#these two are CANON in my mind idc idc

[noomiu]

Whats your favorite rock lee fics?

hi anon and ! i have too many of those 🤭 but here are the ones i can think of off the top of my head ! literally all of these are gaalee fics and most of them are by a_gay_poster on ao3 bc ??? they're amazing i worship them and if ur a gaalee fanatic u should too !!!

where our bodies start by a_gay_poster on ao3

this fic is so GOOD i love the bit where gaara is teaching lee to use ninjutsu it's so wholesome

i bear your scars (i bare my scars) by a_gay_poster on ao3

again, this is literally such a wholesome fic it makes me wanna bawl i love these two

as rare as rain by chinesefirethorn on ao3

this is such a goOD WORK and i love naruto's cluelessness pls !!! it's just so cute

jealous by a_gay_poster on ao3

this fic is !!! just so good !!! i've read it so many times now and i love how it gives insight into gaara's feelings towards how friendly of a person lee is ??? like the bit with shira-kun is one of my favorite bits in writing ever !!! also gaara being scared he'll have to explain his lack of progress in taijutsu to shira lolololol it's so good also the two girls giggling at lee while he's out in the rain ? that's my two personalities yw

to love like broken glass by a_gay_poster on ao3

this is so so so good because ! it gives insight into lee's feelings of jealousy and i love that so much ? especially when he sort of snaps and goes "you should leave" like YES gimme irrationally angry lee thank u

relief by a_gay_poster on ao3

this work is the epitome of a lot of words does not equal quality because !!! it's so good !!! i love it

a beast, a burden by a_gay_poster on ao3

this was such a nice read. i love how it looks into gaalee during their younger years (chunin exams) and lmao not at gaara being convinced that lee is using a genjutsu

thirst trap by a_gay_poster on ao3

this is SUCH A FUN READ !!! literally loved reading this so much and the podfic it inspired was also very lovely !!!

haiku by kleine_wolke on ao3

this is just a pretty story honestly . the writing is literally that, pretty, especially the poems and the little descriptive bits ! i also love lee's cluelessness here

hot stuff, baby by urieskooki on ao3

this is just perfect, like yes, this is definitely how lee would behave 1000% like he would wipe away slurpee with his leg warmer u cannot convince me otherwise

skeleton key by a_gay_poster on ao3

this is the greatest story in the history of gaalee stories for me because it was the first proper gaalee fic i ever read

perspective by a_gay_poster on ao3

THIS IS SO FUNNY LMAO it's so hilarious especially the end !!! i am lee's neighbor she is me istg

getalong by a_gay_poster on ao3

this was my gateway drug to this pairing and i love it more than i love my dad

but yes anon thank u sm for the ask !!! it was so nice to look back on all of these fun fics that i love sm !! they're all so good !!

[just-avocado]

Philever brainrot is taking over my mind :,D (but fr these two have to be my favorite qsmp duo they are hilarious, can’t wait for Will to get back on and see these two interact)

The second flag next to Phil is supposed to be the polyamorous flag bc according to some websites they changed it? Idk if any poly people wanna correct me on that go ahead (if you ask me this flag looks a lot better lmao)

[All art is of the characters plz don’t ship the real people 👍🏽]

[ghostskyee]

putting off finals by drawing these guys. whatevah

[a-shadowedvales]

so… in the additional media of stranger things (specifically the comics i’m mentioning), it was initially brenner’s idea/plan to kill off the other test subjects because they weren’t performing as well as eleven was. it was his best solution because that way, all the resources, time, and money could instead be placed only to her. and i just…. sure henry is a fine character and the massacre makes a lot of sense to me, but i think i am once again gonna change up my canon to actually fit this potential narrative instead.

i genuinely think the comic canon of the lab and brenner is far more intriguing than the show. everything with 9/9.5, ricky, and francine. eleven being the only one who grew up completely in the lab. those other kids were either volunteers, well into their teens, or had some semblance of a home life. eleven was the only one practically moulded from the womb. and they all had such a range of interesting powers. i firmly stand with the idea that jane is the only one who can contact the void.

brenner’s entire point of view on the lab subjects changed the second he found out terry was pregnant. he discovered he could steal this baby and make her his own. there would be no convincing the child because it’s all she would have ever known. because of this, i would not put it past a man like brenner to kill the other subjects for the sake of the “greater good” in this case, eleven.

eleven’s gifts just continue thriving beyond his wildest expectations. brenner would never dare assume that having moulded her from the womb, she would still be able to grow into her own person, her own mind, and one day be able to see him for exactly who he was.

back before season four aired, it was obvious there were other test subjects because jane was 011. so there were at least ten kids before her. but i always liked the idea/assumed that she was the last experiment because she was the most successful. that they didn’t need anyone after her because she was fulfilling everything they set out for her to do. with flying colours.

i just think the whole rainbow room idea, pitting the kids against each other thing… been there, done that. boring and predictable. i think at this point my portrayal of her time in hawkins lab really stems from the complete isolation she endured. where having the rainbow room, although eleven was obviously the most isolated out of the kids, brings that sense of community and sister/brotherhood. albeit extremely warped and toxic. knowing that she wasn’t alone in that experience just. doesn’t sit well with me. i think it’s important to note that she was alone, physically and mentally. which is why kali is also so important to her growth. i thought a lot of the flashbacks of her time in the lab during season four was really boring, repetitive, and just very predictable. although peter becoming vecna was a surprise to me, and was a nice little twist, the idea of her having an ally on the inside was really interesting.

maybe they did get as far as they do in canon, peter ballad was telling the truth about everything, about some of the workers there being prisoners like him, and he really wanted to get her out and to safety. but before they can escape through the pipes, they’re caught. peter is shot on the spot, and eleven is put into the isolation room for a few days as punishment. in this timeline, henry would be vecna, but henry would not be peter ballad.

when eleven turned seven, and was already showing extreme promise, where the other children were average at best, brenner had the eight children killed. kali had already escaped. this was the main cause for peter to gain eleven’s trust and try to get her out. because if brenner could murder his “children” in cold blood, there’s no way eleven was safe even in spite of her power.

when eleven is allowed out of the isolation room, her testing becomes more rigorous in attempt to distance and make her forget about what she attempted to do with peter. brenner begins gaslighting her, saying that there was never a peter, that she must have been dreaming. eleven does ask “papa” about “mama”, given peter told her of the day terry broke in the lab, but brenner is convincing enough to make eleven believe it was all in her head. say she is around eight years old, meaning the same timeline of season fours canon flashbacks.

i still do wanna keep the henry creel canon, and keep him as 001. brenner didn’t have him killed alongside the other test subjects, because who knows, one day he could become an even better asset than 011. brenner definitely wants to be able to control henry, but keeps the chip in him because, for the moment, doesn’t know how. killing him would be too big of a loss.

when eleven is ten years old, henry’s concealed powers break free and he manages to get the chip out himself, and unleashes hell onto hawkins lab. he almost kills brenner by snapping his bones, but eleven manages to stop him. her extreme abilities are unleashed, and she sends henry to the upside down. she does fall into a coma due to the extremity of the situation, but she does not forget what happened. brenner believes she’s the perfect weapon as she stepped in to save him without a second thought, was able to defeat henry, and opened a door to something he never thought possible. eleven is rewarded for her efforts. although she remembers the entire battle / confrontation, her memories regarding the portal are very hazy.

brenner decides not to focus on the portal straight away, instead gets her training harder and harder to see what else she can accomplish. also loved the idea of brenner sending her into the void to “look for him” so that will definitely be kept.

by the time she escapes and season one begins, her knowledge of the upside down is basically what we see in canon. because she passed out the moment after she sent henry away, she was once again gaslighted into believing she merely threw him through the glass and killed him. for two years she believed this, until making contact with the demogorgan, and those memories return completely.

due to her saving brenner’s life, (it was pure instinct. she happened to be there. saw her “papa” hurt and knew she had to make him better.) brenner constantly thanks her. but in a very condescending way. tells her: “you saved me so i can continue saving you.” aka, harness your abilities and see what else i can achieve from you. despite the fact that she saved his life, these words and phrases make her feel indebted to him. that she owes him something further.

i don't realistically see her thriving with her speech improvement until she's well into her twenties at least. her slowed development, sensory and social deprivation causes a serious delay in language. surrounded by other children she would have overheard conversations, some would have spoken to her. her conveniently forgetting her upbringing pre the battle with henry just isn't good enough for me anymore. it makes more sense for her to have been raised alone.

it also helps indicate why she gravitated towards the boys when they found her in the woods. they would have been the first people her age she ever remembered seeing. as far as she knew, during the lab there was no one like her. everyone was much older, they were adults-- although she stayed with benny, i'm not sure if she would have stuck around very long. where she followed the boys home without thought.

also it's important to note that after time, jane does understand that peter ballad was a real person, and was truly the first person (aside from terry) who wanted the best for her. when she remembers him, knows that brenner was lying, she deals with immense guilt regarding his death. he was shot right in front of her eyes, because he was trying to help her. this is another catalyst as to why after season two, jane never refers to brenner as papa. she does not give him that sort of credit.

[turtlespancake]

i cant believe fontaine finally cleaned up its archon quest writing and learned to Actually Proper Balance its npc screentime with its playable character screentime. and yet. AND YET!!! THIS is the nation where i end up hyperfixating on the historical figures with no official designs.

[teamred]

focus on me

✩‌ qimir x acolyte!reader | smut | fluff | 2.5k

SUMMARY | in which the tension finally breaks between you and your master when you train together one afternoon.

WARNINGS | smut, s*xual force choking, knee foreplay, finger sucking, f*ngering, dirty talk, piv s*x, unprotected s*x, violence (fighting and choking)

RATING | explicit

NOTES | i'm simply a girl who's fallen to the dark side for qimir!!! qimir's lowkey a softie in this, which might not be canon, but idc!!!

You stumble back with your palm soiled wet. 

Thankfully, you grounded the rest of your weight with your makeshift wooden staff. Panting, you drag yourself upward, readying yourself for what’s to come next. 

Sweat drips down your forehead as the sun begins to dip into the horizon beyond the abundance of trees and overgrowth, the heat felt by your exposed arms and through your thin sleeveless wrap top.

It's been more than two hours of training, but your master knows your limit. Pushes you until you break–and he knows you’re far from your breaking point. 

Perspiration also stains his forehead. Master Qimir wipes it away with the back of his hand, moving his hair aside too. 

Moments like these, you pride yourself in knowing his identity after years of him preserving his anonymity behind that intimidating, powerful mask. He’s gained followers over time since you've known him, but you’re his one and only acolyte. 

Your mind wanders further. Why does he choose to wear his mask in public when he can make nations fall to their knees just with a flash of his smirk? 

Said smirk is plastered on his face as he twirls his two batons between his fingers with ease. Beyond his smirk, there was also the ordeal of seeing his glistening, gorgeous arms every day and– 

Your master calls out your name playfully, “I hope you’re focusing on me.”

“You know I am, Master.” You’re not exactly lying. You inch closer, holding your staff firmly with both hands and pointing one end of it in his direction. 

He tsks and lets out of a deep chuckle. It always bothers you how his chuckles make your heart skip a beat, among the other things it does to the rest of your body.  

“You're focusing on things about me, Acolyte. Not on me directly, nor on my presence,”—he paces in a circle around you, with you tracking his every step—“If this was a real fight, you’d be dead.”

“Well, I can’t help it that my master can be so distracting!” you grit out, taking the opportunity to lunge towards him. 

Weapons clash. Loud echoes continually reverberate throughout the forest, along with your occasional grunts. 

Master Qimir’s style is aggressive and swift, always on the offense, so you’ve become accustomed to defend his moves well. He comes in with one baton towards your side, and the other towards your head. You deflect both smoothly, and without much thought, you decide to attack him. 

However, your confidence blinds you.

Too close. 

He elbows your arm and slams into your side, causing your staff to drop.  

Then, Qimir shoves you far with the Force, distancing you from your weapon, and gets close again to hook his foot around yours. Your back stings as you fall down. 

In the blink of an eye, he pins you down with both batons tightly pressed against your throat, cutting off your air supply. You struggle under him, trying your best to smack him away with your diminishing strength. 

“Breathe, think, and focus,” he calmly orders, despite the agonizing scene in front of him. 

You take a second to compose yourself, inhaling as much as you can for a second.

Suddenly, you feel his knee move up between your legs, spreading them.

And you feel him moving upwards again, but this time brushing against your core. 

Your sparring composure absolutely shatters–a gasp and small moan release, and you’re back to struggling once more. 

You assume it was a mistake, but you’re relishing in the pleasure nevertheless, even in your current state of distress. 

“Focus, my acolyte,” Master Qimir barks, and he presses the batons harder into you. “Focus!” 

Your vision begins to blur alongside the increasing pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Gathering all your might and wanting to avoid disappointing Qimir, you breathe as much as you can and drown out everything to focus on how to get out of the situation. 

With a sliver of consciousness left, you will yourself to use the Force and seize your staff. Your fingers clutch around it and you thwack Qimir hard on the head, disorienting him for a moment. Without hesitation, throughout your excessive gasping, you skillfully maneuver yourself to switch positions. 

Now, your staff is pressed against his throat. 

“Is this better, Master?” you pant and cough with a grin, basking in your success. “Am I focused now?” 

He grants a brief nod, but you notice an unusual look in his eyes. 

It reads as a rare time he’s overly impressed, but there’s something else. 

Qimir raises his hand and gently curls it around yours, wordlessly asking you to lower your weapon. You ruffle your eyebrows, unsure why he’s letting down his guard against you during training.

“Master Qimir,” you whisper, still holding your staff to the side with a relaxed but guarded grip, “is this another test of yours?”  

He shakes his head, his touch now carefully grazing your forehead and cheeks. Your staff rolls away as your eyes flutter, savoring this foreign feeling from him–tenderness, affection, warmth. A hand softly cups your face. 

“Training’s over for today.” 

The warmth fades into familiar roughness with a sharp pull by the back of your neck downwards. 

His mouth drives into yours, each kiss igniting fire within you, sparking every inch of your body. Desire is bursting at the seams. He kneads your neck and body intently, mirroring you as you clutch onto his face and sturdy frame. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you had never fantasized kissing Qimir before, but this is everything you dreamed of and better.  

“Master–” you gasp sharply at the sensation of him pressing his knee up against you again. Reflexively, you writhe as your body screams for more. 

“You like this a lot…” His tone drips of arrogance. Further pressure is added and he happily inhales your moans between his teasing chuckles.   

You manage to muster the following amidst the rising pleasure, “So it was intentional before.”

“Of course.” His words are muffled as he leaves open-mouthed kisses upon the side of your neck. Your fingers dig further into his shoulder and scalp as he cups your breast. “You need to learn to push aside your desires when training.” 

“Should we stop then?” The neck kissing sears you, especially when he tugs skin between his teeth to bite and suck. “To teach me a lesson?” 

He shakes his head and removes himself from your neck, coming back up to drag your lower lip between his teeth. 

“It doesn’t mean I want to push aside my desires.” 

You catch a fleeting glimpse of his signature smirk before his lips are on yours again. Kisses become more electric as he dips his tongue into your mouth.

Hands fly erratically and grasp everywhere. His arms. Your ass. Fingers running beneath his top, feeling up his abs. His harsh grips of your thighs. 

Unexpectedly, he holds you close and flips you over; you’re back on top of him again and you can surely feel his prominent desire against yours. 

In a rush, you bunch up his thin shirt and attempt to pull it off him. He sits up with you in his lap and, with a fluid flick of his wrist, he rids you of your clothes and they are tossed to one side; his follow suit. Qimir promptly draws his nearby robes closer to be placed underneath you both, covering yourselves from the soiled forest. 

The look in his eyes is unmistakably lust-filled, completely insatiable. He wastes no time in taking your tit into his mouth, tongue flicking and lips puckering, while one hand holds you by your back and the other dips two fingers into your desire, wet and ready for him. 

You arch into him, leaning your head back and letting yourself go. Wanting to reciprocate, you reach out to stroke his cock. Relishing in the pleasure, he draws back his head, eyes closed, and leans his forehead against your chest.

The forest may be filled with the rustling of the wind against the trees and the odd bird cawing, but all you can focus on is Qimir’s throaty groans and every obscene squelch when he slides his fingers in and out of you. 

He glances up and attempts to open his eyes as much as he can to give you his full attention, despite the heavenly strokes you’re giving him. 

Eyes shine back at you with the utmost vulnerability–a sight you never see. A sight that you want to etch into your memory forever, knowing you, his Acolyte, could make your Master weak and let his guard down with just your touch. 

“You don’t know how long I’ve held myself back…”

The vulnerability dissipates as he darts his tongue against your untouched nipple. 

“...wanting to see you like this for me.” 

You two become one for a while as he plays with you like a toy he just received as a gift. He tries you out, sees what you like and what you can handle. How sensitive you are with your breasts. How many fingers you can take. How much noise you make when he thumbs your clit. 

At one point, he eventually removes his fingers from you, evidently drenched from your bliss. He holds out his fingers in front of you, and you realize what he’s suggesting.   

Obediently, like you always are with him, you open your mouth and let his fingers lay on your tongue. You wrap your mouth around them, and finally let yourself suck on them a bit, tasting yourself and treating his fingers as if it were his cock. 

When you finish, to your surprise, he sticks his fingers into his own mouth, sucking off the remnants of you. He then kisses you deeply. Tasting yourself in his mouth excites you, riles you up again and back to wanting the next step with Qimir. 

As if reading your mind, he adjusts himself to lay back down vertically, and takes you by your wrist to lead you to sit onto him. 

You hold his possession against you between your legs, teasing his tip by not quite sitting onto him fully, indulging in your control over him. However, at this point, Qimir lacks patience, so he grasps you by your waist and forces you to ease onto his length.  

The guttural moan you release could easily be heard at all ends of the forest. 

He fills you deliciously, stretches you in the sweetest way possible. Using the strength of your thighs and your hands to keep you steady, you bounce at a comfortable pace, not wanting this to end just yet.

When you find a good position to balance your weight, you allow yourself to stroke his perfect body. His chiseled abs. The solid planes of his chest. His strong forearms. The sharp jawline that you dream of kissing almost every night.

“You take my cock so well.” 

A more familiar look flashes through his eyes, one that you normally see him flash prior to slaying Jedi or when he's in a bad mood. It’s drenched with darkness and dominance, almost bordering on fury.   

You freeze, and then you feel it.

The constriction around your throat, created by the Force. He can easily kill you within seconds. He's done this only once to you, and that was when he was testing your loyalty to him years ago.

But this is different. Different than that time, and most definitely different than before with his batons. This is more controlled; the hold is mostly against the sides of your windpipe and it isn't overtly harsh. 

On top of that, your entire body is on fire, becoming wound up by this act.  

“Do you enjoy this?” he asks, tone teetering between curiosity and being threatening.

“Yes,” you mentally scream.

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“Yes,” you manage to croak. 

He raises an eyebrow. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, Master.” 

“Nu-uh,” he says. “Say my name, my beautiful acolyte.”

You're too distracted to be caught up in the fact that he called you beautiful. Instinctively, you want to ride this new sensation to lead you to another high. But you know that if you don’t reply, he might not let you get there. 

“Yes, Qimir.”

His signature smirk takes up his whole face and your pussy clenches tighter at the sight of it. He may have the upper hand with his strength around your neck, but so do you when you notice the flickering of his eyes.

“And how does my cock feel?” He tightens a little more around your throat, and you're affected further. Qimir's collectedness can only take much longer too.

“Feels good, feels so fucking good…” 

Intoxication rises from your abdomen and to all ends of your body. Your eyes begin to roll, and you're so close— 

And it's gone. The tightness on your throat stops, and so is your near-high.

You're about to complain, but Qimir quickly hauls you in close to his body. Face to face, forehead to forehead, your breaths fan one another.

“Before I let either of us finish, I want to hear you say my name as you come on my cock.”

That smirk will be the absolute death of you, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Can you do that for me?” 

You nod breathlessly.

Your master holds you by your waist and immediately thrusts over and over, deep and fast into you. Desperate to reach his climax, and to ensure you get to yours too.

“QimirQimirQimir–” 

And so you unravel, voice rising with every iteration. Saying his name like you’re praying for forgiveness from all ends of the universe. 

Qimir then brings his mouth to yours once more, swallowing all your pretty whimpers and allowing himself to chase his own release moments later. 

Laying on his bare chest, you glance up at him and wonder how the relationship between you will be from now on.

You couldn’t just go back to what you were before; you would now be a master and acolyte intertwined sexually at least, romantically at most. Would it not be complicated? 

But of course, Master Qimir can hear what’s going on in your mind, and he doesn’t even need the Force to do so. Being his enigmatic self, he merely answers your thoughts by speaking the Sith Code: 

“‘Peace is a lie. There is only passion…’” 

He meets your eyes, strokes your face with a small smile. Affection blooms in your chest.

“‘Through passion, I gain strength.’” 

Holds your hand against his beating chest. 

“‘Through strength, I gain power.’” 

His grip tightens. 

“‘Through power, I gain victory. And through victory, my chains are broken.’” 

Qimir leans in and kisses you deeply as the darkness of the night sky engulfs you, the sun saying its goodbye for the night.

And with that, you realize that no matter what will happen from here on out, he’ll always care for you. 

That despite all the blood, sweat, and tears shed through training, stealing, and all the killing, he’s just as loyal and devoted to you as you are to him.

[mcondance]

pretty brown eyes (quit breakin’ my heart); s14 spencer reid x fem!reader

fingering, in his lap in his driver’s seat, softdom!spence (it’s canon idc), i have only seen one ep of criminal minds so years of crushing on spence through edits and stuff are working overtime ☆ this was supposed to be just a quick thing just abt spencer’s puppy eyes but it turned into this whole thing so enjoy. mcon writing more than like 250 words? the spencer reid effect is crazy. ☆ title from pretty brown eyes by mint condition and i tweaked it a little to fit a motif in here okayokay enjoy

spencer’s eyes, wide and beautifully brown, are his key. he knows what he’s doing when he flashes them, makes them a thousand times more expressive than they usually are. 

he begs you with them, begs to have his favorite thing for dinner, begs you for a million kisses, and anything else you can think of. he’s dangerous.

but he’s even more dangerous when he’s using them to make you do something.

two fingers deep inside you, perched in his lap in the leaned-back driver’s seat of his car, you swear you could explode. his hands are practiced and precise and patient in their conquest.

your hand clamps around his wrist, trying futilely to do something, anything to control the shocks and waves building incessantly inside you. he’s too strong and you’re too weak and your hand only serves as something else to fuel him, to urge him to plunge his fingers ever deeper and rock his palm against your clit. his palm dampens with your wetness, joining his thighs beneath you and the expanse of your thighs too. 

“ah-” you borderline heave.

“mhm,” he hums, his chest rumbling under you. 

the car’s silence sets a perfect backdrop for your runaway whines and whimpers, “i can’t” and “spence” and “uh uh, please” flowing from your lips like the water threatening to fall from your eyes. his fingers disappearing inside you make their own disgusting noise, too. 

spencer takes it all in, into that calculating mind of his, eyes moving from where his hand works between your legs to the hand you have clamped around his over your stomach, and resting on your face that holds a multitude of sensations and thoughts and feelings. 

you squirm a little, too strung out to move more than a couple centimeters but of course, he picks it up. brown eyes find yours as you feel his head turn and yours turns to him, and you’re fucked. so fucked.

“can you take it for me? hmm?” he’s making you. you couldn’t say no to those eyes even if you had the strength to. he’s cunning and you both know what he’s doing, but his eyes plead for you to let him play with you and your body cries yes and it’s sealed, you’re sealed and signed and delivered. 

“yeah,” you nod and keen, and his eyes soften ever more, snapping nerves through your body, and you tighten around his fingers, pulling another hum from his chest. 

he needs to kiss you, so he does. awkward angle and all, he leans and takes your lips into a kiss. he’s breathtaking and shit, his kiss has you as fucked up as his hand between your thighs, the focused and fluid motions of his fingers and palm melting your body onto his. 

sweat has you sticking to him, too, soaking through your shirt and his, and if you were more sober you’d thank him for not making it where you’d have to suffer through soaked underwear and shorts on the ride home. 

intoxicated, though, you squeeze your eyes shut and lean your head onto his shoulder, finally giving into the pleasure he’d spend lifetimes just giving to you. 

“good.” he states, abundantly pleased at the tension leaving your body. he hums again, drawing closer to your neck so he’s watching the view from where you bear witness. 

“you feelin’ good, baby? now that you’re all sweet f’me?”

“mhm-hmm,” you keen. you’d be a lie if you said it didn’t send heat and a thousand butterflies rising up through you, and even if you could lie, your body gives you away. again you dig your nails into his arm and the other finds his face, cupping his cheek and rubbing through his stubble, and it calms you down by proxy. he could crack a smile, now, and he does, a little grin spreading across his stupidly gorgeous face, a tease and poison and pleasure all in one methodical, pretty, dazzling genius.

again, your ears focus on the sound. and, damningly, his do too, you can feel it in the quickening of his hand and the deep rolling in his chest when his fingers and your cunt grow louder, ricocheting off his windows and bouncing back to grace two pairs of ears. it's vulgar and disgusting, but you both indulge in it like the purest water on earth.

it feels good to let spencer work you how he knows you like, to be the only thing he has going on in that brain of his.

the sparks that have been growing in you since spencer first laid his hands on you are starting to glide into fireworks, and you can’t run from it. it’s the opposite of what you want to do. now, laid bare and pathetic in spencer’s arms, you just want to cum for him, and everything that comes with it.

spencer knows, and he does nothing differently. consistency brings you to the edge and your head falls back to find his eyes, devout and resolute, clear in what he wants from you. you’re swimming in them, floating lazily through and he nods demandingly slow, and his request is fulfilled, his eyes are too beautiful and expressive and wanting for you to not cum.

cradled in his arms, you shiver with the pleasure of it, whines and sobs validated by spencer’s soft hum as he watches you unfold. shuddering, it flows through you and obeys the movements of spencer’s hand while he follows your bursting with parted lips and wondering eyes. 

as your breath returns to you, and the stars behind your eyes take their place back in the sky, your chest still heaves softly, sense and brains returning to you slowly. you open your eyes to find spencer’s staring right at you, soft with adoration and amused contentment.

[your-queen-shuri]

It's big so

When it comes to HMC trilogy, I take almost no criticism, as it just a wonderful written-story with alive and relatable characters. However, If I had to name a part I'd found reasonable to criticise and may critises myself, I'd say it's Lettie Hatter's arc.

Not because it was entirely bad, but because it could be so much better If it wasn't written in the 80s and had a different mindset attached to it. And because the way it starts and the way it progress has little to no connection to how it ends.

Because the whole thing of the Hatter sisters, all of them, was breaking social norms and expectations.

Sophie firmly believed that she would stay in the Hatter Shop for the rest of her life with the most boring existence possible — and yet she married the most chaotic, whiny and slither-outing wizard in all of Ingary, with whom everyday is a full-blown fantasy adventure.

Martha, as the youngest, was expected to have the above mentioned fantasy adventures, be a mighty witch, even a hero, maybe — but she decided to chose a happy, steady basic life with a husband and ten kids, and she didn't want to listen to anyone who said otherwise.

Lettie's arc, just as the whole stories of her sisters, were tied on what people wanted from her. She was the most beautiful out of all girls, If we believe Sophie's words, and people almost wished she would marry and find a life spouse, as she had one million proposals a day even before switching with Martha. But that wasn't what she wanted — I'm sure she would reject all of them as often as her sister did, because she wasn't a big fan of it, just as working in the bakery. Lettie wanted to be a witch, and she practically became one, switching with Martha, working with ms. Fairfax.

But while Sophie's arc of expecting to be plane and ordinary ended on being gifted and adventurous, Martha's arc of avoiding busy life ended on finding a person she loves and planning to build a big family, Lettie's arc of searching for greatest achievement and avoiding marriages ended on...a marriage.

A marriage that, as stated by herself — "Ben doesn't like people to know I'm a witch" — kinda disregards her initial want to show that she has intelligence outside of her beauty, the one that he can show and that she can use.

(This line has absolutely no context whatsoever and we can only guess why Ben wants so, because it's actually so out of his character, even all the bits that were described before. But nope, no context, no explanations. It may be because she was pregnant at the time, but, again nothing like this was ever said and it's a pretty lame excuse anyway. Magical mirrors in their house also do not obey Lettie, at all)

And, as much as I absolutely love Ben and as much as I absolutely love Lettie, I don't think pairing them was a good choice. Mostly because Lettie was seventeen (one year younger than Sophie) in the end of HMC when their "pairing" started, and Ben is described to be noticeably older that Howl in CITA, which brings us to the conclusion he's at least in his thirties. And that's...a bit uncomfortable of an age gap, especially If we take into the account they canonically had a kid about a year later. And also Ben was supposed to be her mentor.

...And If he stayed her mentor and nothing more, it would be actually great. Because I believe Lettie deserves the same development her sister had, to get was she initially wanted and what she was fighting for. To be an apprentice of the Royal Wizard, to be a powerful a well-known witch, to show the world who told her that she has to marry to succeed in life that she in fact, doesn't, to show all this guys that tried to propose to her that she didn't need them, at all. But definitely not a wife, or a mother.

Not because being a mother or/and a wife is a bad character development. It worked perfectly with Sophie, because it represents her chaotic happily ever after better than anything else, it worked with Martha because she wanted to had ten kids and marry. It's just not for Lettie's character in particular precisely because everything in her concept of "beatiful middle sister" showed that was she's supposed to be.

Because Mrs. Pentstemmon said Lettie awaits a great, good fate, that she'll be as powerful as the Witch of the Waste — and I want to see it. Because I didn't.

[sapphic-agent]

So. I finally read this fuckass comic that's been talked about again recently. I'd only ever heard about it before so I decided to check it out. I'm gonna go through some of the pages and give my two cents because why not?

I'm not gonna lie to you guys, I don't get how Katara is "out of character" here. This is very reminiscent of Book 1 Katara, who was playful and teasing and immature and acted like, y'know, a kid. I know Bryke might have you thinking otherwise, but she shouldn't baby Aang all the time.

Especially because he is supposed to be practicing and just... isn't doing it. This was her way of lightheartedly trying to motivate him, which I think is pretty on brand for her.

You could make the argument that Katara is being dismissive here, but honestly? The subject clearly makes her uncomfortable. She was kissed (without consent) before a major battle by someone she saw as a friend. Of course she was uncomfortable. She has every right to not want to talk about or acknowledge it.

Calling that out of character is not doing Kataang shippers any favors when the most common criticism against them is their tendency to brush aside Katara's autonomy.

(At first when I saw this panel, I thought maybe she was being a little abrasive towards him. But... She's the same way with Toph in The Runaway. This isn't behavior that came out of nowhere. Why is it that it's only a problem when it comes to Aang?)

I guess a better question here is, is Aang out of character? For me, it's actually yes and no.

I think they made him overly mopey. Like yes, he's had his moments in the show, but drawing hearts in the dirt? What kind of shit is this??

Not to mention his weird little monologue inside the rock ("Who's really playing games here, Katara?" Are you actually serious, Bryke? Idc what anyone says, those words would never leave Aang's mouth). It feels like a bid to make him more sympathetic so that the reader feels bad for him. I'm fine labeling that OOC.

However...

Do I think Aang would purposely physically hurt Katara? No. Do I think Aang would get so caught up in his emotions that he stops being mindful of himself and his surroundings? Well.

Both times you could label an accident. But both times resulted from Aang being careless and being unable to regulate himself. Now, you could make the argument that this is OOC because Aang learned and developed past this point. And I would agree, if we were talking about Book 2 Aang or even mid to late Book 1 Aang.

But honestly, character regression is very on point for Book 3 Aang. Especially post DOBS. Most of you already know about my beef with Book 3 Aang, so I won't get into that.

Now, I do think that Aang would be a little more apologetic and guilty considering how regretful he was in Book 1. But him prioritizing his own feelings instead of how he affected her? Completely on-brand. In EIP he was upset about how he messed up his chances with Katara, not that he kissed her without consent and upset her.

But even if this couldn't fit Katara and Aang as characters, even if they were outlandishly OOC and completely different from the characters we knew, that doesn't really matter. This comic is official and canon. Just like the comics where Aang ignores her in favor of his weird fanclub and she swallows her hurt and puts up with it. Just like LOK where Aang is a neglectful father and Katara is a mild mannered housewife.

You can dislike this comic and criticize its portrayals all you want. But it's still canon. You can't ignore canon, especially when your main argument for Kataang being better than Zutara is that it's canon

[eldrith]

ғʀᴏᴍ ᴇᴅᴇɴ ; ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ.

ɪᴅᴇᴀʟɪsᴍ sɪᴛs ɪɴ ᴘʀɪsᴏɴ ;

jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader words: 8.2k synopsis: jacaerys falls for a woman in aegon's garden. notes: here's part two of my mini series for halloween ! just fyi, this is the longest part that i have planned out of all five parts <3 next chap will include smut. this one goes out to my febu frongers for helping with my sanity (losing it) ily chapter warnings: isolation/loneliness, kissing, grief, eating as symbolism, description of death, fluff, religious themes & symbolism, spooky-ish, questionable morals, jace is a bit bigoted (canon idc), impure thoughts, light corruption kink, brief mention of smut - but once again still pretty tame. series masterlist. masterlist.

“SȲNDOR IS MISSING.” 

The observation comes in a billowed plume of wind to Jacaerys’s face, brushing silver hair against his shoulder as he turns to his cousin mid-step.

Baela’s face is tinted in some mild melancholy at the announcement of the disappearance - Jacaerys’s tilt of a consolatory head is halted only by a slight wince of pain within his neck. His body has not yet fully recovered from the flight, he knows: the Twins to Dragonstone is not a necessarily perilous flight, but as he returned to the island he was greeted by torrential pours from the heavens that left him rather chilled and ached to the bone. 

A sharp salt, some smoky wind; boots, traversing over rocks in a sprawling path towards the castle, swaddled near in a thick blanket of morning fog. The sky is calm, the island sleepy in the midmorning sun- though any quiet day passed upon Dragonstone yields more disconcertment than appeasement these days. 

The sea mist drifts just below cliffs dark down the slope of the Mont; a breeze tugs the hem of his cloak, whipping Baela’s hair, blowing against the dark riding gloves his mother grasps. 

“Sȳndor?” His Queen mother repeats, a faint smile ghosting over her visage.

Her voice is just as absent, distracted as it has been the past few moons - present only when some lick of a leg lifting towards victory flutters into grasp; as last night she had done so, when the idea had sprouted from Jacaerys’s own lips to seek out those who fell from their own line. It is better than death and defeat.  A bird circles overhead; wings spread, it's shadow flickers over Jacaerys’s curls and cuts sharply down towards the outer bailey’s yard, where men sharpen blades and bark to each other in jaunts. 

“Quite a curious name.” 

His mother stares ahead - always, ahead. Around them, wildgrass billows in waves; kissed by black dress skirts, crushed by leather soles. Vermax flies free in the distance, circling the boats which float, no more than fleas upon the horizon. 

A slight lift of her chin as Baela nods. “A stray cat,” She explains, “I found him lurking about the shadows of the kitchens some moons ago.” 

Absently, Jacaerys smirks - Sȳndor. Very fitting. His mother lifts the thick of her cloaked riding gown as she steps - and Jacaerys, moving to aid her movement; a small nod of appreciation towards him. 

After a moment’s breath, the horizon peeks from behind one small hill - and over its wildgrass, Jacaerys strains to find the familiar paint of bright pines that sway in gentle breeze; a floral kiss to the wind, one that lulls the pain in the base of his skull. 

“He’s never wandered far before,” Baela adds, brows drawn slightly, “He only ever eats fish. Perhaps the fishermen have lured him with their catch.” 

Though it would be thought rude to ignore such conversation, Jacaerys cannot help the ache that persists between his eyes - penetrating his mind, leaking in a dull numb throb that carries with each step he takes. From his mother, a nod. “A long way to go for a meal.” She decides, “Perhaps he’s waiting for you to find him.” 

At this, Baela sends the Queen a half-amused glance, aware of the Queen’s preoccupied state, falling into step with her among the swaying swish of weeds which spurt from volcanic soil; Jacaerys slows, his gaze drawn towards the view of the large stretching outer bailey of Dragonstone Castle. 

Such a dull throb in his head - and just there, over the final incline of mounded soil before the descent towards Wind Wyrm Tower: the twisted horns of the large Thorned Dragon statue peeking over the hill. 

Climbing and curling, those jagged gnarled roots black and sharp against the sky - his heart lurches at the sight, recalling the visit nearly a week ago; how it has not since left his mind, those sweet blooms and quiet idyl. 

The world churns around them - the days grow weary with council and strife and death - innocent death; of sons, of mothers and their daughters; the world chews itself over each night when the sun falls and spits out some new solemn omen of conflict upon the first breath of dawn. 

The world churns and Jacaerys’s head aches with the burden of fate; yet Aegon’s Garden rests in its eternal sanctum each day outside his chamber windows. It sings to his weary mind - empty and abundant, bursting over the horizon with green and pinked red, surpassed only by the horns of the Dragon. 

When his mother speaks once more, her own gaze is similarly absorbed with the hooked jags of iron in the distance. “Even when I was younger,” She muses, eyes wary, “It felt those horns grew from the earth itself. It has always been a rather unsettling part of the castle.” 

He can only blink in his memory as Baela humors his mother’s words with her own conversation; words of rot and decay, words which mix into the pot of swirling danger and skirmish; a tumultuous tumble into an ocean colder than that which swallowed his closest blood. And so he falls only a few footsteps behind the women, fighting some odd feeling that the very stone that holds in the garden had always been there, under the turn of soil, waiting for his ancestors to come. 

It is unseen - ever concealed by the stone wall and iron gates, though the Garden does indeed bloom wonderfully. Great clusters of flowers, creeping vines - heavy, but alive nonetheless. The garden, with its honeyed scent and chirping birds, cloying smiles and lingering laughter. 

You - the memory of you, striking a skip in his heartbeat; standing so lovely among the thick growth of blooms, just as inviting as the twisting trees in the distance, as the smiling red anemones which greet the path towards the hedges. 

He’s unsure why the words fall from his lips, though he takes no true effort to halt them as they surge. “The garden is well-tended,” he murmurs. His mother does not remove her sight from the tower ahead, where the Painted Table awaits their company. “Is it?” She wonders. 

He shifts as they begin the descent towards the Tower. “Yes. It’s not nearly as savage as tales have made it seem.”

Baela’s brows furrow, a flash of trepidation in her gaze that slides from his mother and back to his own visage. “You’ve been to the Garden?” 

And though there is no such lilt upon her tongue, there is a wariness - and then, some bristling defense which rises in his chest; his cheeks grow hot as he momentarily recalls that oddly calm grin, those stained fingertips, such wide eyes and lovely, glowing skin. 

“I… visited it a few nights past.” He’s unsure where his hesitance sprouts from, “I met the woman who keeps it.” 

A remote unease has grasped at his stomach, and so he allows no more information - Baela’s eyes have left the hedgeline that peeks over stone walls, her face twisted as she glances expectantly to his mother; waiting for words that do not come. 

His mother has instead set her eyes upon Maester Gerardys, who waits towards the tower’s entrance with a handful of scrolls; her lips are pressed thin, clearly preoccupied with less idle subjects. “-We’ve lingered in the skies too long,” His Queen mother decides as they cross into the yard, nodding as Houseworkers bow. “There are important matters to see. We must propose Ser Steffon.” 

Baela’s stare does not falter; a burning glare into the side of his gaze, a look of unease that brings some breath of irritation crawling through Jacaerys’s veins. 

A WALL OF GLOOM LINGERS IN THE SKY EARLY THE NEXT MORNING. 

Jacaerys does not shiver when his feet meet the cold stone of the chamber floors; instead, he presses palms to his visage, cheeks flushed and warm as he stares absently out the open casement, watching wind stir the pines that gather towards the open bailey below. 

A rare reprieve it is, to not have duties until the sun has reached its peak - and here he’s woken quite early in the day, enough so that the crawling fog has not yet retreated back across the stretch of sea; it lingers, whispering through the island, blanketing sound and licking up the stone walls at the base of the castle below. 

The day’s linen shirt is pressed and crisp; he begins to shed his sleepclothes, blinking away syrupy fatigue and the remnants of restless sleep.

A small burst of morning air calms the clamminess upon his skin, ambered gazes roving the hedgeline of Aegon’s Garden down below - a curling, beckoning respite this morning, when his mind is so dull and sharply pained at the base of his skull. Still lingers a headache that has persisted for days; his skin is bright against the dark morning within his mirror, sullen with the clouding consternation that seems to only grow each day. 

The man who stares back at him is weary, hallowed by the flare of danger that lies for Ser Steffon later in the day - to face the unfaceable, for one who is not a Dragonlord - the circle turns, a voice reminds him. 

Perhaps he will take Vermax out for a ride this morning, to clear his mind. The linen tunic obscures his gaze when he tugs it atop his head, soft against his fatigued skin; though in a flash of white and a startled blink, a sharp movement in the contours of Aegon’s Garden below is nearly missed. 

A flicker, some silhouette - and Jace’s body stills, breath caught in his throat as he tugs the tunic right, grasping at the fabric as he leans towards the sill. 

He could swear he saw…

And in a flicker around a stone replica of the Conqueror’s Throne, he sees it again - a flash of curled hair that catches the breeze, a blue doublet swallowed by the swirled thick of fog. His brows furrow.

Lashes tangle and kiss before his vision, and he raises a shaky hand to rub them - no, he must be mad. But after his hands fall away the figure is back, walking with such a familiar gait, young, slender - moving along a path of flickering roses and poppies which curl back to the earth as he passes them by. 

No. Jacaerys’s pulse quickens, heart rising to his throat; A sinking dread curls along his gut. 

Luke. 

And the wound so delicately healed is torn open in a sharp inhale of disbelief; of unforgiving skies, of jaws which opened and snapped quicker than a final breath - and Jacaerys is staggering back from the window, vision blurrier with each passing moment. 

A cruel, choking sorrow that spurs his limbs into action - a soft knock nearly ignored as his chamber door creaks open, a young handmaid bowing as she carries morning tea. 

His gaze is wide as a doe’s caught in the crosshair of an arrow - and she, floundering for a moment, bending at the waist to set down the tray. “My Prince-” 

“-No.” He snaps, voice harsh as panic races through his mind, “Leave. I-I don’t want it.” He hisses. 

She flinches just slightly as he brushes past her in a flurry; sheath, sword, and the rest of his daywear forgotten, he races through the tower, fingers clenching in a series of shaking gasps. 

It can’t be real. He reminds himself repeatedly as he storms past Houseworkers, tears pricking at his vision, breaths uneven, shallow. The wind pricks at his cheeks and pinks his nose when he breaches the threshold. It isn’t real.

But he must prove it for himself. 

And the iron gates give in to his palms easily, the damp morning dew slicking his hands as fog chokes the air with seabreath. His boots sink into soft earth as he stumbles through the winding path of the garden; eyes darting warily between tall rose bushes and poppies, sucking air into his lungs. Grief curls its slithering tail in the back of his mind, replacing the dull ache which once festered. 

The garden is silent. 

An oppressive, unwelcome silence, save for the rustle of leaves and a very distant call of gulls from the docks below. The blooms seem to still as they watch Jacaerys stumble past, vibrant colors peeking through the fog which creeps behind him; his footsteps falter until he stumbles into a small stone statue, palms curling around its base for support. 

He’s a fool for believing the tricks his eyes played upon him - though it does not make the hollow torment of loneliness ache any less. 

He affords a helpless slump against the statue, leaning towards the stone-carved skirts of what seems to be a maiden with a serpent curling upon her leg; a choked gasp from Jacaerys as he calms his breath, overwhelmed by his bout of childish beliefs. 

Lucerys is dead, he reminds himself, dead. Gone. 

…But he could have sworn he’d seen a boy walking through the path just on the other side of the Thorned Dragon. The stone under his palm is cold against the heat of his body; Only a moment before he takes in the visage of the statue before him. 

With a hitch in his sob, only few tears escape the trappings of his lashes; a sweet curve of cheek, soft jaw, stoned hair which frames a face weathered by time; some serene expression upon the carving that moves in the shifting light above him. 

His heart stutters for a moment - the face’s gentle smile, the arch of a brow - it looks rather familiar; Jacaerys shakes his head, pushing away the sudden tightness in his chest. 

Though uncanny, he supposes it is simply the result of a turned malady of the mind; he’s been thinking of you, seeing you everywhere in the days since you met. 

Intoxicating, you are - a melodic hum that whispers in the wind even when his cheek rests upon pillow; your eyes glinting in the faces of each Houseworker he passes - and how he, despite better judgment, searches each woman he sees with a foolish, desperate hope that it perhaps might be you. 

That he might speak with you again - learn more than just your name, coax that pretty smile onto your lips once again. 

And then, less permissible to admit is a more unseemly desire, one which he suppresses, knowing it is nothing more than restlessness in a war he is forbade to fight; in his dreams, your lips - wrapped salaciously around fig fruits, plucking each thread of his patience, fingers swiping up the sweet juice that drips down your chin and swiping those same fingers upon your tongue. The vision sends a sharp heat through his stomach, stirring some hunger deep within him that leaves him incredibly uneasy. 

It takes a moment to tear himself away from the lulling stone gaze of the statue - and more aimlessly now, with a mind numbed by the ambrosial breath of the Garden, of the lingering possibility of you, he wanders further along the path; pretending he doesn’t leer at any passing rustle with the hopes of glancing that familiar figure around every turn’s bend. 

The morning sun barely kisses over the tops of the hedges when Jacaerys finally finds himself back within the small courtyard of the Thorned Dragon; and there, for a few solitary minutes, he idly traces the vines that curl like serpents around the base stone of the statue, recalling how your own fingers had done the very same those days ago. 

Soft, dainty fingers - the ones which had cupped those purpling green fruits, peeled away to find the meaty flesh beneath; how your hand had fluttered so when he’d greeted you. 

That short hide-and-seek game you’d so unknowingly prompted - and then, at the end; A gaze sharp and minatory from behind the very edge he leans upon now, your hair cascading in tresses that blew in the breath of the garden. 

And when you’d come out from that shadow, skirts slithering and sliding with your glide to stand as awkward as a baby doe - your cheeks warmed and bashful, nothing in your eyes but some anxious interest. Sweet. Beautiful. Divine. 

His thoughts are lost with a distant humming deeper within the garden, one which tugs at his interest and his wariness alike - but when a sharp prick on the tip of his finger sends him a sting of pain, his hand jerks back from the plant. 

The motion drives his eyes in a glance to the upper hedgeline, where a figure stands in the hilltop’s distance - Maester Gerardys, watching with eyes sharper than beaks of ravens. 

He blinks back precariously, unsure why there swirls unease within him at the leering surveillance. A stir in his chest, an ice-cold whisper that fails to penetrate the warmth of soil and blooms around him. 

Jacaerys’s finger throbs, and he pulls his gaze away from the distant, watchful man; With a stare of surprise, he watches dark blood bead upon his fingertip - and the thorn, now smeared with that very same crimson. 

Instinctively, he sucks the blood from the throbbing finger, brows furrowing as if trying to recall some distant memory - though when he looks back, Maester Gerardys is gone. 

“Good morrow, my Prince.” 

He quells his startle with a sharp inhale, turning rather quickly to find the source of the shaded voice. 

His heart gives a traitorous leap when his eyes settle on you - a pale dress, your hair loose and beautiful around a gentle countenance; a deep flush upon his cheeks as his eyes settle over the soft skin awarded to his sore sight, at the sun dancing around your hair and off the skin of your chest. He emits a rather unreal laugh, one which falls fleetingly from his lips, his heart warm. 

He breathes out your name; it comes winded, breathless, eager as a greeting could be - and the sight of your shy tuck of tresses behind your ear makes his cheeks warm. 

“I’d not expected you to return so soon,” You observe - though your tone is so very kind, so pure  - he cannot help but smile back in full. 

There’s something deep inside him that has been awoken in the days past - a restless ache that stirs at your gentleness; Jacaerys yearns to somehow take it, protect it, keep it safe from anything that could harm you - as if doing so would silence the clawing talons of beastly desire within his chest. 

He takes a step forward and your eyes track his movements gently. 

“I suppose I found it hard to stay away from such beauty,” he replies with a heated visage, aware of that desperate rawness in his voice that denies the meager attempt at charm.

Though all the same: Your cheeks flush deliciously at his words, a bashful grin that tugs at your lips. 

In a momentary bout of his own shyness, he glances towards the soil below his feet - though it seems his mind truly is playing tricks on him this morn; as he glances away, he could swear your smile flashes some darkened grin in the swaying light. A startling sight, one which drops a pit through his stomach - but when he blinks back up to you, it is gone - and your seraphic face stares back at him, questioning. 

Had you asked him something? 

In a surge of embarrassment, he excuses himself - you do nothing but giggle, voice trilling and light as the clouds, as the wings of a hummingbird. 

You pace warily towards him, eyeing the bench; to which he eagerly gestures for you, pleased when you heed his invitation, both of you sitting as fog swirls around your ankles. 

For a moment, all is calm - the fog breathes in and out with your chest, and he finds himself transfixed on a thin line of puckered skin which traces its way up your arm; no more than a wisp, a meteor of light against the sky of your skin, silver and delicate as the hair of his kin. 

“I wonder what brings you here so early, Prince Jacaerys?” you muse, fingertips brushing along the folded pale purple petals that crawl up the stone bench out of the fog. 

A flash of skin, soft beneath the skirts of your dress as toes dig into the dark soil. He frowns, though your voice pulls him from the haze of absent thought. “Even the Morning Glories have not yet awoken from their slumber.” 

He is unsure how to answer your inquiry; he lets himself instead roam his gaze over the hedges, brows furrowing as he recalls what’d brought him to the garden in the first place. Fuzzy, the clouds of his thoughts float away from his tongue - and after a moment, his fingers grasp the bench below him, some distant hysteria churning in his chest.  

A morning glory is plucked between your fingers - he hears it like a snap in his mind, jolting his spine upright as he watches you lift the bloom to your nose; it has spread its flesh in the few moments since you’ve sat, and the soft petals paint your lips a sweet indigo as you press it against you in a small kiss. His chest stirs in affection. 

That face… so similar in its stony form just hedges behind him; and with a blink, he recalls the sight from his chamber window, of… unease leaks into his stomach. 

“Have you…” His lower lip is pinned by his teeth for a moment when you come to stare him back - visions of blue, of that gait moving sly between rows of roses, of those curls so similar to his very own. “Seen anyone, in the garden?” 

The words hang awkwardly between you for a few breaths - your head tilts, as though considering something very serious - and your eyes, wide and peculiar in the graying light of morning, staring at the flower in your hands. 

“Sometimes,” You decide almost ominously, lifting the flower once again to your nose. Sometimes - his brows furrow, unsure if you understood what he was asking; though with another shaky breath, he begins to speak again. “Well, perhaps I-” 

You speak once more, as if you don’t hear him - your voice in the sky, churning with the fresh soil beneath, blowing with the vines in the breeze.

 “-I had truly hoped you’d return, my Prince.” Your eyes leave the flower to blink owlishly into his own, and he’s once again rooted to the spot, lips pressing shut eagerly to hear your sweet cadence, watching the light dance in your shy smile. “I rather enjoy your company.” 

And his heart leaps once more, clearing his throat as the words previously leveled upon his tongue leave his mind. “You may call me Jacaerys, if you wish.” He insists, and then encouraged by the sight of your fluttered preen, the twitch of pleasure in your smile, he murmurs, “Or… Jace.” 

“WOULD YOU CARE TO WALK WITH ME, MY PRINCE?” 

Your voice this time is as bare as the day is long; a secret into the sunshine, dappled through tall breathing pines swaying above your head. 

It has only been a day since Jacaerys saw you last; one day, though he has told himself his visits to the Garden are nothing but an effort for solitude in a castle swimming with ears and eyes - a place to think, the garden steeps with quiet amity and the blooms admittedly offer a brightness upon the ever increasing gloom of life on the island. 

Though it is hard to deny that you certainly bring Jacaerys the most clarity. 

His smile is only eclipsed by the bright sun overhead - he means to offer you his arm to accompany you through the garden, though before he can, you’ve already turned and set off deeper into the maze of rose and poppy; your hand kissing over the soft petals that keen to your touch gently. 

Affection stirs in his chest as he watches you, striding to catch up as you whisper quietly to the blooms as if they are your oldest friends. 

And a moth to a flame; he falls astride with you easily, ducking his head just so as your quiet voice melodies with the hum of the garden. 

“The crows have set about their hiding games,” You muse - a peculiar girl you are, and his heart softens at the dazed look upon your face. “The weather has begun to turn.” An odd observation - perhaps he has been too preoccupied with efforts of war to notice such things, though the weather has remained relatively uniform in the last few moons. Your eyes drift to him briefly as you turn around a bend - “How fares the council - the Queen?” 

And he trips on a thickly gnarled root - it rots; dark and sooty, oozing with soiled blood of earth. A sharp exhale as he shakes his boot rid of the spiny thing, blinking back some vision of decay that rises from the ground, climbing tendrils up his legs, grasping for his neck and squeezing. 

A flicker in his mind of flames -  billowing up in angry plumes - and screams, agonizing wails as man and armor were claimed by Seasmoke’s ancient breath. His mother’s stare, the flames dancing in her very eyes as he tugged hard upon her sleeve, warning. 

“Getting more dire each passing day,” He murmurs; it is with surprise he looks at you, searching for some mirrored expression. He had not meant to say that, had not even meant to think it. His next inhale is marred by the scent of smoke and burning flesh; with a resist to retch upon the budding Chrysanthemums, he instead clears his throat, placing a calming grasp upon his pommel. 

You say nothing more on the matter, perhaps sensing his unease; the paths on the northern side of the garden begin to twist much sharper - he’s never ventured past the Thorned Dragon and it seems the fauna on this side seem to grow even more thick than the previous; thistles reach out to poke at his trousers, sticking to the skirts of your dress as you move, birds chirp faintly in the hedges, petals rain from lilac clusters higher than his brow. 

He is only pulled from the lulling trance of your hair in the sun when you stop short, his shoulder brushing into your own and sending him chills. 

A tree - gnarled, twisted and thick with time long since eaten; roots slither out, peeking from the earth with mossy, serpentine roots - and small, plump fruits hang from the lower branches that grow thicker than his arm. Jacaerys blinks in awe, a roll in his stomach at the ancient growth, how it provides a ring of thick shade against the sun. 

“What-” He starts, brows lowered over his lashes - it is much too grand a tree to have escaped his notice all the years he’s resided on the island. “I was unaware such a tree grew here.” 

You let out a fluttered laugh, tilting your head. “How do you suspect the maesters and cooks get their oil?” 

From Dorne, his mind answers - but you’ve begun to pace towards the massive olive tree, turning to gaze at him with a rather irresistible glance. “Would you care to lie beneath it with me?” You wonder, suddenly that very same doe-eyed woman he’d met days ago for the first time - upon uneven feet you sway shyly, “I often come here when I need to think.” 

Something tugs the back of his mind, but before he can consider it, he’s stepping forward to follow you under the shade of the sprawling branches. 

The sunlight is even more dappled and muted under olive leaves; the scent is earthy, warm. And slowly, you lie beside him; his body hums with your presence - reduced to some greenboy, heart hammering when your dress skirts ride up just so, providing him a quick glance over smoothed skin marred only with the fresh dirt below you. 

The limbs twist above him; the warmth of the day seeps slowly from the earth and rises equally from the roots which pillow his head and your own. A bird flies in the sky above your heads, hidden by the leaves; he wonders rather ashamedly what he should be doing, if the Housestaff searches for him - he’d skipped training in the yard this afternoon to search for you, though he knows he will have to attend council this eve - there are much dire consequences to face in the wake of Ser Steffon’s death. 

He’s never seen an olive tree quite so large, so alive; in King’s Landing, the road to the Dragon Pit is lined with smaller trees boasting the fruits - though none are so magnificent as this. The memory mars his mind with visions of a future in King’s Landing: boasting banners of black and red, the throne rightly holding his own seat - a far future, where his mother won and has ruled long, peaceful years. A future where his crown is no longer stained with the blood of kin, but restored to its shined, cleansed beginnings. 

A stab in his gut at that thought of after - when the war may be won, but legitimacy remains a shackle that drags him down; which looms within the plagues of his thought-addled mind. A shadow of whispered murmurs his whole life - of Strong blood. 

Some wash of fear - the first of its kind in his heart, at the thought of King’s Landing - of his mother’s legacy, of his own. And you - why does his heart beat with a slow jaunt of dread at the thought of leaving the castle, the garden, you - behind one day?   

It is a disquieting observation as the limbs of the olive tree shift above him. It is my birthright, he reminds himself, and the cycle turns. I will be King, as my mother is Queen before me. 

You shift in his peripheral - perhaps turning your head to look at him, admiring the lined and contours upon his face as he’s done many times past to you - and then your soft voice breaks his reveries.

“Do you ever fear leaving?” 

Ice trickles down his spine at your words. 

With a start, his alarmed gaze bores into one decaying leaf that shakes trepidatiously on a near branch. An eerie accuracy, your words burrow into his chest - and a penetrating thought, one odd and unexpected - as if souls could be made of material; his, soil and yours a seed. 

He must look startled - though your own stare is not upon him but the roots which rise, waves over the earthed ocean you rock gently upon. 

Your fingers pluck figs from a pile that lies beside you; he hadn’t noticed them before - but as his eyes trace the sweet curve of the fruit in your palm, their scent greets his senses with a syrupy hunger. 

His stomach, empty save for his morning tea and broken fast hours before, rumbles in interest at the plump figs - you must notice, as your lips curl into some secretive simper. 

“Where do you get those?” He wonders aloud; in lieu of an answer, you prop yourself upon dainty elbows - this angle provides him ample view of your breasts, sheened with a calm haze of glow despite the respite of shade - he averts his eyes instead to the slope of your nose, the stain dark upon your lips like wine. 

Gods, he thinks - the thoughts he harbors would stop the Septas in their very tracks. 

His attention flutters back to you as you let out a breathy sigh, one that sends warmth through his heart and causes him to clench clammy palms. 

“The crows fly when the season shifts, you know.” you hum, “I like to watch them.” 

An odd sensation then, as the wind blows your hair from your neck; a glowing breath in his chest, affected by the innocence of your words, so very different from the potent words so often levied to him these days. 

In a dreary moment, he strains to recall the last time he and his mother held a conversation that did not have to do with the Greens or dragons; lips so often cracked with the duty of battle, though he is prohibited even from that effort.  

A thick swallow, a lonely feeling - but despite this he feels suddenly very warm when he takes in your lounged form, enjoying a fig gently, eyes trained on the statue opposite the garden from your bodies. 

Two lovers, entwined in what looks like a final embrace - a man, muscular and stern, holding the lovely curves of a woman in his arm - with an arrow lodged within the stoned tissue of his shoulder and one lodged through his throat; she, with one through her own heart. 

He blinks back to you as your voice murmurs again, this time closer - you’ve dragged yourself down to his own level once more, dirt imbuing your frilled dress - you pay the mess no mind, and it simply endears you to him more. “Do you ever think about it? Leaving?” 

Your tone recalls his mind from the clouds. He frowns once more, wetting his lips; in a bout of fluttered heartbeats, he pretends not to notice your eyes track the motion. 

A shaky swallow from him, uneasy with the way your words effortlessly penetrate his very thoughts; The wind blows, you puff air similarly through your pouted lips. Does he think about leaving? How indeed would he not consider it? 

All his life he has prepared for such ascension, though long distant - as Prince of Dragonstone, he’d lord over this very island for many years before leaving for his birthright when the time strikes. It is not a thought he’d openly admit under considerable company; but your eyes, wide and willing, wait for him with a gleaming stare. He would never refuse such alluring companionship. 

“I suppose,” He admits, craning his head to search your eyes - how inviting, open they are - as if you’ve known him for a long life. His lips purse and he finds himself rather pleased to see your eyes flicker low once more with the motion. 

“-Perhaps I grow weary with our efforts in the trials to come.” He sighs, wondering if the words he mutters make any semblance of sense. “I think of it - when I…” He trails off, staring at the gleaming dark of your pupils, swayed as the branches above him as he leans closer. “When I worry mother does not trust me, and the Lords at her council see me as just a boy.” 

A pit in his stomach at such veracious words; though you simply tilt your head, eager to listen - and that loneliness fades, some warmth budding in his heart. 

It spurs some kick of confidence within Jacaerys, that small effort of interest, of empathy - and he is easily melted into your doting nods, the gentle swirl of your fingertips aimlessly spelling letters into the dirt below. “I do think about leaving the island. It’s my birthright,” He murmurs - a flash in your eyes at his words, though he pays little mind as his thoughts trail off, recalling the young servant he’d dismissed quite bluntly the day before. He wonders, in a bout of uncomfortable insecurity, if she resents him for it; if she remains elsewhere in the castle, whispering to others about the unkind Prince of Dragonstone and his loutish disposition.

“Well you must know, the smallfolk here adore you.” A peculiar subject you choose - a nagging alarm that pulses in the back of his mind at your brows, drawn low even over such sweet a face as if you try hard to hide some deeper expression. 

It is a chilling thing, no matter how sweet, that you seem to always read between the words he chooses not to say. 

“You’re their Prince. The King Who Will Be.” 

It is not a title he’s heard, of the many written of him by courtly gossip or maester’s handscribes over the years; The King Who Will Be - shivers cascade down the line of his back, settling an uneasy churn within his gut. Jacaerys sends a lift of a brow as he turns to look at you once more, though words die upon his tongue as he takes you in - an almost discomposed stretch to your smile, some momentary flash of a rather bitter flicker before your visage resumes, warm and full. 

He blinks away surprise, watching as your nails pick at the skin of a smaller fig. Jacaerys shifts on the ground, feeling a tug of unease. “Do they?” He wonders anyways, eager to melt your suddenly cold disposition back into the fluid gentleness of your kind nature. 

Your breath is short as your fingers stop their motions, your gaze flickering to his - your hair is haloed around you, a leaf tangled in one of your wild tresses. “I do.” 

Rather pleased, Jacaerys sends you a smile unbounded, and with a tentative lift of his fingers, he’s plucking the leaf from your hair. 

“You’re not the Smallfolk.” He counters; you simply laugh, that fountain of bubbled giggles which send his heart clenching as you shake your head. 

“Well, Jacaerys, I have always found you admirable.” Your tone is chilled; it arrests him, the fleeting drop of your smile, the reflection of memory which swims in your gaze as you pin him to the soil with your stare. Always. 

You hum, as if confirming his inner thoughts, and then bite into a fig slowly - Jacaerys is transfixed upon your pouted slips, slick with the sweet essence of fruit, of kindness, of you. 

It is only moments, though he seems to have forgotten himself - blank-minded, he resists the urge to reach out to you, to cup your cheeks, to run his palm over the smooth of your skin, to feel the heart he imagines beats so kindly under your breast. 

A bird chirps in the sky and this arbitrarily reminds Jacaerys of the world; the world, which turns outside the walls of Aegon’s Garden. The world of responsibilities which pile up upon his plate stacked much too high, of the dread which drips slow from the flagon of fate with each day past - that nagging insecurity in the back of his mind, the burden of loss, the absence he’s begun to feel shifting each moment he speaks with his own mother-

“I saw a man die yesterday.” 

He blurts it suddenly, the weight of grief forcing words out from his tongue. He once again does not intend to say it; and at the sentence, your features creep in some morbid interest. Unnerved, he swallows thickly and your lips puff out a small coo, turning upon your side as a cat lounges under the sun. 

The glint in your eye is easily tamped out by sympathy, dripping from your expression. Your brows are furrowed in some desperate display of empathy, though the pits of your widened pupils arrest his breath. 

“Death is a heavy burden to carry.” You say rather softly. A simple observation, though it strikes his heart - it is with an effort he strains to recall the last time someone cared to truly listen to his troubles at all. 

He swallows thickly, unsure why tears threaten to gather upon his eyeline; in lieu of his response, and as if you can feel the sudden inclination of his heartbeat, your smile drops, soon visage cooler than the shade under which you repose.

 “Are you afraid of it?” 

He’s taken aback by your question, but only momentarily. “Death?” He confirms - and after your small inquisitive nod, he tilts his head in small jest, squinting one eye against the dappled sunlight leaking through threads of leaves above as he grins. “-Are you not, my Lady?” 

You bite your lip as you always do when he calls you my lady - though fleetingly, a far-off inkling wonders if the effort is not to conceal some shyness, but rather in repression of some vicious laughter. You sigh, then - and you’re so very divine in such an action, with dancing eyes and skirts that slither like serpents in the felled leaves. “I’m afraid I don’t think much about anything outside of this garden, Jacaerys.” 

Some dull desire, perhaps pathetic on his part; but a need nonetheless to know you, to have you know him, spurs his own lilted laugh, hoping you do not recognize his obvious play for your favor. “Nothing else?” He wonders - and it is pushing limits, he knows; rather improper, to act such a way with a lower born girls, and outside of a betrothal - though he cannot bring himself to stop such salacious desires. There is no harm, he decides - there are more important things to be concerned with these days than a Prince in an old garden with a lowerborn girl. 

You’re pleased with his chiding - a flush upon your cheeks, your eyes flicker in interest and something deeper still - “Few things.” You mend with a grin of your own. 

For a moment it is quiet - a peaceful kind, where his heart slams against his chest; There is a bush of forget-me-nots near the ancient olive tree - though they wither and curl, browned by some otherworldly decaying whisper that overtakes any chance of sunlight that might reach them. 

It is odd, how the shade seems to shift with each breath he takes, how the sun warps in the sky - and the earth so moist and fresh under his back, though each time he exits the garden, his boots render immaculately spotless. 

Vines slither over the pathways in this part of the garden; marred by some odd moss that he’d not before seen on the island. “The maesters spoke of Aegon’s Garden when I was young.” His words fall from his lips unbidden, but you seem not to mind. “They believe the soil made the smallfolk sick, that any plant growing within was poisoned.” His brows furrow at such an odd thought, “That it was…damned.” 

At this, you laugh - though there is a piercing sharpness to it that nearly blinds him as his head-ache returns suddenly. His wince is missed by you, as your eyes momentarily flick to the castle - some vicious fervor that dissipates when you turn back to him. “Foolish gossip.” You nearly snap, looking rather upset. “Some may do well to remember how harmful rumors can become.” 

In a moment of regret, he leans upon one elbow, brows furrowing - your eyes have clouded with the passing of clouds over the sun high above; A murmur of your name from his lips as he reaches for you and hesitates. 

He murmurs your name once more, tilting his head and leaning closer to your sweet scent.  “I meant it as no insult.” 

Your lips twist before relaxing, letting out a short breath as you give in, glancing with wettened eyes to him once more. “Men are always quite afraid of what they don’t understand.” 

-Are you afraid of it?-  Your voice lingers a small whisper in the back of his mind; something rather odd about how you know so much and yet nothing truly at all - a wisdom beyond your years. 

And you’re so beautiful, even when blinking away tears; some distant paradise comes to mind at such a sight, though the thought is curbed at your face shifts once more, a sigh echoing with the rustling of leaves dropping from the olive tree above. 

The figs are once more in your palms - and with a growing hunger within his own chest and stomach, he lounges and watches you, if only for a few moments; your lips are plush and shined by the blood of the fruit, and when you tilt your head back, an expanse of soft skin stretches in breath of sunlight. 

And perhaps it will be his downfall one day - but Jacaerys suddenly embraces that searing, reckless impulse; before he can think better of it, he leans down to where you lie upon a gnarled root - and kisses you. 

Pleasure rushes through him. 

A wild thrill that suspends him high into nothingness - a freezing chill, rushing a shiver down his spine when you press so eagerly to him. 

You taste of honey and something forbidden; a wild flavor, one sweetened by the nectar of the gods and your sighs as fingers - icicles - shard their way upon his nape, holding him to you, deepening the kiss in a strangely yearning fervor. with a curl of affection, some intoxicated hunger that has leaked into his mind at the taste of your lips; is it the fruit, he wonders numbly - the fruit, which makes you so divinely enticing? 

And, in an even more debauched thought: Do you taste so sweet everywhere? Shame does not dare lick at his conscience when you are so soft and desiring beneath him - he yearns instead to discover for himself one day, to taste your divinity upon his tongue, feel the puffs of your gasped breath, the smile that paints your features so beautifully against the hollow of his throat. 

He dares not pull away, drawn much too heavily by your sweetness; as if somehow, pressing you into the earth, you might lurch up to consume him in your gentle breaths as a sprout does in soil after a warm sun. 

And you slither beneath him - loose, though sharply tight in your grasp of him, coaxing a thrill through his gut at the way your teeth graze his own bottom lip; a shiver of chills through him as one leg presses against your own, cool under the shade. 

Your eyelashes, fluttering like the kiss of petals upon the apple of your cheeks as you eagerly press your icy lips to his own - a touch marred by the shakiness of perhaps a first kiss; though from the sly prod of your tongue against his own, he begins to doubt even that. 

It is not until you let out a soft noise - no more than a breathy moan, that he jolts back into reality, pulling away sharply from where he’s leant - elbows digging into the soft soil - to press his lips so voraciously against yours. 

His eyes are blown wide as he pulls away just so - and with a newfound deep chill that has settled oddly right into his very bones. 

His breathing puffs out ragged as he leans back further, rather embarrassed by his tenacity as you seem bashful but otherwise unbothered; and his clear arousal, which grows by the moment painting his cheeks a crimson.

The pricked finger of yesterday’s vine begins to throb so very dully - but you’re smiling a heated smile at him, leaning closer to chase his warmth. 

Indeed you are cooler here in the shade - goosepimples ridge his arms and legs below cotton clothing; and along the nape of his neck your fingers gently kiss, eyeing him with some coy hunger that nearly doubles his unease and arousal alike. Your lips, icicles - the snowcaps that peek from cloudy Northern skies aflight Vermax, the whispering winds that shoot off the steep crooks of the Dragonmont during a storm. 

He nearly wonders if you are sick - a chill so sudden is cause for concern well in the recess of summer yet; though your visage shifts beneath his attentive gaze and he is struck immediately thoughtless, wordless. 

You beam. 

A smile so similar to the one you’d shown him the very day you first met; bright, incredibly wide, glinting almost mischievously in your eyes, but yet so endearing - as though it has been quite some time since you smiled last. 

And with the breath stolen from his lungs, he smiles back. 

For a moment, he wonders if he will remember to speak ever again; and with floundering lips, he watches as you shift to sit up just slightly, brushing invisible specs of dirt from your thighs with some practiced knowledge. 

He nearly finds words - some poor attempt at apology for being so unchivalrous and forward - but all at once, a flash of motion startles him backward. 

A giggle is sharp in his mind, and that flash of pain between his eyes flares before disappearing; before him, perched upon your lap precariously and rubbing itself against your breast, is… 

A cat. 

You stroke its fur as it opens its mouth, as if to mewl - yet nothing but some small squeak yields, and you shush it gently with delicate pats behind its ears. 

Jacaerys is struck cold, eyes locked on the little beast - a thud of familiarity that trickles through his muddled mind as its purrs echo out in the very same throbbing rhythm of his finger. A glance to his hands provides nothing but a short respite from the befuddlement that has shrouded his thoughts. 

“Isn’t he so sweet?” You muse, flicking your gaze from the cat to Jacaerys. 

Your stare strikes him - dreamlike, though with that glint that he sometimes wonders if you try to hide - and he swallows thickly, nodding. 

A hand trickled with veins against tanned skin; he reaches out to stroke the small thing. 

Though at the motion, the cat’s tail thickens in alarm - a sharp snarled hiss snapping from its maw as it rounds to him defensively. 

With a jolt back, he stares at the creature, heart pounding in some odd recognition when its cold eyes glint at his. 

“Oh,” You frown in a small, desolate flicker of sadness. “Jacaerys, I am sorry about him. He’s still learning the rules here.” You tut towards the cat, shaking your head. 

A faint alarm rings in his mind, though he’s always had a slight distaste for cats; Lucerys was allergic, and oft would swell like a ripe tomato when one of the strays found their chambers as boys. “You must be hungry, darling,” You whisper to the little black thing, petting softly as it curls into your lap. 

He can only stare as you tear a piece of the very fruit you’d previously bitten into before Jace lost his resolve - and the cat lurches towards it, tearing at it as if it were some prey. 

More bizarre a sight is how you watch on with a nearly transfixed hunger, your eyes flickering with the falling leaves - Jacaerys stares at you with parted lips, bemused and yet genuinely disturbed at your sweet disposition as the bloodthirsty beast in your lap thrashes. 

“They’re so delicious, even he can’t resist.” You giggle, eyes nearly raving in size and focus as the cat tears at the fruit, biting even at your fingers, though you do not seem bothered by such ferocity. There is, perhaps, some kind of beauty he can find in violence. “They’re all he eats. Isn’t that amusing?” You giggle once more. 

It is, he murmurs - though he’s unsure if it is in his head or through his lips; and you pay him little mind besides the knee of yours which presses just so gently, a kiss of butterfly’s wings, against his thigh. 

Your head snaps towards his visage after a sharp breath that startles him from his trance; He’s struck with that same freezing arrest when your eyes bore into his own, reading his mind as you so oft tend to, and smiling so very sweetly, “What shall we name him, Jace?” 

Your voice is grounding, though Jacaerys has been struck with some curling alarm - what has he done, kissing a girl below his station just for the whim of it? 

What would his mother say, if she saw him spilling his thoughts to you, laughing with you, fraternizing with you - tainting you so with his kiss, marring your innocuous disposition, though he can offer no promises along with his company, nor his embrace? 

Where has his pride taken him - willing so easily to act upon each of his basest desires, simply to fill the growing void of disconnect with his family within the castle? Simply because a woman is here, and kind, and caring; simply because it is you? 

In your face, there is no turmoil; a gentle calm, some stoicism that brings his heart back to a normal pace, though it skips a beat when you smile at him. 

“I’m thinking…Shadow,” You hum, watching the cat trail away, tail curling around the stalk of the bark and disappearing into the shrubs once more. 

He’s pulled from his wallowing, watching the distinct pace of the cat disappear, fingers tingling, heart thumping. “Very fitting.” He decides absently, staring at the dark shade through which the creature has slithered away to. 

The name feels ominous, nearly familiar on his tongue - and with a swallow, he nods. “Shadow,” he repeats into the breeze of day. 

Quite a curious name.

translations: sȳndor - shadow. taglist/moots: @softspiderling @lukehughes43 @rhea-ripley @dipperscavern @useralba @writtenapoiogy @fyrewept @oldtowrs @bryscorner @chloe-petrichors @jottositto @solavita @earth4angels @benjinotes @divinesolas @hxtd @astrxq @housetargaryenloyalist @bucksplum @v3lary0ns @princessvelaryon @princessbellecerise @still-jon-snow @cregnstark @vee-mage @elaena-aerrin @mckennah123 @xxselenite @smurfelle @alyssa-dayne @uhnanix @house-celtigar @ficlovegirlie @cregan-starks @manhandlememando @inkandarsenic

[korizzybee]

Imagine: being Hobie Brown’s little sister who’s also a spider

Info: reader is a darkskin!black!fem, reader is age 12-13, Hobie is 17-18, SPIDERMAN ATSV SPOILERS‼️

For as long as you can remember it has just been you and Hobie against the world, I guess you had gotten your spider powers like a year after Hobie but you both joined the spider society at the same time

Hobie takes really good care of you seeing as how you’re his only family member left, he always makes sure you’re well fed and rested before taking care of himself

Since you’re still very young he lets you do a lot of the easy tasks when you’re doing your spider jobs like getting civilians to safety and stopping fallen debris from hitting people, of course you can help with villains but you just have to be on the sidelines so you don’t get hurt

You both def play hide n seek in the dark idc what anyone says YOU BOTH PLAY HIDE N SEEK IN THE DARK CUZ ITS SO FUN TO YOU TWO!!

I can not stress this enough when I say Hobie is always letting you be the first one to judge the song lyrics he writes

He’s the guitarist, Gwen’s the drummer, and you’re the singer

Your extra spider powers are sonic scream and x ray vision (Hobie thinks that’s hella cool)

He has a picture of you, him, Gwen at the park as his Lock Screen, for his Home Screen it’s a picture of Pavitr teaching you how to make tea

SPEAKING OF PAVITR!!!

OMG Pav loves you smmm you’re like his little sister figure

He loves giving you piggy back rides and he lets you do his hair in any style you want

Two definitely have a handshake

You take a lot after Hobie minus the way you dress, he says he’s not a role model but he’s def your role model

You and Hobie had separate canon events, the person who died for you was a cafe worker who would look after you when Hobie was busy with the band and he couldn’t take you

For weeks you wouldn’t talk to anyone even Hobie, but he still made sure you were taken care of

You and Hobie have your own playlist, it’s a mixture between rock, punk, heavy metal, pop, hiphop, RnB, and bedroom pop

Idc what anyone says, you n Hobie share a bunk bed (he said he gets top bunk bc he’s older smh 🤦🏾‍♀️) and y’all have a matching pajama set that y’all wear on movie nights

One time Pav came over and teased Hobie about having matching pjs with you (he never came over again /j)

No one knows this, not even you, but Hobie still wears the colorful bracelet you made for him when you were 6 (it’s under he sleeve though so you never see)

Definitely the type of brother to sleep in your bed with you or let you sleep in his bed with him if you have a nightmare

By civilians, you two are nicknamed the Spider Siblings (he hates it bc he hates labels and you don’t mind it sorta)

YOU BOTH ANNOY MIGUEL TOGETHER HE’S SO SICK OF YALL 😭😭‼️‼️

As you can see my requests are back open ESPECIALLY FOR SPIDERMAN ATSV so send those requests!!

[laroserie]

— characters : Alastor, + the hotels residents (vague mention - expect for Charlie)

— content : x gender neutral reader - reader is a baker, reader is naive (for a sinner), Alastor manipulate reader into coming to the hotel, Alastor is Alastor but he's also OOC (kinda but uh who write canon Alastor anyways)

— author note : this is the second part of an (potentially yandere!) alastor x baker reader - the first part is here (also the words count is : 1.7k ) (saying that because i outdid myself lol) (also yes i know Alastor canonically do not like tea idc this mf is gonna drink tea) ++ honestly considering doing a third part because I have so much more to say and write about this

After Alastor came back from his seven years hiatus and he came for at your bakery again, he could come so often, like once every two days.

But it could take him a while to make a 'move', try to get closer to you or talk to you about the hotel but one day, he comes to your bakery and asks for an unusual amount of pastries. You don't comment on it as it's not your place - you are just a simple baker ! But you can't help but raise an eyebrow.

Alastor meant to talk to you about the hotel, not because he wanted you to reedem yourself or because he wanted to do it for Charlie - well maybe a little but he won't admit it - but more or less to keep an eye on you. By then, he isn't sure as to why he wants to keep an eye on you - his assumption is that he feels the same way toward you as he does toward Rosie. He sees you as a friend but not quite - you are the sweet baker who makes quite good pastries and you are by far one of the less annoying sinners he ever spoke to. But he feels some kind of protectiveness over you - probably because he sees you as quite meek and weak.

So obvious what could be better than inviting you to stay at the hotel ? A place where he can both protect and keep on eye on you at -nearly- all time.

Alastor took this opportunity, 'These aren't all for me, dear. They are for ... my friends ?' he started while you were wrapping up what he purchased, 'You see ... Have you heard of the Hazbin Hotel ?' he asks.

'Uhm ... The hotel run by the princess ? Yeah I've seen a bit of talk about it, why ?'

'Well ! I am the facility manager of that, hotel ! And the ... pastries are for my fellows workers and residents.' He stopped for a second to gauge your reaction to that information - which was a simple nod and a 'ohh' - he continued. 'Hm, the goal of the hotel is to help sinners redeem themselves ... could you be by chance interested ?'

This question probably takes you by surprise. By then you already finished packing Alastor order - you push it toward him on the counter. You respond hesitantly 'Ha, well ... Is it possible ? To even redeem yourself ... ?' Your smile falter a bit and you look in the void for a bit. 'I don't think redemption is for me ... If I'm here it mean I deserve it and that it's already too late ...' Alastor didn't fully expect you to react like this - he did expect that you could say 'no' at first but not that.

'But ! Anyways, there is your order, enjoy !' You said trying to end the conversation there. But alas Alastor was not the type to give up so easily.

He took his order but continued on, 'If you couldn't mind dear, please just come and visit once, to be truthful, we haven't had a whole lot of sinners coming, you just simply visiting could be wonderful, and you could help bring Charlie mood up, oh and you both could get along so well !' As he finished his sentence he turned and walked toward the door and threw you a 'Goodbye!'.

Alastor knew you enough to know that he could pull at your heart strings to get what he wanted - you were always the sensitive type, the type to care even about strangers. He was sure that he could see you 'visit' in the near future.

And well he was right ! A mere three days after you found yourself at the doorstep of the hotel. You had been waiting for a few minutes already - you were still debating on entering or just turning on your hells and going back home.

But before you could do anything the hotel door in front of you opened in a big 'slam'. And once again before you could do anything, you were dragged into the hotel in a very enthusiastic manner.

'Hello !! Are you interested in the hotel ?' A cheerful voice asked you, as she dragged you into the hall, you recognised quite easily who is was - the owner of the hotel - Charlie Morningstar. It wasn't your first time seeing her, but it was your first time seeing her up close. You had to restrain a laugh at her over-enthusiasm, you didn't want be irrespectful toward the princess of hell.

'Good morning, I am simply visiting as it was recommended by ... a friend of mine.' You saw her be a bit disappointed hearing that. 'Oh. Is there anyways you could I don't know change your mind ? Maaaaybe ?' She asked.

You a small smile appeared on your face 'Maybe. If your convincing is good enough.'

Charlie took it as a challenge, she started by showing you around the hotel, and then made you meet the residents - you spoke a bit with everyone - at the exception of Alastor how was visiting his friend in Cannibal Town. To say you were surprised knowing that the two sole residents of the hotel were one of the biggest pornstar of hell and somekind of mad inventor could be an understatement. The staff of the hotel was also something - you knew already Niffty and Husk having heard about them from Alastor and you saw and spoke with Husk a few times when he picked up orders at your bakery for Alastor. And then there was Vaggie, she seemed to be quite suspicious of you and it feel like she could gut you out as soon as you do something wrong.

By the end of the day, Charlie asked you once again if you wanted to join the hotel - you struggled to answer her - a part of you seriously started to consider joining the hotel and trying to get redeem but the other one was still wary of the idea.

But you asked her if you could come every once in a while to visit and she was overjoyed by it - you didn't join the hotel but it was still an advances to have someone visit the hotel.

You did end up visiting the hotel a lot - at some point you could come once a week - you ended up befriending most people from the hotel.

One of those day, most of the hotel residents were out - only Alastor and Niffty were at the hotel. Niffty was running around chasing cockroachs - you were having tea with Alastor.

Alastor had finally decided to move to the next steps of his plan - to have you under his grip. He started by asking you a few questions about how you felt about the hotel.

'I told you, you could get along with Charlie !' You nodded as you sipped on a cup of tea. 'Are you thinking of joining the hotel officially ?' You sighed and shake your head, 'Alastor, you already know my answer ...'

'Are you sure dear ? I truly think it could be beneficial for you to join.' He persisted. 'But, I have a bakery to run, I, I have responsibility.'

'You can continue to run your bakery while being a resident here darling ! Honestly, why don't you want to ? Please don't tell me you seriously believe you cannot be redeem, we all know that it's not true. You by far one of the most ... redeemable sinner there is' Alastor tone of voice was serious - the atmosphere shifted and suddenly the way you were sitting became uncomfortable. 'Alastor please ... Don't.' You managed to utter, your looked down at the cup between your hands.

'What, I am simply saying the truth. I am just asking you to enlighten me as to why you don't think you should at least try to redeem yourself and join heaven.' You looked up to see Alastor with his usual smile plastered on his face - it felt wrong, you felt yourself crack. 'There is no real reasons to be frank, I just know that it's not possible, that it's not right ...'

Alastor shacks his head, 'If you don't do it for yourself please do it for Charlie, you both are dear friends now right ? Couldn't you like to make her happy by becoming a resident and attempting to cleanse yourself of your sins ? Ah, it could even make me happy ...' He pulled out the last card in his deck - once again he knew that playing with your feelings could be the easiest way to get you to stay - and so he did.

He could see you hesitate a bit, 'Are you sure ...? What if she learn that I don't believe in it truly ? I do not wish to be hypocritical ... isn't that a sin itself ?' Alastor laughed a little hearing you, 'You shouldn't worry about that darling. The important thing is the end result - not how you got it. Who cares if you aren't honest ? And if it's stay between the two of us, Charlie will never know.' You took a few minutes to think - weighting the pros and cons.

You sighed and nodded your head, 'Sure, I mean what could go wrong ... ha.'. Alastor smiles 'Exactly dear !', he took a sip of tea, 'Now, shall we do the paperwork now ?', he didn't wait for an answer and just pulled out a stack of papers and a pen out of Satan know here and slided them toward you.

You didn't brother to question him and just took the pen in hand, 'Do I really need to read all of that ?' you said pointing to the small toward of papers in front of you, 'Oh of course no, it's just good 'ol paperwork, you don't need to read anything ! Just sign the bottom of each pages and ... we should be good.' you probably didn't notice the way his smiles twisted as he uttered those words or if you did you just preferred to not question it.

Looking back you probably should have - it could have saved you from the collar and leash attached to your neck and the overall pain that was having your soul being owned by Alastor - with the added layer of being a full time resident of the hotel.

[floralcavern]

Look. I have been a Chalastor shipper for literal years. All the way back when the pilot came out. I adored them and actually thought there was a chance they’d become canon. I’ve always had so many concepts in my head for them. 

This chaotic neutral force there to fuck with the other character only to realize he actually wants to see her succeed. 

The idea of Charlie successfully saving a sinner and suddenly, Alastor sees her in a whole new light. He looks at her and she’s glowing. Just.. AHHH. It is so cute!

But, uh… things are a bit complicated now. So.. I guess let’s talk about it. 

But, obviously, I can’t talk about Chalastor without talking about their two most popular ships. 

I’ll start with Radiodust, since I have the least to say about it. 

I never got it. Alastor has always been very clearly a sex repulsed asexual, and Angel is a horny ass pornstar. Plus, I’ve always shipped Huskerdust. But I’ve always liked the dynamic idea of Alastor and Angel, but I cannot for the life of me think of them in a romantic light. 

Now Chaggie..

For the longest time, I didn’t even know they were dating. The pilot kept it very on the DL, so I never even realized until months after the pilot when someone told me they were canonically dating. 

And even after that, I couldn’t ship them. 

But now the show is out, and they have more scenes! Surely-

Oh, no, they’re still bland..

They are one of the most boring, vanilla ships.. ever. And I want to love the ship, I really do. And I’ve tried. But I cannot. They just.. aren’t my thing. But that doesn’t mean I hate the ship at all! I just.. don’t go out looking for fanart or comics of them. 

But Chalastor just scratches my brain in such a nice, satisfying way. It always has. 

But, now that the episode, Dad Beat Dad is out.. things are complicated. 

At first, I thought they were pulling the “Lucifer thinks Alastor is flirting with Charlie and was ready to go all ‘shotgun dad’ on him, but then is relieved to realize she is with Vaggie.” Especially because of the way Alastor touched Charlie’s shoulder and leaned in. But, no, that’s not what they did. When he met Vaggie, there didn’t seem to be relief, but awkwardness to meet the girl his daughter is dating. 

So that means he never considered the idea that Charlie and Alastor were together. So that means from the very beginning he saw Alastor as competition as the fatherly figure in Charlie’s life. Which.. says a lot for how they appear to others within universe. Because if I saw someone touch someone’s shoulder like that and lean in, I’d assume flirting. But that wasn’t an option that Lucifer even had in his mind. So, how do they appear to seem to the characters in this universe? They look like a father and daughter..

And that’s just.. woof. Not great. 

And don’t even get me started on Chalastor shippers making this into a daddy kink. 

The most I like is the memes that say “Your daughter calls me daddy too” because it’s funny, but anyone taking it seriously and making it into an actual thing is just.. I’m not a fan. Especially since Alastor is a sex repulsed asexual. 

Now, I know I’m going to get people saying “Oh, Alastor was just acting that way to fuck with Lucifer!” and I know that, but the fact that the very idea that they could have a father-daughter relationship and everyone in universe taking that idea seriously says a lot and makes shipping them.. complicated. 

So, what now? Well, I’m still going to ship it. Just.. tentatively. And as for everyone else.. do whatever you want, idc. 

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. 

[shadowqueenjude]

Didn't Rhys only kiss Feyre to protect her from Amarantha utm? I have only read the books once, so I could be wrong

OK so this is going to be a deep dive into all of Rhysand’s violations of Feyre specifically in book 1. Keep reading but be aware it’s long.

The first time Rhysand invades her mind is not even UTM but well before.

It is very clear that Feyre neither asked for it and enjoyed it, and before people say Rhysand was “playing a role,” this was completely unnecessary. He didn’t have to visit the Spring Court. Tamlin already thought he was the villain. And if Amarantha had ordered him to do so, he could’ve said some mean words to Tamlin and Lucien and been done with it. There is absolutely no reason to invade Feyre’s mind other than to delight in her terror.

Now let’s go to UTM.

Ok so basically if Feyre had given Rhysand her true name she would be dead at this point. And people argue “he was playing a role!” like…how? He could’ve just said her mind was like iron and impossible to penetrate. “Oh he was protecting her and knew she gave a false name!” no…he…didn’t? How tf would he know? And even if he somehow did know, he still gave that name to Amarantha knowing that it might be somebody close to Feyre and her family and got her ruthlessly tortured and killed.

Ok so why is he forcibly grabbing her arm and hurting her here? There’s no one here but them two. If Rhysand wanted to help Feyre, he could’ve revealed himself to Feyre here. Do you really think that Feyre would give away his double-agentry if it benefitted her? There. Was. No. Need. For. A. Fucking. Mask. HE LAUGHED.

Now another argument that I often see for twisting her arm is that it convinced her to agree to the healing that ultimately saved her life. But that is also wrong. Here it is pretty fucking obvious that Feyre was able to reason that for herself. Besides, it clearly wasn’t premeditated. He “lashed out,” meaning it was done in a moment of rage.

Also, he didn’t heal her out of the goodness of his heart or even to save himself from Amarantha. No, he wanted her, demanded her for two weeks out of every month. Why? To spite Tamlin, probably. He is OBSESSED with Tamlin. Look that in comparison to Lucien.

There was no reason to add that second screenshot that’s just me fangirling over Lucien (again). But the point is he healed her without asking for anything. Maybe you could argue he did for Tamlin, for himself, for Prythian, but he’s still miles ahead of Rhysand sooooooo… Ok the worst part...

Do you know what this means? That means the situation with the kiss only happened because RHYSAND sexually harassed Feyre by forcing her to wear extremely revealing clothes and coating her in this magic body paint. Otherwise how tf would Amarantha know that they kissed?????

Also Rhysand calling her his “belongings.” Uhhhhhh so what is that about hm?

“He was doing it to perform for Amarantha” bro not even Amarantha liked it💀💀💀 This was for him and him alone. He gained some sick pleasure from this.

Wow he's so bad at his role...Amarantha is sus

Now is this or is this not Rhysand invading Feyre’s mind and forcing her to drink the wine? Drug induced sexual assault.

My pookie bear Lulu checking on Feyre after she was SAed🥺👉👈

Ok anyway this is so unserious LOL. It’s so fucking obvious that SJM hastily went and edited this part when she decided that she wanted Rhysand to be endgame instead of Tamlin because she wanted it known that “Rhysand only touched her waist uwu!” Even if that was true, idc. He still violated her in countless ways.

If you want a plausible canon explanation, well Rhysand probably decided to manipulate her memory so that he said that it would smear if anybody touched it, including himself. Probably bc he realized it would be useful to have her on his side rather than otherwise (but he still wanted to have fun with her). Which offers the even more sinister idea that somebody besides Rhysand also touched her…

Also dude, why do you wanna rile Tamlin up so bad? Gay.

The fact that the sexual assault was supposed to be a clear contrast to the joy she felt with Tamlin and then SJM retconned it all and made it into a repetitive sexy moment in later books pisses me off.

LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY LULU BABY

THE FACT THAT HE RISKED HIS LIFE FOR FEYRE AND GOT BEATEN FOR IT AND COULDN’T WALK FOR DAYS AND THEN AS SOON AS HE CAN EVEN THOUGH HE’S IN SO MUCH PAIN HE CRAWLS TO FEYRE’S CELL, STEALS A COAT FROM A GUARD TO GIVE TO HER, AND COMFORTS HER AFTER HER SEXUAL ASSAULT IS JUST SOOOOO AHHHHH HE’S MY LOYAL KING THIS FANDOM DOESN’T DESERVE YOU MY LOVE. RHYSAND COULD NEVER.

...ok this hurts.

WHY??? BECAUSE HE'S GAY, GIRL.

“He kept her from breaking entirely 🥺” ok he could’ve done that without forcing himself on her again. If you suggest that he had to “make her disgusted to keep her together” or some twisted bullshit I will jump you.

Ok maybe here he kissed her to “protect her,” but he already had her forcibly pinned to the wall, flirting with her when she obviously did not want him, and was actively violating her for weeks by dressing her up like a whore and forcing her to give him lap dances. So this situation is entirely his fault and I will not give him any mercy here.

Anyway I believe that’s the end of Rhysand’s violations of Feyre specifically for this book. But yeah. He only gets worse from book 2 onward.

[ezwezz]

lost in your eyes

h.yj x f!reader

genre: fluff!! summary: you and yunjin find yourselves lost in the countryside, so you make the obvious decision to start a livestream. words: 1.1k

yunjin x yn!! my cuties omg hi where are you guys?? they look like a couple lol

the viewers instantly surged in numbers and countless comments came pouring in. most were excited greetings and some were doting on the pair on screen, a few begging for couple poses to screenshot.

"hey everyone!"

"hi guys! thank you for joining us."

you and yunjin stood side-by-side, waving at the camera, which yunjin held as you nestled your chin on her shoulder.

"just to clarify, we aren't lost...we just can't seem to find our members anywhere."

the camera flipped around to reveal the open countryside. fields upon fields of...nothingness.

help where tf are they??? plz r they stranded idk whether to laugh or phone emergency services

"as you can see...there is no sign of civilisation. this may possibly be our 'rural survival' era." you announced, the camera flipping back to you and yunjin.

"but don't worry guys, we're safe, we just need to retrace our steps."

"i could've sworn they came this way..." you glanced around one more time as if your members were hiding somewhere in the barren landscape.

"i know... but i'm starting to think they may have gone down the other path."

"it all looks the same, this feels like the backrooms."

"i know right, we're too city girl for this." you nodded in agreement before hooking an arm beneath yunjin's and starting your trek back down the path.

the woman began replying to comments as you walked comfortably together.

"they're telling us to hold hands." she stated after a moment, a goofy smile on her face.

"guys…we're literally stuck in the middle of nowhere and that's how you're feeling?" you feigned offence but happily complied, gently taking yunjin's hand and intertwining your fingers, lifting it up to show the viewers, who were going wild in the comments.

you two were often affectionate with each other, seemingly having instant chemistry, which the fans quickly picked up on. it didn't take long for you and yunjin to become the most shipped pair in the group, but you didn't mind- you thought it was quite sweet actually, and you could definitely think of worse things to be circulating. not to mention the fact that you'd had a small crush on yunjin for a while now and clearly weren't subtle about it, judging by the copious amounts of dating rumours between you two, but you could usually play it off.

yunjin's opinions on the matter were kind of a mystery to you. she'd never explicitly addressed the shipping, but seemed to entertain the idea, often initiating affection or playfully flirting with you...for the fans, you dejectedly assumed.

you felt yunjin squeeze your hand and glanced up to see a soft smile adorning her features. you reciprocated the affection by squeezing back, the wordless action lighting a welcome warmth in your chest. the sun had begun to melt, plunging you into a golden hue that captured yunjin's eyes, causing them to gleam like sparkling pools of honey. the sight almost took your breath away and you gulped, wary of sinking too deep.

the way they look at each other, i can't absbjsbfh love love love pretty yunjin x yn is canon idc the way they're lost rn....IN EACH OTHER'S EYES

the last comment made you chuckle, and you saw yunjin's face light up on the screen when she read it as well.

"we probably look like an old couple right now. all we need is a dog." she stated with a laugh, causing you to smile shyly.

"or a cat."

"but cats don't like to go on country walks."

"neither do i. we're an old couple trying to be youthful and active while our grumpy cat chills at home, in the city." yunjin giggled loudly, squeezing your hand once again.

"yes that's perfect. let's make it happen." your eyes widened and you were met with her mischievous smirk.

damn you yunjin.

are the dating rumours even rumours at this point we're witnessing y/n's gay panic, live plz yunjin is such a flirt

"we should probably find our way back to civilisation first." you stated, hoping the inevitable blush in your cheeks wasn't too noticeable.

"that's true...maybe instead of going on live we should've called chaewon...?"

"wait why didn't we think of that first? your stupidness is rubbing off on me yunjin." you reached for the phone in your coat pocket, only to find many...many missed calls from your members. yunjin nervously chuckled beside you, also witnessing the horror.

"this is definitely because of your stupidness. why was your phone on 'do not disturb'?" she exclaimed.

"i was trying to experience nature properly!"

when the cottage-core liftestyle backfires because you're literally an idol

"okay everyone, you're about to witness y/n being torn to shreds by chaewon-unnie. prepare to be entertained."

you shot yunjin a dark glare before calling chaewon, the hollow ringing sending cold waves of fear through your body.

"y/n! where the hell are you?? why weren't you answering?! are you seriously on live right now!?"

"uh hi chae..." you glanced to yunjin for help but she simply shrugged angling the camera to show your panicked face instead. "we just got a bit sidetracked..."

"sidetracked??? you went missing and decided to do a livestream! i'm literally going to start developing grey hairs because of you two."

"i'm sorry chae, we're on our way back now...i think."

"you think?! please don't tell me you need a search team to go after you..."

"a search team?? wait... omg i think i see some cars."

yunjin swivelled her head in the same direction as you then gasped, physically jumping for joy.

"yunjin and y/n have navigated the perilous journey and return unscathed." she addressed the viewers as if she were a sports commentator.

you were literally walking for 5 minutes yay! power couple these two are perfect for each other poor chaewon LMAO

"oh thank god." chaewon sighed. "we're waiting by the car. remind me to get you guys those backpack leashes next time." and with that, she hung up.

you and yunjin took one look at each other before bursting into laughter.

"alright guys, sorry this was brief but hopefully you found it entertaining." you told the viewers.

"if you don't see us shitposting on twitter later, assume that foul play is involved by the hands of chaewon-unnie." yunjin added.

"mhm... okay, goodbye everyone! pray for us!" you and yunjin gave the camera a final enthusiastic wave before ending the live.

"that was fun." she stated before rejoining your hands. the action catching you off-guard since the live had ended, but you certainly weren't complaining.

"i reckon we should get lost together more often." you replied.

"in each other's eyes." yunjin wiggled her eyebrows, referring to the earlier comment causing you both to giggle.

"i have no objections."

"hm..." yunjin squeezed your hand, leaning slightly further into you. you squeezed back and relished in the closeness. "can we call our grumpy cat chaewon?" she mused after a moment.

"oh absolutely."

your eyes met once again, this time exchanging an unspoken feeling of adoration.

[viivzn]

taps ur shoulder

engel x fem! reader pls pls

one shot or headcanon idc i just need my pookie ❤️

☆ ,. DREAM GIRL

pairs. fem!reader X engel

req by. wither !! (ily😘💘)

type. hcs or (+) drabbles

a/n. engel is so silly liek he's a such a loyal and defensive friend,,. km gon cry if he d9esnt exist 💔💔 TYANKS FOR REQUESTING BTW!!!¡!!11!21! probably proofread

a/n#2. alsoo you didn't specify about reader and him dating or not so i did both js incase if you wabt one of em 😋😋💥💥💔💔🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

⠀⠀⠀━━━━ not dating !!

chill.

he liked how chill you were in some serious situations especially when some of you guys found out that the teachers finish off students who fail the tests, quizzes and stuff. though you were kinda horrified and in disbelief when alice almost killed claire.

long story short, claire survived because of you.

he was so thankful and relieved that you saved the poor girl, he could've been in a much more painful state as miss circle threw him off the brick wall.

he kept saying thank you day by day or whenever he sees you, he gives you gifts and such. you already told him it was enough but he just kept going with the treats he gives you.

of course you didn't mind, you loved receiving gifts.

although, every now and then, he'd start to become quite shy around you, or maybe tease you or maybe even annoy you in a good way!

you hated it but you secretly loved his way of teasing, though you found it weird why he does that occasionally now.

eh!! ><

it seems to claire that engel secretly started liking you ever since you guys hang out in some places or maybe the malls. she did tell you some theories about him having feelings for you but you just told her to shake it off.

you did like him privately, though you don't know how to show as much affection as he does.

⠀⠀⠀━━━━ dating !!

uh oh ushshaus

cuddles when you guys sleep together (not in that way. you guys are still minors huhuh)

he loves spending time with you! quality time is probably his thing.

he'd let you play with his hair, braid them, put it with hair accessories and such, he doesn't mind!

watch your lockers get filled with a bunch of cards and letters ━━━━━━━ well, let's put it this way., let's just say you just entered the center of learning (alias school), wending your way to your locker trying to open it but it won't budge. magically, you grabbed a crowbar from your bag and started opening the aperture of your storage locker. only revealing tons of papers, gifts, sweets & desserts, and romantic stuff you could imagine.

oh yeah it flooded the hallways logically

he'd either just glance at you while you're having a hard time processing what happened or he'll just chuckle softly before picking you up in his arms and head to you guys' classes

yeah let's ignore the letters and stuff he placed in your locker and let the janitor sweep all those mess

he'll get a raise anyways don't mind the janitor

babe, sweetie, my dear, the love of my life, gorgeous and other nicknames that could fluster you easily idk🤷‍♀

he'll walk you home after school, he does it often now you can't blame him when you two got in a relationship

oh yeah, kisses and PDA. can't forget about those

as much as he hated PDA back then, let's say you changed him because of you guys getting in a relationship

"what once was" music starts playing in and "dream girl"

he's much more affectionate than before, forehead kisses, cheek kisses, maybe even lips if you flustered him enough.

oh yeah maybe even hand kisses, he's a gentleman indeed.

beach, picnic, fancy restaurant dates??? it's up to you honestly, if he's canonically poor then an ice cream date!! ><

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!! ^^