#yes the crown isn't on his head in this that's because it's in front of him showing him what he could be :)

[howlsnteeth]

don't wake me don't wake me don't wake me up

#quick sketch/thing between other things #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cotl the one who waits #i might pick more at narinder's descent it's v interesting to me #because it sure as hell didn't happen all at once #yes the crown isn't on his head in this that's because it's in front of him showing him what he could be :) #other shadows are the bishops etc etc #lyrics are from #atlantic by sleep token

[tumbleweed-run]

It's been brought to my attention that certified oral king, Gale Dekarios hasn't received in forever. And you know what, you're so right. There's exactly a zero percent chance that Mystra got on her knees, celestial or otherwise, for this man. Honestly I imagine there's a whole lot that she would do and yet demanded a whole lot of.

( shout out to @daiya-owoda )

(nsfw below)(holy cannoli this got long... apparently I just really want to do this)

Gale would be hesitant when you brought it up. This would definitely be a "conversation first" act, because any time you'd try to reciprocate he'd gently redirect you.

Not for lack of wanting (gods does he want) the idea of your lips wrapped around his cock genuinely breaks him for a few moments. But he's determined to make you feel good, maybe he's still trying to prove he's worth it for you to stick around - no matter how often you assure him that he's everything you want.

The first time he agrees, won over by your pleading to just let you focus on him, it's done in a very uneventful space. The tent late at night when your companions are either asleep or know enough to fake it.

He's anxious enough that you check in once, twice, three times to make sure he really does want this.

He nods, swallowing heavily, eyeing you knelt between his bare spread legs. "Yes, I just don't wish to make you feel as though you have to. I don't expect everything I do to be returned, in fact if you-"

You cut him off with a kiss, leaning back up over him. As much as you love his babbling if he keeps going right now you know you'll find yourself angrier at a goddess than you should while your partner is half naked in front of you.

Half because while you coaxed off his pants and shoes you realized he might feel more comfortable in this moment if the soft velvet tunic was left on.

Your kiss seems to relax him, or distract him. He relaxes back onto his elbows.

You let your kisses trail off down his beard and then tracing the lines of his tattoo until it disappears beneath the embroidered collar. The velvet still smells of old books and sea breezes. You've seen him wash this many times but the scent remains. Probably magic meant to soothe his homesickness.

His hands flutter as you lower yourself between his legs. But whatever nervousness the rest of his body is demonstrating his cock doesn't seem to have gotten the message. He's hard already swollen pink head crowned with a tiny bead.

You brace your hands on his inner thighs, a warning. Before you dart your tongue out to lap at the bead of moisture. It's not really a lap, really you've just pressed your tongue into the slit.

A taste.

Gale hisses hips bucking his cock up against your tongue. As much as you'd love you let him fuck your throat, badly enough that you freeze, eyes glossy as you bring that image to the front of your mind, you know he's not ready for that. He'd feel terrible afterwards if you even managed to convince him you wanted it.

Not yet.

So instead, you pin his hips to the ground using your forearms. And you set to work.

You kiss first. The tip and then down along the shaft, pressing as much of your lips and nose against him as you comfortably can.

He's relatively quiet above you, still propped up on his elbows to watch. You don't watch him though, focused on your self appointed task.

You contemplate his balls when you reach the base. The softest kiss to the skin and his thighs flex around you. A tempting exploration, but again one for another day.

You make your way back up to the tip of his cock.

Now you look up at him as you hover just over.

Gale opens his mouth, probably to reassure you that this isn't expected. But you ignore him and finally take him into your mouth. Not far, not even halfway in.

But it's enough for Gale, who's open lips let out a sound, not quiet a moan... more guttural and deep. He can't hold your gaze and lets his head fall back.

You set to work, gently sucking... taking him further into your mouth each time. By the time your nose is buried in the thick batch of hair at his base Gale is openly moaning. His fingers grasping and releasing the furs of his bedroll beneath you.

Your focus becomes discovering what draws the sounds from him. Your tongue pressed into the slit of his cock is what finally breaks his ability to stay proper up. When you take as much into your mouth as you can, swallowing to keep yourself breathing, he finally (finally) rests a hand on your head. Not in you hair, not pushing, just resting there - grounding himself in you.

"I... you must..." Gale gasps out after a few more minutes. He never makes a full sentence but you know what he's telling you. You could tell he was close just from how hard he'd gotten, how your jaw ached.

"Please" you half whisper pulling off him.

Whatever Gale sees when he lifts his head to regard your request leaves him speechless. He nods instead.

You nearly choke yourself in an effort to swallow him down once more. Hand at his base almost kneading as you suck.

His hand in your hair tightens and a choked moan is all the warning you get before his spilling down your throat. You swallow greedily, eyes squeezed shut, forearms still pinning his hips to the ground.

The hand in your hair tugs, finally pulling you off him. He's breathing heavily, eyes staring at the roof but clearly not seeing.

You sit quietly between his legs, catching a glimpse of yourself in a small mirror he has to one side. Lips puffy and red, corners of your eyes wet from tears, and your hair blessedly mussed from his hands.

"You are the most singularly gorgeous creature," Gale says in reverent awe as he finds you looking at yourself.

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #gale x tav #gale x reader #i am unwell for this man #gods damned puppy eyes wizards

[eddie-van-munson]

The Princess Bride (Farmhand!Eddie Munson x Princess!Reader)

***********

***********

Warnings: Mentions of Blood (Nothing Graphic), Kissing, One Subtle Allusion to Smut, Childhood Best Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn...I think that's it?

Summary: You've been best friends with the stable boy since childhood, but when a suitor comes from across the sea to ask for your hand in marriage, you're forced to finally confront your feelings for him.

A/N: I hope y'all like this! I've had this in my drafts for literally over a year, but people seemed interested when I asked, so here it is! Please, Please, Please leave a comment! It will keep me writing!

Six Years Old

Your earliest memory of him was from the stream. 

His head was a mess of wild brown curls, so thick they nearly covered his eyes, and his pants had been rolled up past his knees. You'd been sitting in the gardens, ignoring your tutor's endless lesson on etiquette, when you spotted him through the clearing. He wobbled as he waded further, jumping forward suddenly as he tried to catch a fish with his hands. You had to hide your giggle with a polite cough, lest you be scolded.

The boy heard you, though. He stared at you as you obediently walked along the bank behind a man with a large nose. 

You made eye contact with him, and as soon as he noticed he'd won your attention, it became a game. Suddenly, he was pulling funny faces and splashing around the creek like a giant. He held your gaze all the while, flashing you a two-front-toothless grin when you finally fell into a fit of giggles. 

You'd had to recite forty lines that afternoon because of him, but it was well worth it to share a laugh as he mucked about in the water.

***********

Six Years Old

The next time you saw the boy, you'd fallen ill with fever. It'd been a few months since the stream, and you almost didn't recognize him as he plopped a bundle of healing herbs down on your bedside table. 

"You don't look like a Princess." He crossed his arms before him as he eyed you suspiciously. "You're awfully pale…And you're not even wearing a crown or a dress or anything." 

"I'm sick, you knob." You frowned, "No one wears a crown to bed." 

He hummed, sticking up his nose. "I thought Princesses had to be grown-ups." 

"I'll be queen when I'm a grown up." You announced, bossily. "And you'll have to do everything I say, or I'll send you to jail." 

He scoffed, "Not if I'm the King! The Queen has to do what the King says!" 

You rolled your eyes, "Well, you can't be King." 

"Yes, I can! Haven't you ever read King Arthur?" He pointed, brows raising. "I just have to find an enchanted sword and pull it out of a stone. Then I'll be the King, and I'll send you to jail." 

Your cheeks went pink as you argued, "King Arthur isn't even real!" 

"Yes, he is! And I'll be just like him! King Edward the First!" You giggled, and the boy flipped around from where he'd started strutting around the room, proudly. "What?"

"Edward is a funny name." 

As wildly offended as the boy was by this comment, he had to hide the smile that crept to his face at the sound of your hoarse laughter. "It is not!" 

"Yes, it is! Who's ever heard of a King called Ed? King Eddie!" You held your stomach, falling into another fit of giggles. 

He turned from you indignantly, "Fine! Stay here all alone with your smelly herbs, then! I don't need any silly ole' princess!" 

"No!" You croaked, sitting up in bed. "Don't go. It's so boring up here. I can hardly stand it." 

He sighed, putting a hand on his hip, and thought for a moment. "Only because you'll have me beheaded if I don't." 

***********

Ten Years Old 

"Oh goodness…You've gotten mud on your dress!" 

Your mother fussed over the little blue dress you were wearing, kneeling beside you to get a better look at the damage. Splotches of brown had been smeared over your front. Even your hair had a few streaks of dirt. 

"I got in a mud fight with Eddie." You informed her, as if the mess was perfectly justified by this. 

She chuckled, "I see. It looks like he may have won this time, hm?" She gave your cheek a gentle pinch, making your nose scrunch. 

"No, he didn't!" You turned, pointing at your friend. He dragged his feet behind you, looking defeated. 

Your mother burst into pretty laughter at the sight of him, resting a hand on her stomach. "Oh lamb…come here." 

The poor boy was absolutely caked in dirt. Not an inch of him was left unscathed. His wild curls were sopping with heavy mud, and you couldn't even see the embarrassed flush on his pouty face. He looked like he'd rolled around in the pig pen.  

The queen tutted affectionately, smirking. "Oh what am I going to do with you two?" 

***********

Thirteen Years Old

"Do you think he'll be alright?" Tears welled in your eyes as you sat in the windowsill in your room, watching Eddie as he walked quietly by himself in the distant fields, below. "I don't like seeing him cry." 

"He'll be alright, love." Your mother cooed, taking a seat beside you. "I know it's hard to see him in pain, but the poor dear's lost his mother. It might take some time for him to feel like himself again." 

You sniffled, holding your knees. The words trembled when you spoke again.  "He'll be sent away, won't he? He won't be allowed to stay at the palace anymore." 

The Queen frowned, stroking your hair. "Why do you say that?" 

"His mother worked in the laundry. That's why he's lived here so long. Without her, he-" You trailed off, voice cracking as you gave a soft sob. 

"Oh, silly girl." She chuckled softly as she dried your tears. "You think we'd throw Eddie out all on his own?" 

Your brow furrowed, confused. 

"Eddie's a strong boy, sweetheart. He works very hard in the stables and takes good care of the horses. He holds his own…and even if he didn't, he's family. We'd never send him away." 

Your whole demeanor relaxed, "You really mean it?" 

Your mother smiled, "Of course." 

Still, your eyes didn't leave him. You sighed, "He's so sad...He's sad and I don't know how to fix it. 

"I wish we could fix it for him, darling, but that's not how these things work. You can't take away that hurt. You just have to let him feel it." She straightened her dress as she stood, giving your hand a loving squeeze. "But that doesn't mean he couldn't use a friend." 

***********

Fourteen Years Old 

"I didn't know Princesses were allowed to climb trees." Eddie's grin was stained sweet and red, his legs crossed over a branch lazily as you plucked another strawberry from the bushel you'd collected that morning. 

Your etiquette teachers would be appalled if they could see you now, wearing little more than a chemise in the summer heat as you straddled a thick tree branch. Your feet were bare and dirty where they hung in the breeze. You smirked, "They are if nobody sees them." 

Eddie laughed, and it was such a clear sweet sound that you wished you could keep it tucked inside a locket. You sighed, longing to freeze time and keep things just the way they were forever.

You relaxed against a branch, "I've got my whole life to do what royalty is supposed to do. I've got to do fun things while I can still get away with it."

Eddie chuckled, "Maybe I'm a bad influence on you, after all.

You frowned, "Did someone say that to you?" 

He shrugged, unbothered. "The maids whisper it. They say a young lady shouldn't be left alone with a young man." He put on his best 'prim' voice, making you giggle. "I'm a threat to your innocence!" 

You held your stomach, laughing. "A threat to my innocence? That's horrible!" 

He grinned, "You're telling me!" 

The breeze rustled the leaves in the tree as you lounged, breathing in the sweet summer air. 

Eddie had strawberry juice on his lips. For the first time, the tiny, ant-sized thought of kissing it away crawled into your brain. You squished the ant. 

A bad influence, indeed. 

***********

Fifteen Years Old 

"Tag!" 

Eddie sprang up from the corner of the barn, sprinting after you as you ran off into the fields. 

You lost him quickly, cutting down and into the gardens. The morning dew was cool as the grass tickled your bare feet, and you nearly slipped as you ran over the stone path. A gloved hand grabbed your elbow to steady you. You turned to see a member of the palace guard; his brows furrowed. "There you are, Princess. Your Mother-" 

It all happened so quickly. Eddie ran through the bushes, a playful grin tugging his lips, and grabbed you from behind, "I've got you!" He yelled, drowning out your giggles. 

Before you realized what was happening, the guard ripped you from his hold, tossing you aside. Eddie was thrown onto the stone path, his temple hitting hard against the tile. Distantly, he heard you shriek. His vision was fuzzy and starry when he felt the weight of the guard pin him down, a drawn sword shoved against his throat. "You shall not touch her!”

"Stop! Stop it!' You grabbed the guard's arm, But he threw you back down. Eddie choked your name. 

"Stay back!" The guard barked at you, pressing harder against the blade. Eddie could feel blood trickling from his head. He was trembling, eyes closed tight. Still, the guard yelled in his face, “Who are you? Hands by your side!” 

"He's my friend!" You screamed hoarsely.

"Get off of him this instant!"

You'd never been so happy to hear your mother's voice in your life. The guard dropped his sword at the sight of her rushing towards him. Immediately, his face drained pale as a ghost. "Y-Your majesty!" 

"Get off of the boy, for god sakes, he's a child! Get off!" The man clambered off of Eddie as your mother knelt beside him, fussing over him dotingly, "Oh sweetheart, your head…You're shaking like a leaf…" 

He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. The queen turned to the guard as you pitifully crawled over to your friend, pushing his curls back off of his forehead. "I'm sorry I'm sorry-" 

The guard searched for an explanation, "Your majesty, I thought the boy was-" 

"I know what you thought!" She snapped, sternly. She was well aware of the whispers surrounding yours and Eddie's friendship. Your mother's lips were pursed, cheeks red. You'd never seen her like that before in your life. "It gave you no right to hold a weapon to that child's throat!" 

"Your highness, I-" 

Your mother ignored the guard, turning back to you. "Help me get him inside." You nodded obediently as she squeezed Eddie's shaking hand, "I'll send for a doctor to check your head, darling."  

Eddie nodded, dizzily. 

You sat with him later that night when the doctor had gone and his head had cleared. The mark on his forehead would scar, no doubt, but it had been well tended, and any concussion he suffered was minor. This knowledge, of course, did nothing to soothe his nasty headache. 

"You're not a very good sport, you know." He groaned as you took his hand, smirking. "Siccing the palace guards on me just because I tagged you?" He tutted, "What a sore loser." 

***********

Sixteen Years Old 

"You have to tell!" You ran after Eddie as he hauled a sack of oats through the gardens to the stable. 

He ignored you, holding his nose high. "No, I don't. I don't have to tell you everything just because you're a princess."

You crossed your arms, "You have to tell me because I'm your best friend, you knob. Best friends don't keep secrets!" 

"Sure, they do. You mean to tell me you've never kept a secret from me?" 

You groaned, "That's different! You have to tell me if you fancy someone!" 

Eddie sighed, turning to face you, and dropped the sack of oats. "Why do you want to know so bad?" 

You blushed, stammering. "I…I want to help you confess your love!" 

Eddie laughed, "What a lie! You just want to tease me!" 

"Oh, Come on!" You pouted, putting your hands on his shoulders. If you tell me who it is, I'll tell you a secret, too."

"Tempting." He sighed, picking up the sack again and throwing it over his shoulder. "But no." 

***********

Eighteen Years Old

"You've got to keep it down…"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as he guided you towards the stables. "Why?" 

He laughed, "If I told you why, then it wouldn't be a surprise." 

He smirked when you groaned, reaching for the latch on the barn door. “You know I don't like surpris-..." 

 You went silent as he led you inside slowly, revealing a soft colored mare, and below her, her newborn foal.

"Oh!" You gasped, a smile creeping to your face. You stepped forward, wanting to approach the baby, but Eddie took your arm, gently pulling you back.

"You've got to be careful...the mare's protective of her. I nearly got kicked in the teeth this morning." He chuckled, enjoying the amazement in your eyes as you watched the mother and baby interact. 

"She's beautiful." You mumbled, grinning. 

Eddie couldn't help but smile, "She's strong too..." He paused, breath fanning your neck as he spoke just loud enough for you to hear. "She'll make a good riding horse, one day." 

You met his brown eyed gaze, biting your lip shyly as he nudged your arm with his elbow. 

You could feel him admiring you. 

You liked it.

***********

Nineteen Years Old

"Oh, Eddie. He was horrible…You wouldn't have been able to stop laughing!" 

Eddie clutched his stomach, laying back against the grass as he toyed with a wildflower. "That's because it's funny!" 

Your fingers fumbled with the ends of your hair, untangling the intricate hairstyle it's been tied up in. "It's not so funny when it's you!" 

Eddie grinned, looking starry eyed, "It really just fell off of his head?" 

"During dinner!" You exclaimed. Eddie fell into another fit of laughter. "Right onto his plate in front of everyone!" 

Your friend sighed, wiping his happy tears as he sat up to gather a handful of clovers. "I can't believe he wore an honest to God wig. The poor lamb." 

You laughed at his faux sympathy, watching his hands as he wove together stems. 

He looked so different from the little boy you'd befriended as a child. His wild curls had grown just past his shoulders now, his bangs often covering the scar on his temple. His arms and back were beautiful, muscles sloping gently beneath his skin, and while he was a hint more bronze than he had been as a boy, his freckles remained. His nose and his dimples had never changed in the slightest, and those big brown eyes reassured you that no matter how much Eddie had grown up, he'd always be that silly little boy, deep down. He'd always be your Eddie. 

"But what's the verdict?" He chuckled, "You never said. Is he the one?" 

You groaned, "You're mocking my pain." 

"I am not!" He fought a smirk. "I didn't want to assume. Maybe he was a wonderful conversationalist." 

You giggled, yawning. "I wouldn't know. I didn't catch a word he said after his hair went into his soup. 

Eddie gave you a fond smile, laying on his elbow beside you, "Here you are, princess. A crown." 

Your heart felt oddly achey as he draped a handmade crown of wildflowers over your head. You smiled, affection in your eyes. 

Your throat was tight when you spoke, "You're better than any prince, Eddie Munson." 

His cheeks flushed faintly. "Well, I don't know about that…" He tapped your nose playfully. "Most princes don't smell like a barn." 

***********

Twenty Years Old 

"Eddie, darling!" Your mother had called to him as he cut through the gardens back to the stable. His brows raised when he turned to find the Queen accompanied by you and the King. A man Eddie had never seen before held your arm, an unreadable expression on your face. Eddie bristled. 

"Your Majesties." Eddie nodded his head politely as the group approached, his muscles stiff with wariness. 

Your father gave a proud smile, gesturing to the stranger on your arm. "Son, let us Introduce you to Prince Carver the Fourth: Heir to the Throne of Hawkins."  

"An honor to meet you, Your Highness." Again, Eddie bowed his head. He'd never seen someone that looked so stiff. The two of you would have fun joking about it, later. 

Prince Carver was older than you, and by the looks of him, he'd never been outside a day in his life. Every last one of his blonde hairs had been tediously placed, as if he'd been sculpted out of clay, and his boots were perfectly polished black leather. The blonde eyed Eddie with disdain, crinkling his nose at the sight of his work clothes. "Yes, I'm sure." 

Eddie fought an eye roll. Another suitor, he assumed. The Royals were only being polite by offering him a tour, seeing as he'd travelled so far only to be rejected.

The Queen stepped towards him, glancing at the prince. "Eddie has become a very dear friend to our daughter, Prince Carver. Perhaps he would make a nice addition to your staff. He's served us so well in our stables." 

Confusion was visible in Eddie's face. An addition to his staff? What was going on? He looked to you for help, but your eyes were cast down into the grass. 

Prince Carver cleared his throat, "Unfortunately, we aren't lacking any farmhands at the moment, but you need not worry about the princess, your highness. She'll find much companionship in Hawkins, once we are wed."

Eddie felt his blood go cold. Absolutely frigid. 

Once we are wed. Once we are wed. Once we are wed.

His mouth opened to say something, but he couldn't find a single word. He was desperate to look you in the eyes, but his gaze was only met by a small shimmer on your left hand. An engagement ring. 

"Please excuse me, Your Majesties." 

****

Eddie hadn't cried like this since his mother died. 

He hadn't felt the blow of such terrible loss since he'd been orphaned. 

He sat alone in the barn on a stool, tears rolling down his cheeks as he gently stroked his fingers through the mane of the foal he'd surprised you with two years ago.

It was a pretty horse…full grown now and patterned with soft brown spots across her back. You'd named her "Sweetheart" after hearing Eddie call her that. 

Come're, Sweetheart. 

Here you go, Sweetheart. 

Good job, Sweetheart…That's it. 

Pain shot through his chest at the realization that the horse would probably get to go with you to your new home. 

But not Eddie. Eddie would be left behind. 

He clenched his jaw, eyes burning as he buried his fists in his curls and tugged. He was angry. He couldn't help but feel angry. It wasn't fair. His whole heart was being shipped off to God knows where, and there wasn't a word he could say about it. 

It wasn't your fault. You were a princess. Your hand in marriage was a pawn in a game of political chess. It had been since the beginning. Both of you knew this. You always had. So why weren't the two of you happy that this inevitable union was one that would lead the country to thrive? 

Eddie took a deep breath, relaxing his hands from his hair and rubbing tears from his face. 

You'd daydreamed with Eddie before. Lots of times. It was always the same thing.

I wish we could just run off and live in the woods, Eds. Just you and me. We could build a little cottage beside a stream. That way, we could swim in the summertime. You could finally teach me to fish, too. 

Is that what he'd been expecting? Had he hoped, deep down, that he'd somehow end up in that cottage after all, spending summer days with you by a stream? 

Maybe. Or maybe he'd just wanted you. 

He'd dreamt up hundreds of different futures for himself. There were countless paths he'd wandered down curiously in his head, over the years. Some were outlandish and fantastic…some were more modest. As much as they varied from day to day, he was realizing now that his hopes for the future had always held something in common. 

He'd always had you. 

****

The next week seemed never ending. 

Eddie didn't see you once. You were avoiding him. That much was obvious. 

Before the proposal, you made a habit of visiting Sweetheart at least once every day. You liked to brush her as you talked with Eddie, twisting braids into her coarse hair. She was spoiled rotten, no doubt, but that didn't leave the horse feeling any less deprived of attention with the sudden loss of your quality time. She'd gotten fussy over the week, whinnying and pacing in her stall. She'd even started kicking again, when she was feeling particularly agitated. 

Still, you made no appearance at the stable. Eddie was surprised, however, to look over the gate one evening to find Prince Carver walking swiftly through the grass. 

"Your highness." Eddie nodded, spotting the green apple in the man's hand. "Have you come to feed the horses?" 

"Certainly not." Carver scoffed, "I've come on behalf of the Princess. I find it inappropriate for her, as a lady, to be spending time in the stables. 

 I've reassured her that I'll take it upon myself to fulfill any required visits with Sugarplum." 

Eddie frowned, " Forgive me Your Highness, but I think you might be thinking of Sweetheart." 

The man scoffed, slapping the apple down in Eddie's hand before storming off.

 "Whatever the damned thing's name is." 

Eddie swallowed hard, calling after him. "Would you like me to show you how to feed her, Prince Carver?" 

The man laughed cruelly, "Heavens no. That's your job, is it not?" 

**********

"What on earth are you-! Edward Munson!" You gasped, immediately dipping over the stone ledge of your window to reach for him. He laughed, flashing you a boyish grin as he took your hand, pulling himself up and over the sill. 

Christ, you'll crack your skull one day!" You muttered, the both of you giving way to the effort and falling to the floor with a thump. 

"For the present my skull remains intact." He reassured, giving a faux bow of his head. 

You snorted, plucking dead leaves and briars from his thick dark curls. "What on earth put it in your head to climb all the way-" 

Eddie caught your hand, his eyes landing on your engagement ring. His thumb brushed over its stone as your heart sank into your belly. 

"Oh." 

Eddie studied the ring for a moment, taking in its details. There was a long silence. Finally, you spoke. 

"It's a dreadfully heavy thing." You pulled it off, placing it on your bedside table. "It catches on my gown, anyways."

A knowing smile crept to Eddie's lips. He sat in the silence for a moment before reaching into his pocket. 

A small wooden ring was produced, painted delicately along the band with tiny white flowers. He slipped it onto your marriage finger. "How's that one?"

You were breathless. "It..it's..." 

It was perfect. It was the most beautiful ring you'd ever seen, though you couldn't find the words to say so. 

Eddie's thumb brushes over the flowers, "I carved that for you when we were sixteen."

Tears welled in your eyes.

"I had it in my mind to propose to you then. The gardener stopped me when he discovered my plan." He gave a sad chuckle. A comfortable silence hung between you. Eddie took your hand, humming. "Would you have said yes?" 

"Eddie..." A tear rolled down your cheek, only to be brushed away carefully by his ever-gentle hand. You gave a sad laugh, your thumb stroking over his wrist. "You're not being fair." 

"Maybe not." He whispered, "But any man should be damned if he saw you and didn't want to keep you."

"It's cruel." Your voice wavered with emotion. "You know I've loved you since we were children...nothing can be done about it, Eddie."

"Nothing can be done about it?" Eddie gave a humorless laugh, "You're going to be Queen. Everything can be done about it." 

"What would you have me do?" Your brow furrowed. "Tell my father to end our alliance with Hawkins?"

"Yes! Hawkins only seeks to use us for our resources. Forest Hills is better off without their partnership." 

You swallowed thickly. The cicadas sang their response from the Glenside below. Again, Eddie wiped your tears. 

"Love is not something to be kept only for common folk. Your father will understand that. So will your kingdom." 

Something in you crumbled under his gaze. You drew closer, letting him envelope you in his arms. He held you for a long time, stroking your back, sweetly. 

"I spoke to your mother." He cooed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. Your head tilted back; eyes wide as you stared up at him. 

"Did you?" 

"Yes." His eyes were so warm and brown. You had admired them many times before this, but never quite so closely before. "I knew I was to ask for your hand...I couldn’t very well ask for your father's blessing, so I felt your mother's would be just as valuable. To us, at least."

You smiled, your forehead resting against his. "What did she say?" 

Eddie chuckled at the memory, "She pinched my cheek red. I wish you could've seen it. She cried and held my hand...told me she'd always known I would ask her one day." 

You gave a watery laugh, your fingers lacing tightly with his.

"She said she didn’t know if it was possible for me to make you mine, but that nothing would make her happier." 

There was a long silence. Eddie cradled your face, "Do you feel the same, little Princess?" Your pretty eyes fluttered at his whisper. "Do you love me the way I love you?" 

"How could you even ask?" 

Eddie chuckled, "Because I've done nothing but profess my feelings for you tonight, and now I'd like to hear you do the same." 

You chuckled, your smile fading with thought. 

"I knew...I knew I loved you about five summers ago." Eddie smiled fondly, his cheeks going pink. "We practically lived outside then...the world seemed so bright and warm and I didn't realize then that it was all because of you." You reached up, carding her fingers through his messy hair.  "The sun turned your curls golden on the edges-" 

Before you could finish your sentence, he was kissing you. He was soft and warm and strong, holding you close as you melted for one another. Eddie laughed, breathless, when you parted. "I'm afraid I win, then. I've loved you far longer than that." 

You laughed brightly as he kissed you again, working his way down your jaw to the column of your throat. "When?" You breathed, whimpering as he nipped at the crook of your neck. 

"It's hard to say." He moaned softly as you coaxed him back up to your lips, your hands lacing in his hair. "All I know is that I've never loved you more than I do right now." 

Another tear rolled down his love's cheek. He kissed it away. 

"But why these tears, now? Am I really that terrible?" 

You gave a watery laugh. "No. Not at all I...I just..." You gave a little sob. "I want to marry you. I want to be your bride and keep you always, but I can't-" 

"Marry me, then. Right now." 

You frowned, tucking a strand of his curls behind his ear. "What?" 

Eddie thumbed your ring as he caught your hand. "Do we not have a ring? A gown?" He swallows thickly, eyes darting between your night clothes and the mattress beside you.  "A marriage bed?" 

Slowly, You stood, guiding Eddie to stand before you. "We...we have to make a vow" 

"What kind of vow? I've never been to a wedding." 

You stared up at him, eyes brimming with love. "S-Something about.... For richer and for poorer. Through sickness and in health. From each sun to each moon." 

"May I write my own?" 

A tear rolled down your cheek as you nodded. 

He looked down at your hands, so soft and perfect in his rough ones. "I wish I could tell you that as my wife, you will want for nothing. I wish I could make you flowery promises about how you won't have a care in the world...but since I can't make you those promises, I'll make you the ones I can." 

He knelt before you, gazing up into your eyes. 

"I promise to you that no matter how hot the summer's day, I'll always climb to the highest branches to find you perfect, sun-spotted apples."

You giggled, a grin splitting your cheeks.

"I promise to let you spoil your horse as badly as you wish. Never again will I deprive her of a single sugar cube." 

Another giggle. Eddie kissed your knuckles.

"I promise to kiss you...often and abundantly...until you can't bear to kiss me even once more."

Eddie grinned at your blush. 

"I can't build you castles, but I promise you a home. I promise you food to eat and sturdy walls to keep you warm. I promise you children to nurse and adore." 

Eddie paused, heart fluttering.

"And I promise you love. The same love for you that I've held long since before I even knew what I was feeling." 

His voice wavers. 

"I promise that at the end of our lives, I will still feel it." 

Eddie clasped your hand with his, "So, Princess. If you'll have me...then with this ring, I thee wed." 

You repeated his words, falling to your knees to embrace him. Eddie caught you in his arms as he stood, peppering kisses to your nose, then your cheeks, and finally, your lips. 

His thumb brushed your new ring, gently. "I can't tell you how it feels to see you wearing it." He gave a watery laugh. "It's been sitting on my nightstand for four years now." 

"I wish I could wear it always..." 

"Why can't you?" He pulled back to meet your eyes.

Your expression sunk, "I'm afraid I'm still scheduled to be wed tomorrow morning." 

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." He hummed. "You think I'd allow another man to marry my wife?"

"Eddie..." He scooped you up, laying you gently upon your mattress before sitting beside you. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid tomorrow." 

He chuckled as you combed through his curls with your fingers. "When have I ever been known to do stupid things?" 

"I mean it. You remember what happened the last time someone thought you were a threat to my innocence. It would kill me to see you hurt." Your fingertips grazed the scar on his temple, stiffening at the memory of his head hitting stone. 

There was a long silence as Eddie gazed at the ring. He kissed each of your fingertips slowly. "Do you trust me?" 

"More than anything." 

Eddie smiled at this, holding your hand to his heart, "Then don't worry." 

You gave a hesitant smile. Eddie cradled your body against his, gently combing through your hair. 

"We must leave tonight." He whispered. "Disappear into the woods. If we rode as far as we could on Sweetheart, it would be nearly impossible for them to find us by the time morning came. It would be difficult, but we'd be free." 

Immediately, you tensed. "Eddie, no. He could have you killed if they found us." 

"Then you'd better hold me awfully tight for as long as you can, my love." 

**********

You woke to the sound of water rushing beside you. You laid upon a bed of moss; a thick blanket tucked around you. You felt shade cover you as a figure knelt as your side. A hand on your head, pushing your bangs back lovingly. You stretched and groaned in response, not wishing to leave behind the warmth of your blanket, and kept your eyes closed.

"What a shame." Eddie cooed with a smirk, seeing right through your fib. "My little wife is simply too weak and exhausted to carry on. I suppose I must leave her behind..."

Your eyes flew open, taking his bait. "Leave her behind!?"

Eddie laughed brightly, pulling you into a smiley kiss. You were beginning to think nothing in the world felt better than kissing him.

Eddie's nose nudged against yours as he hummed passively. "Did you know you talk in your sleep?"

Your jaw dropped, "I do not, Eddie Munson."

He giggled, "You most certainly do, Mrs. Munson. We had a whole conversation whilst you slept."

"What about, pray tell?"

Eddie laid on his back beside her, letting her rest against his chest as he tucked his arms behind his head. "How handsome I am."

You smirked, rolling your eyes as you kissed him. The sun was warm and the cool earth beneath you felt like silk beneath your skin.

"I feel like I could do anything I wanted out here. No one could stop me."

"You could." Eddie smirked with another peck. "But I'm afraid we must keep traveling, my love. We still have a long way to go."

"How far are we going?

He tucked hair behind your ear, "So far they'll never find you. So far that it will be impossible for them to take you from me."

You nodded, curling in against him.

"And once we have finally traveled far enough..." Eddie grinned down at you. "I shall build you our cottage by the stream." 

***********

@ali-r3n

@stephanie-nicks76

@penandpage

@the-local-pendeja

@blindbisexualgoose

@eddiemunsonsgf2

@panickedpanko

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie the freak munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munsen x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munsen #Eddie x reader #eddie imagine

[queers-gambit]

Confection Invention

prompt: what is a legacy other than what we're remembered for after we die? names are lost, stories altered, family names obsolete, but recipes are forever because cuisine transcends time.

or how Sansa Stark's favorite dessert, lemon cakes, came to be after discovering your husband's never had a nameday cake.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x female!reader

fandom masterlist: House of the Dragon

word count: 3.5k+

warnings: none? none. seems suspicious.

Sansa Stark, newly crowned Queen in the North, was once a child too small, too scared, too sheltered from the harsh brutality of life's reality. Before she left Winterfell that fateful day, it was well known in the castle that the young girl adored the tasty sweet treat, lemon cakes. A confection of dense cake with lemon shreds mixed in the batter, a lemon glaze poured over, and garnished with a bright and tart lemon slice.

King's Landing was equipped to make the dessert and the young redhead still found pleasure in them, sure, but then shit got real when the Lannisters, you know, murdered her father. Sansa "grew up" and didn't bother with sweet treats after that. They just never tasted the same, and she began to admonish herself whenever she had a hankering; figuring with so much bad in the Realm, her want for cake was inappropriate and misplaced.

After years of turmoil, of losing any and everyone she ever cared for, the night the North declared her Queen of their newly-independent realm, Sansa Stark indulged herself and asked the kitchen staff to send lemon cakes to her room with supper. When her private meal was served, so was her dessert, and Sansa had to ask the servant serving her before they could disappear, "Excuse me?"

"Yes, Your Grace?" The serving maid bowed her head, facing Sansa with clasped hands locked stoically in front of her. Sansa almost cringed when she heard her new title, but refrained from reacting - it would simply just take getting used to.

"Might I ask, how are these made?"

"How what are made, Your Grace?"

"These lemon cakes."

"Oh, uh, I do not know the recipe, but I can ask the kitchens - "

"Well, it's odd, isn't it?"

"What is, Your Grace?"

"I've been all over the Realm," she spoke with an even tone, ever the emotionally-stunted diplomat, "and I've sampled many of these cakes in my lifetime, yet fail to find any real distinction. It's almost as if everyone is following the same recipe."

"Oh, well, I do know that they are, Your Grace."

"They are? All of the kingdoms?"

"Yes, Your Grace, i-it's a rare thing, but yes, the Seven Kingdoms use the same recipe."

"How can that be possible? How do they all get the same recipe?"

The maid glanced at the door nervously, "Uh, I-I do not know, Your Grace."

"You may speak freely, you are in no danger here," Sansa encouraged, gesturing to the only other empty chair at her table. "Please, come sit, indulge me in this tale. I am only curious."

"Well," she turned to shut the chamber door, speaking quietly as if what she was about to say was a secret, "it would depend if you know anything about the Targaryen dynasty, Your Grace."

"Only what was generically taught."

She nodded, taking the seat Sansa offered. "Some 2 centuries ago, there was a great scandal and a great war - one you may know as the Dance of Dragons." Sansa nodded and the maid explained anyway, "You see, it started because King Jaehaerys lost his heirs and was forced to choose between eligible familial candidates. Viserys Targaryen, the King's grandson, and his granddaughter, Viserys' cousin, Rhaenys Targaryen."

"Right, I remember the names somewhat."

"The King chose Viserys because, well, he was a man and Rhaenys was only a woman - though, married to a Velaryon, another ancient House hailing from Valyria." Sansa nodded along. "Anyways, uh, King Viserys' first wife was a Targaryen woman who gave him a daughter and then died birthing a son. He remarried a Hightower girl after that and had four other white-haired children; three sons and a daughter."

Sansa nodded slowly as she ate. Nothing like dinner and an entertaining story.

"The second son was Prince Aemond Targaryen, and he had this wife, you see, who was something akin to a saint on soil."

"Nobody's that nice," Sansa snarled in refusal, eyes almost rolling.

"You forget, Your Grace, some 200 years ago, the people never considered rebelling against the Targaryens. Only an arrogant fool would charge a horse at a dragon and think they'd win, so, at the time of this tale, there was no thought to protest the monarchy. Anyways, it wasn't just her kindness that made Aemond Targaryen's wife saint-like. It was all she was, and her most notable work was helping establish, build, organize, and operate orphanages in King's Landing, and then, around the Realm."

"Hmm."

"Well, she worked with those kids and apparently, had an affinity for baking. And because she worked with orphans, when she would take them around to other regions for adoption or placement, she'd leave each kid their own copy of the recipe."

Sansa considered the tale for a moment, then asked, "So, why lemon cakes? Where did they come from?"

The maid smiled.

Aemond Targaryen flinched when he heard something shatter, walking up the hallway alone and only a few strides from his bedchamber. When he opened his door, the One Eyed Prince actually laughed at the sight, "Oh, Gods, are you all right, my love?"

You pouted up at Aemond from the floor, "It was an accident."

"I can tell."

"I really didn't mean to."

He leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms across his chest, "No, no, I can tell by the way only the vase my mother gifted us for our wedding is broken. Never mind you telling me over the weeks how you despise it."

"It was an accident! I really didn't mean to," you sighed, glancing at the shattered vase around you.

"How'd it happen?" Aemond asked softly, moving forward after pushing off the doorframe and shutting the door. "Hmm? C'mere, little love," he bent at the waist to pick you up from the floor, hoist you in his arms, then carry you to the bed. "You all right? You hurt?"

"No...?"

"Show me."

You frowned and showed the shallow cut on the underside of your forearm, informing, "It was an accident, I swear t'the Seven, Aemond. I just tripped on the chair," you pointed to where the sitting furniture was overturned, "and fell into the table. I was replacing the flowers in the vase."

He nodded, "Your cut isn't bad, here, just hold this to it." Your husband pressed a spare cloth to your wound before straightening his spine. "Sit here a moment, I'll clean."

"No, let me - "

"No, no, love, just wait," he chuckled. In the time it took a maid to bring in a broom and dustpan, Aemond had successfully distracted you enough with casual conversation. It was there you discovered a secret you deemed unacceptable. "No, I am not lying, sweet girl," Aemond chuckled, "I've truly never had a cake for my nameday. The idea just seems silly, doesn't it? To celebrate such a common event?"

You scoffed, "We'll come back to your cynicism later. Surely, in your youth, your mother made you cake?"

"Being the second son, you often got overlooked," Aemond shrugged as if it didn't bother him. "I am not missing much, it's just cake."

"'Just cake'!? You say that because you do not know," you pouted. "What kind of a wife am I that I did not know this?"

Aemond laughed, "We've been married all of 3 months."

"It should've come up," your eyes rolled, "or at least in the lifetime of friendship before our betrothal."

"Consider this a learning opportunity between spouses. It isn't a bad thing," Aemond defended, the shattered and scattered ceramic being swept away. "So what, I've not had cake? I am missing nothing."

"It makes me sad."

Aemond laughed as he eyed you for a moment, nodding like he understood something. "You mean to remedy this, don't you?" He asked, showing the maid out of your chambers.

"Of course I do!"

He chuckled, "You know I am not fond of sweets."

"Doesn't matter, I'll find something you like. We can start with the basics, uh... Um... Well, I guess, do you like dense cakes? Fluffier, lighter ones?"

He paused to think, offering, "I like the gooseberry pies served at banquets?"

"Those are dense."

"Hmm, then dense is fine. They're in smaller quantities because they're so heavy."

You nodded, "Any flavors?"

"I am unsure on that front."

"Fruits? C'mon, fruits are usually really good with pastries and cakes."

"You know what I like," Aemond sighed, uncomfortable with the idea of attention for his nameday. "Trust me, love, I cannot make this decision - I just don't know. I am terribly green when it comes to sweets. Even when offered at formal events, you know I'm not interested."

"Well, how about a sampling? I can make you different treats and you tell me which you like."

Aemond chuckled, knowing you wouldn't let this go and agreed, "All right, sure."

And boy, did you keep to your word. The kitchen staff was already used to seeing you on a decently regular basis, but suddenly, you were spending all day in the kitchen, trying out different recipes. You made cakes, cookies, brownies, pastries, all kinds of desserts! You even went a step further, trying out newly invented ideas until narrowing down several options. You were determined to give Aemond something, wanting him to feel your love and effort in the confections because his nameday was the one day you had to pamper and spoil him without complaint.

(Though, trust me, he still complained and deflected attention.)

You loved Aemond's nameday because he had no choice but to be at the forefront of your attention and affection; something his family found amusing after their years of neglect towards him. Every other day of the year, he was stubborn and impossible and made everything about you; but not his nameday!

Even though he truly wasn't a fan of desserts, Aemond still met you on a balcony at the end of the week because not only did he adore making you happy, but he hardly ever said no to you. You had an array of treats made and displayed, and slowly, he sampled what you presented; speaking simply for your mental notes. However, he came upon something new - something he's not seen before.

"What's this?"

"Um, well... See, my younger siblings sometimes like citrus in their desserts, so, I thought this might be good? Or it could be tart - one or the other."

"This is lemon?"

"Yes, and that is made with limes from Volantis," you pointed to another platter, "that one's orange, that one's cherry, and that one has coconut."

"Where did you get coconuts and cherries?"

"That's not important. Which one is your favorite? It's what you're getting for your nameday, so do not lie."

"Pardon my pun, but the lemon cake takes the cake, sweet girl."

Aemond's heart soared in his chest when your grin of pride was hardly contained; looking pleased that you had invented something to his liking - making it all the more special, being something Aemond never has to share with others.

Sansa thought it was a lovely tale, clarifying, "So, when you say she established King's Landing's orphanages, did she use the Crown's money or the tax payer's?"

The maid smiled, "No, Your Grace, she used royal funds. King Viserys commissioned her bakery, and after a bit, the people actually started donating to her cause because the King offered tax exemption for those who donated."

"And she would take the kids around the Seven Kingdoms for placement? By herself? Why? Why not bake full time? She was obviously good at it."

"She was passionate, and the kids couldn't all fit in King's Landing anymore, so, she had to help relocate them for a better quality of life. She also gave each child the recipe so they could have a little taste of 'home' when they wanted."

Sansa nodded slowly. "How did word spread if she only made it for her husband on his nameday?"

"A moment, please," you interrupted your in-laws departure from the dinner table. When Alicent looked you in the eye, you smiled, "I've something for you all to try in honor of Prince Aemond's nameday."

"Oh, love, no," Aemond whispered in embarrassment, "not tonight."

"Would you mind, Mykal?" You asked the kind servant, who nodded once and exited the dining room.

"What's this about?" Otto questioned.

"Well, I thought we just might celebrate for just a moment together," you eased. "What with tensions so high lately, I just figured we deserved something... Sweet."

Alicent's lips twitched, always knowing in her heart that you were too good for Aemond - too good for this wreck of a family. When Mykal returned, he carried a decorated platter of lemon cakes and set it in the middle of the cleared-away table. You stood.

"What are they?" Aegon asked with an unsure curled lip.

"Lemon cakes," you smiled, "a confection of my own invention made especially for my husband, hmm?" You served a small, personal cake to each family member using saucer platters. "Please, just try it - tell me what you think."

You placed the final cake in front of your husband, grinning and taking your seat again. You knew he hated the spotlight, it gave him anxiety; so, you tried to do your best by acknowledging his nameday without needing to fuss over him. He always liked that you two celebrated privately, but being a "special event", the family had dinner together that night and you thought it a great time for the tart dessert to debut. You dwelled in anticipation as your in-laws all tried their cakes, Aemond feeding you every other bite from his fork as there came a chorus of satisfying hums and groans of approval.

"Holy Mother," Otto chuckled, instantly forking another bite in his mouth. "Mh, mh, mh, wow," he smacked his lips, nodding in impression. "You invented this?" He asked, watching you nod. "You invented a new cake..."

"For Aemond's nameday, yes," you confirmed, tone a little sharper than usual in an effort to make your point.

"I gotta admit, Y/N," Aegon spoke with a full mouth, a few crumbs flying, "this is bloody delicious."

"It really is," Alicent agreed, offering her husband a bite. "Viserys? Love? It's a lemon cake, here, try a bite."

"A what?" Viserys wheezed in confusion. "N-Never heard of l-lemon cake."

"They're new," she explained, "Y/N made them for Aemond's nameday. Isn't that special? Try a bite, love, there you go."

Viserys accepted the bit of cake on Alicent's fork, wincing gently at the tart taste before, too, humming. "'S good," he whispered, looking drained of energy.

"Gotta make these more often," Aegon pointed his fork at the cake crumbles left. He continued, "Like, bring these to every banquet we host and this will be the star." You chuckled and put another cake on his plate, it being instantly torn into.

You smiled at Aemond, "Guess they're a hit."

He leaned down to affectionately press his lips to your forehead for a long moment, mumbling, "Knew they would be."

"So, does this mean I can bake you cakes now? Every nameday? You won't complain?" You asked, tangling his hand with yours and relishing in the way he squeezed.

"Oh, he'll still complain," Helaena giggled, licking icing from her finger, "no matter what."

Aemond smirked at his sister, offering a subtly jab at his family, "I would never complain about being loved. Besides," he offered you a fond, softening look, "she does it so well, wouldn't you say?"

The family hummed in agreement, not truly paying attention to his words - all enraptured with scraping their saucer platters clean. You smiled up at him, letting his lips find yours in a brief show of emotion.

Otto mused, "You know, I've heard it said, 'the love of a good woman will echo through lifetimes'. I think food is a surefire way to ensure that legacy of love, respect, consideration..."

For the next few weeks, you spent more and more time in the kitchens; whipping out batches of lemon cakes to offer the Keep's staff after rumors spread of your cakey goodness. You gifted guards, trainers, tutors, members of court, maids, the castle's servants the newly invented confection. It quickly became the most talked about topic in King's Landing; the citizens being obsessed with your cake and demanding a taste of their own.

In fact, Viserys was so pleased by the turn of events that on one of his rare good days, he consulted Otto. "A bakery for Y/N - would it be worth the purchase? Do you think the Crown should fund the purchase?"

Otto considered, "Well, since her cakes are the hottest commodity currently, I'd say, yes, Your Grace, it'd be worth exploring as a new revenue for the Crown."

"No, no, not for the Crown t'collect from - leave it for Aemond and Y/N to share. This is not to be a business we collect the profits from - but rather, something they might enjoy." Viserys tried to smile, deciding, "Make it happen, Otto, my friend."

"Your Grace?"

"I want - I want her to have a bakery. Where she might sell her baked goods as she sees fit, not as an extension of the Crown, she deserves it. All her hard work," the King wheezed, coughing violently.

"Of course, Your Grace."

Yet when you were informed about your new business venture and shown the building that was to be your bakery, you told Otto that you didn't bake for money and having your own business would be terribly redundant. Yet Otto insisted that you made your own rules and if you wanted to charge, you could, but Viserys wanted you to have a designated safe space to create in.

Upon the grand opening, you were a SMASH hit. The line in your bakery was nonstop and extended out the door; the Gold Dragons overflowing enough for you to restock your ingredients tenfold AND have leftovers to funnel back into the orphanages. People talked, they spread word and rumor, and most patrons had heard through the "grape vine" that your bakery was well worth any wait. Being so popular, you required extra hours baking and only opened about three days a week because you still had your other job.

Speaking of, you obviously still worked with the orphans; in fact, some of them even came to hang out in the bakery! No, they didn't help bake unless they asked to specifically mix the icing or something, because you didn't believe in exploiting child labor. Anyways, on certain days, you closed the bakery and brought all the cakes to the orphanage to distribute, always having a warm heart when the kids giggled while eating the little sweet treat. It inspired you to write down the recipe you invented and every trip you took to help kids find their placement, you brought them recipe cards.

"Here," you handed the card over to the guardian agreeing to care for the kids, "this is just a recipe for a cake and I promise it's really simple to follow. It'll be a familiar taste to them when living here, somewhere unfamiliar for now." You sniffled, offering a watery smile, "Just wanted them to have a piece of home."

The volunteer guardians were usually grateful, knowing baking these cakes could be a form of bonding between them and the kids. It was difficult trying to get these types of kids to open up after all they endured on the streets before your orphanage took them in. Maybe a little cake would help mend those wounds and assure them, while here, they were safe.

You never expected to live out through history, but while names are lost, stories altered, and family names become obsolete, cuisine is a universally shared experience that transcends time.

Sansa sat for a moment, stewing in the story. Never had she imagined such a history lesson surrounding her favorite dessert; she would've thought some old granny would've been messing around in the kitchens to invent such a treat. Not a Princess of the Realm, especially one belonging to the most fearsome and longest reigning monarchy in Westerosi history.

For a brief moment, she was jealous by the description of your relationship to Prince Aemond; hearing how loving your husband was, how supportive and kind to you. She wondered if she'd ever experience something like that - and if she'd ever meet someone who would take her nameday as seriously as you took your husband's.

"What happened after?" She asked quietly, taking a long sip of her wine. "To the Prince and Princess, I mean?"

The maid shrugged meekly, "Not too long after, the Dance of Dragons started and there was no time or reason to bake anymore. They both perished in the flames of war, unfortunately, becoming victims of the Princess Rhaenyra - Aemond's older half-sister."

"Mh," Sansa nodded, "I've heard of her. Maegor with Tits, they called her."

The maid nodded, finishing, "But, you see, Your Grace, the recipe was already spread around the Realm and to this day, is still being used."

The room was silent for a long moment.

"All that," she stabbed her lemon cake with her fork and lifted the bite to her eye for examination, "just because she loved a man and wanted to give him what he's never had before."

"Perhaps, Your Grace, that is why nameday cakes are now tradition. They say the love of a good woman will echo through lifetimes, Your Grace."

requesting rules and masterlist

HOTD masterlist

#aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen one shot #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen x f!reader #aemond targaryen x female!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #house of the dragon #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #hotd #prince aemond #aemond x fem!reader #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon hbo #hbo house of the dragon #hbo hotd #aemond fluff

[mkfluffluv]

Keep The Secret?

MAINLY JAKE LOCKLEY X GN READER , SOME MARC SPECTOR AND STEVEN GRANT X GN READER

prompt : marc and steven had gotten themselves sick. luckily for them, they have a wonderful and loving partner who's willing to take care of them(you). unbeknownst to you, another person is taking care of them in their own way. (yes it's jake.)

i finally finished this and it ended up a lot longer than i had planned but i'm pretty okay with it, so, enjoy!

likes and reblogs appreciated, also leave me requests cause im running out of ideas!!

warnings(?) : fluff. maybe angst? but mostly fluff. my knowledge on DID is very limited but im hoping i didn't mess anything up and if i did, feel free to message me about it!!

word count : 2,705

masterlist

Here you are, preparing all of your boyfriends' pills for them cause they're too tired to get out of bed. Someone had coughed on Steven while on his way to the museum and now they're sick with a sweltering hot fever  and a horrid cough. They were constantly switching with each other because neither of them wanted to deal with the sickness and while yes, being sick without fronting is still being sick, it is still much better than actually having to experience a sick body. Sometimes you wonder why or how you had fallen in love with these two idiots.

"Will you both please just stop arguing and drink your medicine?" You demand from your very sick boyfriends who are currently quarreling with each other. A mirror was placed beside the bed where Steven was laying down on, where he is coughing every few sentences that he says to presumably Marc, as he tells him, pretty much begs him to take over for a few minutes so that he can stop feeling so bad at least a little bit. You can't hear Marc but from the way Steven is getting more and more exasperated by the second, he's probably being very stubborn and refusing to switch.

A bunch of toddlers those two are.

You run a hand through your hair and drag it down your face, letting out a groan in irritation. You’ve been by their side for hours now, making sure they’re getting enough rest and drinking their medicine and honesly, If you didn't love these two dorks, you probably would have left hours ago. But if you'd left, they'd just be arguing all day and not resting and that is the opposite of what you want these two to be doing.

After giving up on trying to get the boys to drink their pills, you approach Steven on the bed, pushing him down by the shoulders, forcibly tucking him in, and shushing him when he tries to say something about you treating him like a baby. "Please, love, just go to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up." You tell him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Steven is quiet for a while but then sighs defeatedly and nods, knowing there's no point in arguing with you about it since he's already tired anyway. His head immediately sinks into the pillows as he relaxes and closes his eyes. You sit beside him, humming a soft tune while running your hands through his hair. His breathing slows in mere seconds.

Thank god. You were starting to get really tired of their bickering and if they were to go on any longer, you would seriously start contemplating using that neck pinch trick Marc taught you to get them to pass out already. Sighing in relief, you lift yourself from the bed and walk over to the small stove to start cooking up some soup for them to eat when they wake up.

However, as you were cutting up some carrots, you hear shuffling coming from the bed. Assuming that it's probably just Steven stirring in his sleep, you choose to ignore it and continue to cook.

But the shuffling continues and it isn't until you hear a creak on the floor that you turn your head to the other side of the room where possibly Steven is leaning against the wall trying to walk towards his desk.

Oh for the love of-

"Steven! I told you to rest, if you needed the pills you could've just-" Before you could finish your sentence, however, Steven had swiftly darted across the apartment towards you, as if he was never even sick. Suddenly there is a dagger that he had pulled out of who knows where threateningly close to your throat.

This is not Steven and you have a very good feeling that it isn't Marc either.

"Who are you?" A slight accent that isn't American nor British comes out of the man, his voice low and more gravelly than the others. Slowly, you place the knife back down on the cutting board and both of your hands come up to your chest, hopefully showing this stranger that you are now unarmed and not here to hurt anyone.

"I'm just here to take care of Marc and Steven. I'm their significant other." There is a pregnant pause after you say this like he's contemplating whether your words could be trusted or not. His eyes dart around the room. First, towards the soup on the stove, then the pills on the desk, and finally the small portraits of you and your boyfriends. He finally lets go of you, making you fall to the floor with how weak your knees felt after all that.

"God fucking damn it those idiots." The stranger says, the accent coming out of his mouth (your usually american and british lovers' mouth)  is something that would probably take a while to get used to. It surely took you a while to get used to Marc’s accent. The man drags his hand across his face and takes one deep breath before dropping down to the floor right next to you. "I'm very sorry about that." He leans sideways against the kitchen counter, a charming smile making its way up to his face. You notice that it's different from the way the other boys smile.

There's still a bit of confusion floating around in your head, way too many questions that you just can't seem to form the words to ask him. So instead, you just nod. "I can't really forgive you for threatening my life like that." You can still feel the blade close to your neck, merely only centimeters away from cutting it open and bleeding to death. You rub at the spot to get rid of the phantom feeling and steady your breathing. It's fine. You're not in danger anymore. Plus, you have a feeling this new guy wouldn't hurt you. His posture is no longer tense, now relaxed, and frailer considering the body is still very sick and the dagger was thrown across the room a few seconds ago. Whether it's because he trusts you or if it's because he's too weak to start anything right now, he doesn't look like he would hurt you.

"Care to explain why you suddenly attacked me though?" You dare to ask, to which the man laughs and then coughs violently into his arm. Out of instinct, you reach out to him but stop yourself. He may have the face and the body of your boyfriends but he is still a potentially dangerous and untrusting stranger.

Eventually, the coughing does stop and now he looks as tired as Marc and Steven did before. You can't help the clenching feeling in your chest at the sight of him. As if he can feel your pitying gaze, he turns to you again, his smile now softer. "I'm very protective of them. Thought you were a stranger. Plus my mind was all bleary so I couldn't think straight. Sorry." He apologizes again, this time you can't help but feel bad for him. You don't know why you suddenly trust this man after he'd almost slit your throat open but the care and love were so evident in his tone of voice and it warmed your heart to know that there's someone else close to them to care about those two idiots.

So you return his smile and nod, before getting up to your feet and offering a hand to him. He looks at it incredulously as if he's never seen a hand before. It's adorable but also kinda stupid for him to be this untrusting of an empty hand.

"Come on, get up. You're still sick and in need of rest. Plus I still need to finish that soup." You tell him, waving the hand in front of him for him to take.

He eventually does and you help him up to his feet, letting him lean on you when he nearly falls at the sudden dizziness erupting in his head.

"What's your name by the way?" You ask him as you slowly guide him back towards the bed. He coughs once into his hand and his face turns to look at you, the smirk back on his face before he responds:

"Jake Lockley, a pleasure to meet you."

-

"Can you promise to keep this a secret?" Jake asks you as you were scooping up another spoonful of soup to feed him. He insisted he didn't need to be fed by you but when you saw him shake as he held the bowl, you pretty much forced it out of his hands and started feeding him. You just wouldn't want soup all over his sleeping pants, that's all.

He flinches at the glare that you give him for even asking that. Keeping something as big as this a secret from your boys? No, absolutely not. Why would he even dare suggest that?

You voice these thoughts to him as you place the bowl of soup on the bedside table and he shakes his head. Jake turns his body so that he's facing towards you, staring deep into your eyes. He moves forward and grabs your now empty  hands, holding them tightly in his. The feeling of his calloused palm against yours makes your cheeks flush.

"Please. I swear I'm only doing this to protect them." He practically begs, your hands that are clutched tightly in his are starting to hurt with how tight he's holding them but not enough to be unbearable. You want to refuse. Marc and Steven deserve to know after all. They shouldn't be kept in the dark like this.

But when you open your mouth to tell him no, his head drops into your lap, his face now hidden in the fabric of your clothing, and his hands are still not letting go of their tight grip on yours as he lets out another quiet plea. "I just don't want them to know yet. Please." His voice is slightly muffled but sounds genuine enough for you to let out a defeated sigh. Damn him and his pleading voice.

"Fine." You respond. Jake's head immediately snaps up from its former position, his eyes that are staring into yours shine with adoration. You're taken aback by how that look makes you feel. Oh no. Not doing this again.

You shake the thoughts from your head and then clear your throat. The puppy eyes are simply only effective cause they're the same as your boyfriends'. That's all. There's nothing more to it.

Quickly, you take your hands away from Jake's, placing them back on your lap. "I promise to not tell them." His face beams up with joy and it reminds you a little bit of the way Steven would look whenever you pay attention to one of his ramblings and gosh does that make your heart go weak. You regain your composure though after mentally slapping yourself and focusing on the task at hand. "But you will tell them soon, right?" You ask him. "It just doesn't feel right to be lying about all of this."

"I know." Jake sighs, rubbing at his temples and massaging the area to ease the pain of his aching headache. "I know, it's just that I haven't figured out how to tell them without freaking them out." He rests his head against the headboard and closes his eyes. "I've done some things that they might not agree with."

Oh. You remember Marc and Steven telling you stories about them passing out in life-threatening situations and then waking up with people either dead or passed out around them, with their fists covered in blood. When asked, both of them refuse to admit who was at fault. It seems that they were both telling the truth. None of them did that. It was all just Jake. Somehow, this doesn't make you scared of him. He was only protecting the loves of your life, after all, even if you don’t agree with his way of doing it, you still appreciate it.

"I'm sure they'll understand." You say to him. You don't really want to give in to the voice that's telling you to hold him close. You don't. But right now Jake looks so much like a sad kicked puppy, with his head hung low and his fingers fiddle like he doesn't believe the words that you've said to him and you have this very strong and irresistible urge to pull him in for a long and comforting hug. You don't know if it's because the face you're looking at right now is the same one as your boyfriends' or if it's because of this stupid and conflicting feeling lying in your heart that you're sure to talk to Marc and Steven about soon cause there's no way you're not telling them about this.

Ah fuck it, it doesn't matter.

Giving in to your urges, you pull him into your embrace, holding him close to you and rubbing circles along his back to comfort him. You can feel Jake going tense for a second, definitely not expecting that from you, before he relaxes into your touch as he wraps his own arms around you. The hug might have looked awkward with the way you were both sitting on the bed but it's still pleasant, it feels safe, and it's everything Jake could've ever asked for.

The two of you hug for a while, settling into each other's arms without any conversation needing to be had. You stay like that until he falls asleep, probably exhausted after everything and you gently lay him down on the bed, tucking him in and by reflex, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

-

For the whole time that they were sick, Jake was the only one fronting. When asked about why that is, Jake's response was:

"Ask them when they remember the last time they were sick and were awake for more than half a day and they wouldn't know. That's cause I'm usually the one taking care of the body when we're sick." He had explained one night while downing the necessary pills for his recovery. Jake winced as he felt them go down his throat. "Once we're healthy enough, Marc or Steven are going to wake up and think they'd just slept through the days."

True to his word, when they've finally started to get better, Marc finally wakes up one bright morning, looking around at his surroundings and scratching at his head. You smile at the adorable sight and can’t help but to give him a quick kiss on his lips, morning breath be damned. He asked you what time and day it was as he always does when he wakes up, his eyes widened in shock. He faces the mirror beside the bed and asks Steven if he had been awake at all but by the look on Marc’s face, you can tell that Steven had told him that he wasn’t. Marc turns to you, clearly confused. "How did we even sleep for two whole days?"

When Marc asks this, you start to contemplate just telling him about Jake. You didn't want to lie to them. It wouldn't feel right for you to keep this all a secret from them cause Marc and Steven deserved to know. But it also wouldn’t be fair to Jake if you broke your promise.

Damn it.

It's real stupid of you to have grown so attached to Jake despite only meeting the man once and even knowing that you probably wouldn't be seeing him any time soon. It’s even stupider to lie to your boyfriends about this whole thing just because you wanted to keep a promise. But you had already promised and somehow, you trusted him with this.

So, you just press a kiss to Marc's temple and then hurry off to the kitchen, telling him that you’re getting him some soup. The thought of warm food in his belly is enough to make Marc forget about his question from before.

It’s fine.

Jake will explain it to them soon enough.

#moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #moon knight imagine #jake lockley imagine #marc spector imagine #steven grant imagine #moon knight x you #jake lockley x you #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #gender neutral reader

[nerdpoe]

A Jotunn, a Pirate, and a Wraith walk into the DC Universe-

Debated making this it's own post, but since it's been put up on Ao3 I might as well.

Part 2 (and one really, this started as an addition) , Ao3

Danny has an Ice Core. He isn't aware of it, but this does, in fact, greatly influence how his ghost form looks as he grows up. A ghosts Core is essential to how they mature as a ghost, after all. A speculative piece on the group's possible Adult Ghost Appearances as they grow up. (Yes Dan too)

The summoning ritual was finished, and John braced himself for Klarion's imminent arrival. Bruce could only hope that what the mage had to offer would be considered valuable enough for the chaos demon's assistance.

But something was off.

Instead of the burst of hot air that so often heralded Klarion's arrival, there was a silent rush of cold.

And someone much more intimidating stepped through.

The man's hair was white, his eyes were a pale, glowing, piercing green, and his skin was as pale as the snow that had started to fall. Taller than Superman, quieter than Batman.

He wore a furred mantle that bore no resemblance to any animal Bruce knew of. His hair was braided out of his face, his armor bore shimmering Ancient Nordic designs that were so old, Bruce couldn't find a single rune he knew.

Hovering above the man's head was a crown of solid, glittering ice. It sloped and spiked, and every movement shook snow from it's small peaks. Above that, hovering between reality and a dream, a miniature Aurora Borealis flickered in and out of view.

The crown was less a crown and more a small group of mountains, plucked from Norway and shrunk into something befitting the being in front of them.

Looking upon him forced Bruce to confront his own mortality, because this entity was dripping with lethality. Not the type he was used to, not the kind that could be met with the cold steel of a blade or the sudden, numbing hot-cold pain of a bullet.

The kind of mortality that he feared.

The quiet death in the wilds; alone, hungry, and scared.

Staring at the being that had been summoned, Bruce was struck with the feeling that he was watching a wolf as it observed him. Patient. Cold.

Knowing that no matter what it did, it was going to get a free meal if it only took a day or two to wait.

Bruce was broken from that silent, obtrusive knowledge when the entity looked away from him, eyes searching the battlefield.

Then the being took a silent step forward, ice tendrils branching out from where he stepped, his eyes having entirely fixated on the Mage that had summoned him.

The cultists that had been working for Nergal slowly turned and started standing in line with the Justice League, prepared to defend against...this.

Whatever this was.

Constantine backed away slowly, swearing under his breath and shaking.

The entity looked towards the cultists, letting out a small, disdainful hum.

As one, the cultists bolted, leaving behind their tools and sacrifices to summon their false god.

The Justice League, far too preoccupied with whatever was in front of them, couldn't do much to stop them.

The being took a deep breath and sighed through his nose, causing a gust of wind cold enough to make Bruce's skin sting.

"Well, this is awkward," the being sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, "Uh...did you guys need me for something? I was kind of in the middle of hiding from the Observants."

Bruce's brain paused. Rewound.

Restarted.

Assessed.

Oh God this was another Clark; frightening stature, polite, down to earth nature.

"I'm sorry, hiding from the who?" Bruce heart himself ask faintly, as he forced his body to understand that he wasn't in any present danger from the...person in front of him. The man turned his attention from the wheezing magician and back on Bruce.

"Kinda like a council, super annoying, keep trying to make me do paperwork."

"I...see. We were actually trying to reach Klarion, is he unavailable?"

The man sucked in air through his teeth and rested his hands on his hips, scuffing one of his shoes on the ground.

"Oof, yeah; Klarions a little bit in Time Prison right now. Genuinely didn't think anyone wanted to willingly deal with him, or I woulda sent you guys like, a note or something. Want me to just do what you were gonna have him do?"

Constantine stared at Bruce with wide, terrified eyes and shook his head.

Bruce considered it.

"What price would you have? We wanted the cultists captured and their artifacts broken."

Constantine graduated to desperately crossing his arms in an "X". Superman was looking at Bruce like he was insane. Bruce ignored them.

"Uh...my little sister is actually a huge Static Shock fan. Any chance of an autograph?"

"I can arrange that."

I highly advise reading the original prompt, as it has many additions from other writers and artists. It also has fanart!

#Jotunn!Danny #Pirate!Dani #Wraith!Dan #dcxdp #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc x dp #phanfic #ice core danny #freedom core dani #vengeance/lightning core dan #if vengeance can be a core so can freedom because i say so #nyeh

[he-calls-me-kitten]

"For your eyes only..."

Obey me characters x GN!MC

"Class is almost about to start, MC isn't here yet?" Barbatos asked, turning to Satan. "I saved them a seat up front."

The blonde shrugged and arranged his paints and brushes. "They got out of the house with us and said they had some work with a professor. Haven't seen MC since."

"It's odd considering how much MC loves art classes." Simeon pointed out.

"My, my, is it because we have to paint a naked model today? Did MC get embarrassed? Oh they're so cute!" Asmo laughed.

"It's okay, I just received a text MC. They said they'll be here a little later." Solomon said, holding up his DDD. "Also said they have a suprise for us?"

"Attention, students." The art professor walked in. Everyone turned towards him, waiting for instructions.

"So the concept we have to represent in this assignment is Temptation. And for that, I've asked for the help of one of your fellow students to model for us. Please treat them with utmost respect."

The door on her left opens, towards which the Professor smiles and beckons. "Yes, come on in, MC."

"I'm sorry, am I hearing things, or did I just hear MC's name?!" Levi almost fell off his seat.

"No I heard the same." Lucifer gritted his teeth, as if trying to brace himself for what may come. Mammon was quiet. His jaw slackened open due to shock. Is he dreaming?

And then much to everyone's anticipation, you walked in. Wearing nothing but a flower crown on your head, your bare body glistening in the studio lights.

"Hi boys." You smiled and whispered at them as you took your place on the chair placed center stage. They had barely registered what was happening and then struck your pose.

You trained your eyes on your favourite and parted your lips just a touch, as if aching for a kiss.

Oh they had never felt temptation this acutely before.

To be continued....

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me solomon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me lucifer #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me mammon #obey me imagine

[jazeswhbhaven]

Hey, I've been following u for a bit and adore how u write for whb and i just had to ask for an extrmly theet rotting fluff with Bael and a soft motherly s/o. I just want the s/o (her) to just care for him and just spoil him cuz baby is too stressed and too tired for his own good. S/o would do anything for him , if someone comes to disturb him they will get the most scariest death glare there is.

Awh thank you Katy :D and I will enjoy writing this about fluffy Bael stuff because I remember a while ago doing a hair washing one for him and it was nice <3 (gotta pull it back up and share it on this blog) Bael feels extra tired today, the mountain of paperwork sitting on the desk in front of him finally stamped and check through. The fines and bills accumulated by Beelzebub are over and done. Finally he can relax. That's when he feels her hands wrap around him, his adoring and always supportive s/o who never seems to get enough sleep herself worrying over him.

He greets her with a kiss asking if she's eaten yet. She always replies with the same thing, "Yes dear, but I made you something too..." as she hands him a plate of goodies kept safe from his subordinates.

It's all of his favorite foods, and even with extra toppings and snacks he didn't ask for and quite frankly are hard to get unless you go out to the shops further from the palace. Those places were dangerous, but she always held her own, and everyone knew better than to mess with her.

She smiles and gives him kisses on the nape of his neck, one of his favorite spots as he enjoys his food. Once he's done he gets sleepy, full and hydrated and even more full on his lover's affection.

There's a knock on the door and three loud voices come in, Stolas, Naberius and Amon once again having an issue with a mission going wrong. Bael's s/o is immediately on their asses, chewing them out for disturbing him while he's sleep and low and behold he's passed out, his crown fallen off and drool slightly coming from his mouth. His s/o literally threatens to kick each of them out forcefully if they don't go and they all listen, Amon being the one to give the least fight as he sees his friend is tired and that his s/o means business.

She returns to his side, stroking his back tenderly as he continues to slumber. She even grabs a pillow for him so his head isn't uncomfortable and she continues to rub his back gently as it always soothes him.

There's nothing she wouldn't do for Bael. And with her support, he was always able to do his job to it's fullest extent.

#whb #what in hell is bad #jwhbasks❓ #whb bael #fluff #all that sweet goody stuff #bael is lucky i want back rubs while sleeping

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Risky Romance: A Series

A Helping Hand

maximilian verstappen I don't know what to wear for this dinner

giselle wolff bring three options to danny's and my room and we'll help you pick! he's should be out of the shower any minute

maximilian verstappen ok be down in five

"Babe! Hurry up, Max needs help picking an outfit," I call out, holding my robe tighter to my body as I move to the door, not nearly ready myself. Pulling open the door, I can't help but smile at the sight in front of me.

Max Verstappen is not a man that gets clearly nervous, but he's also a man who's eyes you can read.

And the concept of this dinner has him anxious.

"Max, this isn't life or death. It's dinner with my parents, Lewis, George, Carmen and Mick. There's no reason to be worried," I try to sooth, but his brows furrow, the little crinkly look he gets when he's uncomfortable clear as day.

"I'm not worried, I just needed a second opinion," He denies, holding up the hangers in his hand as if this makes him more believable.

"Whatever you say lion boy, come on in, Dan's just finishing in the shower and I was just looking for what we should wear," I explain, taking his free hand and pulling in him, the door shutting behind us just as I push him into sitting on the end of the bed. "What are your options?"

He holds out the shirts, this time in offering, and I take them, letting go of the sides of my robe and letting it open slightly as I hold the shirts in front of myself. With how they're held they are blocking any sight of my bra and panties, my attempt to be sure I don't cross a line Max won't be comfortable with, but with how intensely Max is staring at me, almost trying to set fire to the shirts that are blocking his path.

"Okay, so I'm going to set aside the Redbull polo because, seriously?" I can't help but ask, throwing the shirt at him and making him chuckle at my commentary.

"What are you doing baby?" Danny's voice rings in my ear, just as his body heat becomes apparent behind me, hands finding my hips and lips finding the crown of my head. He pulls away in a robe of his own, walking over to Max and patting him on the shoulder, taking a seat beside him. "Good to see you could make it."

"Almost changed my mind when I didn't know what to wear, but I texted Elle and now I'm here," is Max's response, his eyes drifting over Danny's body before coming back to meet my own, his cheeks tinging pink at being caught.

"Don't worry, you're in great hands, Gigi picks out all my outfits and I'd like to think I always look great," Dan assures, standing promptly to grab the floral dress I had put aside, the tangerine, burnt orange and white flowers set on a sage base, the sage being the same color as Danny's shirt we had chosen earlier.

"Dan you're a genius," I giggle excitedly, looking between the confused Australian who still holds our outfits, an even more confused Dutchman looking with his eyebrows meeting his hair. "Max, how do you feel about matching us?"

"Matching... the two of you?" He asks, pointing between Dan and I slowly as Danny makes his way closer, laying my dress on the bed above my heels for when I'm ready.

"Well, in a way," Is my attempt at backtracking in how direct I just was, "You'd just be wearing your white button up," I explain, holding it in front of the baby blue one that was his other option. "And it would sort of look like we planned it, since both you and Danny would be wearing a shirt that matches an aspect of my dress."

And you can see the smile slowly start to come to his face.

"Yeah, that'd be ok," He agrees, making my smile widen if even possible.

"Okay, put this on," I instruct, handing over his shirt back into his hands, patting his chest before turning to Dan, "Baby, can I have my dress?"

"Do you really need it?" He asks with a smirk, and I can hear Max cough in shock from beside me.

"Daniel," My tone is scolding although both men know I'd never mean it. "Dress, please."

"Yes ma'am," He relents, although still with a cocky smile as he hands it over, "Are you going to change in here?"

The question makes me pause, because ever since Danny and I got together, more accurately slept together, we've felt plenty comfortable changing in front of one another. But Max is in here, and the suggestion of changing with him in here should make us all uncomfortable, except for the fact that it feels so normal for him to be in here, getting ready with us.

"It's your room, I can step out," Max offers, sensing my hesitation.

It's not that I'm uncomfortable, it's that I don't want him to be. While I've been lose about keeping my robe shut, it only has showed a sliver, not my whole body.

"Or you can just change," Is his next offer, a small smirk coming to his face. "I'll try not to look."

I can't help the blush that rises to my cheeks, or the heat settling in my stomach as I realize both of them are watching me. Dan has made some progress, managing to get his jeans on in the time Max and I took in deciding his shirt.

"Fine. But you two need to get ready if we're going to be on time."

"Babe," Danny begins, taking his shirt off the hanger as Max reaches for the hem of his shirt, it rising slowly in his pull over his head, revealing just how gorgeous he continues to be. "The restaurant is in the hotel, we're putting our shirts on and all you need if your dress and heels. We'll be on time."

I nod, because he's right, there really is no concern on time. So I pull my robe off my shoulders, turning around as it falls to take my dress off the hanger. The robe hits the floor as I have the zipper undone, turning around slowly to find the eyes of both boys on my body.

"Very discrete, boys," I can't help but tease, their eyes dropping down to their buttons in a near sync that makes me chuckle. Men.

Pulling my dress up over my hips, I slip the straps over my shoulders before turning my back to the boys once more. "Can one of you zip me up?"

There's a pause, but when I feel the heat of a hand on my hip, another hand slowly pulling my zipper up I don't question that it's Dan.

Until the person leans into my ear, warm lips nearly touching my ear as he says, "Let's get to that dinner, right schat?"

#original character #the writing of spencer rose #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 #max verstappen x oc x daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #maxiel x oc #max verstappen x oc #toto wolff's daughter oc #Wolff!Daughter OC

[gayuu-the-necromancer]

｡⋆｡˚🦋˚｡⋆｡

At Liam's suggestion, I decided to try both Jude and Ellis.

Liam: "In the end, your worry is that they might betray the Crown and sell our information somewhere else, right?"

Liam: "Then I thought, why not just leave the important documents there and see what happens?"

Harrison: "And where did you leave what?"

Liam: "A list of targets. I purposely dropped in the corridor next to Jude's room."

Harrison: "That's too obvious."

Liam: "What's the point if they don't notice it, right?"

While they were chatting, Jude enters the dining room.

Liam: "Ah, good morning Jude!"

Glancing at Liam, who greeted warmly with a gorgeous smile that charmed everyone, Jude tossed a paper in front of Liam.

Liam: "Hm? ...Ahh...I was looking for this. Thank you."

Jude: "These are confidential, isn't it?"

Liam: "Yes yes...I was so worried about losing it that I was crying to Harry, asking him what to do. If Victor found out that I had lost it, he would have been furious."

Jude: "Have you ever thought about 'trying to look for it' before crying?"

Liam: "Hahaha, you're right. Still, thanks for finding it for me."

Jude: "......You know, if I exposed this to the outside world, it would have ended both you and the Crown, right?"

Liam: "....!"

Jude: "Because you cannot trust people who can't keep a secret."

Liam: "Mm....I understand. I'll be careful."

Liam: "Ah...he's gone."

Liam: "What should I do, Harry? Does he hate me now...?"

Harrison: "I don't think so. His attitude is always like that, so don't worry about it."

Liam: "I feel right now, what he meant to say was 'Don't put the Crown at risk' right?"

Harrison: "If that's the case, that doesn't sound too bad."

Liam: "The fact that not only he picked up the papers but also gave me an advice, increases his credibility, don't you think?"

Harrison: "Well, maybe it was worth all that hate you got."

Liam: "Ahh!!? So you do think he hates me after all----!!!"

...........

That night....

Ellis: "...Ah, Harrison."

Harrison: "Oh it's you? That's unusual at a time like this."

Ellis: "I thought I'd have something to drink before I go to sleep. Are you working even at this time? You're so dedicated."

Ellis: "Do you want me to make you a sweet cocktail? Liam told me you have sweet tooth."

Without waiting for a reply, Ellis rifled through the shelves and deftly produced Grasshopper was presented to Harrison.

Harrison: "Did you work as a bartender or something....? It's so good."

Ellis: "I'm glad you liked it."

Harrison: ".....Liam is working so hard all the time, it wouldn't be fair if I didn't get dirty too."

Ellis: "Hm? Did you say something?"

Harrison: "No. Nothing...you're pretty handy."

Ellis: "You think?"

Harrison: "And you're kind to everyone since the very beginning. That's the truth for everyone."

Harrison: "So...I'm a little suspicious of you."

Ellis: ".....?"

Harrison took out a gun from his pocket and placed it on the table.

Harrison: "I've been following you and Jude for the last few days and if I said I wanted to play a game with you, would you mind?"

Ellis: "Game?"

Harrison: "Yeah. The rules are simple."

Harrison: "I didn't put a single bullet in this."

Harrison: "If you take my word for it and pull the trigger 6 times on your own head, you win."

Ellis: "6 times, to the head?"

Harrison: "If you have nothing against us, you can do it right?"

Ellis: ".....Okay, I understand."

Ellis quickly picked up the gun and with no hesitation nimbly pulled the trigger more than 6 times,

Harrison: "Ngh..."

Ellis: "Looks like I win?"

Harrison: "....Ah..Y-Yeah.."

Ellis: "So, one less thing for you to worry about?"

Harrison: "......Pfft."

Harrison: "You didn't hesitate at all."

Ellis: "Of course. I know that Harrison is kind."

Ellis: "You don't use live ammunition to test people."

Ellis: ".....Right?"

Harrison: "....So you're saying I wasn't able to completely fool you?"

Ellis: "Hmmm.....maybe."

Harrison: "Let me just say, just because you pulled the trigger without hesitation doesn't prove you have nothing to hide."

Ellis: "So, did I make you worry more?"

Harrison: "....Nope."

Harrison: "I'm not so cynical as to continue to doubt someone who trusts me so much."

Ellis: "....Thank god. Well then, would you like to have another drink?"

Harrison: "Sure, if you're making one."

The green cocktail glasses collided, making a light sound.

And just like that, few days later...

William: "Is the investigation going well?"

Harrison: "Well, things are going well. We've come to most of our conclusions."

Harrison: "I've finished my proofreading work and about to start on with my report."

William: "Oh. Then I guess you wouldn't be needing this info."

Harrison: "What info?"

William: "I asked Jude and Ellis if they are ready for their first mission, but they rejected saying they had work commitments tonight."

William: "What do you think?"

Elbert: "If it's in the middle of the night....all their business clients would be sleeping. What are they going to do?"

Alphonse: "Aha! Now that's suspicious."

Alphonse: "Honestly I don't care if they are good or bad, but this sounds like fun. So I'll follow them to see what they are up to."

Harrison: "Are you serious right now....?"

Liam: "Actually Harry..."

Harrison: "Mm?"

Liam: "When I was trying to work out their plans, something was odd."

Liam: "I went to the port in the middle of the night....and it seemed like some kind of investigation was going on around the warehouse that Jude was renting."

Roger: "Could be an inspection?"

Liam: "But then there's this rumor....that there a bad guy who's recently been released from prison going in and out of there."

Alphonse: "I think I heard that story somewhere before....I forgot where."

Harrison: "....Okay okay."

Harrison: "I guess, this will be the final round of investigation."

#ikemen series #cybird ikemen #cybird otome #otome #cybird #ikemen villains #ikemen villain #ikemen villains jude #ikemen villains ellis

[thekitsunesiren]

Superman comes across a white haired glowing and mostly human looking teenager with a flaming crown hovering over his head and a cape that looks like the universe has been transformed into fabric around his shoulders, sitting on the moon and staring at the earth as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Somber and mournful.

He sits down next to him.

Clark knew that he wasn't the only one that could breath out in space, but he often used the time to simply enjoy the view and keep an ear out for any possible troubles without being seen. A simple plus side in his book.

But, as he flew out of the Earth's thermosphere and neared the moon, the sight of something there caused him to stop and stare at the unknown.

It didn't look like anyone he's seen before. The mysterious figure couldn't be no more than a simple teen. The white hair that glowed and seemed to sway to an unknown breeze in the atmosphere of zero gravity. The lithe build that was covered in black clothing with a white D on thd chest. But what was truly eye catching was the cape that was wrapped around his shoulders that seemed to be made from the stars itself and the crown that glowed bright in the infinit darkness with its own green fire.

Clark stared at the unknown, his gaze turning to his eyes that stared at the earth in front of them. Those eyes that seemed to be the same color of green that matched the never ending flame of his crown. But they seemed dull. Almost lifeless as he stared at the earth with a look of mourning and melancholy.

Even as Clark flew closer, the unknown made no move to get up or flee, even attack. The only reaction he got were those green eyes turning towards him and making the Kryptonian freeze in his place. How could a simple glance make him feel so cold? He didn't even feel this kind of cold in the Fortress of Solitude.

But just as quickly as he turned towards him, those eyes turned back towards the Earth. The unknown boy-prince?-king?-not moving a single muscle other words.

Slowly, Clark descended downward, taking a seat a short distance away from the unknown. He didn't want to accidentally startle him or come off as a a threat towards him. And for a few moments, they simply sat there, staring at the moving planet of green and blue before them. "It's beautiful. Isn't it Superman?" The voice from the boy startled him. It sounded haunted: both orotund and disembodied. A hauntingly ethereal voice that reached him in the endless vacuum of space. He had a feeling if he was further away, he'd still be able to hear it loud and clear without problem.

"Yes. Yes, it is beautiful. Humanity has been beautiful since the dawn of time." Clark said once he regained himself, sparing a glance at his surprise guest before turning his gaze back to the earth. What could be his angle? Was he an alien? An unknown meta perhaps? What was he doing here?

"But even beauty doesn't come without a price, isn't that correct? Such a beautiful place has so many dangerous things. Dangerous people?"

Now that was what sent was set warning bells off in Clark's mind, his body stiffening in a defensive manner. Ready to jump back and fight if the need to. Apparently this body language was noticed because the crowned being beside him let out a distorted laugh that made him shudder.

"Do not worry, Superman. I have no need to attack the earth in any shape or form. It won't be long before the most of life will enter my realm. An equal opportunity of loss. It's only a matter of time." Again Clark shuddered. It was so off setting to hear him speak like that. For someone to look so young to sound so old and worn down was heartbreaking. But even then, the questions still arose. "What is your realm? Why do you say it's only a matter of time?" The third question felt caused his mouth to feel suddenly dry, but he knew that he had to ask. "What did you lose?" The first to questions didn't get even the slightest twitch from him. But the last had blue eyes facing blazing green. And while those green eyes danced like a fire, it was amazing to see how they were dull and empty at the same time. "What did I lose?" He suddenly repeated, a hollow laugh causing a chilling feeling to travel through Clark again. "Oh, Clark Kent-" Clark froze at both his name somehow being known by this being when he didn't know his name. But he couldn't move as he was stuck under the firm gaze.

"You want to know what I lost? I lost everything."

(Comfort? No, broken Danny! HAHAHA-)

#Kitsune Kounters #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #dc×dp prompt #dp crossover #ghost king danny

[husbandhoshi]

Congrats on 3k!! You deserve it sooo much💌

If you have the time (and only if you have the time!) I would like to request a sort of a short bullet point fic. Or more so just your thoughts on the following: moving in with seventeen. Who is the one that labels every box? Who will live out of moving boxes for the next year. And yeah, just overall the vibes of new beginnings and promises😶‍🌫️

Pls only do write something if any of this inspires anything, if not pls don't feel burdened to write anyway!

I love your writing, so once again: congrats on the succes💗

seungcheol thinks it's one huge adventure. yes, he will be the person lifting the stupidly heavy boxes at the store. yes, he will make it a competition to build furniture as fast as possible (and race to take it all apart when you discover the desk legs are all different lengths because someone thought he could figure it out without the manual). even among the graveyard of boxes and bubble wrap and those huge styrofoam slabs he keeps chasing you with, seungcheol is happiest to lay with you on your bare, naked mattress (because he forgot to order sheets). he's planning what pictures of the two of you he wants to put on the walls. this is the first time he's owned a welcome mat and he's not even mad about it. it's all yours, together, and there's no bigger adventure than that.

his walk-in closet. bowls the perfect size for a portion of ramen, plus an egg. the lego taj mahal with two pieces missing that he insists will turn up sometime. these are some of the things jeonghan's not sure he can bring to your new apartment. it's not that he doesn't want to move in with you--he just doesn't know if he can. hell, you kissed him for the first time on the tiny futon in his living room, and he just learned it's too small for your new place. it's not until he watches you, later that day, play jenga with the toiletries on his bathroom counter because there's never been enough space for the two of you, that he realizes maybe it isn't such a bad thing to try something new. he imagines leaning you against a new sink, with that carrara marble you've been talking about, and he might even say he's looking forward to it.

you don't think there's a day you haven't seen joshua on zillow. look at my pinterest board, he'd say, and you wouldn't have it in you to ask how the hell you're affording that couch or if you really need a salt lamp that badly. you've lost count of the times your thursday nights consisted of a: your favorite chinese takeout and b: watching celebrity architectural digest videos. but joshua can't help it--to him, there's really nothing that would make him happier than waking up next to you in a bed you picked together. now if it was a midcentury modern canopy bed? even better. he can't wait to use his fancy little espresso machine to make your morning latte and grab your coat from the rack you got from that shop in LA before he kisses you before you head off to work. but they're all just things (pretty, shiny ones, albeit)--more ways he can show you the love you deserve.

junhui loves a good open house. early on in your relationship, you would dress to the nines before pretending to shop for a mansion you could never afford. junhui would comment on the door handles and the crown molding like he was a property brother, and then you'd finish the night off making out in the mcdonald's drive-thru. things are a little different now that you actually can afford a home. what if you end up not liking it? will you get tired of the wallpaper? will the closet be big enough? but surprisingly, none of this seems to matter when you walk into the house. (what's on your mind? you ask him. n-nothing, he says.) but he's really thinking about feeding you in that kitchen and spending the morning looking out those bay windows. how beautiful you'll look greeting him from that front door. needless to say, he's sold.

you find soonyoung hiding in the kitchen at your housewarming party. just an hour earlier, he was dumping cans of sparkling water in the jungle juice to make it more "adult" (as if it would erase the fact that an entire bottle of everclear had already disappeared into the mix). the hour before that, he was cleaning like a madman despite there not being much to clean yet. he held the duster the wrong way and you think he got more windex on the ceiling than on the windows. darling, what's wrong? you ask. his little, drunken hands wrap around yours so he can bring them to his cheeks. i just realized this is all ours. like, all of it, he wails, teary, and you realize he is far too many drinks down. it's only after you've sent him to bed with a water and a kiss that you really think about what he said. the hardwood floors, the duvet, the misshapen tiger plushie on the couch, him--all ours.

wonwoo is not an easy person to live with. the first three things he unpacked were, in order, his table, his first monitor, then his second monitor. then he ruined your perfectly curated aesthetic with his neon red keyboard and a gaming chair that would make any interior designer cry. the final straw is when wonwoo manages to kill the one and only houseplant you have, the single thing holding your home decor together. but he's trying, he really is. he's bought a silly little throw blanket for your couch (aren't the tassels fun? he says, wiggling the fabric between his hands). his ugly lamp has been replaced by a strange glowing cat light and there's a sticker on his computer tower. he buys a succulent and you have a little naming ceremony in your kitchen. and it lives, against all odds!

jihoon doesn't know the difference between a chaise and a sectional. cherry and mahogany look the same to him. and god forbid you ask him to choose between terrazzo and subway tile because he really thinks both of them look good and, no, he's not just saying that to make your life harder. jihoon isn't good at the hgtv stuff, but he's happy to move all the boxes. it's only when he's unpacking said boxes that he finally gets it. (the vase that came with the first bouquet of flowers he bought you. the record player you got him for your first anniversary, now fingerprinted, well-loved. matching valentine's day teddy bears, worn and baby pink.) you're standing on a stool stacked on top of another stool trying to hang a poster, and this is what home looks like.

seokmin wants to live in the ikea showrooms. you can't blame him--sometimes, when there's nothing better to do, you'll spend your afternoon in a bedroom that's not yours. seokmin will try on the lumpy blazer from the closet, and you'll beckon him to your sprawling king size bed, the one sat next to the painted on windows and floating shelves. honey, come to dinner, you'd say. he'll peek over your shoulder, arms wrapped around your middle, and you open the lid to a big, steaming pot of nothing. micke or lagkapten? you ask, completely unseriously. but he's thinking about it, really thinking about it. in his mind, he's building a home together, silly furniture piece by piece, counting down to the days when you really can agonize over plants and how many drawers you want in a desk.

when you got the keys to your new place, mingyu insisted you eat jajangmyeon to commemorate move-in day. unfortunately, he failed to account for the series of delays that led to you having absolutely no furniture to move in on said move-in day. but mingyu is nothing if not a man with a plan, so he runs to the store and buys the cheapest assortment of kitchen tools and ingredients for the world's most unlikely dinner. we really don't have to do this, you laugh, the backs of your legs cold on the kitchen counter. but i want to, he insists, holding out a spoon for you to taste. we have to christen the apartment. you eventually do christen it the right way (involving: lots of tongue, even more laughter), but you might prefer, just a tiny bit, the night you sat on the empty kitchen floor and fed mingyu out of a pan.

minghao has rearranged the living room four times now. every time you walk in, it feels like you've entered someone else's house. it doesn't look right, he says, hands on his hips like his life depended on it. you don't know how to tell him they all look right, every single version. in the first version, all cardboard furniture and plastic wrap, you gave up on deciphering the wifi setup and built a fort instead. the second involved an ottoman in the walkway, which you almost immediately stubbed your toe on (and laughed so hard you cried). in the third, the couch faced away from the adjoining room, and you accidentally spooked minghao so badly he almost broke his knitting needles. but it's all perfect, every iteration, because you're doing it together--a hypothesis he's more willing to believe when you shut him up with a kiss.

don't look now, but seungkwan is buying another doodad at your local sunday swap meet. it's a small painted figurine of a bear in a nightcap, which he simply points to and says that's me. you don't have it in you to mention the fact that you're currently unpacking his seemingly never-ending assortment of doodads and you couldn't possibly know where one more would go. it's only when you're getting ready for bed that you catch the little bear in the glow of the alarm clock light. there's already a turtle with a hat in the medicine cabinet (jeju, last summer). on top of the fridge, a woodcarving that says EAT. (tj maxx, 2 years ago. it still makes you laugh). even though you just moved, all these little seungkwan-isms make home a little more home.

you wouldn't call vernon a planner. his version of housewarming is watching you play the sims. but real life doesn't have nearly as much poolside drama or five story houses--just packing peanuts and 50 page appliance manuals. aren't boxes just drawers? vernon asked you one day. no, but that's how it always starts. two weeks after move-in, vernon cooks you breakfast with a pan procured from a cardboard box. by three weeks, you know the exact box everything is in. (you still haven't been able to find vernon's avril lavigne let go album, though.) it's only when you're eating dinner on top of the box that your dining table is in when you say, vernon, baby, i think we need to actually move in. he takes one look at you, who's wearing mismatched socks and his boxers because your shorts are underneath the tv box, and his smile nearly splits his cheeks. yeah, i think so too.

if you had asked chan what his dream house looked like, he would say it had a wraparound porch, a white picket fence, and a pool. your new apartment has none of those things. the length of your bedroom is a little more than one and a half times the length of his body and he's not even that tall. if he looks out the window he can see right into his neighbor's apartment (three cats and no bitches. almost like he's living next to wonwoo). and his feet stick out of the tub. but he's learning how to live in small spaces. he likes the squeeze of your bathroom, how you have to sit on the counter if you want to both brush your teeth together. he likes the bump of your elbows when you wash the dishes together. most of all, he likes falling asleep with you slotted to his side--even in your tiny bed, he wouldn't mind having you a little closer.

#sorry this took forever it got stupidly long #thank you for asking!!!! #ask #anon #mine #seventeen x you #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #svt fluff #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt x you #svt x reader #3k celebration

[anabanana-romanova]

GUYS GUYS I HAVE A HEADCANNON ON HOW TINTIN'S HAIR WORKS

OKAY

So he has his quiff, right? And obviously it naturally stands up because we see him get wet, then when it dries it's back sticking up all over the place.

But how???? Unless my man has ridiculous volume (which makes zero sense) then there must be something going on.

We're also going to ignore that he's a comic book character who gets about 70000 head injuries and has no brain damage, but anyway that's not the point.

Firstly: what is his haircut?

The movie honestly has the best answer for this:

Short on the sides, longer on top, then slightly shorter right at the front. That's important. Remember that.

This lines up with the general male haircut of the time (30s-50s with slight variation with each decade):

(Leftie even has a quiff too!)

So, the actual haircut makes sense, but the question of the quiff still remains. I've been thinking about this a lot, when I was at church and I noticed the 9-year-old boy in front of me had provided the perfect answer. On the back of our heads, we have the spirally bits called the crown. When the hair is cut too short there, it sticks up.

(This is obviously a fake man made one, but it demonstrates lind of what the hair does. If you've seen it before, you know what I mean.)

"But Bea," you say, "crowns are at the back of the head." To which you are very correct...

Unless you are me.

I have a very, VERY funky phenomenon called a double crown. That's rare, but the positioning of my crowns are even rarer. One is at the back of my head, and the other is right at the front of my head, say... where Tintin's quiff is. Can you see where I'm going?

For this, we shall take a plunge into my camera roll to when I had a pixie cut.

You can see that in the centre of my hairline, my hair sticks up before swooping back down. Part of that is curly hair, but my hair isn't curly any more and it still does that, so, I'm blaming it on the crown.

(Also I have a very similar hairline to Tintin's, though his has a bit more of a peak in the middle. So it's entirely possible that he doesn't jave a receding hairline and just has a big forehead, but that's another conversation I'm not going to get into because why do that when you can bully him amiright-)

So basically what I'm saying is that Tintin's hair sticks up because of a funky crown situation.

Now, how does he get it neatly sticking up and not everywhere?

...

*insert sketch of Tintin with a hair curler chilling in his hair because I can't draw*

Or a hair dryer.

Eventually your hair just sticks back to place, so it probably got to a point where he would wet his hair, stick it up in a little point and it would dry in place.

...

Yes I need help. I know. But hey! Food for thought.

:)

#tintin #Tintin's hair #i have many thoughts #teehee #les adventures de tintin #the adventures of tintin #description in alt text

[kohakun]

prompt » 29; "i know it's not the best but-" "i love it."

pairing » mika kagehira x gn!reader

requested? » yes

genre » fluff, tiny bit of angst because mika is nervous

a/n » repost because it wasn't in the tags. if it still isn't then im deleting tumblr /j

in celebration of you finishing your exams, mika wanted to make something for you. he knew how stressed you had been over them and it had pained him greatly to see you in such a state. since you had worked so incredibly hard, he thought that a reward was well-deserved now that they were over.

and so he decided that baking you a celebratory cake was the perfect idea! the only issue was that mika wasn't exactly.. skilled in anything that involved cooking. fortunately, arashi had offered him her help — so did ritsu, but knowing how the ravenette's sweets appeared to the eye, mika wasn't sure he wanted ritsu to help.

he was anxious at the start, but thanks to arashi's instructions, the process had gone quite smoothly. he insisted on piping the icing on the cake and writing the text on the cake himself and he was pretty proud of it. sure, it wasn't smoothed out perfectly and the letters were a little wonky, but he had done this with all his love and it was enough for him.

but still, right as he was waiting for you to come home from going out with a few of your friends, he was nervous about what you would think about what he had made. what if you didn't like it? what if you didn't like the taste? what if you thought it didn't look good? insecurities continued to plague his mind and before he knew it, he heard the front door opening.

he jumped slightly in his seat, immediately standing up once you peeked your head into the dining room, a content smile washing over your face as you saw him. you made your way over to where he stood, wrapping your arms around him and about to ask him how his day went before your gaze landed on the cake that sat atop the table next to you.

surprise was evident on your features as you took in the simple but beautiful cake; the whole thing was covered in white icing with icing of your favourite colour piped around the borders and the words 'congratulations, my love' right in the centre. you looked back at your boyfriend, disbelievingly asking, "did you make this?"

mika's expression was clearly one of unease, thinking that your reaction was a negative one and your eyebrows furrowed upon seeing him so anxious. "i-i did make it, with the help of naru-chan, of course! i did the decorating all by myself though and i know it's not the best but-"

"i love it." you cut off his rambling with your sincere thoughts, nothing but pure love and affection present in your eyes at that moment, nothing but adoration for the boy that stood in front of you. you loved it, you loved him. he was clearly in shock before a relieved sigh left him and his nervousness dissipated, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into the crook of your neck.

"i was so scared you wouldn't like it.." he whined, his voice muffled as you let out a short laugh at how cute he was. "how could i not like something that you made for me?" you said, placing a kiss to the crown of his head as you rubbed his back soothingly. you pulled away slightly from his embrace which left you with a pouting mika until you said,

"i still have to try it, c'mon let's taste it together"

#yun writes #yun's 100 follower event #ensemble stars #enstars #ensemble stars x reader #enstars x reader #mika kagehira #mika kagehira x reader #mika x reader

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

What can you say about this argument? It is not the first time I have met the opinion that Aang does not understand and does not know the culture of his people, and therefore his communication with Katara in TSR is hypocritical and childish.

https://www.tumblr.com/katara-stan-club/729249409205944320/i-saw-someone-make-the-argument-that-aang-is-not

*sighs eternally* Not that moron and their awful "arguments" again.

"Aang has a child's understanding of his culture"

And what about it? In case you haven't noticed, he IS a child. You think Zuko doesn't have a teenager's understanding of his own culture, of the war itself, etc? And that Katara's view of her culture has not changed, and will continue to change, as she grows older?

Not to mention, "mentaliy shared by most adults, but by basically none of the kids" doesn't immediately translate to "correct mentality." Again, just look at Zuko.

At 13 he spoke out against a room full of generals, and in front of his very abusive father who is also the absolute monarch, in defense of the soldiers they were about to betray and let the enemy slaughter. He knew his nation was killing innocents left and right and he WAS taught to see that as normal and even good, but he, a child, had assumed this "cruel, but justified" behavior would never extend to their own people as that would be cruel and unncessary .

At 16 however, he has almost fully internalized the idea that "If the Fire Lord says something must be done, then he is correct, because he is the Fire Lord and he can't ever be wrong", hence him betraying Iroh, who is not only not from the Fire Nation but also HIS UNCLE, and calling him a fool for not helping him and Azula take Ba Sing Se for Ozai - ya know, Iroh's younger brother that stole his crown and burned his nephew in front of him?

"Children often doesn't see the things the same way adults do" is a neutral statement that does not imply either side is fully or even partially correct. This is a completely pointless "argument" to hate on Aang.

"The show didn't challenge Aang's childlike assumption that forgiveness would magically fix everything"

Yes, it did. It's funny how zutarians go on and on about TSR as an episode, yet NEVER remember anything about the ending of said episode, expect for Zuko and Katara hugging.

Aang did initially assume that forgiving that awful man would be what Katara would need to move on he caused her. It makes sense not only considering the airnomads were pacifists, but also that forgiveness seems to be what personally works for Aang - which IS realistic, because while that doesn't work for everyone, it is absolutely how some people find closure.

However, Avatar was one of the few kid shows that EXPLICITLY said "Violence is always not the answer, but that doesn't mean you always have to forgive everyone who has ever hurt you." Katara and Zuko realize that killing Yon Rha would just traumatize her even more, and Aang realized that forgiveness isn't always a necessary step to recover - hence him not having a problem with Katara saying "I didn't forgive him. I'll never forgive him."

And The Southern Raiders wasn't the only episode that challenged Aang's perspective on never taking lives - the finale was all about him coming to terms with the fact that he would have to kill Ozai, as there was no other way to stop him from destroying the world. It is very clear that, if the Lion Turtle had not shown up, Aang would have done it.

The show IS embracing nuance. It IS saying "Sometimes, there is no other way to solve such a conflict - but if you DO find a different solution, go with that."

Zutarians keep trying to act like they're taking apart a bad message that says things are always either black or white, no grey areas ever, when in reality they are just exposing how a goddamn Nickelodeon show is too complicated for them to wrap their heads around, and thus they really need to stick to shows that are for even younger audiences otherwise they'll continue to be confused and enranged by completely mundane things nearly every narrative has.

#anti zutara #pro aang #aang deserved better

[fancifulpurposelesslovely]

ok but something that feels true reading Summer Sons:

Lee Mandelo had the same kind of friends that I did at some point in his teens to twenties. the kind of friends who are kinky or probably will be at some point but don't have the language for it yet and just... do stuff that feels normal at the time but it absolutely hilariously not normal. I was trying to put together some of these moments to illustrate the point to my boyfriend.

First, right in front of his damn cousin:

Embracing his inheritance felt like accepting the grave. Sam twisted loose fingers into the hair at the crown of his head. "I won't do that..." Andrew leaned forward against the burning grip on his scalp; Sam cinched his fist another fraction tighter, provoking a short, grunting gasp. Sensation helped settle him into his bones again, alive. Riley made an uncomfortable sound, but before he could respond to their affection, his phone rang...

Like. The bone deep familiarity of that interaction, the "yes pain just calms me down, that's normal" thought process, and the "guy I like is clearly dissociating a little, pulling his hair will help" thought process, and the not entirely caring who is in the room because it isn't entirely sexual but it's not not sexual. Of course this one is after they had their night together so there's more reason for the undertone but you also have, in chapter 11:

"Far from my first time," Andrew said. He stood and stretched, back cracking, arms over his head. The lengthening of his chest masked the strain in his voice as he continued, "Between me and Eddie I'm the better driver." "Let's put him through his paces, then," Sam said, slapping his stomach hard enough to crumple him. He thumped a loose fist on Sam's arm in response. The wolf-grin made a reappearance as Sam, knees spread in his kingly position on the couch, dragged his eyes up the length of Andrew, as hot and stinging as the four faint lines his fingers had left behind.

Sam is, obviously, flirting all to hell. But in a way that, among certain groups of friends, especially the kind to whom violence has always been more accessible than affection, could be written off as just fucking around. Just teasing or being a dick on purpose. Gay chicken. Anything other than what it is.

Further back, chapter 8, at the end of the fight at Sam's party:

His head lolled back back onto Halse's shoulder, eyes rolling; he caught sight of Riley standing offside with his mouth hanging open in surprise. Halse snorted and popped him casually on the jaw, a disciplinary slap that made his vision go patchy.

I noticed the specific language there, "disciplinary", a proprietary thing that Sam gets away with because it's his house, his party, his drugs, but even after that my boyfriend had to point out that the slap itself was weird, especially if it was hard enough to make Andrew's vision white out a little. And i'm like... yeah no I know you shouldn't because I know about boundaries and consent and shit now, but also it's so viscerally real to memories I have, y'know? it's the play fighting and wrestling that isn't power play but is, yknow?

and some of you won't know and I think that's my exact point, right? Like this isn't normal friend shit, it's specific friend shit and I'm just pretty sure that Mandelo had the same kinds of specific friends.

And back to chapter 11, we have the Eddie memory:

No one had touched him so much in-- weeks, months. Eddie had visited him at the end of the spring term and spent the whole five days manhandling him: scratching his scalp, digging thumbs into the knots of his trapezius muscles, rolling on top of him during naps, once gnawing absently on the knob of his wrist for a full five seconds during a movie. Eddie's touch was a careless claim that meant home, home, home.

I say, without shame, that I have some friends that I will just randomly chew on. these are not normal regular vanilla friendships!! these are people I met at kink cons or people I have fucked at least once, these are not just... look I know we all know that Andrew and Eddie were so incredibly gay for each other in the most tragic fucking repressed codependent way possible, BUT i'm just saYINg that even for that, this speaks to a very specific kind of relationship. I don't know what I'm saying it's fine.

back in 6 we have Sam's shit:

He crammed the notes in the drawer, forced it shut, and dialed the unknown number. The line rang three times before a rough drawl answered: "Is it working? Am I riding your nerves are enough yet to get you to show up?"

Before the party. When Sam sees that Andrew is crawling out of his own skin or dying emotionally or whatever, Sam goes "I got this... piss him off." And just pushes Andrew until he does what Sam wants and gives only enough slack to draw Andrew in and get him to go the direction he wanted in the first place.

I don't know if this is anything, but this is part of the problem of trying to write fic for them. I don't have fic I have scattershot literary analysis and flailing hand gestures.

#summer sons #fox reads books #literary analysis #i'm honestly hesitating to post this because I really don't know if it SAYS anything #I can't write fanfic about them I have to write essays