#birds of paradise kind of day

[yzzart]

"𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐟𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫."

pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x f!reader.

summary: the only one who could calm a winter was you.

warnings: +18!, oral sex, f!receiving, biting, mention of manipulation, sexual content, explicit content and explicit words + take a look at the masterlist!

word count: 1.055!

Feelings of dissatisfaction, injustice and stress dominated Coriolanus Snow's chest daily; not to mention the sparks of anger that his heart fired every day. — Stunned thoughts circled the boy's head.

And it was, in fact, impressive how Coriolanus knew how to disguise, and even control, what he felt; no one from the Capital could describe or bring out anything bad in his beautiful, young face. — Besides Casca Highbottom, of course; one of the reasons for the boy's countless headaches. — He remained neutral, sometimes with a compassionate smile and moved on.

He acted as if nothing and no frustration were in his life.

However, Coriolanus had a peculiar and unique way of releasing everything he felt, all those mixed emotions and sensations; and involved you. — Specifically, being between your thighs.

Coriolanus loved —no, he loved— devouring you. Boy Snow, if he had the chance or the power, could stay all day, all the time, with his face in your beautiful, oh-so-good pussy; and that is not an exaggeration, ever. — He never believed in words of belief or rumors of the second plane of life that was perfect, but Snow had found paradise between your thighs.

Before eating your pussy, Coriolanus always leaves small, wet kisses near the area; at certain moments, some small provocative bites. — Such a affectionate, sweet and intimate gesture and you fell even more in love with that white-haired boy. — Soon, he attacked like a hunt after its prey.

Coriolanus's poisonous tongue ran through your folds, sucking them with pleasure and desire; quickly, paying attention to your swollen and needy clitoris with great pleasure. — He licked, sucked and sucked your little bud with exuberance and dedication; the Snow boy gave his best, especially to you.

The environment in his room, besides being hot and dimly lit, was full of moans and whimpers that escaped your lips. — God, your moans were so sweet, naive and formed a melody in Coriolanus' ears; the sounds that came out of your mouth were divine. — A piously work of art.

The name of your lover, which came out inappropriately and stuttered, echoed through the walls and if you doubted it, it could be heard in the other rooms of your house. — Mentally, you were grateful for your parents' prolonged absence. — Like the song of an extravagant bird.

Those crystal blue eyes, clouded with pure desire and lust, gazed at you; more than usual, in fact. — Your beautiful and so cute little face reveling in pleasure, your cheeks in a reddish tone and some strands of hair stuck to your forehead; discreet tears were present on one of her cheeks. — You were the most beautiful thing Coriolanus saw in his entire life.

And the fact that you belonged to him made his ego-swollen chest even better.

There were no more financial problems, family matters to be resolved or the academy or fucking Highbottom, there was no longer anything that made his life hell. — Only you were on his mind, his attention and focus.

"Coryo…!" — His name came out in a slurred and fragile way as more tears slowly fell from your graceful face; a shock when you felt the contact of Coriolanus' teeth on your clitoris awakened in your body. — He would be, at least, a little cruel to you, however, you denied that with all your strength.

A vibration in your wet region accompanied your warm body, an enigmatic laugh from the Snow boy upon witnessing your reaction. — Making a point of making one more contact, but leaving a gentle nibble; eliciting a thin scream from you.

Your legs were shaking, your chest was rising and falling without any kind of control, not to mention that your head and mind were completely melted; no thought with notion or consciousness presented itself. — Pleasure, distress, pain and a burning sensation of being used by Snow ripped through your heart. — On the bright side, you were helping your dear lover, right?

"C-Coryo, Coryo!" — The stimulation and speed of his tongue began to accelerate and become more abrupt, becoming too much for you. — "I'll go... I'll go." — You couldn't even complete a mediocre sentence.

You were so naive, such a precious little thing, trying to warn him that you were about to cum as if Coriolanus didn't recognize your body. — He knew when you were about to cum, Coriolanus knew your body better than you. — Like a book he read countless times to the point where he memorized every word written in it.

Oh, the Snow boy was proud of that.

"Come on, my little bird." — Coriolanus hated, perhaps that's too strong a word, birds, but you were an exception; a beautiful and unique exception. — "I want you to let it all out." — It wasn't a request, a loving request, it was an order along with a pinch made by his lips.

Regardless, your orgasm was intense, causing a strong delirium in your delightful and sensitive mind. — Coriolanus was definitely in paradise and his taste was magnificent; a flavor he could never get sick of. — He licked and sucked your release, delighting himself and getting it dirty on his sculpted chin.

Coriolanus's large, thin hands opened your thighs even further with the intention of not leaving even a drop of your juices. — Like a hungry animal, not even leaving the carcass for others.

The heavy feeling of exhaustion and a drowsy wave controlled your body slowly even though you forced yourself to stay awake and full. — Snow sucked your energy, leaving nothing left for you. — An exhausted smile formed on your lips as you looked at Coriolanus; now, he left affectionate and grateful kisses on your thighs. — You loved that damn young man.

"My good girl…" — Coriolanus felt your heavy gazes. — "…you did such a good job for me." — Your heart accelerated, you didn't know how to answer if it was about what had happened or the affectionate way he praised your; you didn’t care either way.

You didn't even have the strength to answer him, so just your sweet and tired smile was enough for Coriolanus. — He was so proud, more than he already was, and he longed for more; he always wanted more.

And in the end, he would have. — Like every animal, it would get its prey in the blink of an eye.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x reader smut #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x reader smut #the hunger games #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus #snow

[ceilidho]

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 4; ghoap x reader) part 1, part 2, part 3 tags: dubcon/noncon, nsfw

-

Much of Ghost’s behaviour is reactive. Oddly passive for the assumptions people often make of him. He doesn’t run from trouble, but certainly he doesn’t seek it out. Aside from a few rare deviations from the norm (running his father out of the city at eighteen, not breaking enough bones to count as restitution, and finally leaving home to enlist), that remains the rule. 

The way Johnny mopes for days after parading his bird around base has Ghost nearly rolling his eyes, already exasperated. He should’ve known his puppy wouldn’t share well. 

It’s worse than he expected though. Johnny mopes for a week straight after the fact, hardly able to meet Ghost’s eyes in briefings. He stares straight down at the floor pathetically, dragging his feet behind him when he’s dismissed. Price notices it right away, raising an eyebrow at Ghost after Johnny leaves the room. 

“Trouble in paradise?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, hands folded over his stomach.

“In the dog house, I reckon. His girl’s pissed at him.”

“Your doing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Ghost replies smoothly, face giving away nothing.

Price is hardly convinced. “I’m sure. Nothing to do with you.”

Ghost doesn’t answer that. He waits until he’s dismissed and then takes off down the same hall Johnny just left, curious about wherever his boy’s slunk off to. 

He can’t help the latent sadistic streak in him that curls up in pleasure at the sight of Johnny pouting and squirming whenever he walks into the room. Still, his attitude will need to be rectified soon enough—there’s only so much Ghost will tolerate, only so much disrespect he’ll turn a blind eye to. One day Johnny will look back and reflect on this, and appreciate the extent of Ghost’s magnanimity. 

Still, he doesn’t enjoy being ignored. One week bleeds into the beating heart of the next and Ghost realizes that he’s had enough of the silent treatment. He’s given Johnny more than enough time to come to terms with their new situation. 

He tracks him down to the armoury on a Monday evening after most of the other soldiers have already left for the day, back home or eating supper in the mess hall. It’s empty apart from the two of them, and when Johnny finally notices his presence in the room, his eyes widen almost imperceptibly. He doesn’t flinch at least. Good boy. He’s gotten better at being less reactive, less shaky about being caught off guard. 

“Done for the day, sergeant?” He keeps it light to start, taking a step closer. 

Johnny tenses at the approach. “Yes, sir.” The title would usually satisfy on its own, but it comes strained, polite but removed. 

“Where’d you come from?”

“Layouts and gunners training, sir.”

On any other day, Johnny’s deference might come as a lovely note to end the day on, but not today. It rankles now, the edge of his voice sweetened by a kind of silent dismissal, not giving any more information than what’s required of him. Nothing like the boy who used to open his mouth and sing the world back to him. Ghost has earned his every thought. 

“We have a problem, Soap?”

“No, sir,” Johnny grumbles, still not meeting his eyes. His mouth barely moves when he says the words, teeth all but grit. 

No dealing with this temper tantrum like adults then. For all Johnny must carp and bitch to himself about the hardships that Ghost has put him through, he seems to have no desire to actually deal with the problem. That’s too bad. It would’ve been easy enough to talk it out like grown men.

They’ll have to come to terms some other way.

“Come. We’re fixing this attitude of yours now,” Ghost grunts, turning before Johnny has the opportunity to complain and marching down the hall towards the gym. 

He hears Johnny make a sound like an angry bull before following him down the hall. The loud footfalls against the tile floor betray his simmering anger; it reveals to Ghost what he already knew intuitively. His boy still needs to learn to play well with others. 

In time, this anger will fade into the ether, replaced by Johnny’s old doggish need to please Ghost, but it’s causing too many problems now to be tolerated. He hasn’t gotten to see the bird since the week before. Doesn’t even have a photo of his own to look at when he rubs one out. It would be less aggravating if Johnny were willing to spread his legs and let Ghost rut between his thighs, but they aren’t there yet.

The gym is empty as it usually is around early evening when Ghost opens the door, the lights off from whoever last used it. Johnny follows him sullenly, dragging his feet about it. Ghost’s eye ticks at the show of attitude persisting into this space.

“Lock it behind you,” Ghost says without looking back at him, crossing to where the mats are on the other side of the gym. 

Neither of them are dressed to spar, still clad in their fatigues, but his blood cranks up to boiling when he turns around to watch as Johnny crosses the room angrily, picking up steam now as well. He comes in hot, not even bothering to suss out Ghost’s first move before launching himself at him. 

Ghost staggers back a step at the hit, but he takes it in stride, shifting his weight and using Johnny’s momentum to throw him off, sending him sprawling. He’s quick to get back to his feet, but that moment of carelessness gives Ghost everything he needs. The next time Johnny throws himself at him, Ghost lets him get an arm around his leg and nearly grins to himself when he feels Johnny put all his weight into trying to flip him. 

He knows strength isn’t everything, but there’s something to be said about the several inches and even more kilos he has on Johnny. That plus a decade’s worth of experience. Sparring devolves into a sweat-slicked grapple, Johnny’s shirt coming untucked and rucked up, his hair mussed. He tries to go for the mask, eyes gleaming with a wet, savage glint—forgetting decorum or tact, and just going for the most underhanded maneuver. 

He pays for it when Ghost takes him hard to the floor, catching him with a leg sweep that he might’ve been able to avoid if he were fighting with a clear mind. Anger makes him sloppy though. 

“Fuckin’ bastard—” Johnny grunts when he hits the floor, narrowly avoiding clipping his chin against the mat. 

“Folks never married, so guess you’re right,” Ghost remarks, unbothered. Hardly winded even, only the lightest sheen of sweat on his brow, obscured by the mask. 

His sudden divulgence makes Johnny falter. So rarely does Ghost open even a crack that the momentary honesty catches him off guard, giving Ghost the opportunity to wrangle him into a tight hold. 

Pinning Johnny isn’t an easy task because the kid fights dirty when he feels cornered. Lashes out wildly with his fists when Ghost gets an arm around his neck and holds him in place, less precise than when he’s coolheaded, but still brutal, all raw strength packed behind his punches. He twists Johnny over onto his stomach when the boy tries to buck him off, slamming him down hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

“Gonna tell me what’s got you all riled up now?” Ghost asks, twisting Johnny’s arms behind his back to pin him in place. 

He struggles in Ghost’s hold, trying to find a weak point. The search is fruitless. Ghost’s body weighs him down like a boulder pinning him flush to a dirt-streaked mountainside, forcing the air out of his lungs when he presses down harder. 

“Ye cannae just take her from me—” he spits out, face flushed. He kicks out a foot, trying to free himself, but all Ghost does is shift slightly to press his shin to Johnny’s calf, holding it down. “I told ye she was different and ye had to—and now she willnae even fuckin’ talk to me. Barely texts me, willnae answer my calls. I cannae—I can’…” 

His voice trails off on a hitch. Not quite a sob, but a frustrated, wretched sound. 

“Held that in for a while, didn’t ya?” Ghost murmurs, holding Johnny down with ease when he struggles again, trying to wrench his arms out of Ghost’s hold. 

“I almost fuckin’—almost just fuckin’ gave her to ye,” Johnny says, shame thick in his voice. “Thought maybe it wouldnae be worth…jus’ dinnae want a girl coming between us. But she’s—I told ye, Lt, she’s special, I cannae jus’—I cannae jus’ let her go. And now she doesnae want anythin’ to do with me.”

Ghost doesn’t bother pointing out the absurdity of that statement. As if Johnny could give him something that’s already his. 

“Not trying to steal your bird, Johnny.” He taps Johnny’s cheek, a little reprimand. It makes him blink and scrunch up his nose. “What’d be the point of that?”

He forgets how young Johnny is sometimes, just now nearing the end of his twenties. Still wet behind the ears, all blood flushed and pink cheeked. Green still to the realities of the world and Ghost’s presence in his life (permanent, fixed; unchanging). 

There isn’t a version of him that wants someone who doesn’t also want Johnny. Inconceivable. After everything that they’ve been through together, the root of him and what he wants is inextricably tied with what Johnny wants—at times, Ghost almost wishes he could live inside his head, just a constant stream of Johnny’s thoughts into his. 

Johnny twists his head enough to glare over his shoulder at Ghost. “The fuck are ye on about? Ye grabbed her ass in front of God ‘n everyone, for Christ’s sake. Said your intentions loud ‘n clear.”

“‘Course I did. She’s got a nice arse, doesn’t she?”

“You’re really startin’ to fuck with my head, Ghost, I dinnae understand what ye—”

“You keep running your mouth off about trying to take the girl from you—I don’t need to take anything.” He stresses the word to be clear, forcing Johnny back down when he tries to buck Ghost off again. This time he stays in place, both calves pinned down to the mat, cheek pressed into the fabric when Ghost slots a hand into the scruff of his mohawk, forcing his head down. “Quit struggling—you’re not getting back up. We’re sorting this shit out now so you quit moping around base and giving me a fuckin’ headache.”

“Stop exaggerating—I havenae even opened my mouth around ye in days. I’m no’ doing anything to your head—”

“How the fuck am I supposed to think when you keep running away?”

The air hangs heavy in the wake of his words, the oxygen all but sucked out of the room. 

“The two of you are mine,” Ghost says in a low, harsh voice, the sound making Johnny flinch against the mat. “I’m not asking for just one of you. You’re out of your fuckin’ mind if you think I’d leave you out of this, mutt.”

He’d sooner lose them both, but that’s another scenario that he’d never tolerate. 

With some effort, Ghost tips Johnny over onto his back, holding him down before he can start to struggle again. He keeps his wrists trapped behind his back, forcing Johnny to arch his back off the floor, presenting himself. From his vantage point, it’s easy for Ghost to flick his gaze down and find Johnny’s dick pressed hard against the zipper of his pants, all plumped up from being pinned to the ground. 

“Good, you’re already hard,” Ghost grunts approvingly, rolling his hips down to alleviate some of the pressure building up in his groin. “Haven’t come since she left the other week, I bet.”

Panic flares red hot in Johnny’s eyes, widening when Ghost settles deeper between his legs, his own hard cock unmistakable. “Wait—wait, Ghost—I’m no’—I’m no’—”

It would be a stretch to say that anything softens in him, but a part of Ghost does feel for the boy. He’s been around Johnny long enough to know his persuasion—strictly women with the occasional appreciative glances towards some men. An appreciation he relegates to furtive, guilty glances, holding it inside of him like a nasty secret that he’ll never part with. Too riddled with Catholic guilt and the ease of just playing it straight. 

Ghost has no intention of making it easy on him though. 

He tries to imagine what it might be like if he were on the other end, but for him it’s only ever been cunts and Johnny and the bird. Now just the latter two hold any weight. 

His protests only last as long as it takes Ghost to unfasten their belts and zippers, fishing Johnny’s cock out first. The second his rough hand wraps around Johnny’s length, the words die on the boy’s lips, replaced by a choked off grunt. His balls are full enough to corroborate Ghost’s words—he probably hasn’t come since seeing his girl off the other day, too frustrated and upset to jack off, the ducts shut, working himself up into a frothy mess only for it to slip right out of his hands at the last second. 

Johnny’s eyes roll back when Ghost grips both their cocks in his fist, slicking his hand up with Johnny’s precome. Sweat sluices down the sides of his neck. He looks good with his tongue tied up in knots, thoughts emptying out through his ears in rivulets. 

Even with Ghost’s hand as big as it is, he can’t wrap it all the way around the two of them. Johnny’s come provides a nice glide though, lubricating the underside of his shaft when Ghost grinds up into his fist. 

It spurs him into a kind of ​​protolithic fervour, desperate only to come. The iron rich scent of blood and sweat makes Ghost salivate, eyes drawn to the tender skin of his neck, the flush now riding high, up and over his cheekbones. Lips bitten red, also swollen with blood. In a better mood, Ghost might indulge him, might roll up his mask and lick into the wet mouth hanging open deliciously, teasing him, but there’ll be time for that later. 

He slurs out Ghost’s name when he comes, Simon ripped from his lips like it was dug clean out of his soul. His come splatters across his belly and shirt in thin, watery spurts, the wind knocked out of him again. 

Johnny squirms when Ghost doesn’t let go of their cocks, hand still dragging up and down, mumbling that he’s too sensitive, fuck, lemme go, I cannae—

“I’ll stroke your cock and grab the bird’s ass whenever I feel like it,” Ghost growls down at him, at the end of his patience now. He pants out a ragged breath when his cock throbs at a particularly whorish moan dropping broken from Johnny’s mouth. “I’ll nut in her cunt and make you lick it out if I want. And you’ll fuckin’ thank me for giving you a taste.”

Johnny almost goes nonverbal at that, a leg trying to kick out weakly even though it’s still pinned down under Ghost’s heavy thigh. His dick twitches against Ghost’s, a valiant effort. 

When Ghost comes, it settles in a thick, viscous mess across Johnny’s stomach, pooling around his belly button. It radiates hot down his back, the ache in his lower spine abating momentarily. Can only imagine how much better it would feel balls deep in Johnny’s ass or the bird’s pussy, a wet warmth clutching him tight, legs wrapped around his waist to drag him closer. 

He’ll have that soon enough.

A ragged wheeze is pulled from Johnny’s chest when Ghost drags his cock through it, spreading it over his stomach. It’s worse when Ghost dips his fingers into the mess, a sticky blend of both their come, before bringing his fingers up to Johnny’s mouth, forcing them past his lips and over his teeth and gums. Johnny sputters at the taste, going cross-eyed to look down at Ghost’s hand. 

There’s no time for pillowtalk or soft words though. Even if there were, niceties come out of Ghost’s mouth like a ring of smoke. Still, the thought of the bird not returning Johnny’s calls or texts makes him bristle, his annoyance renewed. His own disinclination to communicate aside—a waste of words as far as Ghost’s concerned, he says more with his actions anyway—none of this works if the girl won’t talk it out. 

Probably pent up, the stubborn thing. He’ll have to sort that out too. It keeps him young at least. 

“C’mon, Johnny,” Ghost says, rising to his feet. He dusts his hands off on his fatigues as if nothing happened, then holds out a hand for Johnny to grab. “Let’s go see our bird.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader

[hellishjoel]

dark paradise 

5.2k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Your mind is flooded with the memories of your private time with Joel in his woodshed, but he hasn't reached out to you since the bonfire and it's been a week. You go next door to give him a piece of your mind.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), no outbreak, smut, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, Joel in his 40’s), dbf/neighbor!joel, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, pet names, praise, Joel being a horrible communicator and texter

A/N: I edited this 12+ times and kept changing stuff, so therefore there’s probably mistakes. There’s your one and only warning lol. I’m so excited you guys are eating up the first part (off to the races), I hope the next parts to come keep ya’ll entertained ;)

“Joel-” You clenched your eyes closed. “Outside? Are you serious?” Your scolded whispers were useless. Now that Joel knew you had these needs, he wasn’t going to let you be underserved.  He perched one of your legs over his shoulder, the other spread to the side and held open by the warm palm of his hand. You could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs, your walls fluttering as he came closer and closer to your core with each kiss to the exposed skin.  “On the tailgate, Joel?” You whimpered, a flash of concern passing over your face.  “I know how much you love the truck, baby.” Son of a bitch.

Time seemed to slow after your interaction with Joel in his woodshed. The days following the bonfire were filled with excitement but quickly followed by dread and anxiety. It had been a week. 

No text, no calls, no anything.

It wasn’t that serious. It was just Joel. Besides, you had a vibrator to fill the void until he finally decided to reach out to you. Whenever that may be. 

Days one and two were the most riveting. Every time you thought of Joel, your heart raced a little faster. You didn’t have a long list of sexual endeavors, so this was still noteworthy. Giving head to your hot forty-year-old neighbor. You wondered what else would come from it. More importantly, when. 

Days three and four felt routine and mundane. After picking around your breakfast and staring out the window to Joel’s empty driveway, you would wander to your back porch to read a book on the dock. 

You were lucky to catch glimpses of Sarah. Her summer was busy with her friends from school and working a part-time job to afford having fun the summer before her senior year. If she was free, you guys would jump in the lake, sit on the dock together, tell stories, and catch up on everything that was happening in each other’s lives. Well, not everything.  

Days five and six were torture. Your vibrator had died from its excessive use, and your fingers weren’t cutting it. You wanted Joel, you needed Joel. You hated to admit it, especially since he hadn’t paid a singular ounce of attention to you since the bonfire last Saturday. Even worse, after deciding to watch Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron with your family during a movie night, you started thinking even the horse was kind of attractive. 

Day seven started with your room covered in a pale blue light. You didn’t know what time it was. You weren’t sure how much you slept, but you knew it was very little. This ache was pestering your insides, spreading a rot like an old tree log. Your mind couldn’t fade away from the way Joel felt inside your mouth, the way he filled your throat, and you breathed through the choke. Or the way he finished on your face and your tongue.  

Your well-painted memory of it all was already beginning to fade. The details weren’t as crisp, you wanted to remember every detail and hold on to it for as long as possible.  

That’s what you were trying to imagine at this ungodly early morning hour. The birds weren’t even chirping outside yet. Your fan slowly circled, trying to cool you off from the sticky Texas heat. You wished your windows weren’t jammed closed.

You heard a thud outside, your body alert as you swiftly sat up and peeked out the window. 

Despite it being a Saturday, you watched a tired and slow Joel walk out to his old pickup truck and toss a brown bag lunch inside. Where was he off to so early?

He was wearing his chunky worn-in work boots, splattered with drops of white paint stained into the leather by the steel toe. They were heavy with each step he took on his rickety wooden deck. His faded dark blue jeans sat snug on his hips with his wallet stuffed in the back pocket. His dark hair dashed with silver grays was still damp from his morning shower.  

You watched behind foggy glass as he patted down his jeans and mumbled something, swiftly turning on his heel and lightly jogging up his steps before disappearing inside again. 

Seeing him after a week of silence bubbled up a hint of anger and annoyance in you. It annoyed you that he looked so good. 

Your feet found their way onto cold hardwood before you could waste another second. You would give him a piece of your mind in fuzzy slippers and an oversized rusty-orange Texas Longhorns t-shirt that was so draped over you that it covered your black sleep shorts. 

You tiredly navigated your way out of your room quietly, not to wake your parents down the hall. You crossed your arms and hugged them to your body, the early morning chill hitting you once you were outside. You crossed your driveway to his truck, slowing once you reached his perched-down tailgate. Joel had resurged from his house with his truck keys in hand, his steps slowing once you two shared eye contact.

You’d be standing here all day if you expected Joel to speak first. 

“Hey.” 

He gave you a small nod, his eyes dropping to the shirt that reached the tops of your thighs before they managed their way back up to your face. “Mornin’.” 

He closed the gap between his porch steps and his tailgate, setting down his toolbelt and box in the bed. He looked rigid, tight in the shoulders and chest. His close proximity made you step a few paces back, the length of the tailgate separating you from Joel. 

You were afraid that if he stood too close, he might feel how badly you wanted him by radiation alone. Especially now, fresh out of the shower, half-wet curls plastered to his forehead, still smelling a little musky with his body wash.

You finally let out an aggravated sigh, hip landing against the tailgate with your arms still crossed. 

“So… where are you going this early on a Saturday?” Your face still held a slightly pinched expression though you tried to ask a casual question. 

Your curiosity made the left side of his mouth tick up in a lopsided little smirk. 

“You wanna tell me the real reason you came over here?” Joel’s tactics were ruthless. It made you feel small, young. But you weren’t, not anymore. 

You took in a sharp breath through your nose, eyes on his as your head fell to the side. Finally, the ticking time bomb inside you was counting down. All of your pent-up sexual frustration would be launched at this lumberjack of a man. 

“You haven’t texted me.” 

“Christ,” he muttered, annoyance passing over his face. “Sun’s not even up yet.” 

“Joel.” You pushed. 

“Haven’t texted you in a few years.” He said lamely. 

“I know, the last thing I have from you is asking me what you think my dad would like for a birthday present.”

“I value your input.” His teasing didn’t make you any less angry. Joel could tell. “I don’t text anyone much besides Sarah. ‘ts the only way I can get ahold of her. Don’t even remember I own a phone half the time.” 

“I know.” Your arms crossed tighter around your body. “But I have… needs.” Your voice awkwardly teetered as you evaded his eye contact.

“Needs? Do ya, now?” Joel’s accent came out swinging, his signature smirky-smile working in combination with his cocked up eyebrow. But your face held evidence of your disappointment. 

There’s a gentle lull. He should have texted you, and you shouldn’t be here telling him that. He knows. Or maybe you shouldn’t expect so much from a guy like Joel. No wedding ring, brooding, a bull with horns, Joel. Wouldn’t know it was his birthday without Sarah reminding him, Joel. Wouldn’t leave the house if he didn’t have to, Joel. Wouldn’t think to text his horny neighbor next door, Joel. 

“Didn’t text me either, sweetheart.” He points out, making your head snap up with wide doe eyes. Shit. He was right. 

You didn’t text him, either. You were just sort of expecting it out of him. You hoped he would lead the way, be the guide, reach out wanting more. But that wasn’t Joel. Were you both playing this devilish waiting game? You felt a little silly, your insides wrapping in knots as he surveyed you. 

“Well I-”

“You what?” 

He was the one grilling into you now. The sun began cresting over the water, bleaching your surroundings in a pale orange. The sun’s glare caused Joel’s eyes to squint slightly to block it out. 

You rolled your head to the side and wiggled around as you tried to stand still against his tailgate. Your frustrations were evident as you rubbed your crossed legs together. 

This wasn’t the same girl who took a leap of faith in his woodshed, who crossed the boundary between nothing to something, and set you and Joel up for a thrilling summer. You just wanted him to tell you that he wanted it too. To fuck around and do something different. Make this summer worth a damn. 

“I didn’t know if you wanted more.” You finally muster up, your voice smaller than you intended, shifty eyes looking over his. 

Your statement made him scoff, having to look away from you with a wicked smile. The orange luminescence of the sun warmed his otherwise cold face. He was amused, maybe even a little offended by your statement. 

“‘Course I want more.” He strained before pausing, his voice lowering as he took another step closer. “Look at you. Wearin’ my shirt.” He said before he towered over you, making the first point of contact as his hand reached for your hip and pulled you in closer, his fist clutching the worn-in orange t-shirt. 

You blinked a few times before looking down where he fisted the material. Shit. He was right again. 

Joel had given this to you the last summer you were in Danbury. You and Sarah took a late-night dip in the lake, and she wanted you to sleep over and watch a movie in the basement. You were too lazy to walk back home and change, so Joel gave you a towel and his Longhorns t-shirt.

You easily could have snagged a shirt from Sarah’s closet, but Joel caught you sneaking into his house and dripping water everywhere.

“Just take this. Go dry off. Get warmed up.” A statement laced with annoyance and precaution for his floors, but also attentive care. 

It was probably supposed to be just for the night, but you stole it. 

You remember that evening vividly. It was the first time you fantasized about Joel. Because the shirt wrapped you up and smelled of his musk and deodorant. It brought on a certain warm fuzziness in your tummy. The shirt had been incorporated so much in your wardrobe these last two years or so, you had forgotten its origin. But it was Joel’s.

And now you were standing here in front of him, his shirt draped over your body like an oversized blanket, showing the curves of your tits. He was fantasizing about you too. Fucking you while wearing his shirt.

There was an undeniable tension that now settled between the two of you, one you surely couldn’t satisfy in his driveway. But that didn’t mean Joel didn’t feel the same way. 

His hold on your hip tightened, your lips parting in surprise as his other hand came to your waist and hoisted you up onto the tailgate of his truck. 

He was hot, possessive of your body wrapped in his shirt. 

“Does it look like I don’t want you?” Joel’s voice was husky, lust filled. You liked getting this sort of reaction out of him. His question caused an ache in you, white heat pooling in the base of your stomach. 

Your neediness for him returned. Addicted to his touch, you felt a rush of adrenaline pulse through your body. Joel parted your legs with his body by standing between them, your little fists gripping his large biceps as you tried to regain your bearings. He was so big and burly, wide set shoulders, and a toned chest. You wanted to see him shirtless, examine his body when your time together wasn’t so limited. 

“Joel,” his name dripped off your lips with desperation, sweet like honey. He knew how you said his name when you wanted him. It brought back vivid memories of you kneeling in front of him in his woodshed.

Comfort brought you back, knowing it was safe to lean in and start kissing his stubbled neck. You didn’t want to kiss his lips, it still felt too intimate. Joel picked up on your hesitations and silently obeyed. 

Once you got to the base of his neck by the collar of his shirt, he let out a surprisingly loud grunt that he tried to jam down into silence but had failed. It caught you off guard, the ways he displayed his pleasure.

You moved back in, eager to duplicate the noise as you paid special attention to his sweet spot. You suckled and glided your teeth over the pinpoint before he forced himself away. 

“Keep it below the collar, sweetheart.” His twangy southern drawl was drenched in pleasure.

You smirked as you tugged at the collar gently with your teeth, letting it go and seeing it snap back into place around his tan neck. 

His lips found the crook of your jawline, his lips brushing your earlobe as he took it between his teeth and gently nibbled. The sensation struck a nerve down your center, a weak whine echoing against the collar of his shirt as you tried to stay quiet. 

The air had warmed up with the sun’s presence, the birds starting to chirp. Your parents could wake up any minute now, being the early risers they were. 

You pulled away to gauge his reaction. Joel was looking between you and the horizon carefully. He was debating. You both had so little time. 

“Your parents.” He pointed out, his voice ridged with pain as he planted his body between yours, his large palms splayed on your lower back and upper thigh with his fingers ghosting your sleep shorts.

“Work.” You reminded, lightly tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, fingers delicately brushing over the faded Miller Contracting logo on his breast pocket. 

You’re compelled to tell him that you need him. Because you do. You need him terribly. 

There was a silence, a deliberation of the masses. Stop while you’re ahead, at least you and Joel realized you were on the same page about wanting more. You could let him go, you should let him go. Meet up another time when it was less risky. 

“You’re not pulling away.” Your whisper broke his thoughts. Your long lashes fluttered, and your eyes were filled with an eagerness only Joel could satisfy. 

He rolled his head around, jaw tight before shaking his head. 

“Well, you have needs.” His words were filled with grit, promise. Be quick. 

Your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, feeling the planes of his back under your small palms. Both of Joel’s big hands moved under your t-shirt, your lips parting at the feeling of his calloused and rough hands traversing your soft body. He liked how soft you were, you could tell by the way he was delicately exploring you with his lips plastered on your neck. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you whisper, grinding your hips against his desperately while one of your hands wound into the damp curls at the base of his neck. He could use a haircut soon, the longer strands winding around your fingers.

His body loomed so much over you that you were arching your spine, your legs desperately wrapping loose around his waist until he had sufficiently guided you onto your back. 

Suddenly his presence lifted. You didn’t realize you were seeing stars until he pulled away. He had way too much of an effect on you. 

“Don’t have time to fuck you right, pretty girl.” His words made you puff out a desperate sigh. 

“But-” 

“But you have needs.” He finished for you, your head feverishly nodding. The truck bed had odd ribs, half your back raised up an inch while your other half was on a little slant. It was uncomfortable to lay your head down on. Once Joel was tugging down your sleep shorts, you were quick to forget the discomfort. 

A heavy breath left you as Joel tossed your shorts over his tool belt in the truck bed beside you, feeling him pull your body closer to the edge of the truck bed with your legs pried open for him. 

Your eyes widened as he sunk to the ground, jaw dropping as your eyes looked to the sky. Holy shit.

“Joel-” You clenched your eyes closed. “Outside? Are you serious?” Your scolded whispers were useless. Now that Joel knew you had these needs, he wasn’t going to let you be underserved. 

He perched one of your legs over his shoulder, the other spread to the side and held open by the warm palm of his hand. You could feel his hot breath on your inner thighs, your walls fluttering as he came closer and closer to your core with each kiss to the exposed skin. 

“On the tailgate, Joel?” You whimpered, a flash of concern passing over your face. 

“I know how much you love the truck, baby.” Son of a bitch. 

You wished every second with him right now wasn’t fleeting. You wished he could take his time. But the both of you were so wound up anyway, you were happy just to have him be a guest between your legs. 

Joel’s beard stubble tickled your thighs, his warm lips leaving a wet trail to your cotton underwear. Your hands needed to stay busy, one planting itself against one of the ribs of the truck bed and the other fisting his toolbelt that adorned a Carhartt patch. 

Joel’s mouth was absent for a moment. He was admiring you. Admiring you with your legs spread for him in his Longhorns shirt that was several sizes too big on you. Heat chased through your body, a sly little smirk on your lips. 

“Time is of the essence, Joel.” 

He didn’t say anything back. He was staring at the wet spot that had formed through the material of your panties. He hummed, cocky satisfaction filling him to the brim. 

Joel placed an excruciatingly soft kiss over your covered mound that had you writhing under him eagerly. His palm planted your thigh down again, feeling you quiver under his hold. 

You swallowed a lump down your throat as he pulled your underwear to the side, out of his fucking way. He was seeing you for the first time. It made your chest heave with shakier breaths. 

You were glistening for him, wet and gleaming in the sunshine that was starting to dance across the lake and over the truck. Panic flooded your core. He was taking his damn time. You needed him now. 

“Joel-” you warned again, but it was too late. 

His nose nuzzled against your clit as he flattened his tongue and licked up your center, tasting you properly. Your head dug into the truck bed, a loose moan leaving your parted lips as you closed your eyes and experienced a sweet paradise. His tongue flooded you with his saliva, Joel’s taste buds in galore as he tried you for the first time. 

You wondered if he thought about you tasting you like this before. The thought as well as his head between your legs left you humming in appreciation. 

Your free hand found its purpose, nestling your fingers into Joel’s hair while his head made gentle nods against your core. His jaw was slack, mouth lodged open as he consumed your sex in its entirety. He didn’t leave one centimeter of you unmarked. He commandeered the landscape like it was his territory, his possession. 

Puffs of his name left your mouth, you couldn’t help but be vocal when he made you feel this good. 

Joel’s tongue moved now with purpose, precision. He lapped at your entrance, tongue dipping in to feel your tight walls before moving back up and around your swollen clit. He was discovering you, what made you tick, what made you burn with passion and lust.

You held back moans of his name, bringing Joel’s shirt you wore up into your mouth by the collar to bite down onto. Your muffles were concealed by the material for now. 

You ground your hips lightly into his face, finding a rhythm you liked. He lets you. He wants you to feel good. 

Thumps of your heart pounded against your chest, Joel’s tongue still working perfect circles and swipes at your clit. He pulled away just for a moment to wet his fingers, you watch through hooded eyes. His amber ones flick to yours. Can I?

 You nod your head, a silent and desperate yes. 

He pursed his lips, face pierced with concentration as he pushed his middle finger into you, your walls welcoming the intrusion with a flood of arousal to allow him deeper. You took in a shaky gasp as he filled you to the knuckle.

“Fuckk-” you said a little too loud, your eyes widening as you covered your mouth and got a well-deserved glare from Joel. 

“Can’t hold yourself together, can ya, pretty girl?” His voice was as rough as gravel. 

You couldn’t even answer him back, the threads that held together your integrity were slowly plucking loose.  

You whimpered like crazy, the shirt swallowing as much of the noise as it could, but the rhythm of his finger and his mouth returning to your clit was sending electric currents through your entire body. You were short-circuiting with Joel’s tongue and fingers playing with your pussy. 

Joel’s mouth was warm, the taste of you a new hunger for him. You could hear his jeans scuff against the ground. He was trying to hold himself steady. The realization made you throw your head back, losing the shirt as a vice as you gripped his strands tighter between your knuckles. 

“Fuck, Joel--, ohmygod-” you whimpered quietly. The slurping of your cunt was louder than your words. The noise felt so loud in your pounding ear drums, you were worried it would wake the neighbors. The neighbors being your parents and Joel’s daughter.

You were close, even with just one of his fingers inside of you, you were close. You 

weren’t sure if it was because of your pent-up sexual tension, your vibrator dying, or your fingers not doing you justice. Maybe it was the fact that it was Joel Miller, but you were holding onto a very thin rope on the verge of snapping. 

You pulled your shirt up, releasing his toolbelt as your hand fondled your tits. You could feel him smirk against your thighs as you pinched at your hardened round nipples. 

“Such a pretty girl.. Taste so fuckin’ good too.” His words reverberate against your core, the vibrations tickling your clit and making you whine his name. His compliment caused a certain warmth in your chest.

Your head lulled from side to side. He wasn’t letting you know peace once he added a second finger. You had to take a moment to adjust but Joel could feel it, he knew exactly what to do and when. He was so seasoned, experienced, he’d be the first guy to make you cum like this. 

Your thigh against his head clenched tighter around his shoulder, keeping him in close against your core as he continued to work his tongue in figure eights around your clit. The soothing circles were creating a harmonious rhythm, your stomach felt like it was going to fall through a trapdoor. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

Then he tried something new. 

A loud gasp left your lips, your body scraping its way to sit up on your elbows as you watched him nibble and suckle at your clit. Your elbow had nicked his exposed flathead screwdriver in the process, a hiss seething from your mouth. It didn’t matter now. All your mind could focus on was Joel and his hellish tongue. 

The suckling at your clit unlocked something undiscovered, your lips parting in fascination before your head fell back and landed on the tops of your shoulders as you looked to the heavens with blurry vision. 

A lazy smirk was plastered on your face as he held you in place. You weren’t going anywhere.

Heated pants left your mouth, unable to breathe with the new sensation. The sucking was a distinct sensation, one you liked. You could feel his teeth just lightly grazing your sensitive bud. It made your thighs twitch, and your walls flutter around his still pumping fingers. 

Joel’s digits moved gently with their thrust, a gasp of his name flooding the air as he curled them deep, massaging your spongy walls. 

You were breathless. You could barely muster up anything besides his name weakly on your lips. You tried to tell him, but it was already too late. 

“J-Joel I’m-- I’m cominggg, shit,” you moaned out a little too loud. The whole valley around you echoed, or so it seemed. Joel’s protective grip tightened, your hips convulsing as you came over his tongue. He fucking loved it. He held you there and took you for everything you were worth.

You dropped to your back once more, his fingers still working a slow rhythm that he was insistent on not breaking until your walls stopped fluttering around his knuckles. You were still trying to come down to Earth when he licked you clean, your body twitching every time he flicked his tongue against your throbbing clit on purpose. Fucking asshole. 

Your hold on his hair loosens. You can’t help but make a face at the sight of him. Wild curly locks, mouth and chin covered in your slick, slightly flushed cheeks. He looked just as fucked as you did. He looked submissive on his knees, his eyes gleaming as he looked to you. 

You watch with obsession as he mindlessly pops his two fingers past his lips, licking them clean of your slick. Such a compliment. 

He guided your leg off his shoulder and put your underwear back in its place. 

You leaned up on your elbows, still seeing stars. Joel stood up from the ground and brushed any residual dirt and dust off his jeans. He brought his hand up and toyed with his jaw, meaty fingers adding pressure into the masseter muscle as he worked to relieve the tension that had built while going down on you with such dedication. 

You weakly sat up, the slotted ribs of his truck bed making indents in the flesh of your arms and thighs. Brands of your filth. Your big shirt fell back into place, your legs swinging lightly as they hung off the truck bed. You glanced at the back of your arm, seeing the scrape from his tools. You’d be fine. 

Once you turned straight to face Joel once more, you noticed he was fighting back a little smile about something, his hands on his hips and his knee cocked out.

“What?” You ask, trying to scoot further down the tailgate. 

“Nothin’.” He said gruffly, taking you by your hips and lifting you with ease like a ragdoll back onto the ground. His eyes stayed on the floor, your curious gaze following his down to your fluffy slippers. 

“Oh.” You muster up, clicking the toes together. 

“They’re uh… cute.” He tried to compliment, still with a teasing smirk on his face. 

“Shut up. They’re slippers.” You griped, your hand coming up to wipe away the glisten on his chin. He took over, pinching the collar of his shirt between his fingers and bringing it up to wipe away what was left of you. It was oddly attractive. 

He reached past his toolbox and belt, handing over your black sleep shorts after feeling over the material for a moment with a swipe of his thumb. 

You muster up a thanks, looping one foot in and then the other before you adjusted the band around your waist, the orange t-shirt falling back into place at your thighs. 

You couldn’t help but look around, the serenity of the early morning hours would only last so long on the lake. People liked to walk their dogs and jog, you didn’t want anyone reporting gossip. 

You turned back to Joel and assessed him. The Texas sun was already making both of your skin swelter, despite it being just past sunrise. 

You took in a sharp breath to say something, pursing your lips to keep them shut. Joel looked at you expectantly. 

“What?”

You shook your head and shrugged, holding your hands behind your back as you teetered on your feet. 

A stern expression passed over his face. “What?” He pressed harder. 

You tried to smother a laugh. “Your hair, Joel.” 

With an annoyed sigh, Joel amused trying to tousle his curls into place with the assistance of his truck’s driver-side mirror, grumbling a few curse words in response before leaving it be. 

You admire him, how handsome he looks so effortlessly. You suddenly became glaringly aware of how you looked right now. No makeup, baggy clothes, could use a shower. Fuck. 

“I gotta get goin’, already late.” Joel said as he returned  to the tailgate, lifting it with ease and slamming it into place with a few sharp snaps. “I’ll see you. And I’ll message you.” 

A small smile ticked at one half of your mouth, nodding. It was a promise. “Please call it texting, Joel.” 

He furrowed his brows as he looked over your face. “What difference does it make?”

You snickered and shrugged. “How old you sound.” 

Cue the classic Joel Miller eye roll. “Fine. Textin’.”

“How can you be working on a Saturday? That feels illegal.” 

This mustered up a short little chortle from Joel. “It’s not technically working, that’s why.” 

Your head curiously tilted to the side. “What do you mean?”

Joel shrugged, avoiding your eye contact as he looked past his truck and to the lake. 

This was what you had to deal with. Trying to get information out of Joel was an investigative effort, one you didn’t have the energy to dig into at the moment. You finally felt tired after your week of restlessness. 

You waved each other off, your face electric as you turned away from Joel and snuck back inside without a peep. As soon as you lay back in bed, feeling your heart thumping after your meet-up with Joel, you heard the door to your parent’s room crack open, and your father’s obnoxious morning yawn followed accordingly. Couldn’t have cut it any closer.

Finally, you felt sleep caressing the edges of your mind. Not a beat after your head hit the pillow, you felt your phone vibrate beside you. With hazy eyes, you turned it over in your palm and squinted at the brightness. 

joel miller Anything I can do to get in your good graces again?

You instantly smiled, lazy fingers typing a response. 

how about a movie night? 

He took a moment to respond. You could see him thinking it over in your mind’s eye. 

joel miller Fine. 

Your face lit up as you quickly took advantage of him owing you one. 

and I can pick the movie?

You could practically feel Joel’s eye roll from a mile away. 

joel miller Jesus. Fine. Tomorrow night. 

Tomorrow was perfect. Sarah said she would be on a camping trip and your parents would be visiting old school friends in a neighboring town for drinks and dinner. 

tomorrow night it is, mr. miller 

joel miller Whatever you say sweetheart.

---

wanna read part 3? read cherry!

here's my masterlist!

here's how to join my taglist!

@jrrmint @gracieispunk @macfrog @strang3lov3 @notjustjavierpena @bastardmandennis @joelslegalwhre @brittmb115 @casa-boiardi @nostalxgic @cool-iguana @chim-cham-blog @joeldjarin @unsteadyimagines @pattwtf @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @schnitzelwnoodles @flippittygibbitts @turtles-all-the-way-d0wn @cartoon-garbage04  @lunarxeclipse @alltheseperfectimperfections @sunnywithachanceofjavi @kyloispunk @hopplessilse @keeponlivinmanl-i-v-i-n @toxicfics @angelicnotifs @iquitedislikeithere2 @livingdeadmaria @emmalandry @worhols @radsanchez @pedritoferg @lucyeyelesbarrow @airalihmarylu @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

#joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal the last of us #pedro pascal joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #therapist joel #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #hellishjoel #hellishjoelrequest #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #dad's best friend #neighbor!joel miller

[plumbum-art]

Crowleys Plants

If you're like me and can't sleep until you know exactly which plants Crowley owns, then...this is your lucky day!

I did a little research and these are the results so far. Feel free to correct me or add anything I missed.

in short: these are all more or less typical houseplants, as one probably would find in any common garden center. Nothing extraordinary here.

Let's start with the plants in Crowleys flat:

image source

There are at least three big pots (two at the window, one at the door) with the same plants

1 - some kind of Musa (banana plant)

2 - Strelitzia reginae (bird-of-paradise flower 👀)

3 - this poor, scared to death fellow is a Alocasia zebrina (zebra plant) Anthurium andraeanum (Flamingo flower)

Now on to the plants in the Bentley:

image source

4 - Monstera deliciousa (grows edible fruits!)

5 - Aspidistra elatior (Bar-room plant, I see what you did there)

6 - Ficus elastica (Rubber plant)

7 - Ficus lyrata (Fiddle-leaf fig, not to be confused with the common fig which has edible fruits)

8 - Aglaonema (Chinese evergreen)

9 - Calathea lancifolia (Rattlesnake plant 🐍)

Needless to say, that a mostly dark flat or a narrow car interior aren't the best places for such plants. It probably would take a miracle for them to survive...

Edit: @dreaded-mika pointed out that plant #3 could be a Anthurium andreanum and you are absolutely correct (I asked a gardener to confirm)! Thank you!!

#good omens #good omens 2 #crowley #crowleys plants #good omens meta #good omens reference

[jpnriikicore]

title: little slice of paradise

word count: 301

paring: colby brock x gn!reader ( reader wears a sundress )

with everything that happened the past few months you two needed a getaway - a little vacation for at least a week or two. that’s you ended up on the shore of the beach miles away from home at five in the morning. it was very hot and humid out, so decided to wear his favorite sundress was the best option you made. you held your sandals in your left hand as swing back and forth your intwined hands as you walked over to the empty boardwalk. all stores and restaurants were still closed. the only people that was on the beach was the few early birds running before they’re day started and others waiting for the sunrise.

"come on." you said, leading him to a photo booth you noticed yesterday when you was walking around finding a restaurant to eat at. you two squeeze in the tight space as he closed the curtain. you picked the options it gave you before it started counting down. the first photo you gave him bunny ears as he made a weird expression. the second photo you both did peace signs. the third photo you both did i love you signs.

you noticed his gaze, so you looked over him and you noticed how he looked at you. he smiled the kind of smile that reaches his eyes. "what?" a smile now reaching your lips.

"can i kiss you?" his eyes flickered between your eyes and lips. even after all these years he was still so polite. you slid your hand to the back of his neck leaning him in to meet your lips. the last photo flashed.

after collecting the photo strips you two laughed as you look at the photo booth strips of you two together. your own personal little slice of paradise.

© JPNRIIKICORE, 2023

#colby brock #colby brock imagines #colby brock imagine #colby brock fan fiction #colby brock fanfic #colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Blind Boy 🥀

(An Ominis Gaunt friends-to-lovers playlist)

A/N: Please listen in order. There's a method to my madness.

Ominis Gaunt fell in love slowly...

It began, he thinks, when he started hanging out with her. Without Sebastian that is.

Young folks - Peter Biorn and John

Lake Shore Drive - Skip Haynes

She makes him rather happy. It's odd...

Dog Days are Over - Florence + the Machine

Sunshine Lollypops and Rainbows - Lesley Gore

She understands him like no one else. And even if she doesn't, she never pretends to. Just listens.

Wow, I'm Not Crazy - AJR

He really likes his time spent with her. He thinks about her when she's not around. She occupies his thoughts rather a lot. Her time feels like a currency and he fears running out. He's never had to be afraid of any sort of lack before.

putting a spin on Ophelia - Egg

What is this warm feeling? A dream - a wish, certainly. His parents would hurt him if they found out... Besides, he's just the blind boy. Who's he kidding?

One Last Wish - Casper

If I Could Ride A Bike - Park Bird, Chevy

Creep - Radiohead

It's impossible... but what's the point of it all if he doesn't at least try? It could be so beautiful. He doesn't have to be brave about it.

Do Not Let Your Spirit Wane - Gang of Youths

Do I Wanna Know? - Arctic Monkeys

He starts to try.

Passing Papers - Egg

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Are You Bored Yet - Wallows

Please Notice - Christian Leave

Feelings Are Fatal - Mxmtoon

These feelings are deeper than he thought. He can't help but indulge them.

Can't Help Falling in Love - Elvis

Amazing - Rex Orange Country

Golden Hour - JVKE

This Side of Paradise - Coyote Theory

Can I Call You Tonight? - Dayglow

I Couldn't Be More In Love - The 1975

It's so wonderful. It's beyond good. And she's always so kind to him. So perfect.

Infinitely Ordinary - The Wrecks

Remember When - Wallows

Ratisim - The Suicide Squad

One night in the Undercroft, he plucks up a little courage. And then... then he asks that girl to dance.

Not About Angels - Birdy

Once Upon A December - Anastasia

The Princess Diaries Waltz

And oh... oh he's fallen so far. He's hopeless.

Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran

Line Without A Hook - Rick Montgomery

First Kiss.

Like Real People Do - Hozier

And things just get better from there...

I Hear A Symphony - Cody Fry

Say You Won't Let Go - James Arthur

I Feel Good About This - The Mowgli's

Darling - Christian Leave

Love - Lana Del Rey

the world could end with you - Llunar

After graduation, he proposes. The ring doesn't come from a distant ancestor - it's not plucked off his family tree. It's just for her. For that lovely muggle-born girl and nobody else.

Until I Found You - Steven Sanchez

His first night with her is better than he ever could have dreamed.

Saturn - Sleeping At Last

He elopes with her two months later. And married life with her is perfect. Utterly and completely perfect. Away from his family and his high-society upbringing... it's lazy and soft and simple.

Banana Pancakes - Jack Johnson

Waltz for Sweatpants - Cody Fry

Would That I - Hozier

You Are Enough - Sleeping At Last

Photograph - Cody Fry

Love theme:

Hearing - Sleeping At Last

Happy Valentine's Day 💘

#I know its a little late but I spent hours on this #its so sappy #but young love guys #my name is cas and i write stuff #fanfic #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy sebastian #fluffy fluff #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis x mc #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #sebastian sallow x reader #friends to lovers #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy x reader #soft ominis #hes just a little guy #valentine's post #Hogwarts Valentine's #cas says stuff

[forsythia4]

水的序幕 ; a water's dream.

THE RED CROWNED CRANE & THE PHOENIX: A PROLOGUE.

read description & click for chapters.

Sotomichi.

IN THE MONTH OF KEICHITSU, WHEN THE PEACH BLOSSOMS BEGIN TO BLOOM, with his spirit lamp lit and bamboo pipe elevated, Father is a worn man, lined with wrinkles, strained by time. The scent of opium burns ripe and hauntingly sweet, Father’s lids flutter in euphoria, a kind of blissful apathy. The sun bleeds, and the breath of a thousand buds dance for death. His lips pucker like poppies in full bloom under the first glimpse of the rising sun of the East. Other than opioids and his arrogance, he has only tendered the lips of his art. His hands birth his pride, his art he wears like a tanchōzuru (red-crowned crane) perched like a crown of his ego. Brushstrokes weave intricate dynamics on porcelain, sometimes between a red-crowned crane and a bird of paradise, but if you’re lucky, a perfect lotus moon and the ornate peacock. 

“The art flows like water. The porcelain is like a woman. You paint and you draw, you bend and you curve her just as you like. The color she bears winds at your will. The brush is yours, they bleed and you come alive.”  Father’s words echo through your solitary midnight loiters outside the kiln, but a crackle of fire spits and you remember convincing yourself you’re tired before your head begins to ache, like it always does when you think of punishment for eavesdropping.

A strike of Father's hand, and you know his art is not yours, his legacy is not yours to carry. Why would a woman need to carry a legacy, except only ones of her children? “Not your burden, my dove. A bud like you needs to grow! A beautiful young lady you reckon she will be, don’t you, Suzume?” Mother nods, just like she always does. Agreeable. Compliant. Docile. Performative. Sometimes, she even dishes out a smile if Mr. Hasegawa comes to visit for tea. Braced posture and bad breath often crouches down, lingering around for a chance to catch a lucky glimpse of a spark, a spurt of swelling beauty within you, for perfection, gifted by the kami in return for Mother’s good graces to the shrines, for in her most perversely wondrous dreams, you are a moon-faced girl with a crescent for lips and porcelain-white skin; you are Benzaiten’s pearl, patron goddess of the fabled geishas residing in the Imperial Capital.

Now, when will you be branded with a price? A tag? Hasegawa’s ninth visit, and you are still a bud unripe. A disgraceful daughter granted by the gods! Sons assume trades and thrones, but daughters will swallow the sun and still assume brooms, buckets, and the ballooning belly of a baby at the end of the day. Father swears he must have been cursed his last life for you to have such ill-fitting features belonging to a woman. A daughter’s betrayal is your skin bruised plum purple, your cheeks stained wet with tears and thrice kissed for daring to be the dishonor and shame of the family. 

However, you'd rather be kissed by the truth of the girl you choose to be than the role of a woman you're expected to assume. Your art is your vow. Nimble fingers trace delicate enamel glaze, figuring Nonomura Ninsei’s refined style, and dreams of washing up on Hishu’s wide export market overturn an ache in your belly – that was your dream. Porcelain painting, specialized artistry in characterizing wares mark your identity. Every brushstroke, every glaze, every ember to a flame is a bond to the birth of life breathed into your art. The red-crowned crane spreads her wings and sets the sun ablaze. That was your dream come alive.

North Kohama.

IN THE MONTH OF SHUNBUN, WHEN THE SWALLOWS FLUTTER AND BUILD THEIR NESTS, vengeance paints the horizon with her blood, rot of sin. Mizu remembers the fowler's snare, deliverance at hand. Each hammer and each burst of a swordsmith’s flame is for each swell of the tide that is her rage. Heating. Hammering. Folding steel. The work of a bladesmith: that is her honored duty, sacred. 

But as dusk envelopes into midnight, Mizu dances with water. She readies her stance, an obvious, clumsy edge to the flow. “The form of water is sleek, it is agile. It curves and dances with the torrent in one single harmony. Through that bond unified, water snaps and severs the cord, vicious and refined.” Eiji sounds, feeling the rumble of the ground with every swing of the youngster’s movement. “She does not crash. Water begins by swelling within her rage. Unspoken viciousness speaks louder than any inferno stubborn and ill-disciplined. Tame the waters first, let it flow, and then strike.” 

Mizu pants, feeling the dirt gather beneath her feet, concentrating the core of her energy, directing her strength to the blade. “You know that better than anyone. It is in your name, Mizu.” Child of the Sea, Tears of Rain, set it free. The bamboo severs into half, the seed of doubt sinks into an empty shell. The deed is done, but the will is not yet finished. A swell of pride soon sweeps the wind of rage away, burying the youth’s heart in a wild, unrelenting restlessness. The minute stream of a feeling akin to achievement throbs against her bones. Back then, when her heart felt anything at all. The innocent yearning to stubbornly hope, a kind of pigheaded faith to innocently dream, gushes like a tide.

Those who dare to dream are fools, Mizu tells herself, but still, she clings onto that childlike wanderlust she once buried within her breast in the sweet space of her memories. The distance between tunnels of blurred echoes calling for her past, calling her name, calling for the wild-hearted. That was Mother’s voice. When all was good, all was plentiful, when her heart was an abundance of a sort of messiness akin to love. When the spring tasted the sweetest, when the breeze swept against her ankles and shaven head, when all was close to home. What did home feel like again? It's slipping away from her dirt-soiled hands, more than stubby fingers could ever count.

Mama. Mother. When will we fawn at the moon and stars again? Together or never, that is my promise to you. If dreams make me a fool, then I'd be one for you to come alive. 

Now, when the sky falls with her tears scald hot on Mizu’s cheeks, her heart is patterned like a tortoise’s shell, cracked and fractured. Hardened.

Sotomichi.

IT IS A SUBTLE STRIKE. The lash of lightning: the defiance of sweet, spring skies. Mother's back bled and lined by Father's cruelty; blemish of a fading beauty succumbing to bruises ripe rogue. You love her so dearly, you wish you weren't born the way beaten mandarins were thrown away as scum of the earth. In every wooden plaque perfumed with your desire, every token to the shrine grasped with earnest prayer, you cling onto the hope you'd make Mother happy one day.

You'd be a great artisan. The greatest Tokugawa Japan has ever witnessed. The artisan cracked through the barricades of her confinement as a woman, an utter breakthrough into legacy and history as Japan knew it. The world will know your name. Then, Mother would be happy and Mr. Hasegawa would finally go away.

But dreams are only a sweet, mirage of endless ache, never a guarantee of fruitful worth.

© work belongs to @forsythia4 & reblogs are highly appreciated!

#blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x you #akemi #bes #taigen #bes mizu #mizu #forsythia4's muse

[azrielsmommy]

Dark Paradise (Part One)

Pairing: Azriel x Fem! Reader

Summary: Never in the existence of Prythian had there been a rightful heir to two courts, much less a female, but there you are, in the flesh. With war upon the lands, and questionable family dynamics, a certain shadowsinger takes it upon himself to make your life just a little bit more interesting.

Word Count: 1058

Warnings: some angst, sexual themes

a/n: i have NEVER written anything on here about acotar, or just fanfics in general. this is just some slight backstory, i promise we get into the MEAT of it all soon!

The blazing sun was beating down on your face, causing your hair to shimmer with faint red hues as you approached the throne room. The sound of your long white skirt swishing, accompanied by the clicking of your heels against the white marble floors, were the only noise throughout the palace, not even birds sang their melodies.

As you walked through the large doors to the throne room, the sun increased by tenfold, beaming in through various circular skylights. To fae not from the Day Court, the sun would've been blistering and heat-stroke inducing, and in your years spent here, you've witnessed a fair share. Yet to you it was pleasant, you loved it, a sweet reminder of home. A slight smile stretched across your lips as you took in the intricate designs that decorated the pillars in the throne room.

The effort and care that went into sculpting this beautiful room never ceased to amaze, but your favourite piece of artwork was certainly the thrones themselves. Halting your footsteps before the stairs that led up to the three thrones, each one made of glistening white marble, all enveloped in golden light. You admired the middle throne, belonging to Helion, your father. It's the largest of the three, built for a High Lord, and it'll be yours, when the times comes, but you wish it doesn't anytime soon. You're tired of loosing family.

A wave of sorrow crashes over you as your gaze drifts to the smaller throne of the left, empty, a solemn reminder of your dead brother. It's covered in a large gold and white cloth, several little trinkets on the throne serves as a memory of him. You wrung your hands, as you focused on keeping your emotions at bay.

A sigh escaped from you, disappointment at the lack of your fathers presence, you thought he would've been here, welcoming you home from your travels. Dropping your hands in annoyance, you turned on your heel ready to leave when you heard echoing footsteps.

"What kind of daughter leaves her father, all alone, while she travels to Vallahan." Helion's voice had a teasing tone as he gracefully walked towards you.

"What kind of father forgets about his daughter?" You playfully retort back, raising an eyebrow as you try to keep a smile from forming on your lips. Helion stops just an arms reach from you, as he dramatically places a hand on his chest as if physically wounded.

"I would never forget about you, my sweet daughter." He spoke in a soft tone. The smile that threatened to spread on your face finally forms as you laughed, throwing your arms around your father in a tight hug. Helion held onto you like his life depended on it. You relished in the feeling of finally seeing your father after your long time spent abroad. After a minute he released you, instead throwing an arm around your shoulder, ushering you out of the throne room.

"How were your diplomatic measures in Vallahan, I presume they went smoothly?" He asked as we walked together through the palace hallways. It went more than just simply smooth, your time was spent drinking at bars, dancing until you could no longer, and sex with males of all kinds. Of course you successfully made alliances and discussed peace with fae in power, but a simple nod satisfied your father.

The rest of the evening was spent catching up with the people of your court over a the banquet created in celebration of your return. You spent your night drinking lavish wine, and dancing until your feet hurt, males watched you with pure lust and greed in their eyes, but you paid no attention to them.

As the night turned into early day, everybody stumbled back to their respective homes, and you to your room. Giggles slipped past your lips as you staggered down the halls to your room. Cauldron your feet fucking hurt.

"Stupid shoes," you slurred while fighting with the straps on your heels, fingers struggling to unclasp them. Finally you stepped out of them, letting your bare feet hit the floor. Nearly moaning at the feeling. Shoes in one hand you continued the trek to your room. Nearly face planting into the door, you stumbled towards your bed, and flopped down, shoes thrown onto the carpet.

You fell asleep as soon as you landed on your bed, not even caring to get under the soft covers, or take of your makeup and dress. As you slept your dreams were plagued by a man, he was shroud in shadows, his very aura exuded mystery.

His body looked like it was sculpted by the Mother herself, the lines of his muscles still visible through the battle leathers that he wore, and those wings. Dauntingly huge, you've never seen a pair of Illyrian wings that large before.

As your eyes drifted upwards towards his face you froze, he was devastatingly beautiful, the kind of beauty that would have any female begging for his attention. Your hand involuntarily reached out towards him, unable to take yourself out of the spell he seemingly put you under. He was some sort of an otherworldly dark paradise.

Your fingers just grazing his shoulder before you abruptly awoke. Shooting up from the bed you gasped, reeling from your dream that felt all too real.

Who was that man? Why was I dreaming of him? Thoughts ran through your mind at the speed of light, as you glanced around your room, a small shadow in the corner near your vanity caught your eye. As you watched the shadows flicker and slink about, it seemed as though somebody, through the shadows, watched back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Azriel splashes his face with cold water, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat down. Running his hands through his hair he leaned against the bathroom counter, staring at himself through the mirror. He doesn't really.....dream, his sleep is always restless, filled with memories from his childhood. So imagine his surprise when a women, with slightly copper hair appears in his dreams, and reaches out for him.

His brains feels like mush, shaking his head, he tries to free the questions that desperately cling to his mind, as he heads into his closet, dressing into his leathers for the day.

Rhysand and him have a meeting with Helion today.

#azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #fanfic #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #rhys acotar

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 8 - A nightingale sang

Pinterest Board | Series Masterlist | Spotify Playlist

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

eigth chapter synopsis: A surprising invitation made you discover a different, incredible place hidden in Greenwood. You were glad that Thranduil showed you such a special place. But probably you were even more glad that he was there with you. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. pre-Smaug. cried writing this but this is apparently something that will happens with every chapter so... go hear a nightingale sang in berkeley square. look i am just a sensitive girl in a difficult world, this is straight up murdering you with love.

glossary: Idril: Treasure, sweetheart┆Ellon: Male elf┆

Forests are secrets in themselves. They hide things. That is what they do, their primordial essense. A forest without a secret is a human without a soul, a planet without a star, a mother without her child. That is the real language of the woods.

You knew all the meadow’s secrets in Rivendell. You knew where the sprouts flourished, where the clearing started, where the trees fall after storms. You knew all its secrets, until you did not.

Because in kind places a forest hides wisteria and sage sprouts. In cruel ones it hides wargs and warm blood. And for those who are lucky enough it hides suspended gardens.

Stone pillars, embedded on gold, supported all seven floors. It would already be a beautiful sight, light reflecting in waves of warmth through Greenwood, but the ascending series of tiered gardens above each floor turned it into a paradise. Each specimen from the wide variet of trees, flowers and vines were part of this mountain constructed of golden bricks.

“I got goosebumps,” you whispered. Even the air was different there. It smelled like honey and daisies. If Thranduil told you that daylight comes from that place, you would have believed him. “Why did you hide this place from me!?”

Strangers had been born and buried and their lifetime would be nothing compared to all the time the Elvenking spend on the suspended gardens. And still, looking into your moist eyes, Thranduil discovered a new sort of beauty in this place.

The green of the vines, more verdant. The gold of the pillars, more golden. The pink of the flowers, more rosy. The whole world was brighter. Wind whispering against the autumn leaves, birds flocking, river crashing against stones: the world became a song. Such a beautiful, intricate symphony. One that he never noticed before.

It must be fate. That was meant to be. Since the world was first created and the stars were put into place. For what other reason did he survived this far, if not to admire you admiring the world his ancestors build? For what reason did Thranduil endure this far, if not to be alone in this world with you?

Your eyes glowed, and Thranduil wondered if Varda put her light into them. Into you.

The Elvenking gestured towards the gardens. “Shall we, idril?”

Thranduil watched as you prepared a raspberry pie in silence, which was better than when he tried to make you let someone else finish it. As if it was offensive for you to get your hands dirty. Your last job was to take care of horses. What is a pie compared to that?

Cleaning your hands, you almost could not believe your ears when the invitation came. It was strange of him to have free time during the day. He never had before, not once since you first got in his realm. But you were not the one to remind a king of his duties.

Not when that can take him away from you.

So this time, when Thranduil suggest you to let someone else bake it, you accept it.

“You really should stop doing that,” you continued along the paved way, and Thranduil followed your eager steps. Turning to look at him instead of facing the path, a delicate smile showed you did not meant what you were saying. “Calling me words I do not know.”

“Yet,” Thranduil completed. “Do not know yet.”

On the first floor, you understood that the construction did not matter. Its halls were simple, with long open arches and practically empty except for the occasional sculptures. Anyone there would only have eyes for the gardens, and whoever built it knew that no amount of gold or jewels would ever compete with nature.

Quince flowers draped over the walls, pears were almost to the point of crop. Thranduil showed you almond flowers, his long fingers brushing against the tiny buds. You did not even knew almonds came from flowers.

Climbing the stairs to the second floor, you brushed your hands against the rough trunk of a pistachio tree. “Do you fear birds?” Thranduil looked concerned.

“Definitely no.”

Following throught the halls, you could see the garden suspended over the first floor. Butterflies and bees flew around the almond flowers, which made you speed up the pace. You heard Thranduil laughing, and he only did not heard you complaining because you were too scared that maybe a bee would enter your mouth.

A swallow landed on your hair, and you tried your best to not move so Thranduil would see it too. When he stopped in front of you, Thranduil’s eyes seemed so… calm.

You knew he was tired and worried. That he had much to do, to understand, to protect. In Rivendell people believe that Sauron is gone, but here they have more than faith to prove the contrary. But now Thranduil look so peaceful.

As if nothing bad had ever happened to him.

“A little one mistook you by a tree,” Thranduil stretched a finger towards your hair. You felt the swallow moving, pulling your hair along, and saw it on his ring finger. Such a small thing, with greenish down.

Your smile went wider when you looked into his face.

“And you by a flower.” In his wood crown, butterflies found a new home. “If you pay attention, you really look like a sunflower kind of person,” you used your hands to cover your laugh. “Always smiling, never yelling at anyone.”

Thranduil’s response was to roll his eyes.

On the third floor, you passed through ebony, cedar and rosewood. You told Thranduil how most of the trees surrounding Aerin’s inn are ash trees, and how sad it is that most of the stories you read use them as metaphor for dead things. Thranduil shared a poem about a willow tree.

It surprised you how he recited it from memory.

Junipers were new for you. Never before you heard about them. But myrrh was not. You told Thranduil that Luthien gave you a bottle of its oil and practically ordered you to use it on your shoulder. His peacefulness oscilated for a second, but it appeared again.

The floor with fruits were your favorite one. Thranduil split open a pomegranate, revealing clusters of seeds inside it. You both shared it, eating slowly while watching the sun reflecting upon Greenwood. You took a tangerine from its branch, and gave him half of it. With half of a fresh fig on your hands, you were more interest on plum flowers than on its fruit.

There is something about sharing a fruit with someone that just makes it feel holy. The way Thranduil cut the fig in half. How you cleaned the tangerine. Your fingers brushing against one another to take another seed. It just felt better than eating one alone.

You brushed your fingers against ferns and orchids. Cherry blossoms floated, washing you both upon pink petals. A few got stucked on your hair. A few that Thranduil did not warned you about.

On the last floor, there were tables and chairs made of wood, but what really mattered to you was the view. From up there, you could see everything. Greenwood, every floor and its suspended garden, a flowing river on distance. Once again, goosebumps explored your body.

“A step back,” said Thranduil when he saw you too close from the edge. It may have been a warning, it may have been an order, but you took one either. He sat, observing carefully. “Your fall is not worth the landscape.”

“Do not be affraid. That will not happen,” your eyes locked on a bird flying away. You think it was a nightingale. He was so small, and yet he knew a type of freedom you would never. How must it be to fly? It happened for you to fall from places that made you feel like you were flying, until you met the ground. Does it works the other way around? You imagine so. “You do not need to worry about me.”

“How could I not?” replied Thranduil. “You reign in my mind. It is my duty to worry about your safety and happiness.”

Your mouth went dry. “It was never my intention to make you worry about my safety or my happiness,” your voice was barely a whisper. “Or about me, at all.”

Words, when commonly used, tend to lose their initial meaning. It dissolves, disappears with each repetition, until the word is just a ghost of what it once was. Of what their meaning once was. So many man use love almost as a greeting, but not a ellon. Never a ellon.

Love for a elve is more than just a word. It is not something that happens several times. It happens once in a lifetime, and it last forever and evermore. Only one person can own a elve’s heart, just their half, and they will never trust it to someone else.

Thranduil never thought of himself as someone lucky, but now he knows he is. In such a dangerous world, Thranduil found you. His friend, his confidant, his love. His one and only. Your heart belong with his. Thranduil can wait however long it takes for you to believe in that too.

“I never said it was.”

The silence pierced your mind. His words… Why Thranduil keep on doing this? Why he keep on saying those sweet, toothaching sweet things? Thranduil is so beautiful, and everytime he opens his mouth you get more sure that his heart is just as pretty. If you could open his skull and study his brain, you would.

“Still,” you licked your lips. “I am not falling.”

Thranduil nodded. You came back to watch the sky, mostly because you did not knew what else to do. It was rosy. A breeze made chills go down your spine, and a petal fell from your hair right into your hands. Your caressed it, and moved it closer to your nose.

“Who created this place?” You sniffed it. “They must be so proud.”

Lost on you, Thranduil did not saw a reason to lie. “It was my father.”

That warm feeling spreading into you faded away. He never talked to you about his father before, but you knew that there was only one way for a prince to become a king. What you do not know is how much does it hurt. It must be a lot. Usually things that we love hurt way too much.

Without a ounce of shame, you walked towards Thranduil. The way he made your thoughts hazy did not matter anymore. You pulled yourself a chair, and dragged it until it was right beside him. Thranduil chuckled at the act.

“He must have been really creative,” you told him. “How was he?”

That surprised Thranduil. People never ask things about his father. They only say that they are sorry, that they feel so much, that it must be so difficult. They never talk about Oropher. They always remind Thranduil that he is dead, but they never talk about him.

“Wise,” said Thranduil. With just one word, he already felt that it was so easier to breath. Sometimes it feels like Oropher only lives on his memory. Like there is this unsurmountable weight on his shoulders, one that none can see or help to carry. It felt nice to share. “And ruthless. He was the strongest until the very end.”

You tried to picture Oropher. The king who died too soon. The warrior that led his people against Sauron, and saw his knights falling down. You picture someone that knew the weight of a sword dipped in blood, the sound of a last breath, the rotteness of a dying land. You pictured this person, and then imagined him daydreaming about suspended gardens. Architecting a palace, designing irrigation, choosing seeds.

Oropher sounds like someone that was worth knowing.

Your fingers dipped into your watery dress, and you bit back a smile. You imagine that Thranduil have the same effect on people. That they will heard how he protect his land and his people, and then get amazed about how he can recite poems about a willow tree. At least he has that effect on you.

“And how was him to you? Was he good?”

“Not ruthless,” Thranduil smiled at the memories in hindsight. You could not help but to do the same. “He was gentle and… When I was just a little ellon, I used to not understand when it was time to shut up. Now I see how awful I was, but he always listened to me. He never made me feel like I should remain silent.”

You held his hand, it was so cold. Stroking his delicate skin, you felt a warmth inside you. Something different from anything you ever felt. You felt… not alone.

“I bet Oropher would be proud of you,” the words escaped your mouth. “I know I am. You are good. You are also great, but you are good.”

Somehow, Thranduil understood exactly what you meant. There are so many great people in this world. So many great poets, great warriors, great rulers. But good… Oh, it appears that the world is always lacking people that are good.

People who will discuss with dragons because their friends deserve their home back. People that will cross a continent to destroy a ring simply because someone needs to. People that will lit beacons without permission, that will use helmets to hide the fact that they are a woman, that will fight even as arrows pierce their chest.

“You think I am good?” Thranduil felt his eyes burning. “You really do?”

“Of course, my king.” You intertwined his fingers with yours. It felt right. Like they were made to complement eachother. A sly smirk replaced your genuine smile. “You think I would put up with you if I did not?

Thranduil looked at the horizon, hoping you would not notice the redness of his eyes. He reciprocated your touch, squeezing your hand lightly. Maybe it was the sunset, maybe it was the autumn leaves, but everything felt golden.

Everything felt just fine.

“You are good,” murmured Thranduil. “Is it because of your parents?”

You let go of his hand, and Thranduil felt the sky getting darker. Your colors also faded, as if it was robbed from your skin. “It is getting late,” you told him. You were quick to get up. Quick to lie. Badly. “I should come back.”

“I am sorry. I really am,” Thranduil ignored everything you said. There was no need for him to pretend to fall for your bad lies. He stand, just as fast as you. “But you are not a good liar, idril. I will not force you to say the truth, nor do I wish for you to speak when you do not want to, but you do not need to lie. Not to me. We are friends. You do not need to perform around me.”

You threw yourself onto the chair, without any energy to argue. You watched the horizon, the changing colors of the sky, and tried to ignore the pressure on your chest. “I am sorry.”

“No need to,” Thranduil sat too. He tried to be silent, but something told him that maybe you also had a unsurmountable weight on your shoulders. That maybe you also needed to share it. “Were they not good?”

“Maybe yes, maybe not,” you huffled. You responded right away, so Thranduil assumd he made the right decision. “That is the problem.”

With your eyelids closed, you turned your head to Thranduil. When courage made its way into your chest, you looked at him. Was he going to judge you? To see you as too much of a problem? A part of you feared that he would. The other half thought it was mean to think of him that way.

“I have no memories of them.”

He let you talk. About how you have no memories of parents, of any family, of growing or sharing meals or going to school or learning to read. About how for you it is like you were born during a thunderstorm, then wandered until you found Aerin. You told him everything.

After you rant, his silence came. He breathe in, and you could feel his body getting tense. “No one ever looked for you?” Thranduil finally said something.

You denied. “Do you think I am crazy?”

“I think…”

For Thranduil, now everything makes sense. The way you tend to pretend not to see when Aerin treated you badly. Or how people insisted on not calling you by your name. Why you would have felt bad if you did nothing. The gentleness of your heart. How your intelligence have a touch of naivety.

But it also made him even more intrigued about why you and Gandalf are friends. Does he have any interest on your memories coming back? Is he the reason why they faded? Can you really see him as a friend?

Thranduil never liked those pilgrim wizards, and Gandalf tend to be the one creating more problems for him. If he is right about who betrayed the free people, then maybe you have something to do with it.

He is glad you are away from him. Thranduil does not trust him.

Thranduil licked his lips. “I think you are so unlucky.”

That made you burst into laugh. For a whole minute. You belly hurt, your cheeks burned, your head spin. It was loud and ugly and true. “I… I agree.”

When silence came, it was natural. It was welcomed. You stared into his watery eyes, and decided that you would never try to hide things from Thranduil. It is just not worth the effort, now when he reacts this way. Not when he is so sweet.

“You still want to go back home?” Thranduil whispered. There was simply no need to, but he wanted to. It felt right to.

You inhale. “Not really,” you admitted. You turned your gaze to the sky, and it was on that marvelous moment when it is not day and it is not night. Thranduil did the same as you. “This place feels like a summer dream.”

A nightingale sang that night. Not that you both heard it, since your voices were louder. But it sang, and it still mattered.

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish @whore-of-many-hot-men @h0ly-fire

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

#madwomansapologist #autumn thunderstorm #thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil #thranduil fanfic #thrandaddy #thranduil oropherion #thranduil headcanon #thranduil of mirkwood #oropher #mirkwood #middle earth #the hobbit x you #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit #gandalf

[anisohtropy]

Kavetham constellation brainrot

we, collectively, don't talk about Kaveh and Alhaitham's constellations enough.

Looking at Alhaitham's first, Vultur Volans was the roman term for the constellation Aquila (the eagle). But why are we referencing its symbolism as a vulture instead of an eagle? That feels deliberate even though everyone assumes Alhaitham's meant to be an eagle. I contend that it's meant to be three things, an eagle, a vulture, and a falcon (just like the interpretations of the real constellation.) The eagle is obviously the well-trodden path of the divine symbol of Zeus/Jupiter. But what we kind of ignore is that the eagle was said to hold onto Zeus's lightning bolts, y'know his method of smiting people. Vultures and falcons have similarly death-related divinity. In an ancient desert environment, vultures are very useful as scavengers for getting rid of bodies to prevent the spread of disease and the general unpleasantness of rotting flesh. Falcons are very clearly associated with Egyptian gods, but particularly Horus, who was famously born/created from the dismembered body parts of his father. Interesting.

Now let's look at Kaveh. Paradisaeidae refers to birds of paradise, which are a real kind of bird, but the name is based on a kind of bird from Persian myth called the Huma bird. These things are wild. They're supposedly always flying and never lands on the ground. Some myths depict them like phoenixes, burning up every few hundred years to be reborn from the ashes. It's supposed to bring good fortune to people it flies over or who touch it. In some traditions it cannot be caught alive and whoever kills it will die within 40 days. It overall symbolizes unreachable highness and divinity. Obviously, it's a fake bird, but it's theorized that it's based on bearded vultures (meaning if we interpret it as a real bird that's gained divine properties, it would've probably done so via literally starving itself out of an unwillingness to bring or benefit from harming another creature).

They're the same kind of bird, fundamentally, but associated with opposing kinds of divinity. One brings destruction and the other brings fortune. One is self-sustaining, comfortable as the right hand of the true divine, but it is outcast due to its nature to survive using tragedy that befalls other creatures. The other cannot ever come down to be a normal bird, it sacrifices itself on an altar of being able to continue to bring joy to people it will never be close to. Change, decay, and cold rationality vs burning compassion and altruism and perfection. The burning bird can never be a meal for the vulture, as its death means only ash, and it is thus the only kind of misfortune of another creature the vulture can truly understand and care about. The Huma can never understand why the eagle is content as a messenger for the gods, why the vulture feels no guilt for the death it scavenges, why the falcon is content with a normal life when it was born with the potential for unimaginable greatness. The eagle, vulture, and falcon cannot understand the Huma's lack of pride or its willingness to damage itself for the sake of humans who would catch and kill it in their ignorance.

Also relevant is the fact that Deshret is clearly meant to be an analog of Horus or Ra. Both are associated with falcons and the sun, and their eyes are both significant in mythology (Deshret is symbolized by an eye in a sun in the lore). Nabu Malikata also has a massive pattern of sacrifice and she famously made a daughter-bird that was destined to die in the cataclysm.

There's a lot to unpack here but by god someone's gotta do it. The reincarnation, entangled souls, two sides of a coin vibes are SO STRONG with them. They're soulmates and the constellations only reinforce this when you pull back the hood on them. AAAAAA

#genshin #genshin impact #kaveh #alhaitham #kavetham #haikaveh #king deshret #goddess of flowers #nabu malikata #personally my favorite alhaitham bird interpretation is the vulture #there's something so poetic about it #the vulture really captures his cynicism and relationship with wider society #and it contrasts with the whole phoenix thing kaveh's got going on #love my birdies fr

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 17

Sequel to Unsolicited

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, car sex, Lloyd being the worst, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The jolt of the car door shakes you. The vinyl blurs in your vision, a scratchy blanket around you as a weight shifts the axel. Another door snaps and you close your eyes, chattering as you hug your clammy chest.

“Fucking dumb bitch,” Lloyd sneers as the world moves in reverse, “why’d you have to fuck this up too?”

You don’t answer. You don’t think he’s talking to you. You’re not there. You’re dreaming in the grass.

The click of the blinker fills the silence. You roll against the back of the seat, trying to find some warmth. The change in direction makes you dizzy as the tires roll on.

You huddle into the crook of the seat, sinking into the motion, drifting off back to the swaying of branches and the soft ruffle of grass. Birds sing as the sun rises. You’re shaken from paradise as you’re dragged across the seat.

He lifts you, still wrapped in the blanket, and kicks the door shut. You lean against his shoulder, chuckling as you hang your head.

“You just can’t let me be, can you?” You eke out. Your throat feels swollen around your words, your fingers and toes are numb, your blood flow sluggish.

“You’re such a fucking baby, you know that?” He growls, “got me at the goddamn hospital–”

“You could’ve… left me,” you shiver weakly, slurring each syllable.

“Fucking don’t,” he barks as automatic doors woosh open around him. He marches forward, hiking you up in his arms, “she’s pregnant,” he says to the woman behind the desk, “I think she’s got hypothermia.”

“Sir, how– how far along?” The nurse stands.

“Uh…” he trails off, “three months?”

“Four,” you correct him with a croak.

“Just… she got locked outside and she’s freezing,” he insists.

You say nothing as you lean into him. He’s so warm, boiling hot. The nurse comes around and checks your pulse. The room turns hazy as the sterile smell tickles your nose.

“This way…” her words drift into your subconscious, “...on a drip…warm her up….”

💎

You lay beneath the heated blanket and thank the nurse for the steaming cup of tea as she sets it down. You’re alone, a long hoped for reprieve. The doctor insisted you stay at least a night to be monitored, the baby too. The good news, they revealed, was that the fetus was alive and well. You wish you could say the same.

Living but not happily. Still, it’s better you didn’t take another with you. An innocent spark of life that doesn’t deserve your resentment. You never want to be like your mother. Holding your own problems against the child will only make things worse.

You sip daintily from the cup, flipping through the cable with the boxy old remote. God, you forgot how annoying commercials are. And how nice it is to be on your own. Outside his grasp, if even for just a day. He’s not stupid enough to berate you in front of the hospital staff. Even that is too low for Lloyd, but leaving a pregnant woman alone, that’s just fine.

You finish the tea and the nurse brings you dinner not long after. Soup and a bun. Palatable and pleasantly warm. You fall asleep right after she comes to clear the tray, dozing in the hazy hues of the box television. You wake each time she comes to check your vitals but barely recall the disturbance when the morning comes.

There’s an apathy that remains, the kind that buffs down the anger and buries the despair, that smothers everything but the most basic senses. You see the white walls, stringent and clean, you smell the rubber gloves and dry sterile atmosphere, you taste it on your tongue, you feel the cold metal bedrail as you drag your fingers over it, and hear the steady beep of the machine.

Breakfast is jello and Cheerios, another cup of tea and orange juice too. You forgot how nice it was to enjoy simple things. When was the last time you just had a bowl of cereal or even a cup of jello? You could go for some apple slices too.

As you nurse the steeped tea, there is a knock on the open door frame. You look up, expecting a pair of scrubs, but find a familiar face you couldn’t predict. Dottie’s ring tings off the metal before she enters.

“Oh, hon, there you are,” she sings as she sweeps in, her husband at her shoulder, his expression placid and his steps long but without the same urgency as his wife. “We brought you coffee and a–” she stops short, “oh, dear, you ate without us.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you blink as Lloyd appears in the door, a scowl on his face as he carries a tray of drinks and a large Dunkin bag.

“Never you worry,” she touches your hand as it rests against the rail, “I am only happy you can eat. Oh, hon, to hear of what happened,” she pauses and sends a pointed look to her son, “I didn’t raise him like that, I promise you–”

“She locked herself out,” Lloyd nears and places the food on the tray, “you want your coffee or what?”

“Hey,” Dottie snaps her knuckles against his arm and he hisses as he touches the tender spot left by her rings, “now sweetie, we got you decaf of course,” she turns back to you and selects the marked cup, “I know it’s tough, ya give up so much for the baby and old indulgences can do wonder.”

Harlan nods as he crosses his arms, watching without a word. You shoot him a sheepish smile. He’s a stoic man, silent more often than not, like a shadow against the wall. Dottie searches the large bag and takes out a rainbow sprinkle donut, folded in wax paper, “hon,” she rounds to her husband, “your favourite.”

“Thank ‘em,” he says quietly and bends to plant a kiss on her powdered cheek.  

She comes back and reaches into the bag, “I hope ya like Boston cream, hon, cause I wasn’t sure.” 

She presents the donut and you accept it. Despite the last day and the hospital food, your ravenous. You could probably eat a whole dozen.

“Thanks, Dottie,” you say, “you didn’t have to–”

“Someone needs ta take care of ya,” she insists and jabs her son with an acrylic, “no donut for Marion, the brat.”

“Ma, I didn’t do nothing,” there’s a subtle twang in his whine.

“You think I don’t know you, boy,” she spins to face him, “you think I don’t know the stunts you pull. I love ya but goddamn can you be a handful. So you sit down and pout into your fancy dancy cafe mocha whatever.”

She dismisses her with the flicker of her fingers and turns back to you, “we got much to do. I seen the house, ain’t even a nursery. No, no, can’t have a child with nowhere to sleep. Or with some bumpkin daddy.”

“Ma,” Lloyd growls again as he lowers himself onto the rolling stool with his cup.

“You didn’t even stay the night with her, Mar. Do you understand when I spent twenty hours working to get you out and your pa was there for every single one and the night too,” she snarls, “you ain’t gonna this serious and I wouldn’t blame her for taking the kid and leaving you where you belong.”

“Mama’s right, son,” Harlan intones as he steps forward to accept his coffee from Dottie, “pardon my reach, little lady,” he says, “let me say I’m glad you look healthy.”

“Oh, thanks,” you utter, biting into the donut as the tension of Lloyd’s moping and Dottie’s temper ripens.

“Now, you’ll be close to findin’ out the gender, right? That’s exciting but don’t matter no how, boy or girl. We got a grandbaby comin’ and I’m mighty excited,” she chimes, “god, when Harlan told me about all this business of you lyin’ in a hospital by yourself, oh, I was ready come here and tan Marion’s hide, and I might still.”

She sends another sneer over her shoulder. You swallow and try not to smile at the verbal breakdown of the man who never stops talking. For once, he has nothing to say.

“I meant to ask,” you clear your throat, “where did the name Marion come from?”

“My daddy was a Marion,” she says proudly as Lloyd glowers, squinting at you as you dare to meet his eyeline, “good man. Now he’s still alive but he went up to the hills in Kentucky about a decade ago, we ain’t seen him since. But trust me, I feel it,” she touches her chest, “he’s kicking and he’s no doubt up there roasting rattlers over an open fire.”

“Oh, wow,” you utter, “that’s interesting.”

“And you dearie, you said your family is some northern folk, from around here?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess most of them, I don’t… I don’t have much for a family.”

“No ma?” She asks and you shake your head. “Pa?” The same response. “Marion, why don’t you tell me nothin’?” She tuts, “if I’d known, I’d have been here sooner. You can’t be carryin’ all this around yourself.”

Harlan shakes his head as he aims a glance at his son. Lloyd looks away evasively, rolling his eyes like a teenager. You’re happy for the company, the buffer between the two of you. 

Before, the thought of going back to that house had you desperate for an excuse to stay. Even if it meant a convenient injury or convincing act for the nurse.

#lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #drabble #dark drabble #series #dark!drabble #the gray man #unexpected

[shieldofiron]

Nuevo Paraíso

For @discodeviant Happy Valentine's Day My Dude! Here's a RDR Au that's mostly an excuse for Cowboys Kissing.

Billy sat down in the dirt with a hard groan.

“Rough riding, friend?” Harrington asked, raising his dented flask.

“Don’t I know it,” Billy rubbed his lower back, “That stallion’s a nasty piece of work. Any chance you want to trade.”

“Not on your life,” Harrington shook his head, heels dragging slightly in the dirt as he looked over at Billy. That pretty head of hair had never looked so messy, nor so beautiful. “But don’t you worry. Maybe next town over you can find a horse to trade. Or one to steal.”

“Love hearin’ you tell me to steal in that fancy accent, Pretty Boy,” Billy nudged Harrington with his elbow. “Say another.”

“Boston isn’t fancy,” Harrington rolled his eyes, tucking his flask away without ever even offering Billy any. Selfish.

Billy didn’t know where they’d turned up this guy. He sure didn’t seem like an outlaw, with his graceful movements and pretty golden tongue. Pretty everything, actually. Not that Billy would let on. Even the rough scar that marred Harrington’s brow didn’t detract from his pretty face, only added to it.

“Fancier than Lenora Hills,” Billy shrugged, pushing away the thoughts. Harrington was too fine, too pretty to be real. He’d seen Harrington flirt with the birds of paradise, flashing those bambi brown eyes, pumping them for information and more. Harrington had made his choice and showed it plainly, so Billy wouldn’t try to kid himself.

Of course it happened sometimes. Don’t think Billy didn’t notice the glances between Marston and Morgan. He’d seen more than one cowboy ride in the saddle with another, though people might pretend it was just for lack of women. But Billy knew, there was always a choice. And Harrington was straighter than an arrow.

“Is that where you’re from?”

Harrington’s eyes sparkled with genuine interest, setting off a battle of the butterflies in Billy’s stomach.

Billy turned his head and spit, “Yep. California. Ain’t north or south or nothing, just dead in the center.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to California,” Harrington rested back on his elbows, his dusty blue jacket pulling taut across his biceps. Billy just looked away, leaning back to match Harrington but keeping his eyes trained on the fire.

“Used to dream of riding out there with a wagon and a wife…” Harrington continued, “Drive out hard and make my way to the golden shore.”

Billy snorted, “I assume that’s not the way you came out west. Unless your wife is a real forgiving type.”

It took so long for Harrington to answer, Billy was forced to look his way. Harrington was looking up at the stars, his long neck bared, pretty eyes aglow. His expression flickered between happiness and sadness.

“No,” Harrington smiled ruefully. “No. It wasn’t like that.”

Billy blinked at the smoke blowing their way, but said nothing, just seeing how long he could get away with looking before Harrington called him on it.

“There was this girl. Nancy. She was in trouble, needed help. So I just… kind of… ignored the law,” Harrington hedged, as if he was being interrogated. “By the time we got back, there were lawmen on my trail, and Nancy… Nancy’d gotten engaged.”

“After you-”

“He’s a nice fellow. I can’t say a bad thing about either of them,” Harrington shrugged, and turned the full focus of his piercing gaze on Billy. “Wish I could, sometimes.”

“Don’t worry about it, Pretty Boy. Plenty of tail to chase out here,” Billy’s voice wasn’t shaking. It wasn’t. “Lotsa fillies would kill for a ride with you.”

Harrington didn’t answer, just looked at Billy like he was a bug under a glass, and then slid down, resting his head on his bedroll.

“The west does have something on Boston,” Harrington laughed, “Well. Many things.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“All these stars,” Harrington’s pretty mouth turned up into a smile, and he finally released Billy from his thrall, sweeping his gaze over the night sky. “It's difficult to see the big dipper through the city smog.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Billy glanced back at the camp. The other men were huddled around a larger fire, eyes mostly on their business though Billy could see Marston and Morgan talking heatedly out by the horses. They were just two silhouettes, close enough to kill. Or kiss.

Harrington laughed, the deep rich sound echoing through the night, drawing Billy’s attention back to him.

“You don’t like the stars?” Harrington asked.

“I’m a little more concerned with what’s happening here on earth,” Billy smirked.

“Indulge me, Hargrove,” Harrington’s knee fell a little, nudging Billy’s. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

Billy looked away, pulling a hand rolled cigarette from his pocket and a packet of matches, that he struck off his beard with shaky hands, before he could bring himself to answer.

“And what do you think is worth my while, Harrington?” Billy said roughly.

“Me,” There was no tease to his voice, just bold honesty.

Billy sucked on the cigarette, not sure how to play it. This could just be a trick, a way to make Billy admit that he was… that he sometimes…

“Very funny, Harrington,” Billy said dryly.

“Who’s laughing, Billy?” Harrington’s smile was easy. Soft. “Lay down with me.”

Billy just stared down at him.

“For the stars. At least, for now.”

It was just stargazing. Like they were a couple of moon eyed school girls instead of hardened outlaws. It should mean nothing. Probably did mean nothing. Maybe Harrington didn’t know he sounded like a Mary, didn’t know that Billy would even imagine it that way.

Still, Billy kept his trigger hand ready as he lay back in the dirt, tugging Harrington’s camp roll from under his pretty little head. Harrington only laughed, propping himself up on his arm.

“I used to know them all,” Harrington’s voice was soft, almost boyish as he looked up at the stars. “But  down there, almost at the horizon there, that’s ursa major. And ursa minor, above it, the little cup.”

“Big bear and little bear,” Billy shrugged, his shoulders making an embarrassing scraping sound in the dirt.

Harrington chuckled, “And you call me fancy. You know Latin?”

“Just from church stuff,” Billy huffed.

Harrington paused, and then shifted in the dirt, every noise making Billy’s overactive nerves prickle with fear. He settled down closer to Billy, brushing their pinkies together in the dirt.

“You big into… church, Hargrove?”

Billy wasn’t sure what he was being asked, especially not when Harrington was twisting his fingers into Billy’s stiff palm.

“Not really, Billy said gruffly.

“Me either,” Harrington said. “I prefer other forms of worship.”

Billy cleared his throat, “You know any more? Constellations, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Harrington’s hand feels cool and dry, callouses rasping against Billy’s palm, “Above and to… kinda the left. That’s Hercules.”

“Strong man,” Billy said softly.

“Yes,” Harrington scooted closer in the dirt. Warm breath danced across Billy’s cheek. Harrington wasn’t looking at the stars at all.

Billy felt like he’d wandered into a trap. He could still feel his father’s voice in the back of his soul, telling him it wasn’t right, that Billy wasn’t right. Somehow, a long time ago he’d misunderstood something, and he was still trying to go back and get it right.

“Did I read you wrong?” Harrington said lightly. “I thought…”

Billy sat up quickly, jerking his hand back, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“It’s okay,” Harrington sat up, “Hey, Hargrove, it’s-”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, Harrington.”

“Keep your fucking voice down,” Harrington leaned forward and laid a finger over Billy’s lips, taking in Billy’s flinch with wide eyes. “I just… like you. I thought if I made some kind of overture you would finally get out of your head about the whole thing.”

“What?” Billy’s voice just came out as a cracked whisper.

“I’ve been hinting,” Harrington raised one scarred brow. “You thought I asked to share the watch with you for what? My health?”

Billy let out a shuddery breath.

“I like you, Hargrove. Thought we could watch the stars until these jackasses go to sleep, and then…” Harrington grinned, the glow of the firelight making him look almost devilish, “At least give me a kiss. Unless you really don’t want to, Sugar. But I think you do…”

It was the same tone as he used on the pretty fillies in town and by God, was it working on Billy.

“Sugar? Ain’t nothing sweet about me, Harrington,” Billy stalled.

Harrington had the nerve to glow, his pretty face lighting up as he licked his lips, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

Billy glanced back at the rest of the camp.

“We’re just lookin’ at the stars right now, Sugar. Nothing to see,” Harrington teased. “Come sit down for a while with me.”

He wasn’t sure if this was a good idea. Actually might be the worst idea he’d ever had.

But there’s never been so fine a thing as Harrington in his grasp. Not with those mooney eyes, that pretty face. His fine way of talking and his cool hand.

He could always sneak off before Harrington had a chance to tell anyone. He spoke Spanish better than any of them, so they’d be stuck holding their dicks while he made his way up North.

So he sat down in the dirt again, and let Harrington take his hand.

Harrington’s eyes were like a cattle brand on the side of his face, but he kept his eyes on the stars.

“My mama used to tell me that the stars were always the same, somethin’ constant. She knew all the names for ‘em,” Billy said, his voice gravel rough. “But… I don’t know.”

“You like constant things, Hargrove.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“So do I.”

Billy stared up until he felt like his eyes were blurring. Or maybe it was just the smoke from the fire.

“My father’s a powerful man,” Harrington said slowly, “Houses in Boston, Philadelphia, and he’s got a big parcel of land up near Bozeman, just waiting on a big old house to be built.”

“Huh.”

“He had designs on retiring, moving out west. Don’t know why, he’s about the most lily-livered man in all of Massachusetts,” Harrington’s voice wavered, “But he told me when I left, I ruined that because he can’t retire now. Not with no son to inherit.”

Billy frowned, blinking up at the sky, “Where are you going with this, Harrington?”

Harrington sighed, “I’m just sayin’. There’s a big parcel of land in the name of Steven Yancey Harrington, Senior, up in Montana. I just gotta get the money to head up there. Build myself a little place. Something constant in this fucked up world.”

Billy’s eyes prickled.

“I wouldn’t want to do anything but fish all day. Maybe get a chicken or two, sell eggs in the city. Hell, if I got enough money I’d say the hell with my father and build wherever I can find. Head out to the golden shores of California.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It’s gonna be. But it would be nicer with someone there. Maybe someone who knows a little latin, for when I’m a little slow on the uptake,” Harrington laughed.

“You’re not slow,” He searched the skies, wishing they could say what Harrington meant, because he wasn’t sure if he knew. “I feel slow. I hardly know what you’re talking about half the time, Harrington.”

“I’m talking about you and me finding a little slice of constant with each other, Hargrove,” Harrington’s hand tightened a little. 

Billy turned towards him at last and Harrington quickly glanced up at the rest of the camp before resting his hand on Billy’s cheek. “I hear there’s an awful lot of stars out in Montana. Man could get lost in a sky so blue. Among other things.”

Billy’s breath stilled in his lungs.

“I like you, Billy.”

“I like you too, Harrington.” It was more air than sound, half carried away by smoke.

Harrington’s breath brushed Billy’s lips, “See, I told you. You’re so sweet. Sweet on me.”

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington.”

“Make me, Sugar.”

It was a cool night out in the plains, just north of Nuevo Paraíso. Their boots made scraping noises in the dirt when they knocked together, hands grasping, tongues tangling. Billy didn’t lose his head but it was a close thing.

Billy never really knew much about the stars. He only cared about what was on earth, what he could hold and grasp. Constant things, like Harrington’s heartbeat under his palm, his sweet taste on Billy’s tongue.

But when he finally pulled back, trying to get his head on right… Harrington had stars in those big brown eyes.

#billy hargrove #harringrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #steve x billy #cowboy au #valentines day fic exchange

[pagesfromthevoid]

Enchanted | g.d. | 2

Gale x fem!Tav

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: None

Author’s Note: I told you I wasn’t sorry.

Talk to Me! | Series Masterlist

There I was again tonight

Forcing laughter, faking smiles

Same old tired, lonely place…

“We’ve certainly collected a myriad of companions,” Gale observed as he sat down beside her in camp.

A little over a week ago, Tav had been kind enough to pull him from the wall he had managed to trap himself inside of after the illithid ship had crashed. She was even kinder in allowing him to travel with her, Lae’Zel, Astarion and Shadowheart to find a cure for their tadpole problem. Since then, they had collected the Blade of Frontiers and a devil from Avernus as well and were setting out to locate the druid Halsin in order to help the Emerald Grove.

She seemed ready and willing to collect any and all strays along the way, ensuring that everyone was healed, fed, and given a warm place to rest. Her compassionate nature extended not only to humans but to animals too; she would often pause to tend to wounded creatures found on their journey, whether they were injured birds or owlbear cubs –though that was how they came to have Scratch and the very same owlbear cub she had found outside the goblin camp.

Perhaps that was why Gale was so drawn to her already; she was kind and open in a way that he had never experienced before. Her empathy seemed boundless, radiating from her in moments of danger and transformation alike. Even in the face of peril, she remained steadfast, her gentle demeanor a beacon of hope and comfort to those around her. It was as if she possessed an innate ability to soothe troubled souls and mend broken spirits with just a smile and a touch.

“The more people we have, the more likely we are to be safe from whatever we face in the coming days,” she reminded him, though she did not look up from the violin she had snagged from an abandoned caravan as she tried to re-tune it. She had used it earlier to hit a goblin, and while the instrument still worked, the strings had snapped in the process and she was trying to replace them. “Besides, I can’t imagine leaving any of you to your own devices; you were trapped in a wall. Lae’Zel was in a cage, and Karlach was being hunted by Wyll. I’m afraid if I let you wander, you’ll get yourselves killed.”

The playful conversation starts,

Counter all your quick remarks

Like passing notes in secrecy…

“Oh ye of little faith,” he chastised, chuckling some as he leaned back. “I am perfectly capable of handling myself –though I cannot attest to any of our other friends.”

Tav simply shrugged in response, looking up at him finally with a soft smile. “I’m sure you are, Gale of Waterdeep. With a title like that, I’m sure you’re a fantastic adventurer and this is just another day in paradise.”

Gale simply shrugged in response, though he couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips. They fell into a comfortable silence as she plucked at the strings of her violin, humming a soft tune to make sure the melody sounded alright. His thoughts drifted to his bard –to the note he had given to the little kobold. Had it really only been a few weeks since he left his tower? With everything that had happened, it had felt like months ago that he had sought out his bard and lost his chance.

“I think I’m going to turn in for the night,” she finally announced, standing up and stretching her arms over her head. Gale picked up her violin and held it out to her, smiling some. Tav took it, their fingers brushing against one another just briefly, with her own smile. “Goodnight, Gale. Sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Tav,” he offered, watching her retreating figure as she slipped into her tent. He averted his gaze as she bent over, looking away with a soft blush when he caught himself staring a little longer than he should have. 

“You’re a bit pathetic, you know that?” Astarion suddenly announced, appearing across from Gale as the fire simmered down.

“Excuse me?” 

Astarion sipped the wine in his hand, waving his other dismissively. “Please, it’s been a week since she picked you out of that wall and all you do is pine after like a love sick fool.”

“I do not pine. Besides –I have no time for any sort of romantic inclinations. Not with our unwanted guest in our heads.”

Gale rolled his eyes, shaking his head. What a ridiculous notion, he mused, thinking that he had any interest in beginning a relationship in the middle of all of this chaos. Even if he did find Tav attractive and kind and a lovely conversationalist – qualities that he couldn't deny – he couldn't afford to entertain such thoughts, not when the fate of their lives hung in the balance. 

Perhaps he did have a bit of a lingering crush on the de facto leader –but that meant little when he couldn't help but stray to the missive he had sent to his bard. Hope flickered within him, albeit faintly, as he imagined her response to his attempt at poetry and his thanks to her. His mind drifted to her every night, even if he didn’t see her face. He didn’t need to know what she looked like when he could hear her voice and recall her words.

Tav was lovely, but she wasn’t his bard and if Gale was to hold onto anything, it had to be her. If anything because the likelihood of ever seeing her again was minimal –less hurt for him and Tav.

“Then I don’t suppose you would be upset if I made time for her, then?” Astarion questioned, brow quirked up with the smirk that Gale had learned meant nothing good.

Gale opened his mouth to tell him, no, I would not be upset but you shouldn’t touch her still but the sentence got caught in his throat as the orb in his chest pulsed suddenly, shooting a sharp pain through his body. Astarion lurched back, surprised by Gale’s sudden cry of pain as the wizard doubled over and fell to his knees. Gods, now was not the time for this to happen –not in the middle of camp; not with everyone around. 

“What in the sweet hells is wrong with you?” Astarion demanded as Tav practically tripped out of her tent to hurry back over. Shadowheart, Wyll and Karlach approached as well.

“Gale, are you okay?” Tav asked, touching his shoulder to lay him on his back.

“I just –,” he gasped, closing his eyes for a moment as he reached up and clutched his chest. Her hand covered his, trying to look over his chest for wounds. When she found none, the pain had subsided enough for him to open his eyes and clutch her hand in his. “I suppose it’s time I tell you all that I might have what is…essentially a bomb in my chest.” She pulled back some, though she kept her hand in his as he loosened the wrap of his robe, exposing the mark of the Netherese orb that climbed up his chest and to his throat. “It’s a complicated story –long, tedious, and terribly boring, truthfully –but I need –I have to consume magic in order to prevent it from getting worse.”

“How do you consume magic?” She asked, helping him sit up now. “Like, we enchant food or what?”

He chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “My research determined that I just need magical items that I can siphon the magic from, to hold it over.”

Tav eyed him carefully, her gaze filled with concern. With a gentle yet firm touch, she flattened her hand against his chest, as if trying to soothe the orb nestled within him with just her touch. Gale could feel the warmth of her palm against his skin, a stark contrast to the icy tendrils of darkness coiling within him. 

He appreciated the gesture more than he could probably express. Her presence alone offered a semblance of comfort in the midst of his torment. But despite her efforts, the touch did little to appease the malevolent orb residing inside him. It continued to pulse with an ominous energy, defying all attempts at pacification.

“I think I picked up a helm,” Shadowheart suggested, half jogging back to her tent to go through her things.

“Oh, I picked up a fancy robe –I bet it’s magic,” Karlach offered, following suit.

“I have this.” Tav unclasped a necklace from around her neck –a simple amulet on a chain. The center held an emerald stone and it was encased in fine gold. “It’s definitely magic –it’s the Absolute Confidence Amulet. Nicked it off my old boss before I left Neverwinter a couple years ago.”

“Don’t you need it?” He asked, though he was already reaching for it.

“Not anymore, honestly,” she reassured with a promising smile. “I’m pretty confident in myself without it.”

Gale nodded solemnly, his fingers tightening around the item clutched close to his chest. With a deep breath, he released the magic contained within the amulet, allowing the orb to consume it greedily. As the magical energies dissipated, the necklace crumbled into pieces, scattering at their feet like shards of shattered dreams.

Tav watched the disintegration of the necklace with a bit of resignation. Despite the necessity of the action, there was a sense of loss in witnessing the demise of the once-cherished item. Yet, her smile held a glimmer of hope as she pulled away from him and stood. 

“Let us know if you need more. You shouldn’t keep this from us,” she lightly scolded, helping him up from the ground. “We’re in this together –I don’t know what I’d do if something were to happen to you.”

Gale nodded, his gaze softening as he looked down at Tav. For the first time in weeks, the pulsing of the orb within him dulled down. 

As she moved to pull away, a gentle breeze rustling through her hair, Gale's heart skipped a beat. In a moment of impulse, he reached out and caught her hand, holding it tenderly against his chest. She looked up at him in surprise, but didn’t move to pull away –instead her gaze softened as she smiled up at him. 

With a silent understanding passing between them, Gale nodded in response to her request, his eyes locking with hers in a silent exchange of trust and affection. In the fleeting moment, he couldn’t help himself as he covered her hand with his once more.

“Thank you, Tav. Truly.”

“Of course, Gale. 

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you…

*****

“Gale seems to be quite taken with you,” Shadowheart commented a few days later, when she and Tav were collecting firewood for the camp.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tav countered, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

“I can’t tell if you’re blind or just ignoring how he looks at you.”

“I am not ignoring him,” she conceded, sitting on a fallen tree and dropping the wood in her hands. “I just –it’s complicated.”

“What, do you have someone waiting for you in Baldur’s Gate?” Shadowheart sat beside her, kicking her feet out in front of her.

“I mean, maybe.”

“Maybe? What do you mean maybe?”

Tav huffed, flushing a bit as she fished through her pockets and pulled out a folded up piece of parchment. She handed it to the cleric then dropped her hands into her lap as Shadowheart read it over.

“This is incredibly cheesy,” she laughed, handing it back to her.

“It is not,” Tav argued, shaking her head and snatching the note back. “I don’t know who wrote it, but I have spent years singing to practically no one and this stranger wrote me a poem to tell me my singing saved their life –I suppose I’m just holding out hope that I find them one day.”

“And in the meantime, you’re going to ignore someone who very clearly is in love with you –for someone who you may never meet?”  Shadowheart gave her a knowing look, crossing her ankles as she did. “Tav –we don’t have a lot of time with these tadpoles in our heads. While I am not saying you should just bed the wizard for the hells of it…I am saying that you should consider yourself fortunate to have someone that wants to share whatever time we have left with you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the pragmatic, religious one that tells me to control myself?” 

“Usually I would,” but she shrugged and looked over towards where camp was situated. “But it’s hard to be when it feels like we’re on borrowed time.”

“It also helps to use the sexual tension to your advantage,” Lae’Zel suddenly announced, stepping out of the woods. “You two were taking too long. The wizard was growing concerned. You would do well to act on whatever affections he may hold for you while they last.”

“You’re both incredibly unhelpful and strangely horny,” Tav commented, standing up and gathering the wood in her arms again. “I don’t want to use him for anything —Gale is a good person; he deserves someone who can return his feelings entirely. Not someone who is distracted by a mysterious poet.”

“Tck. Githyanki have no use for poets; we say what we mean without masking it behind pretty words.”

“Thank you for the meaningful contribution to the conversation, Lae’Zel. I’m sure Tav is so happy for your advice.”

“As she should be.”

Tav rolled her eyes at them both, walking away as they began their usual bickering. How could they possibly give her advice when it was clear they had unresolved feelings between the two of them? Ridiculous, the both of them. Besides, she had no desire to give into her feelings for Gale (and she certainly had feelings, she couldn’t deny that). They had tadpoles in their brains and were on a mission to practically save the world. It was easier to pine for a mystery poet who may or may not be there at the end than risk falling in love with someone who not only had a bomb in their chest, but could sprout tentacles at any moment. 

No, she was better off without falling for Gale of Waterdeep. 

*****

By the end of their day, Gale and the rest of the merry band of weirdos were exhausted. They had managed to free the Druid Halsin from the goblins (while slaughtering the whole lot of them), only for him to ask them to help with breaking a curse on the Shadowlands. And Tav —Mystra bless her —had agreed almost immediately, without hesitation. 

Bloodied, battered, and covered in dirt and grime, Gale practically collapsed onto the nearest bedroll close to the campfire. He was first on watch tonight, and while he desperately wanted to sleep, he knew there wouldn’t be a chance in the nine hells anyone would swap with him. Tav laughed at him, nudging him with her foot as she passed by. 

“Go get some sleep, Gale. I’ll keep watch,” she offered, lowering to sit at the edge of the roll. 

“Absolutely not,” he argued, sitting up to glower down at her. “It’s my turn, and you took up post the other night when the orb acted up.”

“And I’m taking up post tonight as well. Go to bed.” Her voice was firm and she was pushing him away now to get him to move. “If I get tired, I’ll wake you. Deal?”

He hesitated a moment before nodding once, standing up finally. “Deal. And do not hesitate. If I so much as hear you yawn, I’ll be out here.”

“Here’s hoping you’re a heavy sleeper then.”

Gale pushed her head gently, rolling his eyes at her. She giggled, ducking out of his reach as he retreated to the privacy of his tent. He wasn’t kidding; if she yawned before he fell asleep, he would make her swap out. It was only fair, and he couldn’t bear the idea of letting her stay up without even a short rest.

However as soon as his head hit the pillow of his own bedroll, Gale had to fight sleep. It was tempting, and usually he wouldn’t be opposed to going straight to sleep —especially when it beckoned so clearly —but he really did want to make sure she didn’t need him. Whether he wanted to admit his feelings for her or not, Gale couldn’t help but worry for her. It was almost instinctual. 

After what felt like hours —though he was certain it was hardly even ten minutes —he began to drift off. Dreams danced in the edge of his mind, words to a song he vaguely recognized from his bard. Then words he knew; his words, softly carrying through the night air. 

The lingering question kept me up

2 AM, who do you love?

I wondered till I'm wide awake

Now I'm pacing back and forth, 

wishing you were at my door

I'd open up and you would say

It was enchanting to meet you…

At first, he assumed it was a dream —it wouldn’t be the first time he had dreamt of her sweet voice, echoing his words back to him. Relaxing into the feeling of his bard’s voice, he let it wash over him. Let it pull him into the dream world that he desperately wanted to enter for a little while. It was clearer than ever; her voice was sometimes muffled by the dreamscape but not tonight. 

Please don’t be in love with someone else,

Please don’t have somebody waiting on you…

The addition to his lines confused him, prompting his eyes to open and look around his tent for a moment. Blinking away the new lines —ones he certainly didn’t recognize and had never dreamed of before —he tried to refocus on his bard and her voice once more, listening to her echo his name even if she didn’t know it yet. But the music didn’t return in his head; it was still clear, as if right outside his tent. 

Sitting up, Gale rubbed his eyes in frustration. His exhaustion must be getting to him finally. Truly, he must be hallucinating —

This is me praying that

This was the very first page,

Not where the storyline ends…

“You are absolutely hopeless, Tav, singing that silly little poem,” Shadowheart scolded from outside his tent, though he could hear her retreating to her own. “Goodnight, I hope you dream of your poet.”

Her poet?

Her poet. 

Gale was her poet. 

Tav was his bard. 

“Sweet Hells.”

#gale dekarios x tav #gale of waterdeep x reader #gale dekarios x reader #gale of waterdeep x tav #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios

[kartoffelstern]

dofuwani snippet

a little snippet of some random thoughts on Croc, Doffy and their differences in character - just wanted to jot down a few ramblings while I'm trying to finish up a proper fic

--- 🦩🐊 ---

Crocodile doesn’t like surprises. Never has. He has back-up plans for his back-up plans. Meticulous planning has gotten him up the social ladder where he now comfortably resides among the elites of the world with more money in his pockets than he could ever spend in a lifetime. The climb was long and grueling, but he fought tooth and nail for a space on the golden throne of the rich and famous.

Doflamingo on the other hand has never had to struggle much for acceptance among the nobles. Maybe that’s why he seems so confident at every garish business party with his feet propped onto dessert laden marble tables like a savage and yet he doesn’t receive a single complaint from the snobbish old folks around him. No, they wouldn’t ever think of chastising him, not because he could and would rip them in two if he so pleases, but much rather because the people buzzing around him are too busy worshiping the very ground beneath his feet. No matter how rude Doflamingo acts and how lewd he dresses, there’s a certain kind of grace to his comportment, a je-ne-sais-quois in each of his actions that has the capacity to render most of those around him captivated, obsessed even.

He has natural charisma in heaps. The very same kind of charisma that Crocodile has struggled so hard to secure for himself over years. It hadn’t come to him easily, that power to gather people around you, make them wanna die for you, and he blames his misanthropic nature for that.

Crocodile avoids the spotlight as much as he can. He much rather prefers dwelling in the shadows, submerged in proverbial deep waters not unlike his namesake and rest in waiting until careless prey edges close enough for him to slam his merciless fangs into.

Doflamingo’s lust for attention fills him with disdain instead. That man is too colorful, too loud, too flamboyant, too much. How someone can bask in the watchful eyes of people instead of feeling caged, parade around like a paradise bird with his attention-whorish feathers on display for the entire world to drool and gloat as if the world is his stage and his stage only, will always be a mystery to Crocodile. It’s trashy. Doflamingo’s trashy. And yet…

For some reason, the bird seeks him out at every occasion. Maybe he simply can’t wrap his mind around the fact that there are people on this planet who don’t fall head first into his charm’s gravitation field. People like Crocodile. Now he’s trying anything to pull Crocodile into this pink void of brainless adoration for a fallen god like him and the constant rejections are only acting as fuel for Doflamingo to be even more persistent, more obnoxious, more obsessed.

“Hey, why don’t we team up? We’d make such a splendid pair, let’s raise a little hell together!”

Never would Crocodile let that pink avian pest put a collar and leash on him. No matter how sickly honeyed he makes his offers of power over vast lands and lavish kingdoms, no matter how tempting the prospect of having someone extroverted by his side to deal with that grating job of handling people is.

No, Crocodile’s pride is a bonafide safety lock for the door to his shriveled heart and no bird could ever hope to pick it no matter how strong that beak may be.

Doflamingo may try to open it. Over and over. The lock may get scratches and notches over time, but Crocodile is certain that it won’t budge, no, not if he can help it. So for now he will begrudgingly play a part in this game of tug and war, will stomp down every playful invitation of Doflamingo’s into the sand and hope that one day, the bird will fy away from his den and leave the gator in peace.

Let’s see how far it will take him.

#one piece #sir crocodile #donquixote doflamingo #dofuwani #geschreibsel

[f6bron]

i love you so.

pairing : chamber x gn!reader

note : sunshine x grumpy trope, fluff, teasing / flirting, just chamber being lovey-dovey with you.

“Site’s clear, no sight of enemies. We’re staying back for now.” 

You’re on a mission on Lotus, and currently holding a site with Chamber. You’re pretty much used to his presence by now, though his cocky attitude annoys you sometimes. But hey, he’s pretty charming, you got to admit.

“Oh, Y/N, I hope you’re still up for a date after this mission. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

You sigh, “Let’s just hope we don’t die, yeah?”

Chamber’s face lightens up, “Is that a yes, chérie?”

You glared at him. Is he playing dumb or he still thinks he still got a chance?

You groaned, “Whatever you say, Monsieur.”

He chuckled, “Well, I’m always available, for you, of course.” He gave you a wink.

You didn’t react, he does this all the time. Though, whatever you’re feeling on the inside, it kinda tells you otherwise. 

Every interaction he initiates with you, it never fails to provide your tummy with butterflies. It genuinely feels like there’s a whole paradise in there.

You’re not the type to talk much, so most of your conversations with Chamber would be just him rambling about his day (or about himself) and there’s you, just nodding along his words. The differences in personality between both of you are like day and night, but surprisingly, the two of you get along pretty well. 

He’s the true epitome of sunshine. Never a dull moment with Vincent Fabron whenever he’s around you. Ever.

A voice woke you up from your own thoughts, “Earth to, Y/N.”

“Oh… sorry.”

It was Chamber, he was looking at you all the time, as you got lost in your own thoughts, your own world.

He chuckled, “Are you okay? I didn’t want to disturb you, but you look… troubled.”

“I’m fine, it’s just…” You tried to think of something that wouldn’t offend him, before he cuts you off your thoughts again.

“Mhm, no worries, Cheri. I just want to let you know if you ever need someone to talk to, you got me, hm? I’m a pretty good listener, you know.” 

Ah, there it is, his smug attitude. 

You didn’t mind, you know pretty well he means no harm. Deep down, he’s a good person, you know it.

You nodded in acknowledgement, “Thank you, Chamber.”

He gave you a soft smile for your response. He would love to see you finally warm up to him. He would love to get to know you more. 

Because he genuinely cares about you.

He is totally love-struck when it comes to you. The way you fiddle with your hands whenever you’re nervous, the way your eyebrows scrunches while you’re working on your solo projects, he knows it all. Every little things about you, he knows. 

And that is because he adores you so much. It's just that you never realised it. Will you?

He took a seat on an empty spot just beside you, as both of you have nothing to do on site now. 

Your surroundings were only filled with birds chirping, leaves flying away as the wind blew. Not even a word shared between the two of you.

But you and Chamber appreciate the silence. Both of you appreciate each other’s presence, even if all you do is sit and do nothing.

Jett’s voice came into the radio, “Enemies seen on site. Requesting back-up.”

Neon joined in, “I’ll be there.”

Then, you broke the silence, “Well, we should get prepared.”

He chuckled, “Huh, me? I always come prepared.”

“Piss off.”

“You know I won’t.”

“Excusez-moi!” you heard from Chamber, as he eliminated the enemies.

And you took out the last enemy standing with a one, clean shot.

“Beau travail, Y/N ! You will never cease to amaze me.”

You shrugged, you didn’t know how to react to his compliment.

He chuckled, “It is nice to have partners like you, with that kind of talent.”

You tried to hide your blush, wanting to keep your cool, or else…

Or else Chamber won’t stop teasing you about it for a week, at least.

“I did my best, and that’s all that counts.”

Chamber hummed in acknowledgement, “You did, and I’m proud.”

“Hmph…”

He laughed. He loves this side of yours, that’s the reason why he loves teasing you. The adrenaline, the excitement you gave him.

And you look adorable, too adorable for him.

Like, why are you playing hard to get, Y/N?

Then, Cypher’s voice came into the radio, with gunshots in the background.

“Y/N, Chamber! We need both of you here! Be fast!”

Both of you immediately left, running to help your allies.

Chamber was totally worried.

Everyone has returned to base, waiting for the Vulture to arrive to pick everyone up and go back to Valorant HQ.

But, you were nowhere to be seen. 

You somehow got split up from the others when things got heated, no traces left behind at all. Chamber was positive that you were by his side at all times, but he got carried away. He lost you.

Everyone was searching for you, but it was useless. They couldn’t find you at all.

What if you’re currently passed out somewhere ? The thought of you in a vulnerable state, alone. He’s worried for your life, for you. 

And the others, they’ve never seen the French man be this tense. It’s unusual, coming from him.

Neon tried to give him some words of comfort, “Hey, Y/N is going to come back, okay? You gotta believe in them.”

But, he didn’t respond, seemingly lost in his own thoughts.

“They’re probably on their way here, I just received signals from one of their gadgets.” Cypher voiced out.

Before Chamber could say anything, you appeared in his field of vision. His demeanour took a 360, as he watched you approaching.

“Y/N!” he yelled, as he ran up to you with open arms. He brought you into a big, warm hug.

Neon was about to speak up, but Jett stopped her from doing so, not wanting to kill the sweet moment you and Chamber are currently sharing.

“Where have you been ? We were searching for you !”

“I… uh…”

He looked into your eyes, worry apparent in his brown eyes as he held your cheeks with his gloved hands. He was waiting for you to answer him.

“‘Got lost…passed out a bit. But hey, I’m here now.”

Chamber sighed, “Don’t ever do that again, okay? Thank god, you’re back.” he hugged you, cherishing your warmth.

He missed you so much.

“Pftt, of course I’m back, silly. You thought I was gonna let myself die alone out there?”

Chamber pouted, you rolled your eyes.

“Alright, alright. I won’t do it again.” You scoffed.

Chamber’s face lightened up.

“Were you hurt?”

“Well-” you heard a gasp coming from him.

So dramatic.

“You’re wounded ! I can’t even leave you for a few hours, hm, chérie?”

“It’s just a scratch-”

“Non, mon amour. I’m not gonna listen to you. I shall treat your wound immediately.”

“Hey, like I said, it’s just a scratch-”

He cut you off, by ignoring you and picking you up, bridal style.

“Chamber! Put me down!”

Jett and Neon scoffed at the both of you, “Hmph, lovebirds…”

Cypher… well, he didn’t mind. More like, he’s given up to deal with anything at this point.

Everyone returned to Valorant HQ, safely.

You’re currently in Chamber’s office, sitting on an expensive looking sofa, as he helped you fix your bandages.

To be honest, you could do it yourself, but he insisted and you didn’t want to waste your energy fighting him back. He can be pretty stubborn sometimes.

But hey, he actually did a great job with the wound cleaning and bandages, proof that all the training he did back in the military paid off. And of course, you knew a bit of his past. He told you about it long ago, while he was busy boasting how great of a marksman he is. 

“Thanks, Chamber. For the trouble.”

“Trouble? Y/N, there’s no such thing as trouble when it comes to you. It was my fault too…” He sighed, “I shouldn’t have let myself get carried away.”

You shook your head, “Nah, things escalated too quickly. It’s none of your fault. I should’ve stayed...”

He smiled softly.

“So, remember our deal, the date?”

You sighed, he continued “After you healed, of course.”

You nodded, “Sure, I kinda owe you one.”

He chuckled, “Mon amour, you owe me nothing. Take it as a treat from me, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help giving him a warm smile.

You sighed in defeat, “Fine. You win this round, Chamber."

"Vincent."

You tilted your head, seemingly confused.

"Call me Vincent."

He caressed your waist, "Now, how about we indulge ourselves with some tea? Your choice.”

You gave him a soft smile, “I would love to, Vincent."

masterlist.

#f6bron #valorant chamber #valorant chamber x reader #valorant imagines #valorant x reader #valorant fanfiction #valorant hcs #chamber x reader #vincent fabron #chamber headcanons #valorant chamber x y/n #valorant x you #chamber x you #chamber x y/n

[aqimilhujjah]

For The Wife Of A Martyr

“Glad tidings to you, oh wife of the sh-heed! Oh you who has been crowned with the honor of being the wife of a knight who has been slain in the Cause of Allah, the one left the delights of this wordly life and sought the highest levels of Paradise for both of you! So may the birds sing with the most beautiful melodies and may the sun warm the earth around you, the morning you rise upon such a noble status.

Though this is an accomplishment and great victory for your muj husband, it is nevertheless a sad separation that releases the river of hot tears of longing and hurts the aching heart of a bereaved wife, friend and soul mate. For every memory stings the open wound, every familiar scent brings back a day and a time in which he was still around and every time you have something to tell him, it becomes another draft in the notes of your mind, unable to send. The plans you imagined with him in this world cease to be and every season that passes is a reminder of that. The mourning period consists of 4 months and ten days but there will always be a piece of you, eulogizing him within the forests of your heart that set ablaze every time you remember, he's gone.

He has exited this dunya, he's departed and he has set off to the next destination, without you. His passing is not the burden upon you for he has achieved death in the best of ways and sealed his life with the best of stamps, m-rtyrdom in the Cause of Allah. Death is a matter of certainty and it will definitely reach everyone, our souls will not pass through this lifetime except that it will be taken in death to enter the next realm. But the sorrows in your heart that sprout out like mushrooms in the spring are due to the bitter feelings of being left behind in this world without your partner. The one who you walked beside through the thick and thin, the ease and hardships, the fierce storms and the peaceful meadows of your lives, together.

Allow me to console you, oh honorable sister, with the glad tidings Allah gave you and every beloved one striving for sh-hada, left behind a sh-heed. The martyrs are {Rejoicing in what Allāh has bestowed upon them of His bounty, and they receive good tidings about those [to be martyred] after them who have not yet joined them - that there will be no fear concerning them, nor will they grieve.) Ibn Kathir in his tafsir says: 'They are also awaiting their brethren, who will die in Allah's Cause after them, for they will be meeting them soon.'

Look forward, oh sister, to the Day in which the truthful will benefit from their truthfulness. The Day in which there will be no injustice, the martyrs will intercede for their families and the gates of Paradise will be opened wide for those who attain it. {Indeed the companions of Paradise, that Day, will be amused in [joyfull occupation - they and their spouses - in shade, reclining on adorned couches. For them therein is fruit, and for them is whatever they request [or wish).}

{Gardens of perpetual residence; they will enter them with whoever were righteous among their forefathers, their spouses and their descendants. And the angels will enter upon them from every gate, [saying], "Peace lie., security] be upon you for what you patiently endured." And excellent is the final home.}? Ibn Kathir states in his tafsir that 'Allah will gather them with their loved ones, from among their fathers, family members and offspring, those who are righteous and deserve to enter Paradise, so that their eyes are comforted by seeing them. He will also elevate the grade of those who are lower, to the grades of those who are higher, a favor from Him out of His kindness, without decreasing the grade of those who are higher up (in Paradise).'

Be pleased with the Decree of Allah for you and your husband, acknowledge the Bounty of Allah upon you for bestowing upon you the privilege of once serving a muj who sought m-rtyrdom in His Cause. Though this time of being apart may make you walk through what it seems like the alleyways of loneliness, take comfort in the last third of the night in prayer to Allah, seeking His Help and asking Him to reunite you with your husband in Jannah. Read the Quran and contemplate with a conscious mind. Turn to your Creator, for He is the Only One Able to mend your broken heart! This loss is temporary, in sha Allah, and perhaps soon your time will also arrive to return back to Allah. So look at yourself and look well, what have you prepared for the meeting with your Lord?

Allow this transition in your life to elevate you to the high ranks in Jannah by increasing in good deeds and much tawbah (repentance), istighfar (seeking forgiveness from Allah) and inaabah (turning back to Allah in obedience.) If you have children, raise them upon the haqq and remind them of the J-had of their father. Narrate to them the bravery and righteousness of their rolemodel after the Prophet ﷺ and teach them the traits of a sh-heed. And remember, your husband has achieved his goal of m-rtyrdom, so now it's time for you to work on achieving yours.”

#tawheed #tawhid #muwahideen #green bird #shaheed