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nostalgiasunhaven · 9 months

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Little Letters

I was looking at Wesley's letters and thought about what my character would write back to him, and this was the result.

Letter #1: ♥♥

Wesley,

Seems like people are always sending letters to each other around here, so I thought I’d try writing to you. Honestly, though, I’d rather just talk to you. I think people who write usually have a lot they wanna say, but I’ve always been more of a listener than a talker, so this is hard for me.

Maybe this is weird to admit, but I really like listening to you talk about Nel’Vari’s history. When the subject comes up, your face brightens, your eyes sparkle, and you start talking real fast, like you’re thinking faster than your mouth can keep up with. Sometimes I get lost trying to follow along, but I don’t mind. I like hearing about your interests.

-Faron

Attached: Lily Honey

Letter #2: ♥♥♥♥♥

Wesley,

I don’t own a record player, so I listened to your song at my friend Kitty’s house. She said it needed more energy, nya, but I liked it. It felt very 'you.'

I wanted to return the favor, so I went to the record store and looked around. I found this song that makes me think of winter in Sun Haven. I never liked that time of year in the city, but now that I don’t have to worry so much about surviving the cold, I can appreciate the nice things about it. Like when it snows, and the world goes quiet, like it’s sleeping.

Maybe you could swing by Sun Haven in the winter and we could watch the snow fall together. I think you’d appreciate it. But until then, I hope you like the record.

-Faron

Attached: Faron's Record (inspo)

Letter #3: ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Wes,

I was at the blacksmith’s, getting my armor repaired, when I came across this dagger in their display case. You know I’m not one for spontaneous purchases, but the sharpness of the blade and the color of the hilt made me think of your eyes, and I had to have it.

Thing is, it’s too pretty of a weapon to be used as an actual weapon. Forget my worst enemy—I wouldn’t stab my best friend with this. I also can’t see myself using it for work purposes, so I thought I’d give it to you. You always wanted a fancy letter opener, right?

Whatever you do with it, I hope that when you look at it, you remember that this dagger reminds me of you—sharp and beautiful.

-Faron

Attached: Ornate Dagger (inspo)

#sun haven #sun haven wesley #wesley #oc: faron #sun haven farmer #my writing #otp: roots #really enjoyed this little exercise #might try it with my other pairings because it was fun & easy to do #that song is my favorite winter song from sdv btw #i think faron would appreciate it too #it's pretty and a little melancholy #just like them

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the-night-puncher · 1 year

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#monstress comic #every time they reunite i cry more #just like them

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wedielike · 2 years

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Having read your "The tension between", I am currently in a puddle, soaked into the rug. How would Pete react to one day seeing Vegas in an all white suit and shirt? Maybe they are going out somewhere together and they both doll themselves up but Pete is WEAK for that look on Vegas. I just live for your takes on these two.

Warning, there be adult cotent ahead.

Pete was bored. Vegas was supposed to have been here half an hour ago, and Pete was tired of watching Kinn and Porsche not-so-subtly touching each other under the table.

He wasn’t even sure what this event was for, if it was more of a party, the room smaller than it should have been with this many people, all the lights blue or yellow, glowing softly on the walls. Attending these fancy events as a guest should have been better now that he wasn’t spending his time working, but without Vegas there, he was just counting down the minutes until he could make a graceful exit.

His glass was thankfully empty as he had to watch Kinn lean into Porsche’s neck, how Porsche flushed in response to whatever he said, and Pete had an excuse to get up and head for the bar. Normally, he didn’t mind these things, getting dressed up in a nice suit, spending the evening drinking on someone else’s dime, the way Vegas’ hand tended to slip around his waist at the end of the night and guide him away without a proper goodbye to the host.

But spending the night watching Kinn and Porsche feel each other up, while Pete tried to remember why he was there, wasn’t his cup of tea. Vegas was going to be in trouble if he ever deigned to show up.

At the bar, Pete ordered something stronger than before, taking a sip as he gazed at the bottles along the back wall.

“Buy you a drink?”

Vegas’ purr in his ear was unmistakable, as was his hand on the small of Pete’s back, but Pete just frowned as he turned.

“Where have you… been,” he said, pausing as his eyes slid down Vegas’ pure white jacket, the white silk shirt underneath, white trousers to complete the outfit. Where had Vegas been hiding this number? Surely, Pete hadn’t seen it before. He would have remembered how good Vegas looked in something like this.

Vegas nodded at the bartender, wordlessly ordering a drink instead of noticing the way Pete’s eyes slid down his body.

“Did you miss me?” Vegas asked, smug when he looked back at Pete, swirling the wine around his glass.

He was annoyed, right, Pete remembered. He wouldn’t get distracted by how suave and sleek Vegas looked in that suit, perfectly crisp and clean and simply begging to be stripped off piece by piece and left in an enticing trail behind him.

“You left me with Kinn and Porsche,” Pete said instead of letting himself wonder how soft the silk would feel between his fingers.

Vegas glanced over his shoulder to where Kinn and Porsche were still sitting, practically in each other’s laps.

“You like Porsche,” he said slowly, a knowing smirk at the corner of his mouth that Pete kind of wanted to slap away. How was Vegas so good at knowing just what would annoy him?

“Yes,” Pete agreed, unable to stop himself from reaching out to touch Vegas’ shirt, sliding down the collar. It was as soft as it looked, slippery between his fingers, one too many buttons undone. Vegas glanced down at his hand.

“And you like Kinn.”

Pete sighed. That wasn’t the point. Vegas’ collarbone wasn’t the point either, but that didn’t stop his fingers from gliding over it, pushing under the fabric. He’d stopped wondering why Vegas never buttoned his shirts all the way a long time ago. Why wonder when he could just enjoy it instead?

And he did enjoy it. Even though he should have been annoyed that Vegas was late, not even bothering with an excuse, he couldn’t stop thinking about getting his hands underneath that white jacket, slipping into his trousers, too nice to take off.

“I don’t like third-wheeling when you were supposed to be here half an hour ago.”

“I had to look nice,” Vegas said, as if he knew Pete’s mind was sliding into dangerous territory, and maybe it was as he licked his lips, glancing down Vegas’ chest. “Couldn’t let you outshine me.” He leaned in, breath feathering along Pete’s neck, and Pete closed his eyes, just for a second. “Green is definitely your color.”

Vegas had picked out this shirt, a deep emerald green, custom-tailored to fit him in a way the bodyguard uniforms never had. His outfit wasn’t the point right now. His outfit wasn’t what was making him check for ways out of the room.

Setting a hand on Vegas’ chest, he pushed him back, purposeful even as Vegas raised an eyebrow.

“You were still late,” he said, and Vegas paused, eyes narrowing slightly as they always did when he was thinking, calculating, probably trying to figure out how serious Pete actually was.

“Do I need to…” Vegas said slowly, leaning on the bar, twisting the wine stem between his fingers, “make it up to you?”

Pete almost laughed, that Vegas would even ask that question. A few months ago, that phrase had probably not even been part of his vocabulary. But he was learning, figuring it out, how to actually be in a relationship that was more than manipulation, more than sex.

He didn’t laugh, though, wrapping his fingers around a fistful of Vegas’ shirt, creasing the perfectly ironed fabric. “Yes, you do,” he said, enjoying Vegas’ expression, caught between confused and curious as Pete leaned into his ear. “Come on.”

Vegas didn’t stop Pete tugging him from the bar, hand closing on Pete’s arm as Pete led them out of the dimly-lit room, into the even darker hallway. Pete wasn’t exactly sure what kind of venue this was, if it was a bar or an event space or just a very expensively decorated restaurant. Maybe it was all three. Whatever it was, there were too many inviting nooks that Pete couldn’t pass up as he pulled Vegas into one.

Vegas let him, standing against the wall, watching Pete carefully as Pete released his shirt, leaving it crumpled.

“Have you worn this before?” he asked, smoothing the fabric, gaze sliding down Vegas’ chest.

Vegas blinked, like he was surprised. “That you’ve seen? Maybe once.”

“No,” Pete said, shaking his head, crooking his fingers into the waistband. “I would remember.”

Tilting his head, a hint of a smirk grew on Vegas’ lips. “Maybe you weren’t paying attention.” He leaned forward even as Pete leaned back, debating sliding his fingers inside the waistband, lost in the idea of those pristine white trousers rumpled around Vegas’ thighs. “Maybe you were too distracted thinking I was planning something nefarious.”

“You were,” Pete replied, unconcerned, fingering the button, pulling it open, feeling Vegas’ gaze on him. “Just like tonight,” he went on, pushing his hand under the waistband, “showing up late—“ he heard Vegas’ sharp inhale, quiet in his ear as he kneaded softly “—knowing I’d be waiting.”

Vegas’ hand came to the back of his neck, curling around it, something dark in his gaze as Pete palmed him through his briefs. His hand looked so good, disappearing beneath the stark white of the trousers, bringing Vegas’ cock to attention, shuffling him closer to the wall.

They weren’t exactly hidden, not exactly out of the way, and Pete shouldn’t have been taking his time. His body ached for more as he edged Vegas’ trousers down, just over his hips.

“Fuck,” he heard Vegas mutter as he dropped to his knees, a soft thud on the floor as he landed.

Vegas was hard already, growing as Pete mouthed over the fabric of his briefs, nuzzled into the bulge as Vegas’ fingers tightened on his neck. Vegas didn’t stop him, even though they were exposed, even though someone could walk down the hall any minute.

They’d done this in worse places—a back alley behind a bar, a bathroom at the casino, and one time, behind the curtains in Kinn’s bedroom. Pete still blushed at the thought of that one. He’d never tell Porsche about that.

He didn’t take off the suit, left Vegas mostly dressed as he pulled down the waist of his pants, slid his briefs down his thighs, revealing his hot, heavy cock to Pete’s gaze.

They didn’t have time to talk, to go slow. Pete wanted Vegas, in his mouth, gripping at his hair, straining not to come in the way Vegas usually made Pete. He couldn’t muss the suit, wanted it just as perfect as when Vegas had walked through the door, might ask Vegas to fuck him later with only the jacket on.

For now, he wanted to taste Vegas, make him come with nothing but his mouth.

He moved quickly, sliding his tongue over the length, sucking at the tip as Vegas breathed above him, measured, quiet, a hiss here and there as Pete sucked a bit too hard. He mouthed along the ridges, lavishing attention where he knew it drove Vegas crazy.

Pete was hot, body flushed, all the way up to the tips of his ears as he sucked harder, faster, letting Vegas push in, fucking his mouth in a way that should have been obscene but it was just fucking hot. His blood throbbed in his body, rising pressure in his trousers, not tight enough for any friction as Pete shifted.

Mouth slick with spit, he pulled away, dragging his tongue up Vegas’ stomach, pressing sloppy kisses to the top of his cock. A light flickered in the sconce above his head, and when he glanced up, he caught Vegas watching him, biting down on his lip, filled with dark intent that made Pete shiver.

His fingers dug into the waistband of Vegas’ trousers, gripping his thighs, pressing him into the wall. Vegas’ cock slid against his tongue, heavy and thick, bitter with precum. Pete couldn’t help the moan that escaped when Vegas’ fingers twined into his hair and pulled.

He heard the thud of Vegas’ head against the wall, felt the pulse of his cock in his mouth, saw the rise and fall of Vegas’ chest as he breathed harder. Pressing in, taking Vegas to the back of his throat, he knew it was coming. He wanted it to happen, wanted Vegas to shudder as he came in his mouth, hot and bothered and satisfied.

“Fuck,” Vegas breathed a second before it happened, before Pete was pulling back, swallowing and licking until Vegas’ cock was twitching, spent, sensitive to every lick Pete gave.

Wiping his mouth, Pete climbed to his feet, pressing a hand against the wall to keep him steady as his dick throbbed with the reminder that he hadn’t gotten off.

Vegas looked good, though, and Pete tugged his trousers back up as Vegas blinked slowly, barely helping.

“Was that supposed to make up for being late?” he asked after a minute, fingers stroking through Pete’s hair.

Pete paused, admiring the flush on Vegas’ skin, visible beneath the folds of his perfectly white shirt.

“It’s a start,” he replied, smiling to himself when Vegas hauled him in closer to kiss him, arms around his waist, lips pressed to his.

“Then let’s go,” Vegas murmured against his mouth, and Pete, for one, was not going to argue. After all, Vegas owed him and he intended to collect.

#kinnporsche: the series #kinnporche the series #vegaspete #ficlets #a little dirty a little fast #just like them

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a-luran · 2 years

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Ok so senditothemoonn put Ireland in Mac's place and England in Dee's in that Always Sunny meme redraw, so naturally my first thought was the episode 'The Gang Finds A Dumpster Baby' (Can't remember if Wales or N.Ireland is in Frank's spot, but I can't really imagine Wales telling them to 'put it back' soooo...)

ahahaha I haven't watched that season in ages!

@senditothemoonn did an absolutely stellar job with their art (and just in case someone's missed it you can find it here. Tequila in sunscreen bottles doon at Troon Beach at the Jersey Shore for all. It always gives me a good laugh.)

as for elaborating on my own Always Sunny AU, I can't stay it sticks to canon all that much!

Arthur is in practice the owner, having inherited the pub from his former boss after he died childless. In Arthur's opinion it has been well-earned after years of backbreaking labour trying to keep the business afloat while the old man fucked off with a new sweetheart every other weekend. Was Arthur serving drinks before he was legally sound to do so? perhaps. And are some most of the supply dealings and receipts stamped with a forged signature? maybe so. The point is that the pub is in the black for the first time in it's entire 100-year-existance and Arthur is not above murder to keep it that way.

Daffyd is his first official hire and just brutally slow at his job. It's naw like he'd ever asked for a cocktail but he takes pint pouring with a seriousness it was never intended to have. He also has the vexing (to Arthur) need to make conversation with everyone and their mother and no, he will not interrupt any patron's riveting account on today's weather just because you're wanting to order. He's also been known to 'lose count' of pints and hand out a half on account of a not-even-particularly-well-crafted sob story. It drives Arthur up a wall.

Alasdair has been a regular for so long Arthur can't quite remember when he walked in for his first drink. There's even a good chance he might have been coming in long before Arthur even started pouring them. He was some kind of boxer,— or sailor, or soldier, or something, fat chance of anyone finding out— allegedly, and now serves as their handy man and bouncer. He seems to know anyone and everything and is also tragically farsighted (or perhaps just suffering from the effects of one too may concussions, and more than a little daltonic). He refuses to get glasses or hear anything about it. In any case he is built like a brick shithouse and does his job well so Arthur leaves him to it. (Favouritism? in this pub?? it's more likely than you think.)

Sean and Ross are in theory the co-owners. As highlighted, theory is a key word. They are the root of most of the pub's issues but more often than not also the solution, and the regulars love them. Cannae impress that onto you enough, they are the customer's darlings, their good time boys. They are the lads (said with an affectionate chuckle).

Every time Ross comes into the back office with a sheepish smile and lacking his worst half Arthur knows that something's gone amuck and it takes his misanthropic self every fibre of his being not to cry.

And so it goes! Welcome to O'Connor's, have a seat and have a pint and gnore the shouting coming from the back office. Don't mind the sheep of the towering man carrying it out on his shoulders.

(The running gag much like Charlie and Frank in the og Always Sunny are the hints that they are all related, only it's in increasingly obscure ways. They're cousins, then second cousins, then third cousins once removed. Then Sean's mammy was Arthur's cousin's godmother, who in in turn was Alasdair classmate two years down. And so on and so on, the way people find connections with each other when yous all come from small towns that grew exponentially over a couple of decades.)

#hws uk bros #it's always sunny AU #hws england #hws wales #hws ireland #hws scotland #hws northern ireland #Alasdair Campbell #Arthur Kirkland #Daffyd Owens #Sean O'Cléirigh #Ross O'Cleary #found dysfunctional family my beloved #Arthur and Alasdair do the Devil’s tango in the supply closet #Ross is scarred forever #the supply closet is disgusting and a disgrace and an affront to civility #just like them

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 1 year

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What's one Napoleonic pairing you like but don't get much chance to talk about?

oh man, this is a hard question. Mostly because I will just talk about whatever it is I want to about regardless of whether people interact with the posts/me/etc lol especially when it comes to pairings and fun stuff like that

If I had to choose, I think I would go for Napoleon/Talleyrand. It's such a perfect mutual-respect-but-also-mutual-dislike To annoyed-with-each-other-still-don't-necessarily-like-each-other-mutual-respect-also-dwindling To ???? To BETRAYAL

which is a very unique set of circumstances.

also it means I can frame Talleyrand (apocryphally, allegedly) making snarky comments about Napoleon and Bourienne's close friendship as pure, unadulterated jealousy.

it really does hit all of my favourite dynamics, too. Two very smart people at odds with each other, age difference, Repression (tm), Strong Opposing Personalities, [insert relevant John le Carre quote about betrayal], both are melodramatic and Stupid, Talleyrand is a SURVIVOR and Napoleon is YEE HAWING OFF A CLIFF, mutual exasperation, oh man those insults they traded, they make each other worse! but have a slim/slight potential to make each other better but neither would take it, they're Tumblr's Favourite Mountain Goats song (N: I hope you die. T: I hope we both die) etc.

Talleyrand: babe. have you thought about.. , not? doing that?

Napoleon: t o o l a t e.

I want a story with them being forced to work together after Talleyrand's first "fuck this I'm out" leaving of Napoleon's service and it's again idk think something like el Coco but worse.

I am a sucker for things that are shaped as shadows and hunt within the shadows and vanish people (children traditionally, but let's broaden it) to eat or whatever.

Anyway, it'd be great.

My two close runner ups: Napoleon/Metternich and Talleyrand/Metternich.

You might be noticing a trend, here.

thank you for the ask!! <3 <3 <3

#apologies to Anon if you wanted *real* pairing that actually existed but i'm too galaxy brained for that nonsense #talleyrand my beloved #in my defense your honour i love him and his gouty foot #talleyrand #napoleon bonaparte #napoleonic #ask #reply #anon #talleyparte #idk man their ship name options are horrid #just like them

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