#front-facing portraits are never easy are they?

[kylominis]

[♡]

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy #mydrawings #hogwarts legacy sebastian #I stayed up too late just trying to sketch this #front-facing portraits are never easy are they? #well it wasn’t just the face…it was his hair #as usual

[daycourtofficial]

His shadows know

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3.8k | Warnings: none

Summary: His shadows knew you were mates before either of you did and they do everything they can to push the two of you together.

Author’s note: happy 2k kick off day!!! 🎉 this is actually the oldest draft I have - I began writing this in October I think? I loved the idea but got stuck for so long on where to take it so shout out to @tsunami-of-tears for reading it and giving me feedback - this story would be lost to time without you thank you thank you thank you

Being a scholar in the Winter Court had several perks - your home had a rich and deep history, you spent most of your time reading, and you became great friends with your High Lord and newly appointed High Lady - Kallias and Viviane. Your friendship had great perks, one of which was their allowance for you to travel with them to the Night Court. 

Rhysand had spent centuries keeping up the appearance that it was a terrible place to live, that the people were terrible, everything was terrible, leading to none of the high lords ever spending time in the Night Court. After Velaris became known to the other high lords, Viviane wrote immediately to Mor asking for the chance to see the city of starlight. Mor immediately agreed, also requesting for you to come as well. You and Mor were friendly, but she liked you and knew you would love the city.

The three of you winnowed together, being greeted by Rhys, Feyre, and Mor upon your arrival. After some pleasantries, Kallias and Rhysand started speaking about some political matter, so you slipped out and started wandering around the palace, admiring the beautiful architecture and paintings lining the walls. Many portraits hung in front of you - some depicting battles, some depicting members of the royal family. 

You were stopped at a beautiful portrait of their newest addition, Nyx, when you felt a little tug on your arm. You looked down to find the cutest little blob of darkness dancing around your arm. It tickled as it swirled and skittered across your skin. The little shadow made the rounds around your body, swirling around your arms, your waist, your legs - as if it was checking to make sure everything’s okay.

“You are adorable” you whispered to it, when a second and third one appeared. “How many of you are there?” You whispered, unsure if it can even respond.

“There’s no keeping count of them. Or keeping track of them, I suppose.”

The voice startles you and the shadows, who wrap around you, almost trying to guide you to the voice. You turn to see the most devastatingly beautiful male you’ve ever seen - dark, sun-kissed skin covered large muscular arms, massive membranous wings behind him. Light poured behind him allowing the wings to look almost pink from the stretched skin, but everywhere else behind him was cloaked in shadows that moved lazily, slithering across his shoulders.

Hazel eyes look down at you, a smirk on his face.

“Are you in charge of them, I suppose?” You ask, a smile grazing your lips.

“I wouldn’t say that. They don’t always listen to me. They seem to like you, though.”

While you were speaking, a few more joined to inspect you, fast blurs of darkness roaming your skin leaving goosebumps in their cold wake.

“Hmm, maybe they see me as a threat. I can be quite frightening, you know.”

“Frightening? Yes, I can see you’re trying to pinpoint your next target. Unfortunately, I do believe you are wasting your time. Studying Nyx’s portrait won’t help you determine his weaknesses.”

“I’ve actually uncovered quite a lot about his weaknesses from his portrait.”

“Pray tell,” he leans against the wall, studying your face.

“I think his weaknesses include both nap time and bed time, along with his incredibly short legs. Dare I say, he’d be very easy to pick up and maneuver.”

“Unfortunately, you’ve picked a target that is so heavily protected you may never get the chance to see him.”

Your face lights up in delight, “so I am a frightening threat? Why else go through the trouble to hide him from me?”

“Nyx doesn’t like strangers,” his tone was so matter of fact, the shadows peered over his shoulders to watch the exchange.

“Hmm, you could introduce us. Then it’ll be a fair fight.”

“Unfortunately for you, I believe he is napping. And disturbing him from a nap is the worst part of my job.”

“So it is part of your job to wake him up?”

“I have to train him against all these frightening threats that wander the halls.”

“I only see one frightening threat.”

The shadows began dancing between you two, pulling you both closer and closer, until you realized you could put your hand out and touch his face. Your fingers twitched slightly at the intrusive thought.

“And does this frightening threat have a name.”

“Y/n.”

He smiles at your name - you assume he already knew who you were, he just wanted you to say it for whatever reason.

“And does the one who has the terrifying job of waking Nyx have a name?”

“Azriel.”

“And you also aren’t in charge of the shadows, but you provide them with suggestions?”

He laughs as he says, “They usually listen to me, especially when I command them, but sometimes they just find something they like and want to investigate.”

“Is that what happened? They wanted to investigate me?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Did they like what they found out in their investigation?”

“Sometimes they investigate pretty things or things they’ve never seen before. They won’t tell me why they came after you, but they tell me they like you.”

“Can you tell them that I like them? Or can they hear me when I talk to them?”

“They can hear you, you just can’t really hear them.”

“They’re very beautiful.” You were talking about the shadows, of course. Definitely not also about the male in front of you.

“Yes they are.” He says, gazing into your eyes, perhaps speaking about more than just the shadows.

The spell between your shared gaze is broken when a door opens and Mor comes running down the hall. “Oh, good, Az found you. We thought you got lost somewhere,” she sounded out of breath, as if she were roaming the halls for you.

“I’m sorry, Mor, you know I love to wander.” You look at Azriel, his hazel eyes meeting your gaze. “You never know what you’ll find.”

-

It had been a long day. Velaris was stunning, a beautiful gem in an otherwise terrifying sounding court, but you desperately need a warm bath and a few moments of peace. You adored Viviane and Kallias, but you needed to be away from him for a few hours. You needed peace and quiet.

And maybe a few moments to think about the beautiful male you were flirting with earlier.

You prepared yourself a bath, lowering your entire body into the warm water. You tilt your head back, enjoying the warmth on your aching muscles from walking around the palace all day, when you see out of the corner of your eye a tiny little shadow.

“Hello, sweetie,” you coo towards it. You can’t help it - they’re absolutely adorable. They remind you of little pets, but less messy or noisy. One or two of them had followed you around during the day. You weren’t sure if anyone else noticed or not, especially because you didn’t see Azriel again for the rest of the day.

The shadow came to the edge of the bathtub, climbing up your arm, nestling into your hair. “You are a silly little thing aren’t you?” You ask it, with no response. “Will you ever speak to me?” You ask, again with no response. “Will you keep me company?” The shadow didn’t necessarily respond, but you felt the shadow’s agreement as it nestled further into your hair as you sank into the bath once more.

After your bath, with the shadow still keeping you company, you put on a nightgown and decided you wanted to go down to the kitchen to look for some cookies, certain that Rhysand would only have the highest quality of late night snacks. You reiterate your thoughts to the shadow, when the shadow holds you back by your wrist for a moment.

“Is everything alright?” The shadow keeps a hold on you, not letting you go. A moment or two passes, and the shadow lets go, causing you to move forward a little. “I can go now?” You ask, which the shadow ignores again, but doesn’t keep you in place any longer. You walk to the door, opening it only to collide directly into someone.

“I’m so sorry I-“ you’re cut off by the laugh of the beautiful Azriel.

“It’s okay,” he says, and you take this opportunity to glance down and you realize he’s wearing a loose pair of trousers with no shirt on. His bare chest was just as beautiful as the rest of him - black ink trailed across his shoulders in an abstract way that your eyes lingered on. If you weren’t so preoccupied by checking him out, you might have noticed the shadows surrounding him, trying to slow him down.

A small blush creeps down your cheeks as you ask, “is your uh tiny general happy and napping?”

He smirks and says “well I’m not sure about how happy he is, but Cassian is definitely asleep. He’s kept on a separate floor because of how loud he snores.”

You hit him in the chest, “you know I wasn’t talking about - wait he sleeps on a different floor? Is it really that bad?”

He motions for you to follow him up the stairs, and before you’re even halfway up, you hear impossibly loud snoring. “Oh,” you giggle, “yeah I’m not sure how anyone sleeps in the same city block as him.”

“You have no idea. Cassian’s really susceptible to pollen, so during the spring time it’s absolutely ridiculous. We once banned him for a week so we could all sleep.”

You laugh, and then try to shush yourself so he doesn’t wake up. “Stop - if I laugh I’ll wake him up.”

“What are you doing up?” He asks, his hazel eyes looking down at you with such fondness you wanted to curl up in his gaze and rest in it for a while.

“Oh I wanted cookies, actually.” You reply. “Why are you awake?”

He stammers a little, not wanting you to know that he was walking by your door to see if you were still awake. He had wanted to see you again, your earlier encounter occupying his thoughts all day long, when he assumed you had turned in for the night.

“Uh, I was doing a patrol.” He settled on.

“Oh yeah? Wanted to make sure the terrifying threat was contained?”

He smirked, “what do you think I’m doing now? I figure if I feed the threat, it might spare me.” He gives you the sweetest looking puppy dog face, and you have no idea where it came from, but it absolutely melts your heart.

“Stop that!” you say, while hitting his chest.

“Stop what?” He says, continuing his pouting.

“You look like a sad puppy dog, stop!”

“Will it make the frightening threat not want to kill me?”

“Hmm, the frightening threat will leave you be, for now.”

You two head into the kitchen, and he immediately starts searching through cupboards.

“Mor and Cassian have the best cookies,” he says, while reaching the higher shelves to pull out random boxes that contain cookie tins.

“I didn’t know being a spymaster included knowing everyone’s taste in cookies.” 

“You never know what might become necessary information.”

He looked down at you, offering you a cookie. You accepted it, and as your hands were connected by the cookie, a few shadows danced around your arms to some unheard song. He seemed a little surprised at them, his mouth dropping just slightly.

“Are they always this kind to night court guests?” You asked, nibbling on the cookie.

“Only the pretty ones.”

“And do you always flirt with night court guests?”

He leaned in closer, “only the pretty ones.”

You took a step closer, until you’re almost touching noses.

“And do you always commit crimes with your guests?”

His breath was fanning your face. It smelled of sugar cookie and mint, and you think about what it would feel like to inhale him.

“Only you.”

He pulled out a cookie and offered it to your mouth, which you happily accepted. You don’t break eye contact as you grab the cookie with your mouth, pulling it from his fingers.

“I can’t say I’ve indulged in criminal activity with anyone else.”

His grin grows as you bite into the cookie, a few crumbs falling but a few shadows swoop down to catch them before depositing them in the trash.

“Good. I am in charge of catching criminals in the night court, and I’d hate to have to catch you and lock you up.”

A blush spread over your cheeks. You opened your mouth to respond, when Azriel straightened, his wings going rigid.

“Hide the evidence.” He whispered, as he pulled back and quietly put the cookies away back where they came from. Before you can ask him about the abrupt change, you hear loud footsteps coming down the stairs into the kitchen, before seeing Cassian appear.

He looked at the two of you, surprised that anyone else was awake at this hour. Now he was hoping the two of you wouldn’t stay too long so he could reach his secret stash of cookies.

-

During the afternoon the next day, your little shadow companion kept following you around, almost acting as a guide dog. When you came down for breakfast, it guided you into the seat next to where Azriel was sitting, even guiding your hand to grab an apple at the same time as him, causing your fingers to brush against each other. 

Currently the shadow was dragging you through the hallways of the house, into what appeared to be a massive library. It guided you to sit in a chair at a table where there seemed to be some paperwork piled on top. The shadow left you for a moment, returning with a book for you.

“Ah, thank you,” you say, petting at the shadow. It curled around your finger in reciprocation before slithering back into your hair. You began reading the book, only getting a chapter in when someone sat across the table from you.

“The threat has found where I liked to do work,” Azriel stated, looking through his papers. You smiled up at him, “I have to be prepared to strike at any moment, you know.”

He chuckled, a soft look on his face. “Well, if you plan to attack in the library, please try to keep noise levels to a minimum, Clotho gets very upset when I cause too much noise. I’m on thin ice with her.”

“Oh, I see. You have a reputation for hosting parties down here,” you muse.

He looks at you, a lazy grin on his face, “my parties are known across Prythian, only the best, most exclusive guests may attend my library events.”

“And am I on the guest list?” You ask, leaning against the table. “Of course,” he replied, leaning towards you over the table, “you might be a threat, but I’ve heard you’re one hell of a dancer.”

You laugh loudly, then remember where you are and try to quiet down. “I’ll have you know that I’m a lousy dancer, but I would be very interested in attending one of your parties anyway.”

-

The longer you stayed, the more the shadows kept maneuvering around you. Instead of just one you now had a small trio who accompanied you everywhere, hiding in your hair, wisping around your neck and wrists like jewelry when you were alone.

One night at dinner, you’re seated next to Azriel for the fourth evening in a row. You’re not sure if any of his family members pick up on this, but Kallias and Viviane also sit in the same place each night, so perhaps it wasn’t anything noteworthy.

“Can you pass me the potatoes please?”

You knew if you turned to the right, Azriel’s face would be right next to yours and your noses would be able to touch.

“Of course, can’t give you any reason not to trust me.” You winked at him, reaching over for the potatoes. When you turn back, Azriel’s expression has changed ever so slightly, and his eyes search for your face, something you can’t quite pinpoint in his eyes.

“Here you are,” you say, moving the bowl towards him.

“Here I am,” he says, not reaching for the bowl, instead keeping his gaze fixed on you. You laugh, expecting there to be some joke, but he keeps his gaze fixed on you and you find it impossible to breathe with the way he’s looking at you.

Surely someone else notices the way you two are locked in this embrace, but when you quickly glance around the table, no one seems to notice or care.

He reached for the potatoes and looked at them. “How can I be sure you didn’t poison these?”

You laugh, the spell of the moment gone, and you’re able to think properly again.

“I guess you’ll never know.”

He placed the bowl down, smirking. “Better not take any chances then.”

The rest of the dinner continued, everyone amused at Nyx’s babbling and insistence of sitting in Cassian’s lap despite how many times he’s put back into his own high chair, and yet your eyes kept finding those potatoes Azriel never ate, the bowl untouched since he took it from your hands.

-

A quick knock to your door the next morning stops you from packing, and you stride over to open it. “Hi, Azriel,” you say, leaving the door open for him to come in as you turn back around to put your folded clothes away. Several of his shadows move towards you, trying to unfold your clothes when you aren't looking.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, shutting the door behind him gently, turning back to you with his hands in his pockets. You swat at the shadows, refolding their undoing.

“Unfortunately, my trip always had an expiration date attached to it.”

You breathe deeply, trying to ignore how good he smells when you feel him come up behind you, his chest close enough that you can feel his body heat through your clothes. From behind you, he lifts one of his hands up, almost touching you, but not quite getting far enough before retracting his hand.

He clears his throat, “what did you think of my home court?”

You smile, doing the latches on your luggage. “It’s quite beautiful. Do you get all four seasons here?”

He nods his head in agreement when you turn to face him, not noticing the shadows behind you undoing the latches to your suitcase and unpacking once more for you. “That must be nice,” you muse, “I love Winter, but I am quite tired of the cold.”

“I’m used to the cold, growing up in the mountains you grow quite accustomed to it.”

“Then you’d feel comfortable visiting me in the Winter Court?”

Azriel’s ears reddened at the brazen ask, “I can’t imagine visiting you anywhere and not feeling at ease.”

It was your turn for your ears to redden, but Azriel doesn’t let the silence linger for long. 

“Before you go, can I tell you something?”

Surprise overcomes your face, intrigued by his question. You nod, desperate to know what he has to say before you leave. He looked behind you, watching his shadows unpack your bag and put your clothes back where they had come from in the drawers.

“I was very drawn to you when we first met.”

He clears his throat, his wings twitching with nerves. “I was literally dragged to you. I was winnowing elsewhere, but my shadows brought me next to you. I was intrigued why they’d do such a thing,” one of the offending shadows gently passes over his cheek before making its way to greet you.

“They’re funny little things. I thought they were just annoyed with me because I wasn’t sleeping. And then you spoke to me. You were so relaxed with me, immediately. It’s not- most fae aren’t relaxed around me. And I really liked you.”

“I like you too, Azriel.”

He holds up a hand, silently telling you he’s not quite finished. You hold your hands up in mock surrender, allowing him to continue.

“And then you were everywhere. In the hallway, next to me at meals, on the balconies when I landed. It’s like you knew where I’d be.

“Last night at dinner, when I asked you for the potatoes.. I didn’t eat them after you gave them to me.”

You cock your head to the side, confused at this admission over something as minor as potatoes. “Did you change your mind?”

“No, no. I just- I just- the second you were about to hand them to me, I felt it.”

“You felt it?” Confusion coursed through you, completely unsure of where he was going. You enunciated each word, curious over what ‘it’ was.

“I felt it.” His tone held more conviction, but you weren’t any less confused by what he was talking about.

“What did you feel?”

“This.” And you felt a sharp tug in your chest, pulling you towards him, almost knocking you off of your feet. You gasp, holding your arms out to steady yourself, your hands meeting his chest instead.

“That- what- I-“ you look around frantically, unsure exactly of what that was. You look up, finding soft, slight amusement in his hazel eyes. Shadows swarmed around the two of you, circling your arms, your legs, your fingers. They seemed to be saying something, and you closed your eyes to listen.

Mate. Mate. Mate. 

You close your eyes, looking deep into your chest, searching for that rope, that tether between your souls. It was shadow and ice, wrapped around each other for as far as you could see.

You gave it a sharp tug, and it was Azriel’s turn to lurch forward. You laugh at his stumbling, holding his elbows to keep him steady.

“Is your offer still valid - for me to visit you in Winter?”

“Only if I can come visit you here, mate.”

Azriel’s knees nearly gave out at the name, the title he’s wanted for centuries. And here you were, right in front of him. 

His hand moved hesitantly toward your face, lingering close enough that you could feel the chill from his hand. You nuzzled your cheek into his hand, looking up at him. This beautiful, kind male was your mate.

You had known him for four days - you hardly knew him, hardly knew anything about him or his homeland. But that was okay. You knew his shadows well enough by now.

They were a pretty good judge of character.

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading! 💕

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

[gremlingottoosilly]

Mafia!Konig and Loser!reader who is just a humble artist trying to find a buyer for his paintings.

You know the theory about most of contemporary art being just a curtain for black market and a way to legitimize drug money? Yea. No one was interested in your paintings. You didn't have a large name, you couldn't draw as much as you wanted because of your day job in retail, and you absolutely hated every minute of your life, being stuck in the apartment with artists of the same misery. All of you had trouble coming up with the money, so when there is an order on all of your paintings, you don't look like a gifted horse in the mouth. Someone wanted to buy your art. It was enough to make you want to marry this person. The guy who arranged the payment is sketchy. He wears a mask, blacl glasses, and a very noticeable anger in his voice as you don't quite understand what he wants to do from the first time. He says he will buy all of your paintings and put them in a gallery. He asks about your permission and if you want to do this for charity. He struggles to come up with a charity name, but you already sign up for whatever he is trying to give you, too happy to finally have money for the first time in your life. Then you wake up in a dirty basement, tied up to a chair. Funny. You thought about selling your organs in the past, but you never knew you will do it so soon - weirdly, you feel like all of your insides are intact. Weirdly, there is a huge man with a gun and scary mask, staring at you. Petting your head and touching your face like he is handling a pet, not a living and breathing starving artist, once in a generation talent. Man - Konig - said he wanted to buy all of your paintings to clean the money he got from the recent drug shipment. You were prooven to be a really reliable source, since you were clueless about the whole operation and would be easy to dispose after, but then his henchmen texted about how cute your dumb face looked. And Konig likes dumb loser girls who already wasted their lives. God, how much he adores them. He isn't opposed to charity and helping a starving artist thrive and do her silly painting about capitalism and gender issues while she eats from his hand. He isn't opposed to having you depend on him and cling to him like a tiny puppy - and he likes dangling riches in front of your face. Makes you do countless portraits of him and his men, always laughing if you say you don't really draw people. You'll have to, he says - if you want money. And you do, of course.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod #mafia!konig

[kinzis-writing]

Better than Revenge | M.R [3]

Going along with a plan was easy right? After all it was fake, and basically just a show for everyone to watch. So, why was Y/N starting to question if the plan was a good idea.

Pairing(s): Mattheo Riddle x Y/N Nettleby, Ex! Theodore Nott x Y/N Nettleby.

Warning(s): mentions of alcohol, partying, smoking, mentions of cheating, soft! Mattheo, mentions of loss of virginity. Plot twist maybe?

iii. "you knew you won, so what’s the point of keeping score"

Chapter Two

*Not edited (grammar or spell check), I'll go back and do that later.*

It had been 4 weeks since Y/N and Mattheo had started their plan. A whole month of spending time together and now acting like a couple without labels. It was safe to say that all of Hogwarts was in shock to see the two become a couple. Of course a select few, like the golden trio, knew exactly what was happening. Everyone else, was surprised that Mattheo had tied himself down to one girl, that his attention had solely been on Y/N Nettlby and her Gryffindor glory.

"That's not right," Y/N stated softly as she got up from her chair that was across from Mattheo and moved to one that was beside of him. She quietly pulled the seat closer to him before marking out what he had done and fixed it in a way he'd understand. "It should be easier like that. You can remember the spell easier that way." she had moved her gaze back up to his face noticing that he was watching her instead of what she wrote the whole time.

"I don't need help," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm behind but I know the stuff." he shrugged as he laid his quil down on the parchment in front of him.

"Then why have me tutor you?" She asked him quietly, her eyes never leaving his. Y/N thought they were having a sweet moment, something that happened often between them. Her line was starting to blur between faux moments and real moments.

"have to keep my reputation, love." he spoke breaking the moment that she thought they were having.

Y/N scoffed lightly pulling back from their close proximity, "Then why did you agree to this plan? It definitely ruins your rep." she told him as she crossed her arms.

Mattheo shrugged as he leaned back in his seat, "Doesn't ruin it, I haven't been with anyone in awhile." he mumbled nonchalantly as he returned his gaze to his homework.

Y/N ignored his comment and carefully got up and made her way back to her original seat. She was gathering her items and shoving them in her bag as it was getting time head back to the common room, the prefects and filch would be out patrolling the halls and no one wanted to lose house points.

"hey, there's a party tonight in the Slytherin common room." Mattheo started as he grabbed his work and stood up following the girl's lead. "You should come, it'll prove how "serious" this is." He explained as he looped her arm over the Gryffindor's shoulder.

Y/N rolled her eyes slightly and looked up at the boy as they left the library. "I don't fancy losing house points trying to sneak into my fake boyfriend's party." she muttered as they arrived to the portrait.

The Slytherin boy rolled his eyes, "I'll be right here waiting for you in thirty minutes." He told her before squeezing her hand and walking back down towards the Slytherin's common room.

The Gryffindor girl groaned before saying the password and walking into the common room. Quickly going up to the dormitories to change into a party dress. She knew which one she was going to wear, it would work perfectly for a Slytherin party. Her mother had bought her an emerald green dress, every year. So she wouldn’t forget what family she came from.

She had never attended Slytherin’s parties with Theodore, so this was all new to her. Not knowing how casual or dressed up to be. She laid her dress on the bed before heading towards the bathroom and doing her hair and makeup in the way that seemed fit.

When houses three parties, everyone was invited. It was the only time that houses willingly hung out together, but they stilled seemed to stay in their groups. Unless, they were planning on hooking up for the night. Y/N knew that she would probably run into Ginny and a few other Gryffindors there. Hermione was less likely to be there, often going to the library or being into her studies.

Y/N had rushed down the stairs and out of the dormitories before she could be stopped. Not wanting to talk to anyone right now, just wanting to get to Mattheo and head to the dreaded party.

“You ready?” Y/N asked Mattheo once she noticed his figure outside of the Gryffindor common room. “I wasn’t sure exactly what to wear.” Mattheo’s eyes looked her up and down, almost like he was soaking in what she looked like. “I can go change if I’m underdressed or overdressed?” She suggested when he still had yet to say anything.

“No,” he shook his head. His hand slipping into hers instinctively. “You look great, just didn’t expect you to be in green s’all.” He mumbled clearing his throat after.

Mattheo had successfully gotten them to the Slytherin common room without running into anyone on the way. Y/N rolled her eyes at the common room password before she was led through the silencing spell barrier. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke enveloped her senses, the music pounding off the walls. Multiple houses joined together, either dancing, playing games, or making out.

“This isn’t my scene.” Y/N mumbled to Mattheo as they pushed their way through some people and headed towards the corner.

The Riddle boy gave her hand a small squeeze as they ended up in the corner. There were couches and seats there, his friend group all gathered around each other. Draco was with Pansy, Enzo sat with Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle sat on one, and Theo and his new girlfriend together.

“Finally, started to think you bailed.” Draco spoke to Mattheo. Mattheo rolled his eyes, sitting down and gently putting Y/N in his lap and helping her get comfortable.

“Now, cousin, you know me better than that.” Mattheo replied, pulling Y/N into him so help her relax a bit better. It had been a month of this and she still could not wrap her head around it. He casually placed his hand on her knee while the other one was resting on the couch arm behind her back.

Pansy whispered something to Draco before standing up, “I’m going to get drinks,” she announced before turning around and facing the new couple. “Y/N why don’t you come with me?” She asked.

Y/N glanced at Mattheo, who nodded, before she stood up and gave her a small smile. She agreed following the Slytherin girl through the crowd. “Hope I didn’t come off strong,” Pansy laughed a bit. “We don’t know each other and seeing as you’ve settled Mattheo down. I think we should hang out some.”

Y/N gave a soft but nervous smile unsure of what to say. “Yeah, it just happened.” She shrugged to the Slytherin girl as they fixed drinks.

“Not your scene?” Pansy asked when she noticed the Gryffindor looking around. “Is that why you never came around with Theo?”

Y/N shrugged thinking about the question for a minute. “I just, my relationship with Theo was different than mine and Mattheo’s.” She spoke honestly. There was major differences, the main one being one was real and the other is fake. To prove to everyone that she was fine. To be honest, it was working well. She had no feelings for Theodore left, all she felt was a bit of betrayal but she was officially over it.

“I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.” Pansy spoke as she nodded over to the couches the pair came from. Y/N turned and was met with Mattheo’s gaze on her from across the room. She sent him a small smile before turning back to face Pansy. “You must be special to him.”

Y/N let out a small laugh with the shake of her head. “I think we’re just having fun right now.” She lied as she helped Pansy grab the boys drinks.

“You might want to tell him that.” She suggested before leading the way back over to the friend group. She handed Draco and Enzo their drinks before sitting down with hers. Y/N carefully held the other drink in her hand out to Mattheo but settling back down on his lap. “I approve, Matt.” The Parkinson girl spoke looking between the newest couple of the group. “It’s good to have a new girl around.”

Y/N gave her a small smile as Mattheo smirked. He placed a soft kiss on the side of her head before taking a drink of the alcohol. Theodore's eyes burned through the couple as they engaged in conversation with Draco, Pansy, and Enzo. His head could not wrap around his best friend being with his ex-girlfriend, and her hanging out with his friends. She never wanted anything to do with his friends when they were together, and he did not see how Mattheo got her to hang out with them.

"What do you say?" Blaise broke Theo out of his thoughts as everyone was staring at the Nott boy and waiting for his reply. "You up for truth or dare?"

"Course." Theodore nodded as his arm settled around his new girlfriend.

Y/N leaned back against the arm rest of the couch again to get comfortable. She had heard stories of how deep their games get, and her anxiety was growing. She did not know what to expect or what she should watch out for. Enzo got up and got an empty alcohol bottle and placed it on the table in front of them. Pansy had volunteered to go first, so she gave the bottle a spin.

"Y/N," She smiled. "truth or dare?"

Y/N gave the girl a nervous smile before feeling Mattheo give her knee a squeeze. "dare." she spoke confidently with all the eyes on her.

"You're new here," Pansy started her sentence with a thoughtful look on her face. "I'll go easy... for now. I dare you to tell Mattheo the thing that annoys you the most about him."

Y/N shrugged and turned to look at the guy who's lap she was sat on. "Easy, the smoking." She spoke nonchalantly wrapping her arm around the back of his neck. "It's easy to ignore but that's it." Her hand instinctively playing with the hair on the back of his head.

Y/N leaned forward and twisted the bottle, and it stopped on Enzo. "Dare." The boy spoke up before the Nettleby girl could ask.

"Go ask that Ravenclaw girl out." Y/N dared Enzo knowing how he felt about his potions partner. Enzo gave the girl a look before standing up and going over to the group of girls that his crush was in. He talked to them and left smiling.

Enzo went to grab the bottle and give it a spin, when the last two of the friend group joined, sitting beside Mattheo and Y/N. Sean Nettleby and his girlfriend had decided to join their friends. After making sure that the newly added couple was playing, Enzo gave the bottle a spin and the game continued from there.

The game continued for many more rounds, until it was Veronica's, who Y/N had learned was Theo's new girlfriends name, turn. The girl had been snarky and rude towards the Nettlby girl all night, but everyone seemed to ignore it besides Mattheo, Sean, and Enzo. Veronica gave the bottle a good spin, the bottle unfortunately landing on Y/N when it stopped.

Y/N pressed her nerves down while she noticed the Slytherin's eyes darken and a smirk grow on her face. "Y/N, truth or dare." She asked in a sickly sweet tone.

Sean's eyes narrowed at the girl beside of him slightly, sensing that she was playing at a game. Mattheo's arms wrapped tighter around the girl in his lap, while Y/N's stomach churned thinking of her choices. "truth." she answered, with what she thought was a safer answer than dare.

"What's the real reason you and Theo broke up?" She asked with a smirk.

Y/N's raised her eyebrows in question before shrugging, "Theo broke up with me after he cheated on me with you." She muttered not showing any of her emotions.

Veronica's smirk grew, if that was even possible. "The real reason though? You're excluding the fact that you're a prude." She spoke noticing how Y/N's emotionless state dropped. "How I could fulfill his needs that you refused to give him."

"Roni-" Theo spoke causing the girl to turn her attention to her boyfriend.

"I'm done with this." Y/N muttered before standing up and hurriedly making her way through the crowd to get out of the Slytherin common room as fast as possible.

Enzo glanced around the group noticing Draco and Blaise sniggering about. Probably the fact that it was obvious that the innocent, good girl, Gryffindor, was just that. Also, the fact that her brother is her polar opposite. "Do you pride yourself on taking someone's boyfriend?" Enzo asked with a hint of anger in his voice.

Veronica shrugged, her same smirk on her face that she had worn for the last few moments. No one knew how to carry on the conversation, Enzo was angry, Mattheo had ran off, Sean was fixing to fight Theo for his choices, and Blaise, Draco, and Pansy needed to get over themselves.

Y/N was almost to the Gryffindor common room when she heard her name being called. Instead of turning around to face the voice, she kept walking hoping they would give up. She knew Mattheo though, he never stopped until he got what he wanted.

"Y/N!" He spoke again, this time within reach to grab her arm and stop her from walking. "Would you stop walking and let me speak with you."

Y/N stopped walking, the tears in her eyes almost falling as she turned around to look at the Riddle boy. "I do not want to talk to anyone right now, especially you." she whispered as the boy stepped closer.

"You didn't tell him?" Mattheo asked quietly, not wanting to startle the girl who was on the verge of breaking down.

Y/N shook her head as she tried to blink the tears of embarrassment away. "How do you tell your boyfriend that you felt comfortable enough to lose your virginity to your best friend, but you don't want to do that with him?" She asked carefully not knowing how he would take the information. "I played it off like I had never done anything before."

Mattheo searched the girl's face for something, anything, that would let him know how she felt. "You could have told him the truth."

Y/N shook her head, her anxiety becoming worse. "No one knows our past, Teo." She whispered bringing back his old nickname that he loved. "I thought you hated me after because you turned a cold shoulder, so I just played it off like nothing happened."

Mattheo shook his head, trying to go over every move he made after that. "I didn't hate you." he muttered.

"Could've fooled me." Y/N mumbled before turning around without another word and going to the Gryffindor common room, leaving a slightly hurt Mattheo behind.

Part four

Tag list: @yoichiislovie @justhavingsomefun1 @julesandro @prongsprincessworld @bruher @mattiesgirl @lafrone

#imagines #requests are open #mattheo riddle series #mattheo riddle x oc #mattheo riddle x gryffindor #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter series #gryffindor #gryffindor x slytherin #slytherin #mattheo riddle better than revenge series #better than revenge series #tag list #tag list is open #imagine requests #requests open #golden trio x reader #golden trio era #requests #requests are welcome

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

Okay okay, hear me out.

A bantery sort of annoying best friend trope with Miguel O'Hara. Like, hes stubborn, but reader is just as stubborn and hard headed. So like, on a mission Miguel is like "Why werent you paying attention?" and SpiderPerson!Reader is like "You're a very distracting man." And then like, the classic upside down Spiderman kiss. Apologies if this is a mess, the brainrot is real.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: None, just some good ol' fluff paired alongside some classic best friends to lovers. You know the dealio :3

It wasn’t easy being best friends with Miguel O’Hara.

He was stubborn, stoic, annoying, always thought he was right, and incredibly grumpy (almost all the time! It must be exhausting) amongst many other things. But all those things made him who he was, alongside the kindness and care he has for everyone, hidden behind that Spider-Society leader guise.

It wasn’t easy, but he was your best friend just as you were his. Your favourite person amongst the millions of people on this planet, and the billions upon trillions of people in the multiverse.

But it was even more difficult when you had the biggest raging crush on him. You felt like a little teenager, lost in the vastness of your own heart that quickly grew more and more fond of the person you loved with each day that passed.

Your feelings made you act silly and lovesick (and you knew damn well he noticed, he just never said anything about it), but they weren’t going anywhere for the time being so here they stayed.

They weren’t too great during missions though.

~

“Hey, Miguel~,” you say, sidling up to him with a stupid grin on your face. He stops you with a palm on your face, not allowing you to get too close.

“Ugh, what-?” he says, pulling his hand back in disgust. “Did you just lick me?!”

“Don’t put your hand in front of my face then, you should know by now the consequences of that,” you say with a tsk, before bursting into laughter at his expression.

“Unfortunately,” he sighs, rubbing it onto your suit. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” you say, pretending to be confused.

“What do you mean what- The mission? Are you ready for the mission we’re supposed to be going on in the next minute,” he huffs incredulously.

“Obviously, Miguel,” you snort. “How long have we been doing this job? Have you so little faith in me?” you ask.

“Yes,” he deadpans, and you gasp.

“How dare you?” you say, pressing a hand to your chest in offence.

“You are the most dramatic person I know,” he says, glancing over toward you as he programs the watch to the universe you were both headed to.

“You love me,” you say in turn.

“Unfortunately,” he says, and you grin widely.

“Awwww, Miguel~,” you say, pulling him into a hug that he hesitantly returns (though you knew he loved hugs, he would just rather die than admit it).

“Alright, alright,” he says pulling away. “Focus up, we need to be on our A-game for this guy.”

“Aye, aye, captain! Lead the way,” you say, and he rolls his eyes but can’t quite conceal the smile on his face at your antics before his mask reforms on his face.

Together you both make your way through the portal, getting transported past thousands of worlds in mere seconds before arriving at the one with the anomaly.

“Oh, cool~,” you say with a childlike wonder. Around you is a world that looked like it came straight out of a painting, everything looking almost acrylic in nature and beauty.

“You saw this in the briefing,” he says to you but looks around himself with a sort of wonder.

“A picture on a screen is entirely different from seeing something like this in real life, Miguel,” you retort, still looking around in awe. Looking down at your own form, your costume was blended in splotches of your iconic colours, like you had walked right out of a portrait.

He doesn’t say anything to that, instead patting your head once before walking away toward the mission site.

“C’mon. The faster we finish up, the sooner we can head back. We can have a movie night back at my place, yeah?” he says, and you perk up immediately before running after him.

“That sounds perfect, ‘cause I baked too many cookies that I don’t know what to do with,” you say embarrassed, knowing full well that you had baked them for him. He always did love your baking.

You notice the side of his mask shifts upward slightly, a telltale sign that he was happy even with the mask concealing most of his expressions but you don’t say anything, only smiling softly to yourself.

“Lyla, do a full sweep of the building before we head in. I don’t want any surprises,” he calls out, and the AI pops up immediately.

“Ugh, so bossy,” she says, and you snort.

“You could say that again,” you say in turn, while Miguel only sighs.

“Are you two done insulting me yet?” he says, and you turn to face him, walking backwards as you do.

“Never!” you say, before you’re snatched off of the ground with a yelp. He calls out your name, immediately swinging in after you.

“NOT COOL DUDE,” you shout to the villain who had his tentacles wrapped around your waist, dangling you upside down as she stuck to the ceiling. “Shouldn’t you be in the sea, doing…whatever octopuses do?”

“This seems a lot more fun,” the villain says, her voice a gurgling sort of low tone that sounds much more ominous than it should.

You shoot your webs out onto the ceiling, trying to pull yourself up and out of her grasp to no avail, her hold too strong.

Bit by bit her hold continued to tighten, inhibiting your ability to breathe.

“H-hey, we can talk about this right?” you gasp out, but before you know it Miguel was flying up toward you.

He looked so serious and intent on getting you out, his muscles flexing as he held on to his webbing.

Quite frankly, it was hot.

So hot that you failed to notice that Miguel had smacked you out of the villain’s grasp, expecting you to swing yourself out. Instead, you fall to the floor with a thud and a loud groan. It wasn’t a far fall, and all your limbs were still intact but the wind that was already limited in your lungs was smacked out of you, and the ground was definitely going to leave a bruise.

“FOCUS!” he shouts to you, sending another punch to the villain’s face to knock her off balance. That luckily snaps you out of your reverie as you stand back onto your feet, swinging up to help him out.

You use your webbing to pull the tentacles off of the wall, meanwhile, Miguel acts as a distraction so she can’t focus on the fact that she’s being brought down to the ground where a trap lay for her to land in.

Bit by bit more tentacles become loose, and with one last hit from Miguel she falls to the floor with a scream, the force field raising around her immediately.

“You won’t get away with this!” she says angrily, but you only smirk, swinging down to her level.

“Doesn’t seem like there’s much you can do in this position, can you? Don’t worry, we won’t keep you for long. You’ll be back in your universe in no time~” you say, opening up a portal straight into the holding room for the other anomalies and pushing her in.

“Bye!” you say simply before the portal closes, taking her with it.

Then, the building is quiet, and you wince as you feel Miguel’s imposing aura behind you. Grasping your shoulder, he whirls you around as he looks at you exasperatedly.

"Why the hell weren’t you paying attention?" he asks you, arms moving animatedly as they usually do.

“In my defence…you didn’t notice her coming either,” you say.

“That’s not an excuse! You have your Spidey-sense, you have an instinct that tells you when you’re in danger,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And that fall, what was that? You saw me coming, why are you so distracted today?” he says with a sigh.

“Well, you’re a very distracting man,” you mumble, and his eyes widen slightly under his mask before it dissipates, leaving only his handsome face behind. You pull off your mask in turn, only staring into his eyes.

He stares back before sighing.

“Are you hurt?” he says, his eyes running over your body scanning for any injuries.

“I’ve taken worse hits than that, you know,” you say in turn, your face heating up slightly.

“An injury is an injury regardless of how bad it is,” he says, walking around you to make sure nothing is out of place.

“Jeez, you should take your own advice Mr. ‘I don’t need to go to the infirmary ever’” you huff.

“That’s different,” he retorts.

“It’s really not.”

“It is.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m not gonna argue with you right now,” he rolls his eyes.

“Oh c’mon, you know that’s your favourite pastime,” you smirk.

“It’s not.”

“Don’t lie to yourself, it is.”

“I only tell the truth, it’s not.”

“You say that, but here you are arguing with me again,” you grin, and he groans.

“Regardless, you did good today,” he says after a moment.

“I always do good, what do you mean,” and he looks at you incredulously.

“Can you just allow me to compliment you?”

You just shrug.

“Ehhhh, I struggle to accept compliments because deep down I’m incredibly insecure and can’t make myself believe that I can do well, let alone have other people think that so…yeah!”

“…we’ll talk about this later,” he says, patting your shoulder (the tiniest bit awkwardly, which made you almost laugh considering how long you two have known each other).

“So, since you think I ‘did good’ today, what’s my reward?” you ask expectantly, the corner of your mouth quirked up. He hums for a moment before slinging his webs onto the ceiling, swinging himself up so that he hung upside-down.

“C’mere,” he says, and you look at him confused.

“What on Earth are you doing?” you say.

“Can you just listen to me for once and come here?” he says exasperatedly, so you relent and walk so you’re about a foot away from him.

“Closer,” he says, and you step closer hesitantly, the proximity making you nervous. He only huffs, reaching out to grasp onto your arm so you’re standing face to face.

The hand on your arm reaches up, softly placing itself on your cheek as you let out a little gasp. His eyes bore into yours, and you get lost in the swirling crimson and gold.

“Is this alright?” he says softly, his breath fanning across your face. You felt your heartbeat pick up as the warmth of his hand pressed into your cheek gently. You can’t do anything but nod.

His lips press into yours, slightly chapped but soft as he kissed you softly.

You had never felt anything so right.

“What was that for?” you whisper as he pulls away after a few seconds that felt like an eternity condensed into a single moment.

He snorts softly before swinging back onto his feet, pulling you into his chest with a hug.

“I know you have feelings for me,” he says, and your body tenses for a moment at the blatant comment.

“I-” you start, but he interjects calmly.

“Hasn’t it been obvious that I have feelings for you too?” he asks as he pulls away, cupping your cheeks in both his hands.

“I, I thought it was just because I was your best friend,” you say as all those little moments you’ve had over the years play through your head. It makes him laugh softly, oh how you loved that laugh.

“You’re painfully oblivious sometimes, you know,” he says, but the fondness is evident in his voice.

“Can you kiss me again?” you ask, a tad bit flustered but you already missed the feeling of his lips on yours.

He smiles down at you before kissing you tenderly, fingers tangling through your hair as your hand rests on his chest, feeling his racing heart.

Finally, you felt complete.

~

~

“I didn’t know you were so soft,” you giggle as you return back to HQ.

“I am not soft,” he says almost offendedly, but the corner of his lip is quirked up the tiniest bit. “Though if I was, it would only be for you.”

Taglist: @beiroviski, @scaraza, @blueoorchid, @remuslupinwifee, @local-mr-frog, @johfaam0, @rawegggohan, @honeycriess, @alexenoirex, @chimpkinnuggies, @rqdior, @banana—belle, @notasadgirlipromise, @6billionyearsold, @gods-perfectidiot, @ieatmunson, @honeii-puff, @wh0re4zaynmalik, @toplinehyunjin, @ohworm-writes

A/N: Two updates in one day? That's wild, haha. Am I writing this because I saw this prompt and I myself am in love with my best friend? Absolutely, but hey! Coping mechanisms, am I right :)

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o hara #miguel ohara x reader #miguel x reader #spiderman #spiderman 2099 #spiderman across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

[prev]

Pure Vanilla's nightmares have lessened, recently.

He knows that's because they've left the Faerie Kingdom far behind now, so Shadow Milk has no real reason to try and provoke him into setting him free anymore, but Pure Vanilla can't help but feel hopeful that it might be indicative of some real progress too.

After all, he's been having more and more dream talks with Shadow Milk recently, and most of them are fairly civil. It hasn't stopped the mockery or taunting entirely, but he has realised that once Shadow Milk has an interesting topic of conversation to entertain, he tends to be a little less antagonistic.

Dare he say it, their acquaintance as of late has almost been... nice. Which is why, perhaps, he had mustered the courage to try and pry beyond Shadow Milk's academic career.

"I found one of your old portraits, I think. It was quite damaged." Pure Vanilla says slowly, because he has spent an embarrassing amount of his spare time recently trying to track down any relics from Shadow Milk's past, to be able to prompt him with them. "...You looked rather different."

Today, the dreamscape takes the form of Pure Vanilla's personal chambers, albeit bathed in darkness that is broken up by the fragile light of the moon, filtering in through the tall windows. Pure Vanilla is sat in his familiar armchair, relaxed without his staff or hat on his person, and keeping his idle gaze on his conversation partner. Shadow Milk is floating by his bookshelves, walking his fingers along the spines of the books. His back is towards him, but his extra eyes blink lazily at Pure Vanilla in silent acknowledgement.

"Why does that matter?" Shadow Milk drawls, before letting out an overdramatic gasp. He kicks back, tilting until he hangs upside-down in the air as he clasps his hands to his chest like he is heartbroken, their gazes snapping together like magnets. "I never would have expected you, of all people, to care about appearances so much! Am I not pretty enough as I am, is that it?"

His laments could have gone on for much longer, but Pure Vanilla cut him off quickly, slightly exasperated. "No, no, that wasn't what I was saying, and you know that."

Shadow Milk stops his fake wailing immediately, eyes curved into mischievious crescents as he glances over at him, and Pure Vanilla sighs. "It's just... interesting, I suppose. You look like two completely different people – unless it really wasn't your portrait?"

Shadow Milk bobs his head from side to side as if he were physically turning the words over in his head, before a thin mean smile slices clean across his face. "People change, Vani! Shouldn't you know that already, knowing our dear Guardian?"

Pure Vanilla tenses in his seat, balling his hands into fists in his lap. "I told you not to talk about her, didn't I?" He mutters with a frown, reminded once again that a conversation with Shadow Milk can never be completely smooth.

"Did you? I must not have heard you." Shadow Milk hums, righting himself in a way that involves far too much limb contortion. He drifts over to the table Pure Vanilla is sitting at, leaning against the edge and casually sweeping the vase of white lilies there off the table with one arm, quick enough that Pure Vanilla can barely react.

The vase shatters with a crash, and the half-bloomed petals are ruined by the fall. Pure Vanilla jolts, aching at the sight and his voice falls out pitched. "Shadow Milk-!"

"It's only a dream, no need to get worked up over it." Shadow Milk replies, tone carrying an edge of annoyance, though Pure Vanilla isn't sure why. Shadow Milk perches on the edge of the table with one leg over the other, lounging as he props himself up with one hand, his expression odd.

Still, he is right. It is only a dream, and Pure Vanilla cannot let himself be affected so easily anyway. He hesitantly tears his gaze away from the broken vase, turning his attention back to his curiosity, which is easy to do with Shadow Milk's face now right in front of him.

Pure Vanilla occupies himself with comparing the face before him with the memory of that portrait, eyes carefully tracing every visible difference in the wavering moonlight. The way his face is framed is different, for one, with the loss of his monocle and the change in his icing, and it makes him look harsher. His colour is off, somehow, and his silhouette has twisted too. That once collected, near regal posture has been overtaken by the lax, twisting strangeness that Shadow Milk often moves with, but to say it is gone completely isn't true. The smooth line of his back, even lounging like this, holds the ghost of that perfect posture.

And his eyes—

"Your eyes are the same." Pure Vanilla doesn't even notice he has spoken aloud until the words have fallen out of his mouth, soft and light like feathers.

It is true, though. His eyes aren't exactly the same physically, the pupils having grown to slits, but the spark and sharpness of them are just like the ones captured in that portrait. If he focuses on them, Pure Vanilla can almost imagine that he is there before everything went wrong, sharing a moment with that brilliant, revered scholar.

He is so mesmerised by those eyes that he immediately notices the way they crinkle in the corners, glittering with thinly veiled amusement, just before Shadow Milk snickers. "I know my eyes are stunningly handsome, but you can talk to me while you get lost in them. There's nothing more boring than silence!"

Pure Vanilla blinks quickly in response, startled out of his dreamy contemplation. Instantly, he feels the heat of embarrassment begin to darken his cheeks, and he closes his eyes on instinct, ducking his head slightly. Shadow Milk's giggles coil around his shoulders, and to move on from his own bout of confusion, Pure Vanilla frantically tries to pin down a conversation topic.

"Never mind that. You always insist on maintaining conversations with me." Pure Vanilla comments, something like concern and the beginnings of anxiety heavy on his tongue. "I know your circumstance doesn't allow for socialisation, but can you not even talk to your friends?"

It's a risky question, and Pure Vanilla knows that, even before he asks it. He has done his best to steer clear of topics that are even remotely related to Shadow Milk's imprisonment so far, for fear of provoking him. But this question has been simmering in his mind for a while now, so it is the only one he could think of in his haste. He won't be able to learn more about him if he doesn't press further, anyway, and now is as good a time as any.

Pure Vanilla had expected a bit of a pause, the sort of charged silence he has grown to expect from Shadow Milk when he is faced with a question he actually wants to consider, so he is surprised by the near immediate response.

"What kind of question is that? Of course I can." Shadow Milk replies, sounding remarkably flippant about it.

Pure Vanilla takes a moment to try and find a way to word himself delicately, hands fidgeting where they rest in his lap. "...Well, you always act like I'm the only person you talk to regularly. I thought, perhaps, you're–"

Lonely, but Pure Vanilla cannot get the word past his teeth, biting down on it uncomfortably. He has a feeling saying that wouldn't be well-received, or at the very least, not taken seriously.

Shadow Milk seems to understand the implication anyway, scoffing. There's a scramble of movement, and that prompts Pure Vanilla to open his eyes again, finding that Shadow Milk has dropped down to lay across the table on his back.

"I can tell you what I am, I'm bored. Why do you think we're so desperate to get out, huh? It's because there's nothing to do!" Shadow Milk throws his arms up, gesturing wildly as his voice starts swinging and his expression pinches with building agitation, kicking his legs furiously over the edge of the table. For the first time, Pure Vanilla is stricken by how similar it looks to a Cake Wolf pacing a cage, driven to a frenzy by claustrophobia. "We can talk to each other, but do you have any idea how long we've been stuck in there? We've run out of topics years ago, and they don't entertain my debates in the right way anyhow. There's no fun in that!"

Without warning, Shadow Milk flies up into a sitting position, his form blurring and peeling at the edges. Pure Vanilla watches him with concern as he lets out a raspy huff, teetering on the edge of a laugh.

"But I like talking to you so I do. That's all there is to it." Shadow Milk declares, voice lilting to something sweeter. A crooked smile surfaces on his face, and he jerks forward in an unnatural manner, as if he were a puppet on strings. He cups Pure Vanilla's face in his hands who, having slowly adjusted to the fact that Shadow Milk is prone to impulsive physical contact, only flinches slightly at the suddenness. "Did that never occur to you, silly?"

Pure Vanilla's mouth opens and closes soundlessly, settling into an uncertain line. To hear Shadow Milk say that so frankly caught him off-guard, as he always does, torn between suspicion and that tempting optimism that has been slowly gathering in his heart. "Well, I wasn't–"

His voice crumbles in his throat as Shadow Milk pulls his face towards him and presses a scorching kiss to the four-point star on his forehead. The dreaded warmth returns to gather in his face, made obvious by the contrast between the flush and the cold press of his hands.

He shouldn't be so flustered - this isn't the closest they've been - but his embarrassment only makes it worse.

"Don't overthink everything, you'll turn your brain into charcoal. That would just be a pity." Shadow Milk teases against his forehead, his dozens of eyes winking with silent laughter as he pulls back, hands slipping from his face and—

—Pure Vanilla wakes up, frazzled and unsure. He stares at the ceiling, hesitantly pressing a hand to his forehead. His dough is buzzing.

He lays there for a while, confused by the warmth within him and considering the interaction once more. Shadow Milk said he enjoyed talking to him, and Pure Vanilla believes him, if only because he really does seem engaged with their conversations.

And if that's true, then maybe they really can resolve everything through words. For all his strangeness, Shadow Milk does seem to follow some sort of line of logic during their debates, and logic, regardless of what kind, has the chance to be reasoned with.

He thinks of sharp, painted eyes and countless conversations on studies, research, literature, philosophy. He thinks of claustrophobic madness and the endless hunger of the scholar and pity, pity, pity.

Pure Vanilla sighs, and for the first time in very long, he finds himself tempted to return to sleep.

[next]

#uh oh! the old man is having Ideas and experiencing Things #this one is a bit shorter and a bit messy because i didn't have a solid plan for it #but it is a necessary building block for later :) #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pureshadow #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

The Mother

Synopsis: In the aftermath of her death, Aemond struggles to hold back his emotions of overwhelming guilt | Mini-Series Masterlist

Warnings: death, grief, sorry this part is also kinda sad oops

After her death, Aemond was a shell of the man he used to be. Only eating and drinking enough to get him by, nothing was pleasurable anymore as a depression seemed to grip the prince with such an iron fist that seemed to not let go.  

Aside from the tears he shed on the night she died, he had not allowed himself to shed any tears since then, which worried Alicent to no end. Every day, his mother would knock on the door and let herself in, knowing that he could not find the strength to get up himself. Sometimes three days in a row she found her son laid in front of the fire, either staring into the flames with a painfully emotionless face, or asleep, all in the same position. 

She came in to greet her son, clothe him, perhaps to have him regain some sort of routine, attempt to speak to him and leave. He rarely replied to any of his mother's attempts, but lately he had resorted to giving one- or two-word answers, although these efforts seemed to bleed him dry.

Alicent seemed so small against her son when she dressed him, he was a man grown for certain, but when she did these small tasks for him, she felt like he was a child all over again. A wave of melancholy rushed through Alicent when she saw her son, all grown but succumbed to this never-ending pain. A pain she could not help to resolve.  

She had died and it had been nobody's fault. Aemond did not know where to place this hate, this grief. He almost needed something, someone to blame. And as easy as it would have been to blame this child they both helped to bring into the world, he could not find it in his heart to do something so cruel to something so young and innocent.  

To something that was just as much hers as his.

Since then, he had never returned to those chambers and instead swapped with Alicent. He could not bear to see the possessions around him, strewn around as of they would be returned to when he knew they would not. The portraits of her, he did not know if they had been taken down or not, but equally he did not wish to see them. Perhaps he feared that when he saw her face immortalised in the painting, he would feel as if he had betrayed her.  

Today was any usual day grieving for him. Alicent had already come to dress him but he had not wanted to wear his leather tunic, so walked around in his undershirt and leather bottoms. Some days he barely bothered to put his eyepatch on. This was one of those days.  

He had been sitting in his armchair in front of the fire, watching the flames in the dark despite it being daytime, he usually kept the curtains closed. His peace was interrupted with a loud knock at the door, one that did not sound like his mother's this time. He barely looked up, a sigh escaping past his lips as the person behind the door did not wait to be allowed in.  

In the corner of his eye he noted the arrival of his brother, Aegon. Aemond did not say anything to welcome him.

"Do you intend to lock yourself in here forever, hm?" Aegon asked suddenly, walking over to the fire to meet his brother there. In a way, Aegon felt saddened to see his brother like this and he didn't like it. But emotional vulnerability was far past Aegon now and his mother's kindness had not resulted in anything, so he thought he would play the bad big brother and see how it would turn out.

Aemond was aware this was just a way to get some different emotion out of him, but his gaze never left the fireplace, his fingers tapped on the armchair in annoyance.  

"Alright, if this is how it will be, so be it" Aegon said, taking the seat across Aemond and clasping his hands together, as if he himself was nervous, "You need to remarry"

The words hung in the still air and Aegon could sense his brother was getting angry, as he watched his brother's fingers grip at the arm, his knuckles turning white.

"You are without a wife and only have one son and though for some lowly Lords this is enough, you must remarry and have more, to secure this house"  

"I will do no such thing" the words were harsh, not granting his brother his gaze.

Aemond's voice almost sounded foreign to him, he had spoken so little and did not know how long it had been since that fateful day. He had only seen Aegon a handful of times since then, all of which had been wordless, so Aemond wasn't shocked that this was what his brother would say when they eventually would, something so hurtful.  

"You are a Prince of the realm, a marriage will secure our future. Anyone you marry, you will only bed, put an heir in and you will not have to speak to them"

"I will not do it"

Aegon shook his head, anger rising up inside him by the second, "Do you know how long you have confined yourself to this pathetic solitude? I bet you do not even know how old your son is"  

Aemond had no response to this and could think of no answer himself. It is true he had been so lost in his grief, he indeed did not know how long it had been.

Aegon suddenly stood to stand closer to Aemond, looking down at him, "Brother, as much as I sympathise with you, y/n is dead-"

Almost shocking himself, Aemond stood quickly and pulled his brother by his front, drawing his dagger from his side. Aegon's struggling was futile as Aemond's forearm pinned him against the wall underneath his chin, gripping the dagger and pointing it towards his brother. Aegon struggled against his one arm, strength was unmatched when it came to Aemond and perhaps he had been wrong in antagonising him. He had known the answer to this as he observed his brother's expression, a mix of grief, anger but also regret.

"Do not say her name" Aemond warned, pushing harder against his brother's neck, all notions of him being King were gone. Now they were simply brothers, "You may do whatever with and speak about your women as you see fit, but do not think to talk about my wife" his words hissed as they came out, "What I have with her is mine. Only mine"

"Do you believe that if you had been here that night, anything would have changed?!" Aegon argued back, only making Aemond more and more frustrated, "You may hate yourself, brother, but do not hate what you cannot control"

"I could have helped her" Aemond's comeback came quieter this time, chest heaving, "I could have been there"

"There are no wrongs to right! No sins to forgive! The only sin you are guilty of is not being a father to your child!"

There was a silence now, an epiphany ran through Aemond's head.

"Her child…" Aegon finished.  

They stayed like this for a moment, the tension hanging fresh in the air between them.

"You cannot carry on like this, brother" Aegon said simply. Aemond seemed to falter slightly, eyes fluttering with emotion and at the effort trying to keep it back. "I have not been the father my children deserve, but do not resort to abandoning them, like ours did to us"

These words made Aemond break his gaze with his brother and a choked sob seemed to escape his throat as he shut his eye, the grip on his dagger and the force behind his arm faltering. Had he really resorted to treating his only son the way his own father had treated all of them, almost as if there was no father at all?

"She…she would be so disappointed in me…for what I am…" Aemond seemed to sob with no real tears falling down his face, it was more of a pained cry, feeling that stabbing feeling inside his chest once again. A feeling he had buried, now surfaced with a vengeance, "I don't know how to do this without her…"

Aemond had not realised he had melted to the floor on his knees, barely clutching the dagger in his hands. Despite not being the closest brothers, seeing his brother in such a state shot a pain through his heart. In his older years his brother had always been so strong, a skilled swordsman, a veracious reader, tall and domineering. So, to see him like this felt like taking several steps back and he wanted nothing more than to cure the hurt that had taken its place in his soul.

Aegon followed him and got to his knees, hands coming to his brother's face to force their gazes to meet, Aemond's eye was glassy, wanting to let all that pent up emotion out, but felt like in the company of his brother he could not.

"Look at me"  

Aemond followed his order slowly.

"Go and see your child, be his father and pull yourself out of this misery, brother" he said quietly, for the first time instilling some sort of brotherly wisdom upon him. When Aemond barely responded, Aegon lifted his head up again, "If you will not do it for me, or mother, do it for her"

These words seemed to silence Aemond's choked sobs and he looked at his brother once more, really processing what he had said. Eventually Aemond nodded, he could not let her death by bringing their child into this world be in vain. Aegon seemed to find this response satisfactory and moved his hands to his shoulders to squeeze them lovingly.

"Get dressed" Aegon patted his shoulder and stood to leave, leaving his brother to stare at the ground for a while. Aegon held the door and looked back before leaving the room, emitting a small sigh of relief and hope, hope that his brother would finally break out of this depression. Hope that his mother would no longer have to bear the burden of essentially raising his brother's son alone and bring her out of her own melancholy.  

Aemond eventually dug for the power to bring himself to his feet, letting his dagger slip through his fingers to rattle against the stone floor. He grabbed the curtains that kept him in this darkness and pulled them aside, allowing himself this moment to look upon the outside world he had long left behind. The first thing he noticed was the season, flowers which would usually bloom a good half a year since he could last recall were blooming. Aegon's words echoed in his brain, had he really shut himself away for months at a time?

The sun was still quite low in the sky, telling him that it was early in the morning. It hurt his eye slightly to watch as the sun scanned the landscape, igniting the gardens of the Red Keep a wonderful green colour. His gaze found the gardens, now littered with flowers and trees, and remembered how he had courted her there, many years ago…

He took in a deep breath and slightly begrudgingly started to dress himself, enough so that he would at least be presentable, enough so that people would at least recognise him as he used to be. Carefully, he picked up his eyepatch which had its place at his bedside and had done for several weeks, holding it now felt foreign and felt even more so when he had attempted to attach it, straightening out his leathers as he did so.

Being out in the corridor felt different, felt wrong, despite growing up here. The door felt heavier, his footsteps also and everything around him felt somewhat oppressive, like dead flowers in a vase. It was a sunny day and yet in these corridors it felt like it had on that night, dark and damp with that familiar feeling of despair hanging in the air.  

Aemond seemed to take a deep breath in and stood in front of what used to be his chambers, the ones he had shared with her…

He looked down to the handles, a slow hand reaching out to grasp it. But his fingers shook with anticipation, and he pulled back to form his hand into a ball, eyes closing as if pushing past a mental wall. He could feel the hot tears welling up inside him as he remembered this was where he stood all those moons ago, his mother chasing him down the hallway. He could almost hear the raging wind and rain stripping onto stone. These thoughts plagued him until he looked back down at the handle and slowly pushed it open.

A flash of bright light was before him, the windows had their curtains drawn all the way across, spreading the sun's rays on everything inside the room. He seemed to squint slightly before his vision was restored. A wave of nostalgia seemed to literally bring him back, swallowing him whole.

The bed was made with the same bed linen and when his gaze met the pillows, a flash of her appeared and disappeared with equal speed. He had seen her body, laying still in that very spot, the one white sheet had been soaked a dark crimson, so much so that they say they had to replace the mattress also. It had all been burned long ago. He could see, even now, your bloodied hand outstretched to reach for something, seeming to reach for him in this very moment.  

But you were not there. The bed was made tightly and well.  

The rest of the room was the same, the table, armchairs, one had been hers and one had been his. Now they both remained empty. Before he knew it his body had made its own way to what used to be her armchair, her book was still placed on the table next to it, with a bit of paper sticking out. A chapter she would never return to. He expected his touch on the object to give him some warmth, but it was unfortunate that the object gave him no comfort.

One thing in the room that was different had caught Aemond's attention. There was a small bed, low to the ground that had been placed in front of the window. Aemond's attention stood as a small noise seemed to come from the tiny bed and he felt his heart hammer in his chest. His fingers lingered on the armchair a moment before daring to walk over to the sound. She would make fun of him if she could see him now. In Aemond's moments of doubt, she would often say 'a prince of the realm, rider of the mighty vhagar and the most skilled swordsman in the land, scared of his own child'.

Perhaps she had been right after all.

He felt the air escape his chest when he looked into the padded cot to see a child, his child…their child. He was easily a few months older than he looked and he was asleep, breathing slowly and soundly. His chubby, small hands were at his side, one gripping onto the blanket next to him.  

Aemond had not realised that his eye had begun to well with tears until one had slid down his unmaimed cheek past his slight smile at watching his child. He knelt down in front of the cot, arms laid on top and simply watched the small person inside, suddenly finding himself curious about his son. He could not see all of his features, as he had his face buried into the blanket, which made Aemond's heart swell with a fatherly love. In a place he thought barren.

He reached down quietly and brushed the blanket away from the child's face, a small whimper escaped the baby at the disturbance and Aemond huffed a laugh and lovingly dragged his thumb over the soft cheek, seeming to calm instantly.  

As Aemond observed his son, his eye landed upon something that made his eyebrows furrow in confusion. His fingers took some of the blanket, it seemed familiar somehow. His suspicions were confirmed when he came across the embroidery, he bought his hand to his mouth to muffle any soft cries that came out. His son had his face buried in his mother's dress. The dress she most often wore and the one she was always fixing, hemming and adding small touches to.

This revelation seemed to sway Aemond slightly and he bought all his might to not sit there and cry at the sight and at the despair that would be, that she would never meet her sweet son.  

A hurried figure opened the doors to the chamber and Aemond looked up to see his mother at the door, she looked absolutely haggard and worn out, one heart placed to her chest in shock.

"Aemond…" she breathed, still processing this very different view of her son, especially after the last few months he had, "…I could not find you…" she seemed to hesitate coming into the room for a moment.

The baby inside the cot, with all the commotion seemed to whimper awake, causing Alicent to come to his side immediately, kneeling opposite Aemond to place her hand against his back.  

"It's alright…it's alright…" she soothed as the baby slowly woke up.  

Alicent's eyes seemed to wander to her son's who was still gripping the dress. Her brown, warm eyes met her son's, "He will not sleep without it" Alicent said suddenly.

Aemond nodded and smiled back at his mother sadly, refusing to let his tears fall once more.

The baby inside rubbed its eyes with small babbles and whimpers and Alicent offered her hand to the child who grapsed it in their chubby fingers.

"He is the image of you, Aemond" Alicent started, as the child looked up at her with eyes full of joy, "He barely fusses at all"

It was more obvious than ever that Aemond had not yet said a word as he stared teary eyed at his child, who was looking up at Alicent. Suddenly, Aemond's hand covered his mother's lovingly, the Queen looked up to meet her son's eyes again.

"I cannot thank you enough, Mother" he said, voice wracked with emotion, making Alicent's own eyes start to glaze over, "I abandoned him when he needed a parent the most. I can never repay you for raising my son…but I will do my best"

Alicent offered a sad smile before bending down to pick up the child and rest him on her hip, "Oh little one, you are getting heavy"

"Ve…vēzos" the child squawked, pointing outside excitedly. Sun. Aemond stood and observed him, swelling with pride.  

"He knows Valyrian" Aemond asked, Alicent nodded,

"Only bits and pieces, the maesters teach him. But at the moment he only babbles as babies do. You were not much of a talker" Alicent smiled.

After a moment of silence, Alicent placed the child against the window seat, so that the curious child could look out the window at the flowers and greenery below, "I'll leave you" she simply said as she took her leave.

When she had left, Aemond was left very much feeling as if he didn't know what to do. He realised he still had his wife's dressed clenched in his fist, as if never wanting to let go. And once he took a seat on the end of the bed, he released to fabric to inspect , feeling those races of nostalgia and despair rolled into one once again seeing all the little details she had added to it over the years. He bought the fabric to his lips, to kiss the embroidery and breathed in, and let out a choked sob at smelling her perfume again.  

Before he knew it, he was sat, head in hands and weeping with his wife's dress fisted in his hands. He could feel the tears drip off his face and hit the stone floor, the little taps they made as they did so. But at the same time he could not stop. It was not a nice cry, it was a cry where you could not catch your breath and every one you took in, felt like it rattled through your body. Every time he thought come on, get a hold of yourself, your son is in the room he descended further into a sob.

He had to pull up his head, when a small chubby hand seemed to pull at his boots. He stared in confusion as his son, wobbily pulled itself up to its feet to smile right into Aemond's face, one finger pointed against Aemond's unmaimed cheek,

"li…limago…n…" the child eventually said. Cry. Aemond wiped his tears away with the back of his hand and took the child's hand softly. Contrary to what Alicent had said, Aemond could only look at the child and see her.

The child began to whine about not being held, so Aemond tucked both of his large hands under the child’s arms to lift him to the bed beside him, resting him atop his lap firmly. The child began to play with his father’s long hair, now nicely combed, perhaps seeing that the colour was the same. After the tears had stopped, Aemond found himself staring down at his child’s concentrated face with a smile on his own.

Looking up, Aemond clocked the portrait that hung on the wall in front of him on the crest of the fireplace. The wood around it was a dark cherry red and it was the largest portrait he ever commissioned. Immortalised there was him and his wife, years ago. He caught his own figure first, one hand resting on the painted chair, his gaze drawn to the figure sitting in it. And when his own eyed dragged over to her, as if she were really right there, her eyes staring back at him with that sweet smile, he felt a heavy breath go down his throat.  

She was sat there in the very dress he was holding, hands clasped at her front, hair curled and styled to fall over her shoulder. What made Aemond shudder the most was the way her eyes seemed to stare at him through the painting, a chill rattling down his spine.

“Iksan vaoreznuni, ñuha jorrāelagon” he said quietly. I am sorry, my love.  

He whispered it like a prayer as his hand cradled his son’s back. A wave of guilt came over him.

“ñuha... ñuha...” the child imitated.

Aemond seemed to smile at this and stood, seating his son at his hip. Dress still in the child’s hand, Aemond presented the painting to his son, the small, wide eyes of the child looking up. A look of curiosity on his features.

“Kepa...” the child said, pointing at the figure dressed in black.

Aemond nodded, “Kessa, Kepa”

The child’s finger wandered over to the other figure, the one that made Aemond’s heart stutter. He could feel his son’s hesitation, the way his eyes searched for an answer as to who it was.

Licking his lips and taking a deep breath, Aemond finally managed the words, “Muña”

His son looked at Aemond as if by surprise and with a wide, innocent smile turned back to the painting, his small hand laid flat against it.

“Muña”

#aemond targaryen #Aemond the Kinslayer #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond angst #aemond fluff #aemond stannies #aemond #Aemond x Reader #Aemond x OC #aemond x you #lady alicent #alicent hightower #a mother for a son #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic

[simpforboys]

I have a Xavier request. I dunno if it’s been done (plus its a little cringe and a little cliche) but the ideas been stuck in my head for days - partially inspired by rose “paint me like one of your French girls” scene in titanic. Xavier asks to paint her nude or she asks. It can lead to anything I just need the idea out of my head. Another idea I had that could be linked or seperate is a reader with wings and Xavier is just like obsessed

By the way I love your work. Your JJ stuff too (goodness me) -

Anon 🐣

(Ps: have a high five 🖐️, m not keen on hugs)

my angel

xavier thorpe x fem!reader

summary: you want xavier to draw you… nude.

warnings: mentions of smut, no real smut, nudity, YOU HAVE WINGS!!!! (i pictured angel wings but go with whatever u want bae) xavier is in love with you

im combining this because omg imagine xavier drawing you and hes just obsessed with your wings and body… anyways imma get writing

initially, when you approached xavier about the idea of doing a portrait of you, he loved it.

considering he had done many sketches of your beautiful face, it should be easy.

but then you clarified what you meant.

“can you draw me like one of your french girls, xavier?” you mimicked rose from the movie, titantic.

you leaned against your boyfriend, your wings wrapping around him enough to make him flustered.

he spun around in his stool, his eyes full of admiration. he put his hands on your waist and brought you closer.

“you know i always draw you, baby.” xavier told you, referring to the multiple portraits he had done of you.

“what if i want you do draw me with my wings? with only my wings…” you trailed off. the look you gave xavier was suggestive and he couldn’t help but feel excitement.

so now, as you stood in front of xavier in nothing but a robe in the center of his dorm, he couldn’t help but feel flustered.

“where do you want me, baby?” you teased, seeing your boyfriend blush.

“how about you lay on the bed.” xavier grabbed a chair and brought it over. he watched as you gracefully dropped the robe before laying down.

his eyes roamed your naked body. he had seen it numerous times before, but for some reason this seemed more intimate.

“you’re so beautiful, y/n.” xavier whispered as he began to sketch.

you grinned at your boyfriend. he always made you feel special.

the focus look on his face as he drew you was enough to make you flustered. being so vulnerable while he memorized every part of you was intimidating.

“relax, baby. your wings are moving.”

xavier knew when you got flustered or embarrassed your wings would tend to show your emotions more than your face.

for instance, your wings had began to scrunch together instead of being fully displayed.

that’s one of the things xavier loved most about you. the way he could always tell how you felt by your wings.

he loved everything about you. he was quite literally smitten by you, ever since he first saw you.

you were never scared to be yourself.

xavier finally finished your face when he began to draw your boobs. the memories of him leaving hickies, kissing them, sucking them made xavier blush.

“what’s got you blushing, pretty boy?”

“you.”

“i’m not doing anything.” you laughed.

“you don’t need to. everything about you would make me blush.”

you couldn’t help but feel your own face warm up, wings clamping together slightly.

“babe.”

“sorry!”

➽─────────────────❥

“are you almost done? i’m half asleep over here.”

xavier laughed at your comment. he was just finishing the details on your wings, leg bouncing in anticipation.

what if you hated it?

“come look.”

you stood up from the bed, sleep in your eyes as you put on one of xavier’s shirts.

you sat on his lap as he showed you the drawing. your face turned in admiration as xavier watched your eyes light up.

“oh my god, it’s so pretty. like a renaissance portrait.”

xavier grinned, his big hands rubbing your bare thighs. “my angel, huh?”

you smiled, kissing your boyfriend.

“your angel.”

#xavier x y/n #xavier thorpe x you #xavier #xavier thorpe smut #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #percy hynes white #percy #wednesday #xavier fluff #xavier thorpe fluff #you have wings #simpforboys #i need him

[fruitcakebro]

I really hate how Garroth's betrayal is treated, but more specifically what caused it. An illusion of Laurance and Aphmau kissing? Really? That was enough to make you betray both of them?

Y'know what would have been more thematically interesting, less shitty-trope-focused, and have the potential for interesting parallels with other characters?

If he saw something indicating that Aphmau was going to hand him and/or Laurance over to Garte for the siege to be called off.

And Garroth being Garroth, he immediately starts catastrophising. There's no way his father would stop at getting just him and Laurance. It would be them, then Kaitlyn, then Lucinda, then Dante and Nicole, until the town was left defenseless, and then they'd attack. And Aphmau would have to marry Zane and it's only a matter of time before that gets her killed or worse. He knows how his father thinks, and it's not a stretch to say that Garte was behind the invasion, and Zane was only to put an intimidating face on it without technically being directly involved.

It's especially easy to believe that if you're an older brother who's desperately trying to grasp at straws for reasons your only remaining little brother is still a good person.

And then there's also that gut-wrenching terror of going back to his marriage with Scaleswind. Of giving up his friends, his calling, and -let's face it- his own bodily autonomy. If he goes back, he is nothing. He exists to keep quiet, produce an heir, and smile for portraits. With the things he did to get away, there's no chance he could be lord now. It's that or execution.

And Laurance doesn't even have that option. And he's a Shadowknight. Even if he DIDN'T have the extensive record of openly opposing O'kasis he would be on death row.

But then Zane gives him a counter-offer.

Garroth comes quietly, hands over an amulate that hadn't done Phoenixdrop any good anyway -Zane insists he only wants it for an unrelated project, and even so isn't that a nessecery risk?- and the rest of the town -including Aphmau, Laurance, and Kaitlyn- go free.

And he doesn't even have to go back to the marriage. In fact, he can even still be a guard, just for O'kasis.

If he only agrees to follow Zane.

Look me in the eye and tell me Garroth wouldn't accept that offer.

And of course, Zane betrays this deal immediately when all the people he wants to get rid of convieniently land in front of him. And Garroth trys to say this wasn't the deal, and Zane does not care.

"Aww, Big brother. The only lie I told you was that you were an important enough piece to change the rules. You were never even a player."

#mcd #mcd au #mcd garroth #zane mcd #mcd rewrite #aphmau mcd #mcd laurance

[destourtereaux]

treat you better - cedric diggory x fem!reader (part 4: the finale)

read first: part 1, 2, 3 summary: all is well in love and friendship wc: 1.4k follow @lovebirdupdates to join my "taglist"

a/n: dear reader, thank you so much for following this series - i never imagined you would like it so much. i hope you enjoy this final fic, and please do reblog if yes! i’m sad to leave ceddie and harry, but i like how i've ended it :)

The morning after Cedric’s surprise party, you’re woken up by the soft sunlight streaming in through the huge windows of the Hufflepuff common room. Lifting your head up, you hear Cedric grumble, arms tightening around you. The scene feels so cozy that you don’t want to return to reality - but there’s a Herbology midterm coming up, and you’ve never been a natural at the subject, unlike a certain Hufflepuff. And so, you begin extricating yourself from Cedric’s embrace, which is no easy feat.

“How’s it feel to be seventeen, Ceddie?”

You get a groan in response.

“Alright, alright, then you stay put, but I’ve got to go study. I’m not a genius like you,” you tease, squirming in your efforts to slide out of his grasp.

“‘M not a genius, Y/N/N. You help me all the time. Don’t go, I know you’re ready for it, you don’t need anymore studying,” comes a sleepy protest. 

“Mm… thank you for your confidence, but I assure you I am not in the least prepared. And what is all this bad advice coming from a prefect,” you raise an eyebrow, before finally slipping out of Cedric’s arms, and standing up immediately to avoid being pulled back in. 

You feel the loss of Cedric’s warmth around your shoulders, and it weakens your resolve far more than it should, so you figure you need to leave as soon as possible, before grey eyes melt you into a puddle and back into his chest.

“Oh, fine. Leave me right after spending the night,” Cedric jokes, fully awake at last. He chuckles at the flush on your cheeks from this statement, and dodges your hit to his arm. “Just kidding, darling. Thank you for the party. Now go do what you have to do, I know you’re a busy girl.”

You smile softly, before tiptoeing up to ruffle his hair, and turn to leave. The gray eyes don’t leave you until you’re fully out of sight.

******

Climbing through the portrait hole, you see Ron and Harry sitting on the carpeted floor in front of the hearth, playing Wizard’s Chess, and Hermione engrossed in a book on the nearby couch. The scene is so familiar and comforting that it brings an involuntary smile to your face, before you wipe it off, the fight replaying in your head. 

Ron is the first to see you, freezing mid-check, and gives a weak wave. Harry turns, and so does Hermione, with the former also stiffing up, and the latter offering a sweet smile. Hermione then looks back, and, finding the two boys silent, rolls her eyes, and jerks her head in your direction, glaring at them.

Spurned, Ron and Harry stand up, and walk over, looking so dejected that you almost feel sorry for them.

“Y/N - it’s nice to see you again,” Ron begins, his expression sheepish. Harry nods to echo the sentiment.

“We just wanted to apologize for that night. For the mean things we said. None of it was true, and it was of no fault on your end,” Ron confesses.

Your eyes soften, and give him a pat on the shoulder, “thanks Ronnie. And I expect you’ve said the same to ‘Mione?” giving him a pointed look, to which he nods fervently. At this, you offer a smile at last, and seeing this, Ron seems to realize he’s forgiven.

“I’ll give you two some space then,” he says, guiding Hermione away, and leaving Harry alone with you in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry gestures for you to sit, and the two of you settle in on the carpet.

“Y/N/N - I’m really, honestly sorry. I had no right to say what I said, and I’ve felt horrid about it every day since then. I know you’ll always have my back, and some Yule Ball date would never change that. I hope you’ll forgive me,” the black haired boy finally blurts, the words spilling out of him.

Your resolve crumbles. I mean, this is Harry. One of your best friends. You could never stay mad at him, no matter how much he messes up. It’s like he said: you have each other’s backs. So you lean forward and hug him, breathing in the smell of broom polish and treacle toffee that you had missed incredibly, feeling the boy physically relax into your touch.

“You really like him, don’t you?” Harry chimes, as you pull out of the hug.

“Yes, I do. And I hope you’re okay with that,” you share, crimson spilling onto your cheeks.

Harry nods, a grin spreading across his face, “I am, really. I know I acted in jealousy at the ball, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually felt romantically towards you - not that you’re unlikeable, you know, just -”

You laugh out loud, cutting him off, and offer a nod, “I get it, don’t stress yourself out, mate.”

He nods in relief, “you’re my best friend, Y/N/N, and that’s it. I love our relationship, and I do not want it to ever change.”

You nod, feeling better than you have in nearly a month.

Ron and Hermione choose that exact moment to enter the room, the guilt of eavesdropping written on their faces. But you’re far too happy to care - the gang’s back together.

******

Over the next month, life returns to normal, or rather, a new normal. Hermione is hanging out with Krum as much as possible, to make the most of their time together before the tournament ends and he returns to Durmstrang. You don’t see her nearly as much anymore, but it’s understandable. 

Instead, you spend your days either studying out on the greens with Harry and Ron, or hanging out with Cedric, going to Hogsmeade’s various little cafes.

The second tournament task comes along, and you, Hermione, and Ron are pulled into the headmaster’s office then sent to the bottom of the Black Lake. When you awake, Cedric is treading water to keep the two of you above the lake, and you’re quickly pulled out and given a warm towel. Since Cedric finished first, the two of you rest in the champion seating section, and the boy keeps asking you if you’re okay, despite your fervent exclamations that you’re probably doing better than he is.

His friends soon surround him, arriving with endless teasing about how you’re the person “he’ll sorely miss,” and Cedric flushes scarlet at their words, refusing to meet your eyes. Eventually, he manages to shove them all away, and looks down to see you grinning.

“Ced, just so you know, I would’ve sorely missed you too,” you admit, before pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

Suddenly, Cedric could care less about his friends. He feels warm and dry and cozy, not a trace of the Black Lake’s eeriness on his mind.

******

A few weeks later, and it’s your birthday. Cedric had wracked his brain for ways to top your surprise party for him, and enlisted the help of the trio to do so. Hermione contributed all your likes and dislikes: she knew you like the back of her hand; Ron got Fred and George to put together a little sparkler show for you, and Harry was in charge of inviting all your closest friends.

The day of, you wake up to Cedric’s voice, before he gives you five minutes to pick an outfit, then promptly blindfolds you and leads you out to the courtyard, where the cutest picnic party had been set up. You laugh in delight, ecstatic, and after a quick kiss for Ced, rush over to meet up with your friends. 

As you catch up over drinks with them, two boys, one Gryffindor, one Hufflepuff, are standing a distance away, both looking at you with slight smiles.

Soon, the sky is darkening and the party growing more and more uproarious. You spin around to see Harry and Cedric talking, and grin. Strolling over, you place an arm around each. Cedric kisses your hair, and you give Harry a tight hug.

“Thank you for all of this,” you say, “seriously. I’ve never been happier.”

Before they can reply: you were never one for cheesy emotions, you (forcibly) pull them toward the karaoke machine, where Ron and Hermione are singing their hearts out.

****** THE END! interested in my other works? see my masterlist!

#cedric diggory x you #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x y/n #cedric diggory x female reader #cedric diggory x fem!reader #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory reader insert #cedric diggory fluff #cedric diggory series #cedric diggory oneshot #cedric diggory imagines #cedric diggory smut #cedric diggory fic #harry potter fic #harry potter x reader #love triangle #harry potter #fluff #angst #wizarding world

[virgincels]

NOUVEAU GAULTIER !

ft. leon s. kennedy x reader x ashley graham

tags. leon is ashley’s dad, daddy-daughter incest, age gap, threesome, implied/referenced cheating, reader has a pussy, 1 tiny reference to an eating disorder, creampie, daddy kink, dub-con, reader gets cucked sort of, ex-president leon :3

notes. was gonna name this nouveau roturier like newly rich but thought I was soooo funny for making a designer brand pun and I’m not even french so it’s probably wrong like but idc omg I’m sorry!!! the timeline of this is fucked like idk but leon is old in this 50+ i’d say :3 i adore ashley with all my heart and she’s one of my faves but i totally bimbofied her in this fic so excuse that 😭 no pronouns are used but reader wears dresses/skirts and is shorter than ashley and leon calls them wife once, leon is ooc againnnnn I promise next time he will be getting pegged.. I am not happy w the smut in this bc it’s oddly put together but whatever not proofread ignore typos

You’re a social climber. Admittedly so. The minute you see Ashley, kitten heels clicking on the marble floor, shiny blonde bob, cat-eye sunglasses - you need her. Whether it be as friends or lovers, you need her. Her dad spent two terms in office a few years back, the name alone was enough to get people to vote for him, President Kennedy has a nice ring to it. Been tried out once, so why not again? He was super cute at the time too. Well dressed, soft-spoken, and Italian-American, but not Italian enough to make the general public go into a frenzy about how some foreigner snuck his way to the top. C’mon, look at those baby blues, that’s an American man born and bred. You wanna do the whole Happy Birthday Mr. President shit with him, bastardised JFK and Marilyn.

Ashley is easy, the sorority girls flock to her, use her till they get what they want. All it takes is some shiny shoes, a flashy handbag, and a pearly smile to get her attention. You go the extra mile, manage to snag a Miu Miu chino miniskirt after hours of bidding to match hers, put on some knee-high socks and loafers, saunter into class and sit right in front of her. Pull out your very authentic and vintage Vivienne Westwood pouch that you use as a pencil case, make sure she gets a good look at it.

She approaches you after class, flutters her fingers at you and asks you to wait up. “I love your bag,” she gushes, “I’m Ashley, sorry, I didn’t catch your name today.” Her bangs are clipped away from her face today with a crystal-embellished pin, matching the pendant that sits nestled in her cleavage.

You tell her your name, smile at her just as wide, tell her you’ve seen that cardigan in the Blugirl fall 2004 runway. She says it’s a replica, couldn’t get her hands on the exact one, but her daddy did manage to get her the bag straight off the model. Albeit a little busted from all the years of use. She’s too open, so willing to spill all her secrets to the first person she deems trustworthy.

It takes approximately three weeks before the two of you are thick as thieves. You feel like you’ve known her all your life. Ashley invites you over to her gilded cage in no time, located in the very back of a gated neighbourhood where all the old money is. Colonial mansions, lion statues, perfectly trimmed hedges, something out of the Stepford Wives. Gives you the creeps.

“Daddy’s home, but mom’s on vacation,” Ashley loops her arm in yours, greets the man who opens the door for both of you . He nods at her. “He’s probably in his office though, so he won’t bother us.”

The family portrait on the wall is too much. Isn’t that some mediaeval shit? Ashley looks like her mother, you note. Just kinder. She can never help the smile that reaches her eyes. Her mom’s a total bombshell, heels that make her taller than Mr. Kennedy, all tits and not much else. You always thought wealthy guys liked them small.

Her room is what you expect from Ashley. Tidy, shelves upon shelves of squeaky clean shoes, a handbag variant in fifteen different colours. Walk-in wardrobe that’s entirely colour-coded and sorted by brand. It’s a wannabe nepo baby’s personal heaven. The thing all your dreams are made of.

“Ash, this is crazy,” you find yourself opening drawers and cupboards, doing the complete opposite of what your parents taught you. Totally invading her privacy by playing dress up in her closet, and yet, Ashley doesn’t mind one bit. She lets you try on a Shushu/Tong dress, one that was tailored to fit her just right, so it’s slightly tight in the bust for you. A little too loose on the waist, she’s taller after all. Fatter ass too. Got that from her dad, you’ve seen how those slacks stretch uncomfortably far around his thighs. “It’s like a department store.” You wonder if she’s ever been in one. Probably not.

“I guess so,” Ashley giggles, helping you out of the dress with ease. “I’m glad I met you.” She wears her heart on her sleeve, can never lie to you, has to say it right there and then. “People are so mean to me ‘cause I have a lot.” Poor little rich girl.

“They’re just jealous, Ash,” you say breezily, fixing your hair in her full-length mirror. Framed by lights and everything. “It’s not your fault you’re rich, babes.”

“I know, that’s what I’m saying!” Ashley tosses her arms in the air, “like, it’s not my fault, I was just born into it.”

“Exactly, you didn’t ask for it.” You coo, cupping her soft cheeks in your hands. God, you’d kill for China doll skin like this. Some people really do have it all.

“You just get it,” she sighs, bats her mascara-coated lashes down at you, “I love you like so much.”

“Aw,” you stand on your tiptoes to kiss her cheek, she doesn’t complain when your lip gloss stains it, “I love you, like, even more, Ash.”

Sleeping at Ashley’s becomes a frequent thing. Anytime she asks, you agree. What’s better than free food, a big comfy princess bed, mani-pedis, and a pretty blonde by your side? Literally nothing tops that. You’d do anything to leave your dorm, your roommate smokes too much and never airs the place out.

You’ve never seen her dad despite spending all this time over at hers. A second home by now. All the staff know you by name. Bow their heads and greet you like they do Ashley. It gives you a real rush. Don’t even need that pat-down security check outside the gates anymore. Dude just lets you straight in.

At the dining table is where you meet him for the first time. You and Ashley, in matching slips, hers minty green and yours baby pink, sit chatting away and picking at your breakfast the way rich people do. ‘Cause god forbid you actually eat, Ashley said her mom was bulimic in winter and simply starved in spring. Anorexia is totally in this season.

“Daddy!” Ashley’s off her feet throwing herself at him the moment he steps into the room. He catches her easily, and it really is heartfelt, till they kiss. On the lips. Like. Tongue and all, spit dripping down Ashley’s chin kinda kiss. It takes you off guard, you choke on the shredded cucumber you put in your mouth, serves you right for trying to eat. No fucking way. Her hand dips low between their bodies, did she just grab his fucking balls? A ball grab is sacred. No way this is real. Oh my god. Jesus Christ, lord and saviour, this is what you get for making friends with rich girls. You’d rather the family secret be murder, not incest.

“Hi, my princess,” he coos, whispers something in her ear and winks, Ashley giggles and slaps his chest. Ew. You need to get out of this place, stat. “Who’s this, Ash?” Mr. Kennedy straightens up when he sees you, face goes stern, makes him look older. You used to find him so dreamy. Face like an 80s pornstar.

“Oh, daddy, I told you already,” she says your name and it must ring a bell ‘cause he nods his head slowly in recognition, “We’re going shopping soon, so I’ll see you later, daddy.” Ashley wraps her arms around his neck, god, you’re going to throw up a breakfast that you didn’t even eat.

They kiss and it’s even worse than last time. His hands go from her waist to her round ass, gives it a squeeze and Ashley squeals in delight. “I love you daddy.” She chirps.

“Love you too, princess,” he takes his freshly brewed coffee from the counter and leaves like he didn’t just traumatise you. Like you don’t need years of intensive therapy to get over what you just saw. No wonder her mom is still on vacation.

you: i need cbt

claire: cock n ball torture?? why??

you: ?? BITCH?

you: need to get out of here like asap

claire: told u they r part of a cult !!!

claire: illuminati

you: worse i’ll tell u when i escape

claire: send me ur will :(

“Isn’t he so sweet?” Ashley giggles as she sits back down beside you. “Daddy can drive us to the mall today, he said he’s free.”

It hurts to smile. “Oh, Ash, he’s so busy, he totally doesn’t have to!” Your voice is strained, but she doesn’t notice. “I don’t mind walking either.”

“No, it’s okay, it’ll be fun!”

It is not fun. It’s the farthest from fun actually. ‘Cause all you can see is them kissing. The scene keeps replaying in your head anytime Mr. Kennedy speaks. A man you’d once found so handsome, all suave and suited up, kissing his daughter on the mouth. Just as weird as every other politician. Worse maybe. Biden don’t get down and dirty with his daughter.

He doesn’t pay much attention to you, meets your eye in the rear-view mirror a few times, and that’s it. Daddy doesn’t like you, huh? Whatever. Ugly freak. Ashley and her mom are too pretty for this guy. Poor Ash, does she even know that it isn’t normal to kiss your dad? The thought is making you nauseous.

“Wait, can I get out here?” You blurt it out after thinking too hard. Ashley blinks at you in surprise. “I feel a little sick.” You admit.

“Oh em gee, are you, like, okay?” She covers her mouth with a dainty hand, light brows bunched up in worry, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “You’re kinda clammy, oh my gosh.”

“Yeah,” you smile at her weakly, “must be what’s going around college.”

“Daddy can drop you home,” Ashley insists, but you’d rather not let her see the state of your dorm building. The university does nothing to make it look pretty. Crumbling, old-fashioned brickwork, moss stuck to every inch of it. “He doesn’t mind.”

“No, I think the fresh air would be good for me, Ash,” you pat her shoulder, Mr. Kennedy pulls up near the curb, doesn’t spare you a second glance.

“Only if you’re sure…” She chews on her bottom lip, slender fingers intertwined with yours. Clingy. Ashley doesn’t want to let go.

“I’m sure,” you kiss her hand, “I’m sorry for cutting it short, Ash, we can go when I’m better, alright?” You tell her as you get out, she’s about to roll down the window and speak, but daddy drives off the second you shut the door. Fucking asshole.

Straight to Claire’s it is.

“I don’t believe you,” Claire laughs in your face when you recount your distressing morning. “You could've told me anything and I would believe it, but I do not think Leon S. Kennedy fucks his daughter on the low.”

“Claire, I’m serious,” you dig your acrylics into her arm, stomp your feet, “I fucking saw it, she grabbed his balls, like, like, she fuckin’ groped him!”

“Right,” Claire rolls her eyes, “Jill doesn’t even grab my balls ‘n we’ve been together since forever.”

“You don’t have balls to grab, bitch,” you’re shaky when you take the drink she offers, breaking out in a cold sweat when you think about it too hard. “Fuck, Claire,” you whine, “I thought you did journalism, can’t you like, tell someone? New York Times?”

“I’m in my second year of college, dude, I don’t think it works like that. No one’s gonna believe me when I say Kennedy kisses his kid.” Claire picks at her cuticles, she’s so over it already! Couldn’t this be her big break?

“Kissing your kid is fine, but not like that.” You keep grabbing and pinching her, trying to emphasise just how wretched it really was, but Claire tears herself free each time. “Like, that was porno shit, man.” To be fair, if Claire really did go to someone with your story, then wouldn’t they know it was you who leaked it? Then you’d be killed and it’d be framed as suicide, and so would Claire. Or a murder-suicide. They’d act like you were capable of such things. Claire might be, but you’re certainly not.

“Film it,” she shrugs, “then I’ll believe you.”

“No,” you shake your head, face grave, “Claire I couldn’t show you that, it would be too much, way too much.”

She laughs at you again, full belly laugh, pinches your cheek like you’re a toddler. “C’mon, it can’t be that bad. I think you’re just not used to it ‘cause you’re not close with your dad.”

“That has nothing to do with this!” You elbow her in the tit, “Even if I was close with my dad, I wouldn’t have my fucking tongue down his throat.”

“Suppose so.”

“Dude, if you had a dad would you be deepthroating his tongue?”

“I’m not deepthroating any guy,” Claire retorts, “Dad or not.”

“Okay, then what about Chris?”

“Gross!” She elbows you in the gut to get back at you, “Don’t even go there you fucking freak.”

“Claire, I’m like, you don’t get it, I’m fucking freaking out right now.” You can feel the tension headache building already. All the pressure is ready to pop. Is this how you die? Spontaneous combustion? In Claire’s apartment? All over the back wall that reminds you of how T.G.I Friday is decorated. Weird ass biker shit, old rock band posters. It’s ugly and this sucks. Who even listens to Guns ‘n Roses now? Axl Rose isn’t even cute and girly anymore.

“Dude, film it and I promise I’ll do something ‘bout it.” Claire holds out her pinky, you wrap your one around it. Deal. Some fucking friend she is.

Acting normal around Ashley is so hard. The hardest thing you’ve ever done. Harder than any exam, harder than any cock you’ve sucked. Just looking at her makes your tummy flip. Luckily, Mr. Ex-President ain’t around today, so you don’t have to worry about any ball fondling. No footage for Claire.

“My mom has that,” Ashley says offhandedly when you show her the Jean Paul Gaultier gown saved to your Pinterest board of needs. She’s filing her nails, popping her gum, having a good ol’ time like she hasn’t just dropped a nuclear bomb on you.

“Are you fucking serious, Ash?” You sit up in her bed, grab her by the shoulders, “I’m literally gonna throw up, can I see it?”

Ashley tilts her head to the side, and smiles cutely, “Of course you can, you can wear it if you want.” Holy shit. You’d kiss her on those gorgeous doll lips if she didn’t kiss her daddy with that mouth.

You knock her back into the bed when you hug her, “Ashley, I am literally going to take you home and put you on my shelf.”

“What?” She giggles again, “why?”

“Because you’re a fucking doll, babe, god, I could kiss you!” You could, but you won’t. Don’t really want Mr. Kennedy cooties.

Her mom’s wardrobe is significantly bigger than hers, there’s a single rack of suits that all look the same in the corner, obviously belonging to Mr. Kennedy. He gets a sad slither of space where he’s stashed a bunch of folded polos and slacks. That’s how it should be.

“I’m gonna shit myself, Ash,” you tell her when she pulls it out. There’s a fair amount of garments on the floor at this point, all costing more than you would if sold on the black market.

“Please don’t do that,” Ashley looks genuinely worried, she holds it to her figure so you can see the dress in all its glory. A lace bodice, sheer and naughty, delicate and subtle beading threaded into the patches of fabric. The skirt is sleek, sticks to the body like a second skin, but stiff like it’s unworn. Never been put to use. You’d be wearing this shit at every event no matter how small. Night out at the local bar? Yeah, you’re whipping out the Gaultier.

“It’s gorgeous,” you mumble, reaching out to touch it ever so softly like it could fall apart at any second, break apart like butterfly wings. “Are you sure I can put it on?” It sure looks good on Ashley, she’s lithe and slender in the way models tend to be.

“Duh, mom won’t notice anyway,” Ashley’s nimble fingers come to slip you out of your clothes, “it’ll fit,” she reassures you.

“Hi, beautiful,” you run your hands over the dress, it’s snug on the hips, loose on the bust. Opposite to how Ashley’s clothes fit. “Shit, Ash, I feel like I’m gonna pass out.” You can’t take your eyes off of it, the intricacies of the beadwork, the lace flora that stretches to your shape.

“You look so pretty,” Ashley fawns, “your tits look great.”

“Right?” You cup them, “I don’t even know how to thank you, Ash.”

She’s about to speak when the door to her mother’s dressing room clicks open. With his belt halfway undone, Mr. Kennedy enters, lips parting like he wants to say something. No god is on your side.

“Hi, daddy,” Ashley greets him with a kiss to the cheek today, thank fuck!

“Hi there, babydoll,” he rubs his cheek against hers, the roughness of his stubble making her cry out. “You playin’ dress up?” Good lord, get me out of here, you’re praying to whoever’s listening. The devil himself could answer and you’d take it.

“That tickles, daddy,” she clings to his arm, then nods at his question. “Mhm, doesn't it look pretty?”

Mr. Kennedy narrows his eyes at you. Alright, jeez, calm it, old man. You smile at him sheepishly, “Hi, Mr. Kennedy, sorry ‘bout this.”

“It’s alright,” he says coolly, “I’m sure it was Ashley’s idea.” He smiles at her fondly, eyes going soft and watery, he draws her in for a lip-smacking kiss.

It takes every morsel of your self-preservation to not cry out, run out screaming, take the dress with you and never come back. Move to Greenland. Meet some nice fellow and settle down with him. Are there hotties in Greenland? You stand there with a tight-lipped smile, bottom lip wobbling ‘cause your cheeks are starting to ache.

“It’s cute though, right, daddy?” Ashley’s lips are shiny with his spit as she makes her way back over to you. “Looks better than it does on mom.”

“Hm,” Mr. Kennedy raises a brow, looks you up and down. “Guess it does, Ash.”

“Will you help ‘em out of it, daddy?” Ashley asks innocently enough, she holds out her hand, “I don’t wanna break a nail if the zip gets stuck.”

“Sure, baby.” He agrees so easy ‘cause Ashley’s so sweet she gives you a cavity.

“No, it’s okay!” You turn your back away from him, reaching back to feel around for the dangling zipper, “I can do it myself, Mr Kennedy, there’s really no need.”

“I insist,” Mr. Kennedy steps forward, two strong hands on your hips and he spins you around to face the mirror. You feel his breath on your neck, the scent of his cologne wafts your way. Wearing so much you can taste it. It’s expensive of course.

You can’t stand him. Your knees go weak when his eyes catch yours in the mirror. Damn him for being so handsome. If he wasn’t such a freak, you’d do unspeakable things to him. Dip your tongue in his cleft chin, suck on his neck like a mosquito, grab his ass, his balls. Whatever he likes. He unzips it slowly on purpose. Or maybe it just feels extra long ‘cause this is so painfully awkward.

“It fits real nice,” Mr. Kennedy comments, his lips curl upwards, did he just pat your ass? Um, Ashley, hi, stop folding those clothes and control your dog of a father. “Wanted to be my wife or something, that’s why you put it on?”

“No, sir,” you say shakily, you’re so gonna vomit all over these cute heels.

“Might fit, but it don’t suit you,” the zip is open, you wrap your arm around your chest so you’re not left completely without dignity. “Low-class whores shouldn’t be playin’ house with my Ashley, alright?” He says it with a smile so blinding you almost thunk to the ground. Hold your horses, Kennedy, classism is so twenty years ago. “I know Ash likes you lots, but don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to.” Oh shit. C’mon Mr. Kennedy, you called her a bimbo once. That’s a compliment these days. Then you called her ditsy, airheaded, and a plethora of other things. Did he have access to, like, all the weird shit you’ve said?

“I love Ash,” you do, you really do. There’s no one in this world sweeter than Ashley. “She’s sweet to me.” You’ve got cottonmouth. Can’t get much else out.

“Did you get it off, daddy?” Ashley peeks over his shoulder.

“Almost, baby,” he urges you to move your arm, “lemme hold ‘em up so you can take it off, sweetheart.”

In your dreams old man. Never in a million years will he get to hold your prize-winning tits. Organic and homegrown on the farm that is your body. Okay, never mind, he’s holding them. You’re shaking like crazy, fingers hooking in the fabric so you can wriggle out of the tight skirt.

“Daddy, you’re so sweet,” Ashley flutters her lashes at him, so enamoured by this ugly creep. Handsome creep you guess. With a nose you’d like to ride.

“I’m sweet, huh? Shouldn’t you give daddy a kiss then?” Are they seriously doing this when you’re standing there ass naked with your tits in his hands?

“I’ll give you lotsa kisses, daddy,” Ashley peppers kisses along his jaw, down his neck, okay, she’s getting on her knees. Strangling yourself with that Hermés scarf sounds good right now. “Down here too.” She better not be giving him that ball squeeze. Trademark Kennedy ball squeeze.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, sweetheart,” Leon clicks his tongue, Mr. Kennedy was getting old and long to say. Fuck you, Leon. “Eyes up here, yeah?”

“Sorry, Mr. Kennedy,” you mumble, hear the sound of a zipper. God, she’s really going to town. Sucking and slurping.

“Step out of it,” Leon instructs, you do so carefully, leaving the dress pooled beside your feet. “Keep those on, darling.” Oh, only if you insist, daddy. You were going to run home in these red bottoms no matter what. “Why don’t you get those lips movin’, yeah?”

What in the fuck does that mean? Does he want you to suck him off too? He does. Right. You can do this. You’ve sucked every dick on campus, what difference does his make? It might be a little more wrinkly, balls might be more saggy, but plenty of guys have fucked up sacs. When you get on your knees next to her, Ashley takes your hand, gives it a squeeze as she works the shaft. Seriously, is this bitch leaving you on ball duty?

“Oh, you look so much like mommy, babydoll,” Leon tips his head back, runs his fingers through her silky bob. Does she find that hot? Being compared to her mom? If a guy said that to you, he’d be buried in a parking lot somewhere. Ashley takes him to the hilt, her button nose buried in dark hair, her throat bulging with his cock, and she’s not even gagging. She’s got skill. You gag a hell of a lot. But most of the time guys find it hot, ‘cause they start thinking they’re real big, brag that you couldn’t even make it to the balls. Really, you’re just not much of a giver. They taste weird, the burn isn’t pleasant, you just don’t really do a lot of cocksucking. Never got the appeal.

You make a meal of it still. Try to take his fat balls into your mouth, one at a time ‘cause they’re much too big, too heavy. Shouldn’t they be drained by this point in life? He’s like fucking old. Ashley and her daddy have it all. Nice cock, fancy suits, big car. Men don’t need much else. By the time you’ve managed to fit a single one in your mouth, suckling and licking along the seam, leaving him spit-slicked, Ashley’s making him cum down her throat.

She pulls off with a slick pop, cum drooling from the tip of his heavy cock, she puts a hand on the back of your head, forces her fingers into your mouth and keeps your tongue out. You feel the velvety head of his cock, dripping his salty seed in your mouth, he’s uncut on the fat. Cute. You like ‘em uncut. They look better that way. Like they’ve got a jacket. As he pumps himself, the head peeks out past the foreskin, nudges the tip of your tongue till he’s all done.

Ashley kisses you, swapping her spit and his cum into your mouth. She tastes like her raspberry lip balm. And cum. Lots of cum. Is this some initiation into the presidential candidate cult? Count you out.

“C’mere, my good girl,” Leon helps Ashley up, brushes off her clothes, uses a handkerchief from his breast pocket to clean up her messy face. And what do you get? Nothing. Every man for themselves, bitch. The heels hinder you from succeeding, but you hold onto the cabinet and stand all on your own. Didn’t need daddy’s help.

“Daddy,” Ashley whines, “I’m all wet.” Can you leave now? You gave the blowjob, more of a balljob on your part, but still, is it cool if you just slip out the back door. Or do they want you here for all this sweet talk too?

“You’re all wet, babydoll? Don’t worry ‘bout it, daddy’s gonna make it all better.” Are you in a porno right now? Is this all a huge setup? Where are the cameras? Shit, right. Cameras. You were supposed to be filming. Too late now, Leon grabs you by the wrist. Plops down on the chaise lounge, Ashley on one knee and you on the other. He’s got you by the tit and Ashley by the waist. How charming. Really shows what he sees in you.

Ashley kicks off her panties with ease. When she slid out of that cashmere miniskirt is lost on you, and where’d her bra go? Leon cranes his neck towards her, puckers his lip for a kiss that she gives to him instantly. They kiss more than they fucking breathe. He nudges you off of his lap, manspreads so it’s harder for you to sit comfortably. Why he put you on his lap in the first place? You don’t know. Maybe just to piss you off.

His ringed fingers part her puffy pussy, pink just like her nipples. She’s slick and shiny for him, doesn’t take much work to open her up. You watch her hole flutter when he takes them out, clenching around thin air, Ashley’s greedy. Even you know that. She needs everything in excess. God. Her cunt’s just as pretty as her face. Clit and folds sticking out past her lips, all pink and wet, wanna bite down on it. Needy little pussy that’s begging to be filled. Leon pinches her bud, plucks her nipples with his free hand. Ashley jumps with each touch, her chest heaves, eyes lidded.

Leon shoves his fingers in your mouth, coated in her arousal, candied as you lick it all up, every single drop. Pussy sweet just like the rest of her. Like she’s been dipped in a pot of sticky honey. “Ain’t it just the prettiest?” Leon hums, grins at you wolfishly, “My little girl got a pretty little pussy.”

“Daddy, you’re so sweet to me,” Ashley coos, her lashes dusting over her cheeks as her eyes close, his thick fingers stretching her open.

“That’s ‘cause you’re daddy’s princess, aren’t you?” Leon’s dick is hard again, standing proud against his stomach. Calm it, old man. Isn’t going multiple rounds bad for his heart? Is he on viagra? You wouldn’t put it past him. “Daddy’s spoiled little girl.”

Ashley throws her legs over his lap, sits so she’s facing him, sinks down onto his fat cock with such ease you choke on your saliva. Oh, so she’s like a fucking whore. Who takes big dick that easy? Her pussy swallows up the widest part of his cock, the base, leaves him glistening with her slick.

“Look at that,” Leon flicks her perky nipple, “takin’ daddy so fuckin’ well. All grown up now, aren’t you, babydoll?” You really don’t know if you’re supposed to be here anymore.

“No…” Ashley‘s little hands stroke down his broad chest, her nose scrunched as she grinds down into him, “I’m still daddy’s baby.”

“You’re always gonna be daddy’s baby,” Leon melts beneath her, he stops her hips from moving. Aw, she might be too intense for the old man. That girl fucks like a bunny, you’re not surprised. “Go on, sit.” Is he talking to you? He is. You take your seat between his thighs. Why you’re listening to him is beyond you. Okay, so maybe it’s turning you on a little. Like got you sopping wet, panties see-through kinda turned on. Shit. Pussy always thinking for you. Head says one thing and next minute you know you’re on your knees ‘cause Mr. President says so.

There’s some rustling, Ashley giggling, then your face to face with her sloppy cunt speared on his cock. Oh, that’s nasty. What a nasty old man. Fucking her like that. Full Nelson is just disrespectful to a preppy little lady like Ashley. Personally, you’d take her from behind. Watch her ass jiggle.

He doesn’t need to tell you what to do. Your tongue works quicker than your brain, lapping at her swollen clit as he fucks up into her, sucking on his balls, swiping up whatever mess she leaves behind on his dick. You’ve got a hand between your legs, grinding your clit into your fingers in a desperate attempt to get yourself off. Ashley squeals, her toes curling as you latch onto her clit, you’re rewarded with a gush of her cum. Splashes your chin, dribbles down your neck, wetting your tits.

“Was that good, babydoll?” Leon hums low in her ear, teeth pulling at her pierced lobe. “Enough for you?”

“Yes, daddy,” Ashley yelps as your nose bumps her clit, tongue still working to clean her up, but it’s inevitable, each thrust of his cock gets her creamy again.

“Yeah? Baby’s all done?” Leon’s cock twitches inside of her, then he dumps his load in his kid. Stuffs his princess with her daddy’s cum. Pats her belly and cradles her as you sit on the ground dumbfounded.

“Gimme a minute ‘n we can go again, daddy,” Ashley yawns, letting him pamper her, head twisting so she can see you, a dopey smile plastered on her face.

“I’m gettin’ old, princess,” he chuckles, “don’t know if I can keep up with you.”

“Course you can, daddy,” Ashley strokes his prickly cheek, “you gotta take both of us this time, promise?”

Sorry Claire, looks like you’re not making your big break in the journalism scene anytime soon. Not like she deserves it anyway. Stupid bitch didn’t even believe you. Well, if he puts his dick in you and calls you his baby, you might let it go. Might ask Ashley if this can become a regular thing.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #ashley graham smut #ashley graham x reader #tw incest

[mosaickiwi]

Fall Unto Me (part three)

Part one, part two

I said I was on break but then a lot of things immediately fell out of my brain cause of stress so now I feel silly... sowweeeeee 🤡 Part four WILL be the last part I swear. If you see more Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren from me after that (and da infodump if i get to it) genuinely tell me to shut the FUCK up!!!

yes i am probably writing the NSFW version it'll be in my compendium post if it happens

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

Your resolve was getting harder to hold on to, but you kept it. This would be the last time. You couldn't part from heaven again after returning. Atonement was waiting for you, eternal devotion to your duty right after.

Another few weeks went by as you stayed with Ren a little longer, the sea of flowers outside your bedroom window changing little by little each day. So many of them were already fully blooming, most of their petals stretched open to show off a myriad of colors while others curled inwards to hide from you. Practically a taunting mockery with how they took their time. As if insulted you would dare leave once they painted the horizon with their beauty.

It made it all the more painful that you'd never see them again. Or the companion that now felt like a piece you'd been missing.

Something about that encroaching deadline had affected the devil, too. Ren was calmer in some ways. They still brought you gifts and knowledge like usual, but he seemed to be taking his time just like the flowers. Simple answers to your curiosities became thorough while he held you close and urged you to ask more questions about whichever object took interest. 

He'd offered to revisit trinkets you loved as well. Until you were as familiar with using them as he was. You couldn't understand it. 

Your time together was draining away by the second. Didn't they want to make exciting memories? No matter how much you enjoyed it, mastery over human instruments or crafts served no purpose. Heaven wouldn't let you bring those things home, nor could you ask a higher power to recreate them for leisure.

Maybe your love was in denial of your departure. Or maybe spending little mundane, quiet days and nights together like this was their way of coming to terms with it.

Today, you chose to fiddle with one of the oldest gifts while chatting with him. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the room in the faded, flaming gold hue you'd only now gotten used to. 

“—Love?” He was calling you, the end of his tail swaying gently in front of your face to get your attention. You’d missed a few words.

“Hm?”

“You've gotten much better at this,” the pink haired devil hummed above you. His chin was resting atop your head as they cradled you in their lap on a frayed rug, his back against the bottom of the couch.

You looked over your work. The woven red string wrapped around and through your fingers took the shape of a pointed star. You knew real stars looked differently, but the human interpretation was interesting.

“Truly, it’s better than before,” you said with wholehearted agreement. The first time you'd tried—only on the third day of your visit to earth—had simply tangled the string to a knotted mess stuck upon your fingers for Ren to deal with while you apologized, embarrassed beyond belief. 

The patterns they taught you were almost easy thanks to your afternoon of trying. You unwound the string and painstakingly wound it again into one that often graced your practice: an angel. He'd been particularly smug about teaching you the motions of that one.

“An impressive self portrait,” Ren joked and squeezed you tighter in their embrace. “Although it'll take more than some thread to capture your divine beauty.”

Naturally, you rolled your eyes even though the soul it was meant for couldn't see it. A mortal gesture you'd gotten the hang of quicker than anything, as he so favored innocent teasing before expressing his deepest sincerities.

You untangled the string and tossed it to the side, then turned in their lap to make a face this time for their benefit. “I’ll do a painting, then. I’ve had enough of this toy.”

He relaxed his hold long enough for you to wander across the room in search of new distractions, but innocently called after you, “We’ll have to light quite a few candles for you to see well. Unless you plan to have me mix paints for you in the dark.” A second passed before he spoke again. “It’d be a pleasant surprise, I’m sure.” 

“Something else?” you replied, making a swift turn towards the bookshelves. You came back with a couple of novels and sat beside them with your treasure. “Is this really all you want to do? You’ve read every book here before.” 

Even the books he’d bought with strange, flimsy paper currency for you, Ren had said so casually, were already familiar territory. Tedium hardly described how boring you thought these weeks must be for him. But he never objected to anything you chose, as long as you both stayed close to home during the day. 

And you always kept your wings hidden in case a human roamed nearby. You'd never seen one come close to the cabin, or even the field of flowers, but he insisted your safety—and proximity to them—was of utmost priority. It was hard to remember the last time you let loose your wings at all after walking on the beach with him. They interrupted your thoughts once more.

“My sweet, delicate angel, I’ve had all the time in the world to do anything I want.” Their blue eyes narrowed with a smile as they spoke and you knew more teasing was coming. “We could even sit here in silence all night, if you asked me nicely.”

“How kind of you, my darling demon,” you teased them back. 

Another jesting response in his gaze faded to something different as you pulled him down for a kiss, gently at first. The books you’d brought over lay forgotten, soon shoved under the couch in favor of your new activity.

Kissing the demon you called yours felt like second nature now. There was no sting that ever came, no homesick aching in your back anymore. Only the flood of tender emotions he gave you, tainted by your own guilt and fears of parting from him.

You needed more. A stronger distraction. Your hand on his shirt tightened, determined to keep him. To stay in this moment as long as possible.

Ren exhaled, a muttering of blasphemous praise you dare not repeat whispered from his lips to yours, along with one word. A word that sounded odd to your ears. 

You'd heard it countless times over the months, but it didn't feel strange until after the first kiss you shared. He must have said it earlier, too, when you were occupied with that damned little red string. Demonic language was much different, it certainly wasn’t that at all. And the sounds of the word did feel similar to mortal languages, but nothing came to mind. So naturally, you could only assume it to be another of their pet names, but…

The thought fell to the side as you focused on him. He was all that needed to matter right now.

Their comforting warmth that called of your sacred home, your nails curling into the bottom of his shirt just to fall lower, an iron, almost nectar-like taste that flowered on your tongue—did you bite him this time? It felt good. 

Desperately, you brushed your hand over his thigh, getting dangerously close to where you knew things risked going further. You caught yourself and froze. You wanted him, you’d known since that day in the rain. In every way a being could yearn for another’s love. And of course he felt the same. But could you really go home if it happened? 

“Before I…” The words hung in the air and what remained weighed in your throat. Before I leave. Departure was looming on the horizon, sure as the sun would rise tomorrow. You dare not mention it to the one you loved again. You opened your eyes to meet theirs, cautiously as you wondered, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” they answered, longing clear as the evening sky in his voice. “I couldn’t bear—or ever want—to deny you. Little angel, all you desire of me is yours to take.”

Without another word you did just that. You thought nothing of the faint, staggered line you felt under your fingertips that seemed to start somewhere along his shoulder blade as you lifted the shirt away and pushed him to lay on the rug. Your hands pressed their ink-stained arms flat next to the disheveled mess of pink hair and horns. Ren grinned at your audacity to pin him, but held still for your much needed exploration. 

Eyes half lidded with patient lust, mouth parted to show off pointed fangs, the devil looked to be the very picture of your sinful desires.

To be one with them, even just once, was a memory worth making. No matter what punishment waited for you at heaven’s boundary. You skimmed your fingers from the base of his collarbone, down over their stomach, and began to undo the buttons that concealed what you’d been waiting for.

#14 days with you #14dwy ren #14dwy redacted #cw religious themes #momo writing #cannot gush about the story in tags bc spoilers </3 #i must contain myself #sobbing and crying #but p4 queued for next week #maybe my brain will shut up about it once everything is posted!!! #<- hopes and dreams right here #so sorry this AU is all u get out of me for a while... #I'M ON BREAK!!! I AIN'T LYING!!!

[daycourtofficial]

My Valentine

Summary: you ask Eris to be your valentine

Author’s note: giving Eris some love bc my boy deserves it idc he needs to be treated so kindly this is pretty short but he deserves to be kissed so tenderly

“What’s this?”

Your mate came home to your cabin, leaving the forest house for the weekend. You had left a note on his desk asking for him to meet you here when he was done with his duties for the day.

He arrived to find you in his favorite gown, a deep red that adorns your body just perfectly. He walks further in, taking in the room before him. Your cabin was quaint, a cozy escape for the two of you away from prying courtiers, nosy advisors, and annoying brothers.

The room is an explosion of color, various varieties of flowers littering the room. Sunflowers, orange lilies, red roses, pink daisies. The room is a color study of shades of warmth. A box sits in the middle of the small dining table, a card sitting on top.

He walks forward, gesturing toward the box laid out in front of him. You nod for him to open it, and he removes the bow, opening the lid of the box.

Inside is a stunning portrait, a moment from your mating ceremony. The two of you are gazing at each other, love shining through your shared gaze.

“How did you-?”

“I asked Lucien if he could let Feyre see it so she could paint it.”

Eris mumbles under his breath at his baby brother’s actions, but you see it for the ruse it is. Eris wasn’t exactly fond of the ruling leaders of the night court, but you got along quite well with Feyre, and he could never be upset with you for sharing this tender moment with her to have her immortalize forever.

“I know we wanted it to be as private as possible, but I really thought you’d like to have a physical reminder of the day.”

He continues looking at the portrait, and it transports him back to the exact moment. You had told him, “who you had to be does not scare me, because I know who you truly are.”

He hadn’t been able to stop the tears at your words, overwhelmed with your love in his chest. He was far from easy to love, but you had done it, and chose to do it every day.

In the portrait you’re wearing one of his mother’s diadems, which adorned your head perfectly. You had understood and even suggested that your ceremony only include Lucien and the Lady of Autumn in attendance.

He wants to reach out, to feel you in that moment again. The silk of your dress as his thumbs grazed over your hips, afraid you would finally grow some sense and leave him. Once his eyes had moved up to yours, he knew you would never part from him.

The fae lights glowed over your face, illuminating the love that was shining off of you, and Eris was quite impressed at the High Lady’s ability to capture your emotions so well.

Eris wants to be upset - he was staunchly private, your relationship a well-guarded secret for so long it was hard for him to open up to anyone about it.

But seeing the way you look at him, immortalized forever by Feyre’s hand, he feels what anger should be there dissolve. Feyre was a good friend of yours, the both of you mated to very complex and powerful males.

He didn’t care for the friendship, but he’d never deny you access to anyone that cares for you as much as she does.

He looks over the portrait again, noting to send Feyre a thank you gift for the work she put into the portrait.

“This is incredibly thoughtful,” he tells you, placing it back into the box. “We will have to decide on a place to put it.”

You beam up at him, his chest full of the pride you feel at how good this gift was.

You nod towards the card on the table, and he grabs it, his long fingers undoing the wax seal. Inside the envelope is a paper in the shape of a heart. He pulls the card out with a smirk, your juvenile efforts warming his heart.

“Hmm,” he ponders, his eyes scrutinizing your neat script, the question will you be my valentine? on the page. “I’ll take your proposal into consideration and I will let you know.”

He places the card back into the envelope, placing it on the table. Eris, the master of masks, doesn’t let his face convey a thing. The bond betrays his mask of indifference, your chest full of the love he wills his eyes not to show.

Beron’s death was a catalyst for many things, but above all, Eris began letting the mask fall. Slowly, over years of work and allowing himself to be seen, he let cracks show in the mask.

That doesn’t mean he can’t still wield it.

You step closer to him, not faltering under his scrutinizing gaze. “Do you have an idea as to when you will be able to give me an answer?”

He smirks down at you, his hand cupping your face. “I am not sure, but I can be persuaded to make it more of a priority.”

His mind wanders back to the portrait as your lips meet his, and he thinks about all the years it took for him to get here. The loneliness, the fear, the cruelties he endured. They all wash away with the wave that is your lips crashing into his.

But by gods he’d do it all again for you.

#eris x you #eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #acotar fanfiction

[topguncortez]

Court of Thieves | | Chapter 4

previous part | masterlist | next part

synopsis: funeral preparations continue to march on in Landing Center. A new guest stirs things up for Prince Jake and Lady Mitchell. Lady Mitchell hears the disturbing truth on why her mother left court and finds a new passion to be Queen.

word count: 4.1k

warnings: historical inaccuracies, era-related misogyny, mentions of murder, virginity, mentions of assault, pregnancy, religion, witchcraft, mentions of child death, violence

It had been three days since the disastrous night in Jake’s chambers. You brushed off the embarrassment the best you could, holding your head up high and wearing a bright, yet solemn smile on your face as you walked the halls of the palace and attended mass with Queen Elizabeth. The Queen’s mood hadn’t improved in the following days since her husband’s death. When she wasn’t in bed, staring out the window, she was at church, holding her rosary tightly in her hands mumbling “Ava Maria”’s over and over. Her daughters had managed to get her to join them for atleast one meal, so they knew she wasn’t wasting away. 

There was a certain buzz in the palace, when you woke up and had your ladies help you get dressed. The Dowager Queen Maria was arriving today, a day ahead of her son, the King’s funeral. You had never met the Dowager, but from what you read and heard about her, she was a fierce woman. Clara helped you get dressed in a new black gown, one that had been sent from your ally, Queen Joana in Spain. 

“Clara,” You said, turning your head over your shoulder, “Is the Dowager. . . will she like me?” 

Clara gave you a soft smile. The two of you had grown closer after she found you rushing back into your room after being in Jake’s tears streaming down your face. She thought the worst had happened, she had seen it once too many times before. The men at court, some of them had a hard time keeping their hands to themselves. Clara had comforted and given silver to too many young maids on request of the council for silence. But you assured her that nothing bad had happened, besides your ego being bruised. 

“You are very easy to like,” Clara gave you a soft smile. The woman reminded you of your mother, always knowing what to say and being a comfort to you. She had known your mother when she was at court, and had told you some stories of the antics her and Queen Elizabeth had gotten up to. 

You let out a sigh and looked back at the mirror in front of you. The dress on your body was beautiful. Black fabric with gold embodiery, a corset that was modest yet accented your curves, and a veil that was made of the finest lace that Spain had. You could also smell the faint scent of vanilla from the leaves that Joana had slipped into the box. 

“Remind me, Clara, I must send a letter to Queen Joana, thanking her for the dress,” You said as Clara finished the last tie of the corset. Another one of your maids placed the veil on your head, a small gold crown accenting the black lace. 

“Yes, My Lady,” Clara said, taking a few steps away from you, “God. . . it’s like looking at a portrait. You look like your mother.” 

You smiled, running your ring-fingered hands over the fabric. The more time you spent away from home, the more that you wished you had your mother here with you. You wished that you had her guidance on what to do about you and the Prince. At night you dreamed of all the milestones that she was going to miss; your wedding day, the coronation, the birth of your first child, watching them take the throne from their father one day. 

Before you could dwell on the fact any longer, the door to your chamber opened, revealing Prince Jake. Your eyes widened as you turned around, and curtsied. You hadn’t seen him since the night in his chambers. He had done an excellent job of ignoring you, but you also hadn’t sought him out either. You kept your eyes on the ground as he walked towards you. When his shoes entered your sight, you stood up, glancing briefly up to him. 

He was clad in all black, his tunic with the same gold emoidery as your dress. The crown on his head almost matched yours, being a little bit bigger and flashier. His sword was tucked against his side, the blade sheathed in a gold casing. Your eyes trailed up to his face, his perfect pink lips, jawline that had the faintest sight of stubble on it, and his piercing green eyes. 

“Those spaniards might not know how to win a battle, but they sure do know how to dress,” Jake said, gesturing to your dress. 

“No one is as good as Brinefell in battle, my Lord,” You said, softly. 

Jake chuckled, “One ought to hope,” He held his hand out to you, “We must go, the Dowager arrives any moment.” 

You gulped, gingerly placing your hand in his. You felt that same jolt of electricity as you did that night in his chambers. You swallowed it down as Jake turned, standing next to you, before leading you out of your chambers. 

The palace was still in it’s state of mourning. The colorful paintings and windows that you had admired when you first got here had been covered up with black sheets or woodened planks. The only light in the dim hallways was offered by candlelight. The noblemen and women that walked the halls were dressed in the finist black clothing that they owned, all bowing to the Prince and you as you made your way to the front of the palace to greet the Dowager. 

“My grandmother might be old, but she is still sharp as a tack,” Jake whispered to you. If he had any regrets or embarrassment about the other night, he didn’t show it, keeping up his princely font as he walked with his back rimrod straight and his head held high, “They called her ‘The Silent Ruler’ for a reason. She served three Kings before my father placed her in retirement at Hampton Abbey.” 

You nodded your head. The Dowager had lead the country when her husband, King Benjamin was off at battle and died, leaving their young son on the throne. Francis, her eldest boy, hadn’t been older than 11 when King Benjamin succumbed to a wound on the battlefield. The Dowager knew that a young boy couldn’t rule, so she stepped up as the reagent, ruling Brinefell until Francis had been deemed old enough by the court. 

“Do not bring up Francis,” Jake scolded softly, “Its a touchy subject for all of us, but more importantly her. She never thought he was fit to rule. She was first to say that.” 

You nodded your head again, “My Lord,” You said, stopping in the hallway just before Jake could push the door to the outside open. He turned towards you, his eyebrows furrowed. You licked you lips, looking down at his shoes, “I want to. . . I want to uh-” You looked up at him, his green eyes soft as if he could read your mind and knew what you were going to say, “I want to apologize for-” 

The loud sounds of horns sounded out, as you snapped your head towards the doors. Jake cursed and grabbed your hand, quickly pulling you outside, right as a red carriage drawn by white horses pulled up in front of the palace.

“The Dowager Queen, Maria of Orterio and Brinefell!” The page called out as the carriage came to a stop. Jake dropped your hand, going towards the carriage as two guards opened the door and helped the Dowager Queen out. The crowd of noblemen, lords and ladies all bowed for the old Queen. She was just as Clara had described, a short, thin woman with white hair that had been pinned perfectly in place. She wore a black gown and a veil that covered her sharp green eyes. 

The Dowager looked up at her grandson, before giving him a deep curtsy. Jake held his breath, watching her. It had been one thing to see his mom curtsy to him as he entered her chambers every day, but it was another to see a woman that had such a high amount of respect from the country do it. The Dowager stood up to her full height, her lips in a straight line. 

“Your Majesty, I am sorry for your loss,” The Dowager spoke. 

Jake clenched his jaw, “I am sorry for your loss, my Lady-The-King’s Mother.” 

The Dowager gave him a court nod, her green eyes looking around at the crowd around him. She recognized a few of the faces of the older men and women standing amongst them. She wanted to roll her eyes noticing the current Queen’s absence. The Dowager had survived the death of her husband and youngest child, and she never hid away from important appearances. She believed that she had taught Elizabeth to do the same, but clearly she had failed. 

“Where is the woman they tell me you are betrothed to?” Queen Maria asked, “I do wish to meet the woman who will be siring my great-grandsons.” 

For some odd reason that statement brought warmth to Jake’s chest. For the past couple of days, he had been silently keeping tabs on you. He felt bad for the way he had reacted that night in his chambers. He had heard your sobs from the sitting room he had holed himself up in as you gathered yourself before leaving back to your rooms. He never meant to make you cry, but he knew that if he went ahead with what you thought you wanted, you would live with that regret for ever. And that, was something Jake couldn’t bare. He did have a conscious and a soul, even though some argued that he didn’t. But Jake had watched as you cared for his mother, going with her to church and confession, sitting with her in her chambers just so she wouldn’t be alone. He watched as you played with his nieces and nephews for the hour a day the court allowed them to have free time. He watched as you spoke to Lord Bradshaw, spilling some of the things he knew were only meant for Lord Bradshaw to hear. 

Jake turned to the Dowager’s side, holding his arm for her to take, “My Lady-The-King’s Mother,” He took a step towards where you stood in the crowd. Your heart picked up speed in your chest, “This is my betrothed,” He gestured towards you, “The Lady Y/N Mitchell.” 

The Dowager gasped, as she pulled her hand away from Jake’s arm, “No!” She yelled. Your eyes widened as your heart thudded in your chest, “No! She is not! She is posion! A witch!” 

Jake’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the Dowager and then to you. You were frozen in your spot as the Dowager’s words registered in your head. You had been called a lot of things, most of them you had just let roll off your back. But this was one offense that struck right in the heart. Your breathing grew fast as the image of your cousin’s headless body filled your mind and the word “witch” echoed off the walls. 

You swallowed, taking a step forward and curtsying for the Dowager, “My Queen, I assure you that I am a woman of God. I pray and plead to him to make me a good-” The sickening sound of a slap resonated through the air, as your cheek began to sting. Gasps from the crowd were heard as you touched your reddening cheek, feeling the tiniest trickle of blood. 

“You will not bear him any sons,” The Dowager spat towards you, “Your mother cursed this whole family!” She then turned to Jake, who’s jaw was clenched shut, “You need not marry that whore!” 

Anger seeped into his words as he looked at his grandmother, “May I need to remind you whom it is you speak of?” Jake looked at you, tears were beginning to well up in your eyes, “That is the future Queen of Brinefell. The future bearer of my sons and the heir to the throne. You maybe be the dead king’s mother, but I am the crowend King. I will not hesitate to throw you in the tower, strip you of your titles and land. Let you live out your few remaining days in solitary.” 

The Dowager narrowed her eyes at her grandson. Jake had never seen the cruel ruler that some claimed her to be, until now. Her green eyes were cold but a certain fire raged behind them. Her lips were pursed into a thin line as she stood, her height of five feet even, toe to toe with Jake. His threat of being in the tower didn’t even phase her. 

“She will kill you and your bloodline,” The Dowager spoke evenly, “She is a witch.” 

“She is my betrothed,” 

The Dowager didn’t say anything else as she turned on her heel and marched into the palace. The crowd parted for her and her ladies to make their way in. Jake could hear her still mumbling about you, still calling you a witch and demanding for her ladies to ask the Cardinal to come to her room for communion and prayers. Jake rolled his eyes, if there was one thing about his grandmother, it’s that she loved theatrics. 

Shaking his head, Jake takes a step closer to the crowd, “Lady Mitchell, I-” He stops, looking and noticing that you were nowhere to be found, “Where the hell did she go?!” 

— — — 

Your footsteps resounded loudly as you marched your way down the hall towards your chambers. You had somehow managed an escape when Jake had gone toe to toe with his grandmother. If you thought you had been embarrassed days ago by Jake, now was at a whole different level. The vile accusation of the course and you being a witch made your stomach churn as you pushed your room door open. Your ladies quickly stood from the game of cards they were playing, staring at you with wide eyes before curstying and greeting you. 

“Get out,” You mumbled. The ladies looked between themselves, judging on what to do. A frustrated sigh left you lips, anger bubbling in your blood, “Get out! Now! Get the fuck out!” 

The ladies moved quickly, not bothering to pick up their game as you stormed into the room. You went quickly to your desk, ripping open drawers to find paper, a quil and ink. Sitting down, you quickly scribbled out a note to your sister. Angry tears began to trickle down your cheeks, falling onto the paper as you wrote. 

“To my sister, Allison,

I request your presence at court, immediately. A vile, horrible, accusation about our mother and myself has been muttered. I fear for my life as the days pass.”

You read over the words several times, your heart still beating wildly in your chest. The more you thought about it, as the cloud of emotion started to lift, you began to doubt. Allison had been asked to leave court for a reason, but she was also closer to your mother than you had been. If there was a secret about your mother, she would know. But you couldn’t stop the jealous thoughts that clouded your mind at the stories and rumors you had heard about her and Jake. It made a pit grow in your stomach as you pressed the wax seal onto the letter.

“My Lady,” Clara said, rushing into the room. You quickly grabbed the letter, hiding it underneath one of your books and stood from your chair, “The Queen,” Clara mouthed as the Queen’s ladies walked into the room first.

“Fuck,” You muttered, wiping the tears from your face and moving to stand from behind your desk. 

You curstyed as the Queen walked in, still a regal and as beautiful as ever. Her skin had seemed to be paler these days and her eyes sunken in a bit, but she was still as powerful, commanding all the attention on her as she stood in the middle of your sitting room. You suddenly wished you had asked your ladies to pick up their splayed cards and challices of wine. 

“I am sorry for the mess, I-” 

The Queen held her hand up, stopping your rambling. She looked around at her ladies, before gently lifting her veil off her head, “Leave us,” Her ladies curstyed and turned towards the door, “And do not be waiting by the doors.” They all curstyed again, before filing out the door. Once it was shut, Queen Elizabeth took a seat on the red settee in the middle of the room, “Gossip whores, all of them.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her frankness. That was one thing you had learned to love about the Queen. She didn’t hold back her opinions on anyone. You had seen the scolding looks sent her way by the Cardinal in church, and had to suppress your giggle. Even in the worst days of her life, she still managed to bring a smile on your face. 

The Queen looked at you, taking note of the red eyes and cheeks, “Come here, my daughter.” 

You didn’t hesitate as you all but ran to the queen, falling to your knees in front of her. The tears that you had wiped away were back, falling down your cheeks as she grabbed your hands in hers. 

“I swear it isn’t true!” You cried, “I do not know of any curses the Dowager speaks of! I am innocent! I swear! I am a woman of God! I follow his path!” 

“I know, my sweet girl,” The Queen cooed, wiping away a tear with her thumb, “The curse comes not from you. . . but from your mother.” 

You let out a small sob at her words, “My mother hath not laid a curse!” 

It was like deja vu, as the Queen looked down at the young girl in front of her. The way the tears had clouded your green eyes, and how your hands clung to her dress. You were the splitting image of your mother as you pleaded your case, trying to get the Queen to believe you. It broke her heart, remembering the day she had found your mother cowering in the corner, her dress torn, her cheeks red, her hair a mess. The Queen took a deep breath, squeezing your hands in hers, getting you to look up at her. 

“Your mother did lay a curse,” The Queen spoke evenly, “She did not know at the time that it would be against you and your future sons. . . but she. . .she had to.” 

“What?” 

The Queen closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts before looking back at you, “We promised each other to never speak of it,” A shaky sigh left her lips, “A terrible crime had been comitted against your mother by the then king, King Benjamin.” 

“No,” You shook your head, pulling your hands away from the Queen, wiping them on your dress, “No, no, no. Please, don’t. . .” 

“You have a brother, my dear.” 

A sob left your mouth as you cradled your head in your hands. You knew the rumors and the stories that had come from the palace of girls who had gone in as maids and left with ruined reputations. They were called witches and whores and were forced to live on the streets and raise their children. Your mother had always had a soft spot for the women you’d see working fruit stands and selling their needle work. She had decided to be a midwife, helping the poor women deliver their babies, giving them the support that they needed. It broke your heart to think of your mother going through a terrible, awful situation and having no one to help her. 

“Your mother was young,” The Queen said, her voice and eyes full of sorrow, “She wasn’t wed, and knew she couldn’t go home in her condition. Queen Maria allowed her to stay at court,” The Queen shook her head, “They all believed that she was with a girl. Her symptoms. . . they were nothing like if she were carrying a boy. But then, that little babe was born, a mighty, strong, boy.” 

Queen Elizabeth could remember the day your mother gave birth. She had never seen a woman have a child, and it was the most horrifying, yet amazing thing she had ever seen in her life. Your mother’s labor had been long and tiring, but she remained steadfast in her beauty and glow. Not a single curse word left her lips as the pain richotched through her body, and maids yelled at her to push. The baby boy had come into the world, screaming and crying, his lungs powerful and voice loud. Your mother and Queen Elizabeth had cried together as the baby was placed on your mother’s chest. He had the most perfect brown eyes, that looked as though they had pools of honey swimming in them. 

“He is perfect, Penelope!” Elizabeth had exclaimed. 

“My perfect boy,” Penelope had placed a kiss on his forehead, “The future King!” 

The Queen licked her lips, looking down at her hands, “She believed he would be an heir. It wasn’t unheard of for bastards to be legitimized, and Queen Maria had yet to bring forth a son,” The Queen looked up at you, “The King had agreed, but the Dowager would not have it. She started to spread stories in the court of witchcraft and seduction. That your grandfather had sent your mother with the goal of seducing the King, to get your house back in the line of succession. That is how the matchmake between your parents happened, the King had sent your mother to the Mitchells. Your grandmother to be your brother’s governess and your mother to work for the family and make wages.” 

You knew your parents love was one of truth. Your mother had told you the story a hundred times over, as it was your favorite bedtime story. The story of the lowly maid who was working for a duchess, and had fallen in love with her son, a handsome knight who had just returned from battle. Though the knight should’ve married a woman of great renown and titles, he chose the lowly maid. It gave you hope that one day you could marry someone for love and not for politics and power. But here you were, being used a pawn in some game. 

“But your mother. . . though happy to have a healthy baby and a husband, she wanted her revenge on the King. She was said to have put a curse on the King, and his male heirs. I had asked her, one of the last times I saw her, if it was true. . . but she never said, and then, the Dowager fell pregnant with Francis, and her madness grew even worse.” 

“The Lost Prince,” You gulped and looked up at the Queen, “The Lost Prince of the Tower. . . that was my brother?” 

Queen Elizabeth moved forward, kneeling on the ground in front of you, “I loved your mother. I stood by her. I fought with her. I was there the day your brother was born and I was there the day he was taken out of her arms, never to return again,” The screams and cries haunted her at night. When she became a mother herself, it hurt her even more knowing that your mother mourned daily for a child she had lost, “This is your chance. This is your chance to avenge your mother from shame. To avenge your name, your house.” 

There was a fire in the Queen’s eyes as you sat back on your haunches. Her brown eyes were filled with a certain anguish and guilt that you hadn’t ever seen before. The chocolate pools were laced with a warmth, almost as if it were honey, as she looked at you. You knew of her nickname, but now you finally got to see the real meaning behind it. 

You pushed yourself up from the floor, walking promptly to your desk, pulling the letter you hid from underneath the book. The Queen tilted her head slightly in confusion as you held out the parchment paper with a black wax seal on it. 

“I want this letter sent out,” You said, “If I want to avenge my mother, I am going to need help.” 

The Queen smiled as she stood up from the floor and took the letter from your hand. She took a step back, and curtsied in front of you. 

“Your Majesty,” She took a step back, and curtsied in front of you, before taking her leave from your chambers.

taglist: @cherrycola27 @yanna-banana @laneylovesglen @elijahmikaelsonbitch @desert-fern @prettiewittie @hangmanscoming @damrlova @captainmoonknight @jazminlahey20 @seitmai @xoxabs88xox @princess76179 @clancycucumber230 @soulmates8 @dempy @starberryhorse @kmc1989 @thedroneranger @loving-and-dreaming @tiredqueen73 @sanfransolomitatm @hardballoonlove @djs8891

note: if you signed up for my taglist and aren’t tagged… it’s because i can’t and you need to fix that in your settings if you want to be tagged

taglist form

pinterest moodboard

#top gun #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction #top gun imagine #top gun AU #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick AU #Jake seresin #Jake seresin fan fic #Jake seresin fan fiction #Jake seresin imagine #Jake seresin AU #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #Jake seresin x y/n #Jake seresin x OC #Jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin #hangman #hangman fan fic #hangman fan fiction #hangman imagine #hangman AU #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman x y/n #hangman x OC

[fulgurbugs]

share with us some of your silly headcanons :)

hehe i got two asks about headcanons so im gonna make yours an OT1 post and the other one an OT2 post….

Ok for OT1 here’s a random list of

Alfyn is genuinely a very good artist, he’s spent a lot of time practicing (at first just trying to emulate drawings of medicinal plants working on his ability to understand and identity them) but it ended up just becoming a hobby of his, and he’s pretty good at drawing from life, he can just sit somewhere and draw the scene in front of him or a pretty accurate portrait. this contrasts with his completely illegible handwriting. (tressa specifically finds this baffling as a neat handwriting haver and a…. decent-ish artist. she mostly just likes to doodle. she’s like how can you draw that good and write that bad. tressa they’re different brain areas alright. they don’t translate to each other)

ok. nonbinary tressa. is so real to me. i feel like she’s nonbinary in the way where she doesn’t care about the way she’s gendered, like whatever cis passing she just doesn’t give a fuck, but inwardly she’s like. gender i hardly know her. doesn’t give a fuck kind of thing (ME PROJECTING ALERT) but as she gets older she starts to just have a tendency towards more masculine ways of dressing, keeping her hair shorter, etc. light androgyny. it kind of isn’t at the forefront of her mind tho.

Therion has like, a select few party-trickish skills that he basically never pulls out because they’re objectively useless in a fight or his work or whatever. and you know. he hasn’t really had the opportunity (or outward desire) to like. ever pull out the fact he can juggle or “is this your card” some shit. this is part of the two wolves inside therion (the nobody look at me wolf) vs (the show-off wolf) so even he’s like i don’t even know why the hell i bothered to learn to do this kind of crap. (it’s because he’s got a theatrical streak.)

ok and also i was also thinking abt this a while back from the worst poker game post, but here’s a ranking of how good i think everyone is

1. Therion (cheats, but even when he doesn’t he’s really good)

2. Olberic (experienced player)

3. H’aanit (really good poker face)

4. Ophilia (often underestimated opponent, and she knows it and uses this to her advantage.)

5. Primrose (good but not great)

6. Cyrus (understands all the strategies, but cannot execute and often isn’t able to read his opponents as well)

7. Alfyn (he’s better at reading other people, but unfortunately is basically incapable of looking neutral himself)

8. Tressa (though she, like cyrus, understands the game and what she should be doing, she lacks the experience to be deceptive, is easy to cheat against, etc. but give her some time and eventually she’ll figure it out and rise in the ranks. she can be molded into a champion eventually and win all the money. just not yet.

Here a bonus doodle for this one

#octopath #me and my bestie r constantly making like. #random ass category then rank the travelers lists. so much fun i love doing that

[moonstruckdraws]

Plant Portraits

(pst- psssssst!- Hey, hey you. Yeah, you! Want to see something cool? look at this post by @hellishgayliath. It's about the characters shown here! They worked on it for a week straight, so check it out!) . . .

Hi, yes, hi, hello. Yeaaaaaah- steering away from the angst me & Helli brewed while I recover from crying. This was inspired exactly a month ago from this ask I made to Helli ask bout their oc's fav plants. I wanted to try out a new rendering style & thought this be a good opportunity + plant practice

Pico; He likes cinnamon plants/trees & likes to knaw on cinnamon sticks. So I did cinnamon plants! Specifically Cinnamomum cassia, or known as Chinese cassia, that is the most commonly sold cinnamon in North America (yes you are getting plant facts this took longer to research than to draw mainly because I like learning but that's besides the point and I wanna share knowledge) I really like how the leaves came out! Twas very fun. His plants are well maintained, healthy, & green (maybe too green lol) which shows his craft in gardening & care. Luci doesn't have teeth, so she can't really 'knaw' on things, so she didn't like trying Pico's snacks when she stole one. She was coughing on cinnamon for the next hour after. Pico laughed at her, obviously Ingenuity: the quality of being clever, original, and inventive

Bao; He likes wisteria flowers, the purple variation (my fav colour)! I loved loved LOVED coloring these plants, but it feels the most empty out of all of them (Clem is all over the place lmao) but I also kinda like it. Like it reflects their personalities this way, like he's the most upkept in society (despite his utter lack of gardening knowledge). Apparently, American wisteria is a host plant to native butterflies and moths! Add that to another reason Luci likes Bao lol. I feel like anytime she comes to the tea shop, Bao would bring her to the garden he & Pico would be working on. And everytime he's show her the plants he managed on his own they'd be drooping and dying lmao. Bao would be so confused & Luci is just unsurprised. And yes, I did think of & look at the wisteria in demon slayer Versatility: the ability to adapt or be adapted to many different functions or activities

Clem; She likes (take 3 seconds to guess) citrus fruits!! Like her name. So I of course did citrus fruits, lemons & oranges. She has my FAVORITE pose, her reaching for the fruit while juggling some in her other arm is adorable. And of course that cute face of hers! Her plants are just EVERYWHERE & is the only one to touch the ends of the canvas (that I wanted to avoid but oh well, it didn't look good otherwise). Besides, it shows her big personality and chaotic energy children have. Apparently, they're sometimes called 'Christmas oranges' because they're in season in winter months. I thought that was interesting. Does Clem like the cold, Helli or does she despise it like Pico lol? Apparently, they are also those cuties or halos oranges I use to devour as a child lol. And because of said memory, I say that Clem does too. I like to think Luci learns to share, like a child, from Clem, a said child. Luci sells back people's stuff overpriced all the time, and only shares things with Repo. She obviously isn't sharing anything with Pico & she mainly hangs out with Bao at the tea shop so she only buys things. She stole Clem's fruits in front of her once. Let's just say a bunch of sad faces and crying, not only bleed her earholes, but made her feel bad (but she'll never admit it). Does she share things now? Kindaaaaa- no. No, not at all. Only Clem & Repo Affability: the quality of being friendly and easy to talk to

aaaand my inspo board just cuz I was going to draw Vera, I really was! (I was so FRICKIN EXCITED to draw the plant with the braided stock next to the pink flower) but... one look at her head and the pose I chose, I said "No."

Bao was already troubling enough I don't need to build up hate to a character I barely know & already like by getting frustrated with their head (again). So no Vera, Helli, sorrys. Her descriptor was going to be 'nobility' btw

GO CHECK OUT HELLI'S POST IT'S SO GOOD (sad) BUT AMAZING!

#helli's children #pico the possum #clementine the opossom #bao the tanuki #plant portraits #sorry Vera #maybe next time or whenever im bored and open this file again #i was excited to draw succulents & cacti but oh well #lightening the mood from the cloud of angst lol #to brighten your day Helli #& the sleep I hope youre getting #just don't hibernate- even though rabbits don't do that but still- #i've reread that post 20 times counting im not even joking #i swear i notice a new detail everytime from Pico's tears to Bao's hearing aid #to the trembling hands and the texture difference in Krangg Pico & past Pico's fur #beyond WAY beyond honored that you included Luci in it #Im over the moon (me ha) about it still; its stellar truly #you're literally amazing get loved idiot