#˚ʚ meda’s fic recs ɞ˚ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

always-andromeda · 3 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ 𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚'𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐩 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Hi ho again, friends!! It’s been a minute!! I’m too tired to make a proper banner graphic, but here’s my July/August fic recommendation roundup. It's been a little bit of a hectic summer and as a result, I decided to skip making a recommendation roundup post for July. Buuuut, that just means that all of my July recs are lumped in with my August ones!!

I feel like I read through a range of fics these past two months, both in themes and in characters. For example, I have accidentally fallen victim to the Logan thirst that has been plaguing so many of us in the PP fandom lately lol. And I have so many more fics for him saved in my drafts that I can't wait to get through!! But alas, Joel seems to have won out as far as sheer numbers go. What can I say, that man owns me lmao. Overall, I really liked everything I read and found some new favorites that I feel so lucky to have come across.

Like the last few times, I have a little theme key listed below. However, please heed the warnings on the fics themselves before reading. And like always, please reblog and send love to all of these authors. They're all such talented authors and I feel so honored to be able to have such wonderful writing at my fingertips. Reblogging and giving them some love is the absolute least we can do to give back to these talented folks!!

♡ – fluff. ♤ – angst. ♢ – smut.

𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐲 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

♢ four leaf clover by @studioghibelli

𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝/𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥

♢ on target by @eupheme

𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤

♡ a long time coming by @guiltyasdave

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨

♤ letter to an old poet by @party-hearses

♢ when dieter takes the lead by @sp00kymulderr

♡♢ sweet dee by @yopossum

𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐚

♡♤ golden like daylight by @joelsgreenflannel

𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

♢ my body, his choice by @gutsby

♡♢ don't move, honey by @jolapeno

♤ on every street by @thundermartini

♡ pillow by @iamasaddie

♢ heavenly bound by @ozarkthedog

♡♤ always in my heart by @mermaidgirl30

♡ girldad!joel by @whocaresstillthelouvre

♡ petals of affection part i by @joelalorian

♡ petals of affection part ii by @joelalorian

♡♢ petals of affection part iii by @joelalorian

♡♤♢ outage by @taeslarityy

𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 + 𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝/𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥

♢ where the wild things are by @studioghibelli

𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭/𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞

♡♢ sfw/nsfw headcanons by @eupheme

♢ logan + smoking by @tojigasm

♡♤♢ nsfw alphabet by @eupheme

♤♢ sfw alphabet by @eupheme

𝐋𝐮𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬

♢ trying something new by @missredherring

𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥

♤ dancing phantoms on the terrace by @guiltyasdave

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝

♤♢ moss by @5oh5

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

♢ heat above by @pedgito

#˚ʚ meda’s fic recs ɞ˚#˚ʚ monthly roundup ɞ˚

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always-andromeda · 6 months ago

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𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚'𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐩

Hey, all!! So. I talk a lot about how terrible I am about getting around to reading the fics in my drafts. My attempt to combat this is compiling monthly roundups of all that I've read, loved, and reblogged. This month brought a new character into my pantheon of madness: Cooper Howard.

But the overall theme for this month has been discovery. I'm very stubborn about reading. When I find a favorite, I'll reread it to death. So I really tried to broaden my horizons and found so many writers I'd never read from before. I've been pleased to add some more to my dragon's hoard of favorites lmao. Thank you to all the writers I sent asks to inquiring about their favorite works of theirs. I've still got a few more of them to peruse through but I'm super excited to get to them!!

I've got a little symbol system listed below to label what each one contains but make sure heed to the individual warnings before reading. Please remember to reblog and send some love to all of these writers as they're all massively talented and deserve the attention!!

♡ – fluff. ♤ – angst. ♢ – smut.

𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝/𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥

♡♤♢ time, wondrous time by @beskarandblasters

♡♢ curled smoke and gossamer clouds by @justghoulythingz

♢ run rabbit run by @ghoulphile

♢ saddle up, sweetheart by @ghoulbrain

♤♢ animal instinct by @ghoulbrain

𝐃𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤

♤♢ this godforsaken mess by @agentmarcuspike

𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

♡♢ love tap by @gutsby

♢ summer love by @vivian-pascal

𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬

♤♢ aurora by @5oh5

𝐓𝐢𝐦 𝐑𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐝

♢ hold tight by @sin-djarin

#˚ʚ meda’s fic recs ɞ˚#˚ʚ monthly roundup ɞ˚

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always-andromeda · 5 months ago

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𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐚'𝐬 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐩

Hi ho, friends! I'm super excited to present this month's fic recs!! I've had quite a good deal of literature saved in my drafts and now that summer is fully in swing, I've gotten the chance to read through a lot of them and express my feelings. And, boy, do I have so many feelings about all of these!! I also decided that I'd add a little section at the bottom that gathers each piece I've written during the month (even though that list will most likely always be extremely small lmao).

As I stated last month, though I have a little theme key listed below, please heed the warnings on the fics themselves before reading. On top of that, I implore you to reblog and send love to these authors; they're all so talented and reblogs are what keep fandom communities going 'round!! Dividers by @saradika-graphics!!

♡ – fluff. ♤ – angst. ♢ – smut.

𝐂𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝/𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥

♢ no use cryin' over spilled milk by @ghoulphile

♢ good rocking tonight by @eupheme

♢ he's a demon, he's a devil by @eupheme

♢ sticky fingers by @ghoulphile

♤♢ the cost of flesh by @ghoulbrain

𝐃𝐢𝐧 𝐃𝐣𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧

♡ salted wound by @mrsmando

♡ i'd look for you by @undercoverpena

𝐄𝐳𝐫𝐚 (𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭)

♡ in bloom by @maggiemayhemnj

𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞 "𝐂𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡" 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬

♡ you're a saint by @quicax3

♢ love bites by @bluestar22x

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 "𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲" 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐬

♢ in our ivory tower by @freelancearsonist

𝐉𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐚

♡ my place or yours by @wildemaven

♢ asking, not demanding by @pascalispretty

𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

♡♤ safe and sound by @joelsgreys

♢ old holiday, new traditions by @pascalispretty

♡ warm bread and honey by @trulybetty

♡♢ handsy by @ovaryacted

𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 + 𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐬

♡♤♢ theirs, and yours by @eupheme

♡♤ mine by @secretelephanttattoo

𝐎𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐧 𝐌𝐚��𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥

♢ delicate by @janaispunk

♡♢ strawberry sugar by @janaispunk

𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

♢ sugar for the trail by @ay0nha

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

♡♢ pleaser (Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader)

#˚ʚ meda’s fic recs ɞ˚#˚ʚ monthly roundup ɞ˚

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always-andromeda · 6 months ago

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This has lived in my drafts since early December because I just keep coming back to it and falling in love with it all over again for some new reason. There's the intimacy between Joel and the reader. The little bits of worldbuilding. Joel's overprotectiveness.

I reread this like it's a goddamn bedtime story some nights. I don't think I'll ever get over it partly because it feels so close to something I'd envision in my own head before bed to help myself fall asleep lol. On top of that, it's just such a love letter to Joel's sense of fatherhood and, in a way, his grief.

This is just one of those perfect comfort reads for me and I'm finally able to put it into words lmao. 💛

safe and sound

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: Your daughter has a nightmare—her daddy makes it all better.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. set in Jackson. slight canon age deviations (Joel is 56, Ellie is 17) READER’S AGE IS NOT SPECIFIED. she’s a child bearing adult woman so do with that information what you will. established relationship, reader and Joel have a toddler (her age is not specified in fic but she’s 3 ish years old), reader has NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION and neither does their child except she has Joel’s eyes and his dark curls, no mentions of her skintone. Joel and Ellie are fine bc he deserves it, Joel’s an overprotective girl dad, reader is the chill parent. implications of a toddler being told about clickers, bad dreams, almost smut, Joel and reader get cockblocked, SOFT Joel who comforts his babygirl, mention of Sarah towards the end. very minimal editing.

word count: 2.3k

a/n: listen, i love me some daddy joel but tonight i needed a bit of actual daddy joel. this was whipped up last minute bc i haven’t had the best weekend and needed some comfort. also i didn’t have the mental capacity or energy to come up with a moodboard, so gif it is.

Joel looks down at the old, worn book in his hand.

Winnie the Pooh.

He never would have imagined it. This.

Reading a bedtime story to a toddler. His toddler.

He’s in his fifties—he shouldn’t have a toddler.

He shouldn’t have a teenager, either.

Yet, he has both.

The toddler has his blood, the teenager doesn’t.

But that doesn’t matter to him.

Joel still considers her to be his own kid.

Only, she’s not a kid anymore, not really.

She’s seventeen now. She doesn’t need him much anymore, not the way that his toddler needs him.

“Ellie’s not coming home tonight,” you’d said from where you stood at the stove, stirring in chunks of potato and chopped carrots into the pot of stew in front of you. “There’s a birthday party down at the bar. She’s going with Dina and Jesse.” You can feel the look of disapproval on his face and add, “I said she could go, Joel. She asked me permission.”

“She didn’t ask me,” he’d gruffed. He looked down at the little girl sitting in his lap, scribbling away on an old state map. He had given it to her along with the pack of crayons he’d found during patrol when his group stumbled across a schoolhouse. Though crumbling on the outside, the inside had remained untouched throughout the last two decades—little coats hanging over the back of little chairs, papers scattered all over little desks, little lunch boxes still stored in their cubbies at the back of the room. He instructed the group to search for anything useful, anything that Jackson’s teachers could use for the children in their classrooms. Joel knew that taking without trading was against the rules, but that did nothing to stop him from secretly slipping the box of crayons into his jacket pocket when no one had been looking.

His daughter’s squeals of delight when he’d gifted them to her had been well worth the theft.

“Because she knew you’d say no to her.”

“I would have. Kid’s got no business going to a bar at her age. She’s fuckin’ seventeen years ol—”

The little girl had gasped and stopped coloring.

“Daddy said a bad word.”

You’d turned around and glared at him. “He did.”

She looked up at him with her wide, brown eyes.

Those she’d gotten from him. His dark curls too.

Everything else?

Her smile, her nose, her softness?

That was all you.

“M’sorry, babygirl,” he apologized, sheepishly.

“S’okay, daddy.”

And back to coloring she went.

“Joel, let’s face it. Ellie’s growing up. She’s turning eighteen in a few months and truth is, she has one foot out the door.” Crossing your arms, you leaned back against the counter. “She was telling me how she wants to turn the garage into her own space.”

“There a reason she ain’t talkin’ to me ‘bout this?”

You’d smiled wistfully at him.

“Because she knows this is hard for you, Joel.”

It is hard. Because even though she isn’t his, she’s his and he’s afraid to lose her somehow.

Joel manages to snap himself out of his thoughts.

Rosemary’s now fast asleep, her well loved stuffed bunny rabbit wrapped in her arms. She’s a handful for him during bedtime—she has too much energy and most nights, you have to step in and help him. But tonight, after her bath, he had warmed a glass of milk for her to drink and it seemed to have done the trick because within minutes of him reading to her, her eyes fluttered closed.

Joel sets the book down and leans over to brush a kiss onto her cheek, quietly whispering goodnight. “Sweet dreams, babygirl.”

He switches off the lamp on the bedside table and steps out of his child’s bedroom, being careful not to wake her as he closes the door behind him.

“I still can’t believe she fell asleep within minutes,” you say, staring at him in utter disbelief. “How?”

“Gave her a glass of warm milk before I tucked her into bed,” Joel explains, tugging on a pair of faded black sweatpants. He peels off his shirt and tosses it onto the floor before climbing into bed. “Worked like a fuckin’ charm. She’s out like a damn light.”

You set your book down and raise an eyebrow.

“Joel, I brushed her teeth before her bath.”

“I brushed them again after she drank it, darlin’.”

He outstretches his arm, beckoning for you.

Grinning, you scoot closer to him, draping an arm over his bare chest. “It’s only nine,” you tell him. “I have no idea what we’re going to do with all of this free time we have. Rosemary’s asleep, Ellie’s gone for the night.” You slowly drag your hand down his chest and over his stomach, a finger skimming the waistband of his sweatpants. You hear the way his breath catches in his throat and tease, “I guess we can actually get some good sleep for once, huh?”

Groaning, Joel rolls over and pins you down to the bed as he positions himself on top of you, his eyes glazed over with lust. “We can sleep,” he murmurs as his mouth hovers over yours. He reaches for the buttons of his flannel you’re wearing and begins to single-handedly pop them open only to find you’re not wearing anything underneath. He groans once more. “Or I can make you feel good. S’your choice, baby.”

You gasp as he nips at your chin and starts trailing his lips lower, peppering kisses down the length of your body. Heat blossoms in your lower belly as he settles himself between your thighs. Hooking both arms around them, he nibbles at the soft spot that is right below your navel, the spot you hate, but he adores. Having a child had changed your body and while you two seldom had time to yourselves to do anything of this nature, when you did find time, he never failed to make you feel like you were still just as beautiful to him, if not a thousand times more.

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Please, Joel.”

“Please what, sweetheart? What do you want?”

His voice is low, husky.

Your hands reach down and tangle in his curls.

“Your mouth, Joel. Please. I need your—”

The sound of a teeny knock at the door makes you both freeze on the spot.

“You heard that, right?” you ask him breathlessly.

There’s a second teeny knock.

It’s then followed by an even teenier voice.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, scrambling off the bed. “What the hell is she doin’ out of bed?” Picking his t-shirt up from the floor, he quickly throws it on, ignoring that he’d put it on inside out. Watching you as you fumble to button his flannel, he calls, “Just give us one second babygirl, alright? We’ll be right there.”

“I’m decent,” you tell him, getting the last button.

Nodding, Joel opens the bedroom door. His knees protest when he squats down, lowering himself so that he can meet Rosemary’s tearful gaze.

“S’matter, Rosie Posie?” he asks her in a soft voice that he reserves for his girls. “What happened?”

She sniffles. “I—I had a bad dream, daddy.”

You sit on the side of bed and wait patiently.

Joel has it handled. He always has it handled.

He never stopped knowing how to be a father.

“You had a bad dream?” he repeats, frowning.

Rosemary nods, clutching her rabbit to her chest.

A single tear slips down the side of her little face.

Joel reaches out, gingerly wiping it with his finger.

“M’sorry it scared you, babygirl. Tell you what, just for tonight, how about you sleep with me and your mama in our bed? That sound good?” With a small labored grunt, he scoops her into his arms. She is getting heavier and you often tell him it’s not good for his back—he can’t care less. He’ll keep picking her up until the moment his little girl decides she’s a big girl and doesn’t want him to pick her up. Joel carries her over to the bed and sits her on your lap and reminds her, “But this is just for tonight, Rosie Posie. Tomorrow night you’re back in your own big girl bed, alright?”

“Okay,” she nods again and leans against you, tiny shoulders slumping.

“Rosie? What was your dream about?” you ask her gently, wrapping your arms around her. She hardly ever has nightmares—she’s too young to know the world outside the commune’s walls, smart but still too little to understand why she cannot go outside the gates. “What did you dream about, honey?”

She hesitates, then answers, “Monsters.”

“Monsters?” Perplexed, you glance at Joel.

He seems to be just as confused as you are.

“Who did you hear that word from, babygirl?”

“Robbie.”

Your neighbor’s unruly, troublemaker son.

Joel’s jaw clenches slightly. “Thought I told you he ain’t allowed to be around her. The kid is nine, ain’t got no business bein’ around Rosemary. Little brat ain’t nothin’ but a bad influence. He’s always up to no good.” He shakes his head at you. “Said I didn’t want that boy anywhere near our daughter.”

“The kids were out playing in the snow today,” you remember. “He must have been there too. It’s kind of hard to tell who is who when they’re all bundled up and flinging snowballs at each other, Joel.” You shoot him an apologetic look. “Rosie was having a blast playing with everybody—I’m sorry. I suppose I should’ve paid more attention to who was around her.”

He bites back a sigh. He knows it’s not your fault.

Rosie’s too good of a girl, too pure and innocent to know that not everybody is her friend.

“Rosie, what did Robbie say to you?”

Again, the child hesitates.

“He said—he said monsters live outside. They bite people and turn them into monsters too. He said it happened to his daddy.” Rosemary’s eyes flit from you to Joel. “He said it would happen to you, too.”

Your eyes widen in shock. “He said that to you?”

Hands curling into fists, Joel reminds himself now isn’t the time to let his anger take over. “S’not true at all, babygirl.” He reaches over and slides her out of your lap and onto his. Like you, he wants to lie—tell her those monsters she was told about are not real, that they don’t exist. But they do exist and as much as he wishes he could keep her from finding out about all that lies beyond Jackson’s walls, Joel knows that one day, she will. “Listen to me. M’real sorry to hear ‘bout Robbie’s daddy, baby. But I can promise you, that ain’t gonna happen to me.”

She points a chubby finger at you.

“What about mommy?”

“Ain’t gonna happen to her either.”

Rosemary drops her hand, fear clear in her tone as she asks the both of you, “What about me?”

“Of course not,” you say, smoothing back her dark curls. “You’re safe here, honey. As safe as can be.”

Joel nods. “Your mama’s right, darlin’. You’re safe,” he reassured her. “You’re safe and sound.”

“I am?”

He gives her body a warm, gentle squeeze. “Mhm. Always will be. Y’know how I know that, babygirl?”

“How?”

“‘Cause. As long as daddy’s around, he will always protect you,” he promises her. “He’ll never, ever let anythin’ bad happen to you, Rosie. I swear it.” Joel kisses the top of her head, his gaze meeting yours. He murmurs his oath quietly, “On my life.”

Flashing him a small, grateful smile, you reach out and touch his forearm and he places his hand over your own.

“And mommy too?” Rosemary questions him.

“And mommy too.”

“And Ellie?”

“And Ellie,” he nods, firmly. “M’always gonna keep my girls safe. S’long as I’m around, you’re all safe.”

Rosie tiredly snuggles into his chest, yawning.

“What about you, daddy?”

“Huh?”

You squeeze his arm. “Think she’s asking you who is supposed to keep you safe, Joel.”

The little girl nods sleepily. “Yeah. Who?”

“Well.” Joel’s throat bobs nervously. He knows the moment he says what he’s about to say, there’s no going back. Not that he never planned to tell Rosie about her sister, but he’d always imagined doing it when she was older and understood death. “I—uh, I have an angel in the clouds who looks out for me. She watches over me, keeps me safe and sound.”

Rosemary’s curiosity is all that is keeping her from completely passing out in his arms.

“Really? You have an angel?”

Your heart squeezes tightly in your chest. “Joel—”

He lightly shakes his head.

“S’fine sweetheart. I don’t mind tellin’ her.”

Rosie’s fighting to stay awake just a little longer.

“Daddy? What’s your angel’s name?”

Joel answers in the steadiest voice he can muster.

“Her name was—her name is Sarah.”

“Sarah,” she mumbles, her eyes closing. “S’pretty. Your angel has a really pretty name.”

“The prettiest name,” you agree, softly.

Rosie yawns again. “Daddy?”

“What is it, babygirl?”

“Will you tell me stories about Sarah? Please?”

Joel chuckles, rubbing her back. “I sure will. I have plenty of them to tell, Rosie Posie. But not tonight. I’ll save them for tomorrow ni—”

You cut him off. “Joel?”

“Yeah?”

“She’s out cold.”

He glances down and sure enough, she’s asleep.

Moments later, the three of you are in bed. Rosie’s in the middle, curled up against Joel’s chest—your chest is pressed against her back but you’re being careful not to sandwich her in too tight in between your bodies.

In a beam of silvery moonlight shining through the bedroom window, you meet Joel’s gaze.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He chuckles. “For what? Doin’ my job and soothin’ our daughter after a bad dream?”

You smile at him.

“For being so good to her. To me and Ellie.” Lifting a hand, you reach over and cup the side of his face in your palm. “You’re so good to all three of us and I can’t even imagine what we’d do without you.”

Joel turns his face, brushing a kiss into your hand.

“I mean it,” he says, quietly. “S’long as I’m around, you girls will always be safe and sound.”

credit divider @saradika-graphics

#˚ʚ meda’s fic recs ɞ˚#˚ʚ sfw ɞ˚

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always-andromeda · 8 months ago

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Good god, I'm gonna sob. Smile line supremacy forever and ever. It's what he deserves. 😭

When you tell Astarion that your favorite feature of his are his wrinkles---the smile lines in particular---he nearly faints on the spot, jaw-dropping in utter disbelief as he stares at you in horror.

"I do not have wrinkles."

"You also can't see yourself."

"I know enough to know I'm a vampire! An immortal being! Aging, is below me, and I'll remain forever youthful while everyone else develops those wretched creases."

Despite his words, his finger reaches to rub at his skin inquisitively, as if he's feeling for any imperfections. It's cute, you think. He doesn't seem to agree.

Snorting, you roll your eyes playfully. "You asked me what physical aspect I liked about you most. You have your answer."

"Yes, something beautiful."

"It is beautiful."

"Darling," he says, squinting. "Nobody thinks of wrinkles when asked what they seek in a partner. Haven't you seen Jaheira put all those herbs on her face while our younger companions sleep blissfully beside her? The price of time, they call it."

"You're not young either."

He gasps, feigning offense. "I am--physically, that is."

You sigh, shrugging as you reach for your brush on the bedside drawer, ignoring his helpless tugs to bring you back to bed. "Fine then. I like your eyes."

"Well now it doesn't feel as sincere."

You deadpan, whipping your head around to shoot him a tired glare, but he's already broken out into a grin. Wordlessly, he sits up, plucking the brush out of your hands and shifting so you're situated practically on his lap. Slowly, he begins to brush the knots out of your bedridden hair, and you stare out the window, basking in his presence. His hands feel soft as they brush against your shoulder.

It's nice to indulge in moments like this from time to time.

The peaceful silence is broken as he sets down the brush.

"What about it do you find so alluring?" he asks, pooling your hair into one of his palms. He reaches for the string loosely hanging around his wrist with the other. "Other than the fact that I wear it flawlessly."

"They're easier to see when you're smiling," you mumble. "Your smile's always been a charm of yours, as fake as it was when we first met."

He pauses momentarily, only resuming to tie your hair a split second later. "And now?"

"It's a real smile," you reply. "So I like it."

He blinks.

Then, Astarion pushes your hair to one shoulder, leaning to rest his chin on the crook of your shoulder. "...I didn't realize there was such a sentiment in your answer."

"Will you stop complaining about looking old now?"

"I can't guarantee that, even if all the gods above were to will it," he grins, and it earns a stifled laugh on your part. "But...I suppose I don't despise the answer as much..."

You turn your head a tad, luring his face closer to yours with a finger on his chin. "I wouldn't be so sure. I'm very convincing, I hear."

"Are you now?"

You nod, holding either side of his face in your palms now. "If I must convince you of the beauty I see in you, then I will."

He kisses the inside of your hand. "I'm sure you will, darling."

#˚ʚ meda’s fic recs ɞ˚#˚ʚ sfw ɞ˚

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always-andromeda · 6 months ago

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God, I just adore how from the absolute beginning this piece immediately grounds us in the reader’s perspective. The atmospheric descriptions in this is probably some of the most vivid I’ve ever read. And the way they intertwines with the relationship between the reader and Din is just gorgeous. I am a sucker for flowery (pun unintended lmao) writing and this absolutely takes the cake. 🥰

aND DON’T GET ME STARTED ABOUT “MY HAIR IS BROWN TOO.” UGH I AM GOING TO LOSE IT. 😭

i’d look for you

din djarin x f!reader | masterlist

summary: din offers you something else in a field of wildflowers

warnings: 18+, allusion to smut ONLY. soft!din. idiots who have feelings but don't know what to do with them. jo's writing din so it gets weirdly poetic again. wordcount: 2k notes: pairing is the same as other din fics by me. but don’t need to read to enjoy. written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna Challenge - this fic has made me smile so much, I hope it does the same for you.

“Can you do something for me?”

The question hangs, burns, in the air of his bed. Your eyes blinking awake, having been roused from slumber by his gloved hand on your cheek.

You’re aware he’s waiting, biting the inside of your cheek, as you nod.

Swallowing the longer answer which burns on your tongue, finding it now tastes of acid and wrongness, having been trapped inside for so long, having let it overstay its welcome.

You suspect he knows it all anyway. Likely as easily able to read you, as you are him. Able to hear the words you don’t say, just from the way you stare at him, like a written passage all on its own.

He helps you up, but doesn’t hurry you. You almost smirk at the purposeful, cautious touches on your side, trailing his gloved hand along the curve of your back as he leads you to the refresher, awakening thoughts more sinful than you suspect is his intention.

It’s then he tells you the time, but shares nothing else about why the ship is quiet.

“What about—”

“He’s asleep.”

Your mouth clamps shut, taking the clothes he hands you as you bury the rest of the questions. Each piece you slide on, you don’t shy away as he stands waiting. Letting him stare, letting him take in the sight of you in more light than he can when your bodies usually writhe.

Are you admiring me, Din? you want to ask. Do you feel the invisible string between us too?

Sometimes, you dislike that he told you the shade of his eyes, because you look for them. Peer through the visor with more hope than you’d allowed yourself to have before.

“Can you turn around?”

It should sound like a command, but his tone is softer, more brittle. Something unspoken within it, tightening around each letter, bending and forging with it—likely things he’ll never admit.

Still, you obey. Closing your eyes as you feel him behind you, his presence crowding and looming—recollecting when he’d been barer than he is now, draped over you.

If you will it enough, you swear you can feel his breath fluttering over your shoulder—remembering how he makes you feel full and sated, content and happy. The last time, you’d been in a haze, fucked out, blissfully aware of the naked fingers resting at the base of your neck as you came down and the way he had tilted your head back and swallowed your whine like he knew it belonged to him.

You do, you think, belong to him.

Not because he has taken, but because he has earned—he has proven. A thing which rises to the tip of your tongue and sears alongside the other words which linger and ferment.

“Trust me,” he says.

Not a question, but an ask. And you don’t mean to, but an unintentional gasp escapes at the feel of the soft, smooth fabric when it slides over your eyes. Light fades as though he clicks his fingers, blanketing you in night in the middle of the day as it tightens around your head—rendering you quiet, shyer, almost smaller, as your sense is removed, willingly given but taken all the same.

Then you stand, breath hitching, anticipation threading through your veins as you wait. For him to move, to speak, to do. Each second stretches into eternity, making a protest wish to appear. A change of mind, a declaration of wishing to do something else, than this.

But, you don’t speak it. Instead, dancing your fingers against the tops of your thighs, waiting, not patiently, but not rushing.

“Relax.”

You snort to smother the shiver that darts down your spine at his voice.

Unsure how one does such a thing when you hear the ramp going down, subtly listening to the sound of water running. You feel lost, adrift in a sea of darkness—of nothingness—with every fibre of your being yearning for a familiar anchor, teeth rolling over your bottom lip as you fight the urge to whisper his name into the void, a silent plea for reassurance amidst the engulfing uncertainty.

Din, you think.

Wondering if he can hear his name in your mind. If he’ll come to your calling, hold your hand; allow you to ask if this is necessary, if this—

“Breathe.”

And you do.

Chest filling, lungs flooding—his gloved fingers sliding between your bare ones, rooting you as he repeats it. Calmness spreads through you inch by inch, in the same way he makes pleasure surge through your muscles.

He gives you a minute, a moment. Likely waiting until your head turns in the direction you think he’s in, before he leads, offering stony orders to be careful—one that almost makes you grin until your steps take your soles to meet something softer than his ship.

The smell greets you first. It’s crisp and sweet—unlike anything you’ve encountered. Then the drizzle, how it forces your clothing to bind to your skin in a way that should feel suffocating, but instead feels freeing. Lips beginning to stretch, teeth showing as your cheeks ache with the intensity of your grin.

It’s then you feel him move behind you, the squelch of his boots signifying it. His chest meets your spine, the ghost of his touch along the side of his neck, before you feel the fabric over your eyes, loosen and light begins to seep in.

Then, it goes from nothing to everything. It being almost too much to take in all at once—the unveiled surprise, the thing he’d wanted you to see in its wonder and not in pieces as you descended.

And—

“It’s beautiful.”

It being the delicate blooms that stretch out before you. Each one a mysterious burst of colour against a backdrop of greenery. Vibrant splashes of colour, all wild and free, rising from the ground like the scenes from books you used to read. With each sway and ripple in the breeze, you spot more flowers. All of them stirred by the falling rain, watching each motion, all in awe; lost for words.

Distantly, you become aware that he’s moved to the side of you, but you’re unable to tear your eyes from the world. Not able to take your sight from the striking array of hues, every colour flower you think you could ever imagine swaying. Because there are iridescent blues and purples; there are some that glow with luminous gold and reds that look stained with blood. Shares you can’t even name, but are drawn to, reluctant to steal your gaze until you spot another.

Fingers reaching out, knee bending, you touch one, find it softer, more delicate than you ever thought. Tears springing to your eyes, chest swarmed with warmth as you admire the way the stems twist and spiral in graceful arcs, all beaded with the sparkling mist that continues to fall.

“What do you think?”

“It’s…”

Words fail you, a thing you’re not sure he could ever believe.

The only conscious thought is that you wish to live amongst them. No words exist that can describe how serene you feel; how as wild or as drenched as the petals you admire.

Because it’s then you really notice the rain, coming to sit amongst the living and the flowers. Ground soaked with it, it falling in torrents. Each droplet is a percussion against your skin, seeping through the layers and soaking you to the bone.

It's a different kind of loveliness. It’s all free, raw and unyielding, a mosaic of shades that aren't bowing or converting into a glistening canvas of liquid silver—even if the skies try to.

In truth, you thought you’d seen rain. But this is something different.

It is more akin to the sky having been ripped open, split in two, cracked, all but pouring its tears upon the land in a symphony of water and wind. Your fingers dig into the dirt, feeling his equally soaked thigh press against yours as he joins you, feeling him watching, studying, even if you can't see his eyes.

“My mom used to say that a flower sprouts when a person leaves us,” you say, soft, barely your normal volume. “I always wondered where they did—I guess I know now.”

Shifting, you peel your sight from the flowers to see his legs extended, his body so close to yours. So much so, it would be easy to lean into it. Into him. To press your drenched clothing against his equally drowned frame, seek warmth, and take what he will offer you in the brightness of the day.

“Din,” you continue, tuning in to the gruff noise he makes for you to continue, as you move your shoulder closer.

His head turns, the front of his helmet facing you.

Allowing you to see a bead slide gracefully down the silver, moving like a serene symphony—as others fall, and then another. All being left by the sky above, weaving paths you wish to trace with your fingers.

You shouldn’t, but you want to wipe each away with your touch, rest your palms against the places his cheeks should be and will your hands to remember the warmth you know they can be.

“Can you remember the last time you felt the rain on your bare skin?”

Silence. Rain slides against leaves before rolling down to the soil below. The sound increases and decreases in odd waves as the storm tries to square itself against the sun, against the blossoms which rise like an army unwilling to cower.

“No.”

His reply is rough, croaked out through the modulator—caked in openness you’re not sure he wishes to show.

And, it makes a memory resurface. Sharp and clear. The first time you’d felt him unmasked, the vulnerability etched into his features—frame tense, rigid. Nervousness flowed through him as easily as the blood that races. How you’d kissed him, felt his cracked lips gain confidence against yours as his muscles rippled under your palms.

In a different way than then, you reached out, offered comfort—providing something you’re not sure he easily is given.

“A person could get lost here,” you sigh, the words practically tumbling out.

A stillness follows, one only punctuated by the rain. That is, until he shifts, until you hear him exhale, before adding, “Not you.”

Dragging your eyes from the landscape, you watch as more droplets slide and skate down his helmet, against his armour. Desperate to cling. It’s nothing but mesmerising, making him appear like he’s made of the sky. Reflections of the flowers there, muted shades mirroring.

“No?”

He’s silent for a moment. Just one. “Wouldn’t let you. I’d find you.”

Smirking, you turn back to the view. “You’re good at that—practically a professional.”

He allows a beat, lets your shoulder settle against him—the heels of your boots digging into the ground of this place, hoping a little bit clings on and comes with you.

“I’d look for you.”

Breaking your gaze from the flowers and the falling rain, you rest them on his helmet. On him. On the space you think the brown eyes he’s told you about are currently watching you.

It’s slow to appear, taking its time to spread up into your cheek as the implication of his words ring out. Look, not find; search but not hunt.

“I wouldn’t run to begin with.”

You feel it, the shift, slight tilt of his head at your words.

And you swear you hear him breathe good, light almost airy—before gloved fingers find their way between yours again. Soaked, sodden. But neither moving as seconds become minutes.

“Cyar'ika?”

You hum, preening, almost blooming under the name he’s just begun using. Nestling further against him, watching the flowers sway and turn in the rain before his gloved hands come in front of you—a bunch of flowers held out to you, offered, given.

“My hair is brown too.”

You smile, taking the bunch, bringing them to your nose. “That’s nice to know.”

#˚ʚ meda’s fic recs ɞ˚#˚ʚ sfw ɞ˚

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