#the vivid colors the expressiveness of the face the movement of the hair--

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗟𝗦 𝗢𝗙 𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗛 | 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝟮

　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: The Hanahaki Disease is a rare illness where the patient throws up and coughs flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. In order to fully recover from the disease, it's necessary that the one they're in love with fall in love with them too. Or to fall in love with somebody else.

WARNING: Stomachaches, lung aches, nauseas, mentions of one-sided love. ANGST, with a happy ending.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 1

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N woke up the next day with a ray of sunlight filtering through the small slit in the black-out curtain that was left open, bathing the room in a soft, comforting light. For a moment, she felt disoriented, but soon, the familiarity of her surroundings enveloped her mind, reminding herself of where she was and the events of the previous night. A shiver ran through her body due to the vivid memories of the attack.

The girl sighed, closing her eyes and lazily stretching out on the mattress, feeling genuinely rested for the first time in what seemed like months, a sense of peace and security enveloping her body.

Deciding to face the day in a different way, Y/N got out of bed carefully. She swept her eyes around the room, noticing that Matt was no longer there, the muffled sound of cutlery echoing from the kitchen alerting her to his presence there.

The girl walked slowly towards the kitchen, where the tempting aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted her, her eyes finding Matt, who had his back turned to her, fiddling with some items on the counter between the sink and the stove, probably preparing breakfast.

"Good morning." Her voice came out in a shy whisper, her arms crossing around her torso and a small smile forming on her lips.

"Oh my God, you scared me." Matt brought his hand to his chest, just above his heart, as his body quickly turned to face her.

"Sorry." A nasal laugh escaped Y/N's, her palms momentarily rubbing the sides of her thighs, wiping her sweaty palms on her pajamas pants.

"Come, sit down." The brunette pointed to one of the chairs around the central table with his chin, turning back to his initial task.

Y/N slowly walked towards the table, her eyes traveling through the kitchen and living room quickly, thanking mentally that Chris and his girlfriend weren't there, probably in his own room. A feeling of nausea rose from the pit of her stomach at the possibility, making her shake her head quickly, shaking off the haunting thoughts.

Matt brought the girl a steaming mug of coffee, accompanied by a small plate with two slices of toast and butter, placing them gently in front of her seat.

"Here's your breakfast." He smiled childish, a gleam of amusement in his eyes as his hands made jazzy gestures towards the itens.

"Thank you, kind sir." Y/N let out a low laugh, taking a small bite of her toast. "Wow, what are you, Auguste Gusteau?"

Matt smiled at her joke, a red blush coloring his cheeks.

"Oh, I try." He shrugged, pretending to throw his fake long hair back, eliciting a new laugh from the girl.

As they enjoyed breakfast in comfortable silence, Y/N couldn't help but remember the heartfelt confession Matt had made the night before when he thought she was asleep. Her mind flashed back to the soft words he had murmured, expressing his true feelings.

Her eyes stared at the bottom of her plate as her mouth chewed on the small pieces of toast, weighing the possibilities.

"Matt." She called in a whisper, watching the boy, who looked up from his bowl, chewing the milk and cereal mixture slowly, a small "hm?" escaping from his throat. "Would you like to go out today? With me?"

Matt's eyes widened slightly in surprise, his jaw stopping its movements instantly, swallowing abruptly the entire contents.

"Sure!" His voice sounded high-pitched. "I mean, sure." He nodded using a more casual tone, smiling sheepishly. "What do you want to do?"

"Can we go to that amusement park we passed in front last week?" The girl proposed, looking at him with expectation written in her eyes.

"Of course! Let's go then." Matt nodded quickly, rising from his chair and taking the empty plate in front of her along with his bowl of cereal, putting them in the sink.

"Wait! Now?" She widened her eyes in surprise, placing her coffee mug on the wooden surface again, her mouth opening slightly.

"Uh, yeah... I mean, only if you want." The brunette added, turning on the sink tap and starting to wash the dirty dishes, avoiding looking at the girl behind him, feeling the skin of his face burn with embarrassment.

"Okay."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Y/N knocked twice lightly on Nick's bedroom door with her closed fist before slowly opening it. Her eyes traveled around the room, finding Nick sitting at his computer desk, probably still editing the podcast or writing a new script for the next video.

"Hey Nick." She smiled, closing the door behind her back.

"Look who decided to show up." Nick replied in an amused tone, looking up from his computer screen to take a look at her. "Did you get any rest?"

"Yeah, I had a little attack earlier in the night, but Matt helped me." She walked slowly to the boy's closet, opening it and running her hands through the ones she left there.

"Do you want to stay here with me today? I still need to finish this." The boy asked, turning his eyes back to the screen in front of him as his hands lightly adjusted the headphone around his neck.

"Well, Matt and I are going out today." She confessed, trying to sound casual, keeping her eyes fixed on the clothes.

Nick froze momentarily, his hands hovering above the keyboard as his mind seemed to work fast. It wasn't at all unusual for Matt and Y/N to hang out - even though Nick was almost always with them - but at that moment, he could feel a hint of something different behind her sentence.

"Is that so?" He asked suggestively, with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Where are you guys going?"

She blushed slightly, feeling shyness at the situation, an air of confusion and excitement surrounding her mind.

"To the amusement park." The girl shrugged, selecting the pieces she would wear and finally turning to Nick.

"Hey, that's great! Have fun." The brunette smiled genuinely at her, the meaning behind his words echoing through the walls of the room.

"I will, Nick... I will."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The sun shone in the blue sky as Y/N and Matt walked from the parking lot towards the amusement park, their hands almost touching from their proximity. Y/N's heart beating wildly in her chest, a mixture of nervousness and hope filling her heart.

The sound of laughter and lively music echoed in the air, creating an atmosphere of excitement and joy around them, along with the delicious smell of food and the sight of colorful lights flashing everywhere.

Y/N felt enveloped by the magical atmosphere automatically, trying to push away the intrusive thoughts about Chris that persisted in haunting her mind.

Matt noticed her momentary hesitation, even if it was almost disguised, his right hand landing gently on her shoulder.

"Are you okay?" He asked, worried about her distant look. "If you want, we can leave-"

"No! No, it's okay." She smiled small, shaking her head, trying to dispel his worries. "I'm fine. Just a little nervous, that's all..."

Matt smiled, his expression softening with understanding.

"Don't worry, nothing will happen... I'm here with you." His voice sounded calm and comforting.

Their eyes met momentarily, pupils fixed on each other, and the world seemed to pause its rotation. All the fear and nausea that Y/N felt seemed to dissipate. A small smile grew on her face when she saw Matt move his eyebrows slightly, with an amused glow that tried to convey some kind of reassurance to the girl.

Y/N looked away seconds later, finally able to observe every detail around them carefully.

"Wow." She opened her lips slightly, her eyes moving quickly without knowing exactly where to look at. It had been so long since she had done something like that.

Matt smiled, watching her delighted expression for a few more seconds before finally taking his eyes off her, feeling his heart speed up.

"Where do you want to start?"

The two decided to start with a roller coaster, and while they waited in line, Matt kept a light and relaxed conversation, helping Y/N to relax little by little, her anxiety slowly decreasing as they shared laughs and hidden glances.

When it was finally their turn, they boarded the cart, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through Matt's veins as Y/N felt more than ready, the adrenaline would serve her well at that moment.

Screams were shared as Matt raised his arms like a child, and Y/N let out loud laughter, their hair mixing against the wind.

The rides were complete, and soon, they disembarked. Y/N felt euphoric, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her body as she bounced with each step, quick words escaping her lips, explaining every sensation she felt.

Matt observed her with a wide smile, his eyes shining with his excitement and his heart warming immensely. He felt his hands tingling, silently begging him to pull her into a kiss.

As the day progressed, they continued exploring the park, enjoying all the attractions it had to offer while eating sweets and, on Matt's side, gaining teddy bears on the little games, giving them all to the girl.

Despite the doubts and fears that still hovered in her mind, Y/N was able to relax and forget about her illness for a few hours.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

In the days following their "date" at the amusement park, Y/N and Matt continued to get closer in a different way more and more. Matt showed his affection in many ways, through small gestures and acts of service that did not go unnoticed by the girl.

In one morning that she had slept at the triplets' house again, after a significantly difficult night of meltdowns, Y/N woke up on Nick's bedroom with a mug of hot cappuccino on the bedside table next to her side, prepared by Matt before she even woke up, along with a small pink post-it containing a heart and a small "good morning" written by a glittery pen.

During other days, they shared laughs and lively conversations, Matt always there to listen and support the girl through Hanahaki's ups and downs.

Y/N lost count of how many times he accompanied her back to her own home, and there he would help her with simple tasks, such as folding clothes or making dinner for her, demonstrating his care and attention in every small gesture.

At night, before bed, when she decided to spend the night with Matt, the boy would tuck her into his arms, offering comfort and security while she drifted off to sleep. His touches were soft and comforting, conveying a sense of peace that made her feel loved and protected, something she never thought she would feel.

Over time, Y/N began to notice these subtle signs of affection, recognizing Matt's love and dedication in a new and profound way that slowly cut the thorns from the roses in her lungs, showering them with a secret passion.

At first, the girl resisted, fearing that the love she knew was growing in her own heart for the boy would only fuel her illness, but as Matt enveloped her in his warmth, she began to blossom in a different way.

Her heart, once a devastated field of withered petals, now opened like a flower blooming in the sun. Hanahaki's flowers began to slowly wither, replaced by a new type of flowering: that of required love.

Every moment shared between the two was a blessing, a relief from the pain that had consumed Y/N for so many weeks. Matt's soft touches and gentle words healed the wounds that Chris had caused, even if unconsciously.

It was just another peaceful night that the two spent together at the triplets' house. Matt and Y/N enjoyed their favorite food delivered by a delivery service while watching a movie that had recently been released on Netflix.

The proximity of their bodies on the soft couch made the girl's heart beat fast in her chest, the tension increasing with each passing second as her mind created millions of scenarios of how she could even open up to him.

Matt gave her a worried look, noticing her stillness.

"Are you okay?" He asked after swallowing the bite he was chewing of the fast food, his voice soft and full of concern.

Y/N turned her head to him quickly, frowning before nodding, feeling nervous.

"Yes, I'm fine... Actually, there's something I need to tell you." She admitted slowly, her voice shaking with anticipation.

Matt stopped his movements, resting the burger in his hands on the box it came in, focusing all his attention on the girl, his blue eyes brimming with curiosity.

"I actually need to tell you something, too." The boy muttered with a playful smile on his face.

"You can... you can go first." She asked, raising her right hand and pointing towards his chest momentarily, clearing her throat awkwardly.

Matt took a deep breath, pressing his lips into a thin line as he gathered the courage to finally express his feelings while looking into her open eyes.

"You know, we've known each other for so long, right? And from the first moment, my heart hasn't stopped beating faster than normal whenever I'm with you." Matt said cautiously, watching her reactions carefully. "And then I found out that you were hurt badly because of my brother... I swear my heart broke into a thousand pieces, and I realized how much you really meant to me. I remember the exact moment it happened. You were so pretty-" He interrupted his sentence, widening his eyes. "Not that you don't look pretty now, you definitely do, you always look pretty, stunning even-"

"Matt, you're rambling." Y/N interrupted him in a whisper, feeling her face burn with shyness.

"I'm sorry! What I'm trying to say is..." He hesitated, taking a deep breath and reaching out his right hand, taking Y/N's one, tracing her knuckles gently with his thumb.

Y/N's breathing seemed to catch, her heart beating so hard she felt like she could hear it in her ears, goosebumps traveling up her arms as her eyes focused on their intertwined hands.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Y/N's chest bloomed in a good way. She felt as if all the roots and branches within her lungs retracted until they became dust, finally feeling as if she could breathe again.

"Matt, I... I love you too."

"You do?" The boy's voice came out at a higher volume than previously used, his posture straightening up and his fingers squeezing Y/N's hand in an involuntary act of nervousness.

"I do. You know, I've been thinking a lot about us lately, and..." She began with a deep breath, her eyes meeting his, her heart warming almost automatically upon seeing his dilated pupils holding so much love. "I thought I would never be happy again... that I would be doomed to suffocate on the petals of my own disaster forever."

She paused, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

"But then you started helping me along with Nick, and every gesture of care, every word of affirmation and every comforting touch made me feel loved in a way I never even imagined I would feel one day." She continued, her eyes shining with the intensity of words. "This is so cliché, but you showed me that I could be loved by someone."

"How did you...?"

"I heard you talking about how you felt about me in that night that I slept in your room and had that crisis in the bathroom." The girl said, watching Matt's eyes widen momentarily as a reddish hue took over his milky skin, an embarrassed smile spreading across his cheeks.

"I didn't know you were awake." He let out a breathy laugh, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand.

"I know you didn't." Y/N smiled teasingly. "Why don't you give me that kiss now, huh?"

Matt rolled his eyes at her advance, bringing his upper body closer to hers slowly, resting his weight on the back of the couch with his free hand.

Their gaze met momentarily while their breaths intertwined in a synchronized rhythm. The soft touch of hands still together sending a pulsing electricity through their bodies, while their hearts beat in unison.

A shy smile plays on Matt's lips, a mix of nervousness and anticipation hanging in the air. Then, without wasting time, the boy moves forward, touching her lips in a soft and passionate kiss.

A wave of heat and ecstasy washes over them, every cell in their bodies vibrating with the intensity of the moment. They lose themselves in each other's sweet taste. Their once joined hands now travel through their bodies freely, exploring waists, hips, and shoulders.

The world around seems to disappear, leaving only the feeling of their closeness to each other, as if they were the only two beings in the universe.

The sound of the house's front door opening and closing seconds later seems to wake them up, their tongues separating from the addictive dance as their bodies snuggle against the couch upholstery again.

Y/N's cheeks burned with love and shyness while she felt like her heart wanted to jump out of her chests and probably intertwine itself with his. Matt took a deep breath, a completely goofy smile resting on his face as his blue eyes carried a dazed look.

They felt like teenagers again.

The figure of Chris climbing the last few steps of the stairs with his girlfriend behind him appeared in their vision. Matt swallowed hard, ready to help the girl next to him if a crisis came. Despite her earlier confession, he couldn't help but feel insecure that there was still some remnant of love for his brother within her heart.

But the crisis never came.

Y/N briefly greeted the couple, smiling truthful at the sight of them crossing the room towards the stairs that led to Chris bedroom, before looking at Matt again. Her left hand reached for his one, intertwining their fingers before lightly squeezing them three times.

I love you.

taglist:

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(If you want to be added to the taglist, go to this post)

[god-has-entered-my-body]

need mpind matty begging for attention from both george and girlie and just neither of them giving him any, getting him all dressed up like a pretty girl just to ignore him and leave him needy 🦈

thinking thoughts thoughts sooooooo many thoughts its a bit shit but heres a little snapshot of what that would look like x

There's a specific way the three of you sit whenever George comes over. If you're smoking/just talking, it's you and G on the sofa while Matty sits cross-legged on the coffee table.

This time, however, you're all getting ready to watch a film, Matty still in the other room while George rolls a spliff, lighting it for you. The smoke curls in the air as you take a drag, his hand on your thigh making your heart thrum against your ribs, his fingers long and rough against your bare skin.

You can hear Matty in the bathroom down the hall, humming to himself as various objects clatter around in the marble sink, the noise getting to be a bit annoying. Why is he putting on makeup to stay home? George rolls his eyes and points in his direction when you make eye contact, prompting you to nod in agreement.

The sink stops running abruptly as the door clicks open, Matty's footsteps audible against the hard floor as he walks through the house, stopping in front of the full length mirror for a few seconds to admire himself. The moment he comes into view, circling around the sofa to stand in front of you and George, you can feel air leave your lungs along with George's hand tensing on your thigh.

Matty smirks as you take him in in full. The light from the TV flickers behind him, painting his body in vivid colors as your eyes rake up and down his frame. Dark grey jeans hang low on his hips, so low, in fact, that his hip tattoo is completely visible, leaving barely anything to the imagination. His chest if clad in a too-small pink shirt, the sleeves long and tight on his arms.

"Starting without me?" Matty speaks, dragging his words out in that way he know drives you and George crazy, narrowing his eyes and George's heavy breathing. There's a small bit of space between you, and Matty makes himself comfortable, squeezing onto the sofa. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, his expression a bit depleted as neither of you react, focussing most of your attention to the movie playing in front of you.

Matty sighs dramatically, stretching his arms and arching his back, his shirt riding up his stomach. George makes brief eye contact with you, the slight shake of his head telling you all you need to know. Matty continues his little spiel, draping himself over the two of you, his head in your lap, his legs across George's, shifting and moving every few seconds under the guise of "getting more comfortable."

You can feel your core stir at the soft noises he makes whenever his arms stretch above his head, his curls tickling the inside of your thighs as you watch him watch the movie, avoiding his gaze whenever he turns to look at you.

George does the same, and you catch him sneaking glances whenever he gets the chance, his face dusted with a blush so prominent it'd be a miracle Matty didn't see it. The final straw is small, a simple movement that has George grabbing Matty's leg in a heartbeat, you own hands gripping his jaw as he yelps. Matty's leg moves one last time, purposefully grinding down onto George's crotch, making him groan at he friction.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" George asks, his voice deeps and hoarse, eyes piercing Matty's as the curly haired boy stays silent for a few heartbeats. "Nothing in particular."

Matty is lying through his teeth so obviously it's genuinely laughable, a teasing smile dancing on his lips as George stares at him, eyes darting from feature to feature. "Are you sure about that, baby? I didn't think you'd be one to lie to us."

You coo at him, your hands weaving through his brushed through hair as he looks up from your lap, eyes silently pleading, contradicting his own words. "Please, fuck-" he whines, throwing his head back as George's grip on his thigh tightens, keeping him in place.

"What do you want, Matthew? Got to use your words properly." The use of his full name never fails to turn him on, his cock twitching in his pretty blue panties as George's words reverberate through his whole body.

You brush your fingers along his jaw, gazing at him sweetly like you aren't envisioning him in dozens of compromising positions, all pretty and begging. “Touch me, fuck me– anything just please. I’ve even got myself all done up for you.” his voice cracks at the end of his sentence, a smirk pulling at the corners of George’s mouth. 

“I need you so bad– Please darling, tell her how good i’ve been.” his hands grab George’s arm, still begging like his life depended on it. For him, it probably did. 

“No.” Matty whines in response, his eyes widening as your answer processes in his head. He definitely wasn't expecting that. You can see the frustration as he cranes his neck to look at you, eyes glazed over and wet. “But-” Matty gets cut off by George’s hand hovering over his cock, the bulge in his jeans growing harder the more the two of you deny him, averting your attention from him. 

Riled up and needy, Matty starts grinding up against George’s hand, panting and whimpering as pleasure licks up his spine, making him arch his back. It doesn't take long for the blonde to pull his hand away, leaving Matty gasping for air as your lips press a kiss to his temple, feeling how hot his face is. 

“Please G, fuckk– please tell him, darling.” you shake your head again, leaving his fate in George’s hands as he finally speaks, his rough voice going straight between your legs. Seeing Matty this worked up isn't helping your situation as you squeeze your thighs together, Matty so focused on his own pleasure and release that he doesn't even notice.

“Stay still, behave and watch the movie.” George speaks, his tone oddly commanding so much so even you feel compelled to lie still, not moving a single inch. “G, please–”

“Shut up Matthew, this won't end well for you.” your breath hitches at the vague threat, and Matty ceases all movement. 

Now, you’d love to say that George seemed as nonchalant as he tried to come across, but you knew Matty wasn't going to stop the moment he saw the bulge in his trousers, his cock straining against the fabric so hard it looked genuinely painful as he adjusted himself, silently praying Matty wouldn't say anything. 

[sunderingstars]

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ EIDOLON ART AS FACETS OF CHARACTER ⌝

analysis masterlist

— fandom: honkai star rail

— type: analysis, general

— word count: 1.7k

— overview: (as of 2.3) an analysis of eidolons, their art, and what they convey in terms of character. goes pretty deep into march 7th as an example, so it can partially function as a march eidolon analysis as well. meant to be a companion piece to my eidolon name analysis & sampo eidolon analysis (as well as any other characters i do down the line!)

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

Honkai: Star Rail's eidolon art can be broken down into six sections:

— E1: A frame of the character facing away, often focused on their hair and back with facial features obscured.

— E2: A close-up frame of the character's left eye, often focused on their eye color and front-facing hair with the rest of their face obscured.

— E3: A frame of the character interacting with an important object to them, often focused on what their hands are doing (can also include parts of the face).

— E4: A frame of the character's upper body, often focused on their shoulders, neck, and face. No part of the face is obscured.

— E5: A frame focused on the character's chest, often obscuring the upper half of their face.

— E6: A frame of the character without clothes, head tilting down, usually showing the upper chest area or other body parts if curled.

The progression of clarity shown in the character's body language and revealing of facial features creates a visual effect of "coming closer" to them.

E1 shows none of their face, yet by the time we reach E6 we see not only their face, but their bare skin. We are quite literally seeing them at their most vulnerable, closing the distance physically, emotionally, and mentally between the player and the character.

What I find most striking about each eidolon is that they are consistent across every character; every E1 is the same pose, and so on and so forth. This leads me to believe that the poses and placement of eidolons serve a deeper meaning than just staying at a level of visual distance — namely, that they are meant to also convey similar facets of each character. As such, we can think of them as a baseline going forward, a constant benchmark structure we can use to compare characters to one another.

Let's take March 7th as an example:

— Her E1 (Memory of You) starts with her the furthest from us, facing away to create that narrative distance. The movement of her hair signals that she may be walking away; this is her at her most closed off. Taking from my "eidolon names as narratives" post, if we assume eidolons follow a narrative structure, then this would be reminiscent of her backstory, perhaps even her appearance to strangers or even her view of her past self as a stranger to her present. Either way, this is the "wall," the outer shell of her character. Conclusions: outer shell, backstory, appearance to strangers.

— Her E2 (Memory of It) immediately establishes her bubbly nature. The bright pinks and blues from her eye pop and create a burst of energy in the picture, while the large, white shine indicates a bright and youthful personality. We also get a better look at her vivid pink hair, which adds to the "bubbly girl" persona. This is our next look in, coming closer and getting a first impression of her true personality. I believe this may also be meant to represent the moment she woke up from the ice, as the "it" in "memory of it" may be referring to the ice itself. Conclusions: first impression, inciting incident, appearance to newcomers.

— Her E3 (Memory of Everything) further cements her cheerful disposition, as her smile and tilting head indicate an open and friendly figure. The important object she is fiddling with is an earring. While I have not been able to find any canonical significance for this earring in her lore or character details, my assumption would be that this is an item given to her by the Astral Express crew after awakening from the ice. As such, it not only implicates her interest in fashion, but a cherishing of the crew that is helping her build a new life for herself. I would say this also signals the point in her story where she is accepted by the crew; her memories are becoming filled with a new "everything" as the world opens up before her. Conclusions: important object, new life, appearance to acquaintances.

— Her E4 (Never Forfeit Again) shows her looking over her back while flashing a peace sign. (This is absolutely my favorite eidolon of hers, it's so cute and friendly!) As we (the viewer) are getting closer to her in space and time, she is accepting us in by smiling and making a gesture often associated with fun and excitement. Through this, she is showing us that not only is she excited to know us, but excited to see the world in general. "Never forfeit again" hints that this excitement may be because she doesn't want to give up or lose another life, so she is trying her best to make this new one vibrant and enjoyable. However, this is still not the core of her being; it is more authentic than before, but there is more to go. Conclusions: balance between both sides of vulnerability, present events, appearance to friends.

— Her E5 (Never Forget Again) shows her slightly looking past us, focused on her collar and shirt. She looks more dull here, muted, as if she is comfortable enough to look away while still facing us, putting her trust in the audience to be safe. The smile is still there, though it doesn't seem as exaggerated as before; instead it seems more casual, like we are having a day-to-day interaction. However, there is also something ominous about another part of her face being obscured — even though we are closer to her, there are still secrets she is keeping, some that not even she may be aware of. I believe this indicates the mystery of her character, that there are still things to be uncovered. After all, what does the other "half" of her look like? Conclusions: casual and comfortable, future mystery, appearance to close friends.

— Finally, her E6 (Just Like This, Always) shows her at her most physically, mentally, and emotionally vulnerable, curled around herself without any clothes on. My guess is that this is her core essence, meant to symbolize the pose of her body while trapped in ice. The way she hugs herself seems to indicate coldness (and therefore, an attempt to keep herself warm), while the curling of her legs conjures a feeling of trying to keep something in, to keep her memories from escaping. This is the "March" at the center of her, the pure, vulnerable soul of her being. Beyond the bubbly exterior is someone who is scared and freezing, trying desperately to make new memories and cling to them before they fade. "Just like this, always" is also a major indicator to this being her constant state, something that sticks with her from the past to the present to the future. Conclusions: pure vulnerability, core essence, appearance to only a select few special people.

So, here are my summarized conclusions for the "baseline" of eidolon art:

— E1: Outer shell, backstory, appearance to strangers.

— E2: First impression, inciting incident, appearance to newcomers.

— E3: Important object, new life, appearance to acquaintances.

— E4: Balance between both sides of vulnerability, present events, appearance to friends.

— E5: Casual and comfortable, future mystery, appearance to close friends.

— E6: Pure vulnerability, core essence, appearance to only a select few special people.

Before I give my final thoughts, let's do a quicker and shorter application of these concepts to another example, Gepard:

— E1 (Due Diligence): Symbolizes his backstory, the distance of working his way up through the ranks, and a strong, loyal silhouette for those who don't know him.

— E2 (Lingering Cold): Can be interpreted several ways, but I view the "inciting incident" to be several events in a trenchcoat, namely every past battle he fought under the Supreme Guardian, the "lingering cold" of war. Tired yet determined eyes at first glance. Most likely the view his soldiers have on the day-to-day.

— E3 (Never Surrender): The important object is the Silvermane Medal indicating his status as Captain (shows the importance he places on loyalty and leadership). His face is not shown; he values his service to Belobog more than his own feelings. New life as a Captain leading the charge, covers the span of time between the inciting incident and present. Despite losses and setbacks, he pushes forward.

— E4 (Faith Moves Mountains): Active and commanding, tracks events in the Belobog Trailblaze Mission where he has more interaction with his soldiers and the main cast. Faith in Cocolia is difficult to break down, then replaced by faith in Bronya. The Gepard his soldiers see up close on the battlefield; comrades-in-arms.

— E5 (Cold Iron Fist): Comfortable enough to look away, yet still on-guard. Even around close friends, his instincts lead him to always be alert. Eyes narrowed, scanning surroundings. Future uncertainty for the fate of Belobog.

— E6 (Unyielding Resolve): Almost hesitant body language; slight furrow to brow betraying difficulty being vulnerable. Only slightly turned away, as if still on guard; core essence is strength and loyalty.

Overall, while these are standard commonalities I've come across while looking at eidolons, I'm sure there are slight deviations between characters. After all, facets are bound to change slightly depending on the personality of the character. However, the common eidolon poses and analysis discussed here lead me to believe the facets shown in E1-E6 art have deeper meaning and connection to each character, tracking across time and space to reveal more and more about a character’s personality until finally arriving at the "core essence" of E6.

(Feel free to try applying this to other eidolons of your favorite characters — since I drew these conclusions from general commonalities across eidolon sets, they should be able to work with any given character (with slight deviations). I think it’s a fun brain exercise to get thinking about each character’s personality and story!)

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જ⁀➴ and that's the end of my analysis! if you’ve read to the end, thank you for listening to my nerdy rambling! i’ll be posting an in-depth analysis of sampo’s eidolons soon, so if anyone is interested please keep a look out for that!

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© analysis by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[gypsophiliaz]

“ douceur „

quanxi x fem florist | barista reader.

multiple part series. first part thats just pretty fluffy and romancey!! first time writing and actually publishing it so ermm leave tips ig idk. ik the pacing is weird but its bc i like to write in detail.

feminine reader x quanxi, includes romance. >:3 smut in later chapters or wtv.

disclaimer ; I've never written like romance before so forgive me lol. I write with extreme detail too so it probably gonna be the SLOWEST burn ever. also she smokes weed cuz ion fuck wit that cig shit lmfao

CHAPTER I

being a florist in tokyo isn't anything you thought you'd be finding yourself doing. though, being drawn to the sweet and naturey smell of flowers wouldn't suprise anyone who had known you before. head over heels constantly in love with all kinds of plants and flowers, from spider lilies to hydrangea, peony and flower arrangements in themselves.

. . .

you'd adjust your grip on the box cutter in your dominant hand, the vivid pink color of it mixing with the warm lighting above you, the blade swiftly and sharply cutting through the protruding thorns of the white roses, the remaining water inside would drip slightly onto the paper below the bouqet would find itself sitting inside of momentarily. a smell similar of freshly cut grass would fill your senses, and the cozy and comforting feel of the floristry – cafe place that you had recently assigned yourself to.

the smell of coffee, tea, and the baby's breath that sat to the right of you would fill the air, a rainy day with cars ever–so making light noises as their wheels splash and sputter inside of the puddles left by the rain. the annoying ding of the door would fill your ears once more, and like clock–work the all too familiar words would spill out of your mouth.

“ Welcome to Yrlissa's Flowery, How may I be of assistance? ”

as your eyes lazily drifted off the commissed bouqet that laid on the counter infront of you, your eyes would laid upon a tall lady, with a muscular yet slim figure. wispy bangs and a lacey eyepatch concealing her right eye. the rest of her thin hair contained by a black hairtie— who the hell visits a flower shop in a full black suit? Is she going to a fucking funeral ?

NOT professional thoughts. get it together!!!

the lady would approach the counter, with an almost monochromatic expression. not one emotion would appear on her face, and no body language out of the ordinary. her movements would seem almost perfected calculated, almost uncanny even, but as she grew closer the smell of the the roses and baby's breath would be replaced with the smell of marijuana.

the footsteps would come to a halt uncomfortably close to you, or maybe it would seem that way since shes near the height of a basketball player and you couldn't be any closer to a smurf, and also leaning over flowers with posture far from the best in the world– a few seconds of silence commence, the ladies eyes piercing above to read the sign. her lips parting to finally speak.

“A small espresso will do, please.”

“ would you like sugar or cream? ”

“ Surprise me. ”

the click of the box cutters blade retracting back into itself, and the clack of its placement onto the counter would follow her sentence. with your feet tapping to the cups behind you, and your body language obviously showing your nervousness, you'd swiftly grab it and draw back over to the counter near the woman.

tipping over the jug of geyser water just measuring to the line that marks a half liter. the sound of the water filling up would once again save you from extremely embarrassment from the pure awkwardness of the situation at hand.

. . . .

you'd stretch your hand over and weigh out 20 grams of coffee beans, pouring them into a small tin and placing them on the miniature scale. the lady bringing a stop to the awkward silence that filled the air.

“ I take it it's relaxing to work here hm? ”

“ It's nice on it's slow days, but then there's times like valentines day, and wedding season ykno? ”

“I'd imagine.”

as a few weeks passed, the lady swiftly became a regular. almost always coming in during your shift or being there before you clock in. a name you wrote on the coffee cup almost every shift, the type of name that rolls off your tongue sweet and slick, — quanxi. another day had arrived, opening the door to yrlissa's the bell would chime as you walked in, swiftly pittering to clock in, not missing quanxi sitting in the corner of the shop, as always.

she would stay for a few hours and make nice company on slow days, an often occurrence it would be to sit and speak with her while filling out the commissions for bouqets, and other kinds of assortments. it didn't take long to realize quanxi liked more to listen than to speak.

today was october 5th. the chill in the air sweeping into the store moments after the bell on the door would ring. it didn't take long for you to learn to brace yourself against the cold on the cue of the chime. completing the same ol' sequence you'd do everyday, steaming the milk and poking holes in the puck of espresso, yet this time for yourself to warm up on the cold day.

the thick fog outside would make seeing the people and events happening outside near impossible. pouring the milk, then espresso, a drizzle of caramel and whipped cream onntop, the perfect go—to drink. the cup would warm your hands, soothing you and bringing you into relaxation with the first sip, a small breath leaving your parted lips—

the all too familiar chime would fill your ears.

bruh.

quickly stepping behind the counter to at least shield your lower half. or.. 90% of ur body bc ur a fucking smurf. srry im writing this in my perspective im fucking 5'0. the chill would still expectedly hit your face and torso, sending a small shiver up your spine. gripping the cup of coffee just a bit tighter to warm your hands once again. fluttering your lashes and squinting to keep the ice cold air out of your eyes, you'd realize who'd walked in.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cold.” Quanxi would say, looking back and closing the door softly behind her as not to brush more cold air inside. this time she was wearing a brown turtle-neck under her coat and long black pants. she'd take a deep breath in and pull her other hand out of her pocket.

“you're fine don't worry. at least it's not another total stranger walking in, I think I'd rot inside having to make any more small talk today.” you'd set down your coffee to start her order, placing it beside the cash register and lean on the counter with the corner digging into your palms.

“Usual?”

“Mm.”

Quanxi would approach the table near the entrance of the work space, leaving about 3-5 feet in between the two of you as you started her order. It took her a few days in the beginning but she got what she wanted down pack. a shot of espresso, mixed softly into chocolate syrup followed by warm steamed milk and whipped cream. In other words, a Caffé Mocha. with some extra chocolate.

. . . should probably start that order

you'd started serving quanxi in the pretty white mugs boss lady told you not to use, simply to reduce dishes. but you didn't mind washing one or two for quanxi. You'd hear the clink of her keys being placed onto the table before she'd speak.

“How's work been treating you lately? ” Quanxi would say to you, looking at you completely still with a hand propped up under her chin, but still as nonchalant as usual. It was hard to believe she was genuinely interested sometimes.

pouring the chocolate into the bottom of the cup focusedly, to make it look as pretty and perfect as can be, you'd take a second before answering. “Horrible, Actually. This guy yesterday, came in and got mad at me because I forgot to put caramel on top of his frappe. He ended up throwing it on the floor, and of course I had to clean it. ”

Quanxi's eyes would follow the way you carefully made the coffee. The way you'd twirl the cup to make sure it was evenly distributed, and the way you'd add extra for her, even though she didn't ask for it. Nor did she really like how sweet it made the drink, but to her it was an act of kindness.

"Mm."

“Oh! and thennnn I had a lady come in here with her boyfriend and I guess I was a bit too friendly with her and she pulled me to the side and basically threatened me. I'm not one for wanting a guy in general. That was actually around a week ago and she came back a few days ago an—”

the glass pot to steam the milk in would fall to the ground instantly shattering. nothing but the thought of your boss chewing you out rushes into your mind. not only is it expensive to replace, it was definitely coming out of your paycheck. Quanxi wasted no time raising out of her chair and assisting you with cleanup even before you, yourself could process what had happened.

“thank you. god my boss is gonna make me pay for this. . . " you'd say squatting down and beginning to pick up the big chunks of glass first and placing them in your palm. “I'll get it, you might get cut. ” Quanxi would take the glass from out of your hand and continue to pick up where you left off.

"are you sure? I can just get a broom or something." you'd turn away for a second to grab the broom from the back, yet once you come back you find the glass all gone, not a single piece remaining on the floor and a note on the counter, sitting placed under two 10,000 yen notes. (around 140$)

the shock would spread across your face almost in an instant. what the absolute hell? picking up the notes, you'd take the time to read the note she'd left behind.

“𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓲𝓽𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓻. 𝓾𝓷𝓼𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓶𝓾𝓬𝓱 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓫𝓮, 𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭 𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓮𝔁𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓿𝓮.

𝓠𝓾𝓪𝓷𝔁𝓲 347-1782.”

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: * 🎀 .* :✧. ───✧

tired of there not being fuckin quanxi fics and smut bro. ik u stans r alive ACT LIKE IT!!!! 😡 k hope u enjoyed tho owo also im seriously fucking hoping this isn't ugly on pc bro.. idk but if ur reading fluff n shit on a pc u got balls cuz id cry if i got caught

[00127am]

SETLIST FOUR : give it up for viva la vida nine!

@ shangri-la as the lead singer of viva la vida nine, you have little interest in anything other than your band and stealing the attention of the crowd from any other competitors. until you watch rival lead singer of pantera, nakamoto yuta, preform. cocky, charismatic, cavalier nakamoto yuta. the same nakamoto yuta who you cannot stand (him and the way he makes your knees feel weak). after that, you're much more interested in stealing his attention (though you'd rather die than admit it).

THURSDAY, AMP 08:00PM

Ten nudges your shoulder, a cheshire grin plastered against his lips as he signs hello to you, tilting his head to get a better look at the scowl on your face. The delight he takes in his constant teasing is nearly palpable, visible in the soft squint of his eyes and the lopsided quirk of his dimples. His hair falls over his eyes in thin strands, blonde bangs long enough to skim the bridge of his nose. His roots are growing in, dark brown hair burning at his scalp and slipping underneath the brighter blonde that frames his face with a doting curve. Blue colored contacts blink back at you but they do little to mask the teasing lit in his eyes. 

“You really kicking me out?” His voice is still muffled, even with his cherry lips pressed up against your ear (sure to leave a vivid mark of his lipstick) and you find yourself biting back the hint of a smile. He can sense it too and you feel his lips curve into a broader smile, hot breath sticking to the curves of your ear and forcing a movement in your earrings. 

“Keep it up and maybe I will,” you try your best to sound annoyed but there's too much affection in your voice to mistake the statement as anything with veracity. 

Your response makes your bandmate hum, a low, baritone sound that mixes in too closely with the tuning of Johnny’s bass guitar for you to differentiate them. His fingers momentarily intertwine with yours, giving you a quick squeeze, before he’s raising his hands. Ten’s always had pretty hands, long fingers coated in tarnished gold rings and fingernails painted a vibrant color that always matches your own in some way or another. And when he signs with those pretty hands, he’s fluid and elegant. He signs the way he dances, each motion seamlessly flowing into one another to the extent in which you’re unsure of where one starts and the other ends. 

The way he signs Yuta’s name is clunky, unused and unpracticed. The signs are choppy, each syllable pronounced with a harsh movement of his hand. He didn’t have to sign it, you didn’t need any other indication that he was about to preform than the shift of the curtain and the whine of the mic. And unlike Ten’s signage of his name, Yuta is anything but clumsy and unappealing to the eye. 

If you heard the words that Ten was speaking against your ear and signing in front of you, you didn’t acknowledge them. So utterly captivated with the rival lead singer just a few hundred feet away that everything else has faded out with the sharp ring in your ears and the blur of your peripheral. Everything but him. 

“You sure you don’t like him?”

09:35PM

“What are you so focused on?” 

Johnny’s voice is just short of amusement, volume fluctuating with the strum of a few here and there cords from the band currently on stage--hooking up their instruments with the familiar squeal and whine of feedback. The question is directed to the lead singer who’s currently comfortably relaxed against the back bar of the venue, elbows digging into the wood paneling and head tossed ever-so-slightly back. His lips are pulling into a smug look of satisfaction, an expression otherwise unnoticeable if not for the benefit of knowing Yuta for so many years. There’s a cigarette held in between slim fingers and metal rings, unlit and crumpled as the blonde unconsciously toys with it as if he has forgotten it’s there in the first place. Not many things can make Yuta forget about a smoke. Not many people. In fact, his bandmate struggles to think of just one. 

And in classic, expected fashion: Yuta declines the privilege of a reply. But it doesn’t take long for Johnny to follow the line of his vision. Sliding over tousled hair and through crowds of groupies. Past the small security detail on the left and just before the barricade of the stage. Straight towards you. He grins, the full extent of his entertainment showing on his face as clear as day. Even though Yuta wasn’t looking, he could feel it. It’s enough to cause the smallest twitch in his eye as he readies himself for the inevitable, taunting comment. 

“Oh, I see,” he nudges the blondes shoulder, “Lead singer of Viva La Vida Nine,”

If anything were to get his acknowledgement in this conversation, it would certainly be the topic of recognizing you. Or, misidentifying you. Yuta turns partially, brows set in a downward line and lips pulled into a pout. Expression scrunched and eyes narrowed as he finally dignifies Johnny with a response. 

“What? No,” 

Johnny returns Yuta’s puzzled countenance with one of his own, raising his brow as his tongue pushes against the bottom row of his teeth. He swallows, looking to his bandmate and then to you, and then Yuta, again, and then back to you. He blinks a few times before raising a thin hand, knuckles a soft red and veins catching on the dim orange hues of the bar. Johnny gestures in your direction, finger perfectly poised at the back of your head. “So you’re not staring at her,” 

And Yuta follows like a moth to a flame, eyes slipping against the flesh of the older man’s finger, skimming his nail, before meeting the forty-five degree angle of your jaw. He looks longer than necessary, a few seconds of a lingering glance which Johnny notes with a miniscule upwards dart in the corner of his lips (one that if Yuta had noticed he would have returned with a scowl). The confusion of the situation allows for leeway in an honest admission, words slipping out without a single thought on the matter. A confession met without penance. “Yeah, I am,” 

“Right. Yn. The lead singer of Viva La Vida Nine,” 

“No,” Yuta’s fully turned now, shooting Johnny an incredulous look that matches his tone, “That’s my fan,” 

The emphasis on ‘my’ doesn’t fall on deaf ears. Nor does the conscious (or unconscious) decision to use it. You’re not ours, not Pantera’s, but Yuta’s. And based on his tone, Yuta’s alone. Knowing you (or at least the stories about you), Johnny doesn’t think that would be a sentiment that you would find particularly endearing. He meets his bandmate’s gaze with an equally perplexed one, tone in disbelief and perhaps the slightest hint of vexation that is mellowed over by the amused lit to his words. “Your fan? Don’t tell me she’s the one who you’re all lovey dovey for,”

“I’m not lovey dovey,” it’s the wrong denial provided as Yuta waves him off lazily, rolling his eyes, “It’s just interest. Can’t I be interested in one of my fans?” 

My. Again. 

“Not when your supposed fan is the lead singer of our rival band,” 

And with those words being said (for what feels like the millionth time), Johnny swears he can hear the slightest snap in Yuta’s patience, a sharp sound that’s as clear as the strings on his bass. “She’s not the lead singer of Viva La Vida Nine. I met her after our last gig, I watched her the whole set. I’m telling you she’s-” 

“Yn of Viva La Vida Nine,” 

Your voice is entangled with the audible whine of the mic on stage, pulling Yuta’s attention with a harsh tug and the whisk of his eyes back to the center of the bar. He turned so quickly, so urgently that Johnny swears he got whiplash. An idea that bubbles laughter in the back of his throat, a sound that Yuta has all but cut out. There’s no bandmate, there’s no cheering crowd, no clink of the bottles at the bar, there’s nothing. Absolutely nothing. Well, but you. 

Yuta Nakamoto considers himself to be a rather practical man. He’s never worshiped anything. Never fallen into the thinly veiled trap of complete and utter obsession. He’s not an addict, not someone who is constantly chasing the adrenaline of a high. He sticks to what��s in front of him, what he’s good at, what can make a crowd scream or earn him a few more bucks then the last song did. He has never faltered with any desire. Any compulsion. Craving. Yuta Nakamoto is a practical man through and through. 

But, oh god, it’s taking all he has not to fall to his knees and worship you.

@ previous @ home @ next

🧾 © 00127am 2024

[kpoptarotastrology009]

Omg iris pleSs please please can u do a tarot reading for sunghoon from enhypen on what his ideal type is please???

Thank uuuuuuu👀💞

Enhypen's Sunghoon IDEAL TYPE

Personality: (XIII ° Death from mystic dreamer tarot , nine of rods from the ellis deck and the king of pentacles ) Sunghoon's ideal type is someone who’s all about transformation and growth, just like the XIII ° Death card. They’re resilient and adaptable, not afraid of change, and always ready to embrace new beginnings. This person is introspective and can let go of the past to make way for a brighter future. With the Nine of Rods in the mix, they’re a true fighter—persistent, determined, and always standing strong no matter the challenges. Add in the King of Pentacles' energy, and you’ve got someone grounded, responsible, and super reliable. They have a nurturing side, providing stability and support, making them the perfect mix of strength and tenderness. Sunghoon would be drawn to someone who embodies these qualities, creating a balanced and harmonious relationship.

Appearance : (ace of cups , six of pentacles and the high priestess )

Sunghoon's ideal type in terms of appearance, drawing from the Ace of Cups, Six of Pentacles, and The High Priestess, paints a vivid and enchanting picture. Imagine someone with a serene and ethereal beauty, their features soft and inviting. Their face is likely gentle, with expressive eyes that convey deep emotion and empathy, reminiscent of the overflowing love symbolized by the Ace of Cups. They might have a youthful and fresh appearance, with a complexion that seems to glow from within.

Their body would be well-proportioned and balanced, much like the Six of Pentacles suggests harmony and fairness. This person has a graceful and elegant demeanor, with movements that are fluid and poised. They might have a slender yet healthy build, with a presence that feels nurturing and comforting.

The High Priestess adds a layer of mystery and allure. Picture someone with a calm and enigmatic aura, possibly with dark, lustrous hair that adds to their mystique.

Style/fashion sense: (temperance ,page of wands ,the high priestess again wow )

Sunghoon's ideal style, inspired by Temperance, Page of Wands, and The High Priestess, is a captivating blend of casual chic with a hint of mystery and sophistication. This aesthetic combines comfort and style effortlessly, reflecting a relaxed yet fashionable approach to dressing.

Imagine someone who loves to mix and match different pieces, creating unique and stylish outfits that are both comfortable and trendy. They might opt for loose, flowing fabrics and soft colors that convey a sense of tranquility and ease, reminiscent of the Temperance card's harmonious nature.

Drawing inspiration from the Page of Wands, they infuse their wardrobe with a youthful and creative energy. They're not afraid to experiment with bold patterns, textures, and accessories, adding a playful and unexpected twist to their looks.

The High Priestess influence brings a touch of mystery and allure to their style. They gravitate towards elegant and timeless pieces that have a hint of mystique, such as flowy dresses, intricate patterns, and subtle jewelry. Their style is more about understated elegance than making loud statements, drawing people in with its subtle charm and sophistication.

i put it here because it came twice in the reading ( mythic tarot the high priestess)

[fanficapologist]

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Silver platters and ornate serving dishes hold a dazzling array of foods. Roasted game birds, their golden skins glistening, are surrounded by mounds of freshly harvested vegetables, their colors vivid and appetizing. Plates of succulent meats, carved to perfection, promise a culinary delight to all who partake. Goblets and chalices, crafted from fine metals and adorned with gemstones, hold a variety of wines, from deep reds to sparkling whites. The rich aroma of aged wine mingles with the tantalizing scents of the feast, creating an intoxicating bouquet in the air.

As the lords and ladies gather around the table, the atmosphere is one of conviviality and celebration. Laughter and animated conversation fill the hall as guests take their seats. Maera approached the table, her eyes scanning for familiar faces. Her father, Lord Jasper Wylde, sat three seats away from King Aegon, who was already in a boisterous mood, his booming voice carrying down the table. Aemond occupied the seat immediately to the left of the King, leaving a space for Maera between him and Lord Jasper.

Her gaze was soon drawn to Aegon's face, and she stifled a gasp as she noticed the bruise on his cheek, similar shades of black and purple that still adorned her arms and neck. It was clear that Aemond had indeed made Aegon regret his actions. The thought of Aemond punching Aegon for the sake of her sent a wave excitement and nervousness flushing through her body. As she took her seat, Maera looked at Aemond, her expression a mix of surprise and gratitude. He smirked at her, taking a casual sip from his goblet, and she couldn't help but smile in return, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.

“The Jewel of Rainwood! Mayflower, you look exquisite.” The King called across to her, smirking as he took in the sight of her in her shining turquoise and gold leathers, her deep brown hair pinned away from her face.

“Your Grace,” Maera muttered, granting him a respectful nod. The anger within her still burned bright from Aegons attempted assault. Noticing the King’s eyes roaming her body made her muscles tense, her demeanour now catching Aemonds attention as well. Aegon caught his brothers eye before quickly looking away, turning his attention back to his goblet.

A few seats remained empty opposite the Wylde’s, causing a delay in the feast. Maera mingled with the guests surrounding her, a lord from House Tyrell and a Lady from House Lannister, exchanging pleasantries and compliments on attire. There was a movement around Maera as she continued her conversations, the final few vacantseats being filled. Aegon greeted the new arrivals, commenting to Maera, with an air of amusement, that he believed Maera and the new arrival had already crossed paths. Maera, her fingers subtly tightening around her goblet, raised it to her lips as she turned to meet the person's gaze, nearly choking on her wine when she saw who it was.

It was Ser Reginald Penrose, the very man she had rejected years ago and the one who had spread those baseless rumors about her maidenhood. He had aged since she had last saw him four years prior. His steel-grey eyes carried the same seriousness, ahead of deep black hair, neatly cropped at a medium length, framed his face. He dressed in well-maintained, polished armor that reflects the colors and sigil of House Penrose, two white feathers crossed against a background of red. Maera’s face remained composed, but turmoil raged within her.

This was Aegon's scheme, she realized—to embarrass her publicly. Maera forced herself to offer a brief but polite greeting to Ser Reginald, who replied with a curt nod. She couldn't help but glance at her father, who seemed on the verge of fury, his fists clenched around his cutlery. Aemond, on the other hand, appeared cool but had a noticeable tension in his clenched jaw. Then, her gaze shifted to Aegon, who sported a smirk that betrayed his satisfaction. He was relishing this awkward entertainment, and Maera knew she would need to tread carefully during this feast.

As the food began to be served, Maera made a concerted effort to divert her attention away from the pain and anger that having Ser Reginald seated across from her ignited. Instead, she scanned the hall, observing the other guests and their sigils. She recognized the emblems of Houses Peak, Swyift, Blackwood, and others adorning the attire of various Lords and Ladies in attendance.Despite the initial air of celebration, the atmosphere remained thick with tension. Conversations hushed as King Aegon directed his attention squarely at Ser Reginald, setting the stage for an uncomfortable exchange.

Aegon's voice, laced with a twisted amusement, cut through the silence. "I believe, Ser Reginald, you were intended to marry Lady Maera," he proclaimed, his tone dripping with sly condescension.

Before Ser Reginald could respond, Lord Jasper Wylde interjected, his voice firm and resolute. "The match was not deemed advantageous enough for my daughter, my King, so they were never promised to each other," he declared, defending his decision.

Ser Reginald, his demeanor gruff and unapologetic, retorted, "I am glad the Gods intervened so that I could continue my search for a more suitable, purer woman to take to wife."

Maera couldn't contain her own response, her voice edged with a mixture of irritation and sarcasm. She spoke out, her voice carrying a trace of icy composure, "I'm not surprised, Ser Reginald, that you remain unmarried if this is how you handle rejection."

Ser Reginald, perhaps fortified by the wine, took a long gulp from his goblet before adding with a smirk, "Whatever feelings I had for you, Lady Maera, are long gone... as has your Maidenhead."

The room seemed to still as Lord Jasper, unable to contain his anger any longer, rose from his seat, fists crashing onto the table. King Aegon couldn't help but revel in the chaos he'd orchestrated, a snicker escaping him from behind his goblet.

Maera, keenly aware of the dangerous path this conversation was taking, urged her father to sit back down, her voice laced with frustration, "Father, please, sit down."

Reluctantly, Lord Jasper complied, the weight of the situation and the King's presence compelling him to control his rage. Maera's resolve, however, remained unbroken. She emphasized to Ser Reginald, "A feast in front of the King is hardly the place for such discussions, Ser Reginald. My father will deal with you later for your insolence."

Aegon seized the opportunity to mockingly interject, his laughter nearly choking him, "Tread carefully, Ser Reginald. As they say, 'The Seven Hells hath no fury like a woman scorned.'"

Maera's eyes blazed with anger, a retort at the tip of her tongue, but her father squeezed her hand in her lap, a silent plea for restraint. Reluctantly, she bowed to her father's unspoken request, casting her gaze downward in a defeated acceptance of the night's circumstances.

A small, barely audible hum emanated from beside Maera, and she turned to find Aemond fixedly staring at Ser Reginald, his jaw clenched, fingers rhythmically drumming against the table.

Aemond's voice sliced through the tension, his words confident and unwavering. "This feast seems to be the perfect place to discuss such matters," he declared, directing his piercing gaze at Ser Reginald. Maera's eyes remained locked on Aemond, her expression a mixture of confusion, surprise, and a growing curiosity about his intentions. What was he up to?

The One-Eyed Prince addressed Ser Reginald directly, his tone demanding answers. "Who, Ser Reginald, in your learned opinion, took Lady Maera's Maidenhead?" he inquired, his voice carrying a weight of authority. Maera's heart pounded, unsure of what Aemond was attempting.

Ser Reginald responded swiftly, his tone mocking and filled with malice. "It was Ser Olyver Trant," he retorted, his words dripping with disdain. "He clung to Lady Maera as if she were a bitch in heat.” The laughter of some of the men around him filled the air, and Maera's anger surged, threatening to erupt. But then she felt it—another firm squeeze on her hand, but not from her father, from Aemond. The touch sent a confusing jolt of emotions coursing through her. It was a gesture that, in the chaos of the moment, paradoxically comforted her. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and decided to trust Aemond's judgment, whatever it might be.

Aemond wasn't finished. He continued his inquiry, shifting the focus. "When do you believe this incident occurred, Ser?”

Ser Reginald's response was swift and assured. "It happened between the time Lady Maera received a letter from her brother Dermot, about his arrival in Volantis and the moment my proposal was rejected by her father, Lord Jasper."

“And you are quite certain of this?” Aemond pressed the knight once more. Ser Reginald's response resolute.

"I swear by the Old Gods and the New, my Prince," he affirmed. There were quiet conversations happening amongst the spectators of Lords and Ladies at the table, who were watching the awkward situation unfold.

With a satisfied nod and still holding Maera's hand, Aemond called across the table to Lord Larys Strong, the Master of Whispers, who sat on the opposite end. "Lord Larys," Aemond inquired, "can you tell us how long Maera's brother had been in Essos before he wrote that he was in Volantis?"

Larys replied promptly, "Seven moons, my Prince. "

Aemond continued his line of questioning. "And how long had Ser Olyver Trant already been in Essos after Maera received that letter from Lord Dermot?"

Larys responded, "Four moons."

A triumphant smile graced Aemond's lips as he thanked the Master of Whispers for providing clarity on the matter. His gaze returned to Ser Reginald, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he demonstrated to the other party guests that the story the knight had spun wasn’t exactly adding up. With the pieces of the puzzle falling into place, the table buzzed with murmurs as Ser Reginald's body began to tense at the unwanted attention.

The web of lies that had ensnared Maera for so long were now being meticulously unraveled before her very eyes, a sense of relief washing over her. The truth, like a shining beacon, was finally being revealed, dispelling the darkness of false accusations. With her hand still firmly held by Aemond, she used her other hand to seize her goblet and took a deep sip of wine, savoring its taste, a triumphant sweetness that mirrored her newfound vindication. Maera glanced toward King Aegon, who continued to drink from his goblet, seemingly delighting in the unfolding drama.

Aemond turned his attention back to Ser Reginald, his words like a tightening noose around the man's deception. "It appears," Aemond remarked coolly, his tone dripping with disdain, "that there might be some discrepancies in your story, Ser." Maera watched as Reginald stammered, his fumbling words betraying his guilt, attempting to concoct a response, only to be swiftly cut off by Aemond's piercing question.

"Are you either a simpleton, muddled in your own tale, or so embittered by your rejection that you've woven lies to harm a decent Lady’s prospects?" Aemond inquired, his voice carrying across the table with an air of challenge. Around the table, the lords and ladies couldn't help but react to this revelation, a mix of chuckles and gasps filling the air. Maera couldn't contain her satisfaction as Aemond's words penetrated the falsehoods that had plagued her reputation.

Ser Reginald, however, was not one to take this humiliation lightly. He shot up from his seat in a belligerent stance, prompting the Kingsguard surrounding the table, including Ser Arryk, to swiftly unsheathe their swords and step forward, a silent but imposing warning to Reginald to yield. After a tense moment, he reluctantly returned to his seat.

Beside Aegon, his Hand and grandfather, Otto Hightower, voiced his disapproval. "This is ludicrous," he remarked, turning to Ser Reginald. "Do you have any evidence to substantiate your baseless claims, Ser Reginald?" After a pause, Reginald admitted defeat, stating that he did not. Otto did not mince his words, condemning Ser Reginald for sullying his own honor and House's reputation with malicious lies born from a bruised ego. Turning to Lord Jasper, Otto made it clear that the fate of Ser Reginald Penrose was in his hands as it was his daughters reputation that had been disgraced by the lies. Maera watched her father, her expression resolute, ready to see justice served.

“Do you have any other words, Ser?” The Master of Laws addressed the knight.

Ser Reginald, clearly unnerved by the weight of the moment, swallowed nervously and cast an imploring glance towards Maera. His voice trembled as he addressed her directly. "Please forgive me for my actions, my Lady, my Lord. "

Lord Jasper shifted his attention to his daughter, seeking her guidance in how to proceed. "You have been affected by these falsehoods the most, Maera. How would you like to proceed?"

Maera's emerald eyes, filled with a mixture of gratitude and contemplation, turning to Aemond for a brief moment. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before releasing her own, propping her elbows on the table and leaning her chin on to her hands, staring Ser Reginald down. She pondered her options for the treason he had committed. Maera could ask for him to be stripped of his titles and sent to the Wall, something she was sure would be approved by her father. She could ask Ser Reginald to compensate her years of no marriage with coin, an arrangement the Master of Laws would certainly not object to. But then she thought of her mother, and what she had taught Maera about forgiveness and the Gods serving justice without the need for earthly intervention.

With a sigh, she finally spoke with a composed but firm tone. "There is a war. And with Ser Reginald being such a skilled fighter, it would be a shame to waste his talents that could be better used serving the realm." she declared, now looking around the table at the other Lords and Ladies. “My late mother, the Lady Gael of House Targaryen, instilled in me the Mother’s compassion, and to put our duty of serving the crown above all else.”

Maera looked at Aemond, who was also watching her speech, his violet searching hers, waiting for her next words.

“I forgive you, Ser.” She proclaimed, watching Ser Reginald release the breath he had been holding. "I will pray to the Father and Mother to protect your soul, and to the Maiden, to shield your sisters and any daughters you may sire, from the same fate I have endured for years."

Lord Jasper stood and raised his cup in a toast to her, commending her for handling of the situation. “My daughter had demonstrated that the Mother’s mercy flows through her. But I believe that it is the Targaryen blood, which she shares with the Crown, that has allowed her to endure this torment with grace. My late wife would be proud.”

The other nobles at the table followed suit, a jokester amongst them shouting “which one?” In relation to Jasper ‘late wife’ comment, causing the table to erupt in laughter, Maera and her father included. Sensing he had outstayed his welcome, Ser Reginald promptly left the banquet, taking his two squires with him. Good riddance, Maera thought, sipping from her goblet.

Unexpectedly, even King Aegon stood, obviously now thoroughly drunk, his bruised cheek exposed to the sunlight. He raised his cup in agreement, his voice echoing across the gathering. "My Lady Mayflower, you have proven yourself over a number of years of intermittent service, to be a loyal servant to the crown, to my wife the Queen, and to my children.” The King hiccuped, before continuing his toast. “Whichever Lord wins her hand in marriage, and does eventually claim her maidenhead, will be truly fortunate." Aegon winked at Maera as some of the guests chuckled at the King, causing her to bite the inside of her cheek to maintain her composure.

Aegon then his attention to Maera’s father. “My Lord Wylde, you are a valuable ally to the crown, as is your eldest daughter. It would be unwise for a King to freely give away such an irreplaceable asset. It would mean a great deal to me and my family for Lady Maera to stay within Kings Landing indefinitely.” His speech earned the approval of onlookers and a grin from even Aemond, as he subtly raised his cup to his brother.

But Aegon had not finished, as he had one more proclamation to share with the crowd. “To encourage her future husband to allow Lady Maera to fulfill her duties to the crown, and as thanks to you as well, Lord Wylde, for your many years of service, the suitor who wins her hand in marriage shall also earn a seat on my small council as the Master of Coin.”

Maera's jaw dropped in utter astonishment, and she saw the smile from Aemond's face promptly disappear to Aegon's unexpected announcement. T he banquet table erupted in applause and cheers for Lady Maera, leaving her overwhelmed and uncertain of what the future might hold.

Tags: @grungegrrrl @shesjustanothergeek @blue-serendipity @marvelescvpe

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

[mathanlin]

Hero AU where hero!Wilbur has… interesting powers. But they don’t get much use, considering his cushy office job with the League.

Until a recruit knocks on his door, shaking and barely standing.

And mumbles, “I need you to knock me out.”

It’s a strange request, considering the kid’s clearly on the verge of collapsing.

And yet he keeps rambling. “Class A consciousness control, right? You could keep me asleep for a little while?”

“Kid,” Wilbur says, blinking. “Just go to the medbay if you need sleep—”

“I can’t,” the kid says, voice cracking. “Just— Please. I just need some rest.”

And… Wilbur can’t argue. The bags under the kid’s half-lidded eyes are horrifying, even without his fraying hair and sickly skin. 

And it’s not just from lack of sleep, Wilbur soon learns.

He sets up a cot as the kid shivers, dull eyes tracking Wilbur’s movements.

“Just a few hours,” the kid mumbles. “And— thank you.”

“No problem.” 

Wilbur lays a hand on his temple. The kid flinches before sinking into it, eyes fluttering shut.

For the first hour, everything’s normal.

The kid’s breathing is steady, heartbeat kept slow under Wilbur’s ability. 

But something’s wrong. Something’s *pushing* at Wilbur’s control, fighting him far harder than anyone’s consciousness should.

And then the kid starts crying out.

Wilbur leaps up from his desk, rushing to the cot. The kid’s eyes flutter, legs spasming against the tangled blankets.

“Hey, hey,” Wilbur says, falling at the kid’s side. He snags his flailing wrist, trying to put him back under—

—and he’s yanked into the kid’s nightmare.

It’s an unfortunate side effect of Wilbur’s ability, one he doesn’t feel often.

Usually he’s powerful enough to keep someone under, away from night terrors or anything even remotely upsetting. 

Not now.

It’s just a flash.

Hands, closing around the kid’s temples. A face Wilbur can’t place, sneering, “Come on, Tommy. Get over yourself, it can’t be that bad.”

Then, *terror.*

And then the kid — *Tommy* — jolts awake.

With a choked cry, he smacks Wilbur’s hands away. Through the last remnants of Wilbur’s ability, he can feel the kid’s heart *racing.*

“Hey, it’s okay,” Wilbur says, hands raised. “It’s okay, don’t be afraid—”

And Tommy flinches like Wilbur slapped him. 

“I’m fucking *not.*”

With that, he’s gone, lurching through Wilbur’s office door, chest heaving and every limb trembling.

But it’s not long before he comes back.

It becomes a ritual of theirs.

Tommy stumbles in, barely conscious. Wilbur puts him under, staying close & learning to manage the kid’s frequent nightmares. 

It’s almost peaceful. 

Until Tommy starts refusing to sleep.

He’s already tucked in blankets, head resting on the pillows Wilbur brought. 

They’d talked for a bit. Wilbur had even earned a few laughs, cracked with exhaustion but no less real.

But when he brushes a bit of hair from Tommy’s eyes, ability humming to life, Tommy *fights it.*

“Come on, kid. I thought you needed rest.”

Tommy lets out a sleepy mumble, leaning into Wilbur’s hand. He fights harder with each gentle touch, completely limp & yet warring against sleep.

And Wilbur understands, as clearly as if Tommy’d said it himself.

“I need this more than rest.”

‘This.’ The random talks & laughter they’d had, the gifts Wilbur’d given, the affection Tommy never failed to sink into.

All the times Tommy’d insisted he, “just wanted to hang out,” despite his dull, exhausted expression.

It’s… concerning.

Wilbur’s pressed before, trying to find an answer. Tommy had always shut down, insisting nothing was wrong — a lie, with Tommy’s vivid exhaustion as evidence.

But Wilbur needs answers. 

And he has a way to find them.

He pushes Tommy under, wincing at the tiny bubble of confusion that colors the kid’s mind as he’s shoved into sleep.

And he waits for the nightmare to return.

It doesn’t take long.

It’s the same as before. Hands, tight around his head, mocking words spit out. Then, terror, so much it’s agonizing.

But when Tommy flinches, trying to wake…

Wilbur doesn’t let him, murmuring, “Come on, kid. Just a little more.”

The terror doesn’t stop.

Tommy writhes on the ground. Wilbur can *feel* him fighting, trying to steady his breaths, to stop trembling as the figure looms over him.

And Wilbur recognizes them.

Not a villain. A hero.

Tommy’s mentor.

“Calm down,” they spit, as a new wave of fear wracks Tommy’s body. “It’s just a little fear, you need to manage it.”

And against all reason… Tommy does. He presses himself into the training room mat, heaving for breath and yet unsettlingly silent. 

He stays like that, even as the terror builds. Quiet, still, limbs rigid. Utterly frozen as his mentor ignores every panicked noise that sneaks out.

Only when he goes entirely limp does the fear recede.

“That was embarrassing. Do better next time.”

The nightmare dissolves.

Tommy shudders, crying out one last time before slipping back into sleep. 

But Wilbur’s wide awake.

He knows that hero. Tommy’s mentor.

Causing fear is a horrifying ability if it’s used *once.* Long-term… 

Well. All Wilbur has to do is look at Tommy to see the effects.

Insomnia — no, sleep deprivation, fear ingrained so deep he couldn’t sleep without powers like Wilbur’s. 

Suddenly, the skittishness makes sense. The way he’d always flinch under Wilbur’s hands, the pleading.

And the desperation as he’d insisted, “I’m not afraid.”

Tommy’d asked for a few hours of rest. Wilbur gives him the entire night, fighting off every nightmare that tries to bubble up.

It’s exhausting. But it’s the least he can do, after forcing Tommy to relive that pain. 

After murmuring, “Come on. Just a little more,” before forcing him back under.

He can only hope the kid forgives him when he wakes.

[mykoreanlove]

I think he confessed 🤭

The soft hum of the gallery buzzed quietly in the background, the low murmurs of admiration blending into the echo of your footsteps on the polished marble floor. The air was thick with history, each painting on the walls telling tales of centuries past. Renaissance masterpieces adorned the walls, their vivid colors and intricate details pulling at your soul, but today, your gaze was fixed on something much more captivating.

Taemin stood in front of you, his silhouette bathed in the soft, golden glow of the museum’s lights. He hadn’t hesitated when you’d asked him to join you at the exhibit—art had always been a shared passion between you two, a silent thread that connected your hearts. As he stood there, facing the enormous painting on the wall, his back revealed a different kind of canvas—a masterpiece all his own.

His long, dark hair fell messily past his shoulders, tousled in an effortless way that only he could pull off. The strands caught the light here and there, creating fleeting shadows that danced across the crisp white shirt clinging to his broad back. His frame, sturdy and sure, filled the simple fabric, the wrinkled lines of the shirt seeming to form around him naturally, as if the clothes had been sculpted to his form. Olive-colored pants tapered down to his ankles, a perfect complement to the understated elegance he wore like second skin. His hands were loosely clasped behind him, a relaxed stance, yet there was something almost regal in the way he carried himself—he was completely absorbed, studying the art with a quiet intensity that made your heart skip.

You stood a few paces behind, captivated not by the art, but by the man who seemed to embody it. Your phone slipped easily from your pocket, your fingers moving instinctively to capture the moment. The camera shutter was silent, but your thoughts were loud with affection.

“Kind of ridiculous to be in a museum when I’m already dating art itself,” you murmured to yourself with a small, soft chuckle. A thought that felt both cheeky and true.

The sound of your voice, though barely above a whisper, stirred him. “Taem,” you called out, just a breath of his name, but it was all it took.

He turned instantly, his movements graceful, almost as though he had been waiting for you to call him. His curious expression melted into something far softer, the corners of his lips lifting into a smile that seemed to belong only to you. It wasn’t just any smile—it was that particular smile, the one he gave when the world faded away and only you remained. A warmth spread across your chest, and without thinking, you raised your phone again, capturing that moment, too—Taemin, your Taemin, bathed in golden light, his eyes full of affection, looking at you like you were the only art in the room.

He closed the distance between you with a few quiet steps, his presence filling the space between you like gravity pulling you in. When he reached you, his hands found your face gently, his strong arms cradling your cheeks as though you were something precious, fragile. His fingers were warm against your skin, and the world seemed to slow.

Without a word, he leaned in, his full lips brushing yours in a kiss that held so much more than just the moment. It was filled with a deep, almost aching tenderness, the kind of kiss that spoke of unspoken promises and the weight of all the years to come. You kissed him back, your hands instinctively finding their place on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your fingertips. It was the kind of moment that felt both timeless and fleeting, like the world had paused just for the two of you, yet somehow it was slipping through your fingers too fast.

When he finally pulled away, just slightly, his forehead rested against yours. His breath, warm against your lips, mingled with yours in the small space between you.

“Love of my life,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but carrying the weight of a thousand emotions. It wasn’t just a declaration—it was a confession, a vow, something sacred wrapped up in four simple words.

Your lips curved into a smile, your eyes still closed, savoring the closeness. “Love of my life,” you echoed back, the words tasting sweet on your tongue.

For a moment, the world outside the two of you ceased to exist. The centuries-old paintings that had once demanded your attention were now forgotten, mere background to the living masterpiece in front of you. In this shared space, in the midst of art that had survived ages, it was the love between you and Taemin that felt eternal, a work in progress, unfinished but perfect in its imperfections.

You stayed like that for a moment longer, your fingers tracing gentle patterns against his chest, your heart beating in time with his. You didn’t need anything else—no grand gestures, no extravagant words. Just the two of you, in a quiet museum filled with history, creating your own.

✨✨✨

The art I’m talking about:

[jettjournals]

Confessions Over Coffee | SFW

JETT x READER (VALORANT)

oneshot

It's a rare day off from missions, and Jett decides to show you around her favorite spots in Seoul. The bustling city is a maze of sounds and colors, but with Jett by your side, everything seems more vivid and exciting.

She takes you to a quaint cafe tucked away in Insa-dong, her secret hideaway from the world. The atmosphere is cozy, with the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the sweet aroma of pastries. You both find a quiet corner, and as you sip on your drinks, you can't help but steal glances at her. Her presence is magnetic, her laughter a melody you never tire of.

As you chat, you notice a subtle nervousness in Jett, a side of her rarely seen. She talks animatedly about her favorite dishes and her time as a chef, but there's a hint of hesitation in her eyes, as if she's holding something back.

Her usual playful smirk appearing briefly before fading into a more serious expression. She takes a deep breath, her eyes locking onto yours.

"Actually, there's something I've been wanting to tell you," she begins, her voice softer than usual. "I know we're always busy with missions and all, but... I've developed feelings for you. I didn't want to say anything because I wasn't sure how you felt."

Your heart skips a beat, and for a moment, you can hardly believe what you're hearing. The feeling that you've been carrying for so long is mutual. You reach out, taking her hand in yours.

"Jett, I've had a crush on you for a while now," you confess, your voice filled with relief and happiness. "I just didn't know if you felt the same way.

A radiant smile spreads across her face, her eyes lighting up with joy. She squeezes your hand, and the connection between you feels stronger than ever.

"So, what do you say we make this official?" she asks, her playful tone returning. "Think you can keep up with me?"

You laugh, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Jett."

As the day winds down, you find yourselves at a rooftop garden overlooking the city. The sunset paints the sky in shades of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. Jett stands at the edge, the wind gently tugging at her hair. She turns to you, her smile softer now.

"Thanks for today," she says quietly. "And for being honest with me."

You nod, stepping closer to her. "Anytime, Jett. I'm just glad we finally got to say how we feel."

Her eyes sparkle with emotion as she leans in, her breath mingling with yours. The world seems to hold its breath as her lips meet yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. You can feel her heart racing, mirroring your own. Her lips are soft, warm, and the kiss deepens naturally, as if this moment was always meant to happen.

You wrap your arms around her, pulling her closer. Her hands find their way to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. The kiss becomes more passionate, yet still tender, each movement filled with the unspoken promise of something new and beautiful.

When you finally pull away, breathless and smiling, she rests her forehead against yours, her eyes closed in contentment.

"I've been wanting to do that for a long time," she whispers, her voice filled with a mix of relief and joy.

"Me too," you reply softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "And it was worth the wait."

She laughs softly, the sound like music to your ears. "So, where do we go from here?"

"Anywhere you want," you say, your heart full of hope and excitement for the future. "As long as we're together."

She nods, her smile widening. "Together, then."

[ennaku-sirri-da]

I wanna be just like you; made of felt and flesh and FREE( no strings on me !)

[ ID: Traditional fanart of me standing with an AU version of Puppet Habit or Pabit from Smile For Me the game. The AU is called AskPabit. Traditional materials used are pencil, black and blue pens, sketchpens, color pencils. The coloring is vivid and mostly done in many different shades on an individual scale, even for the same color.

Pabit's more anthromorphised form, from the askblog, is drawn in my interpretation as skinny and muppet-like with bigger proportions for the facial features and hands, high-heeled feet. He is made of felt and this is shown through the messy textured strokes.

Stitches run through the sides of his body and face. On his chest at the side is stitched a trans flag-colored heart with the letters " We love U!" -- the word love is just represented by a heart. His hair is brunette, curly and very long. His eyes too are a brown shade-- his eyes are big and lashed like those found on some children's dolls, the sclera are yellow. Below his eyes, fur-patches of pink blush are there. In his grin, his taken teeth are seen, one of them bleeding still at the side. Not all the teeth are there yet. He only wears pants in dark shades that seem to smoothly become heels in one piece-- stitches run along the sides of these too.

I am by Pabit's side. I am a shorter, light brown skinned person of average size with longer black hair and a round sparsely acne-marked face. I wear square pink glasses. My dress is a bright teal chudidar with multicolored flower designs in outline, and a sandy gold dupatta with pants of the same color to complete it.

Pabit grins and leans with one arm unsteadily on my head, I am clasping my hands in closed-eye delight, clearly excited. I lean to him. His face tilts slightly and he looks amused, one eye squinted while the other crinkles.

Beside me the text is written in a pink and black outlined box -" I'd love to be just, just like you"-- words in blue pen. Then in black--" I'll be made of felt and flesh and" -- then an arrow leads to a lavendar cloud saying " Free!" in bigger words.

Half the top background is covered by big outlines of flowers in sketch pen, lightly filled in with overlapping color pencil shades. It gives a soft look. Finally, from out of the very top a little bit of a book with a dragonfly wing design on it is seen in the drawing's photo. End ID]

--

My fanart for @askpabit ...!! I was trying for SO MANY DAYS and I FINALLY did it woooo..!!! I'm so tired after my flight so I'm short on words but I've been following this blog since like the beginning I think. The artist obviously has a lot of talent and he's really sweet too. Askpabit has been a happy influence on my life and here's my expression of that! I wish the artist all the best in his future endeavours. :) (smiley emote)

I really enjoyed coloring this by the way. Hehe all my faves become FLUFFY. I know Pabit's different here from your version but I hope you still like him...!! This is kind of just how I roll in my style.

And here's a small concept below...plus the uncoloured version of this drawing!..

[ ID: uncoloured concept sketch of Pabit from AskPabit. He is front facing and it's a bust. Here he's like he's made of felt, has big eyes like a doll, stitches like a felt toy and has long curly hair. Overall he looks a bit muppet-like. He has blush-patches of fur as well. End ID]

--

The very first concept art( Not this one) had him more like a potato sack LOL. But anyway I tried to make him look like he's made of felt..!!! As blog lore dictates, hehe. And I remember saying I really liked how Pabit's movements worked all cutesy and kind of, like he's really stuffed, like a toy. It was really neat to see coming through in just non-animated images So I tried to imitate that a bit.

Here's the Uncoloured version..!

[ID: Uncoloured version of the first drawing. It's all outlined in pencil. It's in warm filter. End ID]

[stelly38]

Another snippet from the fic that’s in progress.  

I hope I will be ready to start posting in the first third of the new year.  Fingers crossed.  

In the stacks, Ross sees her legs first.  Long, smooth, shapely, and crossed at the ankles, they’re bare, save for a pair of navy leather heels, and they go on for days.  He tilts his head to see around the side of the library shelf and notices that the mystery lady’s skirt has ridden up a few inches above her knees.

Demelza is tucked into one of the chairs in the library, absorbed in the book on her lap.  It’s a big, comfortable armchair, stowed away in a little corner on the second floor, at the end of an aisle in fiction.  She’s decided to do her homework for her Intro to Professional Writing class at the library this Friday evening. The place should be deserted, with most folks already beginning their weekend partying—no one studies on Friday nights.  A few students wander through, pausing to pull books from the shelves.  It’s early yet; the library will be open for another few hours.  She turns the page of her book and moves her hair back on her shoulders.

She’s sitting quietly, underlining passages in the book with a pencil.  There’s a free-standing sign displaying a poster for study carrels at the end of Ross’s aisle, and it obscures his line of sight.  He can only see as high as her lap from where he’s standing.  She shifts in her chair and he straightens up quickly and glues his eyes to the book spines on the shelf in front of him.  She hasn’t seen him.

He pulls out a book, flips it open, puts it back on the shelf.  He wonders what kind of panties she’s wearing, if they’re plain cotton, or something else.  Trying to clear his mind of the imagery that’s taunting him, he turns up the next aisle  and follows the author names on his search for the titles he’d come to pick up.

A page rustles, and immediately, the image of her legs appears, vivid and alluring, in his mind.  He inches closer to the end of the aisle, and stands so that he can see who owns the legs.  It’s his red-headed pupil, Miss Carne, and the realization of just whom he’s been ogling causes him to blush like a school boy. This is the one who has challenged him, called him ridiculous in front of his other students, the one who isn’t fazed by his bluster.  It seems he is no longer in charge of his eyes, and he glances at her again, at the flawless pale expanse of her legs, stretched out before him.

She clears her throat and he flicks his eyes up to settle on her deep green ones, staring back at him.  Her expression is unreadable, but she colors subtly when their eyes meet.  Ross nods to her, but she doesn’t break eye contact.  Instead, she shifts slightly in her chair so that she’s facing him, and uncrosses her ankles.  The new position causes her knees to part slightly.  He follows the elegant line of her legs up to the hem of her skirt, and then meets her eyes again, which are still pinned on him.

Suddenly, he looks away, embarrassed to have been caught, and flustered at his reaction.  Her movement was so subtle, he can’t decide if she was flirting with him, or if it was a coincidence.  He busies himself with the books, hastily pulls the two he’d been seeking from the shelf, and walks past her toward the stairs, on the way to checkout.  

[steel-and-fire]

No mercy for the wicked.

I stare at my reflection in the water. I barely recongize my own face. Nothing has changed from my features, but my expression, i dont recongize it. Yet, it is most certainly me, kneeled down on the edge of the river, golden hair falling in the water, red eyes staring right back at me.

Red...

My hands are covered in it, my hair, my body. My armor...? The red flows with the stream, painting its clear color.

The memories return to me. Vivid, as they happened but a couple hours ago, or less. I found the broken wagon on the edge of the road. I found the corpses of the murdered men, the slaughtered animals. I saw trails of red and signs of dragging through the forest..

... I run in that direction, fueled by emotions darker than i knew i could feel. It took me a bit to find them, for their camp was deep enough into the woods. I didn't run in. I observed. I sunk into the shadows and moved around, my large form fading into the night, among the leaves and the tall grass... Just like when we hunted beasts... And now, it was monsters of a different kind i was hunting...

The raiders had set a nice little fort, with wooden fortifications, not too tall but easily dependable. They were around a dozen, drinking, eating, celebrating, laughing with their cruel voices. A couple were staying to the edges, watching out for danger, but they seemed to feel safe enough... They had numbers, a fortified camp, and good equipment. Even if ragtag, their armors and weapons were in good condition. They were much more than ordinary bandits, but i was new to the area, and hadn't learned the rumors, didnt know their names.

I didnt care either.

My eyes kept moving, and they finally saw what i was looking for. The women, the abducted, were thrown in a pile to the side. Cut apart, lifeless, clothless and disgraced. The raiders had their fun and they disposed of them... Only one was still alive, forced to... Entertain one of them to the side, who had taken a knife out and was stabbing her, laughing sadistically, immune to her screams and tears.

I didn't run in. I didnt make a heroic entrance. I didnt laugh. This wasn't a challenge, something fun to kill the time. Usually, i would save the civilians if i could, but i wouldn't exactly mourn for their loss either. Their lives isnt my business, im not that soft. Reality is cruel.. Right?

But not this time. This time, i felt immense, unapologetic, untamed, hatred. I felt it fuel me. I felt it overflow and consume me. I hated them. Even more than wanting to save the girl, i wanted to kill them all.

I saw her eyes. She was the first to notice. Even as she was bleeding, trying to defend herself from the stabs of the man on top of her, it was my shadow behind him that made her eyes widen in true terror.

Fear and terror are different. Fear is something you understand, something conscious. Terror is primal, instinctive.

The man on top of her stopped, confused, following her eyes, realizing my presence as my shadow loomed over him, dancing with the movements of the bonefires.

His eyes also widened in terror in that moment, but before he could open his jaw, his upper body was flying through the air, my axe having swang clearly through it, and landing headfirst into the campfire of the others.

It was the girl that screamed, top of her lungs. I dont blame her. Thinking back to it, it was a reasonable reaction. I ignored her stepped over her and towards the others, who were grabbing their weapons, getting reafy to defend themselves.

Thats right, not assault me. But to defend themsleves... Yessss...the terror in their eyes, i remember it so clearly. The fear... They reeked of blood... Of murder.. Of lives taken, cruelly, mercilessly...and now they were the prey, and they could feel the raw despair of being the weak ones...

I didnt laugh. I didn't say anything cocky. Not this time. I simply walked towards them, my axe already covered in gore. They spoke between themselves, they asked me something. I didn't hear it. I didnt care. The predator doesn't care about the prey's words, right?

One panicked and threw a javelin at me. A terrible throw, his hand shaking. I didnt even dodge it, it crashed against my chestplate, uselessly.

I gritted my teeth. My hatred was building by the second. The images of the poeple they killed. Of the ones they raped and murdered, playing in my head again and again.

I jumped!! In one motion i had left the ground and leaped at them! I roared in a primal cry as one readied her spear. My axe smashed it apart, and the other swing crushed the armor and the bones beneath. If she screamed, i didnt hear it. Only the sound of her broken body, as my axe cleaved through her meat, reached my ears.

The battle begun, if one could even call it that. They surrounded me. They attacked from all directions. Two of them just run away, abandoned the rest and run as fast as they could into the night, crying and shitted. Pathetic.

I had never fought so recklessly. So uncaring about my own well being. But its not like i could feel the pain. Their blades pierced my arms with great effort, yet i didnt feel it. I cleaved, and cleaved, and cleaved, and cleaved again.

They needed to die! To die! To die! Die! Die! Die! Die for your sins! Die for your cruelty!! Just die!!!

....

The camp was littered in blood and gore, pieces of once human spread all around. i stood above the last raider, my gaze cold as eyes, despite the bright red glow... and only then i could hear his voice. Trembling, his arms a shield over his face, he was begging.

"Please....please...ill never do it again... Dont kill me... Ill turn a new leaf...sob..please."

I looked upon him, and i thought of the vile acts he commited just today. In only one day, he had forfeited his soul, to gain what? Sadistic satisfaction, gold, and a sense of power. And now that it was taken away, he was trembling and begging for his life.

".... No mercy for the wicked." My words came out cold, and spiteful. Black like venom. He screamed one last time as my weapon seperated his stomach from the rest of his body. He tried to crawl away, his intestines dragging out, and two feet away, he left the last breath.

I spat at the ground.

I turned around, and walked between the blood and the fire, thw horrifying carnage, and to the girl. She was still bleeding, the cuts and stabs deep, and barely conscious. Yet what was keeping her conscious, was me. She stared at me like a monster from fairy tales. Curled up in a corner and shaking,unable to speak a word.

I reached for my belt , and threw a vial with red liquid at her feet.

"Drink it and you'll live. Try to live a decent life despite the scars.", was what i remember saying befote i left the sight, the black fire inside my heart satiated for now...

...

Yes, i remember it all clearly. And yet my expression hasnt changed. It's been like this for a few days now....

And i dont mind if at all. I no longer care. I am a weapon. A weapon to be aimed at the vile. At the monsters that prey on others, be it beast or human...

If that is the reality we live in, then i will hunt them down, ill become the nightmare they cant escape from. I will create rivers with their blood.

I sit up, and take my weapon, walking away from the water, wearing the same face i approached it with, wearing the same, red eyes. I stare at the moon in the night sky, linger for a moment, before i continue my path..

[lovelydeeps-fr]

A little thing for @cecils-dragons and their bebes Laila and Angel!

It wasn't uncommon for them to travel away from their peaceful home, her dad sometimes in need of materials for his special lanterns he wasn’t capable to find from the travelers that visited his shop, her small fingers curled around his hand as they walked through the streets of the Arcane Roost clan, as somebody had told them it was called, a big thing filled with pleasant lights and beautiful colours she wanted to touch. And eat if she had the chance.

It was the vivid colors of the shop that drew her in, very different from the many others they had seen so far, fingers pulling from her father's hand to catch his attention, even though she knew that nothing there might interest them to take back home. He indulged her anyways with a smile on his face. She was more than thrilled with all the things she could see, blinking in awe at the just as colorful owner as they approached them with a smile.

Asha smiled proudly to herself when her father ended up finding something that caught his eye, a small useful thing for his lanterns, and moved to blink at the dyes she could see, delighted by them and with how many there were. The colorful movement behind one of the tables made her look for their source, waving her little hand at the mop of bright hair that hid behind it.

"Hi! I'm Asha! What's your name?" She pouted when the shop's owner informed them that his daughter was too shy around new folks, letting Niraj pick her up, not forgetting to wave back as they left the shop with the promise of coming back before they left the clan grounds, the decided expression to making a new friend out of that shy mop of hair making her father chuckle.

[longlistshort]

The Blue Hour by Cecilia Lueza was created for the 2018 iteration of SHINE Mural Festival in St. Pete, Florida.

From the St. Pete Arts Alliance website about the work-

A rich, dusky blue with vivid rainbow swirls and the blue-tinted profile of a woman lit by moonlight is the focal point of 100 1st Avenue North. The mural is on the northwest corner of Central Avenue and 1st Street North, across the street from The James Museum.

Cecilia Lueza calls this piece, The Blue Hour. She explains, “It’s inspired by that magical time between daylight and darkness. It explores the visual effects of color, and movement, while evoking wonder and contemplation.”

The mural feels intimate, two sides of a corner angled inward. The left-hand side, facing east, is 17 feet high, 18 feet long. The right-hand side, facing south, is 17 feet high and 22 feet long.

The background is a rich, deep blue, the color of the sky moments after the sun sets. On the right half, facing Central Avenue, a calm and lovely woman’s face looks toward the right. Her face is in profile, from the neck up, so large that the top of her head is cut off by the mural’s edge. She’s painted a range of dark and lighter blues – and very realistic – like an idealized black and white photograph that’s been tinted blue.

Her expression is thoughtful, as if she’s been watching the sun set and is looking at the quickly fading colors as the stars and Moon begin to glow around her.

Her profile shows a graceful neck, high cheekbones and a smooth forehead, one dark eyebrow in a curve, and long dark lashes. The right edge of her face is outlined in light, as if she’s facing a full Moon. Her eye, her cheek, the edge of her nose, her lips, her neck and throat, are highlighted by moonlight. The rest of her face, and her neck, are dark indigo.

Instead of the long dark hair we expect, thick swirls of blue and green – and swirls of red, pink, orange and gold – flow behind her head and across the left half of the mural, the half that’s facing 1st Street.

A swirl of blue, in stripes from dark to light, touches the back of her head, falling in an undulating band from the top of the mural to the ground, as if this ribbon of color continues past the edges of the mural. Another end of this long band curves down and sprawls across the left half before arcing up and away.

A band of color striped from yellow and green to blue, twines across the left half of the mural before it swoops around the other blue band like a crochet stitch.

Behind the swirling blues and greens is a wave striped in pink, red, rose, watermelon and peach. It twists behind the blues and ducks under another wave, with stripes that run from red to gold. The blue-green swirls and the red-pink-gold swirls dive and tangle, full of motion.

The mural is a lovely combination of the calm and thoughtful blue-toned woman gazing out as light falls on her face – caught in thick waves of color.

Cecilia Lueza was born in Argentina and is now based in St. Pete. She’s known for vibrant public art pieces in a range of media. She explains that this mural has a sense of identity, and an element of discovery.

Her goal with this corner space “was to create an uplifting, evocative, and colorful focal piece that could be viewed and enjoyed from every angle.”

Lueza’s website is linked above, but more of her work can also be found on her Instagram.

[suguwu]

minors and ageless blogs dni i am an 18+ blog

been thinking a lot about knight kita and how his stark, unfailing sense of duty sways for the first time when he's assigned to the queen's favorite (but troublesome) lady-in-waiting—you.

fem reader, knight au, forbidden romance, fluff

It’s almost May Day.

You’ve been bubbling about it for weeks, now, chattering to your fellow ladies with a pleased smile that rivals the sun’s golden glow. You croon to the seamstress about the abundant bouquets, how the flowers spill across the stands like a waterfall, vivid streams of delicate petals quivering in the wind. She laughs, your seamstress, delighted by your joy, and coaxes more from you, until you’re shining under her attention as you tell her about each little flower the queen has ordered.

Kita listens carefully.

He takes in the rise and fall of your voice, a melody he knows by heart. He sees the way your smile gentles when you whisper to the seamstress about peonies the size of your hand, their petals ruffled like the hems of a courtier’s dress, beautiful ripples of delicacy.

(They’re expensive, he discovers, raising a brow at the price the flower seller names, but he hands over the coin without thought. He squirrels them away in his quarters, a shock of pink against his own belongings.

This time, he might even give them to you.)

Then you disappear the day before the festival.

Kita isn’t particularly surprised—honestly, he should have known. You’re a strategist at heart, and there’s nothing easier than fading into the bustling tide of servants and courtiers alike. And apparently, he is more distracted than he knew, to not even see you slip away as he usually does.

It is his duty to fetch you, though he knows it will make his stomach twist to see the way your face falls when you catch sight of him. It’s an expression he never wants to see, much less because of him. But he cannot abandon his duty.

He cannot risk your safety.

The courtyard by the gate is teeming with bodies, a veritable ocean of humanity. Kita stands back in the stone archway, his amber eyes roving the crowd.

He doesn’t find you on his first look, though he catches Atsumu’s eye from where the knight is chattering at a pretty lady-in-waiting. The blond shrinks under Kita’s gaze. Still, Atsumu lingers a moment more, surreptitiously tucking a strand of hair behind the lady’s ear.

It’s a dangerous game he’s playing, but Kita supposes he can hardly scold him.

He returns his attention to the crowd, ignoring any bright flashes of color marking a courtier’s dress. You’ll be dressed like a servant, he knows, and in a different outfit than last time. You’d started changing them each time after he caught you before you’d left the castle gates for the third time. He’s never been able to find where you stash them. He’d find it annoying, but there’s little room for anything aside from a gentle admiration of your clever ways.

Movement catches his eye.

Kita steps into the crowd, weaving delicately through it, light on his feet despite his intense focus. It’s hawk-like, you’d told him once, the way he fixates on what needs to be done and does not err from his course.

He catches you just before you break free of the crowd.

You gasp as he pulls you to a stop. He keeps his grip on your elbow gentle but firm, guiding you to the side of the crowd to shield you from any prying eyes.

“My lady,” he says. “You’re not meant to leave the castle grounds.”

You pout.

“Sir knight,” you say. “Am I not meant to have any joy, either? Please, I just want to go to market.”

“You know I cannot let you, my lady.”

You sigh. “I would commend you on your sense of duty,” you say, “if it weren’t such an annoyance to me. I suppose you’re above bribery, as always?”

“Yes.”

You grumble, but allow him to lead you back towards your quarters. He takes the back ways, unwilling to subject you to more gossip. He wants to apologize, but it is his duty, and besides, he will not apologize for keeping you safe.

You’re almost halfway to your quarters when you break your sullen silence.

“How did you know it was me?” you ask.

“I would know you anywhere.”

It isn’t until you halt, whirling towards him with an expression he can’t quite name, that he realizes exactly what his words sound like. He hadn’t even tasted the confession when it was on his tongue.

You gaze at him with that look of yours. He sees it often, and it reminds him of the ancient languages, something only half-understood, familiar and foreign in the same breath. A language he thinks he understands better now, in this moment.

Your eyes are glossy under the torch light. He’s not sure you realize you’re leaning into him, like a flower turning into the sun.

“Truly?” you ask, breathless.

It’s the most fragile he’s ever heard you.

Kita brazenly leans forward and presses his forehead against yours, hearing your breath catch.

“Truly.”