#though technically it’s more of a snippet

[moons-and-runes]

Writing Goals for 2025!

💖 My main goal for the year is to finish writing at least one entire fic (but hopefully I’ll complete multiple)

🛳️ I have a oneshot idea for Benverly which isn’t really a new ship for me but I’ve never written for them before. I think I’d also like to write some Marylene stuff :)

🤔 Following on from the last Q, Ben, Bev, Mary and Marlene are characters I’ve not written before

🥸 Yes, I have a friend who I share most of my ideas with who also has some fic ideas in the works 👀

🥵…We’ll see. And if I do there’s no guarantee I would even post it lol

👻 Technically any genre is a new genre for me as I’ve never finished writing a whole story

🦄 I have a dual POV wip at the moment of Sirius and Regulus Black :)))

🐌 To finish a oneshot (3k - 10k words)

🦖 No I’m really only interested in writing IT and HP fics

🍄 None that I can think of atm but that might change as I read and watch more perhaps I’ll join a new fandom this year

🌈 Oh I’ve already done a ton of research for multiple of my wips. Things like looking up lunar cycle calendars, weather forecasts and major events from previous years as well as finding every character’s canon birthday and creating ones for those who don’t have one 😭 I have put in WORK!

✨ I’m pretty good at English overall but I guess spelling and grammar are my strongest areas. Although I do find myself wanting to look up certain grammar at times to double check I’m using it correctly.

🥕 Timeline? Plot line? Not sure how to word it but just managing to get all my separate ideas and scenes to flow into each other and form the bigger picture/full story

🫘 Currently in the works I have a reddie fic from Eddie’s pov (but with a twist), the dual pov Black brothers fic, a wolfstar au inspired by one of my favourite books and an angsty semi canon-compliant wolfstar fic

🥳 Allow myself to start making art based on my stories. I think if I do that before the fics are finished I’ll just end up settling for the art and never finishing the writing. However when I finish a fic I can then make art and also use it as the fic cover!

🎃 Yes I think it would be fun to do some holiday oneshots, especially Halloween and Christmas (or for character’s birthdays if I remember)

🐾 I’d like to say yes but I struggle so much with deadlines I just don’t see myself finishing within the short time frame 😔

✍️ Hits and Comments! I’d like to know that people are actually reading and enjoying the stuff I put out especially when I’ve worked so hard on it :) I would say kudos but since you’re only allowed to leave 1 per fic the numbers wouldn’t be as accurate to how many people are actually reading/enjoying it

👾 Not finishing wips 💀 I have so many ideas for fics and random notes in multiple places and I just need to focus on finishing the few I’ve started

🤖 Not really. I write wherever and whenever the inspiration hits. Whether at my computer, on my phone or on my iPad. And usually I’ll be in bed or at my desk

🦷 Any of the super angsty scenes I have planned (none of them are fully formed ideas yet though so I can’t share snippets or say what in particular I’m scared to write)

💥 Heheheh yes but I can’t really say bc I don’t want to spoil my current favourite wip. It involves brotherly bickering though :)

🍕 Posting schedules aren’t important to me. I’ll post whenever I want to post. However I think I’d like to have the full fic finished before I start posting it. That way there’s no chance I’ll abandon it as a wip with a cliffhanger

🛏️ Again, pretty much any trope is a new trope as someone who has never finished a piece of writing 😭

🪩 Not sure if this is specifically a writing habit but I’m super proud of the ideas I come up with and I’d like to continue developing my existing ideas as well as creating new ones

🎉 I will acknowledge that this is the first year I have set any writing goals and that I can always finish off my goals next year, just like how I’ve only completed 1/4 of my Goodreads goals so far

💌 Yes!! Although I think I need to build more of a following on here/ao3 before that happens :)

PHEW! that was a lot!! But also very fun!! I can’t wait to get more into my writing this year and hopefully 🤞 finish one (or more) of my wips

tagging: @staliamazing

Writer Goal Ask List for a New Year 🎉

These writer asks are always so fun to both ask and answer. Fanfic or original fiction writers, reblog away! These are asks based in new goals for a new year.

💖 What is your primary writing goal for this year?

🛳 Are there any new ships you want to write for? (Platonic, romantic, or anything in between.)

🤔 Are there any new characters you want to write about?

🥸 Does anyone in IRL know you write fanfic or original fiction? If not, do you plan on telling anyone this year?

🥵 Any plans to write steamy or spicy content this year?

👻 Is there a new genre you'd like to write?

🦄 Is there a new POV you'd like to try writing?

🐌 What is one of your smallest writing goals?

🦖 Are there any fandoms you wrote for in the past that you'd like to return to?

🍄 Are there any fandoms you've never written for but want to try?

🌈 What research do you plan on doing for your writing?

✨What's one area of your writing that you think needs the least amount of improvement?

🥕 What's one area of your writing that you think needs the most amount of improvement?

🫘 Spill the beans. What's a new project you're doing this year?

🥳 How are you going to celebrate when you achieve one of your writing goals?

🎃 Do you plan on writing any seasonal fics?

🐾 Do you plan on writing for any fests or competitions?

✍️ Which stat matters most to you (if at all!): subscriptions, kudos/favorites, comments, bookmarks, word count, or hits?

👾 Do you have any "bad" writing habits you want to break?

🤖 Are you looking to change your current writing setup? (Or establish one, if you don't have one?)

🦷 Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're dreading to write (but is necessary to your plot)? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

💥Is there a chapter, scene, or WIP you're most excited to write? Share a snippet or tell us about it!

🍕Will you be making any changes to your posting schedule (if you have one)? (Or do you want to establish a posting schedule?)

🛏 Is there a new trope you'd like to write this year?

🪩 Do you have any "good" writing habits you want to cultivate?

🎉 How are you going to be kind to yourself if you don't meet your goals?

💌 Are you willing to take requests or prompts for writing?

[syndrossi]

The Maegor’s Sons AU has me on a chokehold. I honestly don’t know who has it worse in that ‘verse, Rhaena, forced to marry her kinslaying uncle, or Rhaegar, who went from Aerys as a father to literally Maegor the Cruel.

Be honest. How soon is Jon going to commit regicide?

On the other hand, from that snippet you shared it seemed like Maegor might be a platonic yandere towards his sons? I don’t know if that makes things better or worse…

There's a lot of awful to go around in that AU! And unlike Aerys, Maegor has Balerion. And a lot of hostages in their broader family (Viserys, Jaehaerys, Alysanne, Alyssa, and technically Aerea and Rhaella). I said it in a comment, but one difference is that Maegor views the twins more like Aerys seemed to view Viserys, aka instead of Rhaegar being an object of jealousy/suspicion/disappointment (depending on Aerys's mood) and only occasionally possessiveness, Maegor has the possessiveness dialed all the way up to 10.

Those are his precious miracle heirs, and he must be the most important thing in their lives at all times, and if he isn't, someone is going to pay. Now, Rhaegar will find a way to weaponize that at least a little, I'm sure, but I expect Jon to struggle with it a lot. He's both very independent and disinclined toward appeasement, whereas Rhaegar had a lot of practice with the latter with Aerys.

And they even have the same dilemma as canon!Rhaegar eventually did: if you want to depose your tyrannical father, killing him makes you a kinslayer, just like him, but how the heck do you otherwise do it? (And I'm sure there is some affection, moreso than toward Aerys, because Maegor would have been a doting father whose love, though very selfish, was love of a sort.)

So Maegor being a platonic yandere (lol!) does make things both better and worse. It's more emotionally confusing/fraught, but Maegor's instinctive cruelty and jealousy is, uh, extensive.

[maybege]

I wrote something really filthy and I don’t know if I’m too ashamed to post it or not 🫣

[rallazart]

Ah fine I'll post somethin. Experimenting with designs and shit is all I'm doin. Nothin new.

(Not posting the colored in versions yet. These are only concept sketches. Keep that in mind)...

The digital "version" of ^this^ is just some lazy color blocking I did. (Pay no mind to the weird light effects); But it does add a little clarity to the original sketch that might be helpful. Note: the values will change to some degree later.

Full body type idea ^here^. The tail is fan shaped from proper perspective.

The basic blocks of his design include an array of different animal features i.e. plucked feathers and skin, goat horns and eyes, coyote skull and body, and lizard scales. Idk if anyone was curious though;

if anyone asks for more detail in the design inspirations and lore I might share it. I just don't really feel the need to post every part of my process yk (especially if I'm not 100% happy with it)

[mirrortouchedsea]

dark. that was all he had ever known. cold, dark, damp. the boy shivers in the small room, painfully alone, only a book and his magic to keep him company. he tried not to use his magic very often, though. it seemed that the people above knew when he used it and they always always always refused to give him food until he “woke up” next. maybe this time he’ll learn their lesson. the boy whispers his spell, cur memini, and creates a small light in his fingers. this is the only spell magic he can cast safely, too small to be noticeable by the people above. he holds his hand over the fading book on the floor. the boy can’t read, but this book has pictures. he flips through it again, admiring the figure in armor who always comes to rescue the figure in the tower, cut off from the world, just like him. the boy frequently dreams of a figure in armor coming to save him, despite the years he has spent alone. dark and cold and damp. 

...

the boy closes his eyes, and falls asleep. maybe this time it won’t hurt so much. 

---

how long has he been here? the boy doesn’t keep track of time. he knows he’s died at least a dozen times. but how long does it take for a dozen lifetimes to pass? 

[bijoumikhawal]

"Hath not an augment eyes?" Julian asked. "Or would you prefer it as it is in the original?"

Worf looked away first. "I have never liked that play."

"I have come to find it edifying, in some ways."

[suga-kookiemonster]

ctrl-alt-del | jjk (teaser)

summary⇢ you graduated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but, to your extreme disappointment, your big girl job isn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. still, you're holding out hope that your talents will soon be recognized and your coworkers will stop trying to include you in their gossip sessions. enter jungkook, the quiet IT guy who's gradually making your days more bearable. (and if you find him easy on the eyes, that's nobody's business but yours.) pairing⇢ jungkook/reader teaser word count⇢ 1.4k genre⇢ smut | humor | office!au warnings⇢ nothing too bad for this teaser! just a mention of oral

a/n⇢this fic has literally been sitting in my wips for YEARS lmao. i feel like it's finally time to set it free 🕊️✨ it's looking like it's gonna lean more towards pwp, but there's definitely still enough plot in there to keep it interesting. not sure when it will be up, but wanted to share a snippet to get your thoughts and get myself excited to finish the last leg--fingers crossed for the next month or so 🤞🏾🙌🏾💜

When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from thefigurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.

Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.

You’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every couple of weeks, the company sponsors an employee barbecue were everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.

“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”

Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though as sweet as can be, she has no filter, and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in some situations where you found it inappropriate. Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate (instead of your measly Assistant)means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started, and she is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing.).

“I think it’s nice,” you reply. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”

“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”

Your eyes dart to said Sales boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?

An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”

“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.

“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”

“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”

“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.

The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards speaking about inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.

“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.

He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue buttonup. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.

“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”

Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”

“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”

“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”

“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”

He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up. 

“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.

“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”

“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.

Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.

Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”

“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”

“IT guy?” you ask, hoping to slide past that last remark.

“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously disinterested by the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. The rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.

Wendy scoffs. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”

“Soccer game?” you ask.

“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy informs you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”

To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching him run back and forth across the grass.

[pickingupmymercedes]

Ways they show they love each other pt. 2 - Lewis Hamilton

Other 5 snippets of fluff (part 1 here)

Also there's a bunch more just like these ones if you like them - Ways to say I love you p1 / p2 ; All these little things - p1 / p2 ; Small firsts

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +4k

a/n: Hope you guys like the other 5❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

A shared laugh

The garage hummed with its usual controlled chaos—engineers calling out last-minute adjustments, mechanics moving with practiced precision, and the soft hiss of machinery setting the stage for another session of free practice.

It was the kind of environment where every second mattered. And yet, in the corner, just a little off to the side of it all, there was a pocket of something entirely different.

Y/n leaned against the side of a counter, arms folded across her chest, a teasing smile playing at her lips. She was watching him as he stood in front of her, half-dressed in his race suit, the top half still hanging loose around his waist.

His arms were bare as he put on his fireproofs, and his face seemed relaxed—a quiet playfulness reserved only for moments like this, where no one was looking too closely.

Except, of course, someone always was.

And now the video was on every Mercedes’s social account for everyone to watch too.

“You’re actually serious right now?” Y/n voice could be heard, tinged with disbelief as she raised an eyebrow at him.

Lewis grinned, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “I’m telling you, it’s true.”

“No way” she replied, shaking her head. “You can’t honestly believe that.”

“I’m not making it up!” He insisted, stepping closer, his hands animated as he tried to explain whatever ridiculous story he’d just finished telling her. “I’m not the only one who thinks that a burrito is technically a sandwich.”

Y/n burst out laughing, unable to contain herself any longer. “A burrito?” she managed between giggles, wiping at her eyes. “Lewis, I swear, this is the dumbest debate I’ve ever had with you.”

Lewis was laughing too now, the deep, contagious sound of it filling the space around them.

It was the kind of laugh that made anyone within earshot want to smile, even if they didn’t know what the joke was. And right now, the joke didn’t matter—it was the shared absurdity of the moment that had them both in stitches, doubling over in the midst of all the seriousness around them.

One of the engineers glanced up from his workstation, catching sight of the scene. He looked confused and amused by the way Lewis looked at Y/n, the way they bounced off each other’s energy so effortlessly.

They were in their own bubble, and it was hard not to notice how much lighter the air felt around them.

“Okay, okay,” Y/n said, holding up a hand as if to stop herself from laughing any further. “You win. Burritos are sandwiches now. You’ve officially lost your mind, but fine.”

Lewis chuckled, leaning against the car beside her, still catching his breath. “Took you long enough to come around” he teased, nudging her gently with his elbow.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the fondness in her expression.

Just then, the race engineer called out to Lewis, signaling that it was time to get back to business. The moment was over, but the laughter still lingered between them, a spark of something light and easy in the middle of an otherwise intense environment.

Lewis straightened up, pulling his race suit fully over his shoulders and zipping it up. The smile was still on his face, though, and Y/n noticed how it softened as he glanced her way again before putting on his helmet.

“Good luck out there, burrito boy,” she called after him, her tone teasing but warm.

He paused, helmet in hand, and shot her one last look over his shoulder. “Sandwich,” he corrected, his grin unmistakable.

A comforting touch

The morning air could be felt as Lewis stepped out of his hotel, greeted by the familiar sight of eager fans gathered just at the entrance.

Their energy was something for 8 in the morning, a mixture of excitement and admiration that seemed to surge towards him in waves.

Y/n stood a few steps behind, her presence almost unnoticed by those who didn’t know where to look.

As always, Lewis paused at the threshold, scanning the crowd. It was a ritual of sorts—a moment to gauge the atmosphere, to read the room, even if the room was the open air of a city street.

His expression was calm, composed, but Y/n could see the weight of the day ahead in the slight tension in his shoulders. She knew this routine, knew how the spotlight both invigorated and drained him.

Y/n caught his eye, offering a small, reassuring smile. It was a silent nudge, a gentle encouragement, and she tilted her head slightly towards the fans as if to say, Go on, they’re waiting for you.

Lewis hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded, stepping forward to engage with the crowd. His smile widening as he reached the fans, his demeanor the charismatic champion they all adored.

Y/n watched as he moved from person to person, signing caps, taking photos, exchanging a few words that would become cherished memories for those lucky enough to be there.

She could have stayed back, let him handle it alone—he was used to this.

But instead of going for the waiting, she found herself pulled towards the crowd, her own steps unhurried.

There was no grand gesture, no need to make her presence known. She simply started gathering the items people held out as if she was her assistant —caps, shirts, posters—creating a small pile for Lewis to sign as he worked his way down the line.

As she turned to pass the cap to Lewis, their hands brushed—just a fleeting touch, barely there, but enough to draw his attention.

He glanced at her, a question in his eyes, and she responded with a soft squeeze of his hand, a silent affirmation that she was there with him, sharing the moment, supporting him somehow.

To anyone watching, it was just a brief interaction, lost in the flurry of excitement. But to those who knew it was a glimpse into something that had been kept a secret for a while.

There was a rhythm to it, a dance of sorts, as they navigated the crowd together. She would hand him a cap or a poster, and he would sign it, occasionally looking her way with a subtle smile that only she could read.

It was in these moments, these quiet exchanges amid the chaos, that the depth of their connection became visible, not just to each other but to those around them.

One of the fans, a woman in her mid-thirties, watched them with a curious expression. She wasn’t there for Y/n—she was there for Lewis, like everyone else—but she couldn’t help noticing the way they interacted.

There was something so natural, so effortless, in the way they moved together. It was like watching a well-rehearsed play, each knowing their role without needing to speak their lines.

Lewis finished signing the last few items, Y/n handed back the cap to a young girl, who beamed as if she had just received a priceless treasure. Lewis watched the exchange, his eyes softening as he saw the way Y/n knelt to speak to a young girl, making sure she felt seen, valued.

When Y/n stood up again, Lewis was there, closer than before.

He placed a hand on the small of her back, a gesture so subtle it might have gone unnoticed if not for the way she instinctively leaned into it. They didn’t need to say anything; the touch was enough, a grounding force amidst the buzz of the crowd.

And for those who caught that, it was clear: this was love, not in the grand declarations or the flashy displays, but in the small, comforting touches that passed between them, the ones that said, I’m here, I’m with you, we’re in this together.

A supportive gesture

The stretch of road at kilometer 30 was lined with spectators, their cheers echoing off the buildings as runners powered past in the late stages of the marathon. Signs of encouragement waved in the breeze, cowbells chimed, and the occasional horn blared from the sidelines.

Among the crowd, faces blurred together, but one figure stood out—though he tried his best not to.

Lewis disguised in a plain black hoodie and sunglasses, stood at the edge of the barriers, holding a bottle of hydrolites and a couple of gels in his hands.

To most people, he was just another supporter, cheering on the runners like any other fan. But to the few who managed to catch a glimpse, a double-take revealed the truth.

The F1 superstar, one of the most recognizable faces in the world, was standing quietly, trying to blend into the crowd.

He wasn’t there for the attention though. This wasn’t about him. Today was about Y/n.

She had been training for months, putting in the hours and the sweat. And Lewis had been right there with her every step of the way, in the background, supporting her as she chased down a goal that had nothing to do with racing or Formula 1.

Today, she was the one in the spotlight.

As the runners passed by, his eyes scanned the crowd, searching for her familiar figure. She usually held a strong pace in the early stages, and he knew this was where the race got tough.

Kilometer 30 was her hardest wall, where fatigue set in, muscles burned, and the mental battle began.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his grip tightening on the bottle, his heart pounding in rhythm with the runners' footsteps.

He’d been tracking her progress the whole way, checking his phone for updates on her pacing and timing it perfectly so he’d be waiting when she rounded the corner.

And then she came into view. Her face set in that expression Lewis knew so well. The one that said she wasn’t giving up, no matter how tough it got.

Without a word, Lewis stepped forward, arm outstretched with the bottle and gels. Y/n’s eyes flickered up as she passed, and for a second, their gazes met. She didn’t say anything—she didn’t need to.

She just grabbed the bottle, took the gels, and in one smooth motion, continued her pace.

It was a split-second exchange, a tiny moment in the grand scheme of her marathon. But it was more than enough.

“I’ll be waiting at the finish line!” Lewis blurted out, his voice louder than intended as she disappeared into the sea of runners ahead.

Y/n turned around slightly, not breaking her stride, flashing him the briefest hint of a smile curl at the edge of her lips.

He couldn’t help but smile back, the fans behind him snapping pictures, likely posting online about how they had seen Lewis waiting at the side of her marathon.

The moment didn’t even last a minute. It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t flashy, but it was his way of showing up for her.

But what they didn’t see—what no one but Y/n could truly understand—was that this wasn’t the guy they knew. This wasn’t the F1 superstar, the champion, or the media personality.

This was just Lewis. Her boyfriend, the guy who would stand on the side of roads with a bottle of Hydrolite and gels. To make sure she gave her best.

The fans only caught glimpses of it—the way he waited patiently just for her. The way he smiled and encouraged her. The way he leaned in close to make sure she knew that he was here for her and her alone.

A few people around him had started to whisper, some with wide eyes realizing who he was, but he didn’t care. Not today. Today, he was just a guy standing at the 30-kilometer mark, cheering on his girl, making sure she had what she needed to keep going.

As he melted back into the crowd, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up a little tighter, a couple of fans tried to approach, cameras raised in anticipation. But Lewis gave them a polite nod and quietly slipped away before they could ask for anything more.

He wasn’t here to be the F1 star today. He was here for her.

And he had to reach that final gate.

Because no matter what, he knew one thing for sure: he’d be waiting for her at the finish line, just like he promised.

A helping hand

The car door swung open to noise and flashes, cameras popping off in the crisp evening air. Fans lined the walkway outside the event, eager to catch a glimpse of Lewis Hamilton and Y/n as they arrived.

Y/n smoothed the fabric of her dress, taking a steadying breath as she prepared to step out of the car. She was a pro at these types of events, but it’d be the first they would attend a fashion week as a couple and the attention always came with its own blend of nerves and excitement.

She reached for her purse, but before her hand could graze the leather strap, Lewis had already scooped it up, holding it casually in his free hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He did it without thought, without hesitation—like it was instinct.

Outside the car, he stood tall, dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, his confidence and poise effortless, as always.

He extended his hand to her, the gesture so simple yet filled with quiet care. Y/n placed her hands in his, feeling the warmth of his palms as he helped her step out, guiding her gently. His touch steady, reassuring—a message that said, I’m here. I’ve got you.

As they began to walk toward the entrance, cameras continued to capture every step, but it was Lewis’ small, subtle actions that seemed to draw the most attention.

Y/n could hear whispers from the crowd, murmurs of admiration at how Lewis wasn’t afraid to carry her things, how comfortable they seemed in each other’s presence.

A fan shouted something playful about how lucky Lewis was, and Y/n couldn’t help but laugh under her breath, stealing a glance at him as they walked.

“You know, you’re going to set unrealistic standards for these guys” she teased lightly, her voice low so only he could hear.

He glanced at her a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “They can keep up.”

But it wasn’t just the purse. As they neared the door, Lewis held onto her hand a beat longer, squeezing gently before letting go, just enough to remind her that he was by her side, not just as a partner but as someone who always had her back.

The way his fingers lingered on hers, the way his touch communicated support without the need for grand gestures—it was the kind of thing only those paying attention would notice.

It wasn’t until later, when they were inside the venue, mingling with the crowd and the night was in full swing, that Y/n realized just how much attention that small gesture had garnered.

Her phone buzzed in her purse—now safely back in her possession—and she saw her social media lighting up.

Photos of them stepping out of the car, Lewis holding her purse and helping her out, had spread like wildfire.

It was funny, really, how such a small, everyday act could spark so much conversation. But that was the beauty of it.

It was the quiet moments of care, the ones that others caught glimpses of, that truly showed the depth of their love.

And maybe the world had taken notice only tonight, but for Y/n, it was just another reminder of the kind of love they shared—the kind that lived in the small, supportive gestures that made all the difference.

A shared secret

The video started with the usual buzz of the garage during race weekend—mechanics working on the cars, team members hurrying around, and the faint hum of engines in the background.

The camera panning over the scene, capturing the lively chaos as the reporter filming moved between the crowd, searching for any interesting snippets.

And then Lewis and Y/n were spotted.

Standing close, slightly out of the way, their heads leaned in towards each other.

From the angle, it was clear that whatever they’re talking about was private.

An undeniable tension in the air around them. Didn’t look like an argument but something that made the space between them feel intense.

The reporter’s camera zoomed in. Their faces a bit blurred, but the body language spoke volumes.

Y/n’s arms were crossed loosely in front of her, and Lewis had one hand resting on the back of his neck, his expression serious as he listened.

Their conversation was low, and while the reporter couldn’t hear what they’re saying, it was clear they were focused entirely on each other.

The camera caught Y/n leaning in a little closer, saying something under her breath that made Lewis nod in response. It was one of those moments that looked important, but it was impossible to know exactly what was being said.

There was a flicker of understanding that passed between them, the kind of shared look that only comes when two people are on the same wavelength.

For a while they didn’t even notice the camera. But then, like a switch flipping, Y/n’s eyes dart toward the camera.

She spotted it first, her body tensing just slightly before she looked back at Lewis, who followed her gaze.

Lewis glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with the camera for a split second. He said something quickly to Y/n, and the shift was palpable.

Whatever secret they were sharing, whatever private moment they were having, it was clear they didn’t want anyone else intruding on it.

Without any other word, they turned, Y/n subtly tugging at the sleeve of Lewis’s race suit as they moved towards the inside of the garage.

The camera followed them for as long as they could zoom, capturing how closely they walked side by side, their hands intertwining as they turned a corner.

The air between them was thick, and it was clear whatever they were discussing wasn’t over yet—it was just being moved somewhere out of sight.

As they disappeared into the garage, the camera lingered for a moment, catching some of the engineers also looking at them leave.

And before the screen cut to black a whisper could be heard on the video  “What was that about?”

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

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@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[spacedace]

Found this old snippet and don't really remember of the context for it outside of being a joking exploration of how weird the Fenton/Phantom family tree would seem to outsiders (not even getting into how relationships might be classified differently between the human side & the ghost side)

Anyway gonna drop it here as a prompt lol

Mind the quick reference to dismemberment, there's no gore or detailed description and no one is actually hurt, it's more there for comedic effect, but still wanted to give the heads up on it 👍

---

Nomad motioned to the towering, vaguely vampire-looking buff dude with literal flaming hair what the fuck, “Dan, this is everyone. Everyone this is Dan. He’s my…” Nomad trailed off and blinked, a look of confused befuddlement on her face as she let the sentence hang for too long.

“Huh…” She said considering, looking up at vampire-dude, Dan apparently, with a confused furrow on her brow. “You know this is the first time I’ve ever had to try and explain our relationship to each other and I’m drawing a blank and what exactly to call you. Uncle? Dad? Brother? Like, I think you could technically be considered all three.”

What the fuck did that mean??? Kon snapped his attention over to meet Tim’s masked gaze, the look of wild confusion Kon was sure was on his own face mirrored there. Around the meeting room confused and worried looks were being shared by the rest of the League. Which like, yeah, what in the Habsburgs was happening here for all of those terms to be applicable?

“Well, you’re Danny’s Mirror, so if you consider him your dad then it stands to reason I’m also your father.” Dan said, hand coming up to his - literally flaming, how did that work? - goatee thoughtfully.

“Yeah but like, I call Danny dad just to piss Vlad off.” Nomad countered, toying with her severed arm with her still attached hand. Kon didn’t think he’d ever get over how casual she was about being literally disarmed and just…not caring. “And I definitely don’t see you as a dad. Uncle?”

The giant of a ghost shook his head with a frown, “Implies that Danny and I are brothers, which could work but gives our relationship kind of a weird vibe. I feel more like his father than anything.”

“Gramps, then?”

“No.”

Nomad laughed, “Fair, wouldn’t want to take the title of Grampa away from CW. Besides we’re both half Vlad, so I think brother works best here.” She frowned, looking thoughtful, “Maybe half brother?”

Dan considered, “Half-brother could work. Though it gives Vlad more credit than he deserves.”

“Oh come on, can you imagine the look on his face if we went in together on suing him for child support?” Nomad asked, fanged grin wicked. Dan’s face lit up at the idea, and Kon felt like they were rapidly heading towards the two ghosts running off to go and go torment whoever this Vlad guy was rather then them help deal with the current demonic problem at hand.

“Can you please explain what any of that means?” Kon asked, more a squeak than anything else. He was starting to get a headache.

[lol-draws]

Snippet for the drawing under the cut!

“What are you doing here, asshole.” The words barely had any inflection, it barely sounded like a question.

“Why, poor Charlie begged me to check up on you!” Alastor laughed, though it quickly faded leaving only quiet radio static. “Never thought I’d see the King himself so low.”

“Well go tell her I’m fine, just fuck off and leave me alone.” It was jarring to hear such blankness in the angels voice that the demon almost felt concern—what a useless emotion. Yet, Alastor felt himself compelled to stay. A simple curiosity about this side of Lucifer.

The Radio Demon had been well aware of the kings insecurities, but this kind of empty sadness was new. It was completely at odds with the angels usual demeanor that it made him want to open up Lucifer’s mind just to see how he ticked.

It was for this reason alone that Alastor said, “Hmm… no. I don’t think I will.”

Gold and red eyes flickered to the demon, annoyance flashing within them for a second. Yet the brief moment of emotions quickly flickered out. Lucifer looked away once more, back to gazing out at the city he technically ruled over. The king gave a tired sigh, “Whatever. Do what you want. I don’t have the energy for this.”

[n109hunter]

WIP Wednesday - 'first kiss'

pairing: sylus x mc word count: 720 summary: *chanting* first kiss, first kiss, first kiss tags/warnings: first person, first kiss! a/n: I have a good several dozen scenarios in my head at any given time for a 'first official kiss' for SyMC but lo! I've finally started writing one of them! Like Sunday's Snippet, it's technically incomplete, but I think a nice stand-alone treat for now on it's own.

Sylus’s finger brushed my lips with such a slow and delicate touch that if I closed my eyes I might have thought I was dreaming. I couldn’t close them though, instead my focus was locked entirely on his face, the rest of the world fading to a blur. The only clear thing I could see, there was no way I could miss the aching look in his eyes, or the way his gaze scanned down to my mouth and lingered there, his own lips tightening almost imperceptibly - if I’d blinked I would have missed it.

My chest ached and I knew without a trace of doubt the pain was the same as the one I could see in his eyes. I needed this distance between us gone, need to touch him and taste him without any more restraints.

‘Kiss me.’ I couldn’t make myself speak, half-afraid I’d startle that sweet look of longing from his face, or otherwise ruin this moment, but every fiber of my being was pleading with him. ‘You can read my thoughts and desires so easily every other time, so read them now.’

His thumb trailed down over my chin, and I knew in the next instant it would fall away completely. He would stop touching me, and with each second the distance between us would grow. In fierce resistance, I lifted my hand to grasp his, holding it there in the space between us before he could slip any further. His brow arched slightly, gaze returning to mine in question - searching.

Then he smiled, that soft half-smile that carried a tinge of bittersweet. Bending his fingers around mine he held it against his chest and leaned closer, our foreheads a hair away from bumping.

“You look like you want to say something.” His voice was an intimate whisper, a hungry growl barely restrained in the back of his throat and smoothed into something closer to teasing. Yet again he was holding back, encouraging me to step forward.

Well, fine then. If this was how our song and dance went, I knew exactly what my next step ought to be: One I won’t regret.

I shake my head. No, I don’t want to say anything.

Slipping my hand from his I bring both to the sides of his face, holding him steady as I tiptoe up to press my mouth to his, closing my eyes. I feel him tense briefly, and then ease with a quiet sigh.

The ache in my chest transforms, elevating from pain into a thrilling joy that sings in my heart and fills my lungs with a clear warmth. As if every part of my being is saying: Yes, finally. As if acknowledging that this was the truth I’d been denying, the simple joy I’d deprived myself of.

When I pull back his eyes are still on me, and I can barely read the look on his face. The warmth and relief I see isn’t entirely foreign, but it’s on a level I can’t recall ever witnessing before. It’s almost… dreamy, like maybe he thinks he’s dreaming. But only for an instant until I see clearly that some key restraint has been released, and he is kissing me again. Hard, hungry, my mouth parts for his without hesitation, yielding just as eagerly to the depth of his wanting.

His arm circles around my waist, pulling me up flush against him and his hand cradles the back of my head. My fingers rake back through his hair and hold him fast as his tongue flirts with mine. We savor each breath that passes between us, the radiant warmth that threatens to melt us into one. I have never felt so hungry and so satisfied at the same time, a constant want for more that is constantly answered with his own desire. We take and we give unraveling at our edges and re-weaving together. Whole.

“Sylus…” Panting, my voice is a whine when, at some blurry point, we finally part, lips wet and sweetly aching for more. I understand the word ‘insatiable’ more than I have ever before. In and of itself kissing him is almost overwhelmingly satisfying, I can barely get my thoughts straight beyond wanting to keep kissing him. But the need in me is searing, echoing a chorus: ‘More, more, more.’

[ruruumin]

i'll love you in every universe.

₊˚ ᗢ modern au! alhaitham x hoyoverse! reader.

⤷ when you're his favorite video game character. - spoilers for honkai impact 3rd, houken gakuen 2, and honkai star rail.

looking for a partner to co-op with, kaveh asked alhaitham to install honkai impact 3rd. at first, the man scoffed at him, reluctantly downloading it to play with his roommate. he would have never expected in a million years, that he would fall so deeply into the rabbit hole called hoyoverse. he stays up late into the night, tapping away on his phone to grind for materials to upgrade his most beloved character: you.

kaveh didn’t understand his strange fascination with you. he had passed on your banner but alhaitham on the other hand, would constantly pull for you no matter what. blame it on his financial freedom, he said. you only deserved the best after all. you had your signature five-star weapon and stigmatas. his entire team was based on maximizing your potential, and he was often known as “that guy who only played (name)” on online co-ops. 

his love for you was very quiet but his actions were loud.

he liked you a lot more than he bargained for. he made you his favorite character on the main screen, tapping your speech bubble to hear your voice lines. you had a very calm and relaxing tone. it was like music to his ears. and he finds that when life gets busy, all he wants to do is lay in bed and spend time with you in the miniature house he’s built. none of this made sense to his roommate. why would a brooding guy such as him, fall so enamored by a bubbly, joyous character like you?

your story mode was the most played-through for him. having started as just another side character to kiana’s journey, you became an integral part of the world. his heart wrenched every time he saw your lowest moments, even when he knew you’d prevail in the end, it kept him on the edge of his seat. he was devastated at first to hear you would be a villain in the later arcs. he didn’t want to fight against you. though, he ultimately would, to see you return to normal (he’ll go out of his way to completely avoid fighting you in weekly bosses). 

when you held out your hand to kiana, looking into the camera with enough warmth to melt the sun itself, he was happy kaveh asked him to play.

one regret alhaitham has is not being early enough to play houken gakuen 2, the predecessor of honkai impact 3rd. he only saw small snippets of your character in the final scene. you were holding onto kiana, the light in your eyes having faded in an instant before the world reset itself.

kaveh suggested he play genshin impact next, considering their world is interconnected with honkai impact. alhaitham would yet again scoff until he saw you in sumeru’s trailer. he couldn’t believe it. there was another you. your personality was a lot calmer and more reserved. more logical, he’d say. despite only being a scribe in this universe, you were a dendro character very closely connected to your archon and played a big role in overthrowing the corrupt sages. 

he was happy to know that your voice had stayed the same. your love for food also remained the same. it gave him jitters when you invited him (technically traveler) into your home. you weren’t the same person as you were in honkai impact 3rd, but you shared the same charm as your previous counterpart. some of the dry comments you had made him smile, like the time you left the traveler with a simple “see ya.”

he continued to grind for your ascension, building his team around you as usual. while you had less of a part in this game, seeing you return was more than enough for him. 

something he was very happy about was because of the popularity of genshin impact, there was much more merchandise for him to buy. after coming home from an exhibit, kaveh was gawking at the sheer size of his haul. from keychains, pins, and buttons, alhaitham bought every single one of your merch. his room was beginning to look less and less professional and more… interesting. it definitely had character. he had an acrylic stand of you beside his computer, with a large statue of your character displayed on his shelf.

kaveh would complain to tighnari and cyno about how you might as well be a third roommate, considering how often he had to see your face around the house. none of that would matter though, as long as alhaitham was less grumpy and going out to play games with him, he actually saw it as a good change. it felt like he got to know more about his roommate than he did beforehand. 

finally, when honkai star rail came out, kaveh didn’t even have to tell him to download it. alhaitham already had it on his devices and started playing before he did. he knew based on the name and hoyo’s previous games, he’ll see you again. and he wants to be more than prepared (with money) to bring you home.

and he’s still not sick of your character yet. his heart was leaping to his throat in the dead of night when you appeared in front of trailblazer during the penacony questline. holding out your hand for them to grab. you pulled them out of the rubble, patting them on the shoulder before pulling them to safety. this version of you was also different from the rest. still gentle and soft-hearted, but… sadder.

in this universe, you had lost kiana and many of your friends. turning to a life of solitude, you became more closed off. it took a lot more time for this version of you to finally open up to him. you talked about your journey before meeting trailblazer. having roamed various worlds until hearing about the express crew. the way you looked at archeon made him hopeful that there was still something between you and the other reincarnations. but you wouldn’t remember her. let alone realize you used to be friends in another game and universe. while tragic, he still wanted to give you the best as he always did. 

the same old tactic: he’ll build another team just for you. and he’ll continue to buy merchandise of you. from m.rage jackets that hung in his closet like a prized possession, to notepads and acrylic blocks. he was single-handedly saving the small business market by how much (name) merchandise he was buying off of every artist that drew you. 

kaveh had given up on complaining and succumbed a little to his antics. for example, on alhaitham’s birthday, he was gifted with a very comical cake with your character drawn on top of it. it gave him a good laugh that day.

in every single universe, whether it be from honkai impact, genshin, or star rail, you’ll always be his favorite character. 

… so when you appeared in his world, he was unprepared.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #1: DYAD

(also on spotify!)

Hello everyone!! It's been a couple weeks and change since Constant Companions, my newest album, was released unto the world, and I've been genuinely blown away by the response. Genuinely, thank you to everyone who's been streaming, commenting, making mashups, changing their pfps and usernames - it means the world to me!

I wanted to give some of that love back with something people have been asking me a lot about - and, admittedly, something I love doing. Song explanations! Deep dives! Dropping the lore! Welcome... to the Constant Companions Closeups...

For the next eleven days, I'll be going into each track one by one and babbling about the process, inspiration, details, feelings, and thoughts behind each one! We're getting sappy. We're bearing our hearts. We're telling unfunny jokes. And we're starting with track one - DYAD (featuring unit.0)!

---

Naturally, since this is the first track, it also serves as a great point to talk about my intention with this album as a whole!

I'll elaborate more on this with future tracks, but to me, there are really two main things that define the sonic progression of this album versus my previous work - guitars and vocal synths. Obviously, these things have been present in my work since I first started calling myself Jamie Paige, but Constant Companions is intended to be my overwrought, sappy confession of love to these two things that time and time again have made me simply want to make music. I love rock and I love Hatsune Miku dammit!!!

I had originally written this song in February of 2023 for a game-jam-esque online festival hosted by my friend Loni called HAPPY PARTY TRI, and at that time, I had found myself at a major crossroads. I had put out People Posture Play Pretend and :women_wrestling: the previous year, and while the response was nice, I was feeling listless and lost.

I love singing. I like my voice well enough. I certainly love writing music with lyrics!! But... there was something uniquely electrifying about using vocal synths. Amidst a lot of insecurity and emotional turmoil surrounding the process of making art and putting myself out into the world, it was one of the few things that just made everything feel right. Suddenly, I was making the same kind of music that had touched my heart so many times over.

Would it alienate people, though? Would I lose longtime listeners? Yes, that weighed on my mind more than I'd like to admit, but even more than that... I was worried I'd lose some part of myself, as silly as it sounds. Maybe what I thought was a bridge would become a barrier, and the messages I wanted to send across the gap would never find their way.

Ultimately, I felt that Dyad was the only kind of opener I could've possibly given this album, and a perfect fit for the album's motif. A dialogue between myself, stricken with loneliness and a lack of inertia running in circles, and that synthesized voice (ANRI Arcane my darling), grabbing the outstretched hand and asking a question I already know the answer to -

"Baby, do you know what you wanna hear?"

Yes, it's a love song, but it's not just for a person - it's a love song for the creative impulse, and for the places I wanted it to take me.

im resisting the urge to be jokingly dismissive of myself to diffuse tension but i still need to signal that the emotionally bare part of this is over so pretend im doing a funny little dance Anyways let's talk more technical stuff

---

Like many of my songs, Dyad came together from a patchwork of different snippets and ideas I had laying around. The back half of the chorus - "dream together, we can dream together" - originally came from this idea I had jotted down something like 9 months prior, but ended up being a perfect fit for Dyad in basically every way. The verse snippet that I'd written to go with it got reused for a later song on Constant Companions as well! (I say without naming it, as if it isn't literally lifted wholesale from this demo and thus incredibly obvious)

I wasn't originally planning on brazenly quoting the bridge of a Tally Hall song when I set out to write this song, but while toying around with a bridge idea involving a shortened version of the pre-chorus melody, I realized I had inadvertently copied it anyways. I was going to scrap it... but at the request of my dear friend and certified Tally Hall lover Marcy Nabors, I made it an explicit reference. Which I'm fine with, personally! The first CD I ever owned was a copy of Marvin's Marvelous Mechanical Museum my sister bought me all the way back in 2006 - You can pry that sentimental attachment from my cold, dead hands, TikTok kiddies.

Lastly - not really behind the scenes so much as just a shoutout - thank you to unit.0 for the lovely lead guitar work on this song!! He's been a beloved collaborator of mine for many, many years now, and one of the people who ultimately convinced me this direction was the right one to go in, so it means a lot to share this song with him. Go listen to his music!!! Now!!!!!!

That's about it for this song! Not to sound like a fucking YouTuber, but genuinely, if there are any details you'd like to hear more about, let me know and I might made a bonus post at the end of all this. Otherwise, thank you for listening! Tomorrow: Not Quite There, featuring telebasher!

❤️💚

[mochinomnoms]

Do you have any snippets of ptm characters finding out that jade, one of the most feared and respected people in their school, is really little more than a lovesick simp when yuu is around

🦩

Less snippets and more just headcanons, but I've thought about it!

Who already knows/knows about it early on:

Technically speaking, Malleus is the first to know because of his overblot. BUT that's spoilers territory! So... who first then?

Of course, Floyd and Azul were the first two people to know about Jade's affections for Yuu. Azul was surprised at how “ridiculous” Jade was when talking about the person of his affections. He had a goofy smile, a faraway look, nothing like the prim and gentlemanly persona he'd built up. Floyd was not surprised, at all. Jade always took after their mother, and she looked and acted the same when talking about their father. He's just watching to see how Yuu will react to the eventual confession, Floyd's betting it'll be hilarious!

Ace and Deuce are the next to know, courtesy of Yuu's breakdown in chapter 2! Ace just thinks it's funny, though part of him also believes that Yuu is exaggeration just a bit. Deuce believes them more easily, but is still a bit put off by the image of Jade being so lovesick. It seems foreign! He kinda keeps that thought to the back of his head.

Riddle is the other one who learns early on, but he is mostly neutral to the idea. He doesn't care about the love life of the brother of the man who enjoys tormenting him. But Yuu is his friend, so he starts to care if only to make sure that they're doing okay. Now if only they could help him with getting Floyd off his back, he's being much more clingy than usual...

Everyone else actually won't really learn about Jade having affections for Yuu at all until after they get together! It's mostly just various levels of concern for Yuu, like Jade Leech? Really?

No one else I aware just how much devotion he has for Yuu, and it's really for the best, after all, telepathy is not the blessing you'd think it is.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Three-headed dragon (Rhaenyra Targaryen x reader)

Summary: Three times Rhaenyra marked you, and one time you did too. Or snippets of the love story I so wanted to tell but didn’t feel confident enough to write.

Warnings: Implied smut. Dance of the dragons. Canon character death (Not Rhaenyra)

Rquested: Yes!

A/N: I have not read the books, and I have only gotten one hickey in my life. I hope my ability to describe it's alright. Ignore the bra and the hegemonic body in the first picture, it's for the vibes.

“How many years have you spent by my side?” Rhaenyra asks, as you fix her hair in the mirror. It’s an important day, even if none of you know it at the time. It’s early. Her husband is off somewhere, no longer sleeping in the same bed as her. She is too pregnant, she jokes. You doubt it. You have long wondered what her relationship with Prince Daemon is. Are they star crossed lovers, who finally get their happy ending? Are they Uncle and Niece, married out of political convenience? You can’t tell.

You know which one you prefer, though. It must be kept secret, this deep-seated, long-lasting admiration for your Princess. You have been through it all, together. Youth, marriages, motherhood, widowhood. Ruining it now, with your feelings, would be foolish.

“Since we were sixteen.” You place different ribbons over her hair, testing, draping. It’s not your job, technically. You are a noblewoman in your own right, not supposed to be here on Dragonstone, but back in the North, where your long deceased husband’s bones rest.

Not meant for marriage, and ready to start your career as a Septa, you had found yourself as a companion to a much younger Rhaenyra. She had secured, in an admirable move, a marriage by proxy with some old lord. You had not even managed to reach the North when he had passed, leaving you as the sole heir to a small castle close to the Boltons.

With such undesirable neighbors, and the news that your Lord Husband was dead, you had decided to come back into Rhaenyra’s service. Her companion through childhood, now by her side during the trials of adulthood.

“Sixteen. Such a long time.” Rhaenyra squeezed your hand, eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “Served loyally and never asking for anything in return.”

“Only your friendship.” Your love, you wanted to scream. Your love, for you to see me, since I am still here and I want you. Don’t you see how much it has hurt me, when I am yours, yours, and you were Criston’s, then- -

But you say nothing of the sort. Not wanting to ever risk what you had. Love is selfless, you remind yourself. You can’t have her, nor can you own her. Rhaenyra is the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon’s Crown. You cannot hope to own her or rule her. The Iron Throne, as everyone knows, was not made for a woman.

“You are not my friend,” Rhaenyra says, and the shock must show on your face because she laughs. Silver bells filling the room, the laughter of a golden Princess. “You are family, by this point. Haven’t you cared for the boys as if they were yours?”

And it’s true. You have loved those children because they are half her. You have been the preferred aunt, the accomplice, and the one to teach them things as important as the proper way to hold a quill. As the saying goes, it takes a village. The children are your combined efforts, alongside hers, Daemon’s and Harwin’s.

“You are as much a mother to them as I am.” Yours. Rhaenyra is saying the boys are as much hers as they are yours. “I have been thinking.”

You are so grateful for it, you could cry. But that’s not why Rhaenyra likes you.

“Oh? You are capable of it? We must inform the Maesters.”

Rhaenyra laughs.

“More respect for your future Queen.” She tries putting on a scolding expression, but is unable to keep her face straight.

“Oh, your majesty! I never meant to offend?” You give her a mock curtsy, and she giggles a bit more. You love her like this, you have come to realize. Rhaenyra is a woman of many flaws, even as a mother. She has grown into something larger than life, a presence that commands rooms yet manages to remain full of love to give.

“Stop it, you,” Rhaenyra complains. “I’m trying to do something here. Have a gesture.”

You sober up, a smile still tugging at your lips.

“I was thinking perhaps you should start wearing my house colors. And before you say anything, I mean it as an order. I already had you made three new gowns.”

You open and close your mouth a few times.

“Dragon got your tongue?” She teases, cradling her belly.

“Rhaenyra… I… Too much?” Because you are not sure what she is saying, but definitely she is not calling you sister. She would say it plainly, your Rhaenyra. That she is telling you to wear her house colors… That’s what men do. To their wives.

“It’s what you deserve.”

She is informed of her father’s death that day. The only person she allows in the room with her, as she loses baby Visenya, is you. From woman to woman. No one else gets to glimpse the fragile human who lives inside the dragon, not even Daemon.

You declare war dressed in black and red.

The Black Council is filled with fools, despite the support they show to Rhaenyra. You know it. She knows it. That’s why it doesn’t come as a surprise to you when you go to step inside the war room, and a guard bars the entrance with his lance. You have been expecting this moment. Dreading it, even. It was bound to happen.

“I am sorry, my Lady, but you are not allowed inside. Orders of the Prince consort.” Of course. Of course it's Daemon. Despite expecting it, you can’t help but be surprised at his boldness.

You don’t wish to make a scene. You truly don’t. But it scares you more than you thought it would. First, you will be banned from rooms. Then, dismissed, if not outright executed. This day had to come, you knew. Everyone had family on the other side of the war, with all the noble houses having intermarried at least once.

In the years to come, the conflict will be known as one that teared brother from brother. You don’t know this, you will not live to see it. Yet, it rattles in your bones.

“What? Prince Daemon?” You ask a little too loud. It attracts the attention of some other people in the hallway, including Rhaenyra who is just arriving. She looks more regal than ever in a black gown that compliments her pale skin.

Whispers start to break out among the gathered, surely reminding your heritage. Everyone is waiting to enter the war room, and the lance the guard has extended across the doorway is certainly drawing attention.

“What’s going on here?” Rhaenyra asks, placing a hand on your lower back and eyeing the guard with suspicion. The man lowers his head.

“My Queen, Prince Daemon has said…” He starts to explain, but Rhaenyra silences him with a dismissive wave of the hand. Ashamed, you lower your eyes.

“I do not care what he has said.”

“He has prohibited the Lady from entering…” The guard argues. Next to you, Rhaenyra tenses. You know he has already angered her, daring to speak above her like that.

“Is Prince Daemon King? Does he wear the crown?” She asks him, fiercely. The guard, wisely, keeps quiet. “She is my right hand. I will not suffer to see her disrespected.”

And with that, Rhaenyra moves the lance aside with a brush of her hand, leading you inside by the small of your back.

At the table, Daemon stands, moving some pieces along the map of Westeros. His back is to you, but he turns as he hears the commotion that precedes your arrival. A smug little smirk is on his lips, as he sees your discomfort.

“What are you…?” Daemon says, when he processes that you are, in fact, inside the room he had banned you from. Then, he notices Rhaenyra. “Ah.”

He squares his shoulders, getting ready for a fight. You try to pull away from Rhaenyra, but the hand on your back turns into claws, grasping at your dress to keep you right where you are.

“Why did you order the guards to not let her inside?” Rhaenyra speaks in a tone that leaves no room for argument. Daemon has to answer her or else. It’s a tone you had heard frequently when she tries to reign her sons in.

“Because I thought she didn’t belong in the war room, my Queen.” Daemon saunters towards you, no doubt trying to intimidate you. You lift your chin defiantly. Usually, you two avoid each other’s path. He resents your position in Rhaenyra's life, as her most trusted council. You resent that he gets to share her bed.

“You gave a ridiculous order.” Rhaenyra argues, rubbing your lower back in soothing circles, as if you were a spooked horse.

“Not so ridiculous. We have known for a long time there is a spy. Why should it not be your pet?”

“I am not! You truly think I would do something as vile?” Desperate and feeling powerless, you turn towards Rhaenyra. For a second, you truly think she might believe him. It’s the scariest second of your life. Losing her in a trap set up by Daemon? You hope she can see how genuine the next words you speak are. “I would never endanger the children, never endanger you!”

“I know.” Rhaenyra says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I know.”

“Come on. Her family is as green as they come.” Daemon raises his hands in the air, as if asking for patience to the Seven Heavens.

“My family is here.” You say, firmly. “Jace, Luke, Joffrey, Viserys, Aegon…”

“So you say. But they are not your family, are they?” It feels as if Daemon has burned you. Nothing has hurt you more. Not even the accusations about you being a spy, or the time you thought you would have to leave Rhaenyra to marry some Lord in the North.

You have spent all your life next to her. All your best years. Now, you are an old spinster, despite being barely thirty. You have always wanted children, like any noble lady in Westeros. It was too late for it now. No lord would want a widow past her prime.

Yet, you have always thought that the void the lack of children of your own had left could be filled by Rhaenyra’s boys. Secretly, you thought yourself a mother already. What else could you be, when your name had been Jace’s first word? When you were the one holding Luke’s hands as he learned to walk?

Daemon wasn’t saying it openly, but it was clear that was what he meant. Rhaenyra’s children were not yours. As they had not been Harwin’s.

“They are!” Rhaenyra insists, but you are barely hearing it. The thought of it has left you too distraught to care about whatever you are discussing. It feels as if your heart is being carved out of your chest. Were Daemon about to suggest executing you for treason, you doubt you would worry. How could you, when it feels as if he has gutted you already? “We are. She is family. And I will hear no more of this matter.”

Her hand curves possessively around your waist. A claim, for everyone to see. You lean into her, shell shocked by it all.

But Daemon isn’t about to let this go. He pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket, one you recognize too well. You slump in defeat, despite Rhaenyra’s hands urging you to stay upright.

Daemon clears his throat, dramatically.

“And I fear your time with the Princess.” He stresses the last word, making a long pause. You close your eyes, and keep them closed tight. “Has come to an end. I urge you to come back to the Stormlands, where no harm shall befall you. For King Aegon is the most merciful when the misguided sheep comes back to the herd.” Daemon crumples the paper, and throws it to the floor. You wince. “Nothing to say?”

You shake your head.

“Daemon…” Rhaenyra warns, arm around your waist turning into a vice-like grip. You do not understand it, then. It will be a long time before you do.

“Did or did not your father write that?” He whispers, dangerously.

“He did.” You answer, in a voice so small it’s nearly inaudible. Daemon slams his hand on the table, making you jump, and struts out of the room.

You start to sob, quietly. This is it. Rhaenyra is going to dismiss you from her service. It’s true that your father has been urging you to come back home, stating that you would be protected. Begging you, even. Promising all sorts of things, from freedom, to riches, to a husband, to becoming the wife of a Prince. That’s his level of desperation.

It’s unlike him, to worry so much. But you know part of it is not just fatherly affection and genuine concern for your well-being. No. Taking you from Rhaenyra’s side would be the greatest hit the Blacks could take. Lately, you are one of the few things keeping the Queen calm and tethered to reality. You love her, but ever since Luke passed, Rhaenyra has turned almost unrecognizable. She is paranoid and harsh in ways you had never seen before. Crueler. More Targaryen than usual.

And not only that. You hold an unusual amount of information inside your head. Battle plans, supply chains, locations. Everything that has been the key to the Black’s success so far, you know. The information is too valuable to pass on. If you were to turn to the Greens, you would have to share it, be it voluntarily or forcibly. You are not foolish enough to not know it.

“Breathe, darling.” Rhaenyra cradles your face between her hands. “It's alright. I know you would never betray me. Breathe.” She exaggerates her breathing, placing your hand on her chest. It’s only then you realize you have started to hyperventilate. She pulls you into her, hugging you. On the doorstep, Daemon watches.

You don’t know what has gotten into her. Never has she touched you like this. It’s not the first time you kissed. You had both been sixteen and curious, once. But it had not gone further than learning how to kiss another person without it being gross. Because that was what friends were for. Obviously.

She smells like soot and blood. It’s clear she has rushed to your side, not even taking time to change after the battle. You wonder who she killed, this time. What city has she burned, how many of the small folk she and Daemon have doomed?

“I thought… When they said there were revolts on the road….” And her mouth is yours, and you can’t think because you want her so bad you aren't concerned about the consequences. Half the Kingdom is against you, already. You are considered traitors on one side, she is the Queen on the other. What does it matter, really, that it’s called a sin? You will die anyway.

“You are mine. Please. Say it to me, love.” Rhaenyra pleads, kissing your jaw. She looks so gorgeous in armor, you feel like you might die any time you glance her way. And now, you get to have her. It’s intoxicating, having all that power at your fingertips. A goddess come to life, set on claiming you, you and only you.

“I am yours.” You say, kissing her brow. You won’t question it. Not when you are so close to getting your darkest fantasies come true. “I have always been.”

“Mine.” Rhaenyra kisses the hollow of your throat. “You are mine.”

She grabs your hand, pulling you towards a chair. The room you are in is not yours, nor hers. Neither of you care, too desperate for each other. Rhaenyra doesn’t care that her blood soaked armor is staining someone’s chair. You don’t care that your dress is getting thrown around someone's room. Just in your chemise, she pulls you into her lap.

It will have to be burned, after this. There is no way you will be able to salvage the white cotton shift after straddling her lap. The blood sticks the two of you together, but you are too joyous to care.

“I love you.” You say to her, as she bites down on the column of your throat, harshly. Still a little bloodthirsty.

A beat of silence. Have you ruined things before they truly began?

“I love you too.” Rhaenyra says, as she kisses your collarbones. “I love you, and you are mine.”

“All yours.” You answer, breathlessly. Purple flowers blooming across your collarbones, a red angry rose right by your ear. Her bloodstained hands leaving marks upon your arms.

“Yours, yours, yours.” You moan as someone clinging to a lifeline.

“All mine, all mine, all mine.” She answers back.

A bite where your shoulder meets your neck. It’s painful, stinging, your vision blurring into soft flashes of orange and red.

“Just take it for me, please. Please, sweet girl.” Rhaenyra sucks another bruise on your skin. Deep lilac that will bloom into soft green. “I need this. I need them to know you are mine, even if we can’t tell them.”

You pant. There is a certain pleasure to it, being kissed with the barest hint of teeth. But it’s more than just the kisses, what has you panting in arousal. It’s the way she treats your body as her own personal canvas. As if you were a precious artwork Rhaenyra is bringing to life with her kisses.

A maroon chrysanthemum, just over your collarbones. Front and center, the bruise blooms. Her hand, holding your jaw still for the softest torture.

You are uncertain if she is doing it out of fear, trying to make sure you are still there. If she is a bit sadistic, in the way Targaryens are. Or if this is simple, raw reassurance that you are willing to do anything she asks. You save the wondering for later, though. At the moment, you are too busy breaking down under the talented mouth of your Princess.

You don’t want to be separated from her. You know, you know, that something bad is about to happen. Some nights, you wake up, choked up in a bad feeling. You barely recognize her anymore.

Luke’s death had devastated everyone. You thought, after that, never again would you know such pain. You were mistaken. In the months to come, it was as if the children were falling as flies. Everywhere you looked. Jace, Joffrey, Viserys. And through it all, you had been by her side.

Rhaenyra has transformed into something that’s equally beautiful and terrifying. Far more determined and possessive, love harsher and unwilling to let go. Desperation does funny things to women.

As children, your love had been more pure. Untainted but also untested. Your innocence had been lost long ago. But a love that was not pure didn’t mean a love that meant less. it just meant it had grown and changed, as things often did.

Rhaenyra’s heart was not what it used to be when you two were younger. No longer filled with dreams of cake and laughter. But you weren’t the same girl, either.

Before, you had felt the urge to mark her and settled for being marked instead. You had told yourself you were not allowed to have her, that she was Laenor’s, Harwin’s, Daemon’s. And each and each time, you pulled back, curling into yourself. No more. It was not enough, to be hers. No. It was not enough to be owned. You had so little now, you wanted everyone to know she was yours as you were hers.

“Rhaenyra.” You ask her, as she pushes you down to your knees, tossing and turning in the sheets. “Rhaenyra.” As your teeth bruise her thighs, as you bring her over the edge over and over again.

“Darling. Love. Come here.” And you want to sob because it’s not enough. You want her to be yours. You want her to be yours, so you can drag her and the kids away from this madness, far away to a land where the war won’t touch you. Where there is no Iron Throne to destroy the family you have built little by little.

She will never go. Not even after all the boys die. Not even after Daemon is dead, in an incident that’s half an attempt to escape her, half a suicide mission. You have no other choice but to remain by her side, too far in to do otherwise.

Leaving is giving up. Leaving is losing. Leaving is renouncing the Iron Throne, her birthright. She will never go. Rhaenyra would rather tear the realm apart than save herself, and it terrifies you.

What terrifies you more is the fact that despite all the grief, all the pain, you do not regret loving her. You just regret not loving her in the way she deserves, in the way she has been asking for. The clothes, the hands, the bruises. Only now do you realize Rhaenyra has been trying to mark you, claim you. And it’s like you two are finally speaking the same language.

“Promise me.” You whisper against her hair, as you lay in bed together. “Promise you will never take this off.” And you are slipping her a silly thing, a medal of the Mother you always carry with you for protection. It’s not exactly your house’s jewelry, or your cloak, as a man would give to a wife.

Rhaenyra laughs. She finds your devotion to the Faith of the Seven silly. But she gets it, anyway. She puts the medal on, close to her heart.

You loved her differently now. No longer your silver Princess, your childhood companion. In your chest, curling around your heart, a dark possessive thread rests, tying you to her. Finally, you meet her in the middle.

Rhaenyra has always loved you like certain things are meant to be loved. In secrecy. In the dark. Not of her own will, but yours. Rhaenyra didn’t care what others thought. She had been so bold before, trying to get you to step in the light for once. You had not realized it at the time, you had not been ready. You had worried too much.

And now, with no time to worry left, with death threatening your doorstep, you realize exactly what you were missing out on. Every time she walks away, chain glistening between her breasts, you get a secret thrill. She is yours. You know it. It’s your mark Rhaenyra wears close to her heart.

[elvensorceress]

saturday snippet of longing and pining and being completely unaware of your own feelings! (feelings are hard, okay)

@tizniz @hippolotamus @livinginsunnyhell @eddiebabygirldiaz @spotsandsocks @thelikesofus @monsterrae1 @ronordmann @wh0rebehavi0r @epicbuddieficrecs @chaosandwolves @singitforthegirls @daffi-990 @lonelychicago @sofa-king-lame @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @blutterlie @sazanahashi @smilingbuckley @inell @bekkachaos @evaneds @rainbow-nerdss 💕

more of this 🥰

"I don’t know how anyone could not want you.”

Buck stares at him again with that piercing, soul-rending gaze that skewers directly through Eddie’s chest. But then Buck closes his eyes and shakes his head with a sardonic huff. “He’s straight. So. Doesn’t really work that way.”

Probably says something that Eddie’s first thought is, why not?

Why would it matter? Who would even care about sexuality if it were Buck offering his heart? Attraction is made up bullshit anyway. Who actually looks at someone and wants them when you know nothing about each other? Who wants to fuck just because they think someone is good looking? No one falls in love at first sight. It’s romanticized, telenovela fiction. And people lying to themselves because they’re lonely or want attention or orgasms or whatever. 

There’s a lot you can convince yourself of when you’re lonely, heartbroken, afraid you’ll die alone, afraid you’re a failure as a person, a husband, a partner. There’s a lot someone might do to be what other people want. There’s a lot that gets cut out and tucked away in order to be what you’re supposed to. 

All the more reason Eddie judges and dislikes anyone Buck dates. He’s totally justified. None of them get him and they don’t adequately appreciate him at all and Buck deserves all the love in the universe. At the very least, he deserves someone who will love him just as much and just as fiercely as Buck loves them. 

“Weren’t you ‘straight’ until Tommy?” Eddie asks. “Or— not that it was dependent on him, not that he did anything— but you thought you were straight until you realized you liked him. Right?” 

Buck looks at him, stares too hard at him for far too long and it makes goosebumps wash all over Eddie’s skin. The hair on the back of his neck prickles and swishing, churning flips through his stomach. 

“Yeah,” Buck answers quietly. “I don’t think that’s the case here though. Doesn’t matter. It’s not— It’s late. Too late. It’s really too late. We should sleep.”

Yeah. They should. Eddie has a long day of more packing to do tomorrow and another long distance tour with the realtor. Even if thoughts are whirling in his head. Too many thoughts. 

How does Buck know it’s unrequited? How does he know what he’s feeling now if he didn’t before? Did something change? How the hell would Tommy supposedly know if Buck didn’t know? 

How does Buck feel when he likes someone? 

How does anyone feel when they like someone? How do you know if you do? Is there supposed to be something you feel when you’re looking at someone beautiful? How would you know they’re beautiful if all you know about them is how they look? 

How do you feel anything for someone? Especially if you don’t know them? People say sex is better with someone you love, but is that more romanticized bullshit? Probably. Sex is overrated honestly. It’s fine. Mostly. Just. Not what everyone seems to say it is. Nothing earth shattering or life changing. Nothing all that intimate either. Not technically. It’s just distant, avoidant, using each other for a moment of relief. He and Shannon did it so they didn’t have to talk. When they didn’t want to talk or actually be close. They didn’t have to go on dates or bare their souls or anything. They could just take off some clothes. 

Isn’t that what everyone does? Isn’t that the difference between dating someone versus being friends with them? 

Is it supposed to be different? Is that why people like sex? Because it’s different for them? 

Does anyone actually feel the kinds of intense, fervent, passionate emotions that people make up stories about? Isn’t romance just another fantasy? Like fairy tale magic and otherworldly phenomena? Like dragons and unicorns and mythical creatures? It’s a nice fantasy, but still a fantasy. None of it is real. 

Love isn’t sex or attraction or beautiful people being beautiful. None of that is love. 

Love is sacrifice. Connection. It’s blood and battle and being torn apart. Giving up everything because there’s no alternative. Because you’re not whole anymore without the person you love. They’re part of you. So losing them is losing yourself. 

Is that all love is? Loss? 

Eddie reaches out and holds onto Buck’s shoulder. They should sleep. He’s tired, too. But there’s heaviness in his chest and a swirl of despair whirlpooling inside him. It’s small now, but it’s been growing and he needs to hold onto Buck. 

When it’s not enough to just grip his shoulder, Eddie lets his hand slide down until it’s again resting on Buck’s chest and he can gently rub back and forth a few times. He hopes it’s comforting. He hopes Buck knows he’s not alone. Eddie won’t let him be alone. Someone will love Buck the way he should be. 

A wave of envious aching crashes through Eddie’s chest and he swallows hard. Buck should be loved. Buck is loved. Maybe not the way he wants. But Eddie loves him. Every beat, every breath, every single shred of his soul holds love for Buck. It might not be enough, but it is there. Eddie would love him until Buck finds someone he wants who loves him properly. 

Eddie would love him after that, too. Even when Buck is happy and settled and doesn’t need him anymore. 

Buck takes Eddie’s hand and holds it tightly as he closes his eyes. He doesn’t turn back around. And he doesn’t let go. 

Eddie just wants to inch closer and hold tighter. 

There’s something faded, slipping away like tides and wet sand through his fingers. 

Why can’t he keep this?

Why can’t this be the answer? Why can’t Eddie love him the way he wants? Why can’t Buck love Eddie this way? Why can’t they be in love with each other?