#hello hi i am back from hiatus 💖

[bellofthemeadow]

Dawn ends the Night

Aemond Targaryen x Dayne!Reader

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warning: All warnings on the Series Masterlist, will update if necessary (Re-iterating, no minors allowed! Thank you)

Chapter Summary: As a newly woman grown, you learn of your fate as a woman in a men's world.

Notes: Guess who's back? Back again?! I AM BACK (again)!

Hello everyone, I'm thrilled to announce that I'm back! 🎉 After a brief hiatus due to my final undergraduate semester (which I just completed this past Monday – yay!), and amidst the hustle of graduate school applications, I'm finally able to return to writing.

I'm incredibly excited to embark on a brand-new series with you all. I've recently tumbled down the HOTD rabbit hole, and my obsession with Aemond Targaryen knows no bounds! 🐉 I assure you, my other fanfictions haven't been forgotten. I'm currently working on them and, with the festive season around the corner, I look forward to dedicating more time to writing and establishing a more consistent posting schedule.

Your support means the world to me and I love you all so so much💖 Feel free to reach out if you have any special requests, ideas, or if you'd just like to chat. I'm always so happy to connect with mutuals!!! Love you all

Taglist: (None yet)

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Prologue - The Ghost of Starfall

All your life, your father had assured you that you would marry into the Martel family, destined to reign over Dorne like the ancient Dayne kings of the Torentine. But these plans shifted when Quoren Martell welcomed his daughter, Aliandra, who was destined to become the future Princess of Dorne and Lady of Sunspear. And although the Dornish were much more unrestrained than their counterparts on the continent, you were quite certain that they would not accept you becoming the princess’ consort. Two women officially ruling Dorne? Even that would be a bit too radical for the love-loving Dornishmen.  

After his plans to make you the future ruling princess of Dorne fell through, your father started to envision a different future for you. You could still vividly recall nights spent perched on his knee, gazing up at the starlit sky. The cool desert breeze caressing your skin as you looked on in awe, your father's voice weaving tales of the grand life awaiting you as the Lady of Starfall. Those few precious moments, however, faded into memory with the arrival of your 13th birthday and the birth of Gerris. That misty morning marked a shift in everything when your brother came into the world screaming his little lungs out marked the end of your future as the Lady of the Dawn. As although Dorne's inheritance laws, shaped by Nymeria and the Roynar, endorsed absolute primogeniture, the stony Dornish your kin, those with deep roots in the First Men and the Andals, still favored the firstborn son. Technically, you knew you could challenge this tradition. You had the right, the means, and perhaps even the support of Qoren Martell to retain your birthright. 

Yet, as you watched your father, his eyes brimming with wonder and joy at the sight of his newborn son, a decision settled quietly within 13 years old you. And with a heavy heart but resolute spirit, you chose to step aside. You withdrew silently, without protest or fanfare, setting aside your claim for the love of your family. And as the years passed you by, you found yourself amid whispers and wishes for Gerris who was still but a babe, to inherit the revered honor of your house — the title of “Sword of the Morning," a symbol of unmatched valor and prestige among your kin, that only the braves and more chivalrous could inherit. Each mention from the courtiers was a poignant reminder of your own path, not as a son of House Dayne, but as its daughter. Not as the lady of the castle, but as its ghost, a ghost of better times, simpler times. But in quieter moments, you tried to find solace in the belief that there were other, perhaps more subtle, ways to serve and honor your family. You had read all that there was to read about rulership, about history and about philosophy and you knew that true power could manifest in a myriad of forms, not solely in the strength of arms. As you gaze upon the intricate tapestry of your family's history, you knew that your role was no less significant and that you would radiate with your own bright light. 

But for you, whispers of Dawn or grand destinies were absent, their echoes replaced by a more pragmatic reality. In place of tales of great adventures beyond the narrow sea, the halls of Starfall began to fill with a different kind of anticipation. The noble houses of Blackmont, Toland, Uller, and even the Yronwood sent their envoys and heirs. This cavalcade of suitors, a stark contrast to the dreams of your future before Gerris’ birth solidified your new role within the walls of your father’s castle. It was a shift, subtle yet profound, marking both an end and a beginning. You were no longer the future ruling Lady of House Dayne; you were now a key figure in its political future. 

Duty became a familiar companion, yet melancholia was your closest confidante, a shadow that dimmed the brightest of days. This deep-seated wistfulness made entertaining suitors an arduous task and instead, you found solace gazing from the high castle walls, eyes wandering over the sandy mounds and the winding Torentine, over the stony mountains that cradled Starfall away from the continent's heart. 

There, atop those ancient walls, you would lose yourself in dreams, wrapped in the embrace of solitude. It was in these moments of quiet reflection that you yearned to be something more, something beyond the expectations set upon you. They began to call you the 'Ghost of Starfall'. An ethereal presence, haunting the corridors and ramparts, a spirit adrift in her own thoughts, her dreams unfulfilled and stretching endlessly before her. 

But to your astonishment, your father never sanctioned any betrothals. Representatives from Yronwood, Blackmont, and Uller came and went, each departing without a pledge from the enigmatic ghost of Starfall. You refrained from asking why, harboring a fear that your inquiry might prompt your father to reconsider, possibly sending you away from your beloved star-gazing haven to the austere castles of Uller or the strict Yronwood. 

After your father's latest refusal of a suitor — a young, landed knight from the Reach, his brown curls soft and eyes a mesmerizing blend of green flecked with gold — you looked at your father, filled with uncertainty. “He seemed kind father.” you softly whispered. You could imagine yourself marrying this man, with long lazy days spent gazing into his warm eyes.  In response, your father rose from his starry throne and approached you, placing a gentle kiss on your brow. "My little star deserves more than a mere knight," he said softly. "I will find you a suitor worthy of the starry heavens, my sweet love." After this declaration, suitors ceased to arrive. 

Until this morning. 

In the dim pre-dawn light, your mother gently roused you, her movements quiet in the stillness before the castle stirred to life. With tender hands, she dressed you, her fingers weaving your hair into an intricate half-up updo, the lower strands cascading in soft curls. Her touch was soothing, almost melodic, as she adorned you in a gown of white and purple samite. Its gauzy sleeves fluttered ethereally, transforming you into the very ghost of legend whispered in the halls of Starfall. 

"Is it time?" you asked, a hint of apprehension in your voice, as she fastened a necklace around your neck, its purple stone shaped like a star glimmering softly. 

In lieu of a direct answer, she pressed a kiss to your forehead, her lips whispering a silent prayer. "Come, my sweet girl," she murmured softly into your hair. "Today, you must be strong." Hand in hand, she led you towards your father’s personal solar, each step resonating into the stillness of the morning.  

As you and your mother stepped into the solar, a sense of confusion washed over you. Before you, your father and Prince Qoren Martell stood in hushed, intense discussion, surrounded by a sea of scattered papers. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they failed to notice your entrance, prompting a deliberate cough from your mother. 

"Ahem," she cleared her throat pointedly, breaking their focus. 

The two men spun around, their expressions shifting from concentration to surprise. Your mother regarded them with a mildly unimpressed gaze, her poise unshakable. 

"My lords, a touch of gallantry, if you please," she chided lightly, gesturing towards you. 

As their eyes found you, you executed a graceful curtsy, the fabric of your gown whispering against the floor. Prince Qoren's face broke into a broad smile at the sight. 

"No need for such formality, my dear," he chuckled warmly. "Look at you, outshining the stars themselves! Fortunately, you've inherited your mother's beauty and not your father's," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth. 

A blush crept across your cheeks at his words. "Thank you, Prince Qoren," you replied shyly, "Your flattery is most kind." 

"It's not flattery if it's the truth, my dear," Prince Qoren Martell retorted with a playful wink. A heavy silence then descended upon the room, enveloping your parents and your distinguished guest, the great prince of the lands you called home. You felt like an unwitting participant in a jest whose punchline you didn't know, the unwitting fool in an unspoken joke. Yet, no laughter broke the silence. Compelled by your uneasy curiosity, you posed the question that hung unspoken in the air. 

"The journey from Sunspear must have been arduous, my Prince. We are honored by your visit," you began, your voice steady. "May I inquire as to the urgency of your need for me this early, and why the esteemed Prince of Dorne would grace us with his presence?" 

"Your wit matches your beauty, Lady," Prince Qoren replied with a sincere smile. "I've traveled from my home to discuss a certain missive, one that concerns both your father, yourself and the future of Dorne." 

"I gather this missive must be of great import to summon me before even the servants begin their day," you ventured, a hint of steel in your voice. "It seems a matter of secrecy." 

"Indeed, my daughter," your father interjected. "We've received a proposal regarding your hand in marriage." 

"And who might this suitor be, that his proposal warrants Prince Qoren's personal involvement?" you asked, your eyebrow arching with skepticism. 

"As your father's dear friend and as someone who has always taken a keen interest in your future, my Lady, all of Dorne has its eyes on you," the prince answered, meeting your gaze. 

Your skepticism remained. "So much so that it necessitates a journey from Sunspear?" 

Your mother, sensing the rising tension, interjected softly, "Come, sit with us, my dear." As you took your seat, your father tenderly grasped your hands, planting a soft kiss upon your knuckles. "The Dragons have expressed interest in you," he revealed, his voice laced with a mixture of pride and concern. 

Your breath hitched at the mention of 'Dragons.' There was only one house in all of Westeros and beyond that was associated with the winged fire breathing beasts. Starfall knew more than anyone else the dangers of their fire and of their wrath. 

Prince Qoren clarified, "This request likely originated from Otto Hightower. Our spies from the capital suggest the Greens are maneuvering for the throne. With old Viserys nearing his end, they're placing their pieces on the cyvasse board. Hightower may be a contemptible leech, but his cunning is undeniable." He stroked his dark beard thoughtfully 

But why would Otto Hightower want me?" you asked, your voice tinged with a mix of confusion and urgency. "Dorne isn't even part of their kingdom! We've aligned with the Triarchy and have been opposing the dragons since their arrival on our shores." The plea in your voice was evident as you looked over your parents and your prince, who stood unmoving yet deep in thoughts.  

"That is precisely why Otto Hightower is interested – not just in you, but in Dorne," Qoren Martell explained gravely, looking into your eyes. "We Dornish have a history of standing against dragons. We've never bowed, broken, or bent the knee. We know how to fight them, and we know hot to kill them. Now, Hightower wants our alliance to counter Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen's claim when they make their move for the throne." 

"But is Princess Rhaenyra not the legitimate heir? By Dornish law, she should be the future queen. If we were to engage in their politics, should we not we support the Blacks?" you questioned.   

"We might have aligned with Princess Rhaenyra," Qoren admitted with a hint of regret, "if not for her union with Daemon Targaryen. Remember the Stepstones? That debacle alone shows why it's dangerous for Daemon to wield any real power. He's not just a rogue; he's a warmonger." 

Qoren paused, weighing his words carefully. "Should Rhaenyra ascend the throne, Daemon would be right there, whispering in her ear. And let us be frank, he'd relish any excuse to launch an assault on Dorne, trying to conquer what Aegon the Conqueror couldn't. Whether it's for personal glory or just to satisfy his lust for war, it's a risk we cannot afford." 

A shudder ran through you at the thought of Dorne, bloodied and broken. Determined to prevent such a fate for your people, you asked in a subdued tone, "What is expected of me?" 

"Oh, my sweet girl," your mother murmured, enveloping you in a comforting embrace. "You are not obliged to do anything. If you wish, we will send Otto Hightower away with a message to shove his seven-pointed star straight up his arse, and we will stand against Daemon Targaryen if need be." she tearfully proclaim, her face in your hair.  

"You won't be forced into anything you're not willing to embrace. As for Otto Hightower, trust isn't a luxury I afford him as my experience with this man has taught me to be wary of his machinations. He is adept at playing the long game, and his latest maneuver is quite telling. By extending this proposal to your father and deliberately excluding me, he seeks to sow seeds of discord, perhaps hoping to weaken the unity that has long been our strength.His intentions, I surmise, are to draw you into the Hightower fold through marriage. Such a union could potentially sway Dorne's allegiance in the looming conflict for the Iron Throne."  

Pausing, Qoren looked out the window, then back at you with a solemn expression. "This is not merely a question of matrimony. It is a strategic move and our response will shape the future, not just for us, but for all of Dorne." 

You furrowed your brow in contemplation. "Why would we even entertain his proposal if his intent is to divide us?" you questioned. 

Prince Qoren's expression turned shrewd, cunning playing in his dark brown eyes"Precisely because we understand his motives. By accepting his offer on our terms, we control the game. It's like holding all the key pieces in cyvasse; we dictate the moves, and we can make the dragons dance to our tune." 

Your mind whirled, grappling with the enormity of everything they were telling you.  

"Consider carefully, my little star," your father said, "This decision rests in your hands. Whatever path you choose, know that we stand with you." 

"If I agree, may I set my own terms?" you asked softly.  

"Of course, my Lady," Qoren grants. 

"Accept Otto Hightower’s offer of marriage, tell him that we will aid him in his future conflict against Daemon Targaryen and the Blacks, but it comes with a non-negotiable stipulation: Dorne's independence is sacrosanct. We shall not yield to Targaryen sovereignty. Instead, we shall stand as allies, lending our support whilst retaining our autonomy. This, of course, hinges on your approval, Prince Qoren." 

Your mother's face registered shock. "But that would mean you'd be separating from Dorne, becoming part of their realm, no longer ours." 

“If it spares Dorne from being shackled by dragons, then I am willing to pay that price," you declared, feeling a shiver trace its way down your spine. With those words, you realized all that you were giving up. No longer would you be a daughter of Dorne; gone would be the nights spent stargazing from the ramparts, where stars seemed close enough to touch. You would miss the long walks on the ancient, stony steps, each one etched from the history of your ancestors. 

Gone, too, would be the fierce embrace of the desert sun in the mornings, its rays painting the sands in hues of gold and amber. You would yearn for the sweet scent of orange blossoms, a fragrance that always seemed to hold the very essence of your homeland. Instead, you would find yourself in the capital, and it would be there, in a place far from the lands that shaped you, that you would remain until the end of your days. 

My brave girl, stronger than any man in this land. A true Nymeria reborn," your mother said, her voice tinged with pride and sorrow. 

You mustered a smile, though it tasted bitter on your lips. "Nymeria was never bartered to a man she did not know. She carved her own destiny, fiercely and freely." 

"My girl..." your mother began, but you cut her off gently. 

"It's alright, Mother. I will fulfill my role to the end," you assured her, your voice steady, but your inside twisted uncomfortably. Who were you trying to convince, her or yourself? Your mother's breath hitched at your words, she closed her eyes holding you closer as if you would become a babe again, clutching at her skirts – not nearly a woman grown, ready to be delivered into the claws of the enemy.  

"Rest assured," your father added sternly, "If the dragons dare mistreat you, we will not shy away from invoking Joffrey Dayne's legacy and we will burn their city like their cursed beasts!” 

A pause hung in the air before you finally asked, "Who is it that Otto Hightower has in mind for me to marry?" 

"The King's second son, Prince Aemond Targaryen... the one-eyed prince.” 

Next chapter

[eupheme]

WARNING long ass sappy message incoming but there’s nothing you can do to stop it OKAY

J you know I have loved your writing for a long long time and even through my hiatus you’re the one account I’ve always come back to read. Always, no matter than damn fandom.

But can I just say that you’re absolutely THRIVING right now and it is just such a pleasure to see🥹😭and I’m not even talking about the notes (but also like hello??? I am amazed at you???) but your writing is just really showing its absolute best.

The characterisation of Logan is just always ON POINT, Wade and his comedy and meta comments are just spot on and so clever. And the SMUT? The dynamic of the three of them together?? I’ve been trying now for a couple weeks and this type of comedy/romance is real hard (no pun intended tehe) but you’re just so good at it.

Truly honestly one of the greatest writers and it’s an honour to be able to read your stuff and interact with you like this.

margo 🥺😭💖💖💖 please, my friend - this is so incredibly kind and I’ve been coming back to look at it all day and whenever I did I had to close out because I got too emotional.

this has me feeling so shy (in the kindest way). I love both you and your writing so much and your kindness from the beginning has always inspired me 💕 i am so lucky to know you, and i honestly don’t have words to express how much your encouragement means to me and how incredible this was so read and how i absolutely screenshotted this to keep forever 💖 thank you so much. I really love the characters and have been having fun - it’s been a real passion project working on these and to think you feel this way makes me so happy. (and these aren’t to cheapen the message, just visual of me right now:)

(And so cheering you on with your works!!! Te Beroya is such a masterpiece and I am always so excited to see what you’re working on!! They really are hard - I am not going to pretend it’s not, and I am really looking forward to read anything and everything that you want to share 💖)

[grollow]

Grimm put up a good fight😌for the prompt asks I would like to see him and Hollow with something from a series of "firsts". IE, first kiss, first hand hold, first time accidentally setting one of the Dirtmouth houses on fire, ect ect. Just one of those things will do, anything ya want! I like fluffy "first" prompts 💖💕

I'm not back from my mini hiatus but I wrote this in record time and I don't know if you see my Ao3 updates or not so I wanted you to see it. <3

b u r n || AO3

If there is anything that I have learned, in all of my years, throughout lifetime after lifetime after lifetime, it is that nothing ever truly stays buried.

Not truths. Not lies. 

And most certainly not a hurt so deep that I find myself impressed it hasn’t a smell. 

It is a tangible thing, the way that it clings to its every motion. It is a myriad of shadows and regret and it drips off it. I am reminded, continuously, of the great sheets of water carried by the devastating storms that blow in parts of the wastelands beyond. 

Those are places it has never seen; that few, if any, in this kingdom have. 

I would invite it to come with me, if I thought it would accept. It will not. 

Its place is here, in this dying kingdom that moulded it from the fathomless void below. An artisan, that Wyrm – I cannot deny that part of me is jealous at the sheer marvel of creation his vessels are.

I have a favourite one, though, and it is not my summoner.

It is instead the creature that my summoner rescued, when it scaled the Godseeker’s mountainous challenge in order to blot the sun from the sky.

I should be more bitter, perhaps. My Ritual remains incomplete. I do not know if it will return and that is a problem for me. The child remains dormant in the charm, left in my tents, awaiting its return – and I am distracted instead by its birth-cursed sibling, pock-marked with scars and peppered with burns that Soul should long have healed.

I do not think it can channel anymore.

This is, perhaps, the source of its predicament: it is standing in front of its old prison and assaulting my senses all over again with a depth of feeling that makes me question the merit in the Wyrm’s so-called foresight. If my eyes can see the cloak of regret that it wears, surely his could have as well if he’d but known to look.

Ah, but perhaps that is unkind of me: we are ever slaves to sentiment and it is not uncommon for someone to see what they wish to see. I am no stranger to such concepts. I see what I want to with it as well. I see a creature with potential to be so much more. I see pain that can find closure, if guided by deft hands. I see a strength unmatched by any that I have ever beheld, and I am at once enamoured and intimidated. I do not spook easily but it seared and burnt without breaking.

It is impressive.

It is also trying with abject futility to do something with sticks that I can only guess the purpose for. 

“Hello, my friend,” I greet it  softly and I stay out of its reach.

Sneaking up on someone who has hurt for so long and with no relief is not wise. Sneaking up on someone with a particular grievance with those who have an affinity for dreams is even less so. I give it the space it requires.

It turns back to me. I can make no emotion out in its mask and that is by design. Its siblings are both the same, although the spider’s tones when she speaks have plenty of inflection - more than enough to deliver intent. 

I wonder what it thinks of me. What it beholds when it looks upon another… vessel of a fashion. We are not entirely different in that regard, but the origin and motivations between our natures are worlds apart.

It watches me with an intensity that I find at once daunting and incredibly fascinating.

This is not our first meeting. The spider dragged it out of the Black Egg and to my tents. I am more qualified to help deal with injuries wrought in dream than any other and, as loathe as she was to admit it, I was the best option that she had for help. We bandaged it together and she never let her eyes leave mine. She introduced the two of us and when the deed was done, she took it away. I assume to a house in Dirtmouth. I did not ask.

I am not exactly welcome by the locals.

I saw it descend into the well when I was talking to the steeds. I will not lie: I followed out of curiosity for its purpose.

This place must bring back a lot of memories for it. It has, after all, known very little else and every other place that it spent time is long gone.

I let my gaze go up to the Temple. It is carved in the husk of a great void beast and enchanted with seals that, even in their darkened state, are impressive. There are tangled veins of withered, dead infection: brown and mottled instead of the sickly orange-gold that I know was once here. The pustules yet remain, hanging off the building as a macabre reminder of the prisoner’s previous state.

I think that it should not be here. 

My opinion, however, is not one that it has any obligation to listen to.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and I close the distance once I am sure that I have not startled it. I have practice dealing with people who have been badly traumatised. My Troupe is often alluring to individuals of that nature. It is no different in that regard. 

It holds up a stick for me to see and then looks down again. I cannot shake the feeling that the motion is one born of shame. It was supposed to not think or feel, I recall – to be truly empty, to be the perfect shell its sire needed. It is none of those things, and it is embarrassed by that. Hence the weight worn over it, a mantle to be crushed beneath.

I do not understand its meaning. Perhaps I am not meant to.

“Does your sister know that you are here?”

It does not answer. Not in a nod or a headshake, though I am fully aware it is capable of both. It stares instead at the stick in its hand. 

There are rocks beneath its hand on the ground, and they have clearly been moved there from their previous positions.

I know what I am looking at.

“Are you attempting to make a fire?” I ask, my hands lacing together under my cape. When I stand this way, I appear smaller. It is much bigger than I am, but both hunched and crouched, I practically tower over it and there is something in its demeanour that suggests it would rather itself disappear as well. 

A broken thing, the Hollow Knight. 

I am given an answer in the form of a nod and I allow myself to chuckle.

“To burn the Temple?”

Another nod. 

I hold my hand out, then; it is an invitation. 

“How big of a fire would you like?” 

It cocks its head to the side. It does not know if it can trust me. In fact, it probably thinks that it should not. After everything it has been through, I cannot fault it. It does take my hand and let me help it stand and I consider that to be a victory.

Its head inclines toward the building. I cannot see where it is looking, not really, beyond the structure, but my feeling is that it probably…

… wants quite a large one.

Or at least, I would want a very large pyre indeed, if I were confronted with a place that housed my worst memories.

“Stand back, if you please,” I request, and it is obedient: it complies by taking enough steps back that I wonder if it is running. It is not. It watches me.

What kind of performer would I be, if I did not give it a worthy show?

I held my hand above my head and offered it a very satisfying snap. The fire on the building ignited in the same moment: crackling flames, dancing freely up the sides in a scarlet that put my eyes to shame. 

I drop my hand to my side and look back over my shoulder. It creeps closer, until it is at my side, but it is spellbound. I do not need to see its eyes to know that they are trained on the dancing light consuming the shell. Burn. Burn.

“Bigger?” I ask and I smile. It nods without looking my way and I curve my wrist; I pull my fingers closer and the roar of the flames becomes louder yet still.

The shell is strong. It is not particularly vulnerable to heat and yet with enough effort –

I heard it crack. I heard the top of the shell – the de facto roof, really – cave in and embers fell into the middle chambers. From there, it was only a matter of time until the inferno took hold.

“There is catharsis in saying goodbye to the things that have caused us pain,” I tell it and it does not look at me. I move over to the side, so that I am close enough to touch, and then lean my head over to rest against its side. “I would be your friend, if you would allow me.”

It does not look at me. I did not expect it to.

I also did not expect its hand to snake down and lace its fingers with mine, but it does: it curls them into the spaces where mine are.

I smile wider. With my free hand, I coax the flames to dance ever higher for it to watch. They crackle and offer a very satisfying pop.

It will not take long to burn it to ash.

I will stay with it until then. I have ever loved having a rapt audience. 

[everwisp]

Do my eyes deceive me?! Is that the loveliest most amazing and talented Ever I see in my notifcations?! 🥰🥰🥰

Hi Ever!!! I'm sorry to kinda burst in here without warning haha but seeing you in my notifications lately has made my week!!! I've been missing you and your art so much while I've been life-ing and forgetting tumblr exists and I've been hoping you're doing well. 🥺 I see you have been on a hiatus and I really hope things look up for you!!! For what it can be worth, I'm sending my best to you as always. 💖

Daily reminder that you're incredible, wonderful, fantastical,amazing, talented, sweet, kind, loving and just all the positive words in the universe!!! 💖💖💖 It's so so good to see you again Ever, and again, sending all my best lots of platonic love your way!!! 💕💕💕Take care as best as you can, ok? Thinking of you!!! 💖

...OH! Someone wants to say hi before we say goodbye!

"Ever, I hope you are doing well. I saw Moon was messaging you and could not stop myself from saying hello. I was a bit embarrassed to take this photo, as I am still not used to being photographed yet...But Moon has told me how seeing my face makes you happy, and I wish for nothing but your happiness...So it is worth the slight embarrassment of being photographed if I can bring a smile to your lovely face." *smiles softly*

"...Oh. I seemed to have said that outloud..." *blushes* "...But it is true that you are lovely; I daresay you are lovelier than even Tsukioka's flowers he plants. For like them, you are a radiant bloom that shines ever so beautifully in the sunlight..."

"...Oh. I did it again... I do apologize if I am embarrassing you; when I am in your presence, I admittedly find it hard to not compliment you. After all, you are always complimenting me, so I can't resist complimenting you back..."

"...Oh, I got lost in your eyes there for a second. Moon is nudging me to end this message so as to avoid having it be too long. Though I admittedly desire to spend more time with you, I also know you are busy. I will do my best to continue supporting you in anyway I can. If you need anything, I am here for you. Always."

...Hehe, Moon back again! I had to stop him eventually or else this would be a 50 page message. 🤣 (He's not usually so chatty but when it comes to you he is as chatty as Homare! Not that I blame him though, for you are amazing in all the ways. 😊)

Again, we both send lots of good vibes and sunshine to you. 💖 Take care!!! 💕

(P.S I apologize if Guy is OOC...I haven't written him in so long admittedly but I couldn't resist hopefully giving you an extra smile. 💖)

OMG MOON!! HI!!!!! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you on my dash, i hope you’re doing well too, imy!!🥺✨

also guy 😭🥹👏🏼🙈🥰😭🫶🏼 (pLS I WASNT READY FOR THAT SKFNSKFJ)

It’s really so good to see you again and to see you drop in my ask, I’m so touched that you did and thought of me 🤧 Gosh i hope life is treating you well though!! Sending you nothing but good, gentle, soft, sweet, and happy vibes Moon ✨💕🩵🌻

[n7viper]

hello i am back .. for the uncommon questions meme, for mae 👀 4 5 22 34 40

(Uncommon Questions for OCs and their creators)

O H B A B Y

I was pasting the question into Notes to start filling them out and man. 34????? I can’t be normal about that one, so buckle the fuck UP. I'll admit, I answered 34 first and then fizzled out on all of the other questions, oops. thank you for all of these! 💖😘

4. How easy is it to earn their trust?

Surface-level/coworker-level? It’s conditional. She tends to trust people unless given a reason not to. On a very personal/intimate level, it’s a little harder. It’s that lone wolf/Hunter personality, man. No one is really aware of how much she’s struggling until Season of the Hunt, so… 8 years into all of this?

5. How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

For her to full-on mistrust someone, they typically have to put someone else in danger intentionally or through gross negligence. Putting innocents in danger is a hard limit. Otherwise, if she doesn’t get along with someone, she usually just maintains an “I don’t like this person” mentality. Mistrust is something much more serious.

22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? 

She isn’t really jealous of much. There is sometimes some envy, which is a question I'm working on for another ask, actually! :3 But I really can’t see Mae being jealous of others.

34. How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

OH BOY. This one sent me straight into orbit. Can I monologue for a second before I answer this? It's a bit of necessary backstory imo but idk lol I started playing Destiny 2 in mid-2018 just before the Forsaken expansion. The tl;dr of that expansion is that a fan favorite character (Cayde-6) is murdered by Uldren Sov, who you then hunt down to exact revenge. Uldren was in Destiny 1, which I did not play. I was also entirely unfamiliar with the lore of the game. So I hated Uldren. Maybe it was a normal amount or maybe it was extra because I knew nothing else about him before this. Nothing was more satisfying than reaching the end of the main story and killing that sonofabitch. The screen goes black, and it’s left intentionally vague as to whether the player or the person with them kills Uldren in the end. I have always headcanoned that my guardian did it, as I’m sure many have. I didn't even have an OC at that point, even. I just wanted to be the one who killed him. Fast forward a few years and Uldren is revived as a guardian—Crow. I missed ALL of his character development in my hiatus and am skeptical of him when I return. Sure, he’s a new person now because guardians lose all memories of their past life when they’re “reborn.” Regardless, to go straight from Forsaken to current day, it's an understatement to say that did NOT love him. It is also forbidden for Guardians to discuss their pasts. So early on after being revived, Crow ran into many guardians who recognized him as Uldren and killed him. By the time we meet him, he has been beaten and killed numerous times and has no idea why. Before the last expansion, Crow regains Uldren’s memories and now understands why people hated him, but he obviously struggles with this knowledge. He doesn’t want to be like Uldren; he wants to be good. A few seasons after that, in Season of the Haunted, he must make peace with the Nightmare of Uldren Sov and confront his fears about “his” past. The first time he attempts a “severance” ritual to deal with the Nightmare and get rid of it, he fails and is even more guilt-ridden than he already was. At the very end of the mission, he’s kneeling on the ground and in tears. He looks up at the player and says “I’m sorry I let you down.” And boy lemme tell ya. That is what did it for me. That’s literally the moment where it all finally clicked with me and I was like “I will protect this man with my life.” I mean I actually said something horny but we’ll ignore that for now. And then I felt inspired to start building an OC to romance him. I have also started to craft her personality and thoughts on previous expansions solely to fit my Crow-loving narrative. So uh anyway... The Nightmare I mentioned above for Crow? Mae faces one on the Leviathan as well. Unfortunately for her, she assists with everyone else’s Nightmares first and has to deal with her hers hanging over her head for at least 6 other excursions on the ship. However, hers seems to take multiple shapes. Sometimes it’s Cayde (“I wasn’t fast enough to save him. It’s my fault.”). When helping Crow with his severance, it’s Uldren for her too (“I acted out of rage and vengeance. I regret the person I was then. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.”) Sometimes it’s her late mentor (this is in development but also a murder—a “mercy killing” she did not want to do). But when it finally comes down to her own severance ritual, it isn’t actually any of those people. The nightmare is revealed to be herself, her own self-doubt. Her own guilt. So uh, 600 words later, the answer to this is just… “not very easy.” Lmao

40. How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

Inwardly, very. She blows every perceived flaw out of proportion and wonders why the Vanguard trusts her the way they do. Little slip-ups just prove that she’s a failure—why is she here? We are always our harshest critic.

[oftenderweapons]

Title: Cue, She

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Wordcount: 3k

Genre: Enemies to something, Strangers to something

Rating: this is for the General Public, but pretty much anything after this is VERY NOT.

Trigger Warnings: abusive parents, someone is petty, someone is a bit overbearing and paternalistic LOL, reader has a 100% no bs approach. Let’s say she’s a bit abrasive. Soft swearing.

[A/N: hello everyone! Sorry, I know you maybe expected another kind of update, but I’m struggling not to go on hiatus rn, I’m really biting dust with uni and exams and life, I‘m living many experiences that are making me grow up as a writer and I can‘t wait to put them into words here and for you. This piece is how Namjoon met his future Vixen. If you are 18+ you can learn more about them in my masterlist!]

This piece was lovingly edited by @joheunsaram. There’s no one else I would trust myself with. I love you 💖

Enjoy 💜✨

You paced nervously in the foyer, staring at the white marble floor.

They always chose damn marble.

You hated it. Cold. It reminded you of your parent’s mansion. Your nose scrunched. You had a schedule and it was vital. It’s not like you had all the time in the world to plan out the exhibit. You had another appointment in two hours and you needed to keep some spare time in case you needed to arrange some acquisitions or bookings.

And then the door opened, a tall man, his attire absolutely unfit to visit a gallery of that prestige, making a fuss with his trainer shoes across the polished floors.

The squeaky, chilling noise irked you. A part of your brain could still hear your mother screaming at you about the damn floors and being an “uncivilised monkey”.

You rolled your shoulders and tried to keep a straight face. “Excuse me, Sir. This is a private visit. I booked it.”

“I apologise, Miss ____. I owed one to this friend of mine. I promise it won’t be a nuisance.” The artist smiled at you and you were ready to leave, entirely annoyed.

“It’s okay, Jeongwon, we can arrange another time,” the man was ready to leave when the director of the gallery placed a hand on the man’s back.

“Please, mr. Kim, be our guest. We would be honoured.” From the director’s tone you knew the gym class kid had to be extremely rich. Extremely important too. “I’m sure Miss ____ won’t mind. Am I correct?”

You blinked slowly. “Correct.” It took you all the patience in the world.

What is a power game to this man is your job to you. Your passion, your largest sacrifice, your greatest, most elaborate achievement. Your — and your father’s — most expensive investment.

“She has been a close partner of ours. Most of our most successful pieces have been delivered from or in her hands,” the director explained, the artist nodding in agreement.

The man turned towards you. He looked familiar. “Then I am glad Jeongwon insisted for me to come. It is an honour to meet you. I’m Kim Namjoon.” He lowered his mask and bowed to you.

You were frozen for a couple seconds. You were working for one of his best friends.

And now he was right in front of you.

“Pleased to meet you, I’m ____.” You bowed in return, much deeper than he did.

“Shall we start? We might have some discussing to do.” The director indicated the way to the gallery with his forearm, you speed-walking ahead.

Jeongwon explained the paintings as he went on, answering Namjoon’s sharp questions, and your technical ones. He could recognise a pattern in the way you both were acting. It was like you were competing on who could ask the most difficult question.

He could barely hold himself back from chuckling. Especially when he would catch Namjoon’s expression: a mixture of disbelief and interest and obstination as he listened to your comments and suggestions. Also, he knew his friend: Namjoon was checking you out. Jeongwon had seen it happen maybe three or four times.

It looked like a hunt. Namjoon had a precise way of dissecting his potential interests, challenging them in a growing game of wits. It was systematic, precise, surgical.

And Namjoon was indeed amused by you. He was interested.

You were one-upping him painting after painting, your expression so focused as you explored the extent of every canvas, guessing the technique and the materials with one skilled glance.

“What is its ideal collocation, according to your imagination?”

Namjoon turned towards you. Did you really ask him?

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” you clarified. If he was trying to test you, you might as well test him back. Did he really think you didn’t notice how he was dissecting your knowledge of art?

“I see it in my home, right above the dining table.”

“The kitchen because of the auburns and reds?”

Namjoon almost snorted. “Because it’s my friend’s work and I want to see it where I spend most time relaxing. I like autumn trees.”

You clicked your tongue, your gaze moving back to the painting. “I want this one.” Your eyes met the artist’s gaze, his face as red as the crimson leaves drifting on a puddle in the picture.

“It is not available for purchase, I’m afraid,” he murmured with a slight stutter.

You turned to the director. “This is a private preview. How come it’s not available?”

And then the unbearably deep voice of obnoxious visitor number two broke an embarrassed silence. “Well, I’m here, at the private preview because I spent a fair bit of money on this one. I think it’s my right to see what I bought, don’t you think?”

Namjoon felt his entire being petrify at your gaze. You were Medusa and he was your victim — he found nothing wrong with it, you were a lovely Medusa to be petrified by.

And then your stare shifted to the director. He looked embarrassed and you were proud of it.

“I’ll see myself out.” Could you do without the rest of the exhibition? Probably yes. Would you regret it? Of course. Normally you would buy a catalogue and have it delivered to your studio, where you had an abundance of time to fit your pieces of interest in refined and detailed moodboards for every project you designed.

You had only come to the gallery because you had trusted the director, you had trusted the artist, you knew what incredible feats he could achieve with canvas and acrylics.

Your heels clicked cynically against the damn marble floor, sneering at it as you stared at its weak, frigid coldness.

“Miss, please, there are plenty of good paintings left, I am sure we can find something of your taste!” The director insisted while you opened the door, a capricious wind toying with your scarf as you wore it in a rush around you.

Jeongwon stared at Namjoon with a mad look on his face. Namjoon sprinted for the door. “I’m sorry,” he spoke loudly across the sidewalk, taking long strides in your direction. “I’m sorry.”

“I heard you,” you snarked as you turned in his direction. “I’m not interested in your apologies, I have places to be.”

“Please, you can borrow the painting, I don’t care.” Namjoon stood in front of you, keeping you from crossing the street with a yellow light. “I was obnoxious and pretentious and insufferable. I am sorry.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am not a stupid little girl. I am not a student waiting to learn from you so don’t you dare challenge me. I am a professional and this is my job. And you have insulted me.”

Namjoon stared at his feet. He did tend to act bold and show off when he wanted to impress someone. Secretly he had wanted to get your attention since the moment he saw you. “I am sorry you felt challenged. I was overbearing.”

You looked away. Seeing him so tall and wide before you was making you uncomfortable.

“Please come back. I’ll keep quiet.” He offered you his pinkie. “I promise.”

You stared at it and cocked an eyebrow. You simply turned on your heels and went back to the gallery, Namjoon trotting behind you like a proud puppy.

His shoes still squeaked across the marble floor and you still hated it. You much preferred linoleum — it’s not like hardwood floors were an available choice for most public spaces.

“Okay. Where did I interrupt?”

Jeongwon smiled calmly and introduced you to the following painting.

Namjoon stayed silent until the very end of your visit.

Once it ended, you saw yourself out, Namjoon and Jeongwon exiting the gallery. “Would you like to join us for a coffee?” Namjoon called towards you while you were already checking your phone for the next meeting.

The universe really had a cruel way to shove your face in the dirt.

Meeting cancelled.

Maybe talking with the two would help you form connections. And then, even if he was annoyingly curious like a seven year old, it’s not like you could say no to a coffee with the most popular art-obsessed idol of the industry. “If you don’t mind,” you replied, turning towards him.

Namjoon grinned.

And then the dimple appeared. It was mind blowing, like being slapped in the face — well, not quite like that, but pretty close. It was almost as upsetting as that.

The coffee place was a quiet tea house on a pond and you were most definitely going to save it for your client meetings. That was the most you would ever admit yourself conceding to the gym dude.

Namjoon and Jeongwon proceeded into some small talk about the artist’s new projects, the man going on and on about an upcoming trip to the Netherlands which was supposed to send him into a new culture and new art, with new inspirations. His excited monologue was interrupted by a phone call. It lasted maybe a couple minutes, during which you stirred your latte and stared out of the window.

Namjoon took the chance to observe your face.

You had to be young. He knew you were. And you didn’t wear a ring, which was a good sign.

He liked your earrings and he liked your nose. He liked your cheeks. You had pretty cheeks but he didn’t know why.

“I have to rush out. I’ll leave mine paid. See you Joon. It’s been a pleasure, Miss ____.”

You greeted him back, your goodbye lukewarm as you stared at your coffee and then stole a glance at Namjoon.

He smiled, he looked apologetic. “So, how did you learn so much about art?”

You gave it a try. “I studied Design and Art at the local academy.”

He studied your hands. They were neatly manicured, nails trimmed short, no nail polish except for a transparent coat. “You don’t look like an art kid.”

“You don’t look like one of them either.” When your eyes met his, he realised it was like staring down the barrel of a gun.

“I know.” He chuckled embarrassedly, looking away. He looked flirty when he cocked his head to the side, looking at you once more. “So, Magritte…”

You nodded. “Magritte…”

“You like the French?” He took a sip of his coffee while he waited for your reply.

“I just studied them. I saw them once a week, you sort of grow on them. Like… like molten cheese. Like a mould and melting wax. You shape yourself on them.” You shrugged and drank some more.

Namjoon studied the way the light hit your cheekbone and slid down the side of your face. He was a fool. “How come you saw them so often?”

“I spent some time in Europe.” You blinked slowly. “Scholarship… Private school, all of that.”

“How much time?” You had his undivided attention, and it felt heavy on your frame.

“Two years, more or less? Between France and England. Though it was only a few months in London.” You smiled, feeling like you were starting to warm up.

Namjoon watched your lips curve a little. It felt encouraging. It felt beautiful. “Which one did you like the most?”

“London. It’s more… It’s more eclectic.” You shrugged, and frowned. “But Paris is lovely too. And I’m more skilled in French, it was easier.”

Namjoon was taken aback. “You speak French?”

You chuckled, toying with the neck of your dress self-consciously. “I’m not good at it.”

“I’m sure you are, just like you’re excellent at your job.” He nodded to himself. “I’ve always wanted to learn French but I’m miserable at it.”

Your smile was warm. “It just needs practice. I’m sure you can afford a private teacher and just get brilliant at it in a couple months.”

This time it was his turn to blush and look away. “You’re overestimating me.”

The rest of the conversation was flawless. It flowed endlessly. He asked questions and was genuinely interested in your replies. He made you feel interesting in ways you hadn't in a while. No one ever thought you were interesting, they always talked to your parents and let you be the pretty accessory, standing there and letting you speak only whenever they needed to show you off.

But he asked his questions to you. And he listened. He asked you about your trips, the cities you had visited and exchanged impressions on those he had seen too.

He loved watching you talk. The little gestures with your hands when you talked about art, almost as if reconstructing the painting with an invisible brush on an invisible canvas. You were one of the strangers he liked the most, he found out.

You realised you were sad when you found out you had to go.

“It's been a nice chat, really.”

He looked at you with a warm gleam in his eyes. “You need to go, right?”

You nodded.

“When can I see you again?”

You blinked rapidly. Stared at the table. Could you…?

No, you couldn't.

“I'm— I'm really flattered, I swear. But I don't think…”

Namjoon looked away too. He felt helpless. It wasn't a feeling he liked — it made him act desperate. “Oh…” He allowed himself to look at you.

You looked right back at him. He did look rather unhappy, but that was not something you could help with. You would make him miserable just the way he would make you feel neglected. “No chance at all? Maybe at Jeongwon's opening night?”

“Unfortunately I will be abroad for that weekend.” You stood up, Namjoon following suit.

“At least take my number,” he objected, staring at you with a glance you couldn't quite pinpoint. You only knew it was dangerous: he could make you do anything with those eyes.

He fumbled in his tote bag, grabbing a tiny notebook and ripping off a page. He bent over, hunching over the table to scribble down as neatly as he could his personal phone number.

You stood there awkwardly, blushing at the cheeks. Once he handed it to you, he had a sad and hopeful gleam in your eyes.

“Text me whenever. I can get myself some spare time when you're back.” He looked at you as you nodded half-heartedly. “Goodbye.” Namjoon had the feeling you would always stay a stranger to him, something he would remember as a mirage once he would get old and tell his uninterested grandchildren about his youth.

Your voice was tiny. You couldn't help but admit it was unfortunate that you could meet someone you connected with and realise they were deeply unfit for your wants. “Goodbye.”

Namjoon watched you leave, following the way your shape disappeared behind the corner. He felt the need to write about a place where the two of you would meet again. A place where that didn't sound like an eternal goodbye.

Namjoon watched an incoming call notification appear on his screen as he scrolled through his notes about the next concept. It distracted him for a couple seconds, letting it go unanswered.

It was an unknown caller anyway.

Probably a stupid callcenter.

He rolled his eyes at the annoying interruption and went back to the sketches and notes he had taken.

“As I was saying, it’s more like… As Yoongi suggested, I wanted to use this as a chance to make connections, to build a network, to see it as some sort of trip around the world, globetrotting but with art— Sorry.” This time he had to refuse the call. Why were they always so insistent?!

“I think we can map this out,” a manager commented. “We should decide the venues and the artists. It will be complicated and it might take a while to make it come true.”

Namjoon shrugged. “As long as it’s real, the timing is entirely up to you.”

Timing… What a flimsy, weak concept. He liked suggesting ideas but he rarely had the persistence to carry them through. It took a bit too much energy sometimes.

“We’ll keep that in mind. Thank you for your contribution,” another manager replied. The creative board counted eight coordinators, each of them head to a way more articulated department. They regularly met with the artists, and most of them had been around for more than four years; it was only natural to brainstorm things with them. They brought a strange clarity around Namjoon's mind… The kind of clarity—

Namjoon realised his mistake in not picking up that call. He hadn’t dared hope receiving a phone call from you, especially since two weeks had gone by, rushed, accompanied by the memory of you fading out slowly, the image of you becoming more and more blurry, like a ghost whose lineaments distorted into something Namjoon knew he had idealised, as if the gaze of his mind, by lingering on the memory of your face, had somehow applied too much pressure on fresh wax, tainting the shape of it irremediably.

“May I be excused, I—” Namjoon stared at his phone, then he looked helplessly at the board.

“I think we can be done for today,” said the head of communication.

Namjoon stood, Yoongi looking at him with a strange look on his face as the younger man bowed and left with long strides.

What if it actually was a call center? What if it was a delivery man? What if it was some random stranger, and not the one he had been dying to see in the last two weeks?

He added it to his phone, nipping at his cuticles as he opened his Kakao profile and checked who hid behind that meaningless number. Beside the contact named “stranger” appeared that face, the one he had recalled so often, now untainted by his abrasive memory.

And you were typing.

“Hi. It’s ____ from Jeongwon’s exhibit. I have an early in on some borrowed Whankis coming in from the US. It’s a parallel with some Rothkos. Wanna join?”

Namjoon stared at the text.

“So you didn’t disappear on whatever international flight you got on...” he joked. “Of course count me in.”

Namjoon was excited. There was no other way to define it.

After all, it could be something.

[katsuriin]

hello yes mE, aGaIn-- canst i 👉👈 perhaps 😗get some headcanons of Bakugou, Shinsou, and Kaminari w/ a crush who's blind without glasses and breaks theirs during training, so now they're walking around with half-lidded eyes, lips slightly parted and coming up very close to everyone they talk to 👀 aslfjdksh I keep requesting I'm sry 💕💖💕💖 pls drink ur water bb don't forget to hydrate

❥Bakugou, Shinsou and Kaminari when their crush’s glasses break

wc: 0.6k

gn!reader

a/n: hey I’m back from my slight hiatus, I had a couple of family issues but it’s all good now and my ask box is open again. I’m so sorry for the wait angel, thank you for all your support for my account so far!!! this was lk so funny to write omg ty <333

lmao okay weLL this guy is gonna be his usual bitchy self but we love him for it

"oY are you really that blind [y/n]"

he'll find your face really cute, you'll be squinting to try see who's talking to you and he'll just be watching you from afar with a smile on his face because he finds it so god damn endeARING SDJKD

YOU MISTAKE HIM FOR AOYAMA LMAO AND HE LK HATES YOU FOR IT

legitimately goes from small smile, I-love-my-baby-y/n-so-much to "what the fuck did you just call me"

squishes your cheeks with his hand and tells you to look closer fuck imagine the straight up chiLLS you'd get

You walk closer to the wall so you can observe training from a distance seeing as you can't really train. Except you trip and nearly fall head first into the wall. You brace yourself for the impact, but it never comes, instead you're pulled upright. 

"oh aoyama-kun, I'm so sor-"

"do I look like that extra to you?" the second you hear that growl you become hyper aware of the hand holding onto your waist and lower back gently.

"well....kind of..." you reply sheepishly, getting progressively more red. He sighs, and you can practically hear the smirk on his face when he asks the question--

"am I gonna have to hold your fuckin hand all day to make sure you don't eat shit every time you move?" dying [y/n] noises

you kind of got decked in the face during training so now you're just seeing slightly blurry all day sigh

shinsou normally waits for you at lunch so you can go eat lunch together behind one of the gyms  

"where are your glasses [y/n]" he'd ask flushing and moving his face back when you stand super close to him

your face is pretty much 2cm away from his and although he loves your face he doesn't want to out his raging crush on you to everyone lol

instead he grabs your hand and quickly takes you to your usual lunch spot

you end up sitting super close to him and baby just goes a bit more red, not that you can tell though fkjsjdks

you eat your lunch talking about your day whilst shinsou listens, answering when you need him to because baby actually talks willingly when he's around you 

when the end of lunch bell sounds though thAT'S when it happens

You move to get up at the same time as shinsou, bending down to pick up your bag. When you stand up though you realise that you dramatically misjudged the amount of space between you and Shinsou and end up kind of pressed up against him. neither of you move a muscle for like 10 seconds, you don't even breath.

"I would've broken your glasses already if I knew it'd get you this close to me" SMOOTH FUCKER AAAAHHH

UM FLUSTERED BABY BOY

ngl it was probably him who broke your glasses, he did something stupid like stepped on them after they fell off when training

feels suuuuper bad about it, literally nearly cries

he realises just how blurry your sight is though later on that night

You stumble your way into the kitchen at night because you felt kinda hungry. You yelp in surprise when you realise you're not alone though, catching the attention of Kaminari. 

"Kaminari-kun,, is that you?" you say as you walk closer to inspect his face. Except you don't realise just how close you guys are until your noses bump together. He's stunned for a second before he's laughing, laughing so much that his head is resting on your shoulder as he clutches his stomach

"You always bully me after I overuse my quirk but you look just as braindead as me right now [y/n]"

[matan4il]

Hey, do you think the writers will ever remember that Eddie is half Swedish? I feel like that'd be hilarious that when Eddie gets pissed off/stressed/worried that instead of Spanish coming out, it'd be Swedish 😆 Imagine the looks the 118 would give him

Hello and thank you for this ask, it made me LOL! XD Honestly, I think they wanted to fill in a blank while they consider Eddie’s half Mexican side to be the essential one. I would LOVE to see some Swedish coming out of our darling Eddie’s mouth, but I think it’s implied he grew up without the language being spoken around him. That being said, I do have a fic coming at some point where I plan to rectify this a bit. ;) I hope that makes you smile, giving you back a bit of the joy you gave me! xoxox

Hi!! I’m the nonnie who asked about Buck’s vs Eddie’s reactions to the other getting hurt. And you’re 100% right!! I guess it’s down to different personalities and I definitely also underanalyzed some of the scenes we got!! You don’t have to respond to this, but I just wanted to say thanks for your reply ☺️

Nonnie! :D This is so lovely, thank you so much for the follow up ask! I’m so happy to hear that my reply was of help. Honestly, made my day! And I think a lot of the scenes where we get Eddie’s emotional responses are so understated, it’s easy to miss them. For any of us, so I’m glad we get to remind each other (I get reminded too, constantly), discuss and enjoy them together. Thank you again and sending you tons of hugs! xoxox

(the rest under a cut to save your dashboards)

Looking at the ending scenes from 4x08, we have EddieAna + Chris, Madney, Albert and Buck, and Henren. We know that in 4b, Henren will be dealing with potentially losing Nia. From Tim's interview, we know that Madney will not be having a 100% smooth birth. So already, 2/4 of these groups having something stressful coming in 4b. Lots of ppl think Albert will be in the car crash, so make that 3/4. So based on the math (lol), EddieAna + Chris also have something bad in store for 4b. It adds up.

Hi Nonnie and thank you for the ask! I always say that I am less into speculations, I try to be cautious mostly for my own sake, ‘coz from my experience, I find it hard to delve into speculations without forming expectations, which too easily leads to disappointment if my hopes don’t materialize. But I think as far as theories go, this isn’t a bad one. In general, Eddie and Ana have had a smooth (though rushed) sailing so far in the sense that we really didn’t see any substantial obstacles for them, which means trouble's bound to be around the corner. Hope you’re having a good hiatus, Nonnie! xoxox

how do you see buddie happening realistically? not your ideal way, as such, but more how you think it will most likely play out 💖

@evaneddie Sweetheart, thank you for this ask! Honestly, I’m thinking of the strides they would have to hit in order to tell this story well and the truth is, TV doesn’t always tell its stories well, so realistically, they’re not actually bound by any structure. But if they did do their best to hit all the key notes, they would first of all have to deal with one guy having feelings realization towards the other guy (I do think this is more likely to be Buck for a number of reasons), then he’d have to figure himself out (his sexuality, his feelings, what does he actually want) before settling into a plateau ("I can’t have this, so here we are, as if nothing’s changed") and then they have several options on what earthquake event to bring in which starts moving them towards mutual pining. It could be the guy who’s already on board trying to move on and the other guy starts grasping what he stands to lose, or it could be that things get difficult for the one who already knows and he starts pushing the  other man away, leading to a crisis that will eventually lead to a reveal of some sort... Key factor here is that a slow burn will always have to play around for a while with them not being in the same place emotional and consciously, so expect lots of obstacles first, many of them of the self-inflicted kind (like assuming the other guy isn’t into it). I hope this sort of helps? I have no idea, but I hope so! So much love to you! xoxox

And to everyone who sent me this kind ask -

💛🌼🌼💛 send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome 💖✨💖✨

@evaneddie @juliesdahlia @deluweil @loveyourownsmiilee @youcanhavemybackanyday you all rock so hard and you made me really happy and emotional! YOU JUST WAIT! As soon as I’m a bit better and I can start sending asks back, you are so getting one of these! And until then, just know that I love you all so freaking much, you absolute stars! Thank you so much for sharing your light with me! xoxox

[buckybees]

Steve is intrigued by a new customer ✨☕️| click for qual!