#single panel display

[riiaeatsright]

Modern Home Bar - Home Bar

[hershelchocolateart]

Just to make a point, every time I finished a panel of this I would export it as a PNG on the perceptual setting and use it as a color reference for the next panel

IT'S BAD

PLEASE CHECK YOUR COLOR SETTINGS

EDIT: If you're still having problems, it might help to switch from "Save/Save as" to "Export (as a) Single Layer". Just. Make SURE the box labeled "Expression Color" is set to RGB. I've been messing with this all day, and it looks like this combination of settings will allow exported PNGs to maintain their colors perfectly. To you. So far both Discord and Toyhouse still only display desaturated images and I cannot for the life of me figure out why

[gunillamixtapes]

Transitional Kitchen

Example of a mid-sized transitional l-shaped light wood floor open concept kitchen design with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, granite countertops, white backsplash, stainless steel appliances, an island and porcelain backsplash

[funny-junks]

Home Bar Single Wall (Edmonton)

[queerkataguiri]

Houston Single Wall Home Bar

[p0orbaby]

Born to Love You Back

summary: a very important question is on the horizon

warnings: none

a/n: some rich!reader for you all

word count: 1.7k

-

The jeweller’s salon is tucked into a narrow street in the 1st arrondissement, down a street so narrow you almost missed it, the kind of place that doesn’t need signage because everyone who matters already knows where it is. The building itself is unassuming but pristine, a five-storey townhouse with cream-coloured stone, wrought-iron balconies, a double door painted a deep charcoal with brass fixtures that gleam in the waning afternoon sun. Outside, a delivery van idles, spilling faint notes of Edith Piaf from its radio as a man unloads crates of flowers: cyclamen, lilies, eucalyptus branches arranged in bursts of green and white. They’ll likely find their way to the salon’s interior within the hour, arranged with almost mathematical precision to evoke a studied nonchalance.

Inside, it’s quiet—museum-like but less sterile, hushed but alive. There’s a balance between the soft hum of conversation from another room and the faint, barely perceptible scent of lilies and leather. The floors are a herringbone parquet, polished to an impossible sheen, and the walls are panelled in dove grey. Everything about the space is designed to whisper money. Even the receptionist, stationed behind a desk lacquered to such a high gloss that it might double as a mirror. She’s mid-twenties, probably just out of university—Sciences Po, perhaps, or one of the Grandes Écoles—wearing a black crepe shift dress that hits just above the knee. Chanel, you’d bet, though it’s hard to tell from here. Her hair is sleek and straight, parted sharply in the middle, her nails painted in Rouge Noir, a colour so iconic it’s practically shorthand for Parisian sophistication. She greets you in French first, then switches to English the moment she hears your accent, though her tone remains precisely the same—warm but not too warm, deferential but not subservient.

Aurélie is waiting for you on the stairs. She’s maybe late thirties, tall, with that certain froideur that women in her line of work cultivate like a second skin. Her blazer is Saint Laurent—black, sharply tailored, peak lapels—and her silk blouse is an ivory so fine it catches the light in a way cotton never could. Her trousers skim the tops of her Louboutin heels—black patent leather, red soles so subtle they barely register. Her jewellery is minimal but deliberate: a single strand of Mikimoto pearls, their lustre so perfect they almost look artificial, and a pair of matching studs. She smiles when she greets you, her lips painted a nude so neutral it could have come from any number of Tom Ford palettes, but you’d guess Casablanca.

“This way, please,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs with a hand that’s manicured in a soft ballet pink, not a chip in sight. You follow her up, noting the faint scent of her perfume—Chanel No. 19, not a popular choice but a discerning one, with its crisp notes of galbanum and iris that feel both professional and unapologetically feminine.

On the landing, there’s a painting—a still life, maybe Cézanne, maybe a very good imitation. You don’t stop to look, but it catches your eye enough to linger in your mind as Aurélie opens a door to the second-floor where Its quieter, darker. The walls are a deep navy—Farrow & Ball, maybe Hague Blue—and the rug beneath the central display case is thick enough to swallow the sound of your footsteps. The case itself is glass-topped and backlit, the kind of lighting that renders diamonds almost supernatural in their brilliance. The rings are arranged by cut and carat, each one nestled in its own velvet slot, the symmetry of the display both calming and slightly overwhelming.

Aurélie steps aside, giving you space but remaining close enough to anticipate your needs. She stands with her hands loosely clasped in front of her, her posture immaculate.

“Take your time,” she says, standing back with the same attentive grace she’s shown since you arrived.

You nod, your gaze already falling to the rings. You’ve thought about this for weeks, maybe months, but standing here, it feels more real, the weight of the decision settling in your chest. Not because you’re uncertain—you’re not—but because this is a moment you’ll remember, whether you want to or not.

The first ring is a cushion-cut diamond, two carats, set in a band of pave diamonds. Platinum, naturally. The proportions are flawless, the craftsmanship impeccable, but as you turn it in the light, you know immediately it’s wrong. Too ornate. Too eager. Alexia would hate it. You imagine her wearing it for a moment, and the thought feels so ridiculous you almost laugh. She doesn’t like excess, at least not in the obvious sense. Her taste is clean, modern, unfussy.

The second ring is pear-shaped, slightly smaller, but with a brilliance that draws your eye. The stone feels alive under the light, its facets catching every subtle movement of your hand. For a moment, you hesitate, thinking about how it would look on her hand, but then you remember something she said once, flipping through a magazine in bed: “Pear cuts are too delicate. They look like they’re trying too hard.”

You sigh, not quite aloud, but enough for Aurélie to notice. She steps closer, just enough to offer a quiet suggestion. “Does she have a preference?” she asks, her tone light, neutral. “For the setting, or the cut?”

“She likes things simple,” you say, the words coming out more clipped than you mean them to. It’s not her fault, this unease you feel. “Classic, but not boring”

Aurélie nods, her expression unchanged, and steps back again. You wonder if she can sense the weight of what you’re doing—if she’s seen enough of this to know the signs. The third ring catches your eye before you reach for it. A round brilliant diamond, 1.8 carats, set in a plain platinum band. No pave, no halo, no embellishments. It’s striking in its simplicity, the kind of ring that doesn’t need to assert itself because it knows what it is. You pick it up, holding it to the light, and as you turn it, something settles in you. This is the one. You don’t need to overthink it.

Aurélie smiles faintly, as though she already knew. “Shall I prepare it for you?” she asks.

You nod, handing it back, and she takes it with both hands, disappearing into a back room.

While she’s gone, you pull out your phone. You shouldn’t call her—she’s probably still at training, her mind on drills and tactics—but you do it anyway. She answers on the third ring, her voice steady but soft, with that familiar cadence you’ve missed more than you’d care to admit.

“Hey,” she says, her voice clear, grounded, with just the faintest lilt of distraction. In the background, there’s a low murmur of voices, the familiar thud of a ball meeting turf, maybe a coach shouting something that’s swallowed up by the wind. You imagine the sun slicing through the Catalan sky, the kind of relentless brightness that makes the whole city shimmer.

“Hey,” you reply, smoothing nonexistent creases from your blazer out of habit, though no one is watching. Your reflection in the polished glass of the display case looks composed, disinterested, but the sound of her voice pulls something taut inside you. “How’s training?”

“Same as always,” she says, and there’s a pause—just long enough for you to hear her exhale softly, almost imperceptibly. You know she’s stepped aside, moved to some quieter corner of the training complex where no one will overhear. She’s careful like that, never careless, always aware of her surroundings.

“Still exhausting?” you ask, and she laughs under her breath—a low, warm sound that lingers longer than it should.

“Mhm,” she hums, the sound of it makes you smile despite yourself. “But it’s a good kind of exhausting. You know how it is”

“Not sure I do,” you tease, leaning against the edge of the display case, its surface cool against your hand. “I can’t say I’ve run laps around a pitch lately. Unless you count running several businesses as exercise”

“Of course,” she says, dry but affectionate, “such an athlete. Truly inspiring”

The corner of your mouth twitches upward. “I aim to impress”

There’s a faint rustle of movement on her end—maybe she’s leaning against a wall, maybe adjusting the strap of her training bib. You picture her in that effortless way she carries herself: shorts sitting just right, socks perfectly rolled down, hair tied back in that half-loose, half-styled way that only someone like her can pull off.

“Where are you?” she asks, not because she doesn’t know, but because it’s the kind of question you ask when you want the conversation to last a little longer.

“Near Rue de la Paix,” you say, keeping it vague. “Finishing up a meeting”

“You’re always finishing up a meeting,” she says, and there’s a lightness to her tone, but it doesn’t quite hide the subtext.

“You’re always training,” you counter, matching her tone, and you hear her chuckle, soft but genuine.

“Buen punto”

There’s a brief pause. In the background, someone calls her name, a voice you don’t recognise, and she responds with a quick, sharp “Un momento.” The way she switches languages so fluidly—it’s seamless—and yet it reminds you, in a small but certain way, that her world is different from yours. Barcelona, with its golden afternoons and relentless sun, its terracotta rooftops and restless streets, feels a thousand miles away from the polished stillness of this Parisian jewellers.

“You should,” you encouraged knowing full well she’ll make no move to end the call herself.

“I’ll see you tonight?” she asks, and it’s a question, but not really.

“Of course,” you say, without hesitation this time.

There’s another silence after that, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s the kind of silence you could live in, one where nothing needs to be said because the words are already understood. Finally, she says, “Te quiero,” and you hear the faint click as she ends the call.

Aurélie returns with the ring, now nestled in a velvet box so pristine it looks almost untouched by human hands. You slip it into your pocket, the weight of it grounding you, and leave the salon with a nod of thanks.

Outside, Paris feels sharper, brighter. The air smells faintly of rain and burnt sugar from a nearby crepe stand, and the light is just beginning to soften as dusk approaches. For the first time all day, you feel steady.

[humanpurposes]

You Want This, You Need This

The only daughter of Rhaneyra Targaryen is firmly devoted to her mother's cause, and yet she finds her way through the passages of the Holdfast, to the bedchamber of a Prince she should hate // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x nameless female character (daughter of Rhaenyra)

Warnings: 18+, smut, enemies with benefits, hate sex, degrading, angst, Targcest (uncle and niece)

Words: 3.7k

A/n: Me making a poll then doing whatever I want 🫶

There’s no use in waiting for sleep to come to her, she’s too restless for sleep.

Her bedroom is full of alcoves and adjacent chambers, good for hiding and keeping the room cool during the summers. In one of the alcoves is a mural. If she presses a particular space on the wall with much force, she can push it to reveal an entrance into the hidden passageways of Maegor’s Holdfast. 

Light is lost beyond the threshold. A gentle but piercing breeze washes over her, through the thin and billowing fabric of her night shift. There’s always this lingering excitement when she opens the doorway. She equates it to the thrill of flying, cutting through the wind on dragonback. Only she’s not in the sky, she’s staring into darkness, daring herself to take a single step.

As children she and her brothers had found many of these hidden doors throughout the castle, the perfect sort of places to hide in when they were in trouble, the perfect place to eavesdrop and move through the keep undetected. When their mother found out she had discouraged them from venturing too far, lest they end up like the piles of bones left by rats and other rodents that had never found their way out. 

The paths within the walls are treacherous, but she knows some of the routes by heart. She knows how to head down to the kitchens, she even knows a way which leads past the dungeons, to a chamber which houses the skull of Blaerion, the Black Dread, out to a beach along the shore of the bay, out of reach by any other means.

There is one particular room she has in mind tonight.

She treads carefully, tracing her fingertips against the wall so that she does not lose her way. When she comes to a series of steps she takes even more caution. She counts twenty steps, then turns another corner and keeps walking until the stone underneath her fingers turns to wood. It is a door, one which appears as part of a panelled wall on the other side. She pushes it open, hoping he has left the latch undone, and he has.

The room’s warmth is a welcome sensation. She makes as little noise as possible as she enters and closes the door behind her. 

He’s sitting by the fire, turned away from where she stands, head lowered slightly and his silver hair spilling down the back of his chair. She almost always finds him like this, practising one of his self righteous rituals. He reads until the hearth and the candles have burned out because it enforces his own belief that he is a more dedicated son than Aegon, more intelligent and more worthy than the Velaryons– than her and her ilk. 

His shoulders stiffen as the soles of her slippers tap delicately against the floor, moving towards his bed. She imagines him frowning, or perhaps smiling to himself as he closes the book in his lap.

She perches at the edge of the mattress, pushing her shoes off and letting them fall to the floor. “That was quite the display in the training yard this morning,” she says in a clear voice.

Everything he does is agonisingly slow. He grips the arms of his chair as he rises, slots the book back onto a shelf, and finally turns to face her. He is dressed in a simple black shirt and the breeches he usually sleeps in. His hair is half tied, his leather patch secured around his head, over the space where his left eye should be, sliced out by her own brother’s hand.

The low light of the hearth casts shadows in the sharp edges of his face, the lines around his mouth, the curve of his lips, proud but restrained. His remaining eye is trained on her, glaring at her like a hunter approaches prey.

“You were there to watch your brother, I thought,” he says in that softly threatening voice of his. He comes close enough to loom over her, though just far enough that their legs do not touch. “Or did you find your eye wandering?”

Jace’s first mistake had been to go down to the yard early. Aemond was always there in the mornings after flying Vhagar, to train with Ser Criston Cole until noon. His next mistake had been to succumb to Aemond’s goading. Their uncle is never one to use violence at first, not like Aegon who would brawl with a gull if he thought it offensive enough. Aemond likes to use his words to tease and probe, to lure an opponent to action, and Jace almost always falls for it. The moment her brother had challenged Aemond to a sparring match she knew what the outcome would be. Jace was a promising fighter, but he simply could not match Aemond’s height, strength, speed or skill.

Her heart sank for her brother, but it couldn’t force her attention away from Aemond. He moved like a dancer, all fluidity and control, like he already had the entire performance planned out in his head. He toyed with Jace, kept his defence up, only to knock his sword from his hands and place his own blade at his throat in a sudden flash of silver and steel.

She’d had to bite the inside of her lip to stop herself from smirking.

“You humiliated him, before spectators,” she says.

Aemond frowns in mock sympathy, taking her chin between his finger and his thumb to tilt her gaze up. “I would do it a hundred times over, for my own pleasure if not for anything else.”

She tilts her head. “And what of my pleasure?”

He hums cryptically. The corners of his mouth flicker upwards. “Your pleasure is only my concern within the confines of this room.”

He’s looking at her like that again, like he wants to devour her.

He traces his fingers down her throat, her collar, the neckline of her shift. His touch is sparse but familiar, exploring the curves of her body through the fabric, patterns she’s felt before, spaces he already knows and seems to have mapped in his head.

He leans in closer, his other hand pressing into the bed, invading her space, infiltrating her senses with the scent of smoke and lavender. She could drown in it, the scent of him.

She shudders as he runs his nose over her neck, following the heat of his breath with a lingering kiss against the sensitive spot of her skin. “What is it you want from me tonight?” 

She has an idea in her mind, one she’s been toying with since she had seen the look of pride in his face in the yard.

“Lie down, on your back.”

He stands straight. Eye still fixed on her, he does as she says, making himself comfortable against the pillows. 

She draws out every movement, just as he likes to do to her. She straddles him, settling her hips against the growing hardness in his breeches. She rests her hands against his chest, runs her fingers over his skin and the patch of silver hair revealed when she pulls on his shirt.

His hands are on her immediately, running up her thighs, gripping at her waist, bringing up the hem of her shift and tutting as though it has caused him some personal insult in hiding her body from him. He pulls it over her head and surges up to kiss her, capturing her lips with the desperation of a man starved. His kisses are always like this, slow and consuming, pulling her in closer and closer like he expects her to try to escape, like the only air he wants exists in her lungs.

It’s fast and overwhelming, and at first she’s content to just let it happen, to let herself be carried away in the currents of his wants and not her own, but once she’s a little more settled, she pushes him back against the bed.

He stares up at her, blood rushing to his cheeks, lips parted and panting. For all the times she’s seen his stoic exterior at court, she thinks he looks best like this.

“I thought you were concerning yourself with my pleasure?” she says, not bothering to contain her smile.

“I thought you liked it when I take what I want,” he retorts.

“I want you to do as you’re told.”

He huffs a laugh, but his gaze softens and his tongue wets his lips, his eye roaming appreciatively over her bare body, until he stops at her small clothes. All it takes is a few gentle rocks of her hips before his jaw tightens and his fingers dig deeper into the flesh of her waist. She swears she feels his hips twitch beneath her, but he makes no move to take what he wants.

She leans back on her haunches as she drags his breeches below his hips. By the sight of him, hard and reddened at the tip, she knows he at least finds something about this arrangement appealing. 

She discards the rest of their clothing, his shirt, her small clothes, the leather eyepatch on his head. She pauses when she reaches for it, waiting for him to protest, but he doesn’t. He gives her a small nod and she slides it up to reveal the true extent of his scar, the twisted red flesh around the sapphire wedged in his socket.

She has seen it countless times before. She needs the reminder of who he is, how much he must hate her.

Now that they are both bare she resumes her position, pleasure like a flame licking up her spine as she traces circles over her centre. Aemond grinds himself against her, breathing with a strain in the back of his throat. The sound only makes the wanting feeling in her gut tighten. She can feel herself clenching over nothing, her body begging for more friction and the release it promises.

She feels she is wet enough to take him now, and her stomach drops in anticipation.

When he whispers her name, she knows she has him exactly where she wants him.

She closes her hand around his cock, giving it a few half-hearted strokes and lining it up to her entrance, only to hesitate. “I hear your mother is intending to invite Borros Baratheon to court,” she says.

Aemond catches his lip between his teeth, staring at the space where their bodies almost meet if she would only lower her hips.

“Might he bring one of his comely daughters? He has four, doesn’t he?”

Aemond huffs and meets her eye. His hands are still on her waist, his thumbs tracing circles over her belly. “Where did you hear this?”

She tries to pretend such a simple touch from him does not excite her or tempt her to relent. 

Daemon has spies in the Queen’s household, not that she knows the specifics. Her mother had discussed the matter with her, expressing concern for the Hightowers’ intentions. It has been decades since a Lord of Storm’s End has stepped foot in the Red Keep, and Daemon believes their rivals are trying to close ranks, amass allies outside of the capital. Perhaps such a deal may be sealed with a marriage pact.

“What,” she breathes, trying to smile, “that his daughters are comely? I can only assume, for I’ve never met them you see–”

In the blink of an eye she’s beneath him.

Aemond brings a single finger to her lips. “I thought we had agreed not to discuss political matters in private,” he says.

“I did not realise the matter was political–”

He cuts her off when he snakes his hand down her body and pushes his thumb against her pearl. She hisses, her hips bucking to meet his touch.

“Are you trying to bait me, niece? Hmm? Is that what you came here for?”

She shakes her head as he circles over her. For such minimal effort on his part, it sparks something frustratingly bright in her, back arching, warmth settling between her legs and beneath her skin.

“Is that really what you want me to be thinking about? Wondering which one of the Baratheon girls is the prettiest?”

His fingertips tease over her entrance, but he doesn’t push them inside, instead they’re replaced by the head of his cock. She presses her lips together, determined not to make any kind of noise he could take for weakness, for wanting, but she feels it all the same.

“Presently, I’m only thinking about what I can see, and what I see is a spoiled little Princess, laid out beneath me. Poor thing, she’s trying to look smug, but I’m not sure I’m convinced, not when I’m about to fuck her tight, little cunt.” 

Her pleading is mindless, falling from her lips as effortlessly as her breath. “Please… please… please…”

She wonders if it is her want or his own he eventually succumbs to. He pushes in slowly, delighted at the slight moan he elicits from her, sharing her air as she gasps at the pleasurable ache of being stretched out around him.

“I’ve heard rumours too, that Rhaenyra has been sending ravens to Highgarden,” he says as he starts to snap his hips against hers. “What business would your mother have with the Tyrells, I wonder?”

Rhaenyra has her own plans for a marriage pact, plans she’s known about for months. “What indeed?” she says, trying to smile as he ruts into her.

Aemond almost growls, burying his face into her neck. As his voice is harsher so are his thrusts. “My sister will sell you to a sickly little boy, is that it? Why would Rhaenyra want an alliance with the Reach?”

Because the King is little more than a breathing corpse and who knows how much life he has left in him. Because eventually, he will die, and they both know what will come next.

She’s always known her part in this, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Her brothers may well fight in battles to defend their mother’s claim, but wars cannot be won without the necessary support. The Reach, The Riverlands, The Vale, The North, they must all be secured one way or another.

With his face hidden from hers she allows herself to admire the way his muscles move and flex under the smooth, pale skin of his arm. Since leaving childhood behind, he seems to have this idea of efficiency, with no tolerance for excess. His arms are slight, but defined where he trains with his sword each day, where he hauls himself onto Vhagar’s saddle and steers her around Blackwater Bay.

“It’s always been expected of me,” she says, tracing her hand over his skin, almost perfect, save for a few marks: a burn after an unfortunate encounter with Vermax when he was just a hatchling, a scar above his elbow where he fell from an apple tree, and crescent shaped indents from their last tryst. “I will do my duty.”

“Duty?” He stops, grabbing her by the neck so her breath hitches in her throat. He leans into her, pressing his forehead against hers, caging her between his body and the bed. She sees nothing but a single eye and a sapphire, nothing but contempt. “You’re the antithesis of it, crawling to your uncle’s bedchamber every night, begging to be fucked.”

Anger flares in her blood. She clamps her hand around his wrist and digs her nails into his skin, hoping it will mark him. “I have never begged for you,” she spits, teeth bared, lips grazing over his, “and I never shall…”

Her words fade on her tongue when he resumes a punishing pace, urging her closer to oblivion with every thrust.

“Oh there you go,” he coos, “that feels good, doesn’t it?” He’s on his knees now, one hand still on her throat, the other on her thigh, forcing her legs further apart, fingertips pressing painfully into her flesh.

She tries to pull away from his grip, pushing herself further into the bed amongst the pillows, but Aemond has always been stubborn and does not relent. She has nowhere to go, no other option but to take it.

“You’ll be sent off to some castle in a miserable corner of the world, live the dull life of a Lady. Your Lord husband will trade swords and shields for you like a brood mare and fuck his children into your belly each night.”

She feels her peak building within her, the weightlessness rising and rising, she can hardly take much more. “Do you believe I will think of you?” she says with a grin, “as he touches me, as he spills inside me…”

Aemond grunts, folding his chest over hers, brushing his lips over her cheek as he hisses, “wanton little whore. I am the one you seek out, and as long as you do, you are mine.”

It tears through her quickly, a spark that turns to flame, a piece of kindling caught alight, pleasure that reduces her simply to feeling, warmth and the absence of his weight on her body. She claws her nails into nothing, empty space where she expects to find his skin.

Aemond has pulled away from her, groaning as he comes, spilling over her stomach and thighs. She watches him, jaw slack, brows angled like he’s in agony. 

She basks in the numbness her peak leaves behind as he drags his shirt over her skin to clean the mess he’s made with a touch that is soft and slow. His eye trails along her body to her face. She sees nothing in him, not amusement or satisfaction, not hatred or remorse, and yet he comes to lay beside her, turning her onto her side, settling against her back and putting his arms around her.

She allows it, too used to the feeling of lying in his bed, too used to the scent of sweat and smoke and lavender. 

Aemond’s chambers are ruled by order, every book has its place on a shelf, he does not leave papers, clothes or used cups of wine lying around. The bedchamber lies on the south side of the castle, with a balcony overlooking the bay where two of them used to watch the ships leaving the harbour. She likes the intricate tapestries, scenes of Valryian mythology, and his fondness for the colour blue. Even if she cannot see most of it in the dark of night, the silence and stillness is comforting.

“Lord Corlys’ ship was attacked,” she mutters, placing her hand over his, where his palm against her stomach. “We cannot be sure if he even survived.”

“So I’ve heard,” Aemond says, “I’ve also heard Vaemond Velaryon intends to challenge the succession of Driftmark, should the unthinkable be true.

“And I assume the Queen and the Hand will support him in this endeavour.”

Aemond’s chest stills. “They will hear the petitions and pass their judgement,” he says, quietly but finally.

“Then the decision has already been made.”

Aemond’s breathing is deep, her hair fluttering against her cheek as he exhales. Her mother has a similar way of scolding her without uttering a single word, as if to say the answer should be obvious.

With a scoff she pushes his hand away and drags herself out of the bed. The cold air stings her skin and she makes short work of finding her night shift, discarded on the floor, and dressing herself.

“Lucerys has no claim to Driftmark,” Aemond says from the bed.

“And why is that?” she says shortly, grabbing her shoes from the foot of the bed.

He won’t say it, but the word is there, in the way he teases Jace, the way his family watch her and her brothers and stare at them across the throne room with nothing but disgust. It’s there in his indifference towards her beyond the walls of his bedchamber, avoiding eye contact, muttering under his breath, insults and backhanded compliments. But the last time he said it, it cost him his eye.

She turns to face him, a defiant glare through the darkness now that some of the candles have started to burn out. 

“Coward,” she whispers.

He does claim to disagree.

With her shoes on, she moves towards the hidden door without sparing him another glance.

But she hears a ruffle of fabric, his feet against the floor as he follows her. His hand closes around her arm, hard enough it feels as though it might leave a bruise. He turns her into him, placing her back and his palm against the panelled wall.

“Stay,” he says.

“Surely you would not want to sully yourself, sharing your bed with a bastard.”

“But it’s different with you.”

“How? How is it different?”

He cups her face in his hands, begging her for something but never saying it. He leans in gradually, kissing her firmly. It’s easy to follow his lead, to let him slip his tongue between her lips, let him pull and tug at her delicate flesh, to feel him and lose herself to him. It makes her weightless all over again.

Once it was easy to love Aemond. They found friendship easily as children, even when they bickered and argued, because they could always forgive each other.

Some time ago she realised that love has always been destined to fade away, like summer changing into autumn, winter snows melting away with the spring. There is no place for it amongst the animosity between their families, causes they were born to, that neither of them will ever forsake.

Aemond pulls away but stays close to her, a hand on her waist, the other on her cheek. “I want you to stay.”

“And what then? What do you think could ever become of us?” The one-eyed Prince and the bastard Princess.

Suddenly she hates the stillness of this room, the weight of his silence in her chest. 

Aemond’s hand slips from her cheek, his expression falling from pleading to indifference. 

She leaves him standing there, bare chested and breathless, with no light to catch in the cut edges of his sapphire. She fades back into the shadows of the passageway, amongst the cold and the dark and the bones.

The rot has set in. The King will die, and both the Blacks and the Greens will seek to claim his throne. The empty space between her and Aemond can only ever grow.

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya

[stra-tek]

This is one of the greatest things ever. Walk around every single version of the U.S.S. Enterprise in photorealistic 3D in your browser, from the Roddenberry Archive. On a phone you just see wraparound 3D pics. On a PC or laptop you get the full 3D interactive experience. They NEED to make this VR compatible, it'll be beyond words.

There are more Enterprises here than Tumblr will allow me photos of, and more will likely be added.

Here's the TOS Enterprise, which appears in several incarnations ("The Cage", "Where No Man Has Gone Before" and TOS proper as well as TAS with the second turbolift!), has the correct original graphics and is perfect.

This is the bridge from the unmade Star Trek: Phase II series (whose pilot episode "In Thy Image" was rewritten to become Star Trek: The Motion Picture), with it's legendary big comfy command sofa seat and tactical display bubble!

The Motion Picture, such an accurate recreation that there's even a very faint flicker on the rear-projection animated screens as seen in the movie.

Enterprise NX-01, looking exactly as it did in "Broken Bow"

Recognise this? It's the briefing room of Discovery season 2's version of the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701. Although at the front of the saucer on the "real" ship, here it's off the second bridge door which may well be where the set was IRL.

I wasn't expecting modern Trek to be represented equally as the originals in this project, but it is. This is the Enterprise from Strange New Worlds, with Pike's Ready Room located just off the bridge.

Star Trek V: The Final Frontier. My favourite version of the classic bridge, as a kid I drew all these control panels and stuck them on my bedroom walls. And now I can look around and look at them all close-up! They've even replicated the noticable TVs stuffed into the panels for the more complex animated screens.

The Enterprise-C bridge from "Yesterday's Enterprise". This one has always fascinated me, being a low-budget TV set (formerly the Enterprise-D battle bridge, originally built from the rain-damaged TMP set's back wall and redressed endlessly though TNG) representing TNG's immediate predecessor. In the episode they mostly shoot the back wall and imply the consoles make a huge circle, but here you can see the set's real dimensions and the weirdness of the classic movie helm/nav console in front of the TNG con/ops panels. I love it.

You know how much I love the Kelvin movies, so seeing this was amazing. For some reason the consoles don't have their screens lit (hopefully this'll be fixed soon), but you can see the saucer under the window and it's shiny and amazing.

The last thing I expected was the U.S.S. Titan-A/Enterprise-G bridge, but it's here. And the lights are on.

Other bridges available to explore which I'm out of pictures to show: The Enterprise-D (of course), Enterprise XCV-330 (the ringship, based on concept art for the unmade non-Trek series "Starship"), the Planet of the Titans U.S.S. Enterprise (again, based on concept art for a cool multi-levelled set) and the "launch" U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701 (based on the very first piece of TOS bridge set concept art), the Enterprise-E, the Enterprise-F (seen on viewscreen for all of 2 minutes in Picard) and the U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656!

Take a bow lads, you've done good. Now just add VR support!

That link again.

[jayrockin]

Hi. I'm very late to Webcomic Day. The concept this year was to nicely showcase what the progression of your work looks like through layers of completion on a single page, but because of the way I am, this is not very easy. The first thing I do is sketch the page. This can be anything between thumbnail scribbles, nice pencil drawings with panels, or a bunch of floating character headshots with speech bubbles on a random piece of paper. I then scan these and add them to the page document. I usually do digital tweaks to the scans until I am satisfied with the panel layout and composition. I add vector speech bubbles at this stage too. The goal is (was... it's done) to make the entire book comprehensibly readable, so editors can read it and suggest changes before I put in actual elbow grease. Second stage is modelling important background elements in Blender. I'm not very good at this, mostly because I am new to Blender and terribly impatient. My models are usually a vague sketch of a hardscape environment that I then draw clutter over. My vehicle models are much nicer and that's because they were commissioned from people who have years of learned skill that I don't. Third step is when I actually start the finished page. I usually draw the character lines and flats (unshaded tones) before anything else because I find it fun and easy. I don't recommend this, it sometimes makes the next step inconvenient. I frequently start flats or shading before I've finished lines, because I get bored of doing lines. I don't recommend this either. Last step is backgrounds, and etc. If I need a Blender model, first I load an .fbx copy into the Clip Studio file and position it; then I often have to resize and reposition the characters I've already drawn, and then I grind out all the background lines and tones. Usually shade the characters around this time. This is also the time when I finally fill in miscellaneous stuff I've been dreading; like conlangs, technical details of equipment and props, conlangs, time conversions, and computer screen displays. Then the page is done. And I move on to the next one. Someday, perhaps, I will be done with all of them (so that I can work on the next book). Hope this was insightful. Take a peek at some of the other great artists making online comics, who posted in the #WebcomicsDay tag yesterday. Read Runaway to the Stars over here.

[narutouzumakiarchive]

There are certainly gothic elements in Naruto and Sasuke's dynamic, particularly in Part 1, and there is one image that really highlighted this aspect.

Now, the sublime, according to Edmund Burke, is the attractive, "delightful horror" caused by the experience of pain and terror. Though I best like how it's described by John Dennis as the mingling of pleasure and horror. So there's a sharp emotional juxtaposition that's central to the modern conception of the sublime, and in Naruto, juxtaposition is a motif that has significant prominence in Naruto and Sasuke's relationship (especially given their function as foils).

In the lead up to VOTE 1, Kishimoto blends Sasuke's experiences of horror and terror because of Naruto. There's an increasing sense of astonishment and fear at the great magnitude of power that Naruto displays but there's also significant apprehension at what's to come — an apprehension characterized by Sasuke's constant questions about who, or what Naruto is. And things come to a head during VOTE 1, when Sasuke is so shaken by Naruto that he experiences a level of terror similar to what he felt during the massacre and his confrontation with Orochimaru.

That said, this particular post isn't about VOTE 1. In the image that caught my eye I noticed there was something interesting about Sasuke's expression.

Now the onomatopoeia used in that panel (zoku) of the first image that I posted has been used before. In Example 2 below we see it used to represent Sasuke's clear cut excitement at being able to fight Gaara, whereas in Examples 1, 3, 4, and 5 we see it used to represent a range of obvious negative emotions ranging from fear to terror.

But the image of Sasuke reacting to Naruto summoning Gamabunta evades simple classification. Sure there's that typical fear and incredulity that Sasuke felt towards Naruto, reflected in Sasuke's single sweat drop and thoughts. But his facial expressions don't neatly align with Sasuke's more obvious expressions of negative emotions (eyebrows thoroughly furrowed, mouth agape AND downturned, increased number of sweat drops, etc.) In fact, his expression was a near exact parallel to that of Orochimaru's throughly excited face after he saw Sasuke defeat his opponent in the Chunin Exam Preliminaries.

This image encapsulates the paradoxical nature of Sasuke's feelings about Naruto's strength that stretches throughout the Part 1. There's certainly an attraction to the Naruto's physical strength that had been present as early as the bell exam, but as the manga progressed, we also see how Naruto's strength generated a myriad of different emotions in Sasuke: anger, confusion, anxiety, incredulity, apprehension and fear.

And we also see this representation of the tension between the positive and the negative in Naruto's reactions to Sasuke as well, with the most significantly being Naruto's physiological response of "tingles" at hearing Sasuke acknowledge him, despite the fact Sasuke lashed out at him during a negative moment after being traumatized by Itachi.

The Orochimaru issue image really captures both sides of this contradiction at once. It perfectly represents the delightful horror that Burke called "the most genuine effect and truest test of the sublime."

Part 1 was really about building up the beautiful and complex tragedy between Naruto and Sasuke while Part 2 emphasized healing and progress, though we still see some of those tensions at play (ex. fighting violently with their fists to read eachother's hearts).

[odessa-2]

HUBLANDER MELBOURNE ☀️

OK ladies, so I ended up going. Long story short, I was given a spare ticket and decided to seize the moment. It was stinking hot, and a terribly organised event (it was literally in a shed). Despite this, I am glad I did go. My long held observations/beliefs of Sam's character, who he really is as a man, and the fantasy man, single Sam push, were proven correct. I did get a photo with Sam, and I must confess he really is incredibly good-looking. Even better in the flesh. A doll. He's hyper vigilant, astutely aware of his surrounds (eyes darting everywhere) , very polite and gentlemanly and professional.

He looked tanned and fresh and endured hoards of horny grannies fawning over him for hours on end and was attentive to everyone. The organisers of the event stuck Sam, Duncan, Charles and John in a small tin shed that had no air con, that must've been about 50 degrees celsius inside ,where they stood and posed with frenzied women for over 3 hours. They looked visibly overheated (shame on the organisers). Sam didn't faulter. Polite to a tee.

Would you believe that Sam had to use the same toilets as the plebs?! Yep, you heard correctly. Shocking work by the organisers. I actually had to desperately pee at one point but waited until I saw Sam come out of the toilets. In-between panels, the actors were staying upstairs in the loft level, and I saw the uber eats delivery man run upstairs to bring them food. The organisers didn't even feed their guests!

Sam is Jamie to these women and he knows it. Starz knows it. I saw the crazed obsession with my own eyes. I saw how his people; his team have shaped him and moulded him(for his public persona) to appeal to these women and this fantasy notion. They want their Jamie. They want single Sam, and that's what they (starz) give them. There is no room for anything else but Single Sam. And Sam professionally obliges. What he puts out to the public at the conventions is scripted and measured. He is very guarded. I could see it unfold in front of me with great clarity. There were women there who didn't want him with Caitriona (they weren't interested in the Caitriona titbits Sam gave), 50 and 60 year old women who actually think they stand a chance. Tragic. Sam is gorgeous and charming and Starz has used that to sell. And quite frankly, after witnessing this display, I can see why he has a fascade going on. I can see why he would want the public completely removed from his personal life and family. I get it.

Another observation of mine, I know this goes without saying, but he is definitely not gay for those who are insistent. He gives off zero gay vibes. He is not effeminate in the slightest, and I found him to be quite more masculine than I'd imagined. He reads people well and can't keep still. What else can I tell you? He has nice skin, piercing blue eyes (like really crystal blue) and exceptionally tall. He does his job very well and has high emotional intelligence. Starz uses his good looks and they pimp him out to the fan base.

Now don't get me wrong, i met lots of lovely women there today who were sweet and kind and exited. But hearing women's conversations at the event; he really is their fantasy. They were squealing and many saying how they wished they could grab his bum or 💋 him. There's no room for Caitriona. Just fantasy Sam.

Odessa says hi Sam 👋...you were a real trooper.

I'll share some more titbits from the panel tomorrow when my splitting headache hopefully dissipates.

[batbabydamian]

The Boy Wonder #3 by Juni Ba rambling about how cool this series would be to read in a single sitting...it's all so connected!!

rambles for issue #1 and issue #2!

i don't have as much personal interpretation for this cover besides it being a solid piece of art in shapes and silhouette! ALSO. bi bg lighting lol. Damian's "X" posing of his cape and swords parallels with Tim's "X" chest straps + the Robin emblem in the center. Tim's closed Red Robin wings frames Robin's own outstretched cape wings; and on top of that, the shadows cast inside the wings nicely frames Damian's demon mask.

Joe and Merle's dynamic has been so fun, especially with the mutual enthusiasm over the storytelling 🥺 Joe also opens up about his circumstances that led him to this moment, which perfectly sets up the setting of this issue! Even his very first introduction becomes a relevant detail when a fancy rich couple drops a champagne glass, uncaring of the people literally below them, saying “some poor sap down there’ll appreciate it” when it bonks Joe’s head.

it all comes around!! and tbh this issue proves how much this series would slap to read in a single sitting (GET THE COLLECTED EDITION)

Going beyond first impressions seems to apply to the color palette in this series. From #1 in the first page of Gotham, we see the gold of upper society to the blue of the downtrodden → from issues #2 and #3, it’s the warm gold of inner Gotham to the cold blue of the rich. there’s a sense of community displayed among the poor - even part of Jason’s intro avenging Bill, a generous man mourned on panel by many. The rich gives off a sense of individualism, celebrating themselves and their excess.

With the change in scenery, this issue steps into the more civilian side of things through a spy theme - fancy suits and lil gadget intros! Going down the civilian route with Tim feels very fitting since it's what makes Tim's run as Robin so charming!

i love that Talia’s taught Damian to be conscious of the rich’s effects on society, especially in the following page of small panels zoning in on the details of wealth and overindulgence. but also LIL DAMIAN. HIS LIL ROUND EYES AND HANDS 🥺

Damian’s aware of the facts, and his disgust is clearer after having just been through lower Gotham and seeing firsthand the poverty directly caused by the wealthy (also not sure if that old lady is the same one from #1 with similar hair and clothes, but pls she can't a break…)

i mentioned Damian’s “inciting incident” for this journey to be the intro of a demon for Damian to prove his worth but i’m correcting the use of that term!! the intro of the demon is more the beginning of plot, whereas the actual inciting incident is beheading the thief!! it’s the main reason he’s in this situation where he felt the need to prove himself, and atone. Most notably is that the beheaded thief is a consistent character that quite literally haunts Damian every step of the way.

The statue of Batman’s head being popped off becomes a significant visual, because while Damian started this journey to prove something to Bruce, the only one that really seems to have (quite literal) eyes for Damian’s journey is the thief. Why does he make more of an appearance than the actual Bat? Even his statue’s head doesn’t make a figurative presence; whereas the only one looming over Damian is the thief. Guilt over killing him may be driving him just as much as his desire to be worthy. Alternatively, it could be that Damian needs to reexamine his motivations since the thief is really getting in Damian's face now.

Damian is proud to be a positive influence on Tim, but the moment is short-lived. It’s an ironic moment to me because Damian doesn't even know the impact he's had on Jason just in the previous issue!! 😭

Damian's so desperate to prove his worth, yet he's been making choices in every issue to help others!! Helping the old woman up in #1, being vulnerable with Jason in #2, and now sacrificing himself for Tim!

The Ra’s "Weakness" panel has been reoccurring since #1, but it's the first time Talia has been included. Being great figures in his life and mind, their silhouettes consume Damian's, similar to a few of Batman's appearances below. This latest disappointment was such a blow to Damian, that Talia (who he might have the most respect for) becomes an added voice in his head.

Final thoughts!!

Like Rok, does the thief actually have a connection to the al Ghuls or is this beard just in fashion at the moment.

Lex is clearly referencing one of the Underwell warehouses that Joe and Merle are presently, so wondering if whatever he and Tim discuss here will be affecting them later.

Ending with Talia’s cover for extra hype!! i’ll probably go back to this for the next ramble, but i’m already gearing myself up to wail about Talia just based on this cover. The Mary and Jesus imagery (more prominent with Damian’s lil crown as a “prince”) but most importantly Talia weathering the flames for Damian…her own shroud/shawl wrapped around Damian and burning… oh boy

[somedaythesun]

TS2 Maxis-Match Lingerie Store Set

Hello, I'm still alive! I had to take a long break from Simming, but I've finally finished this collection and wanted to release it.

Reintroducing Bella's Secret lingerie store set by RetailSims! Now available in sweet pink or spicy black motifs. Featuring more objects than you'll know what to do with :D

There are four Maxis-match sets in this collection: the K&B lingerie set (3 colors), a new bra mesh using the Freetime sewing machine dress textures (6 colors!), the K&B camisole set (3 colors), and the Basegame slip nighties (4 colors).

For the mannequins and the furniture, I wanted to capture that high-gloss look that a lot of lingerie stores use, and I discovered that the perfect in-game texture was…the grand piano?? So all the display objects are repo'd to that object and come in either glossy black or white (or whatever other recolors you may have). The velvet panels are either pink or red and are recolorable.

The shelving unit is actually three distinct pieces: a panty/bra counter with 15(!) slots you can fill, a double row wall display rack (15 slots), and a single row wall display rack for longer hanging items (8 slots). These live in Surfaces > Shelves for §241.

All of the hanging items can be hung on your Sim's wall for decoration, but they are also aligned to perfectly slot into the wall racks. I personally find it relaxing to fill up the display cabinets, and you can mix and match to your heart's content! You'll find all the clothing in General > Dressers for §18.

I also made some objects to sit on the countertops or in the drawers. Everything is repo'd to a parent object to reduce file sizes, so if you're interested in recoloring the lingerie, check the filenames for the PARENT objects and you'll be able to make your own varieties.

Lastly, I recreated RetailSims's shop sign, but this time in Simlish. I did my best to keep the polycount as low as possible, but be warned it's still high poly. It spans 6 tiles and is EXTREMELY shiny. Comes in black or white! Found in Deco > Wall for §800

I highly recommend you get RetailSims's original wallpapers (archive link to the dead site is here). All original idea credit goes to RetailSims, I just fell in love with their set years ago and wanted to refresh it to match the game's original aesthetics.

Download

I may need to disappear offline for another lengthy break, but I'll stick around for a few days after I post this to check for any problems, so let me know if anything isn't working your game. Enjoy!

[fallout-lou-begas]

As a comic artist myself (read @ikroah), something that I keep stopping to admire about Dungeon Meshi so far is its use of vertical bleed in page composition. It's usually just used for extra room on complicated panels, or for emphasis, like this spread demonstrates quite well:

And usually these vertical bleed panels are just one or two per page, but sometimes they'll be the main type of panel on a page. On the page below, you can see the way that the vertical bleed both exaggerates the descent in the top row of panels and gives extra room for very narrow "camera angles," and then crucially, the vertical bleed on the bottom row of wider, more square panels balances the overall composition. If you remove the bleed from the bottom panels, not only do you crucially iss out on half of Laius' pose, but the whole page seems like it got misaligned at the printer:

Vertical bleed panels will very often be used as the first or the last panel on a given page because they can have a transitory effect between pages or scenes, especially when used to introduce a new location or scene. These two pages from the first chapter, and then the two pages that immediately follow the page above, demonstrate:

And horizontal bleeds, while less common, are also present (see the above page on the right, and the top page on the right). This next page has a particular use of a full horizontal bleed combined with vertical bleeds that really impresses me because of how elegant it splits the page composition artistically and tonally, with vertical bleeds on opposite corners of the page for balance. You can see how without the full bleeds, not only do those panels feel way too tight individually (even the first one, where the bleed was mostly empty space anyway), but the whole page gets a lot more claustrophobic. And while it's not bad, it's definitely a bit more staid and boxy than the dynamic, full-bleed version in the actual comic.

The shape of Senshi's knife and the (implied) trajectory of the mandrake head are incredibly subtle eyeguides built into the artwork!

One final note about full vertical bleeds is that their use often reminds me of the way that newspaper comics will elide panel borders entirely for similar utility: more space in the individual panel, more interesting composition overall, and that effect it has on establishing or transitioning to a scene. Here's come Calvin & Hobbes strips that do it, for example:

And while full bleeds (except occasional splash pages) are much less common in my own mother tongue, classic superhero comics (mostly due to how they were and to a degree still are printed, I figure), you can still see some of these principles displayed in this sample of incredible pages from one of my favorite single comic book issues, Amazing Spider-Man #229.

[mirrrorballs]

seeing you tonight.

pairing / jj maybank x fem!kook!reader

genre / fluff, fluff, fluff! slight angst if you squint (?) cute little established relationship read:)

warnings / mentions of an argument, drinking (not the reader), talks about insecurities, i'm pretty sure that's it ^^

synopsis / to say the least, you were pissed at jj. and you were pretty sure he shared the feeling. what started out as a petty little bicker escalated into an actual argument. however, you're going to have to deal with him sooner or later since you're both attending the monthly outer banks beach blowout. seeing him tonight, it's a bad idea right?

author's note / my outer banks phase has been resurfacing, and apparently so has my jj obsession! this is inspired by 'bad idea right?' by olivia rodrigo <3 it doesn't entirely follow the song's storyline, but the idea is there. hope you guys like the little homage to gilmore girls (it's fall, after all.) and the little jess and rory mentions. enjoy!

"Woah, woah, woah- hold that thought, JJ. You argued with her over 'Gilmore Girls'?" Kie asked with furrowed brows and the most confused tone you could hear.

"Well- not technically." JJ replied, but it came out more as a question. Pope decided to pop into the conversation, "How on earth do you argue with your girlfriend over a show about a single mom and her mensa level daughter?" he asked.

JJ sighed sarcastically after John B let out a snicker whilst picking out some clothes for that night's party.

"We didn't really argue about the show. I just didn't like this opinion she had on one of the characters 's all. I think." he shrugged, saying the last part more to himself.

"Enlighten me then. What was this opinion she had?" Kie challenged.

It was early in the morning. JJ had slept over at your house the day before. It was now four am and you were both snuggled up together under a duvet on your couch, head on his shoulder as you both waited for your pop tarts to toast and for your coffee to brew.

You tore yourself away from him, causing JJ to groan and break the comfortable silence that engulfed the two of you.

You giggled lightly at his rather clingy state as you picked the TV remote up from the coffee table in front of you before settling back into his arms.

He held onto you slightly tighter this time, as if he didn't want you out of his hold.

As you turned the television on and started browsing through some shows on Netflix, JJ buried his head into your hair.

"What show d'ya want to watch?" he said all muffled, pressing a small kiss onto your head after.

"Gilmore Girls. You were binging it with me the last time you slept over, remember?" you said, looking up at him. He hummed in response.

"I remember. It's that favorite show of yours." he replied, smiling to himself when he noticed you didn't continue watching it without him, the episode displayed on the 'continue watching' panel being the one you left off on last time.

You both watched in silence filled with only the sounds of your reactions to some scenes. You both only paused to get your pop tarts and coffee, but JJ offered to get it for you before you could even stand up.

After a few episodes, you decided to speak. "Y'know, a lot of people like Jess, but I just can't see why." you said nonchalantly.

JJ looked at you with a confused expression and furrowed brows. Not that he was the biggest fan of that character, but he was curious as to why.

You took his look as a sign to expound on your stand. "Mm, he just doesn't seem to have the best influence on Rory. Not that he really influences her or anything, but you know what I mean?" you sat up straight to look at the blonde boy next to you.

"Not that Dean was either, I remember you droning on and on to me about that one house wife episode. What was it again? Diane Reed?" JJ replied. "Donna Reed. And you know I don't like Dean at all, I just don't think Jess was that big of an upgrade." you simply shrugged.

"And why is that? He and Rory have more things in common than she and Dean did." the blonde inquired.

"It's not really a problem with compatibility. He's just getting into fights all the time, he's incredibly disrespectful to both Luke and Lorelai, even Rory sometimes! And the whole bad boy, good girl thing they have going on isn't exactly the best thing." you said.

JJ doesn't know why, but he somehow felt himself getting defensive.

He scoffs. "So what, they're in love! Since when was opposites attract a bad thing?" his tone was shifting now, and this took you aback.

"He picks fights for no reason! I'm sorry that I'm not soft for him all because he likes to read books!" you met his tone with a hint of sarcasm.

"Is this because he's not some rich kid with a trust fund like Rory? Are those your standards?" he said. You were just bewildered by this argument now.

"Where are you even getting this?" you asked in disbelief.

"Look, I'm just saying that I don't see anything wrong with Jess! It just seems like you're nitpicking what he does." JJ was standing up now.

"Why are you taking this so personally? Is it so wrong for me to dislike a character?" you stood up as well.

"I don't know. It just seems weird that a character you don't exactly like is damn similar to me!" the blonde said, frustration mixed with confusion laced in his voice.

"What? JJ, you and Jess are two completely different people. I don't know what you're talking about--" you were cut off by him discarding your statement with a wave of his hand.

"You know what, I should really head over to John B's. I'll see you later." he said blandly, walking past you and heading for the door.

"You idiot!" Kie exclaimed once JJ stopped his retelling of that morning's events. "You know she would never even think about comparing you to someone in such an awful manner, gosh. That girl loves you so damn much it actually concerns me. Don't get me started on when you brought up the trust fund thing" she scolded.

"And dude, for the record, this Milo Ventimiglia guy is way hotter than you." John B said, showing them all a photo of him he found on google as if to say this was a reason the two couldn't be compared.

"Wow, thanks JB." JJ said sarcastically.

"Look, man, your girl's smart. She'll realize what you were implying with your argument and might get hurt." Pope added. Kie nodded furiously.

JJ's blue eyes softened at the thought of his words hurting his own girl. "Oh, man." he sunk into the couch, burying his face in his hands. After a few moments he sat back up properly. "Okay, hopefully she's still going to the party, if I can't make amends there I'll buy flowers and go to her house." he continued seriously.

Sarah was sitting on your bed as you threw clothes around your room from your closet in search of an outfit all while filling her in on your argument with JJ.

"I mean, how could he even think that I was comparing him with a character I was talking distastefully about? JJ's perfect to me, I don't see how he's as 'bad' as Jess as he thought I was implying." you rambled while inspecting one of your laced tank tops, nodding to yourself and throwing it onto your bed as a sign of approval.

"I didn't realize that what I was saying seemed to hit him where it hurt. I feel bad about that, but I'm still frustrated." you continued while eyeing two sweaters in your hands, deciding to go with the one that belonged to your boyfriend.

"You didn't know. Honestly, I think JJ still thinks he's not good enough for you. Not just with the whole kook and pogue thing he told us before." your friend said while tracing her finger over the lace on your top.

You paused and threw a pair of shorts next to your sweater and top before turning around to face Sarah.

"He thinks that?" you asked with soft eyes. "Oh.. I'm taking this as you guys haven't talked about that yet." she said.

"No, we haven't. I didn't even know he felt that way" you said.

Sarah smiled. "Well, a reason to talk to him later. Right?" she asked with a slightly tilted head. You gave her a tight lipped smile and a nod.

"Yeah. And here I was thinking seeing him later was a bad idea." you said, more to yourself than to your friend.

"You better get ready then, party starts in an hour. I'll help you with your makeup." Sarah said, standing up and handing you your outfit.

Your ears were filled with the sounds of party music, loud cheering, chattering, the opening of bottles of booze accompanied with the chants of some random guy's friends telling him to chug.

You were walking around the party on your own, Sarah already went her own way to look for John B.

Your eyes scanned the beach for the head of blonde hair and blue eyes you loved dearly. You were still eyeing the area as some guy randomly walked up to you and started trying to flirt with you by using pickup lines.

Your ears practically tuned his voice out from the get go.

Your heart rate seemed to have picked up when you saw your boyfriend from afar with some of his other friends that seemed only a bit familiar to you. He looked happy. Smiling widely and laughing after downing a red cup filled with beer with ease.

After looking at him for a few seconds, practically burning a whole into his skull with your gaze, he turned around and made eye contact.

You turned around almost immediately and shifted your attention to the guy in front of you.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" you asked in pure confusion, clueless as to why this man even approached you.

He smirked. "Well, my last statement was asking how a pretty girl such as yourself is alone at a blowout like this." he said.

You took a half step back in slight discomfort. Unbeknownst to you, this didn't go unnoticed by JJ and he immediately excused himself and made his way over to you.

You didn't realize the blonde boy's presence until you felt the all too familiar warm hand of his snake around your waist, pulling you close.

After looking up and seeing him, you faced the guy in front of you with a small smile. The poor boy seemed confused.

JJ shifted his gaze to you. "This a new friend of yours baby?" he gestured the hand that held his red cup towards him.

"Oh, uh- I didn't know you had a boyfriend." he scratched the back of his neck.

"You never gave me the chance to tell you." you simply shrugged.

"Okay then.. Bye." he backtracked as he stated before walking off in long and fast paced strides. JJ simply laughed at this.

"J, can we talk?" you turned to face him properly, looking around to to signal that the conversation should be held somewhere more private. He nodded and you both went to the empty side of the beach.

Once you were both just standing still, there was a rather awkward silence.

"You look gorgeous tonight, as always." he said with a smile that you returned.

"I'm sorry." he simply said. You looked up at him, confused. "I overreacted." he continued.

"JJ, I'm sorry. I didn't realize that what I said could come off as comparison." you said as you looked down.

JJ furrowed his eyebrows and held your chin, tilting it upwards so you were looking at him.

"Why are you apologizing? You couldn't have known. It's just- well, sometimes I can't help but feel that you're too good for me" he said, dropping his hand to your hips as he threw the red cup to the ground so his other hand could mirror this. He played with the hem of your sweater.

"Yeah, a little birdie told me you thought that." you said, the frown on your face somehow heard in your voice. "Sarah," JJ practically groaned to which you nodded.

"I don't get how you could even think that. I think the opposite at times, you're too good for me." you shook your head.

JJ tilted his head to the side as if his reason was the most obvious thing in the world. He scoffed slightly with a smile. "Just look at you. We're from two different social classes, you're a total good girl, and let's face it. I get into fights like Jess and I admit that I'm not the best influence." he said.

"Those social classes don't matter. And JJ, hey look at me, you are not Jess. You get into fights because you're defending your friends, you're defending me. You are loyal, amazing, a person with all these good adjectives and a great heart. You're respectful, my parents love you. I love you. So don't you ever think that you're not good enough because you're more than enough. Got it?" you said as you trapped his face in between your hands.

His hands were on your wrists, and he was smiling with tears slightly welling in his eyes. "I love you, so damn much." he whispered lovingly before pressing a kiss into the palm of your hand. You smiled widely at this.

"Let's ditch this party, wreck our plans." you said as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "Not a bad idea, let's hit the chateau this time." he replied, pulling you flush to him. You smiled and pressed a quick kiss onto his lips.

After pulling away you decided to message Sarah before leaving.

Hey, I'll be heading back early tonight.

You picked up JJ's red cup from the ground to dispose of properly before standing up and intertwining your hands together.

"You pick the show this time." you told him. "Sounds great to me." he smiled before falling into step with you.

Your phone dinged, indicating that Sarah responded. You shook your read with a smile as you read the reply.

Yeah right.

juls speaks. I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED! this was so cute to write oh my gosh, i swear, this had me giggling and all.

[wondrousmay]

*SxF ch102 manga spoilers*

I was somewhat prepared for Martha and Henry’s reunion but I was totally caught off guard by Martha’s reunion with her parents. It was such a beautiful way to start the chapter. Once again, Endo-sensei’s wordless panels conveyed all the emotions.

Martha tearfully embracing her parents, the panel of their homemade dinner and the entire family happily enjoying the meal together and Martha sound asleep in her bed with her mother watching over her. A lovely display of familial love in a single page ❤️