#bc. BC. THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE TWO. FROM THE COLOURS TO THEIR EXPRESSIONS

[immamapletreekid]

tonight i am thinking about the covers of volume 12 and 36 of hxh

[hatkuu]

dw i AM slowly returning to my kylar roots...imagine kylar walking in on you wearing his hoodie...i think he would scream and faint and die. he would be so torn between wanting you to keep it forever bc you look so cute and wearing his clothes in public would affirm that you belong to him but also wanting it back so he can smell it and breathe in your scent (and not do nefarious things with it)

hngnnggg yeah im glad ur coming back to ur kylar roots... i missed you nica please come rave about kylar's cock with me again :'(

uuuggghhh especially if you make it out to be something innocent like you spending the night at his house (bestie kylar sleepover....) and it gets really cold!!!

gen! reader and m! kylar utc <3

Kylar hates the feeling of water against his skin. It never really sticks, or cleans anything. His skin is overly sensitive, flaring up against his will if he scrubs too hard or uses any scented soaps. He's given up on making himself attractive to others, and yet—

He's hiding in the bathroom while you're cuddled up in his bed.

He thought he'd be all over you, panting and drooling, lapping at your lips until they parted just enough that he could taste you. Maybe you'd face him, breathing in his exhales and sharing oxygen with one another until you fell asleep. Or... Maybe you'd face away from him, letting him guard you where you're most vulnerable, baring yourself in a way that you've never let anyone else see you. He'd be unable to resist you, then. He'd drool onto your hair, mindlessly grinding his cock against you until you wake. You'd help him out, as graceful and kind as you are—you'd turn to face him, burying your face in his neck and clinging so tight that his chest would burn. Not from legs wrapped so tightly around his waist. Only from the sheer love and affection you're spoiling him with—something he hasn't felt in so long.

The faucet before him groans, on the brink of filling up the sink. Kylar has the mind to turn it off before his whole body locks up.

"Ky-Ky? Are you okay...?"

He hears your sweetened tone from beyond the bathroom door, your knuckles gently rapping at the wood to gain his attention. So cute. Of course you'd check if he's okay! He stumbles to the door, fumbling with the lock as his wet hands slip against the door handle. You're probably so lonely without him! He's upset with himself for losing track of time and leaving you alone in bed when the two of you could've been snuggled up against one another. He finally unlatches the door, breathing heavy at the prospect of you being just behind the thin plywood.

The door slams open and Kylar's smile falls from his face.

You're now wearing a hoodie. He's kind of disappointed that he won't be able to touch as much of your skin. The hoodie you're wearing looks worn. It's fraying at the sleeves, stained various different colours at it's front, he's never actually seen you wear it before so it can't possibly be new—

His hoodie.

You're wearing his hoodie.

You fiddle with the sleeves as you speak, shyly looking at your feet while he gapes at you. "Sorry... It got cold while you were in the bathroom. I can take it off if you want?"

You look so cute. So very, very cute that Kylar can only stare at you, open-mouthed. He thinks about what it'd imply if you started wearing his clothes at school—no, even better if you just wore his clothes entirely—maybe he should offer you a pair of his sweatpants too, in case your legs get cold. He thinks about it, but then looks at the deliciously smooth skin of your thighs, and decides against it.

Kylar shakes his head quickly, commiting the image of you in his hoodie to memory. "N-No! It's fine, um, you can raid my whole wardrobe if you like... Haha..."

Kylar makes a note to start stealing more of your hoodies and long-sleeved shirts, just so he can see you in more of his.

You stare at him for another second, smiling at the cute expression on his face. Then your smile turns upside down into a confused pout. "Why's your face all wet?"

Kylar blushes choking on his own embarrassment, tugging you back to bed. "I brushed my teeth," He lies, tucking you in as he crawls in beside you, covering the two of you with a worn-out sheet. He purposefully hid the other thicker sheets underneath his bed so the two of you had no choice but to cuddle for warmth tonight. He smiles as you roll over, bidding him a quick goodnight before shuffling your rear painfully close to his crotch. You grab one of his arms, pulling it over you before yawning softly and closing your eyes.

"Goodnight, my love." He mumbles into your hair, voice addled with sleepiness.

He leans forward, burying his face in your hair and the soft hood of his hoodie. You smell good on your own, but you smell even better mixed with the scent of him. Like he's claimed you.

[ackerfics]

FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter five: the birth of the golden (wc: 9.1k) | masterlist

tw: poorly translated valyrian bc i used a translator online. forgive me.

117 AC

There is a reason why Aegon loves his name day.

People seem to remember him when the Grand Sept’s bells toll to start the one-week celebrations across King’s Landing, as expected of the first son of the King. The gates open to dozens of wheelhouses carrying the high nobles of the realm and the Keep has never been more colourful, housing each intricate combination of hues the Houses bear. Servants scurry among the floors of the castle to make the events as extravagant and fitting for a prince who the King begged the gods for, shipments are received in the docks for the banquet spreads to be laid out for a week, and fittings for new royal clothes are made each passing minute (Aegon wants to barf out his meal just to escape from it because apparently, the girls have their own fittings, so it’s just him, Aether, Aemond, Daemian, and Daeron). Mother won’t be breathing down his neck to pay more attention to his lessons and be more like Aemond, who has expressed a growing interest in history (a boring thing, if you ask him). Father won’t look at him like he is a passing face in the castle; for once, he gets to be a son. 

Excitement ignites each limbal ring of his eyes, mixing in the light of the sun between the tendrils of cornflower blues he possesses, because on his name day, it’s not his half-sister, Rhaenyra, they greet with jovial cheer in the Keep, it’s him.

But his tenth name day is not about the first son of King Viserys.

It unfortunately revolves around a little Prince that isn’t him.

Aesira has been a constant in the life of her first cousin once removed (she’ll call him his nephew anyway for her own sake) ever since he was born.

Jacaerys Velaryon is the name that he carries but his colouring is neither of his parentages, that much is true. Aesira is not blind; she can see that there is no shed of anything Targaryen in that little body of his except for the glint of something purple within his brown eyes when the light touches them perfectly. As a babe, his features hadn’t settled in; but as he reached two name days, the curls of brown framing his face and the button nose adorably sitting on his face is very much a reminder that he is not trueborn like Aesira and her brothers. Yet her cousin, Rhaenyra, looks at him like he is the light of his life — pride in the crinkles around her eyes and love lacing every bit of her smile.

It is also during these times that Aesira feels a palpable emotion that is completely unfamiliar to her.

Among her and her siblings, Aesira is the only one who maintained a connection to the Heir of Uncle Viserys, which lies in affable smiles exchanged in passing, knowing glances whenever someone mentions the paintings and tapestries plastered on the Keep’s walls, and understanding squeezes around smaller hands as a Lord points out how similar the two look in certain angles. How bittersweet it is when this string tying them together stems from something so inevitable and cruel, crafting a masterpiece so beautiful that many people remark it to be as precious as the titles they carry — The Realm’s Delight and The Flower of the Realm. The two are often seen walking together in the labyrinth hedges of the gardens when their schedules are kind enough to allow them, donning contrasting colours on their dresses as if they are from different Houses altogether. It is a sight when they grace the castle with their combined presence — both of which embody the ethereal beauty only Targaryens can achieve.

However, it is during these meetings with Rhaenyra that Aesira sees how much the Heir dislikes anything related to the Queen, the animosity radiating in the slight curl on her top lip when she breathes a word related to the most powerful woman in the realm. When Aesira revealed that the dresses she had in her closet were all commissioned by the Queen, Rhaenyra sent a few of her old dresses, the colouring as bold as her character — all reds and blacks and so Targaryen. When she mentioned a word about her tea sessions with the Queen, her gracious cousin proposed having daily outings of their own in the gardens, promising an abundance of their favourite cakes and more gossip happening around the court. She once shared her observations with Aether and her brother had the gall to laugh it out, comparing it to his petty rivalry with Aegon whenever they had their fights. Now that she sees it from both sides, Aesira surmises that Rhaenyra and the Queen’s indifference and anger at each other aren’t that much different from Aegon and Aether’s dynamic (but the latter pair always goes back to being partners in crime). She is not as clueless as she seems; she can see the longing in the Queen’s eyes when she stares at Rhaenyra too long and the affliction hanging over Rhaenyra’s head when she is around the Queen.

It is one Lady Redwyne who told her that the two women cementing roles in her life held a rare affection for each other while they were in their childhood. A pleasant surprise that sparks Aesira’s interest. Their relationship became strained, according to Lady Redwyne, when Uncle Viserys announced to wed the Queen during a Small Council meeting. It became the thinnest of threads when something scandalous involving someone so roguish happened in the middle of the night. Aesira didn’t have to ask who this someone was when the glares from the other Ladies landed on Lady Redwyne soon after. Of course, he was a part of it. Now, the court Ladies are silently dividing themselves between the Heir and the Queen, gossiping about the next big story and betting on who will win an argument if one ever surfaces. While they giggled behind their decorative fans about the recruits for the City Watch, Aesira was left mulling over the information she just heard, answering questions when they were only addressed to her.

When little Jacaerys was born, a hesitant Queen Alicent went to visit the babe with Aesira in tow, offering their congratulations to the married couple. Aesira held her hand the entire time to prevent her from picking on her nails, a habit that the girl noticed from the moment they had their second tea session. 

That unfamiliar emotion bubbling in her stomach started tickling her insides during this visit.

Rhaenyra, while wearing faux pleasantries upon facing the Queen and her inquiring gaze, looked so different when staring down at Jacaerys. Aesira never imagined her bold older cousin being this soft around someone, especially after hearing her badmouth every single thing she hated in court. She never realised it back then but it was the start of the change happening within Rhaenyra — a change that was dipped in nostalgia. Mother wore that look when gazing at her and Aether. Gone is the Rhaenyra who accompanied her to the gardens and gone are the daily meetups involving cake.

It started bubbling again when she heard the Queen grumble about the defining features morphing Jacaerys into a toddler.

Brown hair and brown eyes and the swish of a gold cloak following Rhaenyra’s every step. Aesira gives it the benefit of the doubt. She knows about the lineage running in Lord Laenor’s blood — parts of Baratheon courtesy of Princess Rhaenys.

But everything seemed to change when she happened to witness Ser Harwin Strong gazing upon Jacaerys with the same love painted in Rhaenyra’s eyes while the toddler stood on wobbly feet during his attempted walks — Rhaenyra’s little group gathering in the gardens for the joyous moment. When the treasonous thought forms in her mind, she took that time to look at Lord Laenor, seeing the exact proud emotion on his face when he cheered for Jacaerys to reach him in his small, baby steps. The sight burned her eyes and throat. That ugly emotion is painting her in the same shade of green the Queen prefers having on her gowns. While not looking like a trueborn Targaryen, Jacaerys has a father that will never leave him and a mother who will never die from childbirth. It’s unfair. Aesira looked down, swallowing the onset of bitterness covering her whole figure, hating the fact that she happened to enter this specific area of the gardens during an intimate moment shared by a family.

“Jace, where are you going, my boy?” Lord Laenor’s voice echoed in Aesira’s ear when she turned around to choose another area of the gardens to read her book. “Can he even walk that fast at this age?”

A small body wrapped around her skirt, stopping her in her tracks.

“Aesira?” Rhaenyra asked.

Aesira slowly looked down at the one responsible for preventing her from getting out of this mess. A gummy smile beamed up at her, little specks of white peeking through the grin. She blinked in place, her hands wringing with the fabric of her skirts. There were bound to have creases after this encounter. The number of times she saw Jacaerys was when he was still swaddled. Now reaching his first name day, the boy was growing into a little boy who would be a menace now that he learned how to walk.

Right when she was about to gently pry Jacaerys’s hands off of her clothes, she heard the smallest, most adorable voice calling for her.

“Thira!” Jacaerys cheered with a pure smile, bouncing on the heels of his feet.

Rhaenyra grunted from the bench, pushing herself to stand while placing a hand on her pregnant belly. “It seems like he adores you.”

“Thira!”

Aesira stared at Rhaenyra for a good minute. The small hands clutching her dress tightened, shaking her to capture her attention from The Realm’s Delight to the babe staring at her like she placed the stars for him to point out. Maybe that was what she looked like to Little Jacaerys’s eyes — a star maiden glowing with the sun’s halo around her head as he stared at her ever so adoringly. Lord Laenor chuckled from his haunched position on the ground, amusement pushing his head to shake from side to side.

She tilted her head, now fully looking at Jacaerys, who seemed to shine brighter now that she did. “Hello,” she greeted.

Jacaerys giggled, an endearing sound that lightened up their area of the gardens. “Hello!”

Masking the unfamiliar feeling and replacing it with polite cheer, Aesira let go of her skirts and turned to the little Prince craning his neck to fully see her in all her glory. She gave the adults behind them a questioning glance. Once she got a smile from Rhaenyra, raised eyebrows from Lord Laenor, and a neutral expression expected from a knight, Aesira picked up Jacaerys off the ground and balanced him on her hips. The babe squealed at the new person carrying him that wasn’t his mother, father, or the sworn sword assigned to protect them. The hesitance in her actions resulted in jerky movements that were unbelievable for someone who started caring for her baby brother when she was a child of five name days. But this babe wasn’t her Daemian. The scent on little Jacaerys was completely different yet so similar to her brother; as well as the feeling of him in her arms contrasted with Daemian’s calm nature. Aesira never realised that she was starting to bounce Jacaerys in her arms until the babe erupted into giggles again. 

“I believe this is the first time we have ever interacted, Lady Aesira,” a deep voice pulled her attention from gazing at Jacaerys’s gummy smile to a man with beautiful dark skin and tight white locks. He placed a hand on his chest, bowing at her by inclining down his chin. “Laenor Velaryon. It is a pleasure to meet the little Lady everyone has been raving about in court.”

Aesira curtsied with Jacaerys in her hold. “It is my pleasure to meet one of the honourable knights who braved through the War for the Stepstones. You did the crown and throne a great service — may the Seven bless you, good Ser.”

Lord Laenor bellowed a hearty laugh. “The Ladies must have been floating in your praises whenever you’re with them, my Lady.”

“I was merely saying the truth, my Lord.”

“Huh,” Lord Laenor hummed. “He has no shed of himself in you, I presume?”

“Laenor,” Rhaenyra cut in.

“What?” The Velaryon Heir swivelled to give Rhaenyra a look that showed he wasn’t following until the Princess narrowed her eyes at him. His expression didn’t change even after turning around to face Aesira again. She knew better — this man held every right to show contempt for the same person she hated. He was, after all, the brother of the young Lady Daemon has taken away to Essos, never to be seen again by her family and friends. It was almost a tale of romance fit for novels. Aesira had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from scoffing from the depth of her thoughts. Lord Laenor shrugged in a nonchalance that was innate to every man hailing from the nobility. Aesira figured this was him trying not to make the situation heavy with the topic he was walking on like a tightrope. “It’s so refreshing to see his child be so different from him. Must be the Arryn in you, huh?” He raised his hands in the air. “I’m going to shut my loose lips before I find myself on the other end of someone’s pregnancy hormones. Forgive me for bringing him up, my Lady. I, myself, have expressed what I felt about him way too many times and all of them were not nice.”

So, she was correct. Lord Laenor didn’t like her father as much as she did. 

“Thira!” Aesira felt her cheeks being patted by smaller hands and pudgy fingers. Jacaerys had his adorable face scrunched up. “Me!”

“Pardon, little Prince,” Aesira murmured, brushing her nose against his, which resulted in another round of pleased giggles. “I’m looking at you now.”

Lord Laenor chuckled at the side. “I believe we are witnessing the start of something remarkable.”

The Lady Targaryen nods her head in agreement. “Yes, seeing Prince Jacaerys walk earlier made me remember the time when my little brother did it for the first time as well. It is quite remarkable.”

“That’s not quite what I mean.”

“Laenor,” came Rhaenyra’s stern voice.

“Sorry, Rhaenyra.” A large grin pulled on Lord Laenor’s face. “I was merely stating the obvious.”

It was at that exact moment that Aesira received a wet kiss on her lips, the giver of the token of affection laughing while clapping his hands. Warmth and nostalgia blanket her in a cocoon existing only to enclose her and Jacaerys in this speck of one’s afternoon. Without her control, Aesira genuinely smiled at the little Prince, even if it was as small as a twitch.

Rhaenyra sighed. “I’m sorry for having Jace come to you without any warning.” She walked toward Aesira and her son, her hands cradling her belly, and back straight with the weight of the realm on her shoulders. She didn’t forget to give Lord Laenor a look that had the man retreating to where Ser Harwin was stationed with his hawk-like eyes. Rhaenyra didn’t hesitate in running her hand over Aesira’s hair, her fingers hitting the butterfly slips nestling on either side of her head, which served as the only ornament and style decorating Aesira’s hair. “Nevertheless, it warms my heart that he has taken a liking to you.”

“I don’t mind it, cousin, and it warms my heart as well that he likes me.”

And during her tea sessions with the Queen, Aesira asked what was bothering her the whole time, “Is it wrong for me to hate a child, Your Grace?”

Alicent looked up from her cup of calming tea. “Little one?”

She remained spaced out, simply staring at a piece of honey cake. “There’s this ugly, unfamiliar emotion brewing inside me whenever I look at Jacaerys. It is mostly when I see him getting love despite not looking like me and my brothers.” Aesira met the Queen’s wide eyes. “Am I a terrible person?”

“Oh, sweetling,” the Queen’s touch is filled with care, “it is normal for children to feel envious of others. There is nothing wrong with feeling this way.” So, it was Envy who was responsible for her feeling mixed emotions around Jacaerys. The Queen was having none of her looking away. She tipped Aesira’s chin to affectionately pinch her cheek. “Don’t ever think that you are lacking love in this lifetime. My existence disproves your negative thoughts.”

Aesira looked down. “But he has a father.”

The Queen’s bottom lip jutted out in that signature pout she carried whenever she was troubled. “A mother’s love equals that of a father’s. What matters most, in the end, is how you will blossom with the love that was given to you when you were young. It is up to you, little one, to decide how you choose to live your precious life.”

So, she douses the small spark of envy in her, and becomes a constant in Jacaerys’s life until more firewood turns it into something bigger and different that she has no choice but to let it burn her from the inside out.

Aesira finally finishes her gift for him — a handkerchief embroidered with a golden dragon, topped off with his name in an elegant cursive that took her an entire day to perfect (and days to practise). Helaena is a blessing to have with her during her sewing lessons with their Septa; the younger girl already mastered looping the needle through thick fabrics with her fixation, boasting pieces that depict the most bizarre and most beautiful insects she discovered in the gardens. It was also she who suggested learning how to sew a dragon, providing no explanation whatsoever except that she saw it in her dreams. Since Helaena knows more than she lets on, Aesira trusts her judgement and finds herself with prickles of blood on her fingertips and nights spent in front of her fireplace to figure out the proper loop making up the dragon’s neck.

And here she is now, carefully running her thumbs over the material, while waiting for her handmaiden to finish styling her hair.

The door opens and the Queen enters in one of her emerald gowns, her crown sparkling in the natural light filtering in Aesira’s solar. “I’ll take it from here, Belinda,” she directs her words to Aesira’s handmaiden.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Belinda curtsies before smiling at Aesira. “My Lady.”

Aesira returns the smile. “Thank you for helping me with the dress, Belinda.”

The handmaiden's lips quiver in a more heartfelt beam. She is replaced by the Queen’s softer hands and brighter disposition. The woman gathers the entirety of her hair and runs her fingers through the waves, smiling at Aesira through the looking glass.

“I always love doing your hair,” the Queen wistfully states, “that and putting clips in Helaena’s.” She chuckles, never looking away from weaving her fingers through Aesira’s tresses; molten white-gold that is almost otherworldly, a piece of molten sunlight on earth. The Queen eyes the various accessories littering the vanity, most probably from Belinda laying everything out before trying a style that will match Aesira’s dress. It is a pale blue piece that is more tulle than anything, the sleeves draping down in a bell shape down to the girl’s elbows. The skin on her wrist is decorated by a couple of bracelets to make up for the lack of an entire sleeve. “Do you want something simple or an updo, little one?”

“I would very much prefer a simple style, Your Grace,�� Aesira answers with a smile. “I want Aegon to have his day.”

The Queen squeezes her shoulders, a wordless sign of gratitude, before twisting and pulling out strands of hair from a section she parts. Aesira doesn’t even feel anything while the Queen does her task. The slightest bit of prodding she feels is from when a series of flower pins are inserted into her hair. It’s times like this that Aesira truly feels at ease, her eyelids drooping by the second. With her head slightly tilted down, she lets herself be enveloped by the Queen’s occasional humming.

“Do you like it, little one?” The Queen asks while putting on the finishing touches to her hair — a forehead circlet that falls gently on her skin. It is all she has. While the rest of the royal family bear their tiaras and crowns, Aesira is the only one in her siblings to have jewellery that mimics the diadems commissioned for the princesses and princes of King Viserys and Queen Alicent. The aquamarine gemstone is sparkling with every bit of regality Aesira has. Her hair is done in a half-up, half-down style, with some sections on her head shaped to become small roses, and in between every one of them are accessories that Uncle Viserys gave her — bundles of iridescent flowers in one. The Queen takes her silence as a positive reaction, her shoulders pulling back in pride. “You are a delightful sight, little one — one of the prettiest girls to ever grace the halls.” The woman can’t help herself; she places a small kiss on the crown of Aesira’s hair. Her eyes catch sight of the handkerchief in between a flustered Aesira’s hands. “Is that a present for Aegon?”

Aesira nods after collecting herself. Sometimes, she gets lost every time the Queen gives her affection. “It’s not much but I hope Aegon will like it.”

The Queen makes a noise in her throat that is awfully like a snort. “That boy loves everything involving you. I’d be surprised if he begs for a gift from you. Just your presence might be enough for him to last the entire name day celebrations the King arranged for him.”

“It’s my first time embroidering something this special, you see. There are mistakes like this one right here,” Aesira lifts the handkerchief so that the Queen can see the little tangle between three threads. “Hel helped me through some of the process so I pray to the Seven that he doesn’t see the parts I struggled with.” She looks up to meet the Queen’s pretty brown eyes (she loves looking at them; the shade is very different compared to the usual purples she sees every day from her brothers). “But I highly doubt that my presence is enough of a present for him when he’s always excited for his name day since I knew him. He’s particular with this specific name day compared to the others, though.”

“I think I know the reason why,” the Queen casually says, her head slightly tilting to the side to assess any stray strands in the girl’s hair.

Aesira moves to fully face the Queen, turning her body to do so. “I believe I don’t follow, Your Grace.” She is usually not privy to Aegon’s little secrets (or the secrets that he chooses to share with her) but his vibrating excitement to this name day doesn’t come into light whenever it’s just the two of them; even Aether doesn’t know about why their friend wants to enter into the double-digit number so badly and that’s saying something. The only person who knows about it is Helaena, which is a first. But the girl said Aegon didn’t tell her, with the boy supporting it by saying that the Princess was being weird again. She knew about it because once again, she dreamt it in her deepest slumbers — one of the rare moments where she doesn’t wake up screaming and crying. “He didn’t say anything to me or Aether.”

“You recall what the Septa said about finding eligible brides when you reach a certain age?”

Oh, so, it’s this moment. “Aegon is going to be dancing during the feast to find his potential betrothed. Septa Marlow briefly told us about it.” She remembers the meaningful, levelled look the Septa gave her while she was reciting the words as if they were ingrained in her brain with how many times she has repeated it through the years — Septa Marlow is older than any of her guardians at the moment. “She mentioned that maybe the King might push him to pick a fair maiden to be his first dance for the feast but it should be a calculated choice because the court would start spreading stories about it.”

The Queen appreciates her quick thinking by pinching her chin between her forefinger and thumb, shaking it side by side, and humming under her breath. “We all know who this fair maiden is — the budding Flower of the Realm.”

It was a title said with adoration inside the Keep, rivalling that of the Siren of the Vale who lured men to their deaths. But Aesira is not a lady who men would fight a war for nor is she a woman who will bring men to their knees to get a single drop of her beauty in their palms. The title she is given is not granted to her by male singers commissioned by the royal family to sing occasionally in the halls — it was carefully coined by Ladies who have found her company quite sublime. A little flower, not just because of her blossoming beauty but also because of the way she carries herself at her young age. One of the older Ladies, one Lady Tully, told her that she felt like a consolation to the drabness of the court, that when a certain Lady was feeling a range of emotions, she was there to say the perfect words to make them feel better. And very much like how the realm relied on flowers to convey their thoughts, Aesira does it perfectly, or so the other Ladies claim to the Queen in passing, which reaches her ears since the Queen loves sharing what the Ladies and Lords say about her wards. With the spreading songs, the people of King’s Landing are all excited to see the little Lady away from the castle and in their cobblestone streets; but that will come at a later time.

Aesira slowly traces random patterns on Aegon’s handkerchief with her thumbs. “Aegon is a close friend of mine — it would be an honour if he chooses me to dance with him at the opening feast. Though, I would appreciate it more if he doesn’t kiss my cheek in front of the entire court.”

Queen Alicent lets out a little laugh. “He still does it every time.”

“Yes, as a form of greeting, he says.”

“That sounds very much like our Aegon. I will tell him to aim his kiss at your hand instead.”

Aesira snorts, a very unladylike sound she only does around her family. “Like he will listen.”

“If I add your name to the instruction, he will. Your power over him is akin to territories bending the knee to a conqueror of a foreign land. I wonder how he will fare when he gets older.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles. “I do not wish to imagine it.”

“It is to your demise, little one. Your aversion to it is reasonable.” The air becomes wistful yet again. “It is rare in the realm to have a union built on love.” Aesira is already anticipating it. The court was already crafting the most bizarre theories since a year ago and as she believes, it will be inevitable and hard to avoid now that Aegon has reached ten name days old, which is older than most boys in the realm when they receive word of their first betrothals. “I will tell you this now, sweet flower, that the King is planning on betrothing you to Aegon, the idea was tickling his mind the moment Aegon showed you the flowers in the gardens nearly five years ago. This will not serve as a warning but it is a reminder that your life will possibly change like a snap of someone’s fingers, with your coming role as a Princess of the realm. Again, as someone who cares for you as a mother does, let me see you as my little one for a little while longer.”

Aesira stares into the looking glass. The weight of the forehead circlet is invisible as it is extravagant.

The Queen presses another kiss on Aesira’s head. “Let us go, little one — the people are waiting.”

For once in her life, Aesira has something to ponder that weighs an entire kingdom. In actuality, she doesn’t know what to feel about her possible betrothal to Aegon — she doesn’t particularly hate the thought nor does she appeal to it. At the end of the day, she’s still a child and she has so much she wants to do; finish her tutoring, be a Lady that can travel around the realm and to the lands beyond the Narrow Sea, and have her name remembered as someone true to herself — Aesira wants to be her mother. The late Lady Aellara Targaryen was someone who wore her kindness up her sleeve instead of her emotions. Aesira, to this day, still thinks that her mother might have been the Mother reincarnated and that her strength lies not just in her beauty but in her courageous kindness as well. The people of Dragonstone always seemed to brighten when her mother visited their streets, inquiring about the overall condition of the villages and offering a weekly feast in the main squares, all from the kitchens of the imposing castle in the distance. She was a beacon who shone for those who needed a spark of light in the dead of the night — Aesira wants to be like that to someone.

But then she remembers the person who robbed her mother of the life that could have been the salvation of others. Because it all comes back to him, doesn’t it? The very man who took her flying on Caraxes’s back when she was but a child of two name days. The man who promised his little princess that she would see bigger things and that he would always be there to protect her. He was also the same man who left her twin brother in Maegor’s tunnels. Will her impending marriage with Lord Something be as bad as the marriage shared by her parents? Will she be left on the birthing bed screaming and bloody while her husband flew to some parts of their home island? Will he leave their children behind when the Stranger tucks her last breath in the many last breaths they collected? 

The more Aesira immerses herself in this new life of hers—away from Dragonstone, away from where everything started—he never left.

Now, this fear of her future husband becoming like him starts forming in the pit of her stomach and she wishes she is born like her brothers, a child with a cock swinging between her legs.

Aesira just wishes Aegon won’t be like him.

The first thing she knows that something is wrong is when there is a lack of kisses on her cheek.

Aegon is dismayed, his chest rising and falling faster than normal. His lip is quivering in a frown that makes his entire face into an expression of misery without even trying. The Queen is not that different. Both of them are sporting looks of varying distress, with an interlacing sign of anger in the Queen’s Despite his Targaryen colouring, Aegon looks like his mother through and through — the wide eyes that seem to be a mirror of their soul, the jut in their bottom lip when things get frustrated, the jitters in their fingers that urge them to pick on their skin. With that, she places her hand around his to prevent him from damaging his fingers any further. And while the tourney is shedding blood on the grounds below, Aesira is setting her eyes on the boy beside her, both of them not paying attention to the knights roaring their glee after winning another bout.

“Aegon?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Egg?”

There is a slight squeeze enveloping her hand.

“What is wrong?” She tries asking again. Where is his excitement? Who dares douse it? It is one thing to be slightly perturbed by his secretive giggles before the celebrations but it is another matter altogether to be worried about what might have silenced it. Her voice is almost a whisper that only they can hear. She does it to not catch her brother’s attention since Aegon looks like he’s about to cry any moment now. Besides, Aether is vibrating in his seat after another round of Ser Criston pulverising his opponent. “Aegon, will you tell me what’s troubling you?”

He doesn’t get to answer because the King rises from his seat at the top of their descending balcony to announce, “Gentle people of King’s Landing and those who have journeyed far and wide to be able to experience the revels we have prepared, I have news that I am most happy to share.” He pauses until he makes sure there are no rounds ongoing below and that the nobles of different colours hold out their ears to listen to what he has to say.

Aesira looks over her shoulder to watch the old King as he takes his time enunciating his words over the large tourney court. Everybody bates their breath in anticipation of his next statement. Aesira only turns away from him when Aegon once again squeezes her hand with his. She can’t help but cup her free hand over the one she is holding, her thumb rubbing circles on his skin. He glances at her from the corners of his eyes, his gratitude forming in a tiny smirk pulling on his lips. He’s about to lean his head on hers, one of the many gestures Aesira receives from Aegon, when the King continues his little speech.

“House Targaryen and dragons have always been set in stone for so many centuries. And today I am proud to say that my grandson, little Jacaerys Velaryon, is a dragonrider! The first Targaryen to have his dragon egg hatch in the Keep after our very own Realm’s Delight many years ago! Let’s be merry for another purpose to enjoy the grand festivities!”

Foolish, foolish King.

The entire arena cheers. The night will be merry indeed; for King Viserys loves nothing more than throwing flamboyant parties and honouring his Heir and her spawns. The only ones who seem to have wilted at the announcement are the Queen and her family. Trueborn Targaryens from the Queen and after ten years, not one of their dragon eggs hatched, with the hurt being carried by her the most. And now this humiliation. After exchanging a concerned glance with her twin brother, Aesira happens to catch Rhaenyra at the worst moment possible. Arrogance and smugness ooze off of her like she is born with a crown on her head. Princess Rhaenyra is the only one with her back straight on the balcony and the only one who has a smile on her face like a radiant beam of sunlight in between thick thunderclouds. Aesira knows that Rhaenyra holds a years-long dispute with the Queen and nothing has been more clear to her than this specific one.

Rhaenyra in black and Aunt Alicent in green.

Rhaenyra in the light and Aunt Alicent always in her shadow.

Rhaenyra the mother of a brown-haired dragonrider and Aunt Alicent with silver-haired dragonless children.

But the one who matters the most is holding back tears gripping her hand like it’s his lifeline.

The firewood inside her chest fuels the fire that’s been put out. Aesira feels her aunt’s shame, her younger cousins’ sorrow, and Aegon’s need to be small. What should be a day for Aegon is a day for someone else instead. She has never felt this anger since the day Aether was found wailing and muddied. She doesn’t realise she has been staring at Rhaenyra and her husband long enough for the older woman to meet her eyes. The surprise on the Heir’s face is apparent, seeing so much emotion and at the same time nothing on her younger cousin. Aesira simply stares and stares, letting Rhaenyra feel the consequences of her actions, for choosing the most inopportune moment to tell the King that Jacaerys’s egg just hatched. Because who does that on someone's name day? It is until Rhaenyra looks away with no hint of remorse for her half-brother, her chin higher in the air with an elegance expected of a Princess, that Aesira sees her in a completely different light.

“Sira,” Aegon finally speaks.

She loses her glare and tilts her head to face Aegon’s lowered one. “Do you want me to call for a maidservant to bring you dark chocolate cake?”

Aegon shakes his head. “Thank you for sitting next to me.”

Before the tourney started, Aegon fought with Aether to have Aesira next to him. On the usual tourneys in King’s Landing, Aesira is seen between her brothers with Aegon next to his siblings but on this specific one, he wanted Aesira beside him. She told her twin brother that this is one of her many gifts for Aegon, which the Prince received only with a small smile on his face — very uncharacteristic of him.

She pulls their hands until they rest on her lap. “Helaena said you will ride a dragon made from the hands of the sun.” He is about to pull his hand away from her but she holds them tighter, which finally makes Aegon look at her. She can feel his eyes even when she’s not looking at him — always. “If you don’t believe it because it came from Helaena, believe it because I’m the one who told you instead.”

“Helaena says the weirdest things sometimes.”

Aesira mindlessly wrote phrases on the back of Aegon’s hand, never noticing the boy’s cheeks reddening at the sensation. “She dreamt of you riding this dragon. You know how I hold Helaena’s words in high regard, Egg.”

Aegon pouts. “I know, Sira.”

“Say, Aegon.”

“Hmm?”

The lilac in her eyes bloom into brilliant gems, Aegon reflected on her pupils. “How about we have a little adventure to the Dragonpit after the tourney? I think it’s about time you officially meet Starfell.”

Starfell is a sight for the most oneiric of dreams.

A lithe body that brings the illusion of a clear spring of water; sharp, slitted eyes bearing the night sky with little pinpricks in the iris that were like charted constellations; ice blue membranes lining up the underside of her white wings; those who have seen her claim to have seen the legendary phenomenon of a fallen star coming to kiss the ground. From the moment the dragonkeepers saw her being guided to the Dragonpit (it was quite the struggle since the little she-dragon barred ferocious bites to those hands who dared to wrap chains around her body in an attempt to detain her), they instantly knew that this specific creature came from the same clutch of eggs Dreamfyre laid all those years ago — Achilles, Aether’s dragon, as well.

Aegon holds his breath when this majestic beast lowers her neck to assess the newcomer her bonded walks in with. He can’t help but flinch at the trills coming from the creature’s long throat. Panic sets in as Aesira leaves his side to walk toward Starfell. “Sira—” His breath catches in his throat at the smile directed at him over her shoulder, the hand reaching for her in the air lowering until they drop to his side. It hurts seeing that the serene smile on her face comes from the one thing he wants the most — a dragon. He feels the envy creeping into his chest, entangling with his veins, while he watches Aesira laugh at every nudge her dragon gives her. Speaking of the dragon, Starfell once again regards him in chilling eyes that sparkle in the dim light of the Dragonpit.

“Lykirī, ñuha gevie riña. Lykirī. Nyke māzigon lēda iā raqiros. Zȳhon brōzi iksis aegon.” (Be calm, my beautiful girl. Be calm. I came with a friend. His name is Aegon.)

Her voice sounds like water, flowing around him in every syllable the Valyrian language has. It sounds prettier than the songs he’s heard from the court bards. It’s a beautiful language as said by Father and by the Maesters he has learned his history from but this is the first time someone has said words coated with such care that it doesn’t sound foreign from the usual common tongue at all. Maybe this is what Aesira has been muttering a lot lately, with him catching her in the library during his daily expeditions around the Keep. He doesn’t understand any word of it, except for one word — lykirī (a dragon command he’s learned while waiting for his dragon egg to hatch), but it doesn’t grate his ears as he expects it to with the way someone should pronounce it.

Aegon doesn’t mind listening to her talk like this all day. 

“W-What did you say?” he asks, still standing in the spot she’s left him on like a lost child. “I’ve only understood one term.”

With her hand still on Starfell’s snout, Aesira giggles under her breath before beckoning Aegon closer to her. “I introduced you to her, Aegon. Come on, take one step at a time. I’m here to placate her if the situation requires it.”

Aegon gives the dragonkeeper stationed to accompany the two of them a glance. The old man nods his head in encouragement, a deep bow that has his chin touching the top of his chest. Taking a deep breath, Aegon follows Aesira’s instructions and takes one step at a time, gauging the dragon’s reactions at every pad of his shoe-clad feet on the ground. The pretty creature doesn’t move an inch from her perch yet her eyes track down his movements. A surge of confidence brings him to make determined steps until he’s found himself beside Aesira, inches away from the opalescent scales of glacial blue. Starfell is even more beautiful up close — a dragon fit for the prettiest girl in all the realm. Aegon cranes his neck to look at Starfell in awe, slightly jumping when a smaller hand covers one of his, directing him to feel the scales underneath his palm.

It’s a mistake to look over his shoulder because Aesira is so close to him that he can deeply register the scent of expensive lavender oils on her hair and a hint of citrus on her neck. Each individual eyelash covering her eyes acts like little butterfly wings every time she blinks. There is a little constellation of freckles dotting her nose. Her cheeks are tinted with a natural shade of enjoyment brought by the elation of meeting her dragon after a while. Aegon has never seen these features of hers up close since he closes his eyes when he gives her his greetings (cheek kisses). He gets the sudden urge to place a gentle kiss on her plump cheek, right on the apples rising from her never-dimming smile. Aegon slowly leans down, his eyes open this time.

The lilacs she has for her eyes flicker from her dragon to him. He stops at the last second. They’re closer this time. His heart is racing and pounding as if he has run from the Keep to the Dragonpit. He can hear every thump made against the walls of his chest. Can Aesira hear it, too? 

“Egg, Starfell. Starfell, Egg.”

He wears the warmth on his cheek while looking up at the dragon, who lowers her head right in front of him. A couple of wavy locks are pulled toward Starfell, with the dragon inhaling his scent. Aegon says without looking away from Starfell, “How do I say hello in Valyrian?”

“Rytsas.”

Aegon nods. “Rytsas, Starfell.”

Starfell responds through a series of clicking sounds that are very much like the chirping of birds at dawn. 

Laughter dipped in gaiety makes his torso shake. Aegon’s eyes are like the sun, feeling the thrill of having a dragon not bare its teeth at him like every warning he’s received if he’s planning on walking to the Dragonpit with one goal in mind. “She likes me, Sira!” He cheers.

Aesira’s voice contains bewilderment. “That she does.”

He looks back at her, only to find her staring at Starfell with a confused scrunch on her eyebrows. “You sound surprised.”

She now narrows her eyes at Starfell. “That is because I am. Did you know that Starfell made it her personal mission to snap at anyone when she first came to King’s Landing?” He fixes her with a questioning look. Aesira answers him by squeezing the hand she’s covering on Starfell’s scales. Once again, he can’t look away from her when pensiveness paints her as if she is a subject in the most important painting in the Keep’s atelier. “She’s always so protective of me back in Dragonstone. We weren’t that much apart when me and my brothers were there, Achilles and Ajax are the same with them. When news of us being warded in King’s Landing by Uncle Viserys, she felt my melancholy that she threatened everyone who took a single step to take her from me; you should’ve seen the way she spread her wings, Egg.” He stiffens at the feeling of her leaning her head on his shoulder. This is uncharted waters. What should he do? Be still, you idiot, says the voice in his head that awfully sounds like a mix of Aether and Aemond. “Ever since she’s in the Dragonpit, she has developed a dislike for any dragonkeeper trying to chain her. She’s probably the freest dragon in here.”

“That’s,” Aegon gulps at the proximity, the scent purely associated with her covering his entire senses, “wonderful. Starfell sounds like she loves you very much.”

Aesira snorts before covering her mouth.

Aegon loses the tension in his shoulder to laugh. “Was that a snort I just heard?”

She looks away from him. “No, you must have heard it wrong. I was merely clearing my throat.”

He grins at her. “Where did my fair maiden go? Who is this imposter with me right now?”

“You’re testing me, Egg.”

Aegon shrugs now that her head isn’t leaning on his shoulder. He can breathe easier now. “I have to say; it sounds adorable. You should lose all your Lady regalia when you’re with me, princess.”

Aesira nudges him with her elbow, making him grunt at the force. “Don’t call me that!”

“Why can’t I when you look like that?” He nods his head to all the accessories still in her hair, especially the forehead circlet that matches his eyes (he likes to think it does match his eyes even when it’s a few shades off). “You even dressed the part.” He chooses to never voice out that he will make her his princess, fearing that voice in his head that sounds like both of his nightmares combined and also her pushing him to the ground. “But truthfully?” Aesira sends him a disbelieving expression. A natural smile tugs on his lips, reaching his eyes in childlike merriment. “You look beautiful, Sira.” His smile grows when Aesira’s eyes widen, her cheeks glowing in a pretty shade of carnation. Maybe he’ll give her a carnation bouquet from the gardens. Though he’ll have to be sly to evade the gardeners who poured their heart out to make the gardens the way it is.

“And will you stop looking at me like that?!”

Aegon sputters, forgetting that they are still in front of Starfell. He takes both of his hands to cover his face from Aesira’s onslaught of painless smacks. “What? I said I speak the truth.” Her face gains another shade of red, probably rose, and Aegon’s grin gets wider. He reaches a hand to pinch her warm cheek, cooing at how soft it is in between his fingers. “Don’t be mad at me, Princess Aesira.”

“Seven Hells,” Aesira grumbles but it comes out as something warbled from the way Aegon keeps pinching her cheek. “And here I was, thinking of inviting you to ride with me on Starfell once she’s alright to saddle two.”

Every single time spent with Aesira is filled with genuine laughter that Aegon doesn’t realise the time has flown so high over their heads. Starfell has been permitted by the dragonkeepers to roam around the neighbouring islands for her next meal, something that only the she-dragon and her fellow brothers have, which would be the reason behind her larger size for a dragon of nine name days. With Aesira’s hand firmly in his, Aegon wonders if his dragon grows to reach the size of Starfell or Achilles, Aether’s dragon who he saw for brief moments before he took off to the skies to follow his sister. Ser Arryk Cargyll (or is it Erryk) stands tall at the entrance of the Dragonpit, waiting for the two little children so that he can safely escort them back to the Keep.

But then he hears a call — a song pulling him in.

Aegon stops in his tracks, turning to the tunnels underground making up the Dragonpit. For the first time in his short life, he feels a strong sense of purpose — he has to follow where this call will lead him. Never hearing the shouts for his name and the distressed shouts of the Kingsguard sent to fetch them, Aegon runs down to the Dragonpit, letting this song guide him through the tunnels. Left. Right. Straight ahead. There is no light in here, only darkness stretching on for miles on end, almost swallowing him whole with nothing left to salvage. He doesn’t know how much time he’s spent avoiding steep stairs or sleeping dragons but he knows he’s near to the source of the lonely yet beautiful song. Behind him, he can faintly hear the clunking of armour. Ser Cargyll definitely followed him down here. He pays it no mind and focuses on the increasing volume echoing across the walls of the Dragonpit; it’s a surprise that no dragons have heard the call, the hall is silent except for this song. Aegon’s run becomes a slow walk, his head so wrapped up in this amalgamation of notes that has him in a trance, having no care for the safety of his person until he meets the singer. His heart is beating wildly in his chest, eyelids fluttering in trepidation. Whatever is residing a few paces in front of him will be the singer of the ballad pulling on every fibre of his reasoning. It’s becoming louder and louder. 

Gold is the only thing he can see in this darkness.

Aegon releases a shaky breath. “Rytsas.”

The golden raises itself from his position and nears his face to Aegon’s. For some reason, Aegon feels safe. When he tilts his head, the dragon follows suit. A small laugh tickles his chest, “Who are you?” He mutters under his breath. As if the dragon understands him, a large snout is nudged on Aegon’s torso, reminiscent of how Aesira does when he teases her. The dragon now fully stands from lying down and walks with pounding footsteps toward him. Underneath all the gold, there are pink membranes lining his wings. Aegon’s breath is taken away from him. “What do you want me to do?” Common tongue is all he can utter, taking note to himself to ask Aesira to read Valyrian texts to him in addition to all the tutoring and training. The dragon lowers himself in front of Aegon. “What?” 

The dragon makes a clicking noise in his throat, shaking his head a little and flapping his wide wings around.

“D-Do you want me to climb on your back?” Aegon looks around. “But there are no saddles around here.” Another set of clicking sounds. “Alright, alright. Just let me,” he grunts, carefully choosing scaffolds in between the dragon’s wings. He balances himself with both arms spread out on either side of him until he finds himself sitting on the most comfortable area on the dragon’s back, a juncture between his torso and neck. The feeling of powerful muscles underneath him sends a shudder down his spine. Magic thrums with each breath the dragon makes and Aegon thinks that maybe his blood is responding to the ancient ichor running down the large beast’s veins. The moment he is on the dragon’s back, it feels like the Fourteen Flames of Old Valyria are tying together a string that’s stronger than the pillars holding the Keep together. It sets his entire body on a height of confidence, his posture losing that residue of melancholy that followed him from the tourney. Aegon looks down at the unnamed creature. “Now what?”

The Dragonpit’s walls pass by him in a blur, the dragon’s claws propelling him to run. Aegon doesn’t register that the screams following them are his own. 

“Sunfyre! Dohaerās, lykirī!”

Dragonkeepers keep shouting commands at the dragon but the magnificent beast with gold for his scales bypasses them to the open doors of the giant Dragonpit. Tucking his wings close to his body, Sunfyre twirls his body before opening his gigantic wings again, letting the wind take him higher over King’s Landing.

He opens his eyes and the world is in the palms of his hands. The ocean has never felt this vast and all-consuming. The skies have never felt this near to his fingertips. He keeps clinging onto the dragon’s back and he swears he will never let this moment go. He’s sure that the smallfolk of King’s Landing open their doors to see the new shadow covering their streets, baffled at the intricate colouring his dragon possesses (they’re pointing and gaping with their hands over their mouths), and that they can hear him scream out in pure, unadulterated joy.

The golden Sunfyre has been claimed and it only means one thing.

Aegon Targaryen is a dragonrider — a trueborn Targaryen with magic in his bones and divinity in the threads of his hair.

this is already on my ao3 so if you want more chapters, click on this link

if you want to be added to the taglist, send an ask or reply <33

taglist: @winxschester @darylandbethfanforever9 @averyyreads

[absent-o-minded]

*Rises from the Grave*

It's Young Royals S2 First Look Pictures analysis time, cherubs.

THE ROWING MACHINE PICTURE:

Firstly, I wasn't expecting a picture like this even in my distant hypothetical S2 Sneak Peak releases, I don't think anyone was really, but it's really interesting. I've seen on Twitter and Instagram that Netflix have used the word "Revenge" a lot, and I think that this picture could tell us why - Even though Wille, Simon and the other 3 Hillerska lads are centre frame, they're pitted against a mirror, and if you look to the far right (right circle), there's another character wearing red, and in the distance (far-left circle), it looks there are spectators.

Maybe what could be happening is a small sub-plot of Wille potentially becoming a second rowing captain of an opposite team (Hence the two differing rowing gear colours of Green vs Red) as means of trying to exert "revenge" on August, bc if the Monarchy won't help him, and August goes without repercussions, then Wille is on his own, and so, he could (maybe) target the one thing he knows is significant to August; His authoritative position as Rowing Captain. Here, Wille presents a challenge that through the eye just appears as a civil opposition shrouded in sportsmanship, but indirectly, it serves as a subtle step, taken by Wille, to oppose August's social position. (I would go into catering towards typically masculine forms of competition and how gender convention could play into the classic trope of a Revenge arc, but I'll save that for another time.)

Also just a quick add on - New character on the far left? Hmmm...

THE CLASSROOM PIC:

Ofc the class is reading, all with their heads down, and Wille is just looking at Simon, because he is what? Whipped! And ofc I'm going to talk about colour in this picture because I am what? Sad!

For me, here, the presence of colour theory relies on the contrast between Pastels v Darkness (or really, De saturated v Saturated). Despite purple being a consistent motif for Simon's costume through S1, and even if we assume that, through the passage of time, Simon has now integrated into Hillerska society, he is still aesthetically differentiated from his peers through his clothing - Most of the characters surrounding him are wearing pastel colours (i.e purples, pinks and yellows) and yet he has a dark green shirt over a deep purple. So, maybe this just further entrenches Simon's struggle in regards to finally cementing himself in the elitist environment, especially after the leak.

But also, something else should be noticed - Wille wearing pastel purple. In the previous season, Wille's costume was mainly comprised of deep reds/burgundies, blues or destaurated greys, and yet here, he visually looks different (not just the hair btw). Not only does he still parallel his peers, solidifying his connection to the Hillerska society, but now he also parallels Simon, mimicking the colours he wore throughout S1, so maybe this is a subtle visual hint at Wille attempting to reconcile with Simon.

Bonus: They're sat next to eachother :') I can't remember if we ever saw Wille and Simon physically sat directly next to eachother in class before!

THE ROYAL DINNER PIC:

Now here is some juicy cinematography.

Here, the camera lens is bracketed by the presence of the doors, and so the lens itself is personified and, despite not being invasive on the family dinner, the overall placement of the camera as situated within the doorway serves as an insight into Wille's Christmas (likely indicated from the fact that it's snowing etc). As always, I could be wrong, because the time-skip could be from the end of S1, skipping past Christmas and onto the new School year, but I think it would be interesting to see what Wille's Christmas would be like.

Not just this, but given their differing expressions, the cinematography further relates to Wille's entrapment - The audience are passive, we're not allowed to enter the room and so our empathy rests within an observational position. Wilhelm clearly looks out of place and dejected, whilst The Queen and his Father look content.

But also, notice how there are only three chairs? And whose facing/in the position of the missing chair? The camera is. Already, Wilhelm has adopted the new Crown Prince persona, and so the absence of Erik is elevated bc not only does the dinner exist at a partial distance, but there is no remnant of Erik anywhere, not even an empty chair, or a picture of him.

Not at all making me upset on how out of place and unsupoprted Wille feels by his own family but hEY HO ANYWAY-

FELICE AND WILLE PIC:

I. Love. Silhouettes. And. Light.

The prospect of Felice being a more prominent character in the narrative, let alone in Wille's story, is slskls so exciting - Especially the thought of elite Felice x Wille friendship duo.

I'm guessing that there has been a change of Wille's room/Wille now sleeps in the other bed because S1 his bed was always in the right hand-side of the room, but this is cool ! Especially if you consider it along the idiom of "growing too big for your bed" and Wille's newly given title/ position in the Monarchy. I mean, even if you look at the visuals, everything appears to be minimalist and stripped of any indicative personality; The red LED lights are no longer here, we can't see the Frog snowglobe, or a bedside table, all we're given is a shelf with some (what look like) deodorant cans and a simple light. It's as if in order to become more like a Crown Prince, Wille had to, little by little, become less like Wille.

But I have hope! If you look at where the light is placed there are a few things that could be said: 1.) Felice is deliberately placed closer to it in an attempt to illustrate her significance. Perhaps here she is consoling, offering comfort to Wille, and so she becomes this 'beacon' of wisdom (tbf I would trust Felice with my life soooo...), 2.) It highlights the void of the space, and further broadens on the sense of "absence" as a dip in the covers is visible, perhaps mirroring Wille's dialogue if its about Simon, or about how lonely he was over the Christmas break, 3.) Their silhouettes. The presence of their shadows was not necessarily needed in this scene, but it was included, and maybe I've been too deprived of content and I'm reaching here, but it's the externalisation of their beings, and could serve as foreshadowing for their blossoming friendship. So, maybe Felice and Wille try to help eachother this season, which would be lovely !

This is pretty much just me begging for Wille and Felice to form the #BestiesAgainstAugust duo for nothing else than my own fulfilment.

These aren't all of the photos, but these are the ones that I initially had the most to say about. I'll likely talk about the others soon, though ! Let me know what you think ! <3

[ladey]

WIBYH Headcanons (mostly vi) ☁️ | #1

soo yeah i just said fuck it and wrote some headcanons anyway.

—🍉

- vi lowkey disliked her hair colour when she was younger bc it was more of a pink hue back then, and she got made fun of for it by guys her age (mylo included)

- she’s an effortless flirt, even when trying not to

- used to have a sarcasm problem (totally still does)

- will and has punch a nearby wall to show off her skills to a cute girl

- looks like a hunchback while sitting (especially on a stool but i think we all know this by now)

- veryyy determined and ambitious like no fear of failure at all

- shes a little hotheaded but can also take a joke and some teasing (she’s usually the one making them)

- sadly has a slight fear of change and ending up alone :((

- she’s super good at hiding how much her trauma has affected her

- lesbian

- somehow vi is good with kids even though she doesn’t really like them unless they’re related to her (y/n, ekko and vera were the exception)

- so some of u may know that violet has a saxophone for some reason LMFAOO. well here’s my take on it

- as a younger kid she found a saxophoe laying in its open case and picked it up.

- the lady who owned it heard vi playing it and came running out of the cafe she was in but got scared of her because she happened to be from a different place, and thought the little kids from the undercity were evil and mischievous.

- so she screamed and ran away and vi being all confused decided to just leave and take the instrument with her, and that’s how she ended up getting a saxophone.

- violet viewed y/n as another little sister. over the years her devoted protection over the younger girl gave rise their strong bond

- plus she spent time with powder and the others nearly everyday so they saw one another a LOT

- powder also struggled making friends her age, and vi felt so happy that the girl had y/n and ekko and even vera in her life who never bullied her, judged her or ridiculed her for her mistakes

- mylo had a crush on vi for a while and it lasted until the day he died (that is tragic..)

- violet always just started at him with a weird expression whenever he tried to show her something impressive. she never rlly understood why he seemed to want her approval all the time

- y/n, being the curious girl she is, bluntly asked mylo if he had a crush on vi without really thinking too deeply about how he’d react to that question

- after him freaking out and denying it, she ended up asking claggor about it maybe a month or two later. he didn’t know what to say at first, but after playing the clueless act and saying “maybe” they ended up listing different signs of his potential crush in secret

- y/n had liked to call violet ‘strawberry head’ ever since they met because her red hair reminded her of strawberries. in turn vi called her candy, however it wasn’t actually her who came up with the nickname!

- vi initially thought that powder possibly liked ekko and vise vera but then she noticed how red and flustered he’d get whenever vera was with them.

- she couldn’t really tell if her sister or y/n liked each other, she never thought too deeply about it because friendships between two girls are harder to decipher in that way

- in all honestly she didn’t think that they’d even know themselves. but she knew how close and protective they were of each other and thought it was sweet

[bewitchrry]

TUESDAY READING - 23.08.2022

Standard three card pull, with two extras as a path card (two of swords) was pulled, plus an oracle card bc I was feeling it. PLEASE NOTE: I won’t be doing deep dives like this all the time, but sometimes I like to write it all out because I am really still learning to interpret. Anything that isn’t mine is in italics! 

And yes, I used a skirt as a table cloth. It’s called making use of what you have.

Okay! Here we go! 

TAROT PULL

The Hierophant, reversed: Questioning certain ‘traditions’. The pull to think for oneself is strong, but you’re constantly challenged to keep within the status quo and colour between the lines. Sometimes this leads to being the ‘yes man’ despite thinking you’re the boss. “Learning to live by your own rules, while still listening to your own conscience, will bring you freedom from oppression. It will open your mind and expand your horizons in a positive way.”

Two Of Swords (pathway): [difficult] choices ahead. Often met with that feeling of insecurity or being unsure of what you’re doing is ‘right’ for you. [B’s note: I will often pull two extra cards to indicate a ‘path’, to try and give some clarity in the reading!]

PATH ONE: PAGE OF CUPS: A time to release and show emotions that you may have been holding onto for some time, but haven’t really found an avenue to express them in. There’s a fear here, about speaking up and speaking out, or about creating something that might damage the ‘ego’. This is the sign that it’s absolutely okay to have a fresh start and create something that symbolises the true you. If you’re looking for an answer to a question, the best you will get is a maybe.

PATH TWO: THREE OF PENTACLES: If you’re looking for the easy path, this is it. You’ve already seen success and this is the card that tells you to keep persevering and not give up. “Successful projects usually require different kinds of expertise, and at this moment, the Three of Pentacles means that all the skills required are coming together. In short, you are enjoying enjoying working together as part of a team, and also in the initial success of this bigger project.” If you’re looking for an answer to a question, the best you will get is a yes, but with a warning: are people telling you what you want to hear, or are they being genuine?

The path comes down to this: do you want to be known for genuine, creative work that has you challenging yourself, or do you want to be known for the status quo, where you know people will respond in the way they always do? OR, are you like the two of swords: blindfolded and hoping that whatever decision you are asked to make just disappears?

The Chariot: the chariot calls for being assertive and courageous. Having faith in oneself - knowing who you are and what you stand for -be bold in expressing your desires and laying down your boundaries; otherwise, you will not get your way. “Now isn’t the time to be passive in the hope that things will work out in your favour. Take focused action and stick to the course, no matter what challenges may come your way – because, believe me, there will be challenges. You may be pulled in opposite directions and find your strength and conviction tested. Others may try to block you, distract you, or drag down the pursuit of your goal. But The Chariot is an invitation to draw upon your willpower and home in on what’s essential to you, so you can push past the obstacles in your way.”

B’s TAKE: I’m getting a lot of personal conflict. Simply put: people are asking a lot of you right now, be it in professional settings or personal settings, and chances are you haven’t been able to express what you want, or create what you want, or work how you want. In these instances, for me, I ask myself: who am I doing this for? At the end of the day if you’re not doing things for you, then you can’t do it for others. The natural progression of sharing yourself with others is to learn about yourself first, and that takes time. It’s easy to be someone else, to put on a mask and just go, but you give up so much of who you are in the process, and that’s the difference between doing something [and being someone] you love versus doing and being someone you think everyone else will love. 

ORACLE PULL 

The Hell Train: "Too late, this unavoidable confrontation is a long time coming. Toot toot bitch, it’s here.” Translation: if you were looking for a sign to look deep and hard at your actions, at your life and yourself (or in relationships, be it platonic or romantic): this is it. It won’t be an easy one, but it has to be done. It’s now or never.

[unlockthestars]

Learn about my muses' physical features! // Accepting

@flightofaqrow asked: [mouth] for Val; [skin] for Robyn; [chest] for Glynda bc qrow would like to know and is possibly about to find out; [eyes] for Aster, aaaand one freebie to talk about whatever for whichever muse that we should know.

This is gonna be long, so BUCKLE UP, BUTTERCUP.

[mouth]: are their lips always drawn thin or are they plump and kissable, what’s their “default expression”/resting face, do they have all their own teeth, do they use their teeth to smile, etc.

One of the great things about Val is, regardless of if they're presenting male or female or anywhere in between, a lot of their facial features remain the same, just a more masculine or feminine presentation.

They always have full lips, which is one of the things that does not change. And they take good care of them, too: lip scrubs are not an uncommon thing to find in their toiletry kit, along with balm and other products to make sure they're always properly taken care of and ready to be kissed at any moment.

When using Valentina and presenting more feminine, there is almost always purple lipstick on her lips, because she knows she looks good in it. They're well-versed in using only makeup to present more femme if they need to, as well.

The default expression on their face (usually when they know someone is watching them) is a mischievous smirk, like they're up to no good. But if they're unaware if anyone is watching them, their resting face is more thoughtful, as though considering the world around them and their place in it.

While they do have all their own teeth, they don't usually use them to smile; they got used to keeping their true feelings close to the chest very early on, so if you get a full, genuine smile from Val, you know you're doing something right.

[skin]: obviously colour, but also if they’re inclined to run hot or cold, do they have any blemishes or unusual markings, are they inclined to blush, are they freckled, do they tan, what does their skin feel like, etc.

One of the first things someone might notice about Robyn are the two beauty marks she has on her face: under her right eye and on the left side of her chin. They're not large, but they definitely stand out.

While she doesn't run hot, Robyn is definitely a little warmer than average, which is great in the winter, but not so much in the summer. There's a reason she wears a layer that has absolutely no sleeves, after all.

She takes care of her skin as much as she has the time to do; usually that only amounts to washing and moisturizing, but when she has more time, she'll do a full skincare routine. This is partly because she spends a lot of time outside, sometimes in the elements, and it's important to take care of yourself. Which means that her skin is very soft, underneath all those layers.

While her skin is not exactly pale, it is obvious when she flushes because it's not that common.

She has a scar on her stomach from a time she was stabbed in an attempted mugging that didn't heal as well as it could have.

[chest]: (potentially nsfw) what size are their breasts if they have them, nipple colour and shape and size, do they have visible muscle definition/abs, etc.

I am not putting this part under a readmore because breasts are not inherently sexual, damn it, and I have some asks about man-boobs in my inbox and I'm not putting them under a readmore either.

I legitimately attempted to do math for this, and after research and looking at many many screencaps of Glynda, she is a 34E, which makes shopping fun. There's a reason she has a specific style and sticks to it.

As for shape, her breasts are pretty even, with the right one a touch bigger than the other, but that's mostly only noticeable if you're really studying them or handling them. She only really notices when she's looking in a mirror; it doesn't make much of a difference for clothes, thankfully.

Her nipples are pretty small, with slightly bigger areola, and both nipples and areola are a very light blush pink.

Her abs are toned and there's just a hint of muscle definition. She keeps herself in good, fighting shape.

[eyes]: not just the colour, but the shape, the length of their eyelashes, whether they’re alert or usually half-closed, large or small, sunken into the face, ringed by bags, etc.

The picrews that I used to generate Aster didn't have hazel as an option so I ended up going with brown most of the time, but his eyes change colour depending on the light and sometimes with his emotions. Sometimes they're more brown, absolutely, but there are times they appear almost green. Most of the time, they're a mix of brown and green, with gold flecks if they catch the light just right.

His eyes are actually shaped almost like a leopard's, almost round, very open and wide. His eyelashes aren't overly long, but they definitely take mascara well, if/when he wears it. They also do shine at night if you turn a light on him, like a leopard's would.

For the most part, he doesn't appear to have bags under his eyes, but if he does, he's very good at concealing that fact.

He's usually pretty alert, with his eyes fairly open, looking around to see if he can do anything to help, regardless of where he is.

If eyes are windows into the soul, then Aster is an open book.

For the freebie, we're going back to Val/entina!

[groin]: (potentially nsfw) any information pertaining to genitals - length, girth, shape, colour, “unusual features”, also includes the rear and its general appearance, etc.

OKAY, so. When using "Val" and presenting as more traditionally 'masculine,' they have a penis and scrotum. Length is between 7 and 8 inches, since they were able to choose, and matches their regular skin tone. Girth is fairly average, head isn't too bulbous. Overall, a very nice-looking package.

When using "Valentina" and presenting as more traditionally feminine, they have vulva, vagina, and clitoris. Because they were able to design it, they were able to ensure that it is uniform, with the colour a bit pinker than their regular skintone.

Regardless of presentation, they keep any hair fairly well trimmed, though there is definitely a happy trail when presenting more masculine physically.

And they've got a rockin' booty, no matter what, with firm, round cheeks that look good in whatever they choose to wear.

[qiyansluvr]

Just finished The Story of Minglan

So I just finished the Song Dynasty drama The Story of Minglan with Zhao Liying and Feng Shaofeng in the main roles after binge watching it for a little under a week now. I actually had started it months and months ago but after watching the first few episodes, I noticed immediately that it was going to be a heavy and serious drama and i wasn’t in the right place of mind at the time to deal with it.

But here we are now, after having watched all 73 episodes of this masterpiece. Because that’s my main take away after finishing it : a masterpiece. 

There’s a few things that i could nitpick if i really wanted to go into details, but most of them are just scenes i wish we saw more of, and nothing that really changed how the story was told. 

First I’ll begin to say that it’s evident this drama was written by women. The harshness of what it means to be a woman in a patriarcal society is depicted so well. And all the women characters are complex and vivid and absent of stereotypes and archetypes. Yes you hate some of them for their actions, and behaviours, but you also understand how they came to become what they are. The stories around divorce and dowry and marriage but also jealousy and ambition and women’s relationship to one another is so central and so vivid, it makes me ache for every single one of them.

Less obvious but to me very much present and commented upon is the treatment of slaves vs the aristocracy, and mroe generally, the way class intersects with women circumstances, even within the lower gentry. I feel like that’s a subject that’s not often touched with historical dramas and here it definitely felt lke the scriptwriters thought about it.

I’ll also point out how fleshed out the relationships between the characters are, all of them. There are no relationships that are just flat and dont make sense or are ignored for the sake of the story. No, everything, every relations is accouted for and you understand how these relations shape the characters.

The male characters are also incredibly well written. Many of them misogynistic, as you’ll expect men from this era to be, but it never feels as if it’s put there just for the plot to advance. No, it makes sense, and each men has its own flavor of it, even the good ones. 

The relationship between the man lead and the woman lead is so delectable. At first i didnt really ship them, as we had anoher love interest for Minglan, but Gu Tingye grew on me, just as he grew on Minglan, and I understood why she would love him so. I like that they have a relationships of equals and that despite his scheming, she is his match. In my memory, the only other relationship that grew on me like that in cdramas is Fuyao and Wuji from Legend of Fuyao, where at first I didnt like the ML, but he grew on me. 

Which leads me to the acting, which is just so excellent. Zhao Liying is incredible, as she always is, but it’s also really nice to see how she changes Minglan’s posture and facial expressions as she grows. The chemistry between the two lead is just amazing, but so is the entire cast. The Sheng family dynamic is so realistic, you can always feel the tension. Special mention to Zhu Yilong and his gorgeous smile and puppy eyes. 

I need to give extra props to the set designing team, and especially the lighting team. I read that they tried to use as many candles as possible to avoid using too much modern lighting, and it’s really appreciated, bc the scenes that happened at night indoors are always well lit (especially in contrast to GoT which is my reference in terms of low-use of modern lighting). In general the sets are very colourful and distinctive, and you can feel the changing atmosphere in the different houses and rooms reflecting the nature of the characters occupying them.

That brings me to the costuming, which I admit i have very little knowledge on Song Dynasty fashion, but I like that it was colourful, that they used the costume to describe the passing of seasons and that each character had their own distinct styles, colours and evolutions. 

Overall, I woulld 100% recommend this drama, it’s now definitely in my top 3 cdramas alongside Nirvana in Fire and Joy of Life (even if I cant give a ranking within those three). 

As for the few things I would nitpick, they would be 1) Rong’er relationship with her little brothers. How she dealt with the grief of Chang’er, and how she deals with Tuan and how that affects her relationship with Minglan. 2) The relationships with the Sheng sisters at the end. The ending scene seems to suggest that they made peace but I would have liked a scene before, with all three (Hualan wasn’t a part of their dispute) of them talking about how much of a shitty father they have. 3) More happy scenes with Gu Tingye & Sheng Minglan. Maybe it’s bc im a romantic at heart but I just wanted a little bit more scenes of them together, they spend so much time apart T.T

To end things, this drama needs more people to watch it and more people to write fanfiction for it! 

[shakespearerants]

15 Questions/15 People

Rules: Answer these 15 questions and tag 15 people. Thank you @evolutionsbedingt for thinking of me!

Are you named after anyone? I...don't know. My parents never told me but they are VERY chaotic people and in the debate around my youngest sibling's name a big argument was the fact that said name they ended up with wasn't too obscure to name a child because a well-known movie serial killer had it. So it IS possible. Maybe I should ask.

When was the last time you cried? I've been crying a lot lately. Probably a few days ago when I was watching horse movie video clips on YouTube and hit repeat on Secretariat winning by over 30 lengths while Oh Happy Day plays in the background I think maybe 3 or 5 times in a row.

Do you have kids? HA. NO.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? No.

What's the first thing you notice about people? Um. Good question. Vibes I'd say? Usually when I meet someone for the first time I couldn't tell you what they looked like afterwards but I CAN tell you what I think they're like as a person. And most of the time I'm right too.

What's your eye colour? Green, technically. Brown, literally.

Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings.

Any special talents? Uhhh I'm pretty good at picking up skills I shouldn't be able to do without training from watching people do them once or twice and if you put me in a room with a stranger for 30 mins there's a 40% chance they will have randomly offered me a job by the end of that time, no matter what field they work in. Also I magically attract little old ladies, especially if they just lost a pet, preferably an incredibly ancient dog. Also in every city I've ever been to traveling alone I've been asked how to find [insert landmark here], sometimes while standing next to the literal tourist information building looking at a map with a lost expression on my face.

Where were you born? Between yellow fields and ancient castles and the centre of the modern neo Nazi movement.

What are your hobbies? Finding open doors that really should be locked on walks, drawing, embroidery, reading, being incredibly judgemental about food, cooking recipes by Michelin starred chefs and doing them different because I think I know better (and I'm right about that most of the time). Also fighting the power (= trying to save my neighbors from food poisoning bc the landlord won't let us get rid of The Fridge™, campaigning against the creepy cleaning guy who compares my friends to porn stars, and fixing things before the facility manager can).

Do you have any pets? Theoretically but I don't live with my family anymore so not unless I can count my spiders.

What sports do you play/have you played? In elementary school I was on a soccer team.

How tall are you? Talln't. Lets leave it at that.

Favourite subject in school? Art :). Also choir.

Dream job? Uhh THAT'S a question! I just got offered a job where I would have 5 days a week off and on my two work days get paid to eat really good food and infodump medieval gossip about one of my favourite towns on groups of people who can't leave, that sounds pretty cool! Other than that Discworld witch.

Well, that was fun! I don't think I know 15 people to tag, but I AM tagging @perchingowl , @all-chickens-are-trans , @birdylion, @almostmymoon , @bi-vexual, @clueless-dullahan , @madmiracleworker, @ledbiantastic , @zitronengurkenlimo and anyone who sees this on their dash. YES THAT MEANS YOU READING THIS!

[cerseiwexler]

For whoever youre feeling atm: 🍎 🍒 🍅 🥭

doing mae and zeet again, i’m feeling my bcs verse today!

🍎 [RED APPLE] Who does your OC value above all else?

mae values self-expression. she’d be nowhere without her art — acting and dancing and costume design. i mean that literally as it’s how she makes her money as well was figuratively as her soul would be shriveled up like a raisin without her creativity. zeet values security — financial and physical especially. they walk on the wild side but they’re careful with their $$ (not that they don’t spend plenty, but they always make sure there’s more just in case they need it for something someday) and always strapped when going into a dangerous situation lol preparation is key!!!

🍒 [CHERRY] Who is your OC's perfect companion?

mae is an artsy, less academic type but she likes big brains lol. they have to be a little shady (the hozier lyric “i’d be appalled if i saw you ever tried to be a saint, i couldn’t fall for someone i thought couldn’t misbehave” comes to mind) and support her endeavors. zeet values loyalty a lot. they like people who can keep up with them, which is not everybody lmao. and they have to have wit and humor (even if it’s more dry or sarcastic), they don’t tend to get along with folks who keep it serious all the time.

🍅 [TOMATO] How misunderstood is your OC? In-universe or IRL.

mae tends to wear her motivation on her sleeve, so she’s less misunderstood than your average person most of the time. she’s very clear that she wants money and to create and glamour and to support her partners, those are her priorities. zeet sort of has two lives between home and work, in one environment they’re actually pretty fun to be around (if high on coke half the time) and friendly and in the other they’re in severe guard dog mode and can and will kill a man. so people who know them in one or the other don’t really see the side of them that isn’t apparent.

🥭 [MANGO] What colours best represent them and why? Does this differ from their favourites?

mae is best represented by cherry red, which is one of her favorites along with various shades of pink. zeet is best represented by like, bright coral, which is pretty close to their favorite of cactus-blossom pink.

[lorenssillylittleblog]

okay so no one fucking knows what i’m talking about when i say i don’t like coloured eyes because they’re not natural in people so i will now be explaining the meaning behind the eye colours so you all can SHUT UP

amber

What Causes Amber Eyes?

Just as it is with other eye colors, amber eyes are determined by genetics and the amount of melanin pigments in the eye. There are two types of melanin—eumelanin, which is dark brown-black, and pheomelanin (also called lipochrome), which is a lighter reddish-yellow.

this explanation is one of the more tame ones you will find on this list, but keep an open mind for the rest

green

Green eyes are very rare.

Green eyes are the most rare eye color in the world. Only about 2 percent of people in the world have naturally green eyes. Green eyes are a genetic mutation that results in low levels of melanin, though more melanin than in blue eyes.

basically what it’s saying is white peoples migration to the west resulted in green. green eyes literally means white people are a mutation

grey

Close to 3% of the world's population have gray eyes.

People with gray eyes have little or no melanin in their irises, but they have more collagen in a part of the eye called the stroma. The light scatters off the collagen in a way that makes the eyes appear gray

(it is also very common in albinism)

violet

Albinism.

Albinism is a genetic condition that causes a reduced amount of melanin in a person's body. It often includes reduced melanin in the eyes. With very low melanin levels in the eye, the iris might appear blue or, in some instances, red or violet

⋆｡°✩

blue

Everyone with blue eyes is related

Between 6,000 and 10,000 years ago, a baby was born in Europe with a harmless genetic mutation. That little DNA blip was blue eye color, according to researchers at the University of Copenhagen

basically, blue eyes are caused by incest. think about this the next time you decide to gawk over how you wish you had coloured eyes

brown

Brown eyes are more common worldwide than any other eye color.

But the prevalence of brown eyes varies significantly with geography. Most people living in Africa and Asia have dark brown eyes. Dark brown eye color also is very common in the Middle East. In Europe, the prevalence and shade of brown eyes vary significantly from region to region.

brown eyes (also my eyes lol) are the natural state of the eye!! i think it is disgusting how people have hated on brown eyes in the past (and now) because they’re “boring” there’s nothing wrong with not being imbred enough times to genetically fracture the colour of your eyes!!

hazel

Hazel eyes are thought to possess the most varied and complex eye color.

They are a mixture of green, brown, and gold and can appear to change color in different lighting. Hazel eyes are also considered to be very expressive. Hazel eyes are associated with spontaneity, enjoyment, and adventure.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

so that’s it on eye colours. i woukd like to end this with do not bully people for their eye colours!! it is not their failt and it is out of their control the way their eyes turn out. i made this post bcs i am sick and tired of ignorant remarks like “i wish i had coloured eyes🥺 brown eyes are so boring” no they’re not!! your brown eyes are beautiful bae and i hope one day you’ll see tgat for yourself ‧₊˚✩彡

[flusteredloser]

sugar sweet

richie tozier x fem reader

category: fluff, fluff, literally just fluff

word count: 3,3k

content warnings: swearing, stealing, slight nsfw (sexual innuendos... bc it’s richie tozier), a driving scene written by a bitch who can't drive, overbearing fluff, sonia

a/n: hello here’s a lil soft fic i wrote in a hyper state today <3 i had ‘beverly’ by ben wallfisch from the it 2017 soundtrack stuck in my head while i wrote the ending so !! enjoy

🎡

"sweetheart, if you don't put your head back in, i'm afraid i'm gonna have to marie antoinette you."

you laughed dismissively at his empty threat, feeling a grin take over. you let the wind crash against your face and through your hair, the scent of sea salt softly filling your nose. if richie thought that you were going to give this feeling up, oh, was he wrong.

despite what he was saying, the sight of morning sunlight streaking through your flying hair and your torso poking out the passengers' window was one richie wished he could get used to. despite his nagging for the past half hour, ranting about the dangers of vehicular manslaughter and mishaps, he couldn't help but beam at your laughter. 

he almost hit himself in the head for getting all worked up about safety like eddie always did, but it was something he found himself doing often with you. keeping you safe and sound was one of the few things that kept him from staying up all night. besides, you guys were going to see eddie and the rest of the losers in a bit anyways. the designated role of the pedantic worrier would soon be shrugged off richie's shoulders.

keeping one hand on the wheel, richie’s free hand never left the edge of your knee, not once in the hour-long drive. no matter how far you reached your body out his car's window, his fingers stayed glued around you. you never said anything about the gesture apart from placing your hand over his. being his was something you never got used to, but you were far from complaining.

"richierichierichie i think we're here!" you exclaim, ducking your head back inside the car.

"you sure, dummy? the massive ferris wheel and circus tent means we're close to the carnival?"

your hand leaves his to go shove his temple, "fuck off, rich."

"i know i know, you're really excited," he taps your knee, "so am i."

he pulls into the parking lot, expertly navigating his way through the crowded area before finding a space. an empty space which was coincidentally beside a sketchy beat-up minivan painted with "URIS," in fat letters.

richie laughs, "what are the fucking odds.”

his hand moves from the skin on your knee to the back of your seat, his body shifting to face the rear. you subtly eye your boyfriend sitting in the driver's seat and tried not to physically express any of the thoughts firing in your mind right then. dear god, did he look good today. you end up shamelessly staring at him as he strains his neck to squeeze his way through tight space. his knuckles turn to this ghostly shade of white when he flexed them against the wheel, his rings glinting under the sunlight.

once he finally put the car in park and shifted his weight back to you, he catches your gaze. throwing a wink, he pulls out the keys and stuffs his belongings into his jean pockets. 

you’re sure he has zero clue about the effect any of this had on you. sure, he was your boyfriend but sometimes you found yourself feeling scared at how much you liked him. this boy has you wrapped around his finger and he barely knows half of it.

you reach over and run your fingers through his unruly hair a couple more times, enjoying the way the curls bounce back. “you look so good, rich.”

he rolls his eyes at your remark, but you don’t miss the way a small blush reaches tips of his ears. “enjoy it while it lasts, i can’t let the guards recognise me again.” 

“i still can’t believe you got fired and banned on the same day, rich. that’s genuinely so impressive, you know that?"

richie rolls his eyes but you see the hint of a grin on his face, “you going soft on me, sweets?”

“could never.” you ruffle his hair, letting your nails glide along his scalp and you laugh at the way his head naturally tips back. richie had no clue why the feeling of your hands in his hair that made him short-circuit, but he wasn’t complaining.

“do we really have to go see them...” richie groans, grabbing your hand and placing it back onto his head when you pulled away.

“richard tozier. i did not pester you to drive us an hour away just so you could fold at me playing with your hair.”

he side-eyes you. “why did i agree to this again?”

“because every day for the last month you wouldn’t shut up about ‘taking eddie’s slushee v-”

“ed’s slushee virginity, riiiight,” he breaks out in a smile, “jesus, can you believe sonia never let him near one in his entire life?”

you tug his fringe towards you and the rest of his head followed, “well, now that he’s all alone there, someone’s got to be there to guide him through his first time, right?” 

he faux-pouts back at you, the mischievous glint in his eye sparkling brighter. “fine.”

finally, you let go of his hair and he pecks a kiss against your cheek before putting on his sunglasses and tipping his cap further down his face. opening his car door, you sit there dumbfounded as you watch the 6'2 disguised dork clamber out of his side with your tote bag on his shoulder.

he glances back, offering a hand as if you were going to climb out on his side as well, “c’mon, we don’t have all day.” and richie made sure you knew that by dragging you through the park, evading the guards left and right in under a minute. it was only so long before you spotted a group of idiots wandering aimlessly. bev’s bright red hair was the instant identifier, and watching this bill’s lanky frame grab a fistful of stan’s curls to yank it about sealed the deal. 

“stanley, darling,” richie yelled through the crowd, “if you wanted someone to pull your hair that badly you could’ve asked me nicely.”  “shut the fuck up, trashmouth!” stan yelled back. “wait. rich?”

you walk over and sling your arm around bev, “you guys haven’t been waiting long, have you?”  she grins at the sight of you, “no, but if i have to hear mike argue one more time that the high striker is apparently ‘broken’ i’m going to kill somebody.”

“do me a favour and kill me, bev!” stan’s voice cuts through, followed by a shriek when richie too grabs a handful of his hair. 

bev’s hand leaves yours to go smack both boys upside the head. “y’all better stop acting like children before i get fucking fired. i’m not going out like dumbass richie here did.” she eyes the rest of them, who all halt in their tracks.

“yes, ma’am,” the chorus sighed.

🎡

"ed's, i swear on your mother's smokin’ bod that blue is the. best. flavour. there's literally nothing wrong with it."

"you just called blue a flavour, richie-”

"because it can be. it doesn’t matter if blue and red colouring are the same, you can feel the difference.”

"no, i really can't. i don't understand how the colour blue could possibly be-"

richie groans, "fine, eat your mommy's packed lunch like the big boy you are." he teasingly starts to wave his cup in front of eddie's eyes.

"quit it, rich. if eddie doesn’t want toxins in his body, leave him be." ben interjects before sipping his own neon drink.

the boys huddled together around a picnic table they had managed to snatch before the carnival’s lunch rush swept over. richie and bev used to work in the carnival last summer, the two-week period spent with one another supposedly being “worse than the devil’s asscrack.” the comment itself earned richie five slaps, one each from the boys, and a high-five from bev. that was until richie got permanently banned (which you still don’t know how) and now bev carried on by herself whenever they roll back into derry. 

currently, you and bev were on your way back from the concession stands, attempting not to spill anything. you each held at least four bags of carnival foods and drinks in your arms, bev also balancing the few candy bars she stashed under her shirt. teeter-tottering your way back to the boys, richie burst out in laughter at the sight of you struggling. 

“as graceful as a job you’re doing with that, sweets, do you want some help?” he smirks, already swinging his leg over the chair.

“nope, nothing to see here,” you groan at richie’s smug grin. “rich, i swear to god if you come near me i am going to-”

“hurt me, hit me, murder me, mmhm. i’m sure you’ll do a whole lot of damage.” he winks, swiping the bags from your arms.

“freaky.” stan muttered, churning his slushee with the straw. you grumble at richie’s endearing irritating act of heroism and plop yourself next to stan empty-handed. 

“here, you want some?” stan raises an eyebrow, offering his blue slushee towards you.

“thanks stan, but he’s got my...” you glance towards richie, half-expecting to see him distributing the snacks, only to see him aggressively nudge the slushees in eddie’s face. “you know what, i’ll take it.” 

stan scoffed, “what, you thought i was offering this from the depths of my generous heart? i thought you knew me better-"

the sound of plastic crinkling and eddie’s yelp cut through stan’s sentence. 

you look back at the sight of richie threatening to pour the ice into eddie’s hair, eddie shrieking and wildly missing punches at richie. dear god, your boyfriend was such a menace. richie and eddie never spent a day where they weren’t at eachother’s throats though, but anyone with a pair of eyes could see that they deeply loved one another. rich had that effect on people, you think. he was rarely overtly loving, but it’s not like he needed to be. you guys just knew.

ben smiles sweetly between you and your gaze on richie. “you’re staring again, y/n.”

you immediately snap out of it and go to slug ben in the shoulder. “was not.”

“was too.”

"was. not."

"was too!"

you narrow your eyes at ben who sheepishly smiles in innocence. he reaches over to grab a couple onion rings from your bag to which you lightly slap the back of his hand. he groans, trying again from another angle, “just because i pointed out your goo-goo eyes at trashmouth?”

bev snatched a couple rings from across you and threw them at ben. he chuckles gleefully at the perfect catch. “you know, he’s not wrong,” she points out.

“for the last time, i wasn’t staring,” you groan.

“not about that, genius. the way you’re absolutely whipped for that dick.” she smiles. “i mean,” you barely conceal your smirk, “the dick is pretty g-”

"not what i meant," bev sighs while the rest of them groan at your words.

“seriously though,” bill asks with genuine curiosity, “how did you even end up together? how do you even like someone that much?” bev tuts from the other side, “tread lightly there, denbrough.” 

“shut up, you know what i mean. it’s trashmouth we’re talking ’bout here.” bill grins, “it’s a mystery how someone can shut him up so quick.”

you laugh to yourself, thinking about the few times you get to see richie completely speechless. “it’s not that hard, you know?” you shrug softly at the way the losers nod. you may all pretend to hate the life out of him but he always had a special place in each of your hearts. “he cares with everything he’s got, no matter what. he’s always there for you even if you don’t want him to be. i just...i don’t think he’s been anything less than...” 

“-if you say ‘perfect’, i’m going to hit you.” stan says.

you roll your eyes at stan, “fuck off, but... but yeah. it’s so easy to love him and i honestly owe you guys an apology for being so annoyingly whipped for that dork,” you joke.

aside from the distant bickering coming from richie and eddie in their own little world, a silence hung over the six of you. it was too quiet. wondering if you said something wrong, you scan over them, only to be met with six variations of a smirk. more than confused, you chuckle nervously. “i was joking about the apology thing but if you really want-”

“you said ‘love.’” bev laughed.

“what?”

“you said ‘love,’” she repeated. “that you loved him.”

“i... of course i love him, he’s..” not trusting any more of the words coming out of your mouth, you cut yourself off and gather your thoughts.

of course you loved richie. each and every one of you loved your resident trashmouth, he was one of your best friends. the two of you were the closest of friends, an insufferable duo for years before you began dating. it might have only been a few weeks since he asked you out, but it’s not like too much changed from when you were friends. 

there was only more love, more affection, only slightly more sexual innuendos (majority of them were solely just to piss off stan). 

so of course you loved him. more than you did when you were friends. which he’s gotta know... right?

“fuck, maybe i do owe you guys an apology.” you joke.

“don’t think twice about it, this is nothing compared to him. if i took a shot for every time he went on some sort of love ramble about you, i’d be fucking dead.” bev replies, “and then he would carry on.”

you laugh, shaking your head in denial, “c’mon, he does not do that.”

“are you blind?” mike speaks up. “you’ve had him since the first day you joined us at the barrens. i can still see fourteen-year-old richie ogling you clear as day.”

you stammered at your response, tripping over your words. “mike, i think you broke her. she’s become bill,” stan teases.

you go to shove stan again and sorely miss. “anyways, my point is...” 

you avoid their eye contact and go back to churning stan’s slushee. “he has my heart, fuck, he’s got all of our hearts. like, is he an asshole? sure. does he get on my nerves every other day? definitely. will he be the death of me? probably. but i l-”

“i sure hope you’re winding up to something there, sweets.” 

you snap your head up from your dreamy rambling to see richie smirking next to you and eddie squeezing himself next to bill. you feel yourself go bright red at the realisation that he had been listening. 

“i- no. that was it.”  

“you sure? you going off about me... ‘but’...” richie pushes, quoting your words.

“richie, if you genuinely think you have redeeming qualities, i suggest some self-reflection.” stan quipped. “yeah, i was just pointing how much you bother us. no ifs, no buts,” you jokingly agree.

“mean,” richie rolls his eyes, shifting back in his seat next to you.

he’s gotta know... right? 

you wink and stick your tongue out playfully, to which richie raises an eyebrow at. he glances between the blue drink in your hand and your tongue, his gaze on your lips making you nervous. 

“now, what?” you sigh, wiping the ice from your mouth and pretending that you weren’t dying to know what was churning in that brain of his. 

“nothing,” richie shrugs smugly, “just that i’ve always wanted to know how my cock looked blue.”

the comment took you off guard, your instant blush only fuelling richie’s grin. without hesitation, you lean over with a faux-pout, an act that has richie’s eyes wide. “careful there, trashmouth,” you tease loudly. “you keep this up and you’ll see how stan’s looks blue.”

bev immediately gasps with her hand over her mouth, followed by mike’s stifled cackle as he slapped richie’s back. the rest of the group looks frankly stunned, and stan’s face is on a whole different level of red. 

richie doesn’t even look the least bit angry. his jaw is dropped slightly and he runs his hand over his jaw, trying to stop the chuckle that leaves his throat. if anything he looks proud. 

shaking his head with a smile, he slings his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. “that’s my girl,” he grins.

“yeah, that for sure is tozier’s,” bill says.

there’s no way any of you miss the way richie’s face goes red under that comment and your heart skips a beat when he squeezes your side. when no one’s looking, you lean up and kiss by his ear, absolutely delighted by the deeper shade of red on his face. 

“darl, if you don’t stop that i’m going to go as red as stan,” he whispers into your hair. the both of you look back at the boy who’s trying to concentrate on his slushee and not the blush that’s continued to creep to his neck. “i’m actually getting concerned.”

you giggle, “shh, he’s fine.”

“no really, i give it a couple seconds before eddie pulls out his medical fanny pack,” richie says.

you look up at him as you’re tucked into his side, his arm still slung around your shoulder. his dark hair and eyelashes caught the sunlight, his blue eyes glinting as he glanced back. his lips were tipped into their signature cheeky smile, almost like a cue that he was going to say something out of hand. you felt the swell of your heart grow as he raised his eyebrows, prompting what he knew you were going to say. 

“you know, earlier...” you whisper, looking down to his hand intertwining with yours. “i just... i wanted to say that i... you know... that i-”

“i feel like i should be offended at how hard it is for you to tell me you love me, sweets,” he whispers back, clearly trying to keep a straight face.  fuck.  “oh god please, you know i-” richie shushes you, kissing the crown of your head. “it’s okay, i know.” you can feel the curve of his lips against your hair. “i love you too.”

trying to tame the aggressive blush and stupid smile that reached your face, you follow his gaze over to eddie. just like richie joked, he had this fanny pack laid on the table in front of stan. you weren’t listening to anything they were saying, but you watched the way stan was squirming from eddie, insisting he did not have heatstroke. mike stood right behind stan, pinching his cheeks and periodically wrapping his strong arms around stan to stop him from squirming. bev was leaning across ben and bill’s laps, joining in and poking her fun at eddie and you notice how bill’s hands traces figures along bev’s side. ben gazes at the group of them, chiming in every so often when stan’s quips got too violent. 

it was one of those moments you wish you could freeze. 

after a while, richie whispers into your ear. “do you think they’d even notice if we left for the ferris wheel?”

you break your eye contact from the group to gaze up at him. “nope, not at all. you think you can sneak us some tickets?” 

“please, you think i got kicked out of here for nothing?” he scoffs.

“is this how you’re going to get banned again?” you grin, poking his side, “stealing tickets for your girl?”

with a soft smile, he takes your hand to subtly stand and back away from the group. with stifled giggles, the both of you manage to make it at least twenty feet without the losers even noticing. the second you two were out of earshot, richie wraps his hand around yours and begins to run, “i wouldn't want it any other way."

🎡

[s4turns-r1ngs]

c! benchtrio and reader building a club house together, and it becomes sorta a secret safe place for them when other shit goes down in the server ?

DSMP - Hideaway

Summary: Sometimes, things get to much. Which is why you, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo decide to build a small area for you guys to go when things head downhill.

Pronouns: they/them

Warnings: Swearing

-> [a/n] - hello!! thamk you for the request!! also, heads up: i apologize if something isn't accurate; i haven't watched more than two or something lore streams. i know most of what happens through people yelling about it on tumblr :) because of that, I've also changed up the timeline a little,, so there's more time between ranboo joining and tommy being exiled. also also: this is in 3rd-person pov. it fits better with how im writing this one. bc this is probably gonna be a long one. and reader is blue text and [F.L] means first letter of your name :)

-> this is going to be a multipart thing!! parts will go here when i write more of this. :)

-> p!c!bench trio + reader

>—————————×××—————————<

Wiping the sweat off of their forehead, they stand back, looking at the area of the groups little hideaway they had been working on.

"Not bad, [Y/N]. I honestly expected it to look a lot shittier than this." They hear a voice from behind them say. They roll their eyes, turning around in the process.

"Yeah, yeah, and how's you're working on?"

With confidence, Tommy says: "Already done, bitch. I was the first one."

[Y/N] raises an eyebrow, not believing him at all. They, along with the other two, decided to let him decorate the common area, after his constant pestering to do so, while they worked on putting walls in other areas of their hideaway. "So you don't mind if I check? You always go on about how great you are at everything."

"Go ahead, Big [F.L]." He says, confidence unwavering. Huh, that probably means he actually did it.

With both eyebrows raised, they set down the tools still in their hands and walk up to him. "Alright, show me the way Toms."

"Ew. Nicknames." Tommy replies, (obviously fake) disgusted tone in his voice. "Gross."

"Okay, 'Big Man'." [Y/N] says in response, mocking his accent.

"Yes, I am in fact a Big Man, thank you very much." He begins walking in the direction of the common area, which was behind a curtain on the other side of the room, and completely ignoring their horrible attempt at mocking his accent.

Sighing, they smile, following after him. "Uh-huh. I bet if Ranboo and Tubbo were here, they'd already been done as well."

"They would not! Ranboo's too much of a pussy to be done before the TommyInnit. And Tubbo is Tubbo. He'd probably get distracted by a bee halfway through, or some shit."

As if to push him further, they point out: "But Ranboo isn't that bad of a builder. Of course, he's not Foolish-level of good, but he's not bad."

Reaching he area, [Y/N] continues: "You on the other hand-"

They pause, looking around. It was surprisingly nice. There was a low coffee table in the center, with a couple of different coloured beanbags around it. A small window sat across the table, letting some natural sunlight in. A few pillows sat stacked up in the corner, different designs for each one. There were a couple of builtin boards on the walls, and a couple of chests under the window or in the corner with a pillows. Fairy lights hung from various spots on the ceiling.

"...this is surprisingly good."

Before Tommy gets to say anything, the two hear a door open from behind a couple more curtains.

"Hey, guys! Ranboo and I are here! Where are you?" They here Tubbo shout.

"We're back by Tommy's area!"

"Alright, one second!" The sound of curtains moving is heard before the two make their way to the common area, Tubbo pushing through the curtain dramatically, while Ranboo just tries to duck down without his horns getting caught on something.

"Oh shit! This is pretty cool, Tommy!" He walks over to the pillows. "Where'd you even get all of these?"

"I, uh–" He looks down a little, as if embarrassed. "I made them..."

"Really? Yo, dude, that's so cool!"

He seemed to have a genuinely surprised expression on his face. "Oh, uh, of course! 'Cause everything I do is cool."

The other three roll their eyes.

"Uh-huh, sure."

"Oh, fuck off, [Y/N]." Tommy turned towards Ranboo. "Wanna go set something on fire or some shit?"

"Uh–"

"I'll take that as a yes! Let's go, big man." He grabs ahold of his arm and walks out of the room.

"Don't get in too much trouble!"

"No guarantees!"

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Millie’s Massive Fic Rec Post

To celebrate 700 followers I’m showing all the love, people. What you’ll find here are fics that were sent to me who I agree deserve a bit more love as well as fics I’ve read and adored. They’re split into characters so all you need to do is scroll to find your fave and bask in its glory. There is some swearing but it’s only because it’s the only way I know how to express my feelings. This is also my thank you to each of the authors involved for taking the time out of their day to write these fics for free. There are also some authors I know I’ve forgotten and I am so so sorry if I have, I promise you it wasn't intentional, I love you all very much.

As always, I love and appreciate you all. Let’s get started on this ridiculously long post!!

Harry Potter:

Don’t Walk Away - @kalimagik - THE ANGST. I was on the edge of my seat through it all; I knew what was coming but did I look away? No. I was completely sucked it and that ending... oh my god, I was broken. If you’re looking for an incredibly written piece of angst that has you in tears, then this is the fic.

Dandelions - @lupins-sweater - The first post of A Very Harry Potter Summer and it was kicked off so brilliantly!! This fic had me wishing for my very own Harry to take morning walks with. It’s so wonderful; it has you wanting a summery morning and dandelions to make wishes on.

Always You - @bl597 - inspired by Louis Tomlinson’s song Always You, so I was already sold on that front. It’s an angst piece - Harry pining from afar, regretting his decisions but with a happy ending. I love that it's written from his perspective, that he realises what he’s done. I really do love this fic, and I aim to work my way through her masterlist!

The Truth Behind The Kiss - @justauthoring​ - the anticipation from the first sentence, I was on the edge of my seat. I loved every single word of this fic, it’s written so well. I just, I need you all to read this fic bc it is SO GOOD. Harry, Triwizard tournament, feelings, fluff - it has it all. 

For how long? - @siriusly-addicted-to-writing​ - It seems for Harry fics I am drawn to angst even though I write nothing but fluff for him. This fic is no different. Dani, this fic is wonderful, I love it. You capture the angst brilliantly! Go read this everyone!

Ron Weasley:

“can we pretend I never said that?” - @hello-everyfandom - I love this so much! Ron calling himself ‘the snog master’ had me snorting out loud - it’s great. And then the dialogue continues to be brilliant. I really enjoyed this fic! Ron needs more attention people!!  

Crossing Lines - @kalimagik - ADORABLE. CUTE. WONDERFUL. Oh, Ron. Everything about this fic is marvellous. The relationship between Ron and the reader, the realisation, the meddling. It was perfect, so so perfect.

birthday - @lupinsdarling - FLUFFY AND CHAOTIC AND I LOVE IT. Why oh why doesn't Ron get more love? Why doesn't this fic have more attention? It’s so fluffy and Ron is so bloody cute that my heart physically hurt while reading this. It hurt because it was so PURE.

Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley:

Girls in one room - @eleven-times-lively - Hermione x Reader - oh my god I snorted at Ron, I love it. And the fluff? There’s so much fluff, I can't deal with the fluff. If you’re going to read a Hermione fic, read this one!

just as lovely - @vanillann - this is so pure! it’s so wonderful, and the relationship between Hermione and the reader is so cute! 

Hug ur friends drabble - @firewhisky-kisses - Ginny x Reader - it’s the cutest thing I’ve read, oh my god, is it cute! I love everything about this, Steph is so talented! But I go into that further down.

Neville Longbottom:

Never the Bride - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Dee’s fic reads as a rom com, it’s so brilliantly done. By the time you're at the end, you feel as if you’ve just watched a two hour rom com and need to squeal into your pillow because of the feels. I love this fic.

Moonlight Swim - @kalimagik - Neville. Oh, Neville. This fic stole my heart and it won't give me it back. The idea of a moonlight swim with Neville? Here for it. And the confession? *chefs kiss* incredible. 

Healing - @firewhisky-kisses - I cannot put into words how much I loved this fic,. Steph is just so incredibly talented and writes Neville so wonderfully. Healing is the first fic of two and that second part had me in happy tears because Neville deserves the world. I go back and reread this a lot when I need to boost my emotions, so thank you for this Steph.

Good News - @peachesandpinks - Let me explain something here, Ron repeatedly and without fail hypes up fic writers to the point where she makes me cry happy tears at her comments. Her writing (and I'm going to swear now) is fucking brilliant. I love it, I adore it. Ren has a way with words that I only hope to master. This fic? Marvellous, magnificent, wonderful - pick a synonym and go wild. It’s so sweet and wholesome - what more could you possibly want other than to be on her taglist?

Tally Marks - @obsessedwithrandomthings NEVILLE WITH TATTOOS PEOPLE! NEVILLE! WITH! TATTOOS! Do I need to say anymore? Yes? Okay. Dee is a fantastic writer but she writes Neville perfectly. We have had many conversations about her love for Neville and her love for him shines through in this fic. She writes with such care and I love reading everything.

Draco Malfoy: 

The Purist - @mxl-foy - This series is so good. Like, so good, that if it was a physical book, it would be sat on my shelves. I would religiously check her account every time I came onto Tumblr to see if a new chapter was posted, and if there was, you best believe there was a happy dance. It’s so incredibly thought out and plotted. And there’s going to be a part two! It’s so great!

Notes - @malfoys-demigod - This is so sweet! I live for fluffy Draco as you all know if you read my Draco fics, but I adore reading fluffy Draco as well. This fic is so adorable, I love it! 

Always so Cold - @teheharrypotter - Five times Draco gave you his sweater and the one time you accepted. I love these sort of fics, they’re my indulgence fics. Jealous!Draco is one of my favourite things to read as well. and he’s so dramatic. I couldn't ask for more in a fic, definitely one of my favourites. 

the distance between us - @sdicapriox - This is a genius idea. I love this idea, and I love how it was executed. Almost 10k words of brilliance. I love the reader and her first letter to Draco and her entire personality - fish funeral? genius. I really like how you portray Draco and the effort you put into his internal monologue, it really is something excellent. The ending as well, I won't spoil, I just urge people to read this. 

Heartbreak - @slytherinprincess03 - you have to have a little bit of angst in a Draco fic rec right? This fic has it but the ending is perfect and fluffy, gah! I love it!. Not to mention, Draco is such a gentlemen in it. I can't wait to see what else you write, lovely!!

Hardly A Date - @fanficflaneuse - I love this fic. I love it so much. I tend not to read sibling!reader but I adored this. The relationship between Harry and the reader, and then Draco and the reader. It’s amazing. I could rant for hours and hours about how much I love her work - her series are out of this world and she captures Draco’s character perfectly. 

George Weasley:

Red with Rage - @kalimagik - AGH ANOTHER OF MAGGIE’S FICS. The prank? Genius, and that end line - incredible. Her characterisation of the twins is so good, I love reading her fics. She deserves more than 300 followers! So if you don’t already follow her, go now!

When Everything Changes - @strawberriesonsummer - Based on the song Everything Has Changed by Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran. This is so pure, it’s so fluffy. George is adorable in this! I can't wait to read what else you write for George!

Come back to you - @dreamer821 - JJ, JJ, JJ. Ugh, this fic is a work of art and George is so bloody caring. I mention this a lot but the relationship between George and the reader is so important to get right and JJ does it flawlessly. My heart hurts for this fic and that last line, LOVE IT. I live for how JJ writes George, I could read her work all day. GO READ HER STUFF, YOU WON’T REGRET IT.

Fred Weasley:

The Right Bird - @dreamer821 - I’m not only just involving this because it was used in my writing challenge but oh my days, it is so wonderful. The relationship between Fred and the reader is just *chefs kiss* perfect. JJ has such a way with words and I just love how she depicts Fred.

Lost, are we? - @prongsies - I think I’m going to make my way through your masterlist because I loved this so much. The teasing was so cute, and Fred helping her at the beginning? Ahhhhh brilliant. 

Watermelon Sugar - @prongsies - COMPLETING THE FINEST SERVICE TO THE HP FANDOM AND WRITING FICS INSPIRED BY FINE LINE - I SALUTE YOU. This is so good, so so good. The references to the song are used so well and that little bit of fluff at the end? Amazing. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to put the song on repeat now...

Percy Weasley: 

Nothing We Can’t Forgive -  @firewhisky-kisses - This series really does showcase Steph’s talent. She’s an incredible writer and this fic deserves all the attention it can possibly get. It’s the first Percy fic I’ve ever read and I’m already planning a reread. Steph captures Percy’s character flawlessly whilst also depicting his healing in a manner that is so relatable. I’ve linked the masterlist because once you start reading, you won't want to stop. 

Sight is Relative - @hufflefluff-writer - This fic has a blind reader which I think makes it all the more beautiful. Amelia’s characterisation of Percy really is wonder, she captures him brilliantly. The fic after they eat is quite literally breathtaking. The description of colours, the dialogue - it’s fantastic.

Hufflepuff!Reader Headcanons - @soft-nerdy-wolf - I loved this from the beginning where the reader was already helping Percy out of his comfort zone by disregarding curfew. Then the further, I read, I loved more and more because of how fluffy it is! And the confession? So so sweet! This needs more attention!

Bill Weasley: 

Estrellita - @fanficflaneuse and @hufflefluff-writer - It is a fic inspired by the Sound of Music, what more could you possibly want? It’s so delicate and incredibly written by two extremely talented writers. The relationship between Bill and the reader = adorable. The whole series is so fantastic, I’ve linked part one and you’ll find the rest on Amelia’s masterlist, which you’ll need because you’ll be reading the entire thing in one sitting, I swear.

Charlie Weasley:

As Family the First Time - @kalimagik - you’ll have noticed that Maggie features a lot here but that’s because she is so damned talented that I adore most of her fics. The first Charlie Weasley fic I read and I fell in love. It’s just so fluffy and humorous with features from the whole Weasley family. Basically, by the end of it I was ready to raise dragons in Romania with a certain Weasley.

Meeting the Weasleys - @soft-nerdy-wolf - This made smile all sorts of stupid. From the beginning, I wanted to own Hepaestus (the perfect name for a dragon in my opinion - Zeus’ own forger, amazing.) And the fluff with Charlie straight after? I love, love, love it as well as the fun relationship they have. And the pranks with Fred and George? Ah! I just love.

Dragons blurb - @hufflefluff-writer - I know it’s only a blurb but oh my god, I loved it, I love it. Jealous!Charlie and a buttload of fluff - the best to boost your mood.

Cedric Diggory:

A Ghost Story - @wondernimbus - So beautifully haunting. Ysa has a way with words that make you feel as if you're physically there, living the fic alongside the characters. There aren't really any words to describe how talented Ysa is - all I can do is urge to read her masterlist and discover for yourself. 

My Boys - @potterverseimagine - Cedric and dogs - I am in love. This fic is so sweet and pure and playful. Playful Cedric is so great omg and this fic is full to the brim with it. I just... ah I love this so much. AND HE’S ALIVE. I LOVE FICS WHERE HE’S ALIVE. Thank you for this!!

It’s a Date - @angelinathebook​ - Lena, this is so good. You need to write more Cedric! Ah, I hate those boys so much but I love Cedric!! This is so good! Cedric needs more love 100% - if you haven't read this already, you need to read it now!!

Sirius Black: 

Lost Time - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Reader standing up for who she loves against Bellatrix? Yes, we love that. Slow burn romance with Sirius? I love that even more. Dee never fails to astound me when she writes Sirius, and I know she won’t fail to astound you too. Seriously (lol), go through Dee’s masterlist, read her works, you won't regret it. She’s the loveliest.

Our Godson - @nebulablakemurphy - Christina is so talented. The letters!!! Are so good!!! AND WHEN THEY FINALLY MEET? My heart! Christina, it's as if you broke it and then rebuilt it again all in the span of 2.8k words especially with that ending. I love this fic, and you will love this fic. 

Curiosity - @siriusly-the-best-gryffindor​ - I don’t know what else to say that I haven't already said in my reblog but I love this fic. I am heavily pierced and heavily tattooed and I love seeing a reader as the same. I love all of this fic, it 100% needs more love!

The Jimmy Jab Games - @im-a-writer-right​ - A Sirius fic inspired by Brooklyn-99. I loved every single chapter, it made me so happy. And that final chapter, I was smiling like a fool throughout. Sirius is a dream through this, and that bet? I love! I’ve linked the masterlist because you won’t want to move as you read.  

Secrets and fears - @firewhisky-kisses​ - Steph does it again with the masterpieces. Honestly, I squeal a little whenever I see her in my notifications with a new fic because everything she writes is stellar, and this is no exception. If you’re going to read anything tonight, let it be her masterlist. If you haven't read her latest Sirius piece as well, you are sorely missing out. 

Remus Lupin:

Protect - @obsessedwithrandomthings - Oh man, this one hurt. There are so many feels to this fic, so many layers. The enemies to lovers? Amazing. That ending as well - so fucking good. Like everything Dee writes, so fucking good.

Sleeping Beauty - @poppin-potter - This is adorable. There’s no other words for it. The relationship between the reader and Remus is so cute, I was smiling all the way through it. Not to mention the relationship between the reader and the Marauders, so bloody good. And that ending? It was so peaceful, like I was reading and I was like yeah, I would’t mind a piece of that.

Pain of reality - @heloisedaphnebrightmore - I had to involve some Remus angst, and oh my word. You smashed my heart into pieces in the beginning and had put it back together by the end. Heloise is an incredible writer, so so talented. This is a Remus fic you cannot miss out on!

Bruise and Scars - @peachesandpinks - Soulmate AU and Marauders Era Remus. What more could you possibly want? It’s poetic. If you look to my Neville section, you’ll see why I love Ren’s writing so much but let me tell you, I am a SUCKER for Remus. Always have been, always will be. You will not regret reading this fic or any of Ren’s fics.

Nights like These - @teheharrypotter - another fic in A Very Harry Potter Summer and the description in this fic is so good! The way the summer night described has you feeling every moment of it. And the conversation between Remus and the reader is so beautiful, where they touch upon their grief. It’s a wonderfully written piece of work.

James Potter:

Numb Love - @heloisedaphnebrightmore - Unrequited love is like my guilty pleasure because I love the angst of it, and this fic. Oh this fic, it destroyed me and I loved every single minute of it. How this fic doesn't have more notes, I have no clue. It’s a masterpiece of emotions. 

Reading between the lines - @approved-by-dentists - ohhh this fic is great, I love the flirtation between the reader and James in the beginning all the way to end. It was one of the first James fics I read (I’m late to the party, I’m well aware) and omg I love it. Just go read the fic!

Book-thief - @wondernimbus - I’m going to repeat my words from earlier, there are no words to describe Ysa’s talent. James Potter and a bookshop and I was sold. She captures his character so brilliantly. Just... go binge her work.

Summer revelations - @pregnant-piggy - I keep saying this about all the fics I put on here but I love this fic! I love it! First, I love James. Second, I need those muffins - seriously, where can I get these muffins? And their realisations and confessions! It’s such a pure fic, I’m absolutely in love with your portrayal of James.

Newt Scamander:

Cheeky Niffler - @eleven-times-lively - reader is an archaeologist - from that moment, I was sold. I loved reading this, I loved the idea and I love Niffler as it is! I always need more Newt in my life and this is perfect.

Online Love - @strawberriesonsummer​ - Modern AU! I really loved this idea, I love the idea of Newt with a phone and ringing the wrong number. It’s such a wonderful fic, I haven't read Newt in so long so this was such a lovely one to read! I can’t wait to read what other Newt fics are posted!

desire - @blisfvll​ - I am a huge fan of their works; their Draco fics are incredible and their Newt fics are just the same. This had me feeling all sorts of emotions, and I loved every second of it.  

You stared Newt right in the eyes. - @fantasticnewtimagines​ - I didn't know what the title to this was so I just type out the first sentence, I hope you don't mind! This is a delicious piece of angst with a lovely, happy ending. I adore this piece so much because it conveys so much. I love it!!

MARVEL:

I want to take a moment to appeal to the followers of mine who also enjoy reading marvel. @shaynawrites23​ has started to write some marvel fics and even entered my writing challenge and her fics definitely deserve some attention! She’s a wonderful writer and her fics are so cute! If you’re a fan of Bucky, you’ll love these fics!

Catty

Soulmate

Rosy Proposal

[transcharliekelly]

the spreadsheet i keep on mac's wardrobe has been fully updated for s15 ! here are some thoughts about his costume this season bc. idk when you do something like this you start thinking about it a lot

- SO many button downs....

out of 14 shirts this season (vaguely on the higher side but still within average) mac wears eleven button-downs- more or less 78% of his shirts. that's the highest number since their introduction in s7, which is their second most popular season with eight of sixteen/50%. i DO have thoughts about this but they're related to my next point so ill get to them in a second

- another point about these button-downs is that there's a lot of colour. the button-downs have never been muted, perse, but they're particularly bright this season, especially using a lot more pink/purple tones & just generally more vibrant shades.

now. my thoughts.

look back a few lines to what I said about s7- the button-downs are introduced in 07.01 (the a-plot of which is about frank loving the woman he loves no matter what """greater society""" thinks, even if the relationship is unconventional, just by the way) when mac and dennis go pick some up after mac's gotten fat between seasons. mac continues to wear them regularly, dennis, done with the desire to break through from the rigid, emotionally + physically straining/painful labour he puts himself through to adhere to what he believes is expected of him that he expresses during the episode, does not.

in season eight, mac has lost the weight he had gained for season seven. he clearly expresses, primarily in 08.05 the gang gets analyzed though also in throwaway moments throughout the season, that he misses his weight (mass, as he calls it). he's lost it because of (likely dangerous) diet pills that he's tricked into taking by dennis. mac looks back on his fatness as a time of freedom and pride for him, clearly viewing the weight loss as (to a degree) having made him a shell of his former self.

two of mac's ten shirts in season eight are button-downs, putting the rate there at exactly 20%, down 30%. from s8-s14, mac wears five button-downs out of ninety-two shirts, for a rate of roughly 0.05%.

I think that if we're talking about mac's self-expression there's a pretty clear line in the sand to be drawn- 08.01 through 12.06, and 12.07 through 14.10. pre-coming out, and afterward. pre-coming out has a rate of three of sixty-six/0.054%, and afterward has two of twenty-six/0.095%. keep in mind that these numbers should be taken with a grain of salt as they only account for shirts worn for the first time, but a) the number of rewears starts to go down a lot in the later seasons so they're not far off, and b) I believe that they do still accurately represent that the quantity of button-downs is low.

so where's mac at during s8-14?

well, pre-coming out it's pretty obvious what the issue is. he's pre-coming out. coming out is something that isn't inherently necessary for happiness as a queer person, of course, but mac is really really actively repressing who he is pre-hohc, and he's fucking miserable about it.

that middle area of the show, around s7/8/9, is where mac starts to be really actively queer-coded. there's this vague gay aura that's always been present in the show (and still is), but it starts to really focus in with mac around this time, and as a result we get more and more of him being this ball of repression wound so tight that he's about to snap. so there's our answer- despite the freedom he feels in s7 when he lets go of what he's been holding himself to (in a sense), he loses that in s8, and the freedom of the button-downs goes with it.

but from 12.07 onwards, it's a bit of a different beast. mac doesn't know how to be gay.

so much of mac's character is about how he's struggling to fit into his identity. I think there's a bit of a disadvantage here because the handling of mac's character (particularly his identity) in s13/14 is just remarkably horrible, but there is a really interesting thing to be pulled from the wreckage there where mac spent what. forty-odd years ? denying who he is and now doesn't know what to do with himself. so he's free from his denial, yes, but he's not free.

so what's changed with s15 ?

I think that he's finally settling into being gay.

his whole thing in s15 is about finding which part of his identity is most "significant", right? which is it's own identity problem, yeah, but he's almost shockingly comfortable with the fact that being gay is part of him. he tosses it around brazenly in conversation, he openly tells a priest (A CATHOLIC PRIEST IN HIS HOME COUNTRY !!) about his various sexual experiences with men & his attraction to the hot priest, he very openly expresses excitement about "a priest like me" when he thinks the priest he's following is gay.

mac hasn't exactly been shy about his sexuality up until this point, but there's always been this edge to it that.... ok like i said i despise what was done with his character in s13/14 and im loathe to give rcg kudos for it, but i think there's a totally reasonable reading of that where he's weaponizing his outward expression/discussion of his sexuality so that he doesn't have to think about the unresolved pain that's still there. mfhip is a significant step re: catharsis/reconciling his hurt, but there's still that last stretch before he gets to where he is in s15.

and so that's what the shirts are. he's back to the freedom of s7- not only are the button-downs in abundance, but they're brighter than ever before. he feels like himself again, except this time it's on the inside.

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 4342 ⚬ warnings: brief drug mention ⚬ genres: mainly just fluff! college/uni!au

✧✎ synopsis: your longtime campus crush just received an interesting dare: to ask you out on a date. while the circumstances are questionable, you aren’t going to decline. maybe this is your ticket to romance. 

✧✎ a/n: if this title or plot sounds familiar, then that’s bc i finally accomplished a goal of mine: to rewrite i dare you. this was a fic i originally wrote in 2016!! i did change some aspects, so not everything is identical. PLS ENJOY ;w;

The bells to the café door jingled.

Normally, you wouldn’t be so attentive about the customers filtering in and out, but at that moment, your gaze shot over the lid of your laptop like a harpoon. It was roughly the right time, the right day. According to your judgement, this was when they usually came for their morning coffees. Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol: a very popular trio amongst the likings of your campus.  

Jeonghan was a nursing student. Clean-cut, charming to a degree of annoyance, and always ordered a boring black coffee. The second boy, Joshua, was cute enough to stop you in your tracks and force a double-take. However, he liked mathematics, numbers, weird formulas which looked more torture than learning. He preferred lattes with foam. And then there was Seungcheol. You wouldn’t call him your true love, because you didn’t know him all that well, and as far as he was concerned you were the lunatic who accidentally set pages of Joshua’s chemistry homework on fire. But that was a story for another day (you haven’t been near that Yankee candle since).

Nonetheless, you were crushing on him. Badly. To the point where you arrived at the café early, pretending to type a document on your laptop, just so you could flit your eyes every so often at his table while he slurped his chocolate mocha. You even had their scheduling memorized. It was a bit weird, and you would be the first to admit such a thing, but nothing was going to thwart you from daydreaming about those eyes of his. Or that dazzling smile. His short bursts of laughter which were usually tweezed out at Jeonghan pulling some stupid prank on Joshua. Everything about you adored him.

The trio gathered at their usual table, sat obliquely to your nook by the window. You had opened an older document that was already finished, pretended to tap against the keys while they ate a small breakfast before class. Something was different. They were giggling more than usual. And you couldn’t help but blatantly stare with concern when Joshua tore open a salt packet and poured it straight on his tongue. Jeonghan was grinning so widely that you were positive his face must be aching, and Seungcheol cackled into his fist while Joshua immediately grabbed for his latte.

A game. They were playing some sort of game.

Once Joshua had recovered, you noted that he began surveying the café, running his narrowed gaze to each table.

The second he found you huddled in the corner, attempting to shrink behind your laptop and pretend your presence was nothing but invisible, Joshua leaned into Seungcheol’s side to make a very smiley whisper. Pretend I’m working, pretend I’m working on something so damn important I can’t look up for even a second, you reiterated to yourself quietly, ignoring the panic ballooning inside you. A minute later, someone had just pulled out the chair across from you. They sat down with a slight groan, clasping their hands together.

Of course, it was Seungcheol.

“Hey.” He said, watching as you tentatively lowered the lid of your laptop, probably wondering why the hell you looked so stunned.

“What are you, um, doing?” You asked.

Seungcheol could not be sitting across from you just because he wanted to. It was impossible. And as much as that stung to admit, you knew the truth was simply that. He was definitely put up to this.

“We know each other pretty well, correct?” The boy completely ignored your question. “I know that you set Josh’s chem notes on fire. We take toxicology together. Need I say more?”

“Wow,” you replied, twiddling your fingers anxiously under the table, “that’s a whole two things. I can’t even count that high.”

“We can’t all be mathematicians,” Seungcheol moved the conversation along while he angled a white jar of sugar, “and I guess I should tell you, I’m in a predicament, which involves you.”

Your hands squeezed together so firmly that they nearly moulded into permanent fists. Seungcheol was staring at you now rather than flickering his gaze between the objects on the table, with those eyes as dark as sapphire. You were burning up, sweltering, felt like you needed to burst from your clothes and bathe in ice.

“A predicament?”

Seungcheol folded his muscular arms on the table and nodded. “Yeah, I got a dare from Josh. To ask you out. The thing is, I’m not supposed to tell you. But you seem like a nice girl.”

You swallowed very tautly and pushed down the lid of your laptop a little more. Over Seungcheol’s shoulder, you spotted both Joshua and Jeonghan observing, chuckling amongst themselves.

“Another thing,” Seungcheol added, raking a hand through his black locks, “I don’t want to lose to tweedle-dumb and tweedle-idiot over there – you can decide who’s who – so you should accept.”

Straightening your posture against the chair, you decided to spell out the situation, more for your sake than Seungcheol’s. “Let me get this straight. You got dared to ask me out. You have nothing better to do tomorrow night, so you accepted it. And I don’t have a choice.”

“Your wording is a bit disparaging. But essentially, yeah.” He leaned back with a gorgeous smile, turning up his palm. “So, down?”

At that moment, you could not believe the universe had just ladled this ridiculous possibility into your lap. A date with your biggest crush on campus. A date that so many people would be wrangling your neck to steal from you – even if it was based on an innocuous little game which Seungcheol refused to submit because he was too competitive at heart. It might not have been your most prideful choice in life, but you accepted. Any chance to spend the night with him would not be wasted as long as the offer stood.

However, you had one condition.

“I’ll do it,” you grinned, watching the boy’s expression perk like a child who just got handed a cookie, “on the account of another dare. Which you’ll find out on our fake date.”

“Fine.” Seungcheol shrugged, sliding his phone across the table so that you could enter your number. He stood up afterward, on the verge of returning to his friends when he suddenly paused.

“See you tomorrow night, sweetheart.”

There was such a rush of butterflies in your stomach, you were surprised one hadn’t flown out your mouth.

You didn’t know why you cared so much about a date that was most likely intended to humiliate you. Was Joshua still not over those chemistry sheets? Even after you spent a good two hours in the library attempting to rewrite them with your nicest, smoothest gel pel? Thoughts of what to wear, your style of makeup, and which perfume you should choose amongst the few on your dresser were awfully overwhelming. In fact, you were almost late to the park, the area Seungcheol had picked as a rendezvous point.

He rose from the bench in front of the duck pond once you arrived, checking the time on his wrist while making a tsking sound.

“Four and a half minutes late,” Seungcheol said, shaking his head, “you’re not making a good first impression, my lady.”

Obviously, you weren’t going to admit how you were stressing about a technically-fake date. In the end, you threw on a simple outfit and applied some lipstick on your way out the door, shoving the tube into a small purse hung over your shoulder. It’s not like he was treating you to a five-star restaurant by romantic candlelight. But if he ever did, you had the perfect outfit planned.

“Well, I’m here now. And with your dare.” You grinned.

Seungcheol stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Let’s hear it.”

“I dare you to buy me a week of coffee.”

At first, Seungcheol didn’t utter a thing. But then he erupted into a fit of laughter until his cheeks turned rosy like peaches.

“That’s not how this works,” he half-sighed, half-chuckled while removing a tear from his eye, “I’m rejecting it.”

“You can’t reject it! You definitely owe me. I didn’t let you lose to tweedle-dumb or tweedle-idiot. Plus, it’s low to ask someone out on a dare. I didn’t even have to show up.”  Ensuring your tone was confident, you folded your arms over your chest, raised your brow at the boy, and observed him as he tapped his foot in contemplation.

“Can I have time to consider?” Seungcheol asked.

While it was tough to capitulate so easily and let him have his way, you didn’t want to spend the entirety of your night standing next to a slimy pond, debating the regulations. So you bit the bullet. Besides, Seungcheol announced that there was a party he needed to stop by, that there was a particular someone to which he owned money. It was a short walk to this brick house that reverberated with music, cars stalled up and down the street while a flood of strobing colours illuminated in the windows. Seungcheol knocked on the door quite loudly, and then he reached for your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. You shot him a puzzled glance just as the door swung open, the stench of marijuana mingling with the cool, night air.  

“Well, well, well,” a fox-eyed boy murmured after taking a long puff from his blunt, “Choi Seungcheol. It’s about damn time.”

“I was in the neighbourhood. Heard you and Soonyoung were lighting this place up. What a good turnout, huh?”

“Mmhm,” the other boy hummed unenthusiastically, leaning his wide shoulder against the doorframe, “you got the money or no?”

Seungcheol laughed. “C’mon, Wonwoo. We don’t even get to go inside? Hang out for a bit? Have a drink? You’re a shitty host.”

Wonwoo slid a finger under his chin, rubbing in contemplation. It was starting to get colder out, for you could hear the tree leaves rustling together as a wind whisked through the dark. You squished yourself a bit closer into Seungcheol’s side, and to your surprise, he let go of your hand and wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Finally, Wonwoo concurred, sticking the rolled paper back between his lips while stepping aside with an inviting gesture.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” the boy muttered, “but I’ll be coming to find you in about ten minutes. And I wanna see cash.”

“What’s his problem?” You whispered by Seungcheol’s ear as he guided you around an illy lit corner, into the kitchen.

His warm breath feathered your ear as he said, “I lost a couple bets to him and was slow getting the money back.” Seungcheol then grabbed two solo cups organized in a stack on the counter, filling each with a red, fruit-mixed alcohol which sat in two glass bowls.

“Don’t worry, he’s harmless.”

You accepted the cup and took a sip. “Oh, in case you needed to beat him up? I don’t know,” you lilted,  “he looks pretty sturdy.”

“Are you kidding?” Seungcheol gawked.

He slapped his drink down on the counter and threw his jacket over the back of a chair. With a perplexed, is this man crazy expression, you watched him roll up his sleeve and flex his bicep.

“Go ahead,” the boy grinned, “you’ll see.”

You made sure to roll your eyes and sigh incredibly loud in order to really establish your indifference. Meanwhile, your inner-self was fizzling like a carbonated soda. Grabbing onto Seungcheol’s muscle, you pressed down, forcing back a surprised chuckle at the fact his arm was hard as a rock. In that moment your meter of attraction toward the boy was ticking so absurdly you thought it could break.

“Okay, I’ll give it to you, Seungcheol. You’re strong.”

He tugged his sleeve back down and slid into the jacket again, a very brash smirk beaming on his face. You couldn’t decipher if he’d actually been attempting to impress you or if that was just a display of his cockiness. And yet, you didn’t really care which category it fell into, because you were still blissfully afloat thinking about Seungcheol’s arms. You lifted your drink and took another sip, swishing the sweet but tangy flavour between your cheeks. At that moment, a man you didn’t recognize attempted to scoot behind you – except there was definitely enough room for him to get by without planting his hands on your hips and squeezing them.

“Hey! What the hell?” You squeaked, quickly turning around on your heel to see the crookedly amused look he stared at you with.

“What?” He somehow had the audacity to respond.

But you weren’t going to accept his disgraceful maneuvers, and neither was Seungcheol. He abandoned his cup on the counter and pushed up his sleeves.

“Did you just put your hands on her?” Came his demand. It didn’t sound like the normal, relaxed Seungcheol who liked his jokes, but someone with an unnerving amount of authority and fearlessness.

“I-I was trying to get by.” The man stammered, clearly uncomfortable with the thought of confrontation. He was already stepping backward as Seungcheol approached him.

“Don’t touch other people like that,” Seungcheol admonished him in a deep, staid voice, then pointed toward the threshold of the kitchen, “just get out, man. Seriously. Don’t even go near her.” And like a saddened puppy who received a scolding from its owners to lay down in the pen, the man slinked away without another word.

You were unsure of what to say to Seungcheol for diminishing the situation. Folding your arms tightly, you nodded at him.

“Thanks.”

Wonwoo came wandering into the kitchen. His eyes brightened the moment he saw Seungcheol, and he rubbed his fingers together to wordlessly convey that he wanted his money now.

“It’s alright,” Seungcheol gave you a soft smile while he revealed a large wad of cash from his pocket, “he was a weirdo.”

“Yeah.” You laughed as Seungcheol handed the sum to his friend, who fleshed out the paper notes to count the correct amount.

It took you a moment to realize that Seungcheol’s arm had wrapped back around your shoulders, this time a bit more securely.  When you leaned into him, it wasn’t because you felt a draft or a chill, but because he was comfortable. He felt and smelled like safety.

Later that night, you returned to the park, throwing stones into the duck pond while the moon was hidden behind a thin curtain of clouds. Seungcheol claimed that he could throw his stones farther than yours, which prompted your short-lived competition. It had ended so abruptly because you ran out of stones to throw. At one point you tried tossing sticks, but they didn’t travel as far, and they definitely didn’t break the surface of the water with a satisfying plop.

“Hey,” Seungcheol said, nudging your elbow excitedly, “I dare you to get in the pond.”

“No way!” You cackled. “It’s freezing. And that pond is nasty.”

“Just dip your toe in or something.”

“You dip your toe in!”

“I don’t wanna take off my socks.”

You huffed, a plume of your breath escaping into the crisp air.

“Well, we’re at a crossroads then, aren’t we?”

Rather than continue bickering about the dare, you were starting to feel these annoying hunger pangs. You didn’t eat dinner because of how nervous you were toward this fake date (which was rapidly morphing into a very real date) with Seungcheol. The most you ate today had been some toast and pieces of apple your roommate cut the night before. Directly on cue, your stomach gurgled, and your face swelled hot with embarrassment. Seungcheol grinned.

“Hungry?”

“Starving, more like.” You corrected him.

He pulled out the white fabric liners of his pockets, revealing they were completely empty. “All my cash went to Wonwoo.”

You flashed a playful smile while repeating his statement from earlier. “Oh, wow. Not being able to cover the meal on a first date? You’re not making a good impression, sweetheart.”

In an instant, Seungcheol had snatched your hand, interlocking your fingers together warmly. He began tugging you out of the park and onto a familiar street, where there was a twenty-four-hour diner that the students absolutely loved. Admittedly, you had been there a few times. Once as a giggly drunk who just wanted a waffle plate at three in the morning, and also as a struggling student who was desperate for a cup of coffee in order to power through a procrastinated essay. Now, it seemed you were returning for a date.

“I’ll pay you back, promise.” Seungcheol said as the server placed a nacho platter onto the table. “It’s my new priority.”

The diner was quiet and mostly empty apart from a group of three seated at another table. You didn’t realize just how hungry you were until that first taste of melted cheese, salsa, and seared chicken hit your mouth. Seungcheol didn’t like black olives, so he kept picking them off. You were eating too ravenously to inspect your food.

“You’re taking the olives off?” You smirked. “Baby.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “I am not a baby.” He looked up at you as he shoved another delicious chip in his mouth. “And I know it gives you some sick, twisted pleasure to say that. You should be ashamed.”

Nearly choking on the water you just sipped, you dropped the  cup back on the table to cough a few times.

“You know what’s sick? The fact I’m paying.”

The boy reached for his glass of coca cola. “Yeah, but technically this isn’t a real date. So, doesn’t count.”

“Really?” Raising a questioned eyebrow, you watched Seungcheol take a long gulp from his drink. “Are you willing to say that with your entire chest? That this isn’t a real date?”

And in that moment, Seungcheol genuinely seemed to have met a stupor. In fact, there was a red tint dusting the crest of each his cheeks. He leaned back in the booth, folded his arms over his chest, and pursed his lips. You waited patiently for his response, lifting a nacho to your mouth while threads of cheese dangled in the air.

A smile broke through his stiff, musing expression.

“Okay,” he nodded his head, “maybe this is a real date,” (your heart impossibly fluttered), “you could be right about that.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” You answered.

In truth, you couldn’t have been more delighted to hear Seungcheol agree, because if he hadn’t, you would have dined and dashed, fled straight out the restaurant in a haze of shame and embarrassment. In the span of just a few hours, your attraction toward this boy had impressively expanded like a sponge soaking up water. Before, you weren’t positive that he could be your true love. It was mostly a running joke between you and… well, yourself. However, this one night was proving that perhaps your joke could have some actual weight to it. And as Seungcheol continued to make you laugh, choke on your food, stare at him in complete adoration like he was a crowned jewel, you completely lost track of time.

It wasn’t until you burst into another frenzy of laughter at his story and spilt water all down your shirt that you finally checked your phone. Almost one in the morning. The server whisked your cutlery and plates away with a tired expression. You tipped generously, feeling rather guilty for creating such a racket at this hour.

“Do you want my jacket?” Seungcheol asked as you prepared to leave. There was a huge water stain soaking through your shirt.

“A-Are you sure?” You asked him, pulling a few strands of hair from your face. He nodded, already wrestling the jacket off.

“Go change, sweetheart,” Seungcheol told you so casually that you couldn’t hide this blatant look of surprise, “I’ll wait outside.”

Entering a washroom stall, you peeled the damp shirt over your head and folded it to pack nicely within your purse. You then slipped into Seungcheol’s jacket, which had this wonderful, warm fleece patched to the inside. It was soft against your bare skin, and it smelled like a fragrant hint of his cologne. After spending an extra moment freshening up at the sink, you wandered back into the cool night, where Seungcheol was leaning against a street pole. You weren’t sure if your eyes were playing tricks at the late hour, or if he’d actually given you a very smug, very relishing once-over.

Considering you had class early the next day, you asked Seungcheol if he’d be willing to walk you home. He obliged, and you paced together in comfortable silence until reaching the bridge. It arched over a swirling, gushing river which ran through the city, the current black as kohl and reflecting the lights of the nearby architecture. In the daytime this bridge wasn’t anything spectacular, but it was a beautiful vantage point during the night; a place to watch the city sparkle and flash like the cosmos.

“Hey,” Seungcheol whispered, grabbing your hand, “I have another dare for you, since you chickened out on the pond.”

You looked at the mischief compiling in his gaze. “What?”

“Climb up there.”

Seungcheol pointed toward a thick, metal beam that slanted upward, like a ramp. It flattened out at the top, and sometimes when you walked by during the day, there would be a few students sitting down after class, eating sandwiches or cracking open sodas. A placement of bars was set behind, only wide enough to stick your leg through. You glanced back at Seungcheol and nodded.

“Okay, fine.”

And so you began to climb up the slanted beam, feeling the breeze nip at your cheeks, your hair, like the smallest of kisses. At the flattened section, you turned around and looked down at Seungcheol, feeling like the empress of a powerful kingdom. His face ignited in the moonlight. He was smiling very wide as you stuck out your tongue.

“Easy. I dare you to climb up here.”

Seungcheol shook his head. “I, uh, can’t.”

“Why not?” You laughed, folding your arms. “Scared?”

“No, I just—I twisted my ankle, so I can’t.”

“When was that?”

“You weren’t looking.”

Rolling your eyes, you decided to tease him. Taking the zipper dangling from his jacket, you began to pull it down slowly, revealing a hidden amount of skin which turned the boy’s face an adorable pink.

“If you come up here, I’ll take the jacket all the way off.” You sang in a promiscuous tone, lifting up the strap of your bra and snapping it. Seungcheol grinned, cupping a hand over his gaze.

“No way. I’m not falling into a trap like that.”

“Fine,” you huffed, lowering to your butt and carefully scooting your way down the metallic beam, “you missed out.”

Seungcheol merely held his tongue; however, he did take the zipper on his jacket and pull it back up, right to your chin, hiding the expanse of flesh from the bright moonlight. You weren’t sure what courageous energy had just taken over your body. In fact, you’d probably regret such a thing by the time your alarm clock erupted tomorrow morning, pulling you from the pit of your sleep.

“I don’t want you getting cold.” He said. “And I can’t believe you nearly gave me a strip tease from the support beam of a bridge. That’s a first.”

“I’m just making sure you don’t forget this date.” You chuckled, half in nonsense, half in truth.

As he promised, Seungcheol walked you back to the house and made sure the door unlocked using the spare key under the letter box. Thankfully, your roommate left the lights of the front porch on, the bulbs now swathed in grey moths. It was a strange night. A night that wouldn’t have happened if not for the antics of Seungcheol and his two equally competitive friends. Maybe there was a positive side to burning Joshua’s chemistry notes, though you weren’t sure he’d be thrilled to hear you admit that. A game of I Dare You, turned into a fake date, turned into a real date, turned into a sweet affection.

You yawned, feeling the faint glisten of tears stretch in your eyes. “I had fun. And I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in toxicology.”

“With my jacket.” He reminded you.

“Yes, of course. With your jacket.”

And while you expected Seungcheol to simply bid his goodnight and perhaps take a late bus home, firing question after question of why he decided to accept such a stupid dare as he stared out the window, you were surprised when he reached for your hand.

“By the way,” he said, “I accept.”

You crinkled your nose. “Accept what?”

“The dare. I’ll buy you coffee every morning this week.”

“Oh!” There was a small flare crackling to life in your eyes as you recalled the original dare of the night. “That’s right. I forgot.”

“Yeah, I’ll do it.” Seungcheol agreed. He then squeezed your hand. “On the account of one very simple condition.”

“I don’t think you can do that. Doesn’t seem rule-abiding.”

The boy discarded your comment. Instead, his grasp became tighter around your hand. He pulled you swiftly into his chest and stared straight into your helpless, panicking eyes as though he were going to confess something profound and utterly dire.

He smirked. “I want you to kiss me each time.”

Seungcheol lifted his brow in anticipation of your response, which was an undoubted agreement. Probably the fastest, easiest agreement you had ever made in your life. He moved in close to your ear, whispering something about how you should meet at the café tomorrow morning and walk to the lecture hall together, though you were ultimately buzzing and experiencing such a bold heartbeat that you missed most of the details. When he pulled away, you smiled.

“That sounds good. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Stepping off the porch, he turned back with a wave.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

✧✎ a/n: the reason i wanted to rewrite this fic was bc i still rly enjoy the concept. however, i cannot STAND my old style of writing, thus i decided to just rewrite the fic and appease the nagging in my head lol. this is how i would have written this fic today if i hadn’t already done so four years ago. i’m also questioning the possibility of rewriting love café for jeonghan (pls don’t go reading it if u haven’t already)  but that would take much longer ,,,, JUST AN IDEA THOUGH. i hope you enjoyed!!