#acorn insisted on it

[silencescribbles]

🌩️

[in-the-glow-of-a-silmaril]

BEHOLD A SECOND TIME.

BOOM. Dior and Huan!! Now, does this make sense continuity-wise? No. But it's cute, so hush. Bask in this close up.

If you like my work, you can support me here! Thank you very much, every little bit is appreciated. :D

[arsonwizard]

day 2 of taking my meds: dozed off after taking it and woke up writing an essay in my head about The Point of Art, Life, and Modern Art

[w8lkers]

★ | carl grimes headcanons

“what’s wrong? you’re doing that face again..”

“that’s just my face?”

carl is not a very expressive person. that’s not to say people were unable to read him, he actually becomes easier to read the more time you spend with him. when he’s upset, he looks more spaced out and he avoids eye contact. when he’s angry, it’s an easy spot. if there’s one thing carl was good at, it was giving people the stink eye. he couldn’t help it sometimes. most of the time, you have to coax his emotions out of him - he’s a hard nut to crack. talking about feelings with carl tends to feel more like an interrogation.

“i got you this flower..”

“aww.. thank you, this is my favourite flower.”

“no it’s not. your favourite flowers are daisies.”

carl loves gifting you small things that he finds. one time he gave you an acorn he picked up whilst on a supply run. when you point out the heart carved into it, he gets embarrassed and insists that it was there before he found it. he lied.

he also remembers almost everything you say to him. he’ll forget your eye colour, but he will remember the time you told him a story about your second grade teacher who accidentally broke a chair. carl prefers listening over talking generally, which makes him a very good listener. that doesn’t mean he remembers everything.

“are you a photographer? because i picture us together.”

“um…wouldn’t you be the photographer then?”

bad pickup lines. he found one of those joke books one time and boy did he read it. he even uses some highlighters to pick out and sort through ones that would make you laugh, ones that he thinks would actually work and ones that he found funny. when he first started using them, he was a bit awkward about it. sometimes he’d mess up the lines, or his delivery would be slightly awkward. practice makes perfect though and he gains more confidence eventually.

“do you think we’ll ever have kids..?”

“i think we’re both too tired for that question, carl...”

carl thinks about having a family all the time. he has his fears about pregnancy and childbirth after what he went through with his mom, but he can’t help but daydream about it. when he’s sleepy, he’s a big rambler. it’s the one time of the day where carl is the one who is talking the most and you hold it dear to your heart. sometimes he talks about what he did that day, but sometimes he talks about what’s been on his mind lately and he’ll take advice, or comfort from you. bedtime is usually the only time he’ll open up with ease. something about being relaxed in bed just before going to sleep with you there next to him is a perfect mix. on the odd occasion, carl gets into a mood if he’s sleepy enough, where he just wants to bombard you with affection and compliments. he’s a sweetiepie.

“no one’s even looking, c’mon just a small kiss..”

“carl, daryl is right there! are you crazy?”

carl. pda. Yep. he doesn’t care who is around. he wants to be as close as he can get to you at all times. i don’t mean that he’s trying to make out with you in front of everyone in the world, but he’ll always have an arm around you, or hold your hand and his favourite, around your waist. he likes being near you, it makes him feel safe. he feels safe knowing that you’re safe and close to him. of course with pda comes the occasional tease from michonne and daryl. it always embarrasses him, but not enough to stop him.

“you know, i used to be judith’s favourite.”

“see what happens when you skip out on too many tea parties?”

carl loves LOVES spending time with you and judith. it’s no secret to anyone that carl loves his baby sister. seeing you play pretend with judith makes him feel happy, like everything he’s been through was worth it, because now he gets to see this.

“carl, samantha doesn’t have a boy voice!”

“i’m not doing a girl voice.”

“carl.. do the girl voice please :( ...”

getting carl to join you and judith while you play with dolls together is an almost impossible task. except it’s not, you know he secretly wants to play. it’s a joint effort between you and judith, but you manage to convince him to join in every time.

[bitchlessdino]

Good Dad, Better Daddy (m)

Pairing: Fem!reader x dilf!Mingyu

Genre: smut, angstish

word count: 8.4k

tags: plot rich, age gap, morally gray reader, medical student!reader, mentor!reader, best friend's dad!mingyu, kissing joshua and brief mentions of jeonghan, forced proximity, domestic au, mention of alcohol, spitting, oral (rec.), praise kink, pet names (good girl) pussy spitting, spanking, daddy kink, exhibitionism, face cumming, pearl necklaces, unprotected sex

Summary: you were hesitant when your friend said you should just stay at her house for the summer, especially knowing you can barely contain yourself with her hot dad around as well as the thought of not getting caught.

author note: so this one is real, as promised. its filthy. messy. and dramatic

@shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @honglynights @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @onlymingyus

You had a pretty normal taste in men. It wasn’t extraordinary, like he had to be super talented at one thing or had to come from loads of old money. What you envisioned for yourself was a nice man with a humble heart, great taste in food–if he could help it–be fit and find you just as attractive as you find him.

Kim Mingyu, your college friend’s biological father, could not be this man. He could never be this man. Not for the fact that he is unattractive–good heavenly gods and goddesses, how does a man like this exist–because he is just that, incredibly gorgeous and big and tall and hot.

The point is, you’re still looking, and this summer was the perfect time to do that. The problem was that Minhee–the trustworthy underclassmen/good friend/daughter of the infamously hot dad that somehow surfaced all over campus–invited, well insisted, that you stay with her for the remainder of summer break.

You had gotten close with her over the school year as a mentor, working her though pre-med to prepare her for actual medical school, yours specifically since it was best in the whole ding dang country. You just happen to mention your parents lived out of the way and you couldn’t visit them this year, so summer break had been a fleeting thought in your mind. Minhee, irrevocably delightful and considerate, wanted to show thanks for all the time you put into helping her and mention the spare room at her home half an hour away from campus.

The same home with the incredibly gorgeous father of hers that you had the pleasure of meeting once at a college picnic. It was a hot day, and he wore a sleeveless tank top that was transparent from the sweat of several rounds of volleyball, clinging on to him like a thin additional layer of skin. Attention was on him like a single acorn in a field of squirrels, gnawing at the sight of such a specimen with abs and pecs so taut and round you could mistake them for the brioche buns for the grilled burgers you were all having. And now, you are going to have the pleasure of living in close quarters with him. Only God knows how this would go.

“Good seeing you again, Y/n. Need help getting that upstairs?”

Mr. Kim, who urges you to call him Mingyu instead, is pointing out the duffle bag the size of a human being loaded on your back that you physically struggled to carry in. You remember your mom once pointing out how it looked ridiculous strapped to you like that. That was the point mother. It eliminated any potential advances.

You grin back at him with wide, platonically amicable smile, “Nope, all good,” then made your first steps over to the stairs and you can practically feel his presence lingering behind you as you walked up, probably waiting for you to fall so he could catch you in his stupidly large arms.

“Are you sure? I’m all for being a feminist, independence and what not, but I don’t know if I can let a bag that big potentially get you to trip fall down these stairs. Just had them remodeled.” God, his smile was dazzling, and those pretty canines could mark you like a badge you’d wear proudly.

“I’m good, Mr. Kim. Your glossy wood boards are safe under my feet, I promise.”

He scoffs, following you back up the stairs. “What did I tell you about calling me Mingyu, hmm? Plus you’re a guest. Since I’m the one that’s paid off this house, that means something.”

Please. He’s so witty, funny, and charming in addition to being so, so hot. This was going to be a long summer. 

You toss the bag on the bed in the room Mingyu had claimed would be your ‘home away from home,’ and you smile at him in gratitude for keeping the peace.

“While I appreciate it, it’s all good. Thank you, though.” You were painfully aware of your hair sticking out in the most unflattering angles, your cheeks warm and face sweaty from climbing up a flight of stairs, and your loud obnoxious pants that could compete with your old neighbor’s golden retriever that had breathing problems. Nope, not even giving him an opportunity to think about any potential of being in bed with him. The question was, were you trying to convince him or yourself?

“Well then, Minhee is with her mom for another hour, so you won’t see her until then. If you’re hungry I could always whip you something up in the meantime. Save you some lunch money.”

Before you could protest, the eruption of thunder in your stomach interrupts you, earning Mingyu your sheepish grin and you one of Mingyu’s know-it-all smiles. “I guess a sandwich or something couldn’t hurt.”

He beckons you with a head tilt. “Come on down, you can help me. We can make something for Minhee before she gets here, too.”

Let’s make things clear. When Kim “DILF” Mingyu asks you to follow him to hell, you follow him to hell. When he offers to make you food, you happily devour it. And when he asks you for help in the kitchen, you tell him “yes, chef,” like you’re his doting little follower. You convince yourself it’s because you grew up with manners in your household. Helping elders was the least you could do. Mingyu, being much older, just naturally fell into that category.

“So, Minhee has only good things to say about you. I can’t thank you enough for helping her.”

He shoves the fabric of his button up to his elbows and proceeds to grab things from top sleeves you wouldn’t otherwise reach, handing you a grater and block of cheese to conjure up some of his famous Kimchi pasta. You’re carefully holding the grater steady by the handle, taking the block from the tip and spreading. “Well, Minhee’s awesome, I can’t thank her enough for being amazing. Getting into medical school was insane for me and she’s just breezing through. You have a very intelligent daughter, Mr. Kim.”

“Mingyu.” He repeats, as if telling you once wasn’t enough.

You shake your head while scrunching your nose. “Doesn’t roll off the tongue for me, sorry.”

Pouting, he glances at you in a light-hearted glare. “Fine. Treat me like a stranger. Eat my food like I’m a personal chef. I'm just Minhee’s old man after all.”

You roll your eyes with a smile on your lips. “Fine. Mingyu. Happy?”

“Much.”

His tone is happy, playfully, yet effortlessly alluring. Especially as he strides your way, standing mere inches away from you to retrieve a bountiful cheese nestling inside the grater, which he scoops up into a bowl to put in his decadent red sauce simmering over the stove. He meets your eyes in a soft gaze, the one that makes you hear music in your head, politely asking, “more please,” and tossing bowel’s contents to the pan.

He wants more cheese, you’d grate more cheese. What you did not intend was a piece of your palm to get caught in the metal. You wince, causing you to drop the cheese grater and hold up your hand to examine the damage.

“What’s wrong?” He immediately comes back to your side and takes your hand in his large grasp, seeing the cut for the first time, fresh with red. “Be more careful, please.”

His eyes crinkle in concern, thumbing over the sensitive layer skin, and releasing a sigh from his lips. Your eyes flutter, startled at his quick return, feeling the tension of his forearms as it brushed against yours. He could’ve not looked more attractive than this very moment and now you were wondering how many accidents you can get yourself into before he starts suspecting they’re intentional.

“I’m okay. Just a bit of a scratch.”

The way his eyes flit back at you in disbelief, almost as if there’s anger in them, and that simple look makes something in your chest do somersaults. “Are you kidding me? You’re bleeding. I’m getting first aid.”

“Mingyu–”

“Sit down, Y/n.”

Why, yes, sir.

You take the seat on the bar stool, watching as Mingyu momentarily turns off the stove and grabs a little red box. He pulls it apart, setting most of the contents on the counter. He treats the cut delicately, quietly, gracefully. Making sure it’s properly clean from infection, he places a bandaid, trapping in the sensitivity.

“Thank you.” You squeak out.

He gives you a soft grin. “Not a problem. Didn’t expect to be babying two girls this weekend.”

Babying. That word lingered in your mind longer than it should have. It invades your brain, crawling into the inner workings of thoughts pushed aside and echoed in your head. It bothered you and you have the faintest idea why.

You snicker humorously. “I’m definitely not a baby.”

He shrugs, smoothing out the adhesive. “Of course not. Not many babies are accomplished enough to graduate cum laude to get into medical school with 4.0 GPA, while building a philanthropy for families that suffered from loss due to the worldwide pandemic.”

You shyly shield away hearing that. You hadn’t expressed that part of your life often with other people. Most of the time, you are found out, having people commend you when the topic is brought up. But you didn’t do it for attention, including Mingyu’s. “Minhee told you that?” You watch for his response, seeing his lips curl up in a foreign method.

“No, she didn’t.”

You shake your head, bemused. “How did you hear that then?”

“I did my own research on you. Making sure you weren’t some kid making Minhee out for a quick buck.”

“And?” You had a feeling there was more to it.

His posture has shifted, expression somewhat twisted, and eyes fixated on you. Like he is undressing you in his head as we speak.

“I wasn’t disappointed.”

A gust of wind expels from your lungs and despite the vagueness in both your words, it’s as if you were speaking your own language. He lets go of your hand, but visibly craves being closer. Cursing his better judgment, he doesn’t take the risk, and instead takes a step back instead. Your arm lunges forward, off your seat and towards Mingyu, and your hand wraps around his forearm. You trail over his expression, cautious and hesitation, and you let a digit impulsively run down his arms, now pebbling in goosebumps under your touch.

“Why do you look scared of me?” you ask, now grinning.

He looks as if he wants to brush off the comment, but his defense fails to let him. “Why would I be scared of you?”

“You tell me, Mr. Kim,” You raise a brow. “Or I’m sorry, Mingyu. Since that is what you like me calling you. Mingyu.”

He scoffs, feeling backed into a corner. The image was funny since he had the very build to do that same, but here he was. Trapped. Being interrogated. None other than a college student only a few years older than his daughter. “Can you blame a guy for wanting to make things less awkward?”

“What is there to be awkward about–I’m not awkward,” you lie through your teeth, pressing a palm to your chest, “Is there something you feel awkward about? Mingyu.”

His name burns on your tongue differently, stark in contrast to its original purpose of dropping formalities. Maybe it could drop pants instead.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Y/n.”

Looks like you’ve hit a nerve.

“I’m simply trying to get to know you better, considering that’s what it sounded like you wanted. Are you trying to get to know me, Mingyu? What things do you want to know?”

His bottom lip drops from the corner of his mouth, blinking back at your taunts in intrigue, and shifts the weight on his legs. He takes the moment to scan you from head to toe, deliberating your question, leaning closer against you until you find your back digging into the marble of the counter. His hands plant on either side of you. His warm breath fans your cheeks, spicy cologne  surrounding you at all angles, and he ponders at you from the dark wisps of hairs that fell at his eyes.

“Are you ready for that answer? Truly?”

You swallow a lump in your throat, already caught in those eyes that now trailed over your body shamelessly. He looks at you as if he held back this whole time and has finally let loose of the reins. His hands smoothed over the marble, meeting each other, locking fingers, and trapping you in his careful embrace.

Your hand falls to his first chest, feeling the pure stone beneath the thin layer of fabric on top of him. You let out a shallow breath, eyes roaming over the man you so desperately wished wasn’t constantly in your mind. God, did he feel utterly exquisite. 

Your hands trail up the nape of his neck, lifting yourself from your toes, and let your lips ghost over his. Your hot, anxious breath fans his face, and the pulse you feel under your palm heightens. “I think I have a right to know a lot of what you’re not telling me.”

‘Fuck me. Fuck me right now against this counter. I promise I’ll be good. Please lord, give it to me.’

Your wishes aren’t granted when you hear a car pull up and Mingyu immediately backs off, shaking his head like falling out of a trace.

‘No! No! Minhee. What the fuck? What the fuck? I was this close to fucking your dad and I was willing to do so much.’

You internally sob, hearing the beep of the vehicle go off, and a few seconds after a jangle of keys, the door swings open. “The prophetic child had arrived!”

You settle into the marble in defeat. Trying to muster up anything other than disappointment on your face as you watch Mingyu retreat from you and wrap his arms around his daughter. “Took you long enough, kid. Was thinking you forgot about me.”

“How could I even think about leaving the two of you alone in one place? You are embarrassing enough.”

His arm slings over her shoulders, planting an old fashioned noogie on the crown of her head. “Take that back. Say I’m the coolest.”

“Dad, what the heck? You’re so annoying!”

Minhee talks a lot of smack, but she smiles the brightest around her dad. Their smiles couldn’t be any more different, considering she got that from her mom, but you could see a lot of Mingyu in Minhee. Your stomach is now bubbling up in guilt, momentarily grim, before pushing yourself to meet her halfway. “Hi, Minhee.”

“Y/n!” She shoves Mingyu out of the way and grips you with so much force and warmth. “You really came! Gosh, this summer is gonna be so great.”

Minhee takes you aside, switches eyes back and forth from me and her father, chipper like an elf the day after Christmas. “My two favorite people in one summer. Don’t tell mom.”

“Why not,” he joins your embrace, fingers brushing against your bicep making your micro hairs stand stiff on your arm. “It could really bother her with this. I have every mind to.”

“Don’t you dare! Anyway, what's for lunch?”

Mingyu doesn’t pay the slightest attention to you during the meal after what almost transpired in the very place you prepared it. You fork over your food door in contempt, watching their animated conversation long enough to analyze their relationship. Minhee is as easy going as her dad, all smiles and radiance, and while Mingyu was well into his age, it doesn't appear so as he emits this natural youth that seems to combat age better than that of the most expensive, luxurious cream on the market. He aged incredibly. Even the smell of fermented cabbage couldn’t bring disdain to his presence.

“Hope dad’s been nice. He can be a lot.”

You’re pulled away from your thoughts and you smile back at the younger girl, not letting it reach near your eyes. “Oh, he’s been…inviting.”

Mingyu clears his throat at that, hands giving out in a slight tremble as he reaches over to retrieve his beverage.

“Probably overly inviting. He has a habit of that, but that is usually what scares the bad ones away. He’s always given my ex-boyfriends this illusion of comfort and hospitality, but then rips them apart when they say anything remotely critical about me.” She playfully shudders, “he can go psycho.”

“I am right here, darling daughter.”

“Good, because you needed to hear it.”

You chuckle in amusement, feeling honored you get to witness such a wholesome relationship. Their familial interactions eventually come to an end and dishes are gathered to get washed. You volunteer yourself to help, reasoning with the Kims that you were a grateful guest living here for free, and that this was the least you could do.

“Not with your cut.” Mingyu points out.

Minhee’s eyes shoot open at you. “You got a cut?”

“It’s fine,” you reassure, “I’ll wear gloves. Why don’t you get the movie ready that you’ve been wanting to watch?”

“I actually thought of taking us out, if that’s okay. We should spend the first night out, not at home. Silly.”

“Oh?”

You hadn’t thought about leaving the house much, only expecting a few dinners out when the night prompted, but it was a Thursday afternoon. What much was there to do on a hot summer weekday? What was even open?

“There's just this place I wanted to check out since getting back into town and I just know you would love it. Please?” 

You were actually really hoping to finish that moment again with Mingyu, calling in a bathroom break when you’re really having him rail you down the stairs with his hand clamped over your mouth. “Sure. Why not? We deserve it.”

Minhee claps with joy. “Great! I’m gonna get ready.”

The girl makes her excited steps up the stairs, the thumps of her feet distancing from earshot as you come up over the sink. You pull the gloves over your forearm as warm water runs down the rubber. “I guess I should hurry up and get ready too.”

You peer at Mingyu from the corner of your eyes. For the first time, an unreadable expression is on his face, and he’s taken over in silence. He thinks to walk over, hovering his footing, and gradually approaching you in a smooth stride. “You girls have fun.”

That was a strange response considering your moment together. You direct your body to him, “Um, Mingyu, are you acting strange becau–”

“We should let what happened not come between us. Just a fleeting moment. Natural with two adults. You understand.”

With that he walks away from you, only having his back into view as tracks his way back to his room, leaving you abandoned, horny, ashamed.

Fuck it. You will have a good time.

As soon as you and Minhee were both ready, you’d have a great time out, and you’d make sure of it. You leave the house together, punching the thought of Mingyu away and enjoy drinks at the new bar located a short drive from her place. The atmosphere is lively and well and the drinks, although pricey, were delicious nonetheless. 

The occasional image of Mingyu mere centimeters away from you would appear in your head and with that, you immediately swallow down your drink, drowning him until it’s a blur. It helps that Minhee liked talking, and you dind’t mind in the slightest. She was good company, one of the many reasons you like being around Minhee. It seems that you weren’t the only one to agree as you swarmed by company.

They introduced themselves as Jeonghan and Joshua, two gentlemen that planned on scoping out the location to see how it competes with theirs, evidently poaching new clientele. They urge both you and Minhee to visit their place another time, persuading you with a few free drinks and perks they were willing to give. You looked back at Minhee, seeing the same temptation in her eyes you felt in yourself, and you accepted, letting them know you’d be coming. 

The rest of the time is a blur–enjoying the presence of the music, eating, drinking, enjoying your first night out in a long time–and you feel a body against yours. You turn your head to see Joshua, finding the warmth of his strong, thick body lost in yours. You indulge, feeling the sweet release of liquor on your tongue and allowing him to roam your body with no protest.

You let a few moans slip, his hand automatically creeping over your waist. He grins angelically, but him on you feels like a constant devil on your shoulder. “You’ll make it, right? I’ll only come into work that night for you.”

You giggle like he said the funniest thing in the world, turning to face him and putting your hands over his shoulders, staring into his big eyes. “I promise.”

He holds you close that night, like Mingyu should’ve, but it does not breach the point of dancing. You appreciated that. When the night came to a close, you and Minhee got your UBER home. You wave away that kept you both company tonight and come back to Kim's residence a little lighter. Mingyu was nowhere in sight when you got home, so you drag Minhee up the stairs before that happens.

It takes a minute to wash her up, but eventually she gets into bed, and falls into a peaceful slumber. You were ready to have your turn. Peeling off your clothes, washing your face, and showering everything off was going to feel like a reset. You weren’t going to let the disappointment from today dictate the rest of your summer. Kim Mingyu was not why you came here. You were here to have the time of your life with your closest friend.

Walking out in the hallway to retrieve toiletries and extra clothes, there he stood. Shirtless–of course, he was–tan, taut, large. This man was a fucking mountain. He drags himself over to you in his gray sweats. “You’re both home late.”

“Night got away, sorry.” You weren’t sorry.

“As long as you’re both safe,” he grins kindly, “How's your hand?”

You bring it up in the air for him to see. “Perfectly fine. Didn't even feel it.”

Doubtful, he gets to grab it, ignoring your feeble protest. He turns it from front to back, stepping closer to you, shooting electricity throughout your body. The longer he lingers in your proximity, another one of his senses takes over. Nose stifling breaths, he’s leaning in, inhaling the scent on your body. You feel heat running up to your cheeks, flustered by his sudden urgency. “Do you always wear men’s cologne?”

Confusion displays on your face. You pick up the top hem of your blouse for a quick sniff and there it was, the scent he was referring to. Some concoction of sea breeze and sage lightly coated your clothes. Must’ve been Joshua. “Probably caught it from someone from the bar we went to.”

“You met someone?” He asks plainly.

You shrug, an unsure smile on your face. “I don’t know.”

There’s an unreadable look on his face you catch until it turns solemn, dropping your hand. “Get some rest.”

He trots off to his own room, his dark figure shrinking as he gets further away. You take a long sigh the moment he’s gone from sight, wallowing in that sinking sensation of knowing what had happened this afternoon. The position you place yourself in, the position he placed himself, was over.

After showering, you went to bed hoping the next day would be better. You shouldn’t have been sad. You had a decent night. Drank loads, danced all night long, mingled with people you don't feel guilty about. And tomorrow will be a new day.

Morning is spent with a Kim’s style breakfast, which means an abundance of anything they can make with leftover ingredients from the kitchen. Mingyu was bright and early along with Minhee, and she didn’t look like she lost one hour of sleep that night. She greets you as friendly as always and Mingyu follows.

You join the meal in silence, playing off as recovering from the night before–which wasn’t wrong–and eat your portion, feeling it fuel the unruly mood you were in. Damn, he was a good cook.

“You girls have anything fun to do today?”

Minhee answers with utter delight. “I’m taking Y/n to this other bar we were recommended last night.”

You nod in compliance with that.

“Well, if that’s all, why don’t we go grocery shopping? I’ve been setting all kinds of guest stuff at the house but forgot to stock up the fridge. You and Y/n can pick out whatever you need. I’ll pay.”

You look up, stopping him. “You don’t have to do that.”

He shares that kind of look he gives when he’s in front of his daughter, but a ghost of the lusty gaze was still fresh in your mind. “I’m not forcing myself to do anything. Just hoping to be a welcoming host. Think of it as a family outing. You get to be one of us.”

Minhee snorts at that. “Could you be anymore of a dad?”

“So what I’m hearing is you don’t want free snacks and sodas to have at the house?” He reiterates in hopes of tempting her.

“Well, I didn't say that.”

Mingyu laughs, turning back to you. “So?”

“Sure.” You respond with a forced smile.

Minhee made no concern about making a dent in Mingyu’s wallet and if he minded, he didn’t show it. You figured with the big house they have that this would be no different from a kid in a candy store seeing her spring everywhere and excited to show you local products only sold at this specific market. You would giggle at anything and all comments she’s made coming across something out of the ordinary and Mingyu would trail behind with his full cart like the dad he is.

“Oh my god, I think I just saw someone! You and dad, wait here. I’ll be right back.”

Minhee trots off by herself, leaving you and Mingyu alone again in your awkward silence. Having nothing to say, you didn’t, and you assumed he wouldn’t either.

“I don’t want things to be weird,” he starts, “it was a lapse of judgment on my part.”

“Mingyu, please,” you whisper, “she’s ten feet away from us.”

“And I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he leads the cart so he’s walking beside you, towering over you like the skyscraper he was, “Coming on to you wasn’t the plan. Minhee respects you, cares about you. And why wouldn’t she? You’re amazing.”

You shirt under his words, dismissing it when you throw a family size bag of ruffle chips in the car. “Been wanting these.”

“I’m just sorry. I’ve clearly bothered you, disrespected you, and I didn’t intend for any of that.”

“Why are you saying this now,” you ask in a hushed tone, causing him to stop the wheels, “what are you even doing?”

He sighs, dropping his head in embarrassment, unsure either, but it seems as if he wanted to clear the tense air. You appreciated it. Most men that have done way more than what he did would’ve flat out ignored you regardless of the situation. Ghosting became a globalized norm. Mingyu’s confrontation, although stress-inducing, was somewhat refreshing. Different from previous men you’ve had relations with, platonic or not.

“Minhee is the most important thing in my life and you are someone very special to her, more than you know.”

You nod in agreement, understanding his sentiment. “She’s special to me. My best friend even.”

Mingyu sighs in relief. “So, we’ll forget what we had happened?”

“Forget what happened?” You grin in the end.

He smiles back, looking up as Minhee reunites with you and you feel as if things are back to normal. Minhee is still your closest friend. Mingyu is just her hot dad. And that’s it. That was that. You were fine thinking that for the rest of the summer.

The rest of the day was all leisure right up until the evening. As the light outside dimmed,  You and Minhee were getting ready to go out again. The attire was slightly more done up than the previous night, boosting your confidence. You added a dark shadow paired with tighter clothes and Minhee couldn’t help but gush at your appearance. Loving this girl was too easy. You trade her the same excitement and bounced together in the anticipation of another exciting night. 

You followed her downstairs, ready to leave, and Mingyu the last thing you see before you make your way to the door. “Have fun! Be safe.”

Leaving with a new life on lease, that seems to change when catch a glimpse at his face shutting the door. The darkness in his eyes, how they scan from up and down your body in a swift lick, burned in your memory. And you once again feel that feeting excitement he graced you once with.

You made good on your promise to the guys from the other night, and they were one of the first few faces you see as you enter. You join them, getting the free drinks they swore to give and experience more of the night life. Compared to the previous bar, this had been much more lively, rowdy, touchy. You made sure to be careful, carrying both your and Minhee’s drinks with hands hovering over their open lips. Minhee gathers her less than sober self to go to the restroom, insisting there's no need for you to come and that’d she’d be fine.

“Are you sure?” you ask in concern, and she repeats herself, pointedly shifting her eyes to the man behind you in mischief as she makes her escape.

Joshua meets your side similarly to last night, grinning that gorgeous grin, looking back at you with those pretty brown eyes, and large hands traveling over your body in a practiced-movement. “I was happy to see you came.”

“Oh?” you smile back, hands over his neck.

The small distance between you both leaves so little to the imagination and feeds some of that intimacy you’ve craved since coming to this part of town. You don’t look at him to know he wants you. From the way he cradles your sides, coming down‌ your shape, to how his hips lightly dip back to yours sensually, generously. You press up to his body in need, believing you want it too, but when you test your limits, you’re faced with reality.

The moment your lips meet, you hope to feel something–anything–but in the back of your mind a voice taunts you. It laughs back at you. Pressing the big red X button like it was broadcasted talent show.

It was a nice kiss. Somewhat decent, with nothing inherently wrong with it. But it didn't leave you wanting more.

‘He could never be him.’

You part from him abruptly and‌ in a few words of apology he understood, stepping back with a small smile. How you wish it could’ve been him. It would’ve been so much easier if it were him.

You go off to find Minhee, searching for her up and down. Going to the restroom couldn’t have taken that long, then there she was, dancing on the small stage right by the DJ. Everyone cheered for her as she did her performance, as did you, but it all came to a close as she tumbled right off, hitting the ground and landing on her side.

“Minhee!”

No limps were broken, no twisted ankle, or broken ribs, but drunk off her rocker, and it's proven true as you hear her slurring her words. You lightly slap sides of her face to gain back her consciousness. Not even seeing her flinch, you knew she was long gone.

“You probably get her back home safe in bed,” Jeonghan says stepping in.

You conceded, apologizing another time this night for things that should’ve been in your control. Mingyu was going to hate you for this, but you needed her home safe.

You wave at the male duo and a few other friends you made from the cab and tend to Minhee as she loses to sleep. You amble on to carry her weight back to the house, shuffling through her keys to reach past the door. Making too much noise and taking too long to find the right key, it open from teh other side, meeting Mingyu who stares back at you with startled eyes.

“What happened to her?”

There’s a calm fury in his voice, and guilt festers in the pit of your stomach. “Help, please. I’m sorry.”

He comes to Minhee’s other side, grumbling to himself as he helps guide her upstairs. She drops on her bed in heavy plop, her snores following. You both tiptoe towards the door and shut it quietly, not wanting to disturb her.

“Now, I repeat, what the hell happened?”

He had every right to be angry. You did this, you could’ve prevented this.

He lets you a deep exhale, quietly shouting his daughter's name in anguish. “Minhee, what the fuck?”

“She drank too much,” you admit, “She left to go to the restroom. I should’ve gone with her.”

“You think? You both could’ve gotten severely hurt, or worse.”

“Mingyu, I'm so sorry.”

He takes a moment of silence. “It’s not entirely your fault. Minhee overexerts herself sometimes. forces her to let loose twice as hard to make up for it. I wonder if I taught her that.”

“No, of course not. I'm her best friend. I should’ve kept an eye on her.”

“You were there to have fun, not babysit. Look, Minhee may be that right now but it’s because I couldn’t support her properly, because of me she has developed these unhealthy habits.” he sighs. “Though, after the divorce, I wonder if I was ever a good father.”

You tug at him in disbelief. “You’re a great dad! Minhee loves you so much. She talks about you all the time. “

His gaze softens, pulling lightly at his t-shirt, “She does?”

“Yes, like how you cook for her on sick days so that she recovers twice as fast. Or when she was little, she made a scrapbook out of the little lunch notes you made her. Or when you confronted her boyfriend at that picnic, getting in his face and yelling at him. Yeah, she was embarrassed, but she was more relieved that it got out there at all. You are the person she loves the most. You’re so amazing and sweet and kind…Mingyu, I don’t want to forget about yesterday.”

His eyes harden at your shift of tone. “Y/n, you promised–”

“Yeah, well, that was before yesterday when I didn’t think I had a chance with someone like you.”

You draw yourself closer to him, closing the gap, feeling him fall weak for a moment, reciprocating. His lips were plush and sweet as you hoped, stark in contrast to his firm torso you felt through his shirt. He pulls away, holding you at a distance.

“Y/n, we can’t—“

“I kissed someone tonight.”

He immediately tenses up, his hand overlapping around your wrist, speaking in a lethally soft voice. “What?”

“We danced, got super close, and we kissed.”

The moment you mention it, Mingyu immediately smells it. The dreaded cologne. He takes it in once again and grits his teeth in anger. Jealously quickly become a evil on his shoulder. “Same bastard?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, “but I wanted him to be you. I can't stop thinking ab—“

His lips fits over yours, his hand pressing into the arch of your back. He kisses you with so much carnal rage you can taste blood on your tongue and he launches you from the ground and around his waist. You dig your fingers into his scalp, kissing him deep, whimpers leaving your lips like a needy puppy.

“Not here,” he quickly states, before carrying you off to a room at the end of the hall. Fuck, was this a large house.

Once the door locks behind him, not bothering to turn on the lights in the almost pitch black of night, he takes your lips to feel his unadulterated power as he pins you to a wall. “Mingyu—“

“I’m not speaking to you, so you can forget about hearing a response.”

With much struggle, he pulls your panties out, or should you say tears it off of you as it drops tattered to the ground. That was fine. You can buy a million pieces of underwear, but there was only one Kim Mingyu. His pants fall abandoned on the ground, revealing his cock gloriously rock hard below you, looking even aesthetically beautiful with the moonlight peeking out from the window.

“You can speak now. Do you want me to fuck you, Y/n?” he asks menacingly, almost daring you to answer.

“Yes, Mingyu, please fuck me.”

He leverages you on the wall, fishing a condom out of a nearby drawer. Rolling it on, he lines it against your slit before he makes himself known. Your eyes roll back at the stretch, fingers digging into his shoulder as he bounces you on his cock. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan.

“You’re so wet, s-shit.”

Mingyu throws back his head, immersed in the warmth radiating off your walls and he lets your moans take him to another world. In a haste decision, he slips your dress over your head before tossing it. He mouths at your tits, plump and stiff between his lips, and he hurdles a deeper round of thrusts inside you. 

When you get a little too loud, his hand comes over to clamp your mouth, wolf like eyes staring back at you, “Shut it. You don’t deserve to speak.”

His thin white tee that stays a barrier between you and him does not hide the rippling body underneath that seemed to be sculpted by gods. He presses into you, grunting, using you like his personal sex doll and you embrace it, thrived from it, came to it. Your hips contract, slewing in perfect circles, before having your legs fall gradually lifeless as you arousal drip down your thighs.

He pays your climax no mind, pushing you off the wall and pushing you into the sheets face down. You could muffle your screams of pleasure easier here. Turning your head back to face him, you notice now he’s shirtless–taut and shiny from sweat like a large set of Hawaiian rolls–before seeing how quick he is to fit back inside you.

“You can look, but remember. Stay quiet. Got it?”

You nod back, obeying, biting into the duvet.

“Good girl.” His husky voice resonates and pushes you back into the sheets.

His grunts and sounds of skins slapping are all you hear as he pounds you back into the bed. It feels like heaven beneath his weight. You were feeling flushed to the touch, but making contact with his skin was like an inferno. He was the embodiment of heat and as suffocating as that could've been, it melts you like it’s how it always should’ve been.

His pace eventually falters, followed by a hushed “fuck,” and he empties out into the rubber. The moment he pulls out, it’s over. It’s truly over. You knew it’d happen that way but the pain didn’t feel any less real.

“Wash up and get to bed before Minhee sees.”

The door shuts and once again, you’re all alone.

In that shower, you sob, washing away the remaining grime, filth, guilt. And after everything that’s happened, you still hoped he’d fuck you like that again.

The next few days goes by and you don’t get that opportunity again. Instead, Minhee took up most of your days. You’d go to the market, watch movies, meet her friends and make them your own, grabbing take out and dinner reservations until you’ve scoured every part of town. And Mingyu, well, he’s staying on the sidelines, observing, never mentioning the your night of intimacy.

You hide it through smiles, good food, good company, but you dying on the inside, thinking to yourself how things got this way.

You missed his body, his warmth, his cock fucking you recklessly, not caring if he breaks you. The guilt you had once for betraying Minhee deteriorated over time, replaced with Mingyu, and just Mingyu.

That’s then you made an opportunity. You just need Minhee out. Calling up the friends you made in the area, you arranged a time and place she'd be for an extended time without you. Your reason for staying in: medical program information. You expected her to understand, and once you told her, you were proven right.

She left as soon as your mutual friend had arrived, waving you off as she entered the car. An unsuspecting smile on her face before she closes the car door. What she won’t know won’t hurt her.

Now was the moment to put it to action. You’d have it that Mingyu couldn’t run, couldn’t avoid you, couldn’t ignore you. And you only had a few minutes until he got back from his run.

Hastily, you slip out of your modest clothes before getting into a skimpy one, deliberately showing off your assets. You take your place on the couch to wait, using channel surfing as a way to pass time.

Hearing the sound footsteps coming up the front door made your heart race, immediately going to position yourself at the entrance. When Mingyu opens to see you on the other side, he could hear his heart drop at your ensemble. His eyes fell immediately at every tiny piece of clothing barely covering you body, feeling his member harder quickly. He quickly shuts the door before anyone else can see what he’s forced to and glares at you. “What is this?”

“Welcome home, Mr. Kim.” you answer cheekily. 

“Ming—where’s Minhee?” He shoulders past you, getting to the kitchen to get a drink.

“Out,” you answer, bouncing behind him shamelessly, “I told her I had something to do while she’s gone so I could stay behind.”

“Do what,” he grits, slamming the plastic bottle on the counter, “lie to her, do something that might hurt her behind her back?”

It stings, it really did, but you lacked more morals than you realized.

“It was the only way I could get you alone.” you step in front of him, twiddling your fingers.

“What is it you want, Y/n? Haven’t you done enough to me?”

You blink at him knowingly, thinking how dare he could play a victim. “You know better than anyone that it was a two-person job. We both wanted it.”

He rolls his eyes, annoyed, “Well, it was a mistake, and I should’ve quit while I was ahead.”

“I want more, Mingyu.”

He squeezed his eyes tight, slamming the empty bottle to the floor before responding, “Why are you being like this? What is wrong with you?”

He’s angry and rightfully so, but you wanted him, so badly you’d fight for it. No one–not even Minhee–at this point could stop you.

You latch on to him, not missing his lips. You pull yourself against his sweaty, musky form until you can feel the outline of his body on yours. He forces himself to pull away with a rough tug. There’s a moment of bizarreness on his face before giving in and reconnecting your lips, furiously kissing you as he places you on the kitchen counter. His tongue is quick to find yours and pulling your top over your breasts to play with them, squeezing them harshly in his hand before tweaking your stiff peaks between his fingers.

“Mmh, daddy…please, please fuck me.”

Mingyu pauses, returning twice as rough, pressing into the sopping core that seeps out your shorts, eliciting a whine from your end. The waistband of his sweats grinds into you like he’s a machine: starved, automated, merciless. 

“You want me to fuck that bad? Hmm?” He tucks your legs around him, digging in you deeper, slapping the skin of your thigh that reached your ass. “You’re gonna be a good‌ for me to use? Let me fill you up with my cock?”

“Yes, I want your cock fucking me, please,” you plead in a high-pitched voice.

“Fine. This time and never again.” he lifts you off the counter and takes you to his room. Dumping you in bed, he pulls his muscle tank off and rips off your shorts from your body.

Right then and there, he claims the heat between your legs after spitting right into the center. He devours you, jaw gripping from the underside of your folds as his tongue runs rampant in your core. His face is damp in the matter of seconds, but your nectar is all he can think about as he fists his erection through his sweatpants.

“Daddy, your mouth is so good…you’re eating me so good.”

A hand comes on the skin of your thigh again, coming as both a warning and encouragement. He gets lost in you, inhaling you, falling weak at you. He swore he never would again. He’s already done enough thinking about you from that one picnic. The way your hair bounces in the light or how your clothes hug your body as a gust of wind blows past you. You radiated such light in stark contrast to the weak, needy beauty before him. It was on so many levels wrong, but he pointed it to all factors of being sex deprived. Of course, it was normal to find a younger attractive woman sexy. She was an adult, but wasted on him finding out how closely you work with his kid, the kids he loves so much and would kill for. 

But you. God, damn it, you. He wanted you just for a second and he took it, only for you to come back wanting more. A mirror image of himself. Unlike his initial findings, he has more in common with you than he thought.

“I’m close daddy!”

His tongue runs faster, harder, feeling the taste of your core go from one taste to another, feeling the cum coat his mouth like liquid gold. With a last jerk to your legs, he moves over to tower at you, prying your mouth open and dropping your fluid in your mouth, seeing it seep out of the corner of your lips before kissing you. He drags the taste around, gripping you by the chin, grunting in your mouth.

He kicks off his sweats, pulling you up by the arm, and allows you to straddle his lap. His cock prods at your stomach, flicking back at the soft section of your stomach. You run your fingers through hair, hovering on top of him, mere atoms away from putting him in you. You had the mind to ask breathlessly, “Condom?”

“I’d have to get up.”

A quick moment of panic runs through your mind. “I’m clean, but–”

“I’ll pull out. And cum anywhere else.”

You take a hard gulp, but give a definite nod. Not letting go of his embrace, allow the round tip to slide over your wet slit–sweet mewls leaving your lips–before you let your walls hug around his raw girth. Initially frightening, given that you weren’t willing to take this kind of risk before–you were a med student and staying safe and clean was rule one–but every inch cover around your walls stretches euphorically. 

You let out an anguished moan adjusting to his size, but with how wet you are, it wouldn’t be a problem for long. You roll your hips down, taking him all of him, incomprehensive mumbles leaving your lips while taking strikes against your ass, stinging with every touch. “Being such a good girl for me, letting me fuck you…”

He squeezes the flesh of your cheek, teeth pulling on the bottom of your lip. “It’s my pleasure, daddy…”

God, you loved it, every second. 

Minutes passed and he’s only pushed harder, plunge deeper, filling in that crevice of yours until you’re spent all over his bed. He bruises you, bites you, swelling your skin. He finally let go of all the inhibitions that once held him back. That’s when he gets close, cursing under his breath. You fall back on the bed as he pulls out, thick white ribbons shooting thin in the air to cascade over your face and chest, even on your tongue. He pants hard, unable to tear away from the decadent view he’s witnessing. You are usually lovely beyond compare, but you were absolutely breath-taking adorned by his cum.

He had to have more of you.

Although he told himself it’d be the last, that was far from the truth. Since that day, he took every opportunity to have you and without a word of defiance against you. You had your days with Minhee: breakfast, brunch, lunch, sometimes dinner. But he had you at nights, or at days the house was empty. He made it last. All of it. All of you.

Eventually, as school started up again, you’d have to leave, and he gave you one last moment in the shower to commemorate it, putting an end to this summer fling. 

Despite missing Mingyu, you were excited to get back on track. You set your back in your newly leased apartment, smiling back at the memories you’ve made in the time you were away. As you were putting away the last of the things from your disgustingly big sack, your phone goes off, Minhee’s name brightly lit on the screen.

“Hey, Minhee. I just got in,” you greet grinning.

“Aw, that’s good. I think you left something behind, though.”

“Shoot,” You shuffle through your belongings, trying to think what that thing could be. “What did I leave?”

“Hard to tell, I think it’s…the truth?”

Your eyes shoot open at the sudden hostility in her voice. “Minhee, I—“

“Are you fucking my dad, you bitch?”

[velvet4510]

Headcanon that all that juicy stuff such as the hug, the acorn moment, “to me he was…” etc. all happened in book canon too because who says it didn’t, Bilbo just wanted to keep and treasure those moments to himself and leave them out of his memoir.

SO when Thorin went to Aulë’s corner in the Halls of Mandos, he watched Bilbo and Balin’s “to me he was” talk via Vairë’s tapestries. And he wondered what the rest of that sentence was, especially as the rest of the company insisted Bilbo’s use of “friend” to the house thieves was an oversimplification and not the real truth.

When Bilbo finally arrived in the Halls, though the Gift of Men could not be taken from him, he was allowed a few hours in Aulë’s corner to reconnect with the Dwarves one last time before leaving Arda. Once everyone had caught up on Bilbo’s life, and he’d said his last farewells to most of them, he and Thorin went to Aulë’s gates alone.

What followed was akin to the WandaVision finale. Though they knew they could not stay like this, Thorin’s last request was to know the rest of that one unfinished sentence he once overheard. “…What am I to you?” Bilbo’s answer was a parallel to, if not word for word, “You are my sadness and my hope, but mostly you’re my love.” One last hug and kiss, a promise to reunite when the world is remade, and Bilbo departed from Arda.

[vigilante-3073]

Tree-hugger

Daryl Dixon x Female Reader

PART 3

Summary: Daryl hasn't seen Y/N in a few days and she isn't responding when he calls to her on the radio. Daryl goes out to try and find her in the middle of the night.

TW: Injured reader, illness, nervous Daryl, fluff, cursing.

Daryl had gone 60 days without seeing Y/N when the prison fell. Everyone had been scattered and slowly came back together before carrying on to try and find a new home. Daryl called out to Y/N on his radio, but never heard anything back. He was certain that she had died, he found himself missing her irritating quips and bright smile.

The group managed to find a community called Alexandria and settled in fairly well, but Daryl couldn't seem to assimilate like everyone else. He slept out on the porch, feeling comfort in the thought that if Y/N was still alive out there, maybe they were looking up at the same stars.

Daryl escaped to the woods during the day, setting traps in the area and hunting with his bow. Until one fateful day when he heard a loud whistle from somewhere in the trees before getting hit in the head with an acorn. Daryl couldn't even bring himself to care about the pain, spinning around in time to see her climbing down from a tree.

Daryl rushed over, dropping his crossbow onto the ground before pulling her into a tight embrace.

"Wow, I might just have to go missing more often if you're gonna hold me like this," Y/N grinned, wrapping her arms around him.

"Don't you dare," Daryl mumbled.

...

Despite their prolonged separation, Y/N still insisted on staying in the woods. Daryl visited her almost every day and they walked his trail to check the traps together.

Daryl couldn't help but feel antsy when he hadn't seen or heard from her in three days. The final straw was when he called for her on the walkie and heard nothing back.

He knew something was wrong.

It was the middle of the night and he had been trying to get ahold of her all day. He couldn't find her when he checked the traps earlier, but he needed to look again.

He took a flashlight and went out into the woods. Daryl searched the area until the sun had started to rise. Then he spotted her in the early morning sunlight.

Y/N was laying on the ground by a tree, Daryl looked up and saw her tether still tied in the place where she had fallen from.

"Hey, hey, Y/N, can you hear me?" Daryl asked, carefully turning her onto her back.

She blinked slowly, mumbling something he couldn't understand as her eyes wandered around, never quite focusing on anything.

Daryl reached up and pressed the back of his hand to her sweaty forehead, her skin burning hot against his.

"Jesus, are you bit? Can you talk?" He asked, eyes scanning over her quickly.

There were no tears in her clothing, no blood and no evidence of bites or scratches. Whatever this was definitely wasn't good though.

"Gonna pick you up," He mumbled, sliding his arms underneath her body and lifting her into his arms.

He rushed through the woods, bringing her into Alexandria. She woke up in his arms as he carried her through the gates, squirming around in his hold and weakly pushing at his chest.

"Hey, it's me. It's Daryl. I got ya," He assured, tightening his hold on her.

"Daryl?" Y/N mumbled weakly.

"You're gonna be okay," Daryl said, carrying her towards the medical building.

Her head dropped down onto his shoulder, feverish skin pressed against his as her eyes fluttered shut and she lost consciousness.

..

Y/N had been in the infirmary for three days on IV fluids. She had likely been sick for days before spiking a fever. The medic was surprised that she lasted as long as she did without some kind of treatment.

Daryl stayed at her bedside, dutifully wiping a cool cloth across her forehead to try and bring her fever down. Her fever finally broke on the third day, but she still had yet to regain consciousness.

When she did, it certainly wouldn't be a fun experience. The entire side of her body was bruised from where she fell with a few cracked or bruised ribs, but no major damage.

She was lucky. And Daryl wouldn't be letting her forget it.

...

Y/N woke up, blinking up at the ceiling before panic quickly set in. She had been in the woods, how the hell did she get here?

She reached over and quickly pulled out her IV, throwing the tubing off to the side. Y/N sat up and got out of bed with a grimace, she tugged up the material of her shirt to see her side covered in dark bruises.

"Fuck," Y/N muttered, letting the material fall back into place.

She needed to get out of here and fast.

She looked around the room, searching the bedside table for her things quickly. None of her things were here, she slammed the drawer before taking a shaky breath.

Y/N's head snapped up when the door opened with a squeak. Her eyes quickly found the pair of scissors on the bedside table alongside a roll of medical tape.

She grabbed the scissors, gripping them tightly and readying herself to attack.

Daryl made his way into the room, pausing when he saw her awake and upright.

Her shoulders relaxed, letting out a soft breath of relief when she realized that she isn't in any danger.

"Put those down before you hurt yourself," Daryl said gruffly, nodding to the scissors in her hand.

Y/N tossed the scissors back on top of the table, "Why the hell would you bring me here? I told you that I didn't want this," She stated.

Daryl ignored her, "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" He asked.

"I was dealing with it," Y/N said.

"You coulda died," Daryl stated.

"I'm fine," Y/N said, crossing her arms with a grimace.

"Yeah, you're welcome. Found you passed out on the ground in the middle of the woods like walker bait," Daryl said.

"Thank you for looking out for me, but I can't stay here, Daryl," Y/N replied.

"You can and you will. You're not well enough to be runnin' around the woods right now," Daryl said sternly.

"My shit is still out there," Y/N said, gesturing outwards before quickly pulling her arm back as her side ached in protest to the movement.

"No, it ain't. I went out and grabbed it a few days ago," Daryl snapped.

"A few days? How long was I out?" Y/N questioned.

"Three days," Daryl muttered.

"Three days?" She asked incredulously.

He nodded, "Shit," Y/N mumbled, rubbing a hand over her aching side.

"You're stayin' and that's final. You can stay here or with me," Daryl listed.

Y/N huffed, "Daryl-" "Pick one, tree-hugger. I'm not lettin' you go back out there," Daryl said.

She narrowed her eyes at the nickname, "You couldn't even try and call me something cute? Sunshine, honey and baby are all valid options, but you chose 'tree-hugger'?" Y/N asked.

"Quit stallin'," He said.

She sighed heavily, "Your place then, I guess," Y/N grumbled.

"C'mon, let's go" making his way out of the room. Y/N reluctantly followed after him.

...

Y/N was relieved to find all of her things stored safely in the corner of Daryl's bedroom. Her motorcycle was parked out front beside his and everything was in order, but she still couldn't bring herself to relax.

Y/N felt more exposed in this house than she ever had in the woods, but she couldn't deny how much she'd missed having warm water.

Y/N made her way out of the bathroom, towel drying her hair. Daryl had loaned her one of his shirts to sleep in, the loose material being gentler against her bruised skin.

"You take the bed. I'll sleep here," Daryl stated.

"You sure?" Y/N asked, laying the towel over the back of a chair.

Daryl nodded, already laying down on the ground beside the bed with a pillow. Y/N stepped over him and climbed into the bed.

They laid together in silence for a few minutes. Y/N picked at a loose thread on the blanket, "Daryl?" She called softly.

He grunted wordlessly.

"Thank you for saving me... You're my sexy redneck hero," She said.

"You're welcome... Sunshine," He replied.

A wide smile spread across her face, "You are my perfect man, Daryl Dixon. It's like I made you in a lab," Y/N said.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," He mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat up at her compliments.

The comfortable silence settled over them again, Daryl fell asleep quickly while Y/N tossed and turned restlessly.

Her side ached and the bed was too soft, she felt like she was suffocating.

Y/N sat up with a huff after a few more hours of restless shifting, climbing out of the bed and laying down on the floor beside Daryl.

He radiated a comforting heat that had her shifting back slightly to press her back against his. Sleep found her quickly when she was snuggled up beside Daryl.

...

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, squinting at the bright morning sunlight that flooded in through the window. She draped her forearm across her eyes with a huff, listening to the soft noises coming from the kitchen below.

Y/N washed up in the bathroom before making her way down the stairs.

Daryl was standing at the stove, "Mornin'," He said.

"What are you doing?" She asked, slowly making her way over to him.

"What's it look like? Making breakfast. Sit down," He said, turning his attention back to the stovetop.

Y/N pulled out a chair and sat at the island, "I can't remember the last time a man cooked for me," She said.

"Don't get used to it," Daryl muttered, scooping scrambled eggs out onto two plates. He grabbed two forks from the drawer before passing her plate to her across the island.

"Thanks," Y/N said.

"Welcome," Daryl replied before digging in.

Y/N hummed as she took a bite, "These are amazing, like probably the best I've ever had amazing. Is there anything you can't do?" She questioned.

Daryl shook his head with a small smile, cheeks flushing under her praise, "Just eggs," He mumbled.

"You look so pretty when your cheeks are all red," She smiled, staring up at him lovingly.

Daryl looked up at her, "You never take a day off, huh?" Daryl questioned.

"I think you should be told how smart, handsome, strong and sexy you are every single day. And if I recall, I was asleep for three days so I'm gonna be laying it on thick to make up for all that lost time," Y/N said, taking another bite of her breakfast.

"Bring it on, sunshine," Daryl smirked.

[jackoshadows]

Just thinking out loud after coming across the nth iteration of Sansa brushing Arya's hair fanart. For those who love the Stark sisters and draw art of them I always wonder why there is not more art from Arya's perspective.

If it's all fanon and headcanons anyways - like Sansa brushing Arya's hair - then why not fanart of Arya and Sansa going horse-riding? Or, if horses are hard to draw, why not art of Arya teaching Sansa how to do numbers? Or Arya showing Sansa the different kinds of flowers and how to make a bouquet? or Arya introducing Sansa to the babies of the kitchen maids? Why not fanart for the sisters that's about Arya for a change?

It's just that, canonically, it's such an unique Arya character trait that her hair is often messy and not brushed. Her tangled hair is both a source of pain and low self-esteem for her (Her mother wanting her to be a mini Sansa and getting bullied by Sansa and Jeyne) and a source of unconditional love (Jon messing up her hair and always remembering and loving her for her tangled hair).

She is traumatized by Catelyn's need for her to be another Sansa:

"Well," Arya said, "my hair's messy and my nails are dirty and my feet are all hard." Robb wouldn't care about that, probably, but her mother would. Lady Catelyn always wanted her to be like Sansa, to sing and dance and sew and mind her courtesies. Just thinking of it made Arya try to comb her hair with her fingers, but it was all tangles and mats, and all she did was tear some out

She is open to having her hair brushed by someone who doesn't disparage her appearance and expect her to be a certain way (And that's certainly not Sansa!):

Lady Smallwood insisted that Arya take another bath, and cut and comb her hair besides; the dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls. The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. So the next morning as they broke their fast, Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs. "They were my son's things," she said. "He died when he was seven." "I'm sorry, my lady." Arya suddenly felt bad for her, and ashamed. "I'm sorry I tore the acorn dress too. It was pretty."

And she finds unconditional love and acceptance in Jon's embracing of her as she is:

Jon wouldn't care who I killed or whether I brushed my hair . . . "Jon looks like me, even though he's bastard-born. He used to muss my hair and call me 'little sister.'" Arya missed Jon most of all. Just saying his name made her sad. "How do you know about Jon?" - Arya

Just in Arya's very first AGoT chapter, Jon messes up her hair three times!! No wonder Arya's hair is always tangled and messy and no wonder Arya likes it that way!

Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. - Arya, AGoT

She would have given anything if Jon had been here to call her "little sister" and muss her hair. Not that it needed mussing. She'd seen her reflection in puddles, and she didn't think hair got any more mussed than hers. - Arya, AGoT

She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her "little sister." She'd tell him, "I missed you," and he'd say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything. - Arya, ACoK

Needle was Jon Snow's smile. He used to mess my hair and call me "little sister," she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes. - Arya, AFfC

And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had … yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him. - Jon, AGoT

As he rode, Jon peeled off his glove to air his burned fingers. Ugly things. He remembered suddenly how he used to muss Arya's hair. His little stick of a sister. He wondered how she was faring. It made him a little sad to think that he might never muss her hair again. - Jon, ACoK

He wanted to believe it would be Arya. He wanted to see her face again, to smile at her and muss her hair, to tell her she was safe. - Jon, ADwD

You know nothing, Jon Snow. He thought of Arya, her hair as tangled as a bird's nest. I made him a warm cloak from the skins of the six whores who came with him to Winterfell … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … I want my bride back … "I think we had best change the plan," Jon Snow said. - Jon, ADwD

It's also something to note that Jon seems to exhibit some sort of disdain for the ladies brushing their hair

A warrior princess, he decided, not some willowy creature who sits up in a tower, brushing her hair and waiting for some knight to rescue her. - Jon, ADwD

GRRM has talked about how Arya's messy hair is something Jon misses and connects with in the girls he loves and admires - like Ygritte, for example, with her tangled, never brushed hair.

It’s a reference to a certain physical type, and a certain indication of what Jon finds admirable. It’s like someone who reminds you of, you know… Other people might be put off by this, you know, hair that looks like small rodents have been living in there. It doesn’t put him off because he is used to that.”

Why change that and always have her conform to what Sansa wants to do in all these fanart? Why try to turn Arya into a mini Sansa like Catelyn wanted to do - something that is painful for Arya. Why not explore fanart where Sansa is doing something that Arya loves and is good at?

So yeah, I am not an artist, can't even doodle lol. Artists are going to draw what they want and that's perfectly okay.

I simply wanted to point out that this would be something that canon Arya would dislike and wouldn't want done. Not to mention canon Sansa is never going to be brushing Arya's hair in the first place because they have never had that kind of relationship and never will and that's perfectly okay as well.

And if there is fanart of Sansa brushing Arya's hair, there should be addendum fanart of Jon immediately messing it up and them both having a giggle over it!!

[ladystoneboobs]

[Cat, to Brienne:]"And Arya, well . . . Ned's visitors would oft mistake her for a stableboy if they rode into the yard unannounced. [...]" -Catelyn VII, aCoK

ok, this is another thing that makes me feel like i'm taking crazy pills bc i never see it talked about with all the implications behind it. so if anyone is more versed in androgynous medievalish clothing, feel free to correct me here, but my thinking is if unannounced visitors mistook arya for a stableboy, would that not mean she was wearing boyish riding garb, trousers and all? bc if she was running around with messy hair and a dirty gown, wouldn't she more likely be seen as a female servant? if my reading is not wildly offbase that does not jibe with the idea of arya being terrorized all day by both septa mordane and her mother to be more ladylike. rather, this limited freedom to be mistaken for a servant could suggest that pragmatic catelyn was picking her battles with arya too, not forcing her to always appear prim and proper on days when they were not expecting any guests to see her. catelyn "despaired of ever making a lady of" arya, though neither she nor ned could abandon the goal, which could mean a more measured approach, not exhausting herself by going after arya for every unladylike move she made, especially when she was still a prepubescent child. the quote above starts a paragraph which ends with catelyn feeling "as though a giant hand were squeezing her chest" after saying she thought arya was dead like bran and rickon, after no word of her since ned's arrest. in that context of grief, i think all her words about arya should be read as coming with bittersweet fondness, just being honest about their problems, not sugarcoating any of it.

but let's compare catelyn's trials with arya, including her often running around looking like a stableboy, to arya's interactions with lady smallwood, somehow seen as an even better mother-figure than her own mother, whom arya found easier to comply with bc of her kinder manner. first of all, lady smallwood's efforts to make arya ladylike included two baths and two dresses in one day after arya and gendry ruined the first dress, before finally giving her boy's riding clothes to leave in. i would argue a full second bath was unneeded when they could have just washed the dirt off her face and hands, and, furthermore, that both the dresses were an impractical waste when she knew arya would be riding back out with the outlaws and could not look a highborn lady when doing so. idt pragmatic catelyn would have gone to all that trouble just to make arya look ladylike for a few hours when there were no other ladies around. as for the claim that arya found it easier to comply with her? no, that's just flat-out demonstrably false. the text says she was "forced" into a tub and "they insisted" she wear girl's clothes. what room did she have to refuse as a hostage in a stranger's castle? she certainly felt no compunction about fighting gendry in the acorn dress she'd been forced into, and only felt bad about it afterward when lady smallwood talked about her dead son.

now, let's move on to the only canon quotes we have from cat to/about arya in arya's pov.

"Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands." When Lady Catelyn had asked about Arya, the septa had sniffed. "Arya has the hands of a blacksmith." -Arya I, aGoT Her father had hunted boar in the wolfswood with Robb and Jon. Once he even took Bran, but never Arya, even though she was older. Septa Mordane said boar hunting was not for ladies, and Mother only promised that when she was older she might have her own hawk. -Arya V, aCoK Her mother used to say she could be pretty if she would just wash and brush her hair and take more care with her dress, the way her sister did. -The Blind Girl(/Arya I), aDwD

in the first quote we don't know catelyn's reaction to septa mordane's rude disapproval of arya, certainly not if she agreed with it. what we do know is she was not interested in only hearing endless praise of sansa and wanted to hear if arya had made any progress. although admittedly that was a vain hope, which ignored arya's true strengths and the possibility that she could never master and enjoy needlework the way catelyn did.

the second quote better shows the difference between arya's mother and her septa. catelyn does not criticize arya for wanting to hunt boar nor dismiss her interest. instead she tries to mollify arya and accomodate her desire with the promise of a future hunting hawk. that this was a promise, not just an idle thought, suggests this would have happened in due time and could have been a bonding activity for them if the plot hadn't intervened.

the third quote is definitely a backhanded compliment and doubly unhelpful in comparison to sansa, but at least it shows catelyn did not think one of her own daughters was ugly. she thought both were pretty even tho sansa was the more admired as traditionally beautiful, and she thought arya's looks were held back by her messy hair and clothes. (useful to remember for those fans who like to keep track of how many characters called arya pretty vs. how many call her ugly.)

yes, it is a bad sign that arya genuinely wondered if her mother would want her back, dirtier than ever in her disguise as a peasant boy. their relationship definitely had faults which the adult parent must bear responsibility for. but we must remember that arya also worried if robb would pay a ransom for her, and was most ashamed about the people she'd killed, and couldn't bear the thought of ned knowing all she'd done. and we must keep in mind that even ned never openly gainsaid septa mordane on-page either, and that arya desperately wanted to renunite with her mother and felt confident gendry could stay with her if she vouched for him with her mother. that confidence would seem completely unwarranted if their mother/daughter relationship was as utterly bad as some fans make out.

[greenhorizonblog]

The Free People's Café

I have an idea for a café (could start as a stall or pop up outside) where people can get a ready made hot meal for free. And I want to emphasise it'll be a cafe, not a soup kitchen.

I've seen more and more that lot of middle class people, across the whole political spectrum actually, really do want to help the homeless and other local people in need but at the same time they are very afraid of them.

They are afraid because they don't know how they will act. People in need in most cases are technically desperate, and desperate people can often act unpredictably, and there are few things more scary than the unpredictable and uncertain. Many of the people who most want to help are women, and we ourselves are vulnerable in many ways in society. Many have kids that need them and therefore don't want to put themselves in potential harm's way. But many of them like to and are good at making lovely home cooked meals. That's why I thought of this

The food would be home cooked and donated by anyone who wants to, so long as they bring ID so we can track it to them, and their name (along with the date the food was prepared, which should be the day before donation) would be put on the container for the food donated, to deter bad actors. Ready meals within their due date would also be accepted. Donors would come by and pick up their tray again when they can.

It will be indistinguishable from any other cute cafe. People struggling deserve the dignity of eating in nice surroundings too.

By making it free for all, people will not as easily be able to tell who is struggling and who isn't, so people who are struggling would feel less shame about getting free food. The main statement in the cafe would be that food is a human right, which should also help people overcome feelings of unworthiness a little.

When some people tout the whole 'food should be earned' shtick, I ask; do the trees need to prove themselves worthy of sunlight? do squirrels have to prove themselves worthy of the acorns from the trees? Even predatory animals don't have to go through some prior long convoluted abstract test of worthiness (our concept of 'work') before they are allowed to catch prey, they just do it and if all is well in the eco system, it's not hard for them. Humans are the only animal that insists on holding their food for ransom from each other, among many other bullshit behaviours. In short, we have lost plot as a species

We would ensure though that the one's most in need, like homeless people get to eat first, like an hour before official opening time. They can also just come by, pick up a meal and eat it elsewhere if they wish

There would of course be a fridge, freezer on site, as well as an airfryer and microwave to heat the food and to make sure it's properly cooked through. And all food handlers would of course be trained so that all food safety standards of hygiene would be upheld

This wouldn't be allergen friendly since it's just people's home cooking (maybe with exception of the sealed ready meals) but then again most other cafes and restaurants can't really guarantee being allergen free either. This would also be clearly signed and labelled in the cafe so there is no confusion.

People would be most encouraged to bring savoury main meals, like a big tray of lasagna or big pot of curry/stew etc for example, but are also welcome to donate deserts, non alcoholic drinks, and snacks as well as pantry items, that can be given out food, bank style.

The donors who want to can leave their social media handle as well, so if people like the food they can write a thanks to them, or tag them in a post of the meal :) to give some social incentive and reward for people to keep donating. Could also be a sticky note board with similar notes of appreciation.

I'm in the UK, and from what I have gathered this should be possible, even with the hassle of the necessary registration, insurance, training etc. You could also do this unofficially in your local community and start things like a free fridge/pantry. This is just an idea I have been entertaining lately, if it's already being done that's awesome, I just haven't personally seen it done anywhere yet, so I thought I'd share the idea.

If you can, please feel free to use it and make it happen. Society is safer, healthier, happier and much more peaceful and level headed when people's next meal is guaranteed

[bonefall]

Reading your post about the DOTC leaders made me wonder - in BB, when does the DOTC naming style shift into the modern naming style? If they're already using modern-style names by the time Windstar's (possible) grandson is leader, that seems pretty quick - unless Cloudberry and Ryewhisker had DOTC-style names originally, and just got called modern-style names later on.

They did originally have DOTC style names! There's going to be more shuffles soon as I move to expand the Forest Cats into a third major cultural group, but I'm planning for all three of these groups to contribute to the naming system.

The older story, which I'm going to be shuffling now, is that two-part names came from Mountain Cats, but the name changes come from Park Cats.

Mountain Cats have a given prefix, and a familial suffix.

Whichever familial suffix the kittens receive is "political." Usually the names are split evenly, so as an example, Jackdaw Cry and Hawk Swoop named one twin Lightning Cry, and the other twin Acorn Swoop, but Clear Sky insisted that ALL of his kittens receive Sky as their familial suffix. Except Thunder Storm, of course, who he disowned.

This stops being used after the collapse of the River Kingdom and the massive conflict that came from the succession crisis. After that, Byyrkabraw, directly translated as "scab-forming" and roughly translated as "nepotism," becomes a taboo to be avoided. Sharing last names with your parents and family took on a bad, biased connotation for several generations.

Thus, the system dies in Clan Culture. However, it persists and evolves in Tribe Culture! Brook's name in BB is Brook Where-It-Swirls, and she shares the last name with her two brothers. They've kept last names, but the last names have gotten longer.

What DOES remain in Clan Culture is that Mountain-descendant cats 'prefer' 2-part names, and like to say the entire thing. It's Mountain culture that creates Clanmew's preference for contractions rather than syllable-shortening.

As an example, for a long name like... Dandelionbreeze, send her back in time to talk to a Park or Forest cat and they'll shorten her name to "Dan" or "Lion" or "Bree." It's the Mountain cat who would call her "Danzy," which becomes part of being 'polite' in Clanmew name shortenings.

Park Cats are born "nameless," and earn names as they grow.

It's PARK culture that was so centralized and ceremonial, with kings and a clearer hierarchy. As kits, they're just called by a characteristic trait. The Biggest One, Little Ears, Ginger. Their first real name is given when they're assigned as an apprentice, and they become [Mentor's Nickname] [Dominant Paw].

So as an example, because the prince is always mentored by their father and the king at the time was Arc-of-Park, Riverstar's very first name was Arc's Paw.

Once they're fully trained, they can earn titles. On average, a cat will earn two or three of these in their lifetime, discounting outliers like Titles Georg. These are three words or less, and usually reference strengths and achievements. Willow Flayed Bare, Slate Keeper, The Wind Runner.

These titles are made official by the King, which is where Warrior Name changes originally stem from.

In a situation where Park Cats have left their kingdom, they will turn towards the cat they recognize as an authority to make these name changes. In WindCo, either the "parriarch" of a homestead would bestow these names, or The Wind Runner herself. Thunder Storm began doing it on request, as the Park Cats who joined his cause wanted their names to come from him.

It's not seen as "appropriate" for a cat to name themself... but there are rebellious cats, who may forge their own titles, if they're willing to eat the social implications.

River's Ripple was quite independent. He came up with his own name, and then asked his papa to make the name official. King Arc of Park argued with him a lot about this, especially because the name he chose sounded a lot like an apprentice's title, and only caved in when he realizes there would be a MASSIVE scandal if it looked like his prince would willingly bypass the will of his father entirely.

(The Wind Runner's name was "crowdsourced." She didn't give it to herself; that's what WindCo calls her.)

Forest Cat names...

So there's the two-parts from the Mountain cats, and the name changes from the Park cats... and now I'm trying to work in a third element here, which I'm still trying to figure out.

I'm thinking of putting ranks into their names, since I'm starting with a given that Slash/Shai/Silverpelt is their leader. Maybe have it so that the name the Park/Mountain cats call him is "Slashes" in reference to his leg markings, but his real name is Silver-Star, with all of his cats just referring to him as his rank, Silver (formally) or his given name, Star (informally)

(Over time his name is going to become Silverpelt. They believe that he became heaven itself. Ssoen becomes Clanmew's opening particle for omnipotent knowledge, Star becoming the leader suffix.)

Then make it so that his followers follow the Rank-Given name system. So there's Claw-Milkweed, her daughter Kit-Bramble, a good hunter might be Whisker-Violet. So, over a very short number of generations, both the Forest Cat and Park Cat naming systems start to meld, since it's not all that different.

ALSO NOTEWORTHY: The Wind Coalition was more mixed with Forest Cats than the River Kingdom was. So the Park/Forest name schemes beginning to mix together would be beginning up on the Moor, while there would be more Mountain/Forest mixing happening in Thunder's Clan.

This is a WIP section btw, these guys are still extremely new.

Anyway, skip forward a few generations

Cloudberry's and Ryewhisker's names aren't the ones they had in life. The were active 25-ish years after DOTC, after the collapse of the River Kingdom when things had begun to "settle down."

With the Law of the Deputy, Commandment 3, WindCo and River Kingdom are now Clans. They operate with a Leader and a Deputy.

In-canon, Cloudberry is the daughter of the RiverClan leader, Emberstar. I'm not sure if that's going to remain; because I still haven't chosen who Riverstar's successor is. The Law of Loyalty is Commandment 4 and I'm committed to Duststar of WindClan being alive and in a position of power during the succession crisis.

It could be that Cloudberry's father is Riverstar's successor, OR I swap Ryewhisker to be Duststar's son/grandson instead and include a small detail that Duststar feels a need to prove he's NOT being biased in favor of his dead descendant by forcing this commandment through.

Maybe both, that could be fun. Romeow and Mewliet type thing. Two Clans, alike in their digkitty.

Anyway, point being, Cloudberry is from Park Cat culture as a member of RiverClan, which was heavily influenced by some pretty open travel between the groups under Riverstar's rule. The modern naming system was coming together, as cats of these three cultures mixed, but it wasn't quite there yet. So Cloudberry probably had a full title, while Ryewhisker had a title and a rank.

It might even be a translation quirk. Cloudberry is also called "knout," and it's a red-orange fruit that comes to be heavily valued in the Clans. Knout Berry Keeper, which is only remembered as Knout-Berry, written as Cloudberry.

(It would be cute if the direct translation was Cloudberry Cloud.)

For Ryewhisker, the most I know with him is that he's somehow related to the guy who invents Tunnelbuns, or at LEAST some kind of inventive contributor (such as a person who invents bread). He gets his name from that-- Rye is one of the most easily accessible grains.

I haven't nailed their names down yet, since by the modern era, they're known as Cloudberry and Ryewhisker. But they did actually have different names, which have changed over the years.

They also didn't speak Modern Clanmew, their native tongue was actually the border between the Mountain/Park/Forest pidgin and the creole language that would soon be born! A linguist might describe it as Ancient Clanmew.

[pixiecactus]

(i forgot what i wanted to write in that lyanna/arya/sansa post in the first place)

what's up with insisting that every romantic detail in lyanna's story was passed onto sansa?

just because sansa likes all romantic tales and songs. and lyanna cried while hearing one (1) song. i don't see the correlation, really.

and let me insist with my "people love to ignore the romantic aspect of arya's story" point: because of the two stark daughters in the books, the one who has a love song attached to her character on page is arya.

"oh, lay my sweet lass down in the grass/my featherbed" playing after the scene that gave us arya and gendry wrestling at acorn hall, you'll always be famous...

[namusthetic]

The Writers' Series

Who wrote you, based on your aesthetic?

British Edition

---------🖋️

Oscar Wilde

"You can never be overdressed or overeducated."

Irregular sleep schedule

Sprawling on a sofa quoting poets long gone

The forbidden sweetness of guilty pleasures

The gently whispered name of a lover

Losing oneself to sensations and feelings

Writes poems for their lovers

Dressing up only for the pleasure of doing so

That dizzy feeling of late night adventures

Procrastination and unsent letters

An old silver framed broken mirror and forgotten withered roses

Sitting alone late at night. The thick, stuffy air in the room is making you dizzy and dulls your senses

Virginia Woolf

"How many times have people used a pen or a paintbrush because they couldn't pull the trigger?"

The soft first autumn breeze

Spending winter afternoons in hidden library corners

Taking long walks along the riverbank in the early afternoon

Gives good advice but doesn't follow it

Scented candles and gentle nostalgia

The furious, quiet calmness of the ocean before a storm

Orange blossoms and sea salt

The texture of paper under your fingertips and the sound of chirping from outside the window

Wants to change the world one word at a time

Never forgives, never forgets

Reads poems in the golden afternoon light

Romantic but won't talk about their feelings

William Shakespeare

"The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves."

Wine stains on victorian shirts

The sound of footsteps on marble floors

Scribbling random Latin sentences in other people's notebooks

Dark, alluring, and a little bit occult

Writes poems on random scraps of paper and then forgets about them

The line between dreams and reality starting to blur

Loud, contagious laugh

Sword fights back stage

A lone flickering candle in the night

Laughs and cries at the same time when overwhelmed with emotion

Believes in the power of the unsettling and the forbidden

Sprawls on any available surface just to read tragedies and drink wine

Mary Shelley

"When I looked around, I saw and heard of none like me. Was I then a monster?"

The sound of your heart beating in your ears when waking up from a nightmare

Anatomy and science illustrations

Equations and formulas scribbled everywhere

The touch of cold metal on warm skin

The clap of thunder and insistent drumming of heavy rain on the windowpanes

The muffled sound of cracking thunder from outside

Organized shelves and absentminded humming

Cold gravity and solemn silences

The cold shudder of realisation

Pacing back and forth trying to solve grave problems and unexpected results

Empathizes easily

Agatha Christie

"Poirot," I said. "I have been thinking."

"An admirable exercise my friend. Continue it."

Hot chocolate on cold winter days while people watching inside an old Café

Sitting down in parks and reading the paper

The scent of clean laundry

Windswept hair and sharp looks

Spontaneous conversations and smiling at strangers

Could prove anyone wrong solely for their own amusement

Wet pavements glinting in the sunshine after a rain shower

Apricot jam, fresh baked croissants and café au lait while reading the newspaper in the early morning

A glint in their eyes and a spring in their step

Peppermints and vanilla hand cream

Sarcasm and condescending smiles

J.R.R. Tolkien

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."

Early morning dew sparkling on spiderwebs

The awareness and clarity that comes with crisp morning air

Daisies, gingerbread and warm comfy clothes

Really into folklore

Snail shells and acorns kept in a jacket's pocket

The scent of fresh homemade bread in the morning

The gentle murmur of the wind blowing through the trees

Nothing could make them miss their afternoon tea

Knows the name of every plant or bird species

Presses flowers in their notebooks

That spark for adventure glims constantly in their eyes

George Orwell

"But if thought corrupts language, language can also corrupt thought."

The smell of cigarettes and the sound of steps on the wet pavement

Long night walks around the city

The cold winter wind howling against the windows

Cheap black coffee drank in a small almost empty 24/7 coffee shop

Tired eyes and vivid dreams of liberty

Messy, rushed writing

The condensation on a cold window

Minimalist notebooks and black ballpoint pens hidden everywhere

Trying desperately to be free, to feel alive

The deafening silence of loneliness and the gentle quiet of solitude

T. S. Eliot

"For I have known them all already, known them all / Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, / I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."

Coffee and ink stains

Tiny scribbled notebooks carried around in worn out messenger bags

Reads to escape the real world

Reading on public transportation and almost missing the stop

Falls in love five times a day

Strong coffee and dark chocolate

Feels like nobody can truly understand them

Doesn't take care of themselves

Stacks their books randomly around their house, forgetting empty coffee mugs and notepads on top of them

Flopping facedown on the bed and listening to the sounds of the life out the window

[solarmorrigan]

💛 but with a little 🤎

<3 ☺️

Hello! Thank you for the prompt, this was so fun! (Though I might have gone a little heavier on the 🤎 than the 💛...)

💛 reunion kiss / relief + 🤎 multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss

Prompts from this post

-

The rattle of the doorknob has Eddie’s head popping up from where he’s been bent over his notebook all afternoon. He glances at the clock and realizes that it had snuck towards three p.m. while he’d been distracted.

Damn it.

“Eddie?” Steve calls from the hallway as he shuts the door behind him. “I’m home!”

Narrowly avoiding serious injury as he struggles out of the position he’s pretzeled himself into in the desk chair, Eddie scrambles up and skids on socked feet out into the hall.

Steve, his bags on the floor by the door, is in the process of emptying his pockets onto the hall table (keys, wallet, utility knife, a handful – rocks? Acorns?? Never mind–), and he looks up when Eddie appears to give him that genuine, happy smile that still takes Eddie’s breath away.

“Hey,” Steve says.

“I lost track of time,” Eddie announces.

“It’s fine,” Steve says, his smile going a little puzzled.

“Nooo, it’s not fine,” Eddie insists, striding down the hall, closing the space between them as quickly as possible. “I wanted to be right here when you got in so I could do this–” he reaches up and cups his hands around Steve’s jaw, angling his head until he can lean in and press a kiss to his lips, before pulling back with a smile. “Welcome home.”

“Eddie, I was only gone for three days,” Steve says, though his own smile has only grown, his hands settling on Eddie’s hips.

“Mm,” Eddie hums, moving his hands to Steve’s shoulders to he can pepper kisses from the corner of his mouth and across his cheek. “Entirely too long.” He switches sides, kissing across Steve’s other cheek. “The next time the gremlins want to kidnap you so you can take them camping, tell them I have first dibs on you.” Eddie kisses down over the sharp edge of Steve’s jaw, ending with his nose tucked into the soft spot beneath Steve’s ear; he still smells like campfire, and Eddie can feel three days’ worth of stubble prickling at his cheek. “I missed you.”

Then, much to Eddie’s displeasure, Steve pulls away. He spends a moment staring at Eddie like he’s never seen him before, before his expression shifts to something like awe.

And then he’s leaning back in to kiss Eddie, warm and hard and full against his lips.

“I missed you, too,” he says, then pushes back in for another kiss. “So much,” –and another kiss. “Every day,” –and another. “The kids made fun of me.” –and another. “You should come with next time.” –and another.

“Not a chance– never roughing it again–” Eddie manages to stutter out between a few more kisses. “Next time just stay home– let the little shits duke it out with the bears or whatever on their own.”

Steve lets out a surprised snort of amusement, finally pulling away from Eddie’s mouth to press his forehead into the crook of his neck while his shoulders shake with restrained laughter.

“They’re old enough,” Eddie reasons, now grinning to himself. “Let them face nature on their own, if they’re so excited.”

“I like camping,” Steve mutters into Eddie’s shoulder, though he sounds like he’s still trying hard not to laugh. He tightens his arms around Eddie’s waist for a moment, taking a deep breath in before straightening up again. "But– I also haven’t had a hot shower in three days–”

“Another reason to never spend time in the woods.”

“–and, I think you should come help me remedy that.”

“Now that,” Eddie decides, already unwinding himself from Steve so he can tug him farther inside, “I can definitely do.”

[laurellerual]

ASoIaF: Arya’s change of clothes

AGOT 

Arya III: His claws raked at the front of her leather jerkin. (...) Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running.

Arya V: Some of them stared at her boots or her cloak (heavy woolen cloak) (...) The silver bracelet she'd hoped to sell had been stolen her first night out of the castle, along with her bundle of good clothes (a velvet skirt, a silk tunic, some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered for her,  a satin gown) , snatched while she slept in a burnt-out house off Pig Alley. All they left her was the cloak she had been huddled in, the leathers on her back, her wooden practice sword … and Needle.

ACOK 

Arya VI: "That hair is a fright and a nest for lice as well. We'll have it off, and then you're for the kitchens." (...) Goodwife Harra slapped her so hard that her swollen lip broke open all over again (...) They gave her a shift of grey roughspun wool and a pair of ill-fitting shoes, and sent her off. (...) On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift,

Arya X: They required dressing like a page and washing more than she liked. (...) In her cell, she stripped to the skin and dressed herself carefully, in two layers of smallclothes, warm stockings, and her cleanest tunic. It was Lord Bolton's livery. On the breast was sewn his sigil, the flayed man of the Dreadfort. She tied her shoes, threw a wool cloak over her skinny shoulders, and knotted it under her throat. 

ASOS

Arya I: She was still dressed in her page's garb, and on the breast over her heart was sewn Lord Bolton's sigil, the flayed man of the Dreadfort. (...) "Who dressed the poor child in those Bolton rags?" 

Arya IV: They insisted she dress herself in girl's things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem. (...) Lady Smallwood said as the women laced the gown up Arya's back. (...) one sleeve was torn on her stupid acorn dress. 

Arya IV: The dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls. The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. 

Arya IV: So the next morning as they broke their fast, Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs. "They were my son's things".

Arya V: Then they stole all the clothes that Lady Smallwood had given her and dressed her up like one of Sansa's dolls in linen and lace. 

AFFC 

Arya III: In the black of night she rose again, donned the clothes she'd worn from Westeros, and buckled on her swordbelt. Needle hung from one hip, her dagger from the other. With her floppy (woolen hat patched with leather) hat on her head, her fingerless gloves tucked into her belt, and her silver fork in one hand, she went stealing up the steps. (...) She emptied her pouch into her palm; five silver stags, nine copper stars, some pennies and halfpennies and groats. She scattered them across the water. Next her boots. They made the loudest splashes. Her dagger followed, the one she'd gotten off the archer who had begged the Hound for mercy. Her swordbelt went into the canal. Her cloak, tunic, breeches, smallclothes, all of it. All but Needle.

ADWD 

The Blind Girl: The blind girl tied a strip of rag around her head to hide her useless eyes (...) The waif had shaved her head for her when they took her eyes; a mummer's cut (...)  she gave her pox scars and a mummer's mole on one cheek with a dark hair growing from it.  (...) The clothes she wore were rags, faded and fraying, but warm clean rags for all that. Under them she hid three knives—one in a boot, one up a sleeve, one sheathed at the small of her back. (...) A cracked wooden begging bowl and belt of hempen rope completed her garb.

The Ugly Little Girl: An ugly girl should dress in ugly clothing, she decided, so she chose a stained brown cloak fraying at the hem, a musty green tunic smelling of fish, and a pair of heavy boots. Last of all she palmed her finger knife.

The Ugly Little Girl: They brought a robe for her as well, the soft thick robe of an acolyte, black upon one side and white upon the other. 

TWOW

Mercy: She shaved, donned her smallclothes, and slipped a shapeless brown wool dress down over her head. One of her stockings needed mending, she saw as she pulled it up. (...) Her boots were lumps of old brown leather mottled with saltstains and cracked from long wear, her belt a length of hempen rope dyed blue. She knotted it about her waist, and hung a knife on her right hip and a coin pouch on her left. Last of all she threw her cloak across her shoulders. It was a real mummer's cloak, purple wool lined in red silk, with a hood to keep the rain off, and three secret pockets too. She'd hid some coins in one of those, an iron key in another, a blade in the last. A real blade, not a fruit knife like the one on her hip, but it did not belong to Mercy, no more than her other treasures did. 

[nymerias-heart]

Arya Stark

Lady Smallwood's maidservants scrubbed her so hard it felt like they were flaying her themselves. They even dumped in some stinky-sweet stuff that smelled like flowers.

And afterward, they insisted she dress herself in girl's things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem.

My take on Arya’s iconic dress.