rising up to be among "elites". The other example is Deuce, who comes from a single parent household and has implied they don't have a lot of money (for example: how the VDC/SDC earnings will help out his family). (Epel is kind of a ??? case because depending on where in the story you are, his family could be in financial trouble or not; in book 5, they imply his entire village is having difficulties selling product until Vil promotes Harveston apples on his Magicam.) Maybe it's unfair to say that 22 students out of 800ish is representative of the makeup of the entire NRC student population (or represents the composition of all magic schools), but Ruggie confirms in his Birthday Boy vignettes that a majority of the students at NRC are decently well-off. This single digit representation of low-income students is also true of real-life elite schools. They are private schools for a reason; it naturally gatekeeps who is and isn't "allowed" to attend, leading to the majority of its students being members of the elite.

Another thing to consider is legacy students. This term refers to the increased likelihood of people being accepted into a school if they had a relative that also attended that school. We know of two instances of this happening: Ace's brother and Sebek's brother also went to and graduated from Night Raven College. Ace even makes a remark during his sorting ceremony that he ended up in the same dorm as his older brother "as expected". If magic aptitude is genetic, then perhaps it makes sense to recruit from the same families--but again, this is inherently restrictive, as you would continuously be culling from the same pools generation after generation.

Back on the topic of bloodlines and family, what about Kalim, who has an extensive family? There will be no shortage of Asim mages going to NRC just because of legacy (Jamil even alludes to the fact that the previous Scarabia dorm leader was an Asim relative, and his recommendation is what got Kalim the dorm leader seat). And speaking of Kalim, consider instances where rich families are able to bribe faculty (lookin' at YOU, Crowley) or donate a large sum to get their kid ahead or to be given priority over others that may be more qualified than them (RIP Jamil). To continue off that point, NRC itself is structured as a "dog eat dog" world. Those with inherently more magical ability have the right to trump over others. You can duel and lose your dorm seat to a more powerful mage, even if you trump them in terms of merit or leadership qualities. Students feel a sense of duty to obey those who have bested them in battle (ie Epel's servitude to Vil). Everyone fears Malleus. Your magical power is respected above all else.

Attitudes surrounding magic have notably shifted from fear of it several hundreds of years ago (around the human-fae war, back when “witch” and “wizard” were used in a derogatory sense) to recognizing it for its strengths and actively seeking it or granting some favoritism to those who have it. There is, in fact, now class discrimination in based on whether or not you can use magic. We got an early instance of this as early as book 1 of the main story, when Riddle insults Yuu for their "pitiful" education and states that they were clearly "born to parents with no great magical capability". It’s something that clearly rubs Ace, who has a magicless father, the wrong way, and he stands up for Yuu. There are other subtle hints about this divide sprinkled throughout the lore. For example, Ruggie has a voice line which he indicates that the slums where he comes from doesn’t produce many magic users. Again, recall that magic runs in bloodlines. This could potentially allude to a past where those without magic were forced into lower income neighborhoods, which results in pockets like Ruggie’s hometown with a high population of magicless individuals living in poverty. This doesn’t appear to be a large scale issue (perhaps its only an isolated case?), but this is worth paying attention to.

This could all translate into the professional world too. Some jobs are entirely locked behind magic (ie you just cannot do them or pursue them if you don't have the magical ability for it). Some jobs DO require magic (ie medical mages like Riddle's parents, magic police force officers, technomantic inventors, etc) and probably additional training that goes with it. As a result, I'd imagine that these magic-intensive jobs pay quite a bit more. There may also be overall more job opportunities for those capable of magic, since magic is so much more efficient than doing things by hand. The magic police force in particular are described as “elite” and members are REQUIRED to be mages or else you don’t qualify. It means more retention of wealth and/or more upward mobility for the few impoverished that are able to enter magic schools. (This is, of course, not including the few and far between cases of regular people who get rich in select industries, such as Kalim’s father.) Recall too that NRC requires its students to take internships during their 4th years, many placements being with very prestigious groups and organizations such as pro-sports teams, labs, tech giants, etc. Being able to attend a prestigious school with connections grants those elite students even more opportunities than the average person.

Then think about what this means for people who fall short of these standards that these magic schools set. We actually have examples of them in book 5 of the main story: when Deuce and Epel are reconciling on the beach, a bunch of delinquents from another school come along and start checking out Deuce’s borrowed magical wheel. Through the NPCs’ exchange, we learn that one of them has enough magic to power a magical wheel, but not enough to do much else. This NPC also couldn’t keep up in class and dropped out of a magic school. He then becomes insulted when Deuce implies he is “a beginner”, so this is obviously a very sore spot for him. Riddle also has dialogue that implies students dropped out of NRC prior to his reign (and since then, no Heartslabyul students have left). Additionally, consider how magic can be used to oppress and lord power over others. Deuce himself is guilty for summoning cauldrons to crush rival delinquents in fights back in Clock Town—even if those delinquents lacked magic themselves. Similarly, Epel is implied to use magic to gain an upper hand against those that bullied him back home. This all implies a social divide between those with magic and those without, and begs of bigger questions.

What happens to the ones that don’t make it? The ones that get left behind? The ones without the magic to make it “big”? This is the root of Fellow’s anger; he’s mad at a system that cast people like him (someone with very little magic) and Gidel (a non-mage) aside. They don’t get the opportunity to make better futures for themselves. They’re looked down on by high-up institutions that basically tell them they’re not good enough.

Knowing all of this, the deck appears to be stacked against the poor and non-mages. It’s no wonder why Fellow is so mad.

THIS ACTUALLY RELATES BACK TO WHAT ROLLO SAID IN 5-2 OF GLORIOUS MASQUERADE… "When you have too little [magic], you're resentful. And when you have plenty [of magic], you're arrogant. You can never content yourselves." The NRC boys are arrogant (this is the side of the story we’ve always known due to seeing the world mainly from their perspective). They are the “haves”, and we see them constantly misusing their power by fighting each other over very petty things (even if it’s against the rules to do so). But everyone else??? They’re scrounging for the scraps. Fellow falls into that former category; he IS the guy that’s resentful because of his lack of magic and how something he cannot control has already determined where he and Gidel will stand in life no matter how hard they work. They can never hope to rise out of poverty, and there’s nothing they can do about it. That must be soul-crushing.

When Fellow praises the NRC boys in that overly exaggerated way, he’s obviously being shady and facetious—however, there is also a kernel of truth behind this behavior. Most other NPCs we’ve met have spoken about the NRC boys favorably just because of their affiliation with a prestigious school. It’s the same way people might be impressed if you walked around in an Ivy League branded hoodie or something. People automatically associate you with the school’s shiny and exclusive reputation, and thus assume you are also intelligent, talented, etc. Then, in the same way being constantly put on a pedestal like this might result in the students getting swelled heads, this only further feeds into the NRC kids’ egos. They so privileged they don’t even recognize it. And that makes Fellow fucking FUME.

Look back at Fellow's dialogue. He is constantly mentioning the prestige of the school the boys go to, or adding on extra compliments about their status and skills. He's ass-kissing to his boss, who is also wealthy or part of the upper class, then insults the boss once he hangs up. Fellow is always in a position where he HAS to be subservient to the upper class in order to make his money and get by, and he finds that entirely unfair. Imagine having to simper and placate people you absolutely despise and blame for your problems every day, people who are gorging themselves on luxuries, coasting by in life, taking everything they have for granted while you get by on pennies—that has to get frustrating.

I want to briefly mention here that, in addition to praising the NRC students to high heaven, Fellow also talks down his own skills. He cheerfully calls himself a loser and says that no matter how much he trains, he could never reach their caliber of magic. Yes, Fellow is exaggerating to get the kids to think they’ve won, but I also have to wonder if he’s parroting the same phrases he was told long ago, from people who doubted him and never thought he’d make it. If that’s the case, then I get the sense that Fellow is in a way “reclaiming” his autonomy and power by adopting those same cruel words and using them as a strength. He admits to being “weak” but is also proud of the fact that he can utilize his magic along with his natural charisma to get a leg up over others. It further fuels his new belief that going to an elite school doesn’t matter, it’s practical skills that will serve you well.

Okay, back to talking about his shitty work situation! Fellow’s employer clearly doesn’t treat him with decency. They berate him, make unreasonable demands, act impatient, etc. They are a typical depiction of a toxic workplace and boss. This can also be read as shorthand for the relation between the rich and the poor, and how that may have shaped (or worsened) Fellow’s views on others of the privileged class. He makes many assumptions about the NRC students without really getting to know them, calling them entitled brats. Why? Because these descriptors likely apply to the higher-ups Fellow has always slaved away for. This, in combination with his own experiences in being rejected from magic academia, has created a person who feels trodden on by society and by the upper echelons who run it and benefit off the system.

Fellow himself is the perfect example of someone who was failed by said system. He has dialogue stating that he was never given the chance to learn because his magic was not considered strong enough. Still, he tried to make an effort to earn that chance among to elites and to study among them. Fellow was rejected, ridiculed, and told he had “forgotten his place”, what he had been born into. There were expectations he couldn’t meet, and so Fellow was thrown away like a broken toy. He has failed not because he didn’t try, but because he was denied the opportunity to begin with. This is where is rage stems from. Fellow despises the students of those same kinds of institutions who kicked him down, students who don’t realize how fortunate they are for their educations and will likely continue to perpetuate the system.

What, then, does that means for his signature spell, which is closely tied to one’s identity? Let’s take a magnifying glass to it. As previously mentioned, the name for Fellow’s spell is written as “Rose-Tinted Dream”, but it is said out loud as “Life is Fun”. The chant for it is, “Come on to the theater” (notably said in English rather than in Japanese). Both the spell and the incantation are references to the song Honest John sings in Pinocchio, Hi- Diddle-Dee-Dee. And… well, the whole UM in of itself is one big cruel joke given his circumstances now.

I think this spell is representative of a young Fellow still full of hopes and dreams, looking forward to studying at a magic school. But then those dreams are shattered and he has to commit terrible crimes to survive day-to-day, and he seems to have given up on his dreams. He even goes so far as to protect Gidel from having the same hopes he once did, telling Yuu to not put silly ideas in his head when Gidel expressed curiosity about school. At the same time, he delights in crushing the hopes of those he deems his enemies (stating that he wanted to betray Kalim to “teach him a lesson” about how cruel the world is). Fellow knows the truth: that life isn’t fun, that it will disappoint you and will put you down. His actions are very cowardly as well—he uses tricks and deception, he runs away from his problems instead of properly addressing them, the NRC students remark on his lack of pride. Fellow has had to throw away so much to scrape by. Yet his UM symbolizes someone brimming with hope—so perhaps it’s a UM he manifested when Fellow still thought he had a chance?? And then people made fun of him for it being so weak?? Alternatively, maybe he didn’t get his UM until after his dreams were crushed so he’s looking back on those nostalgic days of blissful ignorance with rose-colored lenses (which is, again, maybe why his UM magic name is written as “Rose Tinted Dream”). A UM that is a reflection of one’s true self, yet that same identity is one that has been forced to be discarded. That’s the reason why, despite all the swindling and scamming, I don’t think Fellow’s enthusiasm for fun is a lie. That’s the one “real” part of him, but even that’s been repurposed to help him live on scraps, something innocent twisted 😭 and that’s really sad to think about…

But also??? You could argue that Fellow still has a little bit of that lost inner child and hope left in him. He tries to defend Gidel’s understanding of the world and has goals of starting his own school despite how poorly he originally spoke about these institutions. (So Fellow does appear to care about children and their futures.) He also has a childish streak despite being an adult, demonstrated by his use of cowardly tactics, taunting kids, and abruptly quitting his job to then destroy his workplace. Fellow himself states that he “just tries to live a free and fun life”, thus his pursuit of money and pleasure. This could all play into being what defines Fellow and thus his UM. It embodies a spirit of playfulness even when he has been crushed under the weight of an unglamorous life.

I’ve heard people saying that while Rollo is Idia’s dark mirror and Fellow is Ruggie’s. They have similar backstories but ultimately their fates are different and left the former two down far more sinister paths. Just as Rollo is an Idia that turned his anger outward instead of inward, Fellow is Ruggie had he not been given a chance to receive an education to elevate his social status and job prospects. Fellow and Ruggie both cling to rich, powerful benefactors/bosses and do their dirty work to get on by—a big difference is that Leona, while he does also work Ruggie to the bone, also has some conscience. Something else to consider is that while Ruggie prioritizes making a life for himself by studying and securing a stable, well-paying job, Fellow is focused moreso on the accumulation of wealth itself (as he suggests to Kalim he’ll take a bribe to let him go free and quits when there is no longer money to be gained from his boss). Both don’t really care how they get their money (even if it is by dirty means), but ultimately Ruggie’s way of making cash is more sustainable in the long run. Yet Fellow ultimately realizes the importance of school deep down despite constantly denying it when the NRC students tell him of it. Fellow is in denial because that’s the only way he can cope and justify his lifestyle. He’s confused when finally confronted with students who are his ideal of “happy and free”, even when they’re in an educational system that he views as shackling people into strict roles. The way he laments about not being able to go to school is also very reminiscent of an adult mourning a lost or unfulfilling childhood, which is quite a depressing scenario…

Fellow is the one that got the short end of the stick in life. Ruggie met Leona, and Leona technically uplifted him in his endeavors, tutored him into getting decent grades and giving him hand-me-downs and money in exchange for his services. Fellow never had that kind of support system, he was just insulted and bullied into giving up and had to find an alternative way to keep himself going 😔

Personally, I think Fellow could also be a dark mirror to Kalim, no?? They exist on opposite ends of a social spectrum. Kalim has everything and Fellow had nothing. What’s more, Kalim is still wide-eyed and trusting. He is the only one willing to try words instead of fighting him and instantly labeling him as the enemy. Meanwhile, Fellow has become bitter because of how the world has betrayed him. He wants to take that trust Kalim has and show him how cruel everything truly is. Why is he fixated on that? Why even offer in the first place if he never intended on going through with it? Why does he want to rub it in Kalim’s face in particular? Maybe it’s because Kalim seems rich and dumb, as Fellow claims, but maybe it’s because there is envy there. Sure, Fellow is upset about Kalim being a sheltered brat that faces no challenges in life, but I also feel like he’s jealous that Kalim can still afford to think this way. That he can still afford to be cheerful, that he can still be a dreamer. Fellow was alluded to be like that once—but he can’t be like that anymore, not when he has to look out for himself and Gidel.

Side note, another comparison! Recall that Kalim’s Oasis Maker is also a UM that uses a little bit of magic. However, Kalim does not know of many creative ways to use his spell, as there is no real reason to since his home country has lots of canals and irrigation. He therefore deems his UM as pretty useless. Fellow meanwhile has what most consider a weak UM but he fully utilizes it to his advantage and pairs it well with his natural charm to maximize its effects. He had to develop these skills because he was in pressing circumstances in which they would benefit him. This contributes to the “mirror” theme between the two.

Fellow and Kalim have a notable similarity as well, and this is where I feel they can connect. They are both older brothers to a child or children who are magicless. Fellow only has one, and Kalim has many—but the number here isn’t what is important. What is important is that Fellow and Kalim think the world of their siblings and want to support them. To that end, Fellow is willing to be cruel and step on others, and Kalim is all sunshine to keep their spirits up. Fellow has suffered through great poverty and insults and Kalim has survived so many attempts on his life, yet they’ve developed distinctly different approaches to the worlds that have embraced them. Kalim’s wealth could afford him protection and luxuries, so he’s able to live carefree with others tending to his needs. The same isn’t true for Fellow, and so he came out far more spiteful and resentful.

Thinking about it, it’s ultimately Kalim’s words that convince Fellow to turn on his employer. (The other boys certainly wore Fellow down and planted the seeds of doubt, but it’s Kalim that I believe fully resonates with Fellow.) He can so happily talk about why he loves school, even though he doesn’t do well at it (something I presume is also true of Fellow, since he is lacking in tons of magic). It’s not said in a particularly articulate manner, but it’s so candid in its presentation. Kalim is relating to him based on similar skillset (or lack thereof) and sharing fond memories of his time at school, reviving the hopeful “lost child” in Fellow. Kalim is probably the first wealthy person in a long time that was friendly, kind, and supportive to him. And here he is, reassuring Fellow his dreams are still possible, to not give up. That’s the final nail that allows Fellow to be “honest” with himself and his inner child. It’s what leads to that slew of irresponsible actions at the end of the event (letting people free, blasting the amusement park, driving a sinking ship, etc.).

At the end of Stage in Playful Land, we see that Fellow never really let that childlike side of him fully die. (It seems to have been concealed under a desire for money and appeasing his boss.) He shares his dream of creating his own great school to give educational opportunities to non-mages and mages with low magical reserves like Gidel and himself, a school that teaches practical life lessons. He wants to promote his own ideals and to change the system he hates from the inside out. This was never communicated to us before most likely because Fellow had renounced those ideas in favor of blind hatred and a lack of faith in the world and those that dominate it.

Fellow also acknowledges that life may be even more difficult for him and Gidel going forward, as now they lack the money for even food and no longer have jobs. Furthermore, they need to worry about their ex-employers coming after them for what they’ve done. Even so, Fellow faces it all with a smile and reassures everyone that they can transfer or visit to play… “on this shining stage called life”. He and Gidel are able to walk away with their whimsy preserved, and can still be that which they’ve always wanted to be: dreamers.

All of this is to say that Rollo was right all along about magic, he never misses—

[lorelune]

(minors dni & ageless blogs dni /// inspired by this post and brainworms with @petrichorium)

"dear?" neuvillette asks. you're sprawled out on his chaise lounge, reading today's issue of the steambird. you're distracted.

"yes?"

"what exactly does it mean if you're 'wet'?"

you smile at him sweetly from across his office, "... come again?"

he looks overwhelmingly serious. though he does, occasionally, toss a joke or two into his daily conversations, it's rare. you know the look he wears when he does so. and in this moment? he looks completely sincere.

"if you are wet, the meaning, please. i believe you should know?"

"i-i mean," you laugh. "neuvillette, love, dearest— are you... being entirely serious?"

"yes."

"ah, alright." your lover is the current incarnation of the hydro draconic primordial, but regardless. "to be damp. moist. covered in liquid, probably water?"

neuvillette brow scrunches. then relaxes after a moment and he shakes his head. the soft, curved horns that curl into his hair tremble with the motion. he smiles and shakes his head, shutting the book he'd be paging through. you catch a glimpse of the cover and— oh.

everything comes together.

"A Seaman's Conquest: The River's Maiden and Jewel" is the latest erotic novel by the quietly-famed 'Épée Honnête'. you recognized the cheesy art on the novel, and the flourishing text. you've read one or two of the author's works, but in the quiet and private of your own home. stashed atop each other in your nightstand, with a seldom-used vial soft oil. their prose is a... bit over the top. but they're also a sensation.

you have to wonder how and why neuvillette, of all people, is reading the book (and by your brief look, seems to be about half-way through it.) it is not the kind of thing he'd pick up himself— you've never seen neuvillette reading anything other than case files and evidence prior. yet apparently he's been ripping into erotica. right under your nose.

which explains his question.

"o-oh!" you swallow. "you mean wet like—"

"yes."

you squeeze your thighs together.

much to your initial surprise, neuvillette had incredibly limited experience when it came to bodily pleasure. intimacy in and of itself is something that he clearly yearns for, but perhaps does not know how to convey. you're not sure if neuvillette, in all his stature, could ever truly be bumbling, but he gets close to it with physicality.

he's careful. an incredibly fast learner but bent on taking his time, being thorough— meaning that most of your physical encounters are kissing under both of your lips are bruised and slick. you know that neuvillette feels aroused in those moments; the hard press of his clothed cock nudged up to you is proof of it. and you're turned on in those moments— horribly. you've soaked through your panties on more than one occasion. he makes you so— wet.

"wet is like... female arousal." you say simply, steeling yourself. you'll jump him otherwise.

"it this makes you... wet? is this like perspiration?"

"no, no. not at all. not really." you shake your head with a laugh. "it's like. slick? f-from my insides. it's lubrication for intercourse, to be entirely clinical about it."

"... but it's indicative of arousal?"

"entirely." you nod, trying to focus on the case file in front of you. your eyes have skimmed the same line three times.

neuvillette pauses and your hear a flutter of pages before his 'A Seaman's Conquest' closes once more, "have i made you wet before?"

you swallow. get ahold of yourself.

"yes. frequently."

"hm." neuvillette hums and his chair creaks as he sits back. he picks up his silver goblet and swirls it. the gem on it's side refracts the warm glow of the office light, dragging your gaze to his.

he's looking at you— hungry. perhaps something else. something insatiable.

"i want to know more." he tells you. rises. walk toward you with the defined click of his heeled boots on the hardwood fo the floor. "i feel as if i was missing something important without this knowledge. and there's more to be understood."

"well, ask away. i'm an open book." you tell him, craning your neck to meet his eyes.

"may i make a request?"

"of course."

"i..." neuvillette swallows around his words. you drag him onto the lounge with you and lean into his shoulder. moral support and all.

"it's fine if you don't know quite what to ask. or what you want." you assure him. you'll eat up anything he gives you, really.

"i know exactly what i want, it's a matter of phrasing."

"oh, yeah?" you wonder if he's nervous about you not understanding his desires. or if he's worried about being too blunt or forward.

you tilt your head back until neuvillette coaxes you down into his lap. his hand, gloved hand, smooths down your jaw. his fingertips trail down your neck, pressing into your curves and divots. bones and flesh alike. it's exploratory.

neuvillette touch slips down your collar, to bare skin. you shudder. "i'm curious."

"y-yeah? seems like you are."

he laughs, gentle and under his breath. his palm cups your cheek, soothing and kind. with a tilt of his head:

"i'd like to make you wet with my touch, and then taste you."

he says it hushed; it's just meant for you and you alone to hear. the intention of it makes you feel crazy, out of your skin. the look he's pinning you with. the ability he wields while being entirely sincere is going to undo you.

you swallow, a little sound sticking in the back of your throat. you squeeze your thighs together and close your eyes, "neuvillette, you're killing me here."

"am i?" there's a hint of a tease in his voice. you want to coax out more of it. you try and bury your face in his hip, but he doesn’t let you. he drag your chin straight and holds his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip.

"yes, y-you are." you mean to sound firm about it. but it comes out as a whine.

"so precious." he says softly, adoring. his thumb presses in into your mouth and runs along your teeth, into your gums. "would you like if i tasted you too?"

"fuck, neuvillette—" your words get muffled as his fingers press into your mouth further. he presses down on your tongue, the scent of clean leather and his gentle personal cologne almost suffocate it. you welcome it.

"is that a yes?"

you try to reply, but your words don't come out— his fault— so you only nod. perhaps too enthusiastically, but neuvillette doesn't seem to mind. his lips curl into a gentle smile, and he strokes over your cheeks. his only hand trails lower, finding home on your inner thigh.

"are you wet now?"

"'pworably—"

"cute." he says again. he still looks hungry. like he's going to eat you alive. there's an appetite in him, even if he doesn't know what it fully is or what to do with it. it seems, it really seems, like he's learning it. "may i find out—?"

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" The sharp crack of knocking on the door interrupts him as he leers over you. It's Laith, on the Seven— "the court time is within a half hour. do you require an escort?"

his grip on your thigh tightens. almost to point of hurting, but in the best way. you know you're wet now.

"no, laith, i will be alright on my own. i will be departing shortly."

"the prosecution's attorney sent over some last minute evidence files and requested i deliver them as well." the knob of the door starts to shift and you almost bolt up and away. neuvillette places his spit-covered hand on your chest to brace you down.

"i do not require the documents at this time. have them prepared for me at the opera epiclese."

the knob slips back into place, "of course, Monsieur. i'll see that they're delivered."

steps echo away from the door and you exhale a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding, "awful timing."

"unfortunate." neuvillette sighs. "truly unfortunate."

his duty is paramount. you know this as he helps you to stand and as he straightens your close. he's being more dutiful about it than he could be, given his next court time is so close. you relish it.

"... are you wet?"

"right now?" you feel sticky in a way that's a bit cold now. you press your forehead to his lips in a quiet beg for a steadying kiss. he relents easily and gives it to you. "yes. you have that effect on me."

neuvillette takes a steadying breath and squeezes around your shoulders, "i apologize for the timing of things, but—"

"i know." you tell him. "it's okay. besides, i have fingers and some toys at home. you've given me new material to work with."

"... you think about me when you're pleasuring yourself?" he blinks at you, eyes wide. you can't help but smirk.

"consistently." you nod and beam at him. "often. basically every time. i haven't even seen your cock but my mind's eye has come up with some creative theories and visual concepts."

that gets him to blush, a high, pearly pink that's almost purple. it fades into his hairline.

"this is going to be a particularly difficult court session."

"i can only imagine. is it my fault?"

"only partially." neuvillette assures you with no bite. "perhaps blame wriothesley for that book he lent me. he insisted i read it and get back to him for a review."

"huh."

you could lose it. really. wriothesley is a bastard. you should punch him. or kiss him— except you've grown from those days and you haven't seen that busted-lip smile of his in years. nice to know he's still doing you favors. you should send him an edible arrangement.

"and myself, too. thoughts to entertain at home, and not at the office."

"perhaps, perhaps." you tell him. you don't mind. you brush your lips to his cheek.

"would you visit me, after court?" who knows when that will be. you don't really care. you have a key, afterall.

"of course." you'll have tea prepared. perhaps sex education flashcards. maybe. or you'll break out the lacey slip that's been seldom-touched since purchase and surprise him. who knows. the world's your oyster.

and as you walk with neuvillette out of the palais mermonia and see him off on one of the aquabuses, you catch it in him again. in the almost-longing gaze he sends you as he departs, you see it. something awakening. old and new all at once in him. directed at you. he's famished. or, perhaps—

thirsty.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

"troublesome" words

Lie, Lying, Lay, Lain vs. Lie, Lying, Lied, Lied

"Lie" is an intransitive verb meaning "to rest" or "to be at rest." Its forms are: lie, lying, lay, lain. Examples: Lie down. 2) Lying in the sun dries our skin. 3) The parcels lay on the table. 4) We have lain in the sun for thirty minutes.

"Lie" can also mean make an untrue statement. It is an intransitive verb whose forms are: 'lie' and lying (present), 'lied' (both past and participle.) Examples: 1) Please don't lie to me. 2) He was punished for lying. 3) They lied to their parents. 4) They have lied before.

Unlike "lie," "lay" is a transitive verb, so it always takes an object. Remember that "lie" never takes an object because it is intransitive. The forms of "lay" are lay, laying, laid, laid. Examples: 1) Lay the bricks here. 2) He was laying the bricks in rows. 3) Yesterday he laid the bricks ten high. 4) He has laid all the bricks in the wall.

Note that the present tense of "lay" is the same as the past tense of "lie."

Its vs. It's, 'Tis

"Its" is the possessive of the pronoun "it." Note that there is no apostrophe. Example: Its appearance was misleading.

"It's" is a contraction meaning "it is." Example: It's a long way to Tipperary. "It's" can also be a contraction meaning "it has." Example: It's been a long day.

"'Tis" is also a contraction meaning "it is." Example: 'Tis seldom used in modern English.

Set vs. Sit

"Set" is, in most ordinary uses, a transitive verb needing an object. It means to put or place something in a certain position, or to arrange. Its principal parts are: set, setting, set, set. Examples: 1) She set the table. 2) He set the watch.

"Sit" is, in ordinary usage, an intransitive verb. It means to rest somewhere (like a chair) in an upright position. Its principal parts are: sit, sitting, sat, sat. Examples: He sits down.

"Sit" can also be used to talk about where an object is located. Example: The clock sits on the shelf. In a few instances "sit" is used as a transitive verb, such as in: He sat himself down.

Your vs. You're

You have probably encountered confusion between your and you're in many Internet posts.

Sometimes people write comments like "your so pretty in this picture" when they really mean "you're so pretty in this picture."

So what's the difference? Just remember—you're (with the apostrophe) is a contraction meaning you are, but your (no apostrophe) indicates possession or ownership. 

Their, There, and They're

"Their" is the possessive form for the plural pronoun "they." Example: They used their money on video games.

The word "there" has several meanings. As an adverb it means in, at, or about that place. Example: Place the book there.

When used as a noun, "there" means that place. Example: Are you from there, too?

When used as an interjection, "there" expresses an exclamation of triumph or relief. Example: There! It is finished.

"They're" is a contraction meaning "they are." Example: They're going to the show.

To, Too, and Two

"To" is used as a preposition or part of an infinitive phrase. Examples: 1) We are going to the store. 2) Are you going to sing a song?

"Too" is an adverb meaning also or to an excessive degree. Examples: 1) I am going too. 2) You are just too much.

"Two" is the number 2. Example: I have two dollars.

You and I vs. You and Me

"You and I" are pronouns used as either the subject or the predicate in a sentence. Examples: 1) You and I are going. 2) The winners are you and I.

"You and Me" are pronouns used as direct objects, indirect objects, or objects of prepositions. Examples: 1) They have chosen you and me. 2) The reward is for you and me.

Who vs. Whom

Some people think the main difference between who and whom is the way they sound, with whom being the more formal way to say who. In reality, the distinction between them is grammatical.

Even though who and whom are both pronouns, they do completely different jobs in a sentence—who acts as the subject while whom acts as the object.

Just remember to use who to refer to the person who is propelling the action in a sentence; use whom when the person is having the action done to them.

You also use whom, never who, as the object of a preposition.

Who: Subject pronoun; never use as the object of a preposition Whom: Direct or indirect object pronoun; Must use with prepositions

Some examples:

Students who study hard usually earn excellent grades. The pronoun, who, is referring back to the subject, students. (Who earns excellent grades? The students do.) Because the pronoun is referring to a subject, it would be incorrect to use the object pronoun whom.

Earning excellent grades also depends on whom you study with. This sentence has two clauses, but for the purposes of this lesson we'll focus only on the second one, whom you study with. In this clause, whom is the object of the preposition with, so it would be incorrect to use the subject pronoun who.

Hint: You can replace who with other subject pronouns (he, she, I, we, they, etc.) and whom with other object pronouns (him, her, me, us, them, etc.).

The comedian who is on TV right now is the funniest guy I've ever seen. ⇒ He is on TV. Who is the subject of the verb is, so you can replace who with he.

My cousins are the family members whom I see most often. ⇒ I see them. Whom is the direct object of the verb see, so you can replace whom with them. You'll notice that the placement of whom is different from that of other object pronouns—whom generally comes before the subject and verb while other object pronouns like them come after the subject and verb. For that reason, it might not be obvious at first glance that you can replace whom with another object pronoun (you would never say them I see).

A Couple of Sticky Situations: Who vs. Whom

There are certain sentence types that make it difficult to decide whether to use who or whom.

Object of One Clause, Subject of Another This situation involves two verbs with a pronoun between them:It was pitch dark, and I couldn't see who was coming down the hall.Notice how who seems to "stick" to both verbs—it looks like the object of the first verb and the subject of the second. So which pronoun do you choose, who or whom? There's a simple answer—subjects speak louder than objects because they propel the action in a sentence, so always "stick" with the subject pronoun who.

Preposition Separated from its Object Take a look at this example of traditional formal English: For whom are those flowers? Chances are you've never heard anyone ask a question that way. When we talk, the preposition "unsticks" from the pronoun and moves all the way down to the end of the sentence: Whom are those flowers for? Still sound strange? That's because most people would say Who are those flowers for?  but it's really better to use whom because it's the object of the preposition for. It's easy to tell when you're dealing with an object-preposition separation because you can replace whom with him, her, me, us, them, etc. Question: Whom are those flowers for? Whom is the object of the preposition for. Answer: The flowers are for her. Now, in the answer, her has become the object of the preposition for.

Note: Traditionally, it is incorrect to end a sentence with a preposition, but when we talk it happens naturally. Many teachers still prefer their students not to end sentences with prepositions, but this rule has become more relaxed in recent years.

All Ready vs. Already

"All ready" refers to a state of readiness. Example: They were all ready to go. In the case of a singular person, the "all" in "all ready" can be dropped to just say, "Are you ready?"

"Already" means prior to some specified time. Example: They were already packed and ready to go when he arrived.

All Together vs. Altogether

"All Together" means in concert or in unison. Example: They sang all together.

"Altogether" means wholly, completely, or absolutely. Example: This is altogether strange.

All Ways vs. Always

"All ways" or "all the ways" means every manner possible. Example: She was in all ways very humble.

"Always" means at all times. Example: She was always humble.

Everyone vs. Every One

The terms everyone and every one may look the same, but they are used in different contexts. 

Everyone, as one word, is a singular pronoun that refers to a group of people. It's synonymous with its sister pronoun, everybody.

Remember, even though a group is made up of several members, everyone is always singular because you refer to those members as a single group. 

Everyone is used only for people, never animals or objects.

Everyone I know is coming to the pool party on Saturday. Multiple people are coming to the party, but they are being treated as a single group.

These cookies are for everyone. The cookies are for a group.

Every one, as two words, is a phrase that refers to the individuals that make up a group, not to the group as a whole. It is synonymous with the phrases every single one and each one.

You can also use it for emphasis to give your sentence a little more "oomph." Just like everyone, every one is always singular.

However, unlike everyone, every one can refer to anything, including people, animals, and objects.

I think every one of these cakes is delicious. This sentence emphasizes that each individual cake in the group is delicious. You could simply say "These cakes are delicious," but it wouldn't have the same effect.

Every one of them is coming to the party. This sentence also uses every one for emphasis. It's not just everyone who's coming to the party—it's every single person in the group.

Hint: Here's a little trick to help you remember the difference between everyone and every one:

When every and one join together (everyone), you are focusing on the group as a whole—the two words work together as a single unit.

Everyone laughed. (The group laughed.)

When every and one stand alone (every one), you are emphasizing individuals—the two words work separately.

Every one of them laughed. (Each person laughed.)

Award vs. Reward

"Award" means to bestow an honor or object by a considered decision. Example: The principal gave academic awards to the top students.

"Reward" is something given in return for something done, either good or evil. Example: He was rewarded with cookies.

Anger, Angry vs. Mad

"Anger" (Angry) means a strong displeasure and antagonism directed toward the cause of a possible wrong or injustice; wrath; ire. Example: I am angry.

Madness (Mad) means a suffering from or manifesting severe mental disorder; insane; lunatic; psychotic; crazy. Example: Madness is a severe mental disorder.

Note: It is common in informal everyday expressions for the word "mad" to be used for "angry." This covers the explicit and formal meaning of the words.

Can vs. May

In formal speech writing, "can" implies the ability to do something. Example: I can throw a ball.

"May" implies a need for permission. Example: May I throw a ball?

In informal speech and writing, "can" is now acceptable in the sense of "may." Example: Can I leave now?

At the formal level the distinction between "can" and "may" is still observed.

Fewer vs. Less

If you've been to the grocery store lately, you've probably noticed a sign at checkout that says "15 items or less." You'll learn in this lesson that the sign should say "15 items or fewer."

The reason is straightforward—when talking about a quantity you can count with numbers, use fewer, but for an amount you can't count, use less. Below are some examples:

There are fewer students here today than there were yesterday. Use fewer because you can count the number of students. Maybe there were 30 students in class yesterday and only 25 today.

The teacher assigned less homework today than he did yesterday. Use less because the word homework is not countable. It's not possible to make homework plural—homeworks is not a word. You wouldn't say I have three homeworks tonight ... and that actually leads us into this lesson's hint:

Hint: Usually, if you can add s to the end of the noun to make it plural, use fewer, not less.

Just be mindful of exactly what you're trying to communicate; sometimes you can use either less or fewer, but the word you choose will change the meaning of the sentence:

You gave him less pie than you gave me. Yes, it's true that you can add s to the word pie to make it plural. However, this sentence is talking about the amount of pie, not how many pies, so use less.

Last year's pie-eating contest champion ate fewer pies this year than last. This sentence tells us that there is more than one pie. Maybe last year he ate 10 pies, but this year he could only choke down 8. Because you can count the number of pies, use fewer.

Be careful when discussing time, measurements, or money. These often seem countable, but in reality they refer to an amount, so use less, not fewer.

Our business pulled in less than $100,000 last year. You'll be able to finish the race in less than 10 minutes.

Lose vs. Loose

The word lose, with one o, is a verb that means you have lost something that belongs to you. It can also mean to reduce or lessen.

My little sister always loses her toys. Vitamins lose their potency when they are left out on the table.

Spelling Hint 1: When you say the word lose aloud, you pronounce the s like a z.

Spelling Hint 2: Think about the words lose and lost. Both words have the same meaning (when you lose something, it's lost), and both are spelled with only one o.

The word loose, with two o's, means that something is not tight, or that it's coming apart.

He loosened the reins on his horse. My shoelaces always come loose during gym class.

Spelling Hint 1: Unlike lose, the word loose is pronounced the way it looks, with the s making a regular s sound.

Spelling Hint 2: Remember the phrase loose as a goose. Both loose and goose are spelled with two o's.

More Helpful Hints: Lose vs. Loose

Note that these two words can fulfill different grammatical roles.

The verb lose can be turned into a noun by adding a different ending.

The word loose can be used as a verb, an adjective, or even an adverb, depending on the ending you choose.

The words lose and loose are used in many idiomatic expressions (that's a fancy term for slang). This basically means that their conventional definitions can be stretched a bit.

Accept vs. Except

"Accept" means to receive. Example: I accept your invitation.

"Except" means to omit or to exempt. Example: Everyone except Bill will attend.

Affect vs. Effect

"Affect" may be a verb or a noun, but for the purposes of this lesson, treat each instance of "affect" as a verb meaning "to influence or to change." Examples: 1) Illness affects his patience. 2) She attempted to affect a caring attitude.

"Effect" may be a verb or a noun. As a verb it means to bring about. Example: We will effect the changes we want.

As a noun it means result of a cause. Example: What effect will this bring?

Advice vs. Advise

"Advice" is a noun meaning a suggestion or recommendation. Example: What is your advice?

"Advise" is a verb meaning to recommend. Example: I have been advised to attend.

Between vs. Among, Amongst

"Between" shows connection with two persons or things and may refer to space or time. Example: There was an alley between the buildings.

"Among" and "amongst" show connection with more than two persons or things. Sometimes people use "between" when they want to show a connection with more than two things, but this is not correct. Example: They stood among the trees.

Bad vs. Badly

"Bad" is an adjective meaning sick, in pain, unpleasant, or immoral. It is always used with nouns and linking verbs, and it can never be used with action verbs. Example: I feel bad.

"Badly" is an adverb that is used with all other verbs. You use it when you want to say that someone is not good at something or that someone did a bad job. It should not be used as an adjective and is never used with linking verbs. Example: He drives badly.

Breath vs. Breathe

"Breath" is the noun pronounced to rhyme with death. Example: I lost my breath.

"Breathe" is the verb pronounced as to rhyme with sheathe. Example: Breathe deeply.

Bring, Take, Fetch, and Carry

"Bring" implies moving or conveying something from a distant place or person to a nearer place or person. Example: Bring me a drink.

"Take" implies motion away from speaker to a person or place. Example: Please take me to your leader.

Some easy ways to remember the differences between "bring" and "take" are: You bring something here, and you take something there. You bring something toward a person, and you take something away from a person.

"Carry" implies the conveying of something from one place to another. Example: Please carry this to the car.

"Fetch" implies a two-way trip that is to go for something and bring it back. Example: Rover, fetch the ball.

Capital vs. Capitol

"Capital" as a noun can mean either the seat of government or wealth and resources.

As an adjective it means first or excellent.

Sometimes it is used to mean punishable by death (a capital offense). Example: Cheyenne is the capital of Wyoming.

"Capitol" is a noun meaning the building in which a state legislature convenes; a statehouse. Example: The Wyoming capitol building is in Cheyenne. Also is referring to the official building of the U.S. Congress in Washington D.C., the word is capitalized as part of the proper noun: Capitol Building.

Complement vs. Compliment

"Complement" means that which completes. It can also be a complete number or set of people or things. Example: Those shoes complement that outfit.

"Compliment" means an expression of admiration or approval given freely as a courtesy. Example: Her compliment on the outfit was appreciated.

Sometimes the adjective "complimentary" also means free. Example: The hotel provided a complimentary breakfast.

Emigrate vs. Immigrate

To "emigrate" is to leave one's country for residence in another. Example: I emigrated from my home country.

To "immigrate" is to come into a country of which one is not a native. Example: The person arrived in the new country as an immigrant.

Farther vs. Further

"Farther" usually implies the idea of physical distance. Example: San Francisco is farther away than San Diego.

"Further" usually implies the idea of greater abstract degrees. In other words, it is used to talk about concepts such as time and progress, among others. Example: His dreams were further in the future.

Council vs. Counsel

A "Council" is an assembly or group that meets for deliberation. It can only be used as a noun. Example: A council of teachers considered his case.

"Counsel" is a noun that means advice or deliberating together. Example: He accepted the counsel of his mother. Note that "counsel" can also be used as a verb, as in "I am counseling my friend," while "council" can only be used as a noun.

Principal vs. Principle

"Principal" as an adjective means main, chief, leading. As a noun, "principal" means a leader, a head, or a sum placed at interest. Examples: 1) The bus was his principal means of transportation. 2) The principal of the school was new.

"Principle" means a rule of action, a moral standard, or a fundamental truth. Example: The principle of the statement was understood by all.

Whether vs. Weather

"Whether" is a conjunction meaning in either case. Example: Tell me whether you are considering our plan.

"Weather" is a noun meaning a prevailing condition or atmosphere: mental or moral climate. Example: Stormy weather is coming.

Allay vs. Alley vs. Ally

"Allay" is a verb meaning to reduce the intensity, lay to rest, or pacify and calm. Example: His mother attempted to allay his fears.

"Alley" is a noun meaning a narrow passageway. Example: There is an alley behind the buildings.

"Ally" is a verb or noun meaning to connect by some relationship usually showing helpfulness or kinship. Example: The United States is a close ally of England.

Allude vs. Elude

"Allude" is a verb meaning to make an indirect or passing reference. Example: The speaker alluded to his fame.

"Elude" is a verb meaning to evade or escape from something. Example: The soldier attempted to elude the enemy.

Allusion vs. Illusion

"Allusion" is the noun derived from the verb "allude," which is to make an indirect or passing reference to something. Example: She made allusions about her wealth.

"Illusion" is the action of deceiving the eye or mind by what is unreal or false. Example: The magician created the illusion of flowing water.

All-round vs. All Around

"All-round" is an adjective meaning versatile or general. Example: He is an all-round mechanic.

"All around" has the meaning of being all over a given area. Example: Fir trees were all around the cabin.

Alternate vs. Alternative

"Alternate" (as a verb) means to follow one another by turns. Example: Please alternate the colored pages.

"Alternate" (as a noun) means a substitute or second for another person. Example: I am the alternate committee member.

"Alternative" means a choice between two things. Example: We have only two alternatives.

Apprehend vs. Comprehend

"Apprehend" means to take into custody or grasp mentally. While "apprehend" sometimes means "understand," it is best to use "comprehend" because it's easier for most people to understand. For the purposes of this exercise, always use "comprehend" for "understand." The noun form, "apprehension," means a foreboding or dread of something. Example: Please apprehend the criminal.

"Comprehend" means to grasp mentally or understand fully. Example: Do you comprehend this material? The adjective "comprehensive" means all-inclusive or having a wide range. Example: Final exams are usually comprehensive because they include questions on all the material covered in a semester.

Born vs. Borne

"Born" is an adjective that means brought forth as by birth. It can also describe someone who has a natural talent for something. Example: She is a born musician. Common patterns use "born" as a past participle verb form, as in: She was born on the Fourth of July.

"Borne" is the past participle of the verb "bear" (bear, bore, borne) meaning to support, to carry, to hold in mind, to suffer. Example: The fluffy seeds were borne by the wind.

Censor vs. Censure

"Censor" as a noun means any official examiner of books, plays, etc., empowered to suppress them if they are found to be politically or morally objectionable. Example: Is there a censor for our library?

"Censor" can also be used as a verb meaning examine or suppress. Example: Many movies have to be censored before they are put on TV.

"Censure" means the expression of disapproval or blame, strong criticism, reprimand. Example: Will we be censured for our article?

Notable vs. Notorious, Notoriety

"Notable" and "noted" are used chiefly of persons or things that are remarkable or distinguished for favorable reasons. Examples: 1) The notable remark will be remembered for a long time. 2) The noted author spoke at a local club.

"Notorious" is now almost always used to mean of ill repute. In other words, if someone is known for doing something bad, he or she is "notorious." Example: The notorious outlaw was hunted by the law.

"Notoriety," likewise, means unfavorable publicity or distinction. Example: She did not want any more notoriety.

Persecute vs. Prosecute

"Persecute" means to subject a person or group to persistent ill treatment. Example: People tend to persecute teenagers for their different styles.

"Prosecute" means to pursue, carry out, or bring a lawsuit against a person or group. Example: The court will prosecute anyone who breaks the law.

Continual, Continuous, and Consecutive

"Continual" means happening again and again at short intervals as "continual reminders." Example: The loud trucks were a continual problem.

"Continuous" means uninterrupted, whether of time or space, as in "continuous misery," "continuous rain," or "continuous range of mountains." Example: The stormy weather was continuous.

"Consecutive" means occurring one after the other, as in "consecutive days of the week." Example: Are we to attend on consecutive days?

Sight vs. Site, Cite

"Sight" used as noun means vision or the act of seeing. Example: Sight is one of our senses.

"Sight" used as a verb means to take aim or to spot something that is difficult or unusual to see, or make an observation. Example: Sight along the barrel of the gun.

"Cite" is a verb meaning to quote as authority, to mention in a report, or to summon to appear in court. Example: Please cite the applicable law.

"Site" is a noun meaning a place where an event has occurred, or a place where something is located, a place set apart for some specific use. Example: It was a large school site.

Stationary vs. Stationery

"Stationary" means fixed in one place. Example: The cabinet in the kitchen was stationary.

"Stationery" means writing supplies. Example: The stationery had a flower motif.

[ghcstao3]

(cw mcd but not in like? a sad way? bittersweet/ambiguous ending at worst but it’s overall hopeful and happy i swear)

(also cw for descriptions of death/dying. not very graphic)

-

Simon Riley dies alone, buried six feet deep in a Mexican desert. He had scrabbled at his coffin lid until his fingers were raw and bloody and stuck with splinters, then there had been a growing tightness in his chest, and then there had been nothing.

A month ago, Manuel Roba had made the mistake of leaving another soldier buried with the rotted corpse of their former CO, and they had escaped, just barely, with the help of a broken jawbone—until, of course, they were shot point blank once the soil loosened, because Manuel Roba would never be far.

So Simon does not get the same opportunity. Simon does not get to succeed in getting out.

And, ever the restless soul, his ghost wanders. Wanders until he comes upon a town whose name he can’t quite discern in the strange, phantasmal distortion that clouds his senses. But he can hear the buzz of chatter and music, feel the emotion of bodies alive, and so he decides to stay in this unnamed town, wandering, at least until his undetermined eternity runs out.

-

John MacTavish dies alone, in a Mexican town by the name of Las Almas. He had fought tooth and nail to survive, until blood loss had made him too sluggish, then there had been a second bullet, and then there had been nothing.

No one had predicted Graves and Shepherd’s betrayal, and it had stung. Then with Rodolfo nowhere to be found, Alejandro captured, and no one to help with his escape, John had been left on his own, with nothing. He had nothing to staunch the bleeding of the bullet wound in his bicep, had no weapons to protect himself from the droves of Shadows roaming Alejandro and Rodolfo’s home town, had no way of knowing the church would not serve as sufficient refuge.

He killed the Shadow sitting in wait, but not before they managed to lodge a bullet in his abdomen, and he had realized, then, that it was hopeless to think he could still get out. So, with what little was left of his strength and adrenaline, John deposited the Shadow outside, barricaded himself in, and slumped into a rickety pew until the world faded from around him.

And, ever the restless soul, his ghost wanders. Las Almas becomes John’s home, though it always remains unfamiliar through the otherworldly haze that dilutes his senses. They’re a strong people here, and they rebuild after the Shadows’ brief but cruel rampage, and it’s enough for John, feeling infected by their resilience, to be satisfied with spending the rest of his unknown eternity floating through the town.

-

At first, neither Simon nor John understand how or why they meet.

It isn't as if they are the only two spirits roaming Las Almas—really, the town is chock full of ghosts, as are most towns and cities and even individual buildings, but paths seldom cross. The afterlife is lonesome, and though it really isn't so terrible, that isolation is only inherent to the nature of death, and so it truly shouldn't be possible that they should ever encounter one another.

And yet, one night—a date they are both unsure of, as time becomes mostly indecipherable once departed from the land of the living—it’s like that fog disappears, that veil lifts, and suddenly the world has become clear once more, clear like both John and Simon had forgotten.

Las Almas seems to be brimming with more life than usual, music and dancing, food and gatherings. John is in awe—despite the festivities, however, he’s also filled with a profound sense of melancholy, mourning everything he’s missed since his passing; since his perception had been reduced to something murky, like he was underwater, looking up and hearing sounds but never quite able to make any of it out. He doesn’t know how long this might last, so he takes advantage of every second—that’s how he eventually stumbles upon Simon Riley.

Simon—he’s heard of Día de los Muertos before, but never quite understood the tradition. His experiences in Mexico were limited, culturally and otherwise, and so it comes as a surprise when he finally feels like he’s living again—but walking through Las Almas, as he finally learns its name, it only takes seeing some ofrendas and listening into conversations to understand what this is, and that it’s only temporary. He is not really a physical being anymore, but he can at least pretend like he is, and that’s how he eventually comes across John MacTavish.

John feels lost, though he’s been haunting these streets for some time now. He spots Simon hanging back in the shadows, notices for the first time that’s it’s someone actually looking at him, not through or past him, and he all but runs up to the man, afraid that if he were to take too long, John might lose his only chance at company.

“You can see me,” John says, breathless.

“I can see you,” the man agrees, the weight of his gaze solid and unwavering.

John wishes to melt alongside the honey-gold flecks in the man’s warm, brown irises, and endeavours to memorize their colour in case he should never get this opportunity again.

“Are you also…?”

A curt nod. “I am.”

John shifts awkwardly. “Do you know what—“

“Day of the Dead,” says the man, not unkindly, though he isn’t necessarily being friendly, either. Obviously, he’s not one for talking—that, or he’s gotten too used to being alone. John doesn’t really care either way. “That’s why there’s so many… people.”

Spirits, the man means, just like the two of them. John feels stupid for not having noticed sooner, and feels his face tingle with a blush. It’s odd, realizing that that’s something he missed about being alive.

“So…” John drums his fingers on either of his thighs, the only thing he’s been able to touch all evening. “You come here often?”

When the man barks out a laugh, John thinks it’s the best thing he’s ever heard, dead and alive. He hopes, somehow, some way, to carry it with him throughout the remainder of his non-existence, however long that may be.

“Are you really hitting on me?” The man asks with incredulity, smiling, and John feels a grin growing on his own face, involuntary and so very welcome.

John shrugs. “Why not?” He surely looks like an idiot right now. He honestly thought he’d forgotten how to smile. “Didn’t think I had any loved ones here, but guess I was wrong.”

It’s dumb and cheesy but John guesses that it works, because suddenly he’s learning the other spirit’s name is Simon, and suddenly Simon is asking if Johnny would like to take a walk with him, and suddenly John finds himself saying yes.

So they wander aimlessly, chat about everything and nothing, and it’s nice, so nice, to get to feel like they’re real again. Even bittersweet as it is, once the sun starts to rise and crowds seem to thin, and John realizes he can’t quite recall the colour of Simon’s eyes anymore.

It’s in a church, the church, where they finally decide to settle and accept the inevitable. Simon still doesn’t understand why they also got to reunite with the living while being strangers to Las Almas, but he doesn’t voice this concern, instead choosing to focus on imagining the warmth of John’s presence beside him as the world starts to fade again, piece by piece.

“I think I’ve been ready for a while now. To move on,” Simon murmurs, staring ahead at the altar, the swathes of glowing candles. “If that’s even how this works. I think I’m just… afraid of what else there might be.”

“I’m not sure,” John admits. He wishes he were able to lean his head on Simon’s shoulder, or intertwine their fingers. “I’ve never thought about it. Don’t think it’d be so bad.”

They’ve only known one another for a few hours, certainly, but John can still sense Simon’s inner turmoil as he nods and hums and stares off into the distance. John wonders if, maybe in another life, they might’ve had a proper chance to have a thousand more conversations before this one. A proper chance to actually build something between them before they find themselves clinging to the dregs of almost-corporeality, just wishing for more time, or maybe something better entirely.

“I’ll go with you,” John adds unthinkingly, feeling his phantom heartbeat jumping in pace. “I don’t really have anything to stay for. That way we’d at least have something familiar.”

“I don’t know if I’d call you familiar,” Simon teases, a faint smile on his lips. “But I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” John says. “Because I wasn’t really giving you a choice.”

Simon laughs quietly, and John grasps desperately onto the sound as he closes his eyes and allows himself to be submerged again. When he opens his eyes, as he expected, the world is as it was before, blurry and distant and incomprehensible.

But this time, it isn’t nearly as lonely.

[doctorsilverhead]

please do something of Bay Optimus with the reader, but don't make them a couple, more like Optimus loves the reader but the feeling is so alien to him and he can't quite put a finger on it, specially because he think it'll be completely illogical (Shockwave moment), but despite all, still wants to be with you, like all the time, cuz you're full of kindness and compassion, and he just wants to surround himself with it. PLZ DO IT 😭

Heartstrings of Steel (Optimus Prime X Human Reader)

In the vast expanse of the cosmos, where stars twinkled like beacons of hope, a being of immense power and wisdom found himself drawn to the warmth of a human soul. Optimus Prime, the noble leader of the Autobots, had encountered countless battles and faced innumerable challenges, but nothing could have prepared him for the profound connection he felt towards you.

As he gazed upon your radiant presence, a strange sensation stirred within his spark – a yearning unlike any he had experienced before. It was a feeling so foreign, yet so captivating, that it left him in a state of bewilderment. The logical circuits of his mind struggled to comprehend the depth of this newfound emotion, for it defied the very laws of rationality that had governed his existence for eons.

Optimus Prime, a being forged from the finest alloys and imbued with the wisdom of the Primes, found himself drawn to the kindness and compassion that emanated from your very being. Your gentle spirit, untainted by the harshness of war and conflict, resonated with his own unwavering belief in the sanctity of life and the pursuit of peace.

As he observed you, he marveled at the way you carried yourself with grace and empathy, extending a hand of friendship to all who crossed your path. Your actions were a testament to the inherent goodness that resided within the human race, a quality that had often eluded his understanding in the midst of the endless battles he had fought.

Despite his vast knowledge and experience, Optimus Prime found himself at a loss to explain the profound connection he felt towards you. It was as if your very presence had ignited a spark within him, a spark that burned brighter than the stars themselves, filling him with a warmth he had never known before.

In those moments of quiet contemplation, he would ponder the depths of this newfound emotion, his processors whirring as he attempted to decipher the intricate web of feelings that had ensnared his spark. Yet, no matter how he tried to rationalize it, the truth remained elusive, a tantalizing mystery that beckoned him to explore the uncharted territories of his own existence.

To Optimus, the concept of love is as foreign as the distant stars from which he hails. His life, dedicated to the protection of all sentient beings, seldom affords him the luxury of exploring such deeply personal sentiments. Yet, in your company, he encounters an array of emotions that are as perplexing as they are profound. It is an experience akin to discovering a new spectrum of color in a world previously seen only in shades of duty and war.

Your interactions, though simple and unassuming, leave an indelible mark on Optimus's spark. He finds himself inexplicably drawn to you, wanting to be near you, to learn from you. The kindness and compassion you exude effortlessly are like beacons of light in his tumultuous existence. It's not just the battles won or the crises averted that begin to define his days, but the moments shared with you—moments that offer glimpses into what it means to be truly alive.

And so, Optimus Prime found himself drawn to your side, seeking solace in your company and basking in the radiance of your compassion. He yearned to surround himself with the very essence that made you who you were, for in your presence, he found a peace that transcended the boundaries of logic and reason.

Though the path ahead was shrouded in uncertainty, one thing remained clear – Optimus Prime's desire to remain by your side, to bask in the warmth of your kindness, and to learn the secrets of the human heart that had so profoundly touched his own. For in that moment, he understood that true strength lay not only in the might of his form but in the depth of his connection to those who embodied the virtues he held most dear.

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲 | 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶A deleted scene from chapter twelve where receptionist!reader acts like a bimbo in front of Eddie just to rile him up. Written very tongue-in-cheek at the beginning.✶

NSFW — sexual themes, handjob, unresolved sexual tension, 18+

↳ start the story here to catch up!

[wc: 2.1k]

Heeding your checklist of chores, you idled at the workbench against the far corner of the wall. There were a few of the usual things you organized: placing nuts and bolts in drawers, facing products with their labels out, tidying small boxes, folding the end of the paper towel roll so it didn’t unfurl itself in the turbulent path of the oscillating fan. You bent over to toss cellophane wrappers into the waste paper bin, and took your time musing if the liner should be changed despite the little amount of balled up paper weighing down the bottom. Standing, you swept off the unsanded tabletop with your hands, and worked a crusty rag over an oil streak, making a mental note to call the laundry service to swing by a day early.

As you stepped away, you knocked a pencil to the floor. Its bright yellow body was impossible to miss, along with its excruciatingly long hexagonal roll carried by your elbow to the very edge, but you managed. You knelt to your hands and knees to retrieve the writing utensil, inspecting its broken tip. The graphite was missing completely, leaving behind an empty hole where it once was. An unfortunate accident. You rotated it a few times looking for other flaws—an honorable way to spend your time.

“You doin’ this on purpose?” gruffed out an annoyed voice behind you.

No need to check, you heard the amused twist at the corner of his lips. His left canine was probably on show, too. Not in a hurry to confirm, you gripped the pencil in your fist, and leaned forward, stretching in search of the missing lead before it was stomped into dust and potentially transferred from someone’s boot sole into a wealthy client’s car. You were thinking of them, really.

The floor was a rewarding oasis in the noonday sun baking through the warehouse windows. Your flat splayed hands and knuckles worked over the grit of dirt to inch your pursuit closer to the wall, drinking in the chill of the epoxy coated concrete cooling you down better than a 50 cent clear plastic cup of Kool Aid at a kid’s misspelled lemonaide stand. Though, the unforgiving flooring bit into your joints, and indented your knees with the netting of your pantyhose. But Eddie’s study did not sway to your shoe slipping off your heel. No, he was a gentleman. And as a gentleman, he praised the wealth of curves you put on display.

He used the heels of his heavy boots to drag himself from under a Mustang, thumping up beside you, wheels on the creeper rolling along the slick floor.

The lower you dipped your chest, the higher your skirt hem tickled the back of your thighs. In total innocence—truly giving your best effort to find the missing pencil tip—you tilted your hips to unimaginable degrees, presenting your ass to the point even your lower back side-eyed your act.

Smooth backs of fingers lifted the hem more. Eddie curled his index under your skirt, and assisted it to the crease of your cheek, following the change in nylon with his rough thumbprint as it wove denser around your thighs to hold you in. Tummy Control, it was advertised as. To a man who had seldom encounters with women, this meant very little to him, as did the change in texture. Though, curiously, he rubbed at it with interest.

“You’re something else, you know that?” But his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise. “I’m out here working my ass off, and you’re struttin’ around the garage in this lil’ piece.” The little piece in question was your corporate approved pencil skirt from a long forgotten temp job when your apartment lost two roommates in a breakup, and rent was past due.

Pandering to your audience of one, you shuffled two of the tiniest inches backwards, and steadied your hand on his outstretched leg. You bent at the hips, filling his large palm with a handful of your ass, and he admired you in a brush of fingertips near the innermost valley of your thigh, licking a divine chill up your spine. Playing along, you pretended to just notice him, assuming a sinless gasp, and following it with many airheaded inflections, “Oh! Didn’t see you there, handsome. Am I distracting you?”

The standing fan swung its head in your direction, sweeping Eddie’s bangs off his forehead in a brief burst.

You’d been on hundreds of dates, and not once had you been so deeply complimented by someone’s gaze.

Eddie dwelled in the distraction. He stroked his thumb over the fat, and traced his pinky along the hypersensitive crease before the swell which had your muscles tightening in a squirm. He was so close to the middle seam of the pantyhose. Perhaps he knew this as well, but didn’t care—he was just happy to be touching you. Laid out in the neon orange creeper, sun glancing off the packed garage, casting a glow across his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to look at you, so forthcoming and open. A trap, if there ever was one, luring you into picturing him twisted amongst your bedding on a late morning.

As he tracked his gaze over your backside, an aching reminder moseyed its way into his consciousness. Setting into a glare, he forced his way through any pleasantness lingering in his chest to tell you plainly, “Sweetheart, you’re fucking torturing me here.” You giggled, and he broke, falling victim to the squinch at his crow’s feet.

“You think I’m not torturing myself, too?”

“Dunno.” He craned his head back to check underneath the car for where each pair of boots were moving, and you peeped through the driver’s side window to keep tabs on the seated customers in the lobby. Once you both ensured there was no danger of being caught, he turned his attention to you fully. “You’re not wearing my favorite pair, so I couldn’t tell.” In case you weren’t sure, he wrung his hand around your leg, and drummed his fingers where there should be an easily accessible hole in your tights, where he could drag his fingers through your slick truth. His sorry features were tainted with remorse when your plush thighs weren't spilling out from the nylon; however, he drew his eyebrows in mock sympathy, and traced the area. “Could make these my new favorite pair, though.”

You about melted into a puddle of dumbstruck glee at his first foray into initiating dirty talk. “Yeah?” you stressed the word like he would—big smile and all. You raised the placement of your grip on his leg up, further, still going until the inside of your thumb threatened to assist what laid fat and heavy towards his hip. Car exhaust, pungent motor oil, and fumes swam in your head. Mind dizzy, you skimmed your nails over his heavy sack pressed tight against the seam of his coveralls. An implied line was drawn along your heat by his featherlight touch. You leaned over him, real close, chest over chest, knees spread because his hand encouraged you to do so. Mouth to mouth, considering kissing the dirt from his lips. “Wanna rip ‘em, and have me on top while you’re on this thing?”

Eddie moaned, and it wasn’t shy in the loud garage. “Want it so fucking bad, baby.”

A single ding from the bell atop your desk drew your attention.

Bodies paused, you both existed in the indecision of what to do. Eddie’s forehead wrinkled from his high brows driving his attention backwards, peering under the car again. The other employees of David’s Auto Repair shuffled around a Studebaker. There was no one inside to help the customer. What a shame.

Eddie lowered his chin in long clockticks, seeking you behind his heavy lashes and heavier gaze. His nose met the side of yours in an unrefined graze, dragging his chapped lips wherever he felt your smile. He kissed you hungry. Needy, desperate to fit the magnitude of his palm at the back of your head, and dirty your mouth with noses mashed together. He wanted you messy, he wanted you catching your balance on the creeper for the same reason his held sigh became your next breath, taking a pinch of your pantyhose over your pussy and twisting it around his fist to demonstrate his annoyance, as if the dull ache of your bottom lip against his teeth wasn’t illustrative enough. The peak of your whine and his approving hum tethered the snap of your tights and the squeeze he left on your thigh. Filthy warmth blanketed the top of your hand. Stifling hot, calluses running rough over your knuckles as he cupped your palm over his hard length, and curled your fingers around himself, kicking his hips up to really stretch the limits of your grip. Together, he guided you in a few teasing pumps along the base, ego growing at the pretty sound hitched in your throat.

“Hey, Ed!” Mr. Moore’s yell burst the bubble you two surrounded yourselves in. “C’mere, ‘nd look at this.”

It wasn’t an emergency. It could wait. There were enough mechanics on duty, they could figure out what they were gawking at, or admiring, or whatever it was they were doing. That was the justification behind your shared look with Eddie, and the tension holding you two apart faded within seconds. If anything it spurred you on. You raked your fingers through his hair, mussing the roots at the crown of his head, covering the side of his body with yours, stroking his cock. The consequences didn’t matter. He increased the pressure and showed you how he liked it when you looped your thumb and index around the edge of his fat tip and pumped him faster—

Ding, ding, ding.

The kiss slowed from the distraction, but you tried to keep going, staying in the moment with Eddie’s praise burning your cheeks. He was eager, he was close. He was whispering, “Feels fucking good when you—yeah—like that,” when you added the twist of your wrist to the end of motion.

“Ed!” Mr. Moore’s voice ruined the moment. “Where’d he… And wasn’t she at her desk a second ago?”

Ding, ding ding!

Your foreheads crashed together in a defeated groan.

Eddie sagged completely limp on the creeper. “Why do you do this to me?” He dropped his arms in a big shrug, kicking his legs out flat, throbbing hard in your palm. You curbed the urge to keep going and dragged your fingers away.

“Hey, you’re the one who started this,” you sniffed, sitting back to fan your face in effort to make yourself presentable while he considered rolling under the car for the next eternity to hide his blazing red cheeks.

“I was a good worker before you came along,” he argued, pointing at you with a nail outlined in grime. He did it with such vigor his shoulders curled off the creeper, sitting up to give you a real good talkin’ to. “I never did this sorta shit with anyone before you showed up. You’re bad for me. You drive me crazy.” Not an ounce of anger dared enter his tone, not even having strength to control his smile from going lopsided, dimpling, nose scrunching in a badly contained laugh. Never would he want you to think he was mad at you, even as a joke. He was soft like that.

Eddie broke first, and that’s all you needed to kiss him against the black Mustang door, thud on the metal deadened by his nervous hand coming up to brush his curls flat.

“You drive me crazy too,” you promised against his lips. “Now, try not to cum your pants when I bend over to get this trash, and have fun explaining to the guys why you can’t stand up for the next few minutes.” You cocked your head, and smacked your tongue in a hard, “‘Kay?”

He glared at your smugness. Glared at your backside, too. Scowled at his grip formed around the swollen length rising so obvious no matter how he fixed his legs, and surrendered to the humiliation of laying back on the creeper, summoning enough dignity to roll himself to the other side where a gaggle of boots scuffed the ground in search for him, and give some excuse that he was very busy fixing something and wouldn’t be available for the foreseeable future.

originally thursday's section in chapter twelve was split into three separate scenes. i was almost finished writing the first two when i took the section in a different direction and mashed all the important elements into the scene in the breakroom which did make the cut. truthfully i had only written to eddie's line of "wanting it so badly" and they would've gotten interrupted at that point (before any touching), but since this isn't exactly canon, i went ahead and had fun and made it a little spicier.

you might also recognize some imagery, lines of prose, or descriptions i salvaged from this piece and put into the final one!

[havoc-7]

I wasn’t a die-hard Tech Lives believer (more of a “I HOPE Tech Lives” believer) but the end of the show has me grieving hard all over again, so here’s my little ode to Tech based on things I’ve noticed about him from rewatching the show:

Tech LOVES his brothers, and he genuinely misses Crosshair. When he has his heart to heart with Omega in the ipsium cavern, the way that he mentions Crosshair—even though that wasn’t even really what they were discussing—shows how often Crosshair is on his mind, so much so that he can’t really talk about people leaving and changing without bringing him up. When they get the Plan 88 from Crosshair, Tech is vocal and insistent about doing whatever they can to bring Crosshair back—because “he is still our brother.”

Tech is incredibly moral. Not that he’s any more moral than I think generally TBB is, but he’s not afraid to speak up when he sees something that he disagrees with fundamentally. “The systematic termination of the Jedi is a big one for me.” “There’s a fundamental different between taking fire in battle and being used for target practice.” Even in just the first episode, we see how firm his opinions are, based on what he believes: that people are people, that HIS BROTHERS are people, that they deserve better, that there is such a thing as right and wrong.

Tech may be practical, but that doesn’t make him any less crazy than his brothers—in fact, I would argue he is one of the more unhinged members of the bad batch. His plans and ideas see everything factually, factoring in risk not as an emotional factor but as a numerical one. He knows their skills, and what they are capable of, and he pushes them to those capabilities, even if the resulting strategy is absolutely insane. The best part is, as insane as he may be, his brothers trust him, because, as Tech himself said, he is seldom wrong.

Tech has a beautiful sense of wonder and awe for the world around him. How many times do we see him go wide-eyed as he encounters something that absolutely fascinates him—even if that thing is a Zillo beast that just ate an entire Imperial crew.

Tech is INSANE. Not unhinged, like I said earlier, but skill-wise, ability-wise, he is an absolute powerhouse. I will forever be grateful to the writers of TBB who gave us a techy, intelligent character who is not your average scrawny computer guy that we get in action movies. You have to have a lot of guts to be the guy in your squad who turns your back on the fight to bend over a computer and hack into a file or break an encryption or alter the programming—already a delicate operation, but with the added risk of getting shot with your back turned. He frickin wields double blasters so that he can shoot more clankers more efficiently (if that’s not practical Tech, I don’t know what is). He DOESN’T WEAR LEG ARMOR SO THAT HE CAN CARRY HIS TOOLS WITH HIM INTO THE FIELD. In “Faster,” we see his hand inching towards his blaster, ready to defend and protect the second it’s necessary—and you know he would’ve beaten anyone to the draw. He fought a group of Imperial troopers!!! With a broken leg!!!!!

Tech was amazing, and I hate that he’s dead, that we never got to see him grow old, that he never saw Crosshair again. But WHAT A LIFE HE LIVED.

[piper-2244]

unsaid

how gn!reader and spencer handle deeper feelings with each other- or how they don't handle them.

angsty fluff? some hard feelings? idk WHAT this is word count: 1258 warnings & tags & stuff: I was picturing mid seasons spence for this, brief mention of a spider?, insecure reader, ugh they're SO in love but also so quiet about it, ignoring problems, happyish ending author's note: first piece of writing on here! this is actually so bad but my brain is ROTTED from spencer fluff and honestly him in general, he's all i can think about so obviously i have to contribute to the epidemic

“HELP!”

You hear footsteps bounding towards you and the door to the kitchen slam open. Spencer’s head swivels as he assesses the situation: you, backed into a corner, clutching a glass, looking directly at a point across the room with a terrified look in your eyes. Spencer’s face immediately relaxes and he moves over to take the glass from you.

“Where is it?” He asks calmly. You point, and the spider is quickly dealt with and brought outside. Spencer walks back into your apartment and you look at him, blushing a little, heart still pounding.

“Thanks,” you say, self-effacingly, taking the glass back from him and setting it in the sink. “I'm sorry for bothering you, I know you were in the middle of doing some work, and I know that my reaction was completely irrational, it’s just-”

“Hey,” he interrupts, reaching out to trace your arm lightly. “It's alright. It’s actually completely justifiable. Our brain is wired to be afraid of spiders because they were a larger threat to our ancestors. Today, although we seldom encounter spiders and they are not a constant threat to us, we still have this fear because it’s ingrained in our DNA,” he explains, trying to calm your anxiety. “I’m also around 80 percent done with my report. So I can finish it later in the week. I'm all yours.” He peers down at you, a small smile playing on his face. You admire his smile for a second or two before his words actually register and you squint disbelievingly.

“I don't know how I feel about that. I shouldn't be taking you from your…duties,” you say, tilting your head.

“My duties?” he asks, matching the angle of your head, laughing a little. You shrug, giving him a slight giggle too.

“Okay, duties are the wrong word. But you do do important work that I should recognise has to take priority sometimes. I bet Hotch would rather you finish your report tonight.” He nods quietly, and you know he agrees. He beckons his head, a signal you’ve come to know means ‘come closer and hug me’. You do so, hugging him tightly and letting his arms wrap around you. You back away after a bit and give him a signal of your own- standing on your tiptoes and looking at him expectantly. He bends down and kisses you firmly, arms still wrapped around you.

Your entire relationship is built off of signals like these. You two just seem to know when the other wants something, whether it be a hug or a kiss, or something more. It made things easy.

So you were also sure that Spencer knew that this kiss was making your heart literally melt. It’s like he can reach in through your sternum and hold your heart until it dissolves in his hands. You can feel it dripping through the cracks into your bloodstream until your legs are jelly and your head is spinning.

You pull away for air and rest your head on his chest.

“How about we compromise and I do it tomorrow?” He asks softly.

Your mouth creates an uncomfortable line. “I know I’m obviously not the boss of you, so feel free to do whatever it is you want…” You pause, trying to find the words. “I just feel like it’s important for me to not take you away from your work at all.”

It wasn’t the complete truth, but it wasn’t completely askew from what you meant to say.

The real, slightly more selfish truth was that you felt like it was easier to send Spencer off to do his work than to try and understand why he wouldn't always want to. You constantly felt so raw and open around him. Like he could always see you and your melting heart. It was insanely scary and new, and not easy at all.

That was not something you were willing to admit today, not right now.

“No, you're not the boss of me, but I do think you have opinions worth listening to and considering.” He kisses the top of your head. He pushes your hair back and looks you directly in the eye. “But I also really don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask me for things. Being in the BAU requires a sort of responsibility. Not to just do my work by the time it’s needed, but to also take breaks and spend time with the people I want to be around. Whether it’s to catch spiders or to give her kisses. Okay?” He checks.

“Okay,” you say quietly. He looks at you patiently, knowing that you had more feelings in your heart but also knowing that it was hard to come out and say it. It was a topic for another night, a braver night. He dips his head down to you, and smiles, almost excitedly.

“Ice cream?” You smile too at the change of topic, and nod.

“Can we get changed first?”

In your bedroom, you throw on a massive white T-shirt that you may or may not have stolen from Spencer many weeks ago, along with a pair of shorts. You turn your head over your shoulder to where Spencer was digging around in his bag. “Did you pack comfy clothes? I know we didn’t discuss sleeping over or anything,” you ask.

“Uh, yeah, do you have a shirt I could borrow?” he responds, not looking up. You dig through your drawers and toss him one of his own shirts, this one Dr. Who themed and navy blue. It lands on his face and he swats it away. “Hey, I was wondering where this went!” He exclaims, looking up at you, offended. He takes notice of your shirt, and stands up straight and moves toward you, feeling your shirt between his fingers. “This too. Theft is in fact a crime.” You blush bashfully in response.

“I like your shirts. They’re cuter than mine,” you argue. He shakes his head, smiling. Soon enough, you're on the couch, working on a pint of Tonight Dough.

Your legs are intertwined and you’re laying on his chest, trying to get to the ice cream he was teasing you with, moving away as you chase it with the spoon. “Stop it,” you giggle. He wrestles the spoon from your grip and digs it in the ice cream.

“Open,” he says quietly. You do so, savoring the taste.

You stay like that for a good while longer, just holding each other, until you break the silence.

“Thanks for making time for me tonight,” you whisper, giving him a soft kiss on his chin. He looks at you and gives you a kiss on your forehead. A meaningful one. One that said a few things that were too scary to say.

It was nice, knowing that you had time to figure out your emotions, that there was no hurry. Your problems and insecurities would still be there tomorrow. You could choose to ignore them for a bit. You could look away from the fact that you weren’t exactly sure why Spencer picked you out of all the other girls. Spencer could ignore the fact that going to work was the most terrifying thing because he finally had something to lose. You could just stay like that, intertwined, inhaling and exhaling slowly.

You let the rest of the ice cream melt on the couch side table, not unlike your heart, neither of you strong enough to get up and put it back in the freezer.

[probablyasocialecologist]

Before conjuring the ability to write a few coherent paragraphs prefacing these photos, all I could think while flipping through them was: What have they done to you? What have they done to Palestine? I was struck by the images of Palestine before the walls and the colonies and the checkpoints clogged its arteries; images captured between towns and villages, now separated by concrete barriers and worlds apart, that were once intertwined socially and economically. Our eyes seldom encounter Palestine before the Israeli regime, a Palestine defined not by its ailments but by its industries and cultures. Yet it is important to resist the urge to romanticize that era. One must situate these photographs within the proper socioeconomic context and ask about what is not represented in these images: Who had access to cameras? Who was behind those cameras? What can be said of those who lived far from the flashbulbs and tape recorders? Where do we look for their fossilized legacies? The tessella of beautiful, unseen photographs that forms as you turn these pages is as illuminating as it is incomplete. There are many conversations we should be having with our grandparents, at their dinner tables, before their deathbeds, and even more work to do if we are to ensure that the victims and resisters of the present-day Nakba aren’t merely acknowledged in fleeting headlines.

[seikkoi]

ᴄᴏᴍᴍɪᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ | natasha romanoff x hacker!reader

18+ minors DNI

warnings: mentions of alcohol, arguing, harsh language, explicit s*xual content

genre: angst, a lil fluff, a lil sm*t

word count: 2,060

a/n: reader is gender-neutral

You've spent far too long trying to be more than just a warm bed for the infamous Black Widow.

Oh, Natasha’s a poison alright.

An intoxicating, slow moving poison that captures everything it encounters. Her recent favor of the season’s no exception- hooked on something that kills you. 

It’s not like Nat physically hurt, not at all. The problem was quite the opposite. Nat provided you near limitless pleasure at one cost-it’d never be love. That hurt worse than any physical pain the poor woman could imagine. The nights in the Black Widow’s bed would continue to stagger so long as that was understood.

You would never be Nat’s- no matter how much you wanted to be.

Despite her making this quite clear when you first expressed your interest, you couldn’t help longing for it. You’d had been her mission half a year ago, and quite the challenging one indeed. A propensity for computers coupled with a shitty moral compass led you to a lifetime of digital crime. The ante only seemed to raise every year, the stakes rising alongside the payment. You were good enough to get a job going after SHIELD, but not good enough to actually succeed. The client was pissed, and money was lost, but you shook it off.

When you awoke to the barrel of a gun and cold, beautiful eyes, you realized you didn’t cover your tracks well enough, either. 

Thankfully, Fury was more interested in hiring you than killing you. 

You hadn't been more than twenty four hours away from her since that day. At first, not intentionally. The next night, Nat took you out for drinks- mostly to make you feel less like a target. 

It’d turned out that you two had great chemistry- talking the night away until it bleeded into the morning. She spoke about the Red Room, and how the Avengers gave her a second chance. It helped you feel better about your own morally gray life. 

Many, many drinks and swapped secrets later, and your hands are full of red hair, mouth absorbed in the same woman who might’ve killed you a day ago. While your eyes are fluttering, Natasha’s hands disappear behind your pants, telling you how happy she is that you decided to join them. 

Maybe it’s because she doesn’t leave in the morning, or because she invited you over again that night, but you thought it meant something. To make matters worse, Natasha seldom held anything back from you- the good, the bad, or the ugly. You were the same, sharing parts of your life that made you see your relationship as more than just a consistent hookup or even friends. 

About a month and a half in, Natasha frustrately picked the lock to your apartment after waiting twenty minutes for you to answer. She walked into your bedroom to find you typing away at lit-up monitors, absorbed in your work, headphones muffling any phone calls or impatient knocks. 

You flinched at the sudden removal of your headphones, gazing up to an angry scowl. To her dismay, this wasn’t the first time you’d gotten lost in your work and forgot she was coming by. The assassin was adamant that if you just gave her a key, this wouldn’t happen. You playfully joked that giving her a key would denote commitment. The red-haired woman laughed at the suggestion to the tune of your heart cracking.

In all the nights and weekends following, Natasha would continue to do things that left you feeling insane. Her actions said one thing, yet she always made it clear that this was never, and would never be a relationship. After a while, it started to feel like she just didn’t want to be committed to you, specifically. You worried if there was something wrong about the idea of being in a public, loving relationship with you- as opposed to just someone she fucked. 

Tonight, like most nights, she’d let herself in after a particularly tiring day. Frustration and resentment boiled at the sound of her footsteps. She laid on your bed, illuminated only by lines of code, waiting for you to finish whatever new encryption Fury requested. Tonight, like most nights, you stared at the screen as swallowed down your hopeless pining with a fifth of whiskey. 

Despite any ignored feelings, you relished in Nat’s company, speeding up your work to get into her arms sooner. You loved that she was comfortable with you, hearing her get up and head for the shower. Yet, the bitter, angry part of you hated that she would never love you in spite of any trust or comfort. 

You listen to Nat return and open one of your dresser drawers full of her clothing to change (strictly for convenience, of course). Eyes still trained on your work, you return the kiss she graces on your cheek as she pours herself a glass as well. 

When you turn your chair to Nat, she’s looking at you with one of those smiles that makes your stomach turn into butterflies. You take a second to admire her relaxed appearance, hair down and messy, in baggy, out-of-date clothing. It’s easy for her to make you forget you were ever upset.

You must have been staring too long, because Nat crosses the distance between you two. Before you can ask her how her day was, she straddles you in the chair, pulling you in for a deep, long kiss. Your hands find their way to her waist, pulling in her closer and sucking at her bottom lip. 

Natasha’s hands cup your face gently, sighing into you. It’s not long before your kisses grow more hungry and passionate, hands traveling and caressing every inch you can. When she breaks the kiss, you’re completely intoxicated once again- dazed and longing for me. 

“Hello to you, too,” she says, with cloudy eyes and a small grin.

“You started it.”, you reply distractedly, dancing your fingers along the waistband of her shorts. 

Natasha gets distracted herself, by the program still running on your computer screens. 

“You know,” she starts, running her hands through your hair. “I never understand what it is you do.”

You can’t hold back a laugh as you push your hand past the elastic, fingers pushing against the soft fabric of her underwear. Natasha lets out a quiet moan while her head droops back to your neck. 

“I’m serious,” Natasha lamints. Her breath hitches when you pull her underwear away with your free hand, sliding your index finger into her entrance. “I want t-I wanna understand all of this.”

You are much too concentrated on eliciting more raspy breaths from the enamoring woman on top of you. You pump your finger into her with tender, slow strokes, feeling her wetness pool at your hand. Natasha softly whines your name into your neck, causing you to groan as you add another digit. 

“Didn’t think you cared all that much,” It’s an honest admission, one that give without much thought. You speed up your fingers, curving against her walls right where you knew she needed it. Your own breathing becomes erratic, caught up in the way Natasha clings to you. 

Russian curses come out short and heavy the moment your thumb brushes her clit. You grip her hip to keep her place, and more pleas of your name follow suit. It was the moments like these, when you knew that you were all she wanted, that made everything else worth it. 

“I do care.”, she manages between moans. 

The cracks in your heart start to come undone once more, taking you out of your lustful daze. For what was the 100th time in months, you had to tell yourself she didn’t mean a damn thing by that- she cared about you as much as the next person did, nothing more. 

You ignore her and pick up your pace even further. The all-too familiar shudder of her body, accompanied by the velvety, strained moans from her mouth, told you that she was close. You quickly become reabsorbed in giving her as much ecstasy as you could. Natasha’s hands in your hair pull tighter as she gets lost in her own pleasure, forcing your gaze slightly up.

Her eyes are squeezed shut, mouth in an open gasp, burrowed against you like a lifeline. A moan of your own escapes at the sight. You think you could die just like this, with this perfect image of the most perfect woman. 

Right as you’re certain she’s about to reach her peak, you draw circles on her throbbing clit, watching her body twitch. 

“I love you,” Natasha’s words pass through your quiet and broken ears as she climaxes. 

It sets you into shock, making you think you imagined it. In the few seconds that follow, neither of you speak, as Natasha regains her breathing and you stare at the ceiling, pissed off again and confused. 

You feel Natasha shift, eyes making their way to your confused face. 

“I-”, she starts to stutter, to which you roll your eyes and push her gently off your lap.

As you start to head for your bedroom door, her hands wrap around your forearm, yanking you back. 

“What the fuck, Nat?” You rip your arm away from her, even more shocked by her aggression towards you.

The assassin simply stands, still stuttering over what to say. That only becomes the final straw for you. 

“Get the hell out, now.” You swing the bedroom door open as you speak. All you wanted for months was to hear those words. Now, all you could taste was poison. She’d broken your heart time and time again. You’d spent so long learning to handle loving someone who’d never love you back. To suddenly act like she ever gave a damn after all that was insulting. Even if she meant it, how long did she really mean it for?

“You don’t mean that.” She has the audacity to sound hurt. 

“Yeah, I do, leave. I’m not gonna let you keep doing this to me.”

“Doing what to you? I’m telling you that I care-”

“Oh suddenly now you care! After how many months of me begging for you to feel the same, now that I’m finally getting over it, you care?”, you shout as you cross the room towards her. 

“I always fucking cared!”, she yells back, and you notice the tears brimming in her eyes, fists balled at her side. In all this time, you’d only seen Nat cry twice. Once, when talking about Yelena. The other when Clint lost his family. To be crying now because of you, felt like hell.

You immediately soften when you notice, tears of your own forming. You’re left in speechless shock yet again at her words.

“Then why say the opposite for so long?”, you ask, voice hoarse.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Everything good in my life goes away. I didn’t want to ruin this.”, she goes quiet herself, staring at the floor. 

“You didn’t think telling me over and over again that we aren’t anything would make me go away?” 

“You’re still here, aren't you?” Natasha gives you a shy smile when she speaks. It’s true- you were too addicted to Nat to let her go. Even just a minute ago when you told her to leave, you knew you’d be following after her. 

“Honestly, I don’t know why. You made it clear how you feel.” She could joke about it all she wanted, you were still hurt and replaying months of rejection in your head. 

“I’m trying to tell you I didn’t mean it, please.” The remaining space between you is closed while she takes your hands in hers. Her gaze locks onto yours, staring into teary, green eyes. 

“I love you, that is the truth. I promise.” It’s never a challenge for Nat to break your resolve. Especially when you've been dreaming to hear the spy say that. 

“How do I know you mean it? That you're not ‘gonna change your mind?” 

You feel her thumbs graze over hand, a mischievous glint forming in her eyes. When your confusion grows, Natasha drops to her knees before you. As she lowers herself to the floor, she places kisses along your hands before moving to tug at your jeans. Whatever mixed feelings you still had, flew out of the door. 

“Let me show you how much I love you.”

[apod]

2024 October 5

M27: Not a Comet Image Credit & Copyright: Francesco Sferlazza, Franco Sgueglia

Explanation: While hunting for comets in the skies above 18th century France, astronomer Charles Messier diligently kept a list of the things encountered during his telescopic expeditions that were definitely not comets. This is number 27 on his now famous not-a-comet list. In fact, 21st century astronomers would identify it as a planetary nebula, but it's not a planet either, even though it may appear round and planet-like in a small telescope. Messier 27 (M27) is an excellent example of a gaseous emission nebula created as a sun-like star runs out of nuclear fuel in its core. The nebula forms as the star's outer layers are expelled into space, with a visible glow generated by atoms excited by the dying star's intense but invisible ultraviolet light. Known by the popular name of the Dumbbell Nebula, the beautifully symmetric interstellar gas cloud is over 2.5 light-years across and about 1,200 light-years away in the constellation Vulpecula. This impressive color image highlights details within the well-studied central region and fainter, seldom imaged features in the nebula's outer halo.

∞ Source: apod.nasa.gov/apod/ap241005.html

[icaruspendragon]

＼⁠(⁠°⁠o⁠°⁠)⁠／you're aspec too!!! (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) I love finding other fellow asexuals!!!

it’s actually been a rather recent discovery for me. because while i’ve known about asexuality since i was like 14, my understanding of it was pretty superficial until about a year or so ago.

during college i’d hear my friends talking about sex and how great it was or i’d read in fanfic about how it was this incredibly pleasurable thing and be like “hm. that is not how i feel during it but maybe i just haven’t been with the right partner.” but i’d had a couple enjoyable experiences, so the possibility of being aspec simply did not cross my mind. especially as i grew more comfortable and confident in my bisexuality. while i know it’s flawed now, my line of thinking at the time was, “i can’t be ace because im bi.”

i think it was hard for me to figure it all out because sex was always fine, it was just seldom to never something i thought to do unless it’s what my partner wanted. like i didn’t mind it. but apparently lots of people enjoy it a great deal and want to initiate it on their own. i’ve never really been one of those people.

and it was easy to write off/ignore for a long time as i thought my lack of want to have sexual encounters had to do with trauma/mental illness, but as i worked through and processed it all, my desire (or lack there of) stayed the same.

so it’s really only been within the past few months of somewhat frantic googling and discussions with people who are ace that i realized all signs were pointing to aspec. i mean all signs have been pointing there for a while. just look at this text i sent my friend scott back in 2021.

but i didn’t have the words/label to adequately describe what i’ve always felt. like i can’t tell you how many trips i made to the gynecologist to try and “figure out” what was “wrong” with me. but now i know there’s nothing wrong with me. i just don’t really feel sexual attraction. and that’s okay!! i’m not broken or damaged or whatever thoughts i had from like ages 19-25 about sex and my relationship with it were telling me.

the aspec label itself is one that i’ve only felt comfortable using for the past few weeks, but it definitely feels like the right one. even though having a name for it is a recent thing for me, i’ve always felt this way.