#trouble with the curve icons

[luminiamore]

IN THE A.

biker geto suguru x black hoochie mama reader

warnings: fingerfucking, soft dom sugu, he’s a tease, sugu has a big dick, but we knew this!

a/n: this man is so fine i need him neow.

second part here.

masterlist

Life has always treated you so well, beyond well, in fact. You resided in one of Atlanta’s finest lofts, debt-free at 23 despite recently graduating from college. Even though you have your own income, your generous parents still send you a fat check every week or so. You had men constantly begging on their knees to fund your entire existence, and on the occasion, women, too. Everything you wanted simply came to you with no trouble. 

You wanted that cute brown skin man with the waves that you saw at the grocery store? He already has your number. You want that pretty ’90s hairstyle you saw in a vintage magazine? You were already on your way to go get it done. You want to change your dramatic nails, even though you just got them done two days ago, because you found another style you want more? Who can deny you? It’s your world. 

Was it manifestation? Who knows. The one thing you do know is that the world hands you everything on a pure gold platter.

Popularity followed you whenever you went, but who could blame you? You were the epitome of everything sexy. From the way your rose-colored wedges beautifully complement your flawless white toes against your dark skin to how your denim mini skirts hug your curves and accentuate your figure, and your tops, or mainly bikini tops, enhance your boobs so well that they could make a grown man cry. 

Had you been an adult woman in the 90s instead of being a high-maintenance child, you might have been a star, perhaps even one of the most iconic video vixens. However, that title belongs to your momma. The OG.

She was the sought-after beauty every top rapper wanted for their music videos. From Snoop Dogg to 50 Cent, Lil Wayne to Jay Z, Biggie - she lit up screens. She even brought fire to the feud between Tupac and Biggie when she appeared in the latter’s video. You’re almost sure that lady even told you about how Pac was nearly your father before she met your dad. And you, like the little minx you were, lived up to her status.

Now, you weren’t in those modern-day rap videos of the pretty big booty woman shaking their ass on camera. Your momma raised you to have more class than that. She taught you that your ass isn’t the biggest asset you have to offer, figuratively. Your face is, the way you make people feel is, the way you seduce people is. 

That resulted in you appearing in a few music videos where the artist expressed love for someone, as those typically featured the camera focused on one girl. And that girl was you. Those got you the recognition your momma had. Those got men practically lining up to pay all your bills, those got plentiful women dying to either be you or be with you.

Your reputation preceded you; you were exceptional, operating on a different level altogether. Your complexion was flawless, your lips rich and full, and your eyes possessed a captivating allure that could weaken anyone with just one glance. You were taught to always go after the best because you are the best. 

So, what the hell was your ass doing walking around in Oakland City? Wearing your ripped undercut booty shorts, which showed more booty than shorts, along with a vintage Dior top you borrowed stole from your momma, complete with a matching purse.

Your flower sandals from Dolce & Gabbana made such a powerful tapping sound, combined with the multiple pieces of gold adorning your wrists, ears, and neck, that everyone you passed couldn’t help but look to see just who it was, and they were definitely not disappointed.

You’re not stupid. You wouldn’t dream of entering one of the most dangerous areas of your hometown without protection. Your bedazzled gold pepper spray and your fully loaded Beretta Nano 9mm pistol in your purse, itching to be used if someone tries you.

They wouldn’t dare, though. Your momma wasn’t the only legendary figure in your family. Your dad ran one of the leading crime families in all of Atlanta, dealing with heavy drugs, counterfeiting, and smuggling illegal things across borders. He was feared just as equally as he was respected. 

Messing with you? Your pops would send their family a well-decorated package with their son on a shirt. The last man that cheated on you was a prime example. You couldn’t feel bad for him, though, you did warn him.

To answer your earlier inquiry, which has been nagging at you since you parked your Toyota GR Supra Coupe at a motel five blocks away from the neighborhood, you were there to buy drugs. Weed, more specifically. You could have asked your father, but you really weren’t up for hearing his opinion on how he believes you smoke too much. So you go to the next best thing, Satoru Gojo. 

Since your dad was focused on dealing with harder drugs, he didn’t bother with substances like shrooms or anything related to weed. He considered himself too old for that and delegated the task to his second in command and your friend since birth, Satoru. You quicken your pace, heels tapping rapidly as you approach one of his many houses. You’re almost there. 

He has some of the best shit in the A, but whenever you ask him how he does it,

“I just sell it, Sis. My best friend does all the hard stuff,” 

You would always roll your pretty eyes at this because this supposed best friend he always bragged about was never around. At first, you believed he fibbed about having a best friend out of embarrassment, suspecting that you were the only one who could tolerate his antics.

But you saw glimpses, small ones. A fine leather jacket hanging off his dining room chair that you know Satoru wouldn’t wear. A motorcycle helmet standing tall on the side of his kitchen counter. Your suspicions proved unfounded as your gaze shifted to a sleek, blacked-out MTT 420 Turbine Superbike as you approached Toru’s driveway. 

You know damn well that can’t belong to Satoru. Your movements stop once you knock harshly on the door. You catch the faint sound of a random trap song playing through it. You can’t help but smile, amused by how predictably cliché this white-haired man-child can be. Trap music at a trap house.

Your smile fades as you’re met with a cold glare from a short, thick, light-skinned girl wearing a blonde wig. Studying her features further, you can’t help but acknowledge her prettiness. But the minute she opened her mouth, you were annoyed.

“And, who the fuck you is?” She snaps loudly, the gum she’s chewing matching her obnoxiousness. She’s too pretty for this.

“Girl, bye.” You push past her, causing her to stumble slightly, as you march into the house. Maybe she was about to say something, but you didn’t stick around to find out. With your back turned to her, you catch Satoru muttering softly and glancing past you, “Don’t even try it.” 

She sucks her teeth in annoyance, slamming the door behind her as she heads back to the couch where Satoru, another man, and three other girls are seated. Wait- another man? 

You glance back at the couch again, only to steady your hands on the wall you were leaning on. Woah. This man was so fine that he almost made your legs give out on you. The fuck?

His face was so pretty. Sharp black eyes and the longest hair you’ve ever seen on a man. The wife beater he wore clung tightly to his perfect skin, so much so that you could make out that he had nipple piercings. Woah. The tattoos trailing up both of his muscular arms had you ready to remind yourself to just fucking breathe. He sported washed black Chrome Heart jeans, and the pretty cross peeking from his waistband gave it away. 

This man was looking at you, more like undressing you with his eyes. And you couldn’t look away.

“You can’t be knocking on my door like that Sis, I almost thought you were the feds.” Satoru hums, though he really wasn’t worried. He knew the feds couldn’t hold him for long; he had too much money for that. You quickly glance at him and roll your eyes. When you shift your gaze away from Toru, you turn back to the man who has yet to introduce himself to you.

As if he could read your mind, he rises from his seat, his towering height catching you off guard, and he saunters almost sensually towards where you’re standing in the kitchen. The minute he stands in front of you,

“Suguru Geto. You’re beautiful if you don’t mind me saying,” He brings a hand out to shake yours, his eyes never shifting from your brown ones. You glance down for a moment, and you swear you can feel your heartbeat in your pussy when you catch sight of his immaculately clean, clear polished nails, his fingers adorned with silver rings. Lord, help you.

You give him a smile when you register his compliment, “Y/n. You’re the infamous best friend I hear so much about but never see?” You raise a brow.

Suguru swears he’s died and went to heaven when he hears your honey voice. He thinks he’s met the prettiest girl he’s laid eyes on. The gold grill you have of what he remembers is the Scorpio sign confirms it. I mean, just look at you, your outfit, your jewelry, and your face. 

Suguru believes he knows himself. He knows he doesn’t like girls that do “too much,” but you make it look so good. He knows he doesn’t even have a fetish for feet. But if you told him to right now, he would drop down immediately and worship yours. He believed a goddess was walking among him when you walked through the door. 

“That’s me, the idiot doesn’t have anyone else,” He mutters. You let out the cutest laugh at his comment that makes his dick harden in his jeans. Lord, help him.

Satoru lets out a dramatic gasp behind the two of you, “Hey! I have Y/n!” You immediately retort at him, raising a finger at him. 

“Aht! No, you don’t,” You chuckle, snickering and rolling your eyes as you catch him placing a hand on his heart as if you’ve just shot him.

“Stop hogging my best friend and come get what you came for, Sis,” He waves a bag in the air, holding at least 20 grams of weed, ignoring the two girls tugging on both of his arms.

You squeal and sprint as fast as your heels allow towards where he’s seated. Suguru follows after you slowly, feeling ashamed at the way the other two girls cling to him the moment he sits down. He wants nothing to do with them, he feels almost disgusted by their presence now that you’re here. He didn’t even realize they were here when he arrived, he was only here for Satoru.

You snatch the bag from him, slip it into your purse, and then lunge toward him for a hug, knowing he’d never let you pay, of course.

“Thank you, Toru!” Naturally, he wastes no time pushing the two girls aside to embrace you. You’ve always been his top priority. Suguru finds it challenging to look away because as you hug his best friend, your curvaceous behind is directly in his line of sight. He wishes you would hug him like that.

When you straighten, “I gotta go. You guys seem busy anyway,” You quickly utter and glance at Suguru. He seemed like he was about to say something, but you interject before he can. 

“It was nice meeting you, Suguru.” You softly tell him. He might’ve just came in his pants with the way you said his name in that tone. He pauses for a moment, but before he can utter a word, you’ve already dashed out the front door.

He stills, and he turns to his lifelong best friend,

“Give me her number.”

It’s been about two hours since you arrived at your loft. You prepared yourself a nice dinner, a well-made Alfredo, before making your way to your room. You sink into the comfort of your silk sheets, retrieving your ashtray and preparing to roll up. Soft Erykah Badu playing from your Alexa Speaker. You’re interrupted by an unknown number dinging on your phone. 

Who’s this?

You smile immediately, feeling a rush of nerves as you realize he asked Satoru for your number. You're accustomed to getting what you want, and right now, you want him. You eagerly await his text, noticing that he's typing.

You observe his directness. Suguru is texting you as if he knows exactly what he wants, and if there's one thing you admire in a man, it's when he's decisive and goes after what he wants. You've already decided to smoke with him, swiftly swapping your shorts for a black Juicy Tracksuit as it got windy. You opt to play a little hard to get.

Your jaw drops at the amount he sent you for an Uber. Is he crazy? While you’ve had people send you rides to go somewhere, you can’t shake the feeling that he just wanted an excuse to send you money. You’re still reeling from the shock when he immediately sends you the address to his place afterward. You grab two rolled-up blunts and slide on a pair of kitten heels. Snatching your keys, you head out when your Uber driver arrives outside.

The drive to his place is surprisingly short, almost too short. Considering how spread out the area is, you’ve only been in the car for 15 minutes, yet you’re still in the same neighborhood. You brush it off and approach his door. As you knock, you notice Suguru’s driveway filled with three vehicles: the motorcycle you saw earlier, a Mercedes E-Class, and a sleek BMW M3. You can’t help but appreciate yet another reason you’re drawn to him.

He opens the door, and you swear you wish you could pounce on him. He’s still wearing the wife beater, and when you glance up at his face, you notice his eyes are low and red. With his hair tied up in a man bun, a few strands cascading over his face, the only thought running through your mind is... He’s so pretty.

“You started getting lit without me?” You feign surprise as he welcomes you inside. He kindly takes your keys and hangs them on the holder by his door. You could feel him staring at your ass as you move to stand beside him.

He chuckles, shaking his head at you. He reaches a hand out. “You know how Satoru is. My room?” You nod, and he shivers as your long, pretty nails brush against his hand. Was everything about you so alluring?

You follow behind him, noting how he never lets go of your hand. His room, much like his style, is entirely black. Black sheets adorn a king-sized bed, with a few rock band posters hanging above where his dressers are placed. He even has a private bathroom, the door wide open. Damn, this man even has lavender incense burning on the small desk next to his bed.

“Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart,”

Don’t mind if I do. You drop your body on his bed with a plop. You start to take off your right heel, intending to reach for the left one, only to find Suguru already kneeling down, doing it for you. When he’s done, he rubs your feet for about three long seconds before pulling away. You gasp softly, looking away from his intense gaze. Is he usually this forward?

“Uh- I rolled two. I get lip gloss on the blunt,” You sputter out, retrieving them from your purse as he stands up from his position on the floor and settles onto his pillow.

He makes a tsk sound, “Don’t play with me,” He grabs only one from your raised hand and pulls a skull lighter from his jeans pocket. As you place the other one in your purse, you watch him take the first hit. You realize he enjoys eye contact because, throughout all of his movements, his eyes never leave yours.

You’re nervous. For the first time in your life, a man has made you feel nervous. His energy makes you nervous, how he observes you with such intensity makes you nervous, and even how he feeds you the blunt after taking a few hits makes you nervous.

You’re mesmerized. The effects of the blunts hit you swiftly, altering your mind and intensifying your urge to fuck this man till he sees stars.

Suguru himself has never felt this way before. He’s had a few flings here and there and has even been in a relationship or two. But he’s never felt the need to be entirely consumed by someone. The minute he saw you, it felt like time had stopped for him; he could hear how fast his heart was beating. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to give you the universe because the world is far too small for someone like you.

“You have a boyfriend?” His husky voice asks this out of respect for you. Honestly, he couldn’t give a fuck less if you had a man. You’d be his either way.

“Why? You want me?” You giggle, though you knew he did, you just wanted to tease him. As you gaze up at him through the haze, your breath catches when you observe that his eyes have darkened noticeably. You recognize that expression all too well—it mirrors the one you give the camera when it’s focused on you.

He doesn’t respond or even break a smile at your inquiry. No, his eyes are fixated on your plump, glossed lips as you take another hit. You shift your thighs a little, you don’t know how long you can wait before he makes his move.

Suguru notices, and this time, his lips twitch up a bit, “And if I did?” His whisper keeps you quiet. What the hell were you supposed to say to that? Suguru doesn’t mind your silence. He needs you to savor your angelic tune anyway since you’ll scream his name in a few minutes. Rising from his position, he tilts your chin towards him, his eyes catching note of the smoke in your mouth. Drawing his lips dangerously close to yours, he exhales softly,

“Let it go.” You don’t hesitate to listen to his command. It’s as if your mind is his now, the way he doesn’t even do anything to get your attention. As soon as the smoke escapes your lips, he inhales it, pressing his soft lips firmly against yours.

You whimper out at the force and immediately kiss him back. Suguru swears he’s already in love when he feels your lips reciprocate his action, the stickiness of your strawberry gloss making him release a sound that had you squeezing your thighs. He’s relentless, nipping and forcing his tongue to merge with yours.

His fervor with just a kiss leaves you reeling. The combination of the weed and his lips makes you feel intoxicated, causing you to grasp onto the fabric of his jeans to steady yourself. When he pulls away from you, it only makes you crave more.

You’re both breathing heavily, and the sound of Brent Faiyez playing on his speaker is long tuned out. He stares at your eyes briefly before gently pulling you down to lay on your back. You lean up to pull him into another passionate kiss,

“More, please.” You whine out, a little too desperate for your taste. You couldn’t understand why you wanted him so bad, maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the fact that your pussy was dripping the minute you saw him at Satoru’s place. You can tell he wants to take things slow, but you can’t find it in you to share the same feeling. You need him to do something to you, now.

He only whispers, “Patience, sweetheart.” And moves his lips down to your neck. Soft kisses fill your throat before he stops teasing and reaches for your zipper. He's not shocked to learn that you don't wear a bra; he could almost see your hard nipples through the velvet fabric of your hoodie.

Your sigh of satisfaction comes from the moment he wraps his lips around your dark areola and gently caresses the fat of your unattended boob. He starts slowly, listening to the sounds you make and observing how he can persuade you to moan louder. Your breath gets shaky when he gets more aggressive with his movement, pulling at your sensitive nipples. He decides that he wants more from you.

Suguru rasps out, “I know you want me to fuck you,” Your body feels on fire as his touch slithers down your stomach, grazing your belly ring. He lowers your tracksuit pants for you and throws them across his room, forbidding you to do anything that doesn��t include you receiving pleasure. Your body is anticipating as he continues, “But I need to prep you, or you won’t be able to take me,”

He toys with the slender strap of your thong, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on your face as he talks, “Be good and let me play with you for a bit, okay?”

Your fiery personality is well-known for not letting men dictate your actions. You’re quick to dismiss any nigga, and based on instinct, you’re almost prepared to snap: Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? 

By now, you should realize that Suguru observes every single move you make, every slight gesture you make, when your breath catches, and even now, he detects that you intend to snap at him. He does nothing but give you a look, a dangerous look, which only implies I dare you. Suguru orchestrates a dominance so calm but prominent that you can’t help but whimper out a quiet “Yes,”

What is he doing to you?

He presses a kiss to the side of your mouth as a reward. He’s in a trance. Suguru can’t pull his gaze away from your panties. You’re so wet that it’s clinging onto the fabric as he slowly pulls it away from your lower lips. He finds himself plunging two fingers into your wet cunt before your thong even touches your knees. Fuck, you’re tight.

“Ah- shit! Sugu!” You mewl, walls immediately clenching on his thick fingers. He quickly begins to rub circles on your twitching clit, observing as you gasp and scramble under him. You’re so beautiful like this, he thinks. He doesn’t hesitate to tell you this, too.

“I know, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful, y’know that?” Your slick is dripping all over his palm as he finger fucks you. You try to keep your moans in, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose your mind. But you can’t. You can’t do anything but scream out at the way his long fingers are effortlessly punishing your G-spot.

Suguru moves his fingers faster when you don’t answer him, “I asked you a question, baby.” 

Your loud whimpers can be heard over his music. How could you possibly answer? You’re already starting to blank, you’re not sure you even listened to what he said. “I- Oh fuck, Yes!” 

The sounds coming from your fat pussy is downright phonographic. The squishing, the squelching. Shit, it’s even dripping onto his bed, creating a wet stain. Fuck. Suguru doesn’t think he can take another minute without being inside you. He needs it, but he needs to make you cum first. 

He knows you’re about to, with the way your breathing is stuttering and the way there’s a white cream starting to stain his fingers as he pushes them in and out of you. You’re clenching so hard he’s not sure his dick will fit inside of you. He’ll make it fit, he’ll break your little pussy in if he has to.

Suguru leans against you, his desperate panting revealing his longing for you as he whispers in your ear, “I need you to cum for me, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?” He fucks his fingers inside of you harder, rubbing your pretty clit even faster.

You nod eagerly, mind already reeling as you wail, “Y-Yes. I’m gonna cum, Sugu! I- Shitt,” He gently kisses your lips, sliding his tongue into your mouth as if he’s encouraging you to accept it, to just cum all over him. And you do.

Your grip on the bottom of Suguru’s wifebeater hurts your fingers, and you arch your back off the bed while your tight walls clench once more around him. You see white spots in your blacked-out vision, and your squealing is so loud that you worry the neighbors will hear it. He doesn’t stop moving when you cum, wanting to prolong what he knows is the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had. 

When you finally stop twitching in aftershock, your breathing begins to slow down, and his movements follow suit. Your panties are long gone. He swiftly pulls out of you while you’re still in a daze, making you unaware that he’s sucking up your essence from his fingers and pulling his jeans down along with his Calvin Klein briefs.

You are, however, aware when he pushes your thick brown thighs flush against your chest. And you’re even more aware when he lines his fat pink tip to your sticky lower lips. Suguru doesn’t let you see just how big he is, he directs your focus to his lips on yours. But Lord, do you fucking feel it. You feel it when he rubs up and down on your wet slit. You feel it when he pushes only his tip inside of you before he pulls back out again.

Suguru doesn’t think he can keep on teasing you like this. He tries to keep it up for your sake, but the way you feel on his tip has his body shaking; it’s almost embarrassing. But he can’t find himself to feel ashamed when you look up at him at him like that, your eyes pleading for him to fuck you into the mattress.

“I’m gonna put it in now, baby. I’m gonna fuck you real good, okay?” You’re learning, you know he wants an answer from you, and you don’t bat an eye when your trembling, honeyed voice whispers, “Whatever y-you want, Sugu.”

Whatever he wants? You probably should’ve never said that, and he’ll show you why. He pushes inside of your cunt slowly, hissing at the same time you shriek when your walls try to push him out. “Breathe,” He rasps out. And you’re trying, you’re really trying to. But he’s just so fucking big, it’s like he’s breaking your pussy in half. 

“Y-You’re too big! I can’t-” He doesn’t let you finish, he proves that you can when he pushes in halfway through your slobbering pussy. 

“Of course you can, Y/n. You’re almost there, sweetheart. One more breath for me, yeah?” 

You listen wordlessly, sucking in another deep breath. It’s inevitable to cry when he plunges the rest of his 8 and a half inches in one go. Suguru lets out a groan in your ear, and the sound makes your insides churn. How is it that he immediately finds your spongy spot? You’re so used to being briefly grazed in that spot that this feeling is foreign to you.

Suguru gives you a few seconds before your pussy starts suffocating him, and he’s forced to start feeding you with slow, deep strokes. “Jesus, fuck!” You keen, mewling, and pressing on his firm abs; the pressure was just too much for you. Are you crazy?

“None of that Y/n.” He uses his left hand to hold both of your hands and place them above your head, gently grasping your throat with his right. All the while, his eyes never leave yours, and his big cock never stops stirring up your guts at that slow pace. He gets impatient. 

“You feel so good, so fucking tight. Pretty pussy is mine now, yeah? Tell me it is,” Gradual snapping of his hips against yours in a feverous tempo causes you to scramble under him, with your mind getting lost since you can’t find anything to keep you grounded. He has you altogether under his control, and you can’t find it in yourself to be upset.

You don’t respond, your brain too gone to form any thought that’s not Sugu. You’ve forgotten your manners, he’ll make sure to remind you. He snaps his hips harder, he swears the cries you make almost make him cum on the spot.

“Words, Y/n. Tell me this perfect pussy is mine,” The sound of your soaked pussy filling the air as he whispers against your lips, which are permanently shaped in a perfect O.

You weep out, “Fuck! Oh, Sugu- it’s yours, all yours! I- Ah!” His face adorns with a sly smile at your confession. His body is on fire, your pussy perfectly snug around the shape of his cock. He knows he’s about to cum, with the way his insides are twisting, and his heavy balls are twitching rapidly as they slap on the fat on your ass. Your pussy is so good that he swears you’re not even from this planet. But he needs to get you there first. That’s all he needs to dump his seed inside of you.

He slithers the hand gripping your throat down to your drooling clit, rubbing so fast you think you’re having whiplash. Your cries become louder, and before you even know what’s happening, you’re covering Suguru’s entire stomach and his soft sheets with your squirt.

Suguru follows swiftly after you, letting out a sinful moan, his body trembling as he fills your pussy with his cum. It’s so much, so fucking much, that you can feel it overflowing past your stretched-out pussy. The sluggishness of his thrusts inside you causes him to let out loud breaths and drop his face in the crook of your neck.

Your eyes are still stuck on the ceiling above you, shallow breaths emerging from your sore throat. Woah.

The long-haired man above you is still panting and giving you another command, making it difficult for you to process what just happened to you.

“On your stomach, sweetheart.”

This time, you remember your manners.

[gotham-ruaidh]

What an absolute - and unexpected - joy it was to see this iconic exchange between Jamie and Claire, from The Fiery Cross, at the beginning of 07x15 "Written In My Own Heart's Blood".

So perfectly placed in the episode, too.

The show is at its best when it directly presents the source material!

-----

“I saw my mother in her coffin,” he said at last. His thumb touched my ear, drew down the curve of helix and lobule, and I shivered at his touch.

“The women had plaited her hair, to be seemly, but my father wouldna have it. I heard him. He didna shout, though, he was verra quiet. He would have his last sight of her as she was to him, he said. He was half-crazed wi’ grief, they said, he should let well alone, be still. He didna trouble to say more to them, but went to the coffin himself. He undid her plaits and he spread out her hair in his two hands across the pillow. They were afraid to stop him.”

He paused, his thumb stilled.

“I was there, keepin’ quiet in the corner. When they all went out to meet the priest, I crept up close. I hadna seen a dead person before.”

I let my fingers curl over the ridge of his forearm, quietly. My mother had left me one morn ing, kissed my forehead, and slid in the clip that fell out of my curly hair. I had never seen her again. Her coffin had been closed.

“Was it—her?”

“No,” he said softly. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked into the fire. “Not quite. The face had the look of her, but no more. Like as if someone had set out to carve her from birch wood. But her hair—that was still alive. That was still . . . her.”

I heard him swallow, and half-clear his throat.

“The hair lay down across her breast, so it covered the child who lay with her. I thought per haps he wouldna like it; to be smothered so. So I lifted up the locks of red to let him out. I could see him—my wee brother, curled up in her arms, wi’ his head on her breast, all shad owed and snug under the curtain of her hair.

“So then I thought no, he’d be happier if I left him so—so I smoothed her hair down again, to cover his head.”

He drew a deep breath, and I felt his chest rise under my cheek. His fingers ran slowly down through my hair.

“She hadna one white hair, Sassenach. Not one.”

Ellen Fraser had died in childbirth, aged thirty-eight. My own mother had been thirty-two.

And I . . . I had the richness of all those long years lost to them. And more.

“To see the years touch ye gives me joy, Sassenach,” he whispered, “—for it means that ye live.”

-- The Fiery Cross

[kittenan]

In Your Arms

Pairing: CEO!Taehyung x Bold!Reader Genre: Smut, Fluff, Angst, Power Play, Reunion Rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI) Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, power dynamics, unprotected sex, dirty talk, desk sex, oral (f. receiving), light dom/sub vibes, rough sex, mentions of past heartbreak, alcohol mention. Word Count: ~7k

The Seoul skyline sparkled like a field of stars, its glowing lights shining through the huge windows of Vante Luxe’s penthouse office. Kim Taehyung, thirty, sat behind his glass desk, the epitome of cold charisma. His black suit was tailored to perfection, the top button of his white shirt undone, revealing a tantalizing sliver of tanned collarbone. Dark hair swept back, a single strand falling over eyes that could command empires. As CEO of a luxury fashion conglomerate, he was untouchable—a king in a glass castle.

His assistant, a sharp-eyed woman in her forties, knocked lightly on the doorframe. “Mr. Kim, the last candidate for the creative director position is here.”

Taehyung glanced up from his tablet, his expression unreadable. “Send her in.”

The door opened, and you stepped inside. At twenty-five, you were a vision of confidence—crimson blazer and pencil skirt hugging your curves, heels clicking against the marble floor like a war drum. Your hair cascaded in loose waves, lips painted a bold red that matched your fire. New to Seoul, you’d left Busan behind, chasing ambition in a city that felt too big, too cold. You clutched a leather portfolio, ready to claim your place at VanTae Luxe.

Then you saw him.

Your breath caught, your heart slamming against your ribs. Kim Taehyung. The man who’d haunted your dreams for seven years. The one you’d claimed in a reckless, fiery summer fling in Busan. You hadn’t known he was the CEO—you’d applied blindly, expecting some faceless executive, not him.

“Miss Y/n,” Taehyung said, voice smooth as velvet, betraying none of the shock rippling through him. He recognized you instantly, the memory of your touch searing his skin. But his face remained a mask, his eyes locking onto yours with calculated calm. “Please, sit.”

You swallowed, forcing your legs to move despite the tremor in your knees. You slid into the leather chair across his desk, crossing your legs slowly, the hem of your skirt riding up just enough to make his jaw tick. “Mr. Kim,” you said, your voice steady despite the chaos in your chest. “It’s… been a while.”

His brow arched, fingers steepling as he leaned back, exuding control. “Is that so? I meet many people, Miss Y/n. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Your lips twitched, a spark of defiance flaring. He was playing coy, but you saw the flicker in his eyes—the recognition, the heat. You leaned forward, blouse dipping slightly, your smile teasing but professional. “I’m sure you do. I’m not so easy to forget.”

Taehyung’s lips quirked, the barest hint of amusement breaking through his icy facade. “Let’s see if you can prove that. Why VanTae Luxe?”

You met his challenge head-on, your voice firm. “Because you’re the best, and I’m here to take it to the next level. Your brand is perfect, but it plays it safe. I’d make it bold, iconic. I don’t follow trends—I create them.” Your eyes held his, a silent dare. “Think you can keep up with me?”

The air crackled, his gaze darkening. He knew the game you were playing, and damn if he didn’t want to play back. “Bold words,” he said, voice low, almost dangerous. “But I don’t hire on promises. Show me results.”

And so, the interview kicked off—a battle of wits, a game of who’s in charge.

Seven years ago, Busan was a fever dream of salt air and untamed desire. Taehyung, twenty-three, was a college student on a rare break, his sharp jaw and glowing eyes making him a magnet for trouble. You were eighteen, a hurricane in human form, pouring coffee at a beachside café by day and ruling the night with a wildness that burned. When he spilled his iced latte, you didn’t just hand him a napkin—you leaned over the counter, smirking, and whispered, “Careful, city boy. You’re playing with fire.” He was hooked, and you were gasoline.

Three days. That’s all you had. Three days of raw, feral passion that left you both scorched. Taehyung was in control, his dominance a dark current that pulled you under, but you matched him, stride for stride, your wildness fueling his fire. You both loved it rough, thriving on the edge of chaos.

The first night, he followed you to your cramped apartment, his hands on you before the door slammed shut. He pinned you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours, all teeth and hunger, his grip bruising your wrists as he held them above your head. “You want this?” he growled, his voice low, dangerous. You smirked, biting his lip hard enough to draw a hiss. “Fuck me like you mean it,” you shot back, already tugging his shirt off, nails raking down his chest. He didn’t hold back—ripping your shorts down, he lifted you, your legs wrapping around him as he thrust into you, hard and deep, the wall shaking with every slam. You moaned, loud and unashamed, clawing his back, urging him faster. “Harder, Tae,” you demanded, and he obliged, fucking you until the neighbors pounded on the wall, your screams drowning them out.

The second day, you barely left your bed, a tangle of sweat and sheets. Taehyung was relentless, his hands everywhere, his mouth claiming you like territory. He’d pin you down, tying your wrists with his belt, his tongue teasing your clit until you were writhing, begging for release. “Not yet,” he’d murmur, smirking against your skin, drawing it out until you were a trembling mess. But you gave as good as you got—flipping him over, you straddled him, sinking onto his cock with a moan that echoed, riding him rough, your nails digging into his shoulders. “You think you’re in charge?” you taunted, slamming your hips down, making him groan. “I’ll break you first.” He gripped your hips, thrusting up to meet you, the headboard cracking against the wall as you both pushed each other to the brink. When he went down on you again, you didn’t let him tease—you fisted his hair, grinding against his mouth, coming so hard you saw stars. “Fuck, you’re wild,” he panted, and you just grinned, pulling him into you again.

The third night, you led him to the beach, a blanket under a sky ablaze with fireworks. The crowd was distant, but you didn’t care who saw. Taehyung pulled you onto his lap, his hands under your dress, tearing your panties aside. “You’re mine tonight,” he growled, his voice rough with need, and you laughed, pushing him down, straddling him. “Prove it,” you challenged, sinking onto him, the ocean swallowing your moans as you rode him, rough and unrelenting, your nails carving lines down his chest. He matched your pace, his thrusts deep, bruising, his hands gripping your thighs like he’d never let go. “I’m falling for you,” he whispered, raw and vulnerable, his eyes searching yours. You kissed him, deep and desperate, your heart cracking. You hadn’t known your mother’s illness would steal you away. You thought you had time.

The next morning, your phone rang. Your mother’s voice, frail and urgent: “Cancer. Stage four. Come home, Y/n. I am afraid.” Daegu was hours away, and panic clawed at you. You packed in a daze, tears falling. You and Taehyung hadn’t exchanged numbers—your fling was meant to be a fleeting inferno, no strings, no future. You’d planned to find him at the café, to explain, but there was no time. You left, his absence a wound you carried for years.

Taehyung woke to cold sheets, your jasmine perfume fading. He searched for you, haunted by your fire, but Busan gave him nothing. For seven years, you were a ghost, a flame he couldn’t extinguish.

The interview was a warzone of wit and will. Taehyung’s questions were sharp, designed to test your intellect and nerve. You countered with precision, your answers laced with sass and confidence, refusing to let him intimidate you.

“What’s your approach to innovation?” he asked, leaning forward, eyes boring into yours like he could see your soul.

You mirrored him, elbows on the desk, closing the distance. “I break things—rules, trends, egos. Then I rebuild them better. Your brand’s perfect, but it’s predictable. I’d make it dangerous.” Your lips curved, teasing but controlled. “Unless you’re afraid of a little chaos.”

His jaw tightened, a flicker of heat in his gaze. “Afraid? No. But I don’t bet on unproven talent.”

“Then test me,” you shot back, uncrossing your legs, the slow movement drawing his eye for a heartbeat. “Give me a challenge. I’ll make you regret doubting me.”

He smirked, the first real crack in his cold facade. “Careful, Miss Y/n. I play to win.”

“So do I,” you whispered, voice low, a promise wrapped in velvet.

The questions grew fiercer, the banter sharper. You challenged his authority, he pushed your limits. Every word was foreplay, every glance a spark. The room shrank, skyline fading until it was just you and him, two flames burning too close.

Then came the final question.

He leaned back, voice low, intimate. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

You stood, bracing your hands on the desk, your face inches from his. Your eyes locked, the air electric. “In your arms,” you said, voice soft but unwavering, a dare that cut through the pretense.

Taehyung froze, his breath hitching. His cheeks flushed, the first sign of vulnerability you’d seen. For a moment, he was twenty-three again, lost in you. Then, his voice dropped to a husky murmur. “Maybe with one baby, too.”

Your heart raced, heat flooding your core. You leaned closer, lips brushing his ear, your whisper a secret for yourself alone. “Maybe two… if you beg.”

The world stopped.

Taehyung was around the desk in three strides, his hands on your waist, pushing you back against the glass. Papers scattered, your portfolio crashed to the floor, but you didn’t care. His body pinned yours, hard and hot, his thigh pressing between your legs, sending a jolt through you.

“You’re still a fucking trouble,” he growled, lips hovering over yours, teasing, torturing.

You tilted your chin, defiant. “And you’re still starving for it.” Your fingers yanked his tie, pulling him closer. “Kiss me, Taehyung. Or are you still pretending you don’t know me?”

His mouth crashed into yours, a kiss that was all hunger and heat, seven years of longing poured into every bruising press. Your lips parted, his tongue sweeping in, claiming you with a groan that vibrated through you. Your hands slid under his jacket, nails raking down his back, urging him closer.

He broke away, panting, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Then show me,” you challenged, voice breathy, eyes blazing.

His hands slid to your thighs, hiking your skirt up until it bunched at your hips. Crimson lace panties peeked out, and he cursed, fingers brushing the damp fabric. “Fuck, Y/n. You’re dripping for me.”

You smirked, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you. “What are you waiting for?”

His control shattered. He yanked your blouse open, buttons flying, revealing a crimson bra that made him growl. His lips attacked your neck, sucking marks into your skin, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing your nipples through the lace. You moaned, arching into him, fingers fumbling with his belt.

“Impatient,” he teased, but his hands shook as he slid your panties down, tossing them aside. His fingers found you, slick and ready, circling your clit with maddening precision. “So fucking wet.”

“Taehyung,” you gasped, hips grinding against his hand. “Don’t tease.”

He chuckled, dark and low, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that made you see stars. “You’re so tight, baby. Been dreaming about this pussy for years.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, moans spilling as he pumped his fingers, thumb working your clit. “Fuck, Tae—more, please.”

He pulled back, ignoring your whine, and shoved his pants down, freeing his cock—hard, thick, the tip glistening. He stroked himself, eyes locked on yours. “You want this?”

“Yes,” you begged, gripping the desk. “Now.”

He didn’t tease. He lined up, thrusting in deep, filling you completely. You cried out, walls clenching around him, your body trembling as he stretched you. “Fuck,” he groaned, gripping your hips, fingers bruising. “You still feel like heaven.”

You matched his rhythm, rocking against him, moans echoing in the office. The desk shook, papers flying, the glass cool against your skin as he fucked you with a relentless pace. His lips found yours, the kiss sloppy, desperate, breaths mingling as you chased release.

“Look at me,” he growled, cupping your jaw. “I want to see you come.”

Your eyes locked, and he angled his thrusts, hitting that spot over and over. “Tae—I’m—fuck, I’m close.”

“Come for me,” he rasped, thumb circling your clit. “Let me feel you.”

You shattered, your orgasm crashing through you, walls pulsing as you screamed his name. The sight of you—head back, lips parted, body shaking—pushed him over. He thrust deep, coming with a guttural moan, spilling inside you, hips jerking as he rode it out.

You stayed there, panting, his body pressed to yours, your legs still around him. The office was chaos—papers everywhere, your blouse ruined, his tie crooked. But it was perfect.

Taehyung carried you to the leather couch, collapsing with you in his arms. His fingers traced your back, your head tucked against his chest, his heartbeat grounding you.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked, voice soft, raw.

You sighed, fingers playing with his shirt. “My mom got sick. Stage four cancer. I got a call that morning—she needed me in Daegu. I had to go. I didn’t have your number, and I didn’t think… I didn’t know it’d hit me so hard. I wanted to find you, Tae, but there was no time. After her passing, I completed my graduation and shifted back to Busan two years ago.”

He tilted your chin, eyes searching yours. “It meant everything to me. I looked for you, Y/n. Every summer, I went back to that café. But after becoming CEO two years ago, I couldn’t make time.”

Your heart ached, a tear slipping free. “I thought about you every night.”

He kissed you, slow and tender, pouring his heart into it. “I’m not letting you go again.”

You smiled, kissing his palm. “Promise. I want to stay this time.”

A beat, then you grinned, playful. “So… the job?”

He laughed, rich and warm. “Hired. Permanently.”

“Perks?” you teased, straddling his lap, hands on his chest.

He smirked, pulling you close. “Me. 24/7. Unlimited Access.”

Hours later, you stood in the elevator of Taehyung’s penthouse, the keycard he’d slipped you glinting in your hand. The doors opened, and you stepped into a world of sleek luxury—floor-to-ceiling windows framing twinkling skyline, plush furniture, and a faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Your heels clicked on the hardwood as you tossed your purse onto a velvet couch, smirking at the bottle of champagne chilling on the counter. He planned this.

Taehyung appeared from the hallway, shirtless, his dress pants slung low on his hips, revealing the sharp V of his abdomen. His hair was damp, fresh from a shower, and his eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned against the wall, a glass of champagne in hand. “Took you long enough, wildfire,” he teased, using the nickname he’d given you in Busan.

You raised a brow, kicking off your stilettos and sauntering toward him, your hips swaying with every step. “Had to make you wait, city boy.” You plucked the glass from his hand, taking a slow sip, letting the bubbles dance on your tongue. “Nice place. Perk of the job?”

He grinned, stepping closer, his hand finding your waist. “Perk of being mine.” His thumb brushed your hip, sending a shiver through you. “You like it?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “Needs more… chaos. Maybe a few claw marks on that fancy couch.” You dragged a nail down his chest, light but deliberate, watching his eyes darken.

He laughed, low and rich, pulling you flush against him. “Still a troublemaker. You’ll ruin my furniture, won’t you?”

“Only if you’re lucky,” you shot back, nipping his bottom lip. “But I’m keeping the keycard. Non-negotiable.”

His hands slid to your ass, squeezing playfully. “Deal. But you’re moving in by next week. I’m not chasing you across Seoul.”

You gasped, mock-offended, pushing against his chest. “Moving in? Bold of you to assume I’d give up my independence for your pretty face.”

He smirked, catching your wrists and pinning them behind you, his lips brushing your ear. “Not my face, baby. My bed. You’ll be begging to stay once I’m done with you.”

You laughed, wriggling free and darting toward the champagne bottle. “We’ll see who’s begging, Kim.” You popped the cork with a flourish, the foam spilling over your fingers, and he groaned, chasing you to the counter.

“Messy girl,” he scolded, grabbing your waist and lifting you onto the marble, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss was playful, all teasing nips and giggles, but it softened, his hands cupping your face like you were precious. “I missed you,” he murmured, voice raw. “Every fucking day.”

Your heart fluttered, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close. “I missed you too, Tae. But no more running. I’m here. All in.”

He smiled, that boyish grin from Busan, and kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. “Good. Because I’m planning forever. Babies, chaos, all of it.”

You smirked, poking his chest. “Two babies. And you’re begging first.”

He laughed, scooping you up on his shoulder and carrying you toward the bedroom, your squeals echoing through the penthouse. “We’ll see, wildfire. We’ll see.”

As he kicked the door shut, you knew—this was just the beginning.

A/n: Did Y/n and Taehyung’s wild summer and fiery reunion set your soul on fire? 😈 Reblog, comment, or slide into my asks to yell about this chaos couple!

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the busted engine

lilac, chapter one

a/n: the plot of this series came to me like fucking lightning, essentially all at once with how quick it fell into place. sometimes it's like that, sometimes magic happens in your brain. I hope you all enjoy this ride as much as I am having writing it. get ready for everything, because I've got twenty chapters planned out and ready, and spoiler, they aren't all just gonna be insanely wholesome small town cuteness... we getting angsty... we getting the drama.... but most of all, we be getting slutty. strap in folks.

summary: “I, um,” your eyes briefly flickered to the bundles of firewood needly stacked in the back of the pickup, “my car broke down and my phone conveniently also decided to run out of battery, so, uh, could I perhaps borrow yours just a moment? I just need it to make one call, that’s it.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, pete castiglione era, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, slow burn, car trouble, meet cute

word count: 2674

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Your vision couldn’t help but linger every time it drifted over your hands gripping the steering wheel. The immense weight the sight of your bare ring finger lifted off your shoulders was so overwhelming that you found yourself fighting tears from blurring the road before you. 

The sun was beginning to set as you had been driving all day long, not stopped for even a second to let the gravitas sink in of what you’d done at the crack of dawn. 

The fear of Preston stirring from his slumber and finding you in the midst of sneaking out still hadn’t settled within your gut. Your paranoid brain still compelled you to check the rear-view mirror every couple of seconds just in case the sleek sportscar of your former fiancé would appear.

You had finally done what he had drilled into your mind you weren’t capable of. You’d left him for good. 

Equipped with only a small backpack of your belongings, the last thing you’d done before sneaking out of the apartment had been to toss the ring he had so insistently forced upon your finger into the trash. 

Ripping you out of your cloudy thoughts, your car suddenly began to cough like a mythical monster that was dying. 

“Oh shit…” you felt the vehicle begin to slow as ominous smoke started to billow out from under the hood. Mindful of the bushy pine trees framing the road, you guided it to the edge just in time before it gave out. 

Stepping out with an exhausted sigh, you promptly cracked the front open to take a look, though what you saw within didn’t soothe your worries as all of the fumes oozing out only made the broken engine look like that much more of a mess. 

“Fucking great,” you mumbled heatedly, fiercely slamming the hood shut in an effort to relieve some of your abundant stress. Curving back around, you swung the passenger side open and rummaged for your phone, though when you located it, the only solution it flashed you was a blinking red battery icon before the screen went completely black, “seriously?” 

Not knowing if you were about to scream or burst into tears, you chucked it back inside before hurling your spine against the side of the car, leaning against it as you cursed up at the grey sky. 

Was this the universe showing its true bias? You’d hoped that was the one thing money couldn’t buy, but perhaps you were wrong, just like he always said you were. Perhaps it would be best if you went back to the city. His reaction towards a stunt like this couldn’t be that bad compared to what you had endured before, could it? 

The sound of another vehicle cresting the thicket on the rural road caught your ears and you turned your head to see a navy-blue truck appear.

Your hand shot up to wave it down before you could even ponder the action. Fearing that it was a lost cause by the speed the driver was going at, it caught you by surprise as it suddenly came to a halt a ways in front of you. 

“Are you alright, ma'am?” the driver asked as he slammed his door shut behind him. The tall man certainly looked like the type to call the area his home. Dark beard scraggly and hair in unkept waves long enough to tickle the furrow lines decorating his forehead, his wide palm traced the lines of the truck as he made his way towards you.

“I, um,” your eyes briefly flickered to the bundles of firewood needly stacked in the back of the pickup, “my car broke down and my phone conveniently also decided to run out of battery, so, uh, could I perhaps borrow yours just a moment? I just need it to make one call, that’s it.”

Eyeing your busted vehicle a moment, his low timbre then rumbled out once more, “sure,” as he reached into his pocket and fished out his telephone.

“Thank you so much,” seizing it, you swiftly clicked it to life, “you have no idea what a lifesaver you are–, oh fuck,” your vision zeroed in on the lack of bars in the uppermost corner, “of course there’s no fucking services out here,” your eyes briefly screwed shut and your jaw clenched in an effort not to scream, “it’s fine, it’s fine! I’ll just walk then!” you tried not the throw it as you handed the phone back to the helpful stranger, “I’m sorry that you had to stop for nothing, but thank you anyways.”

Swinging your door open to yank out your stuff, the stranger’s feet stayed fast, “what direction are you headed?” 

“Dunbrook,” you answered as your body folded to reach your tossed telephone.

“You wanna catch a ride?” he unexpectedly offered, causing you to bump your head on the roof of the car.

“Ow–, what?” you blinked back at him through the windshield as your hand shot up to rub the top of your now sore head, “no, I couldn’t… I–, uh, I kinda recognise this area, the town is not too far from here, so I can walk, it’s fine.”

“Yeah, but it’ll properly still take you all night. Please, it’s no bother, I’m headed in that direction anyways.” 

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you slowly retracted out of the vehicle, “you sure?” 

“Yeah,” he nodded, attempting a faint smile in order to soften his gruff and intimidating features. 

“Alright,” swinging your backpack on you slammed your busted car shut, “thank you.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you clicked on the seatbelt and slotted your bag between your legs. Fiddling tensely with the straps for a moment, it dawned on you how your sleeves were still rolled all the way up to your elbows from when you had checked under the hood. Pulse instantly picking up and thumping in your ears, you hastily tugged them back down to cover the lavender bruises peaking out. 

Had he noticed?

Hearing the door slam to your left, being too caught up in your own mess, it only caused your form to jump in the seat.

Trying to play it off as nothing, you attempted a casual, “I’m Y/n by the way,” though your voice came out much more strangled than you’d intended. 

Catching your flickering eye a moment before turning the key, he likewise enlightened, “Pete.” 

Your bottom lip didn’t escape the prison of your teeth the entire ride, gnawing subconsciously at it as you purposely stare out at the wild flora you passed in order to not look at the advantageous stranger. 

Though after you passed the crooked sign welcoming you back to your small hometown, Pete’s gruff voice broke the silence.

“So, where can I drop you off?”

“The inn,” you turned your head to inform him, “the Lilac Inn, if you know where that is.”

“Yeah, I know it,” he nodded, sucking in a knowing breath as if he didn’t need any more information to figure you out, “so you’re a tourist? One of those nature people who come out here to hike or something?”

“Not exactly,” was all the explanation you offer as you watched the familiar scenery come into view. 

Dunbrook. To call it a town was very generous indeed as the whole population could properly fit under the same roof if they really wanted to, and they often did. The rolling fields of wildlife that surrounded the village also divided and broke up the infrastructure of the old settlement, causing most of the homes and businesses to not all the clustered together as you had grown accustomed to seeing after moving to a metropolis as vast as New York. 

Every familiar structure rolling by evoked memories long ago buried and forgotten. The corner where you fell learning how to ride a bike. The quaint general store where you once stole a lollipop, walked for all of 48 seconds before turning right back and apologising to the owner with tears in your eyes. But most of all, the large Victorian structure at the bottom of the tiny town by far held the fondest of memories in your heart. 

The dust puffed up around the truck as you rolled down the narrow dirt road, the bushy lilac trees that flourished all over the property haven not quite yet come into bloom, yet still forewarned your destination that already peaked over the tops. 

“Here it is,” Pete exhaled as the car came to a stop before the vast veranda, “the Lilac Inn.” 

Eyes glued to your childhood home, you stepped out of the truck, “thank you,” slamming the door shut, you turned to add awkwardly through the rolled down window, “and also thank you for not turning out to be an axe murderer or something,” a nervous laugh swiftly bubbling out at the notion.

Glancing back at your bumbling form, he simply flashed you a tight-lipped smile and said, “you have a good trip, ma'am.” 

“You too–, I mean, you have a good, uhm, rest of your life,” you fumbled as your feet slowly backed up, “it was nice meeting you, Pete.” 

“Yeah, you too,” he just managed to reply before you spun your mortified flush away from his stare and scurried up the steps of the porch. 

Pushing the creaky, stained glass adorn front door open, you tiptoed inside. 

The lighting dim and the atmosphere nothing short of comforting, a smile finally bloomed upon your lips as you let out the breath you’d been holding for who knows how long. 

Peeking around the corner into one of the sitting rooms, you only spotted one patron sitting by the small round table next to the crackling fireplace, working away at a puzzle. Either the others had gone to bed already or this fellow was the only one staying here. 

“Excuse me,” you gently interrupted from the archway, “would you happen to know where the owner, Harvey, is–”

Though before you managed to get out the remainder of the sentence, a bustle from the kitchen answered your question for you, “every time I forget to whisk long enough and every time I say it’s gonna be different, but this time I mean it!”

Sharing a knowing look with the guest, you chuckle, “never mind…” 

“This time I won't just stop when my arm feels like it’s gonna fall off,” even though it was clear he was talking to himself, his usual vibrato still carried, “oh no, no, you just wait and see how light and fluffy you turn out this time, cake!” 

Poking your head through the ajar door, you spotted the familiar greying man grumbling into the contents of the bowl he was furiously beating with a whisk. 

“Dad?”

Nearly jumping out of his skin, your father gasped, whisk jolting upright as he laid his eyes upon you, subsequently splattering some batter across the kitchen, back near the sink, “Y/n?” he exclaimed, his eyes growing to the size of saucers, “is that really you? Is my little baby girl really standing in my kitchen or is this a hallucination?”

“Hi,” your head tilted in a soft chuckle. 

Staring at you as if you were just a newborn puppy, “oh, come here, munchkin, and give your pops a hug!” the moustachioed man’s arms went wide and pulled you in, dropping whisk still in his hand as he blubbered into your hair, “ah, I’ve missed you so much,” squeezing your form in the magical way that only parents could, “I haven’t heard from you in, well I don’t even know how long, that’s how long and if you ask me then that’s too long,” he pulled back, cupping your cheek as he gazed at you, “you don’t write, you don’t call.”

“Not true, I do write,” you corrected him light-heartedly, “and you don’t have a cellphone.” 

“Well, there’s the telephone out in reception, why would I need more?” he shrugged, lending you to then slip out of his grip, swiftly boosting your own form to hop onto one of the empty counters, “also, your last letter was 10 months ago.” 

“No, it wasn’t, was it?” you gasped, thinking back.

“You can check the date, they’re still in the cookie tin up there,” he gestured to one of the top shelves before reuniting the whisk in his grip with the large bowl on the table. 

Only briefly glancing up at the enamel box, you already knew that you didn’t wanna revisit them. However vague the letters were, which they always were, you were still certain that they’d have the power to send you right back there into Preston’s iron fist, even though you’d never even mentioned him once in all the years you’d been with him. They only ever really contained small talk and pleasantries, never about something so personal as to whom you were dating, but you also didn’t share at all as things took a turn for the worse, when you were in so deep that you felt like you couldn’t escape. Perhaps it was out of pride, perhaps it was to shield him from the truth, or maybe even in a way yourself, not admitting to the fiend you had welcomed into your own bed, creating some false reality as a coping mechanism. 

Averting your gaze, you then uttered softly, “I’m really sorry dad,” gliding your right thumb over the jagged edge of the counter as you gripped onto it with both fists.

“Ah, it’s fine,” he waved a hand, “you’re young, out there living your life. You shouldn’t have to check in with your father every few seconds. I am aware that you’re 29 after all. Although, you know I wouldn’t be a pose to just a little bit more…” he winked, playfully bumping the side of his hip against your shin before picking up the speed of the whisk once more, “so, did I forget it’s my birthday or did you just miss your old man?” his jovial glance flickered between you and the batter. 

“Can I stay here a while? I just need some place to,” lay low, “figure things out, you know?”

Whisk halting, his gaze upon you grew in concern, “of course you can, honey. Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“I’m okay, I just–, uh… needed a change,” not looking him in the eye, you spoke, “I don’t know to where or what I’m gonna do next, but I do know that I don’t wanna go back,” you felt a lump of emotion swell up in your throat, “and I won’t just stay here for free, I’ll pay you rent,” you tried to appease the stubborn sensation of being a nuance to everyone, even to your own kin, “though I don’t really have any money right now, so I’d have to get a job first, but that’s fine, I’ll figure something out–” 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous,” your father cut you off, “you can stay here as long as you want, it never stopped being your home even when you moved away. Still keep your room exactly the same, just in case,” he offered you a warm smile, his silver moustache stretching wider, “how about you just give me a hand around here, huh?” 

“Alright,” you exhaled, “deal.”

His grin turning more mischievous, he then noted slyly, “you know I’ve always dreamed of you taking over this place one day, running the family business…” 

Rolling your eyes, you chuckled, “not this again…”

“Just think about, you could–”

“Dad, I’m not gonna take over the inn! Running a place like this isn’t what it used to be back when your parents opened it up. You might have always been dead set on taking over it, but I haven’t.”

“I know, I know,” he gracefully backed down again as he always did, “you want adventure, isn’t that what you called it when you went away for college?” 

Adventure… it was that kind of philosophy that had sent an innocent young girl into the arms of a devil…

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[m0chisenpai]

sprung

˚｡⋆ mike schmidt x black!fem!reader

in which mike finds himself sprung for the school's librarian that abby raves about. the iconic sunshine x grumpy pairing

Mike would love to know just what was enough to catch Abby's attention in school for her to leave her backpack at school, and just what possessed him not to check her as soon as she hopped into the car. Now here he was having to do an entire u-turn and rush back to the school before the teachers left out.

Thankfully a teacher was walkign to her car right when Mike had shoved his car into two parking spots and jumped out the car with Abby trying to keep up.

"Leave something behind?" The woman asked offering Mike a sympathetic smile.

"Yeah, uh do you know if Ms/Y/L/N is still here?"

"Oh yes, she keeps the library open just a bit for the stragglers." The woman gives Mike the directions but Abby takes the lead immediately, her hand pulling Mike along as he tries to avoid the looks of teachers brushing by.

"She's super duper nice. On Fridays she lets us get a treat from her jar and read, I sit on the pillows by the window cause it gets warm and I take a nap......"

It's unusually quiet for an elementery school, save for Abby's stories, till they reach a pair of open doors and a voice that could only be attributed to warm milk and honey pulls him into the library. It smells of aged books, the late afternoon night pours through the windows which are filled with plants and crafts.

Abby disappears through one of the rows of the bookcases and Mike finds himself trying to as quietly as he can catch his sister. "Abby!" but one of the kids shushes him and he grumbles sharply whispering for his sister again.

When he's finally out the maze of books he's in front of a carpeted area where children sat on a plush grassy green carpet watching who he assumed was Ms.Y/L/N. She was anything but what Mike expected her to look like.

Librarians were suppose to be mean old grannies. Old women who looked decades old and bitter. Not beautiful angels with a voice like yours that read the frayed fairytale book that you held with the most absolute of care balanced upon your crossed knees with poised grace.

Your glasses sat too perfectly on the curve of your nose. Your hair was pulled into a low bun in the back but your bangs were curly and framed your face.

"Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't. And contrariwise, what it is, it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would. You see?"

Your eyes looked up and fell onto Mike who sheepishly held up his hand in a pathetic excuse of a wave which you enthusiastically returned. You dropped a bookmark in the book and leaned forward.

Had he known he would be meeting this mysterious beauty he would have made an attempt to shave and fix his mess of a curls that sat disheveled on his head.

"Alright loves, silent read for me while I help this new friend out ok? Or you can rest your eyes in your bubbles" the children disperse or cozy themselves into worn beanbags or at small tables littered with crayons and half finished pictures.

You stand up and meet Mike halfway with a warm smile, "how can I help you sir?"

"My sister left her bag here" Mike whispers and you hum with a tilt of your head.

"What's her name?"

"Abby."

"Ahh so you're the infamous brother in her pictures" your smile lights up. "She speaks so highly of you. And her drawings are filled with you too." Mike gives a nod and his lips turn upward into what he hopes is a charming smile though it feels more like a grimace and he hopes that he isn't screwing this up.

Geez what was she telling you, Abby had no filter on her mouth. She spoke mind freely. A bit too freely, but at least she was opening up more. "She's not giving you much trouble is she?"

You quickly wave a hand between accompanied with a shake of your head. "Not at all, Abby's a wonderful girl. Lovely imagination too, i couldn't imagine her being any trouble at home."

"You should see her after school" and your giggle gives Mike hope back that you aren't convinced he's some grumpy parent. "She talks about you all the time." That definitely didn't sound stalkerish.

"Good things I hope?" You ask holding his gaze. And he smiles a small step closer.

"All good, and then some." And now you're finding yoursef, pulled into those big warm brown eyes. Is he leaning in? Are you? You don't know, because you're snapped out this trance from the fast pitter patter of feet.

"Got my bag Mike!" Abby skips over to his side. "Thank you for the extra book Ms.Y/L/N" she steps forward wrapping you in a hug whihc you quickly return.

"Of course, let me know what you think of the ending I think you'll love it" you give her a playful wink. "And it was a pleasure meeting you,Mr.Schmidt."

"Call me Mike."

"Alright, until we meet again Mike" and you turn on your heel to return to your seat, a gentle sway to your hips, legs crossed with the book resting on your knee once again. Abby has to tug on Mike's hand multiple times to get him to finally turn his back. Your gentle voice continuing to read the fairy tale.

"She's single ya know?" Abby hums as she swings their arms.

"Mind your business" Mike grumbles and Abby only giggles. Cause when she looks up at her brothers face, he's got a sense of relief in his eyes at this piece of information.

[spooky-nyx]

Meet ✨Gatorade✨

Gatorade is a bit of a follower, always caught as an accomplice in some sort of trouble. Like the time they were caught biting people alongside Boogie "🦈Shrog🦈" or the time they broke into Lazarus's potion lab to taste their favorite newfound drink 💚Swampwater💚 While they claim they were never there, cameras and witness testaments all put them at the scene due to their iconic look of sporting a crochet crocodile skin🐊

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Update: While I was initially planning on opening an Etsy furby clothing store I ultimately had to decide against it. Simply put I just cannot crochet fast enough to be able to keep product prices low. And in general, just have serious burnout still after completing school. It was a learning curve but I'm happy I decided to keep my hobby a hobby :) Ofc anyone is welcome enough to replicate my designs <3

[artemesianerdmom]

I made the Pink Cake from The Official Stardew Valley Cookbook!

This cake was an experience to make. I’m not a stranger to baking cakes and making frosting from scratch, but this recipe threw me several curves that I didn’t expect. It had three parts: the cake, the frosting, and the jam filling. I followed the recipe exactly (even going as far as finding farm fresh duck eggs!) and I wanted to share my thoughts on the finished product.

The cake itself is super spongey and has a nice crumb to it. I think this is likely due to the duck eggs, but also to the reaction of the acidic buttermilk with the basic baking soda. It was also a little on the dry side, but that was probably my fault as I left it in the oven for a bit because I was sort of terrified of the unpasteurized eggs and wanted to be sure it was cooked all the way through!

I have always wondered what this cake would taste like because the in-game recipe calls for melon. The jam filling between the layers is where the melon factors in: watermelon, to be precise. I think if I made the jam again I would cut back on the lemon zest because the lemon largely overpowered the watermelon and strawberry flavors.

The iconic frosting gets its pink color from ground up dehydrated strawberries. I thought that this would give it a nice strawberry flavor, but I could barely taste the strawberry when I sampled the frosting on its own. The frosting is very creamy and has a lovely texture, though! If I make this frosting again, which I definitely plan to for some of my other favorite cake recipes, I might add a couple drops of strawberry extract to enhance the flavor a bit.

All in all, the different components of this cake come together quite nicely. It was not overly sweet, much to my surprise, but it was very fruity. The jam in the middle ended up being my favorite part, even despite the overpowering lemon. I also wasn’t wishing for more strawberry flavor in the frosting once it was on the cake because there was so much else going on in terms of complex flavors.

This recipe was good overall, and I can honestly say that I’ve never tasted anything quite like it. That said, I don’t think I would go to the trouble of following the recipe exactly again unless my kids ask me to someday down the line. Which, at that point, I might as well shape the cake into a duck and decorate its head with popcorn because there were moments when this recipe almost broke me.

A couple of notes for anyone who might be thinking of making a Pink Cake of their own:

-2 duck eggs = 3 chicken eggs

-buttermilk: you can buy it at the store pre-made, or just add 1 tablespoon of white vinegar per 1 cup of milk and let it sit for at least 10 minutes

-make sure your butter and cream cheese are at room temperature, not melted! Just put them out on the counter a few hours before you start baking

Update:

Despite what I said earlier, I actually did make this recipe again. I had to use up my last couple of duck eggs somehow! I made a few tweaks, though, and I wanted to share them here!

Jam: I didn’t even add half of the listed amount of lemon zest this time. I recommend this 100%, as now I can actually taste the watermelon and strawberry instead of just the lemon!

Cake: I made cupcakes instead of a full sized cake this time!

This recipe made 24 standard sized cupcakes. I baked them for 21 minutes (starting at 18 and then adding a minute before checking with a toothpick each time).

[gamercats-fight]

Morgana from Person 5 vs Krampy from Cattails: Wildwood Story. Vote for your fav!!

Need help picking? Check down here!

Morgana - P-Studio - 2016 - Anthropomorphic tuxedo cat:

-If we’re including his abilities in Mementos/Palaces then he has a clear advantage of being able to use his persona to cast spells as well as fight. He also uses a curved sword and a slingshot. If hurt he also has healing spells. His appearance in this form is mascot-esque, but don’t let his big head fool you—he’s quite agile. Having a persona at all grants the wielder extreme abilities. Fast enough to dodge lightning, take incredible damage and even able to fight against gods. This strength is only granted in places they can summon their persona, i.e. not the real world.

Even in his cat form while in the real world, he is extremely dexterous: able to pick locks. He’s also taken a kick from a guy and having a metal briefcase land directly on his head following a bit of a fall. Not altogether impressive but still something for a cat to endure. He’s also smarter than the average cat, giving him a nice advantage.

He does eventually become human in Persona 5 Royal, but is just a cat at the end of the original game.

-He can turn into a car and run over any competition. He’s a master thief and fought god once. Also he has a slingshot.

-1: THIS CAT IS A HEALER! He gets the best healing spell in the entire game and when I got it on him, I don't think he ever left my party

2: THIS CAT CARES ABOUT YOUR HEALTH AND WELL BEING! It's become a meme at this point, but Mona wants you to go to sleep >:(

(P5 Spoilers Beyond this Point)

3: THIS CAT IS THE COLLECTIVE HOPE OF HUMMANITY! It's explained late game, but Morgana was created through the last scraps of humanities hope against the false god that the party eventually fights

4: THIS CAT EXPOSED A MURDERER! Its not important but the scene IS funny so I feel obligated to mention it.

THIS CAT IS YOUR BUDDY AND I LOVE HIM AND WILL DEFEND HIM WITH MY DYING BREATH!!!!

-Everyone hates him for the stupid “go to sleep” mechanic + some of his issues with another character but he’s such a good boy i love him so much. he’s always with you, helping you out and supporting you! plus he’s so little brother coded oh my god. baby. baby boy. spoilers for p5: also he’s literally the manifestation of hope like guys. hope is a cat. hope is stored in the cat.

Krampy - Falcon Development - 2023 - Gray tabby medicine cat

-He's so autism

-Cattails is like Stardew Valley for warrior cat fans, and Krampy is a fan favorite for several good reasons. He's a kind of eccentric medieval doctor who also has trouble relating to other cats because of his weird experiments and love of leeches, but that passion also makes him very charming as a character. He's got a tendency to ramble and tell long stories and is just really wholesome all around. Also he wears a plague doctor mask which is just a really cool design choice.

-The iconic doctor of the Mystic Colony. Who doesn't want a medicine cat with a plague mask?? And they are a real character too. Some of their best quotes:

"“Actually, I don't believe we've been introduced. I am Krampy the doctor, and don't worry! I am not a bird. Although when I had that concussion, I did think I was... ... What was I saying again?"

“Greetings young kitten. Do you mind if I put leeches on your tail? It's for science. And, I think it would be funny. Or I could do it to myself... But then what will I do tomorrow?"

“I think you should wear a beaky mask, it will protect you in this world. I wish not to see my friends hurt. Although that is bad for business... bit of a double-edged sword. Don’t get hurt too often!”

“You have the worst-smelling miasma I have ever smelled! I can smell you from miles away! Why don't you roll in some garbage? - It can only improve your odor, and you end up where you belong!"

[hospitalterrorizer]

diary486

1/25-26/25

saturday - sunday

up too too too too too too too late right now!!

working on music though. want to try and get a better guitar sound quickly on something...

not so quick but whatever. today has been good. it's all kind of fleeing from me now though i'm so tired. not a very eventful day save for the last little bit here where i've done up 3 songs, 2 now have basslines added, as well as overall sounding better. i think one has a guitar sound that is a little too 'near' the listener so i have to add some distance and i don't wanna mess with the mics on the cab sims so i think what i will do is do a bit more high passing on it, i think it has too much there.

i will transcribe my dream from my notes app now:

levels akin to donkey kong i was part of a family we were all sucked into a game or were playing a game or were part of one unknowingly? can't tell. vague. it was strange though, less like donkey kong maybe just like any platformer where the levels are mostly different kinds of places in nature. it felt somewhere between an snes game, a shitty dos game with huge chunky pixels, and real life. one level was a sledding level, we got up to dig something out of a hole, a giant and old tree, there was nothing beneath him, he begged us to not but we did anyways. snow was thawing on the path down the mountain, some parts huge tracks of mud, had to try and remain on the snowy path through the whole level. game ended upon finding a lost member of the family, a brother, but thinking of the dream now i can't quite tell, did we go into the game and materialize him in the first place, create this relative, or was he lost in the game. upon finding him, the game was claymation now, like those earthbound promotional images, maybe a touch rougher, the surroundings were of cheaper stuff, plastic trees etc., he was trapped on a tropical island, he had to come out of the game to put some double back inside (but now i think, was the double unleashed by the game, cannot tell, could not tell then either i think), he seemed sad to live again. a spinning purple cube, absorbed us all, placed us back in the real. the island was so tiny, 4 palmtrees, some tinsel-y bushes, couple people guarding him. he came through and the virtual him went peacefully. after this, someone told me a story, unrelated to these people. in arizona he went to a little town and got in trouble for staring. he said the town was situated in the 'glove' of arizona, a massive ravine where from another state a range of mountains sank into a long finger shaped rut or crevice, wide enough for towns and things, a long finger of god laid in clay set in the kiln. it took up half the state. arizona was nevada shaped and its southern border apparently touching idaho now, where the mountains crossed from to create this feature. in the rocky place a couple towns, we scrolled on google maps searching for the place he was trying to show me, we came across it shown as an icon of its most famous structure, originally a buddhist altar of some kind, featuring deities of all kinds, gods of houses and things, local deities convening for a greater sort of worship or something, it was the size of 2 cathedrals maybe, in width and length, shorter though, flatter with very few interiors, shapes of angkor wat, big spires and those beautiful curves, delicacy all across the stone, the gods were painted, matte blues of their skins, the same shade as the sky in the summer, all in that central worship region. near completion though, the designer of it decided he needed this to be for jesus, and so crosses appeared upon it beside all this everything else, gothic arches to more open sky, the sensation of stained glass captured in the shadows it cast with its odd shaped spires, some turned a little more gothic. at the summit of steps at the main altar area, two protruding round doors, metal with circles on them, like little armor plates, iron and bronze and without decoration, from the depths of torture chambers, one supposedly held the bloody corpse of jesus, the other an empty iron maiden awaiting anyone who would desecrate this true corpse with their eyes. he told me about staring for a long time at the two doors (behind this altar, sky, it was bloody and hot and the clouds were white snaking things between the spires of the structure), knowing one was empty and the other was not, and still incapable of making a move from a strange fear. explained he was raised by the strange faith that precipitated this building, both buddhist and christian, parents who could not find sure footing in any faith, he didn't believe anymore but the fear was still there.

a figure came up behind him, from a farm across the street, picturesque kind, red barn and hay and neat rows for crops, a little dusty and apocalyptic, pitchfork and straw hat and i could see him in overalls with the red setting sun behind him or not behind him truly behind the walls of the ravine the town was set in, they could not have seen the sun itself set, only that dazzlement in the skies where long red and radiant shafts finger at clouds turning them to bruised things, a sky of equal intensity to the strange worship place. the man said people with piercings should not go there. friend left. gf and i wanted to see this place, made her mom drive us. when we got there there, there was a large parking garage and beside this main structure a series of disks with painted animal statues/characters, holding the disks upon their backs, a spiral staircase through the center of that thing. they seemed like the kind of animals you would find in old archeological digs, clay pigs and red squat angry horses with bared teeth and wide eyes, all of it was stone. people were here, taking photos, wandering, not so many the place felt unspecial, it just felt how it had to be. i don't know. it felt like how a place that way would have to be. people would have to be there, a surprising amount of people in a relatively desolate place, making the desolation and uncanniness more apparent. a nearby stripmall, selling fried food, we went. a strange local kept touching my gf's hair, i told him to stop twice then hit him in the head with a water bottle, a plastic one, it made a conk sound. he looked shocked and hurt and waddled away. we were briefly afraid of the police. in the first part of the dream, it came to me writing this out after waking that this happened: we ended up in a cute cafe somewhere in the space of the game world, but it also felt real, perhaps it was a simultaneous thing, it had things about how awful men are all over, books and things on the wall, etc., someone seemed hurt and i wondered about that, something else came then to me:

the plastic uniformity of pine trees in the dream... legolike, arranged into disks until you get close, too close, right before the thing it blossomed into total detail.

that's that dream. i am probably going to become preoccupied with this worship-thing. and the town. it had a sensation like how the fallout games make the desert feel. does that make any sense? empty and strange, accurate desert feelings.

here's a lovely song. i hafta sleep though, not much to say though,

so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[apocalypticavolition]

Let's (re)Read The Eye of the World! Chapter 39: Weaving of the Web

Something something spoilers.

Something something the entirety of The Wheel of Time, not just book one.

Something something block tags.

Something something read the books.

Something something chapt--

No wait this part I want to put effort into. This chapter's icon is the Lion of Andor once again, because we're still in Caemlyn and Rand is about to be diving skull-first into the lion's den.

Mat glowered from where he lay curled up in a ball on his bed. “Take that Trolloc you’re so friendly with.”

STFU book 1 Mat. Rand, if he needs a bath so damn bad, throw a full bucket at him for comments like this. Throw several buckets at him, then blind him with more lightning. All must love Loial or else.

Herbalists and hedge-doctors were lying low in Caemlyn right now; there was talk against anyone who did any kind of healing, or fortunetelling. Every night the Dragon’s Fang was scrawled on doors with a free hand, sometimes even in the daylight, and people might forget who had cured their fevers and poulticed their toothaches when the cry of Darkfriend went up.

It's impressive that Mat is literally being corrupted by a source of evil that is some equal yet opposite to the source of all other evil and yet he still isn't the most paranoid asshole in the city. The Whitecloaks are stirring this up of course, proof that they as a faction completely suck, but between the winter and the False Dragon it didn't take much.

“Don’t know his name. Just heard about him. I hear most things in Caemlyn, eventually. Beggar.” The innkeeper grunted.

Oh right, Fain's in town. Still, Mat's not even the SECOND-most paranoid asshole in town. Really, Caemlyn is all kinds of fucked: the dagger and Fain within, "strange shapes" outside the city, the Whitecloaks flowing in and out... This city takes beating after beating in these books. There's a noose tightening around Rand and he's barely paying it any attention.

“Watch your back today, man.” Lamgwin’s voice sounded like gravel in a pan. “When the trouble starts, you’ll be a handy one to have here, not somewhere with a knife in your back.”

I suspect that Rand had to have the accident he's about to have to keep his dumb ass from ta'verening the riot into some sort of coup. All the crazy accidents he causes most of the time would really be the last straw.

Today, Caemlyn celebrated a victory of the Light over the Shadow. Today the false Dragon was being brought into the city, to be displayed before the Queen before he was taken north to Tar Valon.

I feel like there's something here, with this false Dragon and soon-to-be former Queen (and soon-to-be false Amyrlin) being the thing that everyone has their eyes on while the real Dragon meets with the future Queen and the real Amyrlin (either Siuan or Egwene works) is miles away. Elaida's Foretelling in particular seems like an echo of the one Siuan received long ago. I just can't quite string all the parallels together.

No one would have dared do such a thing two days earlier. More, Rand realized, the men who had done the bumping wore white cockades on their hats. It was widely believed the Whitecloaks supported those who opposed the Queen and her Aes Sedai advisor, but that made no difference. Men were doing things of which they had never before thought. Jostling a Whitecloak, today. Tomorrow, perhaps pulling down a Queen?

It's never said so, but I feel very much that this is some of Rand's ta'veren, the way that these dudes who should feel like they're on the same side are all sniping at each other.

Where streets in the New City mostly ran every which way in a crazy-quilt, here they followed the curves of the hills as if they were a natural part of the earth. Sweeping rises and dips presented new and surprising vistas at every turn. Parks seen from different angles, even from above, where their walks and monuments made patterns pleasing to the eye though barely touched with green. Towers suddenly revealed, tile-covered walls glittering in the sunlight with a hundred changing colors. Sudden rises where the gaze was thrown out across the entire city to the rolling plains and forests beyond.

Frankly something about this construction sounds almost impossible. Too many angles, too many heights. It feels like navigating a city designed by M. C. Escher. Wish I could live in Caemlyn!

The ragged man paused on the far edge of the street. His cowl, torn and stiff with dirt, swung back and forth as if searching for something, or listening. Abruptly he gave a wordless cry and flung out a dirty claw of a hand, pointing straight at Rand. Immediately he began to scuttle across the street like a bug.

One of the reasons I never much liked Jordan's statements that Fain was unique and had "side-stepped the Pattern" is moments like these, where his presence in Rand's life seems like a necessary ingredient to victory. If Fain hadn't scared Rand so much here, he wouldn't have ended up at the palace. Sure, some other coincidence might have happened (and he hasn't been Winded yet, so you could argue that he's still mostly on track here), but every major Fain moment in the series seems as intricately necessary as other major events that don't involve him instead of anything feeling off-script. I'll talk about this more as we go forward.

The beggar would not give up; he was sure of it, though he could not say why. That ragged shape would be working its way through the crowds at that very minute, searching, and if Rand returned to see Logain he ran the risk of a meeting.

I think Rand's certainty here is him twigging off of the alterations Fain's had that make him more Shadowspawn that the average Darkfriend.

The face of the wall had been left much in the natural state of the stone, the huge blocks fitted together so well that the joins were nearly invisible, the roughness making it seem almost a natural cliff. Rand grinned. The cliffs just beyond the Sand Hills were higher, and even Perrin had climbed those.

Ladies, gentlemen, those who transcend the petty binaries of mortals, meet the shittiest construction in the entirety of the Third Age. A wall whose only purpose is to allow one idiot farmboy after another climb the wall like they're lemmings with a power-up. It's a miracle Perrin never actually ends up doing it, since Jordan establishes right here that even he could. Why did they build this wall? How many people have taken advantage of it at one point or another? Can I blame Thom in some way to make sense of this absurdist bit of architecture? Yes that seems best. It's Thom's personal "fuck the queen while Damodred's at the front gate" wall. Maybe other sneaky lovers have used it over the years.

His clothes seemed ordinary, a cloak and coat and breeches that would not have caused comment in any farming village. But the way he wore them. The way he held himself. Logain was a king in every inch of him. The cage might as well not have been there. He held himself erect, head high, and looked over the crowd as if they had come to do him honor. And wherever his gaze swept, there the people fell silent, staring back in awe. When Logain’s eyes left them, they screamed with redoubled fury as if to make up for their silence, but it made no difference in the way the man stood, or in the silence that passed along with him. As the wagon rolled through the Palace gates, he turned to look back at the assembled masses. They howled at him, beyond words, a wave of sheer animal hate and fear, and Logain threw back his head and laughed as the Palace swallowed him.

Logain's being so clearly important despite being captured is nice foreshadowing for the way he'll sidestep the fate the Tower has planned for him. It also explains why so many people were willing to follow him, if he had such an air before capture.

Though it's not clear yet, Logain is laughing because he has the Talent to see ta'veren and Rand is so much ta'veren that he can see him from this distance. I'd always assumed this Talent is what Logain's controversial TV show line was referring to, Nynaeve being ta'veren in that canon and standing much closer to him, but maybe I'm crazy. It's been awhile since I saw season 1.

I have gotten my Fire Cube working again though, so maybe I should finish my rewatch to refresh myself? Eh. I'll probably just read butterflydm's a few dozen times and call it good and pretend that rewatching Bojack six times in as many weeks is healthy instead.

“Why were the Aes Sedai watching him?” he wondered aloud. “They’re keeping him from touching the True Source, silly.” He jerked to look up, toward the girl’s voice, and suddenly his precarious seat was gone.

Aww, Rand and Elayne have a meet cute. Rand nearly getting himself killed and barely dodging a concussion is a way better start to their romance than Min's creepy routine.

Sadly, Rand being knocked unconscious means we're done with this chapter and there was absolutely no Loial in it. It's an absolute travesty and I don't think Jordan's fixing that in the next chapter either. But we'll find out tomorrow!

[ambreiiigns]

Yes tell me about "rick's crybaby backstory"! I didn't think this was a backstory type of show, that's exactly what I'm curious about! And what do you mean evil morty?? Tiny rick? Beth clone? Toilet episode? Pissmaster????? What is going on lol

YAYYYYY THANK YOU BUCKLE UP SORRY FOR TAKING A DAY XX HEHE

rick's crybaby backstory. that's what he calls it. he had wife (diane) and kid (beth) for whom he was going to give up science entirely (big deal for a rick, apparently he's the only one who was willing to do that !) enter Rick Prime. remember how the multiple realities and multiple versions of characters is a big plotpoint. yea. this Other Rick shows up and tries to get our rick hooked on interdimensional traveling but he refuses! bc he says it sounds lonely! ARGH so prima kills his wife and kid. oh well. we Later find out he's been killing everyone's diane and in fact invented a device that allows you to kill evert version of someone throughout every dimension. so rip diane forever and ever

so our rick goes on a revenge spree. he invents his own portal gun - apparently every other rick borrows their portal gun from prime who's the only one who built it himself. besides Our rick. and starts tracking prime down killing a bunch of other ricks in the process. so many in fact that those remaining build. the citadel of ricks. stay with me. it's like. idk a space station something where a bunch of ricks and their morties live and or stop by to mind their business. whatever. so this haunt for rick prime and killing himself over and over is what eventually gets our rick, who was gonna choose his family and human connections over science and adventure, to be as jaded and nihilistic and Alcoholic as every other rick before and after him. f in the chats for my man

so when the premise of the show is "rick had abandoned beth as a child and randomly crashed into her garage and settled down w her a couple of decades later" we know that's Wrong and that he's been on a quest to avenge her and her mom for all those years. aight. now it also ties into the overarching Plot of rick and morty bc during his quest to kill rick prime our rick also got in general trouble w the Galactic Federation who's like. big ass space government. and made friends w people who want to overthrow it. so he helps fight it yippie. this is how he meets my BELOVED birdperson and squanchy The Boys™ gang gang. we don't have time to discuss that rick's in love w birdperson maybe next time. the federation seems to be permanently dead rn if you care

by evil morty i mean THEE mvp i think some of the most iconic episodes revolve around him he got fed up w his rick and almost killed him put like some computer shit inside of him to control him like a little mechanical puppet. slay. then he went on to. become president of the citadel. slay. and revealed his Final Plan of killing a bunch of ricks and morties to create a portal that would get him out of the. my god. central finite curve. which we find out it's basically. every universe in which rick exists as the smartest being. evil morty's Evil Plan is simply to get out from under ricks' collective thumb and live by himself for himself. there's like a whole morty black market around the universe bc ricks use morties GOD I DON'T WANNA GET INTO IT IT'S SUCH BULLSHIT ACTUALLY but evil morty is my sweetheart he was right he did nothing wrong. he had a convo w our morty that knocks your tits clean off that goes like "if you've ever been sick of him you've been evil too" or "he's attached to us infinitely through his weakness and our forgiveness" like it slaps. it slaps i'm sorry what can i say

i feel like i end up talking too much abt rick when i love morty so much more but ofc the old man who goes on space adventures has more to be said abt him than the 14yo boy. but i do love him to death he's had such good if slow growth he's such a. victim to rick lmao even tho we find out very early on that ricks are usually SO much worse to their morties but he's been growing balls! he tells rick off now and finds him annoying and gets mad at him and all that! i love to see it. in fact rick is just as attached to morty at this point. it's so cute to see. grandpa's little buddy FUCK yeah and the other ricks make fun of him for that HA

tiny rick is. one time he turned himself into a teen and went to school w morty and summer. i like that bc he became pathetic and kept admitting he's Sad. beth clone is umm whenever we find out beth is in fact her father's daughter and is probably just as clever and violent as he is he proposes to make her a clone that will watch after jerry & the kids while she gets to go on space adventures like he did. and she doesn't decide she lets Him decide but instead of deciding her fucking. randomizes it so now there's a SUPER FUCKING COOL SPACE BETH RUNNING AROUND BEING BADASS and her own dad doesn't know which one is the original. top 10 most pathetic rick moments. the toilet episode good lord rick has a special planet where he shits and some alien guy finds his special shitter and rick gets really mad at him. the guy tries to make friends but rick refuses until guy Dies and then it's sad. it's sad. pissmaster episode? EVEN FUCKING SADDER it's like rick has a bunch of random enemies that bother him pissmaster being one of them jerry fuckin Destroys him and it's so humiliating that pissmaster. kills himself and his daughter's looking for him and it pulls at rick's weak spot so he. dresses up. as pissmaster. and sets up this fucking. suicide mission where he saves people from a bomb but dies in the process to kinda. give pissmaster a. proper sendoff. give his daughter closure. you know. it was SAD OK!!!! IT WAS REALLY GOOOOD

[missionaria-protectiva]

Jacaerys remains unsure as to why; was it the way your ankle sometimes wobbled when you curtseyed in front of his mother or his grandsire the King, back in your youth? Or the way that smile only seemed to grow under the dim lights of the Red Keep - your hair, done quite elegantly by one of the many ladies who had once tended to you, torn away from its restraints and ribbons as you ran down the halls with trickling laughter, dogs at your ankles and Lucerys trailing after you. 

the fact that he noticed so many details and peculiarities about her 🥺🥺🥺 he's too sweet

The day you hit his Uncle Aemond, striking his cheek with a wooden toy and receiving twelve lashings as punishment? 

OUCH, but also how iconic of her!! 😌💅🏻 slay, queen

[...] and then the other one, the eldest; the heir to your Lord father. He had a laugh much like yours, though was much more reserved.  Jacaerys found him easy to converse with, showing him Vermax and hiding a huff of laughter when the boy’s eyes widened in poorly-concealed fear. 

🏳️‍🌈 ?

You grew into quite the strategist when your family fought a resurgence just last year against a rival House; his Queen mother desires your mind and your presence in her council in the days leading to war. 

OH, as a political animal myself, I LOVE THIS!!

He'd been struck by the woman you've grown to be - not only the curves of your hips, nor the graceful smile, nor the spark in your eyes - but the mind so valuable his mother sent the Prince to deliver you to the council. You’d been proud, dressed elegantly in an intricate gown, bowing graciously with a grin that grew when he kissed your knuckles, the wind whipping your hair the same way it did in your youth.

he's down bad, someone fan him!!

It is with irony you say this: Jace remembers all the troubles of your youth; the Pink Dread, the toads under pillows, the hide-and-go-seek games you played (one-sided as always) with the kingsguard. 

oop, CLOCKED

He repeats your name with a small smile and a nod, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary before he looks away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as you continue down the stone path. 

good lord, the yearning is SURREAL

"We shouldn't," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, the words laden with both desire and caution. 

no, we should

THE SLOWBURN IS FUCKING SLOWBURNING

“We won’t.”

Jacaerys’ lips are warm and insistent against yours; heated, in that way your desire has spurred you, but still shy - a glimpse of the boy he is, who likely has had very few romantic trysts just as you haven’t. Your arms wrap around him as you press up onto your toes, his embrace tightening against yours as he deepens the kiss.

AYYYOOO IT'S HAPPENING!!! you had me in the first half, not gonna lie

“Thank you, for…” He clears his throat and you cannot fight the flush on your cheeks. “Showing me around.”

nice save, Jacaerys

this was sweet and wholesome yet full of yearning and tension at the same time, YOUR MIND, I've been FED

your writing is so elegant and delicate, darling!! I love it 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

˗ˏˋ Honeyed ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x queen's advisor!fem!reader words: 4.6k synopsis: “After we heard news of your success in the rebellion, Her Grace was eager to have you sit council with us. She seems to remember you quite fondly.” He says honestly, “She believed we would get along quite well.”  notes: switching povs; can be a oneshot, or perhaps i'll make it a short series. follows a non-canon timeline/events; Jacaerys is not betrothed to Baela. characters aged-up to 20/21. warnings: canon-typical mentions of war, kissing, allusions to smut. Jace is kinda horny and very flirty. unedited. that's all. feedback is appreciated <3 requests open. masterlist

JACAERYS VELARYON IS WELL ACCUSTOMED TO RECEPTION FEASTS.

In fact, this is the first time in several moons where he has yet to feel slightly taxed at the experience of one; roasted meats, glazed fruits, vegetables with garnish, ale… 

People, too - always fluttering around benches outstretched before some great hall, he and his family perched at the forefront, as if on display for those to gawk at. 

Of course, this time, he is alone. 

The great hearth that sputters and licks in the corner of the hall casts long shadows upon the chalky walls; no great beauty, perhaps, but this castle is indeed very alluring. He can imagine many fond memories could be made having grown up in a place like this. 

Jacaerys watches the girl in his peripheral pour another goblet of ale; a servant offers to pour it for her, but she waves them off with a shake of her hand, smiling nearly as warm as the fire which eats away at her backlit shadow. A girl he’s known since he was just a boy. 

You. 

Your name rings in his head; He’s always found you quite interesting. 

Jacaerys remains unsure as to why; was it the way your ankle sometimes wobbled when you curtseyed in front of his mother or his grandsire the King, back in your youth? Or the way that smile only seemed to grow under the dim lights of the Red Keep - your hair, done quite elegantly by one of the many ladies who had once tended to you, torn away from its restraints and ribbons as you ran down the halls with trickling laughter, dogs at your ankles and Lucerys trailing after you. 

Perhaps the way you spent hours, sitting quietly with his Aunt Helaena, threading needles through fabric and listening to her bizarre cadence dance in the breeze. The day you hit his Uncle Aemond, striking his cheek with a wooden toy and receiving twelve lashings as punishment? 

You and your brother grew up in the Red Keep just as the others - not as frequent as he and his Aunt and Uncles, but still, you remained - with your Lord father as a member of the King’s council, your laughter oft echoed through the hallways of his youth. 

 The quirk of a lip, the flicker of an eye. 

When Jacaerys was just one and ten, he met you for the first time. It had been on an eve cold and miserable - the summer storms in the crownlands could be confusing and harsh, boasting days of rolling thunder and a torrential pour from the heavens that would have windows boarded and children gathered round the hearths. 

You had three brothers; two younger, plump things that would squirm in the ladies’ arms and couldn’t yet speak - and then the other one, the eldest; the heir to your Lord father. He had a laugh much like yours, though was much more reserved. 

Jacaerys found him easy to converse with, showing him Vermax and hiding a huff of laughter when the boy’s eyes widened in poorly-concealed fear. 

You, if ever having a lick of that same fear, never dared show it on your face. Though you were but a mere girl, barely one and ten yourself, there had been no trace of a quiver when Jacaerys had taken your palm and led it towards the huffing, roving snout of Vermax; indeed, there had instead been some honeyed warmth in your eyes, alight with interest.

That day was quite long ago. From what he understands, your Lord father relocated back to your ancestral home just shortly after Jacaerys’ mother returned them to Dragonstone - your father died shortly after, and your brother has ruled Lord since he was fourteen. 

But it has been nearly seven years since Jacaerys last saw you, he supposes - as he is now one and twenty; and now, in just three days’ time, you will return with him to Dragonstone. 

His arrival was swift this evening - less chilly than the day you’d first met all those years ago, Jace wasn’t nearly shivering - but Vermax was tired and hungry, and he’d found himself feeling quite similar. 

They, of course, knew the reason for his visit: You grew into quite the strategist when your family fought a resurgence just last year against a rival House; his Queen mother desires your mind and your presence in her council in the days leading to war. 

It was your brother, the Lord, with his wife who’d accepted Jacaerys; you’d been there, too, standing beside him with the rest of your siblings and your mother. He'd been struck by the woman you've grown to be - not only the curves of your hips, nor the graceful smile, nor the spark in your eyes - but the mind so valuable his mother sent the Prince to deliver you to the council. You’d been proud, dressed elegantly in an intricate gown, bowing graciously with a grin that grew when he kissed your knuckles, the wind whipping your hair the same way it did in your youth.

Yet you’re no child now. 

Jace chances a glance down the table again, seeking you once more. Your body is turned, conversing with the young girl who pours your brother’s ale beside Jace; A laugh echoes through the hall at some murmured joke you tell her. 

He’s once again astounded by your beauty.

Your hair is braided away from your face, skin reflecting gently in the firelight - the gown you’ve donned is intricate, with your family’s sigil sewn into the breastpiece; the hemline of which dips low enough for a fierce heat to grow over his cheeks as he takes in the supple and forgiving skin that shines gently when you laugh. 

Jacaerys forces himself to take a large gulp of ale, relishing the chilled beverage as it slides down his throat - a brief respite from the heat that has begun to gather in his abdomen as you tilt your head, catching his gaze from the other side of your Lord brother. 

He could swear his heart stops when one of your eyes, alight with some misbehavior, drops in a slow wink - a color upon your cheeks that he is unsure is from the heat, the ale, or something else entirely. 

He surely knows what his own blush is from. 

Nails dig into the carved wooden chair below him - how must he be expected to endure such sweet torture for days with you on dragonback? Never mind, the subsequent days in which you will reside with them on Dragonstone as a new member of his Queen mother’s council? 

“My Prince,” you call from your seat, gathering the attention of your brother as well - Jace’s attention is given to you fully and immediately as you tilt your head, “are you enjoying yourself?” 

He nods curtly, swallowing as though caught. "My apologies, I seem to have been lost in thought," Jacaerys replies, thankful that his voice remains smooth and measured despite the momentary distraction. He sets down his goblet, eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary; such beauty has always captivated him, and it makes his cheeks impossibly warmer when your brow lifts tauntingly.

"Indeed, the feast is quite wonderful.” He adds, “Your House’s hospitality is renowned, as always."

The Lord’s eyes twinkle some mixture of pride and amusement as he nods, "It is our duty to ensure our Royal guest feels welcome.” He turns to you, then, “As my Lady wife is quite sick at the moment, I might ask my dear sister here to show you the grounds and your quarters after our meal - if it is not too much.” 

You glance at your brother with a mock sternness. "Too much? You speak as if I'm prone to causing trouble, dear brother."

It is with irony you say this: Jace remembers all the troubles of your youth; the Pink Dread, the toads under pillows, the hide-and-go-seek games you played (one-sided as always) with the kingsguard. 

The jest in your eyes brings a smile to both Jacaerys and your brother. The man beside him chuckles, his demeanor lightening; "On the contrary - trouble seems to follow you like a faithful hound, doesn't it?” 

Your eyes, in a bashful glance towards Jace, reveal the honeyed state of your eyes; they seem to melt, with some steely devotion holding you upright. He can see why his mother is fond of you.

“But Prince Jacaerys is more than capable of handling it - in fact, I’m worried to recall in our youth, he may have been the one to encourage it." A jest - well-meaning, good natured; Jace laughs, shaking his head as the Lord claps his shoulder. 

He is not the boy he once was; duty matters, now. You and Jace are to be joint members of Queen Rhaenyra’s council - you must act like it. A lingering voice whispers in his mind, persuading as your eyes land on his - perhaps duty can wait until you land in Dragonstone.

You bite your lip when Jacaerys offers his arm to you; taking it delicately, you smile graciously as he bids the members of the feast a farewell and lets you guide him softly into the castle’s halls. 

PRINCE JACAERYS VELARYON IS MUCH TALLER THAN YOU REMEMBER.

Granted, you were merely a young girl when you last laid eyes on him - then, still a scrawny boy who poked and prodded those blonde-haired beasts in the halls of the Red Keep; but now, as you gaze up at his strong jaw, the curls of dark hair that move in the gentle wind, you have to school the warmth that grows in your abdomen.

There is a silence that swallows your footsteps through the dimly lit corridors; the familiar scents of your castle – a mixture of old stone, polished wood, and the faintest hint of lavender – envelop you, reminding you of your childhood days in the Red Keep. It makes you smile, fingers itching to flex over the bicep that lies under your palm. 

“Much has changed since we were children,” you say softly, glancing up at Jacaerys in the quiet - his face is partially obscured by the shadows, but you can see the faint smile that plays on his lips. There is something in his face - the quirk of lips, the slope of his nose - that reminds you of his mother. 

“Indeed,” Jacaerys replies, his voice warm and low, “But some things remain the same.” He looks down at you, and for a moment, you feel as if he can see right through you – past the years and the changes, to the girl you once were.

It makes your cheeks redden, turning to look out at the walls of portraits, ignoring your very own face, stern and nearly regal, staring down at you as you end the hall. 

Your smile is soft as you catch his eye, "It seems you know, flattery will get you everywhere, Prince Jacaerys.” You tease, shaking your head. “I can see why your mother chose you to carry her diplomatic wishes.” 

“After we heard news of your success in the rebellion, she was eager to have you sit council with us. She seems to remember you quite fondly.” He says honestly, “She believed we would get along quite well.” 

It is an incredibly large compliment, one that you struggle to accept with grace. It makes you smile stupidly at the stone, carrying on through the castle with polite conversation on the local history. 

Eventually, you stop at a large wooden door, intricately carved with the sigil of your House. “These will be your quarters, my Prince,” you say, opening the door to reveal a spacious, elegantly furnished room. “It’s quite late; If you’d prefer, I can show you the gardens in the morrow.” You offer, itching for a chance to rid yourself of his company, if only to ignore the heat and desire that has begun to spin you into its web. The youthful crush and giddiness has returned with so much force it’s taken you in a whiplash, flushing cheeks and racing heartbeat - a girlish smile that cannot wipe itself from your face under his handsome stare.

A fire crackles in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room.

Jacaerys takes in the room appreciatively. “Your family’s hospitality is truly remarkable,” he says, turning to face you. “Thank you.” His voice is much deeper than you remember, of course, and it lights you with something near desire. Hunger, perhaps; in its peculiar ways. “If it isn’t a bother to you, my Lady,” he says, voice somehow soft under the glow of fire. “I’d like to continue. I’m feeling rather restless.” 

You smile, feeling a heat once again rise to your cheeks. “It would be my honor, my Prince.” You agree, torn between nerves and flattery, relief that he wishes to remain in your company for the evening. 

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours, as if hesitating for a moment, before speaking. “And please, call me Jacaerys. We’ve known each other far too long for such formalities.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. “Very well… Jacaerys.”

You resume your stroll through the castle - you tell him all you know of its history, as he has proven a keenly curious and attentive listener; though your mind begins to stray as you make your way into the castle gardens. 

In a few days, you will leave this castle. You will leave the Riverlands, to return with the Prince to Dragonstone - a sense of dread begins to settle in the pit of your stomach. The excitement of seeing Jacaerys again is tempered by the daunting task that lies ahead - joining Queen Rhaenyra's council is the greatest honor of your life, yes, but it is also a tremendous responsibility.

You glance at Jacaerys, who seems so confident and composed in the moonlight, and a wave of insecurity washes over you. Though you gained valuable experience during your House's war last year – strategizing, negotiating, and leading men into battle – this is different.

This is no war over plots of land and trade routes - this is a war that will determine the fate of the realm.

"What troubles you?" Jace asks suddenly, his voice gentle; as if he sensed your unease. You trail through a row of hedges shrubbery, and you notice how well the green agrees with him. The observation feels sacrilegious.

You force a smile, not wanting to burden him with your doubts - "It's nothing," you say, but he stops and turns to face you, his expression earnest.

"I can see something is weighing on you." He’s cordial, concerned as you meet his eyes once again, jaw clenched slightly. 

It feels odd, this connection - this mood, more somber and serious, is a sharp contrast to the jesting you’d delivered in the great hall nearly an hour ago. 

"I... I suppose I'm worried," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've had some experience, yes, but… I fear I might not be prepared for what lies ahead."

Jacaerys looks out to the white flowers that climb along the hedgeline. One ethereal hand, glowing in the moonlight, graces its petals softly.  "I understand," he says. "But Her Grace values loyalty and competence above all else. Traits you have grown to more than embody, my Lady.” 

The compliment is nearly too much; so you insist, with a soft voice, that he calls you by your name as well. 

He repeats your name with a small smile and a nod, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than necessary before he looks away, a faint blush coloring his cheeks as you continue down the stone path. 

"You must have seen many changes here over the years," Jacaerys considers minutes later, looking along the fine herbs and beautiful plants which sprout from the earth; you nod. "Indeed," you agree, grateful for the shift in focus. "This castle has a way of holding onto its past while still embracing the future." You gesture to a line of statues along the right of the path; your brother, the most recent and less attended by the degradation of time - vines with purple flowers curl around his chest like armor and you smile fondly. 

“A statue for the past,” you say quietly, eyes roving over your brother’s stoned face, flickering over to your late father’s, where a yellow flowered vine spreads over his own chest, “and a plant for the future.” 

Jacaerys looks rather touched at this. “And who chooses the flowers?” 

You smile smally, “Their wives. As a tribute to their heirs.” 

Jace stares, taking in the row of statues - the castle stony and large in the distance - just far enough to miss the music that fills the hall. A flicker of a breeze kicks a curl up from his temple; torn, your fingers nearly reach out to brush it off his horehead. Bizarrely, you can’t draw your eyes from his lips. 

“And you?” He asks after a moment; you freeze, heat clouding your cheeks. He clarifies after your look, clearing his throat and remaining facing the statue. “Are you… spoken for?” His voice is barely above a whisper, his gaze flickering uncertainly to yours.

Oh.

Your breath catches at the question, surprised by its directness yet unable to deny the thrill it sends through you. You hesitate, considering your response carefully - the tension you feel, that pull - it cannot be one-sided, you know that. But there are duties, there are diplomatic barriers. You wish you could tear them down without risking reputations. 

“I have not yet found someone to…” you clear your throat, cheeks heating. “No.” You gesture to the line of stone men, “Only the Lords and their Ladies remain in our garden, anyways,” you shrug with a small smile, willing your heart to stop racing over his attention. "Maybe I'll plant a vine elsewhere before I leave."

You begin to walk again, down the row of stony men who watch over you. In the silence, your burning curiosity gets the best of you. “And you?” you ask as you find yourselves in the center of the garden, besides the intricate fountain which trickles with water. 

It seems your question has caught him off guard - he blinks, lips parted as he stares at you. For a moment, you’re unsure if you’ve crossed a line - your heartbeat echoes loudly in the stillness of the courtyard.

"I... haven't made any such arrangements," Jacaerys admits, shaking his head with a small smile, voice low. Some heat - relief, or interest - blooms in your chest and you nod at him, pressing your lips in a small smile. 

He hums, seemingly turning the conversation away from the tense air around you. “I believe you will enjoy Dragonstone, though it must be hard to leave.” 

You swallow, considering - looking over the view, the wild grass, the flowers that peek up through the splits of ancient stone. It’s quiet in the dark, the moonlight glittering your gown as you smile wearily, “I suppose I’ll miss this castle very much. Though surely one day, I might return.” 

He hums, considering the view himself, illuminated in a holy light that has your cheeks hot. “I’d miss it, too.” He agrees, looking to the warm hall that still flickers with the lights of the feast. “This castle is nearly welcoming enough to forget the impending responsibilities."

You chuckle softly, your eyes meeting him with a spark of mischief, "Nearly? My Prince, I'd hate to think we're only 'nearly' at impeccable hospitality."

He smiles, a glint of amusement in his eyes though his cheeks glow a rosy hue at his slip-up. "Yes. It would be a shame if that were true," he concedes, his tone light, "But I remember all of your secrets in our youth, and your brother seems to believe you carry some of that tenacity still."

You flush, cursing your brother's teasing in front of the Prince.

"He enjoys embarrassing me, I'm afraid." You sigh, biting your lip. Prince Jacaerys quirks his own smile, tilting his head - a less regal, more boyish look that makes your heart flutter. "Still," He starts coyly, "there must be some hidden treasures you reserve here, my lady."

Your heart skips a beat at the suggestive undertone in his words; the Prince, Jacaerys Velaryon - bold, none the boy he used to be. Back straight, chin tilted as if there was already a crown upon his head, yet he speaks so freely about such private matters. It sparks your coyness. 

Thankfully, your brother is right; you do indeed dance with trouble quite well - especially when trouble comes in the form of a handsome, curly-haired prince. You lift a brow, matching his playful demeanor, "Oh, undoubtedly," you reply with a mischievous smile. Gently, you reach out, running the tip of your finger over his black doublet; his eyes stay on you as you trace the dragons inlaid in red over his chest. His breath catches gently at your motion and you can't help the surge of satisfaction. "But revealing all the secrets too soon would ruin the fun, don't you think?" You all but whisper. "Especially when our guest is so noble as yourself."

His eyes dance at your words, alive with some kind of desire. You wonder if it is repeated in your own gaze. Jacaerys dares lean closer, his voice a velvet whisper. "And if I'm a very impatient noble guest?” 

You swallow around your heart-thundering throat, shaking your head gently, as you close the small gap between you even more, until you can see the few freckles bore on the bridge of his nose, the slight plush of his lips. “It’s a good thing you are here for several days, then, my Prince.” You whisper.

He shakes his head gently back at you, a light mockery, but you’re stuck on the hook of his eyes that bore into your lips, stuck on how you can feel his breath against your forehead. “Jacaerys.” He corrects, watching you wetten your bottom lip. 

You hum, “Prince Jacaerys.” You mend, hiding a smirk as he licks his own lip, eyes cast down at you as if he cannot look away. You worry you cannot, either.

He shakes his head again as if stuck in a loop, curled strands of hair moving with the motion. “Jace.” He insists, brows furrowed gently. You watch his face in the moonlight, beautiful and regal. 

You smile coyly, “Prince J-” 

He shakes his head, leaning in closer until he is flush against your ear; shivers rove over your spine and you can no longer blame it on the chilly breeze of night. You cannot escape the smell of him - amber, some hint of smoke, leather, and distinctly Jacaerys.

His lips brush against the shell of your ear, “I thought I asked you to call me by my name, my Lady.” 

A deep heat of desire coaxes a sharp breath into your lungs at the sensation of his lips. You can almost feel his smile that grows against your skin as he feels your skin raise in small bumps of desire. "You know me well enough, don't you?" He asks once again.

You let out a stuttered breath; do you know him well enough? You certainly wish to. You are doused with the thought of your brother, of the Queen, of Dragonstone, of the war - you should not be acting like children, playing such games with each other. 

“Jace.” You relent, cursing how his name falls from your lips like sweet, molten honey; how you sigh out; how you take a step towards him to breathe in his scent once more. "We shouldn't," you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper, the words laden with both desire and caution. 

Leaning back, his gaze locks with yours; dark and intense. "I know," Jacaerys replies, low and filled with longing, his hand brushing against yours as his palm slides up your forearm. You swallow thickly, unwilling to be the one to pull away first; Though, what would people say? The Prince with you, neither betrothed or courting - about to depart to join a war for his own family's claim to the Iron Throne?

Such worries soon melt away when arousal swirls in your lower abdomen - his eyes take in your figure, roving slowly over your curves, eyes hungry with want and breath thick with desire.  

"We have…" you begin, voice trailing off with a gasp as you struggle to find the right words amidst the overwhelming pull you felt towards him; how his hand slides over your shoulder and moves to grasp your cheek gently.

A thumb, slightly calloused, graces over your skin with some kind of desperation, his eyes searching yours. "Duties?" he finishes for you, echoing that very diplomatic reason that binds you both.

"Yes," you agree softly, your heart racing as the magnetic attraction starts to suffocate you. He nods along with you, and you cannot help but let your head tilt up - towards those very pink and full lips, towards his whisper. “Yes.” He repeats, agreeing with you. “Responsibilities,” he whispers, and it is with a complete jolt to your system that you feel his words brushed gently against your lips. "We shouldn't." He agrees with you.

“We must keep level heads if I am to be a consultant to the Queen.” you say gently, your own hands landing on his chest, not pushing away but tugging, nearly shaking with desperation, to pull him closer. He lets you as he nods, “Your… devotion is admirable.” He agrees against your lips, “But...”

His words trail off as his hand moves from your cheek to the base of your neck, tugging your hair until your breath is tilted just against his lips, his other hand falling to your hip, pulling you closer. Heat thrums in the chill air, your bodies now a breath apart - the shrubbery and plants cease their rustling, the courtyard around you seemingly holding its breath.

"-But?" you whisper, barely able to contain the eagerness in your voice. One hand, adorned with jewelry, snakes towards the nape of the Prince’s neck, his curls thick at the nape - you cannot help the bout of curiosity.

You are rewarded plentifully when his eyes roll back and close momentarily as you tug impatiently on his curls, waiting for his words. A small groan that makes your heart pound and your legs weak. 

"-But," he murmurs, his voice suddenly much more husky with desire, "I find it…difficult to resist you."

His lips hover near yours, a magnetic pull, a scream of defiance against your shared words. You silently sigh in relief at the acknowledgement that most of the castle remains in the great hall still, nobody to witness the sins you might just commit.

"And I, you.” You admit, eyes fluttering shut for a moment, “We shouldn't," you murmur against his lips, even as your fingers curl into his hair, pulling him closer.

"I know," he breathes, his voice strained again with the circle game you play. You hold back a whine of satisfaction as his hand slides up to cradle your face, looking into your eyes. There, amidst the burning fire of his Targaryen blood - you find some molten, honeyed desire. It burns for you. “We won’t.” He affirms, your lips missing the warmth of him so close. 

You nod, unsure how the gap is once again closing between you; do you pull him by your grasp on his hair, his doublet? Or does he, hands strong and capable, tug you against him? 

“We aren’t.” You whisper, eyes flickering to the lips that you so desire. He shakes his head microscopically as he repeats against your own, “We aren’t.” 

But you are. 

Jacaerys’ lips are warm and insistent against yours; heated, in that way your desire has spurred you, but still shy - a glimpse of the boy he is, who likely has had very few romantic trysts just as you haven’t. Your arms wrap around him as you press up onto your toes, his embrace tightening against yours as he deepens the kiss.

The brush of a tongue, the sharp curbing of a short moan of desire. Your stomach does circles within you as his thumb soothes over your jaw, his large hands encasing your face. 

There is a shout elsewhere on the castle grounds, but it provides the jolt of reality that had disappeared from your minds. Still the kiss lingers, a blend of urgency and restraint against your lips and Jace’s, small smiles and bashful chuckles. 

If you’re not back to your quarters soon, there might be some questions - and as much as you love a small bit of gossip, you wouldn’t dare admit what you’ve just done with the heir to the Iron Throne. 

The thought makes you flush once more. 

With practiced grace, you look down; his forehead falls to yours as he takes a breath. You smile smally, “It is getting late; I believe the feast has finished.” You say, trying to ignore the rush of chill that finds you when his body slides a small distance away from your own. 

“Indeed.” He agrees, slipping back into his own gracefulness; chin up, eyes strong. You try not to let yourself go giddy at the memory of his hands on yours, or how he offers his arm to you with a small, knowing grin. “Thank you, for…” He clears his throat and you cannot fight the flush on your cheeks. “Showing me around.” He finishes, eyes glancing once more at the statue of your Lord brother across the hedges. 

You nod, grateful for the momentary reprieve from the charged atmosphere between you; a pleasant respite from the anxiety that has, admittedly, lessened after your conversation with Jace. "It was my pleasure, Prince Jacaerys," you reply with a hint of playful formality; His cheeks still blush that same pretty pink as when you were children. 

And as you begin to walk back towards the main hall, if you catch him sparing several glances at your visage, then so be it. 

After all, you will indeed be spending much more time with him in the coming months.

requests open. taglist open.

[beevelvet]

Varek Maddox (fictional oc)

Varek Maddox — actor. model. enigma.

He walks into the room like he owns the place, every inch of him radiating confidence. Those steely eyes flick over you, sharp and calculating, as if he’s already decided whether you’re worth his time — and you can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking the same thing about himself. His smile, part flirt, part challenge, curves up at one side, the kind that promises trouble, the kind that makes you lean in without even knowing why.

"I’m not here to be liked," he says, voice low and dangerous, like a whisper you feel in your chest. "But you’re going to want to get closer."

Varek knows what it’s like to have the world at his feet, and he doesn’t mind using that power to draw you in. His charm? Effortless. His touch? Electric. But behind the fame, the flashing lights, and the magazine covers, lies something darker — something dangerous, something real. His reputation precedes him, and it’s a reputation that haunts him as much as it seduces you.

You can sense it — the tension in the air, the silent dare. Will you take the bait?

Varek Maddox doesn’t play by the rules. He doesn’t need to. But you? You might just end up playing right into his hands.

Appearance — Effortlessly lethal

Height: 6’2” — tall enough to dominate a room without trying

Build: Lean and athletic — cut like a swimmer or fighter, not bulky but defined (you know the type: the veins show when it counts)

Hair: Jet black, slightly tousled, long enough to finger-comb back or fall into his eyes; sometimes styles it slicked when he’s feeling dangerous

Eyes: Grey with steel-blue flecks — unnervingly direct, like he sees straight through you (and likes what he sees)

Jawline: Sharp enough to make headlines — probably been voted “Best Jawline in Hollywood” twice

Tattoos: Discreet but lethal — a black snake coiled around his right wrist, faint script (Latin or something cryptic) on his ribs

Style:

Off-set: leather jacket, slim black jeans, rings on his fingers (especially thumb or forefinger), worn boots

On the red carpet: midnight-black tailored suits, no tie, top buttons undone just enough to scandalize

Personality Quirks — Why you can’t quit him

Voice: Deep, slightly rough — that kind of rumble that curls low when he says your name

Smile: Crooked half-smirk — says “I’m trouble and you’re going to thank me for it”

Habit: Flicks his thumb against his lower lip when thinking (drives people wild)

Signature line: “Careful. I bite back harder.”

Hidden soft spot: Has a weakness for stray animals (caught on paparazzi once feeding a street cat at 2 AM — denies it, but the photo is iconic)

Started modeling at 19 after being “discovered” in a bar fight photo that went viral (yes, that jawline even looked good mid-punch)

Transitioned into acting fast — turns out, the bad boy can cry on command and deliver Oscar-tier monologues

Constant rumors about his off-screen hookups, but strangely? No scandals stick. He’s untouchable

Has a feud with a major director (perfect RP rival material)

Grew up rough — working-class background, ran from home at 17 — never talks about his family

Secret passion: photography (he shoots black-and-white portraits when no one’s watching — another layer to bait RPers deeper)

Smut oc request him if you dare.

[frost-eyed-autumn]

✭: my writing might be lacking

❀: i’m shy to approach you

Pencil: I had to change Alice's fc so I don't have icons 😅

tell me why don’t we write together

{--Honestly I can promise you that if your writing was so lacking I didn't want to write, I wouldn't be following you back in the first place! I do actually scout out each blogs' writings and what they're capable of before I follow, aside from just reading their rules and muse pages. I know my personal writing style is more heavily multi-para / novella but I don't require people to always match my length as long as someone isn't just clearly being lazy / not trying at all. And practice makes perfect, right? Seeking out writing partners who bring to the table something I lack is how I learn to get better myself, personally!

And its fine to be a little shy! I know I can be a bit intimidating to some people but I really am pretty chill and easy-going so long as an individual doesn't really go out of their way to start trouble with me, and even then it usually takes quite a few trespasses and lack of a learning curve to correct course to really get on my nerves. I'm a little on the less social side with ongoing conversation but its really never a lack of interest, I'm just a pretty quiet dude tbh so small talk is a bit of a struggle for me. I'm more of a sidelines observer type.

And not having icons is really entirely a non-issue for me! They're nice for adding a bit of flavor to posts but we're here to write, first and foremost, so it doesn't bother me if you have no icons or graphics whatsoever!--}

[healeroflightanddark]

Ethereal Embrace, Chapter 4: Yuya's New Home

Zarc led Yuya through his castle, smiling at the pretty tomato’s expression of awe. It was obvious that he was incredibly impressed by everything he saw. The castle was nothing like what most mortals would imagine a demon to live in, it was a joyful and imaginative place without a single bit of fire or brimstone in sight.

Yuya had always imagined the demon king to live in a castle of black volcanic rock surrounded by a moat of lava with the smell of sulfur permeating the air. But this castle was a vibrant, whimsical structure full of lively colors, playful designs, and a festive atmosphere. There were lots of rooms dedicated to various circus themes, an acrobat room with trapeze-inspired decor, a clown room with colorful furnishings, a ringmaster's hall with opulent red velvet drapes. The hallways had funhouse mirrors and unexpected curves, creating an adventurous and entertaining experience for the boy. There were lots of spaces clearly made for games, performances, and magic shows integrated throughout the castle, encouraging interaction and engagement.

As the tomato followed the demon king out to the courtyard, he continued to be blown away by the delightful circus-like castle. It was painted in bold, cheerful colors, red, yellow, blue, and green, reminiscent of circus tents. The exterior featured stripes and polka dots, enhancing the playful theme. The rooftops mimicked the iconic shape of circus tents, with pointed spires and canopies that flared outward. Each tower had colorful flags and pennants fluttering at the top. 

The castle featured whimsical sculptures of circus animals, clowns, and acrobats adorning the exterior, strategically placed to create a sense of movement and excitement. String lights and neon signs illuminated the castle in playful shapes, like stars and balloons.

“You like your new home?” Zarc asked, noting the delighted expression on Yuya’s face. Yuya just nodded dumbly, too excited by the castle to speak. His ruby eyes shined brightly as he looked around. Zarc was pleased with his reaction, “Good! Because this castle is all yours! I made it just for you! Luckily, you stayed unconscious long enough for me to rearrange the castles and get yours set up to surprise you!”

Yuya looked at him in surprise. “You mean… this isn’t where you live?” he asked. Zarc chuckled and ruffled his tomato fluff. “No, but I do live right next door to you. And Yuto, Yuri, and Yugo all live right next door too, in their own castles.”

“You mentioned the name Yuto earlier,” Yuya recalled. “He was like me, right? Someone else offered his soul for a deal instead of their own. The guy who wanted to be a famous artist, Alexios?”

“Mhm!” Zarc said, pleased that Yuya had been paying attention. “And Yuri and Yugo are the same. Yuri’s soul was offered by someone who wanted to replace him in life. The dealmaker didn’t realize that Yuri was mistreated and hated and feared by everyone who knew him, and ended up being murdered a few months after taking over his life. And Yugo’s soul was offered by an orphan in the same orphanage he spent his whole life in, in exchange for being adopted. Which she got, but the people who adopted her only did so to have a live-in babysitter for their twelve biological kids.”

“Oh wow,” Yuya said softly. “I feel bad for them. Not the dealmakers, I mean. Just Yuto, Yuri, and Yugo.”

“Don’t you worry, sweet Yuya,” Zarc said, smiling at him. “They all live very spoiled and pampered lives, enjoying their hobbies and being treated like princes. Just like you will!”

“What kinds of hobbies do they have?” Yuya asked curiously.

“Well, Yuto loves creative activities, like painting, sculpting, pottery,” Zarc replied. “He particularly enjoys making things relating to gothic themes, like phantoms and specters. Yuri enjoys gardening and making flower arrangements. He has trouble expressing his true feelings in words, so he prefers to make bouquets of flowers with symbolic meanings to communicate his honest emotions. And Yugo lives for mechanical activities. Recently he’s taken an almost obsessive interest in motorcycles. All three of them actually caught my attention even before their souls were offered to me. Yuto was a painter in his lifetime, and his artwork was incredible. I was able to get ahold of some of his original artwork before Alexios could pass it off as his own. Yuri was an incredible gardener and his topiaries and garden sculptures were absolutely breathtaking. He lived in the Renaissance, so his garden work was quite popular. Meanwhile, Yugo lived in the Victorian times, so mechanical engineering was starting to become a thing. Yugo could make practically anything mechanical from a bit of scrap metal. He was finishing up making a clockwork ballerina doll that could actually dance rather well when I first saw him. And of course there’s you. My pretty little performer. I’m glad you’re mine. Now I can hear you sing all the time!”

[vector-art-bundles]

The Crow Vector Portrait - Brandon Lee | Graphic Design Package: An Immortal Work of Art in Darkness

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The vector portrait included in this package captures the very essence of Lee as Eric Draven. Every line is drawn with surgical precision, every shadow meticulously studied, all converging to evoke not only the physical appearance but also the troubled soul of the character. The eyes, deep and tormented, gaze beyond the surface, piercing anyone who dares to meet them, delving into the depths of their soul.

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