#also sun far too strong for winter

[bibiana112]

Haven't really posted about this but long-time headcanon of mine that what happened to the Kurashikis for them to end up at the hospital was that Akane got sick but pushed through it still going to school and not telling anyone about it because she would see Aoi pushing himself during flu season to keep going to work and learned to do the same through observation, not wanting to bother him or anyone else with something so minor until one too many days without getting treated later she collapses at school and gives everyone a big scare that the teacher needs to send her to the hospital for and realistically in my mind at least there's no way Aoi would be able to get her in or out of there without someone flagging cps unless someone saw this kid come pick up his little sister at odd hours with a story that wasn't matching up and realized that's a prime target for unethical science shit

[misswynters]

A Stark’s Fury

Cregan Stark x targ!wife! reader

[warning: blood, you getting cut in the arm

[synopsis: You are the wife of Cregan and younger sister of rhaenyra. You get cut in the arm and your son, Eddard, also gets hurt. Which makes cregan furious.

[note | here’s a lil something while i write the final chapter for winters embrace, just a short drabble :) also instead of rhae getting cut it’s you.

[requested: by anon

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting an amber glow across Driftmark. Laena Velaryon’s funeral was a somber affair, filled with the mournful silence of the assembled nobles and the soft lapping of waves against the shore. Among the gathered were you, the younger sister of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, your husband Cregan Stark, and your son Eddard, who clung to your skirts, his wide eyes taking in the solemnity of the occasion.

Your silver hair flowed down your back, and your violet eyes glistened with unshed tears as you stood beside Cregan. His strong arm encircled your waist, offering silent support. Despite the warmth of the setting sun, a chill hung in the air, a reflection of the grief that weighed heavily on your hearts.

As the ceremony proceeded, you noticed the tension simmering among the children. Your son, Eddard, stood with Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena, trying to comfort them in their shared sorrow. Your heart ached for them, especially for Rhaena, who had just lost her mother.

When the time came for the family to pay their final respects, you and Cregan approached the bier. You whispered a prayer for Laena’s soul, your voice barely audible over the sound of the crashing waves. Cregan squeezed your hand gently, his presence a solid rock amidst the turbulent sea of emotions.

After the funeral, you found yourself in the grand hall, where the tension between the Blacks and the Greens was palpable. You kept a watchful eye on Eddard, who was playing with the other children. However, the peace was shattered when a scuffle broke out between Aemond and Jace. The sight of Aemond taunting Jace, and the resulting fight, sent a shockwave through the hall.

Eddard tried to intervene, but in the chaos, he was struck and fell to the ground, crying out in pain. You rushed to his side, your heart pounding with fear and anger. Cregan was by your side in an instant, his protective instincts flaring as he assessed the situation.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

“Aemond taunted Jace, and then the fight started,” you explained, your voice trembling with emotion as you cradled Eddard.

Cregan’s eyes darkened with anger. “This has gone too far.”

The confrontation escalated when Alicent Hightower, her face twisted with rage, advanced on Rhaenyra, who was defending her sons. You stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation, but Alicent’s fury was uncontrollable. She drew a knife, lunging at Rhaenyra, but you intercepted the blow.

The blade sliced across your arm, and you cried out in pain, clutching the wound. Cregan’s roar of fury echoed through the hall as he moved to shield you. He grabbed the knife from Alicent’s hand, his face a mask of rage.

“Enough!” he bellowed. “This madness ends now!”

King Viserys, looking frail and distressed, tried to intervene. “Peace! There must be peace!”

Cregan turned on the king, his eyes blazing. “Peace? Look at what your family has done! My wife is injured, my son is hurt, and for what? Petty squabbles and insults?”

Rhaenyra, tears streaming down her face, reached for you. “Sister, I’m so sorry.”

You managed a weak smile, despite the pain. “It’s not your fault, Rhaenyra. But something must change.”

As the maesters attended to your wound, Cregan kept a protective arm around you. He glared at the Greens, making it clear that any further aggression would not be tolerated. The hall was filled with a tense silence, the air thick with unspoken threats and unresolved grievances.

In the aftermath, Cregan insisted on returning to Winterfell with you and Eddard. “We’ll be safer there,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I won’t risk your lives any longer.”

You nodded, grateful for his unwavering support. “Thank you, Cregan.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips warm against your cool skin. “I love you. I will always protect you.”

As you prepared to leave Driftmark, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for the family you were leaving behind. You took a moment to say your farewells to Rhaenyra and her children.

“Please, take care of yourselves,” you whispered to Rhaenyra, holding her hands tightly. “We’ll be in touch, I promise.”

Rhaenyra nodded, her eyes filled with worry. “Be safe, sister.”

With a final embrace, you and Cregan gathered Eddard and boarded your ship, setting sail for Winterfell. The journey was long, but Cregan’s presence and Eddard’s innocent chatter kept your spirits high.

Winterfell welcomed you with open arms. The cold, crisp air and the familiar sights brought a sense of comfort. As you settled back into your home, the events at Driftmark seemed like a distant nightmare.

Cregan, ever the doting husband, ensured you had everything you needed to recover from your injury. He personally oversaw the maesters’ treatments, and his protective nature brought you solace.

A few hours later, as you sat by the fire, Cregan wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders and handed you a cup of hot tea. “How are you feeling?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

“Better,” you replied, taking a sip. “Thanks to you.”

He smiled, sitting beside you. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

You leaned against him, finding comfort in his strength. “I know. And I’m grateful.”

Life in Winterfell slowly returned to normal. Eddard resumed his lessons and playtime with the other children, while you and Cregan focused on the responsibilities of ruling the North. Despite the distance from Driftmark, the shadow of that day lingered.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, you turned to Cregan. “Do you think things will ever be right again between the Blacks and the Greens?”

Cregan sighed, his brow furrowing in thought. “It’s hard to say. The wounds run deep. But we must try, for the sake of our family.”

You nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “I want Eddard to grow up in a world where he doesn’t have to choose sides.”

Cregan’s grip on your hand tightened. “We’ll do everything in our power to make that happen.”

Many moons have passed, and your wound healed, leaving only a faint scar as a reminder of the confrontation. The bond between you and Cregan grew stronger, forged in the fires of adversity. Winterfell thrived under your joint leadership, a beacon of stability and strength. In the morning, as the first snow of the season blanketed the ground, you stood on the battlements with Cregan, watching Eddard play with the other children.

“He’s so happy here,” you remarked, smiling at the sight of your son’s laughter.

Cregan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Of course he is, this is our home. He’s meant to be here.”

You nodded silently, feeling a deep sense of peace. Your eyes went to the scar on your arm, being reminded of what happened. You looked at your husband, with sadness in your eyes.

“I hope my family will stop this infighting, i wish for all of this today end” Your thoughts began to wonder of all the possible outcomes this conflict can end with. This could very well mean that death will linger in your family. Something no one will ever be prepared for, war costs everything.

The quietness of Winterfell enveloped you as you drifted into a fitful sleep beside Cregan. The room was cold, and the memory of the somber events—the funeral of Lady Laena Velaryon, the sharp sting of your wound—still weighed heavily on you.

In your dream, the landscape was bleak and foreboding. A storm raged over a desolate battlefield, its fury tearing at the very fabric of the sky. You wandered through the chaos, a spectral figure in the storm’s heart. Amidst the destruction, you saw a vision of a great dragon, its scales a dim and faded silver, bound by chains of ice that slowly constricted around its body. The dragon’s eyes were filled with a profound sorrow, as if it sensed the end drawing near.

A shadowy figure emerged from the storm—a man cloaked in shadows, his face obscured but his presence undeniably menacing. His voice cut through the tempest, speaking directly to your mind, “The chains of fate are not easily broken. A great loss is coming to your house.”

As you reached out to free the dragon, a dark prophecy formed in your mind, clear as day. “Cregan will face a treacherous choice,” you heard yourself say in the dream. “A betrayal will come from within. Death will follow.”

You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering like a cold shiver down your spine. Your breathing was rapid and uneven, and a profound fear gripped you. You turned to Cregan, who was lying beside you, his face furrowed in concern.

The sudden movement and your distressed state had startled him. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep as he reached out to steady you. His hand found yours, his grip warm and reassuring against your icy fingers.

“My dream,” you managed to stammer, your voice trembling. “I saw... I saw something terrible. A dragon in chains, and a warning about you—”

Cregan’s eyes narrowed with concern, but he quickly sat up, his arm wrapping protectively around you. “What did you see? Tell me everything,” he urged, his voice steady despite the worry etched on his face.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I don’t know all the details, but it felt so real. I fear that something dark is coming, and it will bring pain to us and our house.”

Cregan nodded, his expression resolute despite the alarm in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said softly, pulling you closer to his body. “For now, try to rest. You need it” He cradled your body as you leaned towards him, the warmth of his body bringing you comfort.

As you lay back down, you could feel the storm of fear inside you slowly ebbing, but the weight of the dream’s prophecy remained heavy in your heart.

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[pmpmyread]

Content Warnings: 18+/MDNI, suggestive themes Pairing: Nanami Kento x fem!Reader Summary: "It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, which implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami. It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for. Word count: 3.4k

It’s a bright, frigid winter afternoon, the kind that sees the sun casting a dazzling light off the patches of the morning’s snowfall with near-blinding intensity. Your breath fogs slightly as you bring your hands to your mouth, pretending to warm up the fingers that conceal the chuckle you simply cannot contain anymore.

You’re sitting in your car, parked just outside Nanami’s apartment building, watching in quiet amusement as the sorcerer emerges through the automatic door and approaches you. His eyes are narrowed in a sharp, assessing gaze as he glances first at the front and then at the rear of your car, undoubtedly taking stock of the cramped space and the less-than-ideal angle you’d managed to maneuver into. When his gaze briefly locks with yours, it is a small shake of his head that acknowledges your sheepish smile before he crosses in front of the car ahead of you to reach your side.

Oh, how you love to play the game.

It’s a game that owes its inception to a spark ignited within you one evening, several months prior. Your second official date with Nanami Kento was a memorable one; a wonderful outing together comprising delicious food and delightful open conversation, which allowed you to discover an unfiltered side to the otherwise reserved colleague you’d grown so fond of. You’d learned so much about him in the space of a mere few hours.

After which you'd also learned something about yourself.

“Damn, they really boxed us in like this…” You’d said as Nanami opened the passenger door to his car for you.

You’d just wrapped dinner at a quaint and charming restaurant whose only drawback was the inconvenience of only having street parking available on what was a rather narrow street. It now appeared that since your arrival, two vehicles had parked so closely, both behind and in front of Nanami’s, leaving it with hardly any room to exit.

“That is rather bothersome,” Nanami said before gently closing your door and squeezing his way over to the driver’s side.

He took a moment after pushing the ignition, and you sensed he was making a mental calculation in his mind as he thought through this conundrum. You reached into your handbag, taking the opportunity to quickly reapply a thin layer of your tinted lip balm, which you damn near bit off when Nanami abruptly draped his arm over the back of your seat as he looked over his shoulder, assuming a new position that saw him leaning both backward and towards you. The combination of his sudden nearness, the faint woody scent of his cologne, and his warm breath on your neck was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” He murmured, more to himself, his confident words a low rumble that tickled your ear and sent a warmth spreading through you.

When you finally dared take a sidelong glance at Nanami, you were gifted with a breathtaking sight. You took notice of the way the setting sunlight illuminated his strong jawline, of how it enhanced the sharp features of his face, and of the subtle radiance emanating from his profile.

You watched his eyebrows furrow in focus, his eyes narrow in calculation, averting your gaze just as he faced forward again, shifting your focus to where his fingers gripped the wheel as he turned it with the same practiced precision he carried when out on the field, exorcising curses.

The sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled back, revealing strong forearms that flexed as he brought his right arm from the steering wheel to the gear stick. In just a handful of dexterous maneuvers, he found the right angle and effortlessly managed to glide out.

Just like that.

Heat sluiced through the air, through you, and suddenly it was warm, far too warm, even for an early summer evening. The low buzz of excitement that had hummed just below your surface all evening had now reached its fever pitch. The air in the car was charged with a quiet intensity. Even today you wonder what you must have looked like in the moment, what kind of expression you had on your face as your eyes remained fixed on Nanami as if he was the first person to ever reverse out of a damn parking spot, what he might have seen in your eyes when he finally glanced your way and caught your lingering eyes, prompting him to ask, in a tone tinged with earnest curiosity:

“Is something wrong?”

“No, uh… You didn’t even use your backup camera.” It’s the desperate substitute for a coherent reply formulated by your slightly panicked mind.

“I didn’t, no. I find that leaning on the traditional way works best in a tricky situation like that. In fact, I usually don’t use the camera at all.” He paused a bit before playfully adding, “Is this a deal-breaker for you?”

“Well yes, Nanami, I perceive you so differently now…” You buried your genuine sigh of relief beneath one of mock concession. “But since I really like you, I guess I can learn to live with your lifestyle.”

“Thank you for accepting my cavalier ways.” Nanami’s lips curved into one of his warm smiles that you’ve grown to live for, distracting you, only for a brief moment, from the fact that you’d almost gotten caught flagrantly ogling him.

I have got to be careful with this, you’d thought to yourself at the time.

And for a while, you did; you discreetly savored in the rare opportunities you were offered, and keenly watched Nanami engage in the skillful displays that were his reverse maneuvers.

But now, it’s several months later, and time and familiarity have long since dulled the edge of caution.

Now, you’ve shed some of your inhibitions, and you allow yourself to be a bit bolder, more brazen.

Now, you don’t always want to wait for opportunities, so sometimes you manufacture them.

The distinctive clicking sound of your door latch snaps you out of your reverie as Nanami opens it, and the frigid winter air finds your face again, bringing you back to the current moment.

One quick look at him, at the tousled blonde locks freely cascading over the reading glasses he didn’t bother removing, at the black sweatshirt peeking through his unzipped puffer jacket, at the comfortable gray sweatpants emblematic of his peaceful weekend détentes confirms what you’d suspected a few minutes ago, as you texted your SOS regarding your precarious parking job.

You imagine the soft glow of his reading lamp and you can almost hear the light rustle of pages from the book he was likely reading before you interrupted him. For a moment, you feel the prickling sensation of guilt crawling up your spine. But then a second picture, even more alluring than the first, fills your mind, a vision so enticing that it relegates any and all thoughts of retreat to the far back corner of your mind, and you find yourself back on task with renewed motivation.

“Hey, thanks for being my hero again.” You cheerfully say, springing out of the car and landing on your tiptoes, your arms encircling his neck as you brush his cheek with a light kiss, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cool lips.

“Your knack for finding the trickiest spots on this street is unmatched, truly remarkable.” The bright sunlight reflects off his glasses, but you don’t need to see his eyes to detect the affection underlying Nanami’s exasperated tone. This isn’t his first rodeo, this is not your first time pulling this stunt, and you’re not new to this careful plotting of the conditions that would grant you the otherwise rare view you enjoy so much.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I always prefer this side for the convenient view I get from your place. I saw the spot and I really thought I could hack it.” You point back at the high-rise towards Nanami’s window, the one that faces this street some twelve stories above you, intent on feigning innocence by leaning onto the plausible excuse you’ve employed time and time again.

“You know, if you’d told me you’d be available earlier, I could’ve picked you up myself,” he says as he gently taps his boots to the side of your car, carefully ridding himself of the snow clinging to his boots before taking the wheel.

“I didn’t want to disturb you… Though I realize that I sort of am right now.” Your reply is apologetic in its tone but unapologetic in its objective to obscure your true intentions. You start on the path Nanami just took to get to you, following into the fresh footprints left by his boots in the snow to find the sidewalk again, expertly dodging the “you never disturb me” he undoubtedly has ready at the tip of his tongue.

Because you are disturbing him, deliberately so.

In theory, parallel parking never was your forte. Technically speaking, you could use his help. It is a stretch of a rationalization, something you know very well, being the architect of your premeditated predicament, as evidenced by the self-satisfied smirk that tugs at your lips once more.

You try your best to school your expression back into neutrality as you re-enter Nanami’s field of vision and as you move to enact the next step of your little scheme. Once you finally reach the car, it is in the back that you slide into, rather than the passenger seat.

Nanami uses the edge of his shirt to wipe the fog from his glasses before he wears them again, and only then, through the rearview mirror, does he seem to register your unusual decision to sit where you do. A slow arch of his eyebrow betrays his amused confusion.

“I’ve already made peace with being your valet, but am I to be your chauffeur as well?”

“Ah, you know, all of my things are on the front seat. I figured this is simpler,” you say in the most persuasive tone you can.

He glances down at the passenger seat, where you’ve indeed ensured, before driving here, to pile your handbag over the three hefty grocery bags holding the ingredients for your shared dinner, the ones you’ve deliberately left out of your spacious trunk.

“I see…” he says, finding your gaze through the mirror again, something unreadable briefly crossing his eyes. “I know we just discussed this the other day but I do wish you’d just let me rent you a spot in the indoor parking lot.” He adds, finding his train of thought once more as he shifts the gear into drive and begins his maneuver, moving a few inches forward.

“There’s no need, Kento. We’ll be moving in together soon, and besides, I rarely bring my car around here. It only amounts to a couple of times a month, if that.” Your rehearsed responses are a refrain from a conversation you’ve already had countless times.

“So you take my spot then, and I’ll park on the street. My car is smaller, and it will be easier this way.” His hand stills over the gear switcher, awaiting your feedback on his proposed alternative. Incorrigibly pragmatic, this man is; always so logical, constantly looking to make your life easier, all things you utterly love about him. But this is not a problem you want him to solve, at least not in the ways he’s thinking. The seconds tick by, each one a hammer blow against your carefully crafted plan.

So you quickly decide to shift tactics.

“I guess you’re right.” You slowly say. “You should get us out of this spot and park us elsewhere. I don’t think it can be done.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say it can’t—”

“It’s just way too tight, Kento. I really don’t think you’ll fit.” You deliberately punctuate your statement with a lilt of your voice, one which implies far more than your words convey, a shift that does not go unnoticed by Nanami, who responds instantly with a lift of his head up as he anchors his gaze to yours. The signs that betray the successful effect of your instigation are nearly imperceptible but they are there; in the minute narrowing of his eyes, in the slight lift of his eyebrows, in the subtle hitch of his breath.

It’s what finally earns you the view you’re fishing for, today’s at a newfound angle; Nanami finally reaches behind the passenger seat, places his hand on the headrest, and takes his usual position to reverse.

“Well, I’m certainly not one to back down from a challenge,” he says, defiance laced in his tone.

You mentally give yourself a pat on the back, but your triumph is quickly replaced with another sentiment. Because for some reason, as he maneuvers the car a few inches backward, Nanami holds your gaze, and you hold your breath. He doesn’t waver as the car slightly jerks under the audible tap of his foot on the pedal, and now you’re nervous. You are acutely aware of the ridiculously small space left between the cars, making his blind attempt at the maneuver seem irrational.

“Hey, shouldn’t you actually be keeping your eyes on the road?” It comes out of you, more a breathless utterance than a clear question. You watch Nanami shift back to drive and give a few light taps to the gas pedal, before switching back to reverse, his amusement now increasingly evident as his eyes find yours once more.

“Hey, shouldn’t you actually be seated next to me? Or is this the new best seat in the house?” His gaze does not waver, and he punctuates each of those last three syllables with a tap to the pedal, each producing a short, jerky backward jolt of the vehicle.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Nanami.” You mumble this, and you don’t even bother to sound convincing at this point, you’re still reeling at this unrelenting teasing. Here you are, having scored something even better than the mere view you were after, and somehow you’ve still lost the upper hand.

“Ah, so I’m just Nanami, now?” He says with what is now unmistakably a smirk.

A nervous scoff escapes you and you attempt to avert your gaze to something, anything other than his sly, piercing hazel eyes. You’re not left with many alternatives, so your eyes find purchase on the hand he’s placed on the headrest right in front of you, and you hope it will suffice to bring your heart rate down, to lower the increasingly warming temperature in the car, and to help you find your footing again in this repartee.

He must notice your newfound anchor and he must be determined to sink you because Nanami’s fingers begin to move in a light rhythmic tapping of his index finger and you now find yourself somewhat distracted again. His hand disappears momentarily as he grips the wheel to move forward, and when it returns, it is both his index and middle fingers that are moving again, together, this time.

What begins as a seemingly random, lazy, circular motion quickly transfigures into a slow, deliberate up-and-down rubbing motion; the minute squeaking sound of fingers against rubber, an audible evidence of a nebulously steady rhythm. Suddenly, it’s a pattern you recognize all too well, a motion you’ve watched him, felt him enact far too many times, one that causes a familiar fizzing of your stomach and compels you to instinctively squeeze your thighs together.

You find yourself unwittingly transfixed, the subject-changing retort you so desperately want to wield in self-defence, never quite making it to your lips. Did seconds pass? Did minutes? It is only once Nanami pulls his hand back to himself, and breaks the tense silence that you realize that the car has long since stopped moving,

“Now, tell me how I did.” He says in a commanding but gentle tone.

“How you… what?” You are decidedly disoriented and you don’t even know what he’s asking anymore.

“Check the curb, my love, and tell me if I’m aligned properly?” His abrupt flip back to his usual kind and even tone after engaging in the most egregious display of pettiness is dizzying.

You open your door to find your car perfectly positioned, your dicey position long since corrected.

You shut your door to meet a gaze that betrays the mischief simmering just beneath Nanami’s surface.

“You’re good,” you mumble, still pulling yourself back to reality. You would marvel at this masterclass in hand and eye and apparent finger coordination if you could think straight. Instead, your mind is a mix of hot and bothered and confused and you think to yourself that perhaps this time, you bit off just a bit more than you could chew.

“It was a tight fit, but as usual, I made it in.” He says these words in such a casual tone, and you know that he knows that he doesn’t need much more than this, that you’re already riled up.

Decidedly eager to vacate the car and get a breath of fresh air, you lean over the center console to reach for your handbag. Unbeknownst to you, Nanami sees this as an opening, an advantage to exploit.

By the time you feel Nanami’s arm draping just behind you as he reaches for the passenger seat once more, it’s already too late, and you find yourself stuck in your awkwardly bent position on the other side of his arm.

“Actually,” you feel more than you hear his voice rumble just behind your left ear, “I think I could back up a bit more.”

You watch him shift the gear into reverse, and he moves to look over his shoulder, but he can only really make it halfway.

Your faces are so close that you can see your reflection in his eyes, pupils and irises now indistinguishable. This is beyond impractical; you know it and he knows it. You look down to find something to grab onto, using the center console to brace yourself against the next anticipated jolt of the moving car.

It’s one that never materializes.

After a few moments of inertia, you finally lift your face to level your eyes with his, and by now it is a full-on, mischievous smirk plastered on his face.

And this ignites you. Because you, too, are not one to back down from a challenge.

You decide to make the most out of your newfound position by moving your left hand to grab onto his right leg. There it is, the shift of his expression, the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth now nothing more than a memory. Slowly but surely, you glide your hand up his leg, maintaining your eye contact, inching closer and closer up toward his lap. You watch as his breath hitches for a moment, as his gaze wavers, as a brief dark flicker crosses his eyes, telegraphing in advance the question he’s about to blurt out in a disquiet of his own, one you’re now more than willing to answer.

“What are you—” He breathes out.

“Well, Kento, I need to hold on to something, don’t I? You wouldn’t want me to fall, right?”

Nanami reaches down to switch the gear to what you assume is ‘Park’, his first gesture of concession. But you don’t relent, no, you double down.

You shift some of your weight off the console and onto your offending hand, gliding upwards, up towards his lap. Moving inwards, in towards his—

Your movement is abruptly halted, but you don’t miss the small audible groan that melts into the gulp he swallows as he closes his free hand over yours in a grasp that is both as gentle and as firm as his tone when he finally chokes out, “Upstairs.”

“Oh. Is this capitulation I hear from my beloved valet?” Your voice does not come out as even as you intend, your breath hitches, and frankly, it’s a miracle that you’re still holding your own, that you still manage to speak because the truth of the matter is that witnessing the effect of your anticipatory torture on him only serves to exacerbate your own conundrum.

“Let’s call it a temporary truce,” he says as he gently interlaces your fingers, cautiously moving your hand away from the danger zone all the while bringing his face as close to yours without touching, as if to spill his next words of promise directly into your mouth, words that come out as a deep rumble and that travel straight to your core.

“Capitulation is what I’ll pull from you real soon.”

[nmakii]

everything is blue!

— what colors do kunigami + bachira + kaiser + rin + nagi + otoya + nanase love in?

u guys can argue that they see love differently, but i j thought this was cute. tried another format for this btw lmk wyt

the deep maroon shade of the roses he buys for you; the scarlet stains you leave on his lips. rensuke kunigami sees love in red. yes, it’s pretty boring— maybe even expected from a good guy like him. but, it’s what he grew up associating love with, so why should anyone expect anything different from him? his scars and cuts all bleed red, the color of his love for you. it’s a fiery color that expresses all of his affections and desire to be your one and only in one simple shade. every piercing sun rise that overwhelms the gloomy dark sky with a burning red as he takes his morning jog reminds him of his passion for you. it also reminds him to work out, just so he’s strong enough to be your man— someone who’s strong enough to keep you safe from the world’s troubles, and be your hero. every valentine’s day, the corridors of his school are filled with red cut out hearts, and the only thing he can think about is you; the owner of his heart and body. to kunigami, red is love, and love is you.

the gentle flutter of a monarch butterfly landing on your nose after the two of you went butterfly catching; the orange juice that spills on to the plate after you had asked him to peel your orange. meguru bachira sees love in orange. he’s never had a friend he can trust will stay before. so when he falls for you, he falls hard and fast. no one else besides his mother has understood what he meant by his monster. so, it left him unbelievably jaw-dropped and star-struck when you told him of a similar monster that haunted you. his eyes shone a bright marigold to learn more about you and your monster; an imaginary friend that made life just as exciting for you as his has made soccer fun for him. all of a sudden, all he could think about was you, and how much he wanted to know everything about you. his mind— once filled with only hope for the next day to come, so that he could play more soccer, was suddenly overflowing with excitement for the next time he could talk to you again. just imagine— the lonely, weird kid finally meeting his match. but hey, misery loves company, right? who cares if the world is against him? fitting in would be too boring anyways. he’d rather have one person who understands him, than a world that supports him. they say that the color orange isn’t rare in nature. but, it isn’t common either. the same could be said for bachira. people who tolerate and accept him such as isagi, nagi, or aryu are a dime a dozen amongst geniuses such as himself. but, to find someone like you who can understand his eccentricity and what he means below the surface-level— you’re his one of a kind gem. one that’s his, and his alone.

the champagne blonde strands of hair that flow through your fingers; the gold rays of sun that shone on his skin after another win as he ran to the stands to kiss you. michael kaiser sees love in yellow. he really didn’t expect to fall in love with you. he kept trying to push you away by any means— undermining you, ignoring you, even physically pushing you away! but, your stubborn ass never got the point, and just thought that he’s always like that. that’s how he treats ness after all, so he just teases people he likes! your persistence eventually wore off his walls, and he finally allowed himself to be vulnerable. he finally let you into his life, and against his better judgment, told you about his mental scars. now, you were simply just too dangerous of a person to push away now, he’s told you far too much. well… he doesn’t see himself pushing you away anytime soon though. he’s found himself to be much more fond of your presence. when he’s with you, everything feels okay. he doesn’t question if he’s worthy of all this happiness— you make him forget all of it. after the cold winter of his childhood, spring has finally came. it’s why he buys you daffodils, instead of the roses he loves so much. while roses, blue ones, represent the impossible becoming reality, daffodils represent a new beginning— one where he hopefully doesn’t need to cling relentlessly to the past to evolve, and instead evolves to become a man you can proudly say you’re dating.

the sound of your footsteps on a football field after he practiced into the night for the nth time; the cute cactus plushie he won for you after you told him how cute it was. rin itoshi sees love in green. he knows that after his big brother abandoned him, he hasn’t been the kindest of people. which is why he was so confused as to why you still stayed. you were amazing— you could certainly have any other guy. but, you still wanted him! why is that? why do you want sae itoshi’s stupid little brother? after another night of questioning himself, he’s found his answer when you talk him through his emotions, and help him sort out his problems. it was because you actually cared for him. you knew rin isn’t as indifferent as he pretend to be. there was more to him than that. but, he’s wrapped that part of himself in chains and spikes, making sure he doesn’t get hurt again. he wasn’t sure if he could ever love the same way again. but, just as a plant needs tender care to grow, he needs you to be patient with him to let him heal and carefully take down the walls he built ever so meticulously.

the denim jeans you wear when he takes a nap on your lap; the stone color of the usually bright sky when it rains, which makes you have to stay the night in his apartment again. seishiro nagi sees love in blue. just like how he can rely on the sun to rise again the next day, nagi knows that he can always rely on you to be honest with him. his trust with you runs deeper than skin and bones. he knows he isn’t the most ideal boyfriend, he’s always afraid that you might leave him for someone who’s more outgoing with him one day. but, he always manages to remind himself that you’d tell him if he was lackluster in a certain way. but just because you’re saying he’s doing nothing wrong, it doesn’t mean he’s gonna remain the same lazy genius. for you, he’ll always try to improve and evolve to be someone whom you can rely on as well. like the bright blue sky that wakes everyone up in the morning every day without fail, nagi will never forget the moment you jumped into his life and promised that you’d stay until the end of times.

the bright mauve lights in the karaoke room whilst the two of you sang ‘i wanna dance with somebody’ by whitney houston; the vibrant violet takis bag carelessly dropped on the floor after the two of you fell asleep marathoning the harry potter series during the weekend. eita otoya sees love in purple. even though he was quite the lover-boy, he found relationships quite exhausting. having to date a high maintenance girl that needed to constantly go on dates and be given gifts was something that killed his vibe; very unenjoyable. so, he enjoyed it when he finally found you; someone who didn’t need the high life to have a good time. whether it’s the both of you speeding his car at 1 AM with some of your friends after blowing through 3 weeks worth of allowance money in one night, or staying over at your place and just doing whatever little arts and crafts sounded fun that day, you always had fun as long as the both of you were together. sure, at first, he just wanted to have some fun until the next one came along… but, he finally found himself to be enamored with someone. it isn’t so bad if he just doesn’t tell you that, right? all’s well that ends well..? either way, he finally feels fulfilled in a relationship, and like he might actually stay for a while this time. it’s fun, fresh, but still deep with an unspoken connection— just like the royal eloquence, yet playfulness, of purple.

the rosy blush of his cheeks when he saw you for the first time; the cherry blossom kitkats he shaped into a heart for your first valentine’s as a couple. nijiro nanase sees love in pink. being from the countryside of japan, he’s a stereotypical country boy. he was raised well by his grandparents, he’s been taught well in the likes of chivalry, and he’s unbelievably naive. oh, to be looked at the same way as the way nanase’s eyes gleam— star struck, at the sight of you. now, he doesn’t know what to do! his hearts’s all… what’s the word…? thumpy thumpy..! he can’t help, but get jittery whenever you’re around. this is what love feels like? it feels good! he wants to feel this fluttery feeling all the time. and to have that, he has to be your boyfriend. nothing can compare to the feeling of first love— slowly falling deeper and deeper into a pit that swallows him from the inside out. he feel like he’s drowning, but at the same time, it’s so gratifying, he can’t help but get addicted to the sound of syllables falling from your heaven-sent lips. he can tell you’re new at this too. you’re nervous— maybe even more nervous than him. but, hey! that’s alright. the two of you will go by this whole relationship thingy step by step. like how a pink rose is so delicate that it falls apart when crushed by the fist, he’ll make sure to be careful with your heart. as long as you promise to be careful with his.

[deansbeer]

⌢⌢ ˚ 𖨂 INTRODUCING. beachbum!reader ﹒ ୨ৎ

created by KARI her SPOTIFY playlist

🐚 ⎯⎯ BEACHBUM!READER is everything DEAN WINCHESTER didn't know he needed, but somehow, she fit into his life like she was always meant to be there. she's the type of girl who could spend hours on the sand, soaking up the sun, watching the waves crash against the shore, and collecting seashells like they were little treasures. she's got a deep love for the ocean, a connection to it that runs so strong, it's almost like she's part of it. if she had her way, she'd probably be a mermaid, and DEAN? well, that's exactly what he calls her—his MERMAID BABY. it's a nickname that just stuck, and every time he says it, she can't help but beam.

her hair, once a rich dark brown, has lightened over time, kissed by the sun and saltwater. she's always out there, either swimming, sunbathing, or walking along the shoreline, and it shows. her skin has that perfect sun-kissed glow, and she's always got that laid-back, carefree energy that comes from being so connected to the beach. her shared bedroom with DEAN is full of little reminders of the ocean—trinkets, seashells, and those adorable sonny angel figures she loves to collect. he always pretends like he doesn't get it, but deep down? DEAN loves how much joy she gets from her little collections. it's just another part of her that makes her, well, beachbum!reader.

despite dean's life being full of hunting, danger, and chaos, she always finds a way to make sure he slows down and takes a breath. she's managed to convince him to go with her to the beach whenever they get the chance, and though he grumbled about the sand at first—getting in his boots, sticking to his skin—he's learned to tolerate it. more than that, he's actually started to appreciate it. maybe it's because of her. no, it's definitely because of her. she's got that kind of effect on him. bobby and sam always give him crap about how tan he's gotten lately, and he just smirks, knowing exactly who to blame. she's always reminding him to get enough vitamin d, but not without slathering him in sunscreen first, because lord knows he'll burn if she doesn't.

she's a mix of contradictions that somehow work perfectly. you'd think summer would be her favorite season, given how much she loves the sun and the sea, but NO—it's winter that steals her heart. she loves everything about it, from the cozy clothes to the chilly air, and she's constantly surprising dean with how much she looks forward to the colder months.

when she's not sunbathing or collecting seashells, you'll find her cruising around in her black mini cooper, a car that's as adorable as she is. it smells like the ocean inside—thanks to the ocean-scented air fresheners she always has—and it's decorated with little nods to her beach-bum lifestyle. DEAN, of course, finds the car a bit too small for his taste, but he can't help but love how clean and tidy she keeps it, almost like how he treats baby.

she's always dressed to impress—whether it's in her own hand-knitted mini skirts ( usually in pastel colors like soft pinks, blues, greens, purples, & yellows ) or dolled up in a cute dress and heels for a date night with dean. but she's also got that laid-back vibe, too. she's just as comfortable in baggy sweats and one of dean's hoodies, usually on a quick target run or picking up groceries. DEAN secretly loves when she steals his hoodies, though he'd never admit—not without giving her a hard time about it first. but it's all part of the charm.

when DEAN is out in the driveway, tinkering with BABY, she's usually not far behind. she'll wander out in one of her prettiest bikinis, shorts unbuttoned, towel slung over her shoulder, and her favorite pair of sunglasses perched on her nose. even if dean's covered in car oil, grime, or sweat, she doesn't care. she'll still wrap her arms around him from behind, press a quick peck to his cheek, and announce she's off for a swim. it's just what she does—effortlessly weaving herself into his life, into his routine, making everything feeling a little lighter, a little better.

she's always barefoot, her gold anklet glimmering in the sun, with perfectly pedicured toes or manicured nails that dean insists on paying for, no matter how much she protests. she likes to be independent, sure, but when DEAN flashes her that grin and presses a kiss to her pout, she can't help but give in. and when she comes back with a fresh mani 'n pedi, dean showers her with compliments, telling her how pretty the color looks on her skin.

their life together is full of little moments of love, affection, and yes, sometimes passion. they've made love on the beach, in the water, and in the shower when the mood strikes, but it's never just about the physical connection. it's about those quiet, tender moments they share, like walking hand-in-hand along the shore or swimming together for hours, talking about everything and nothing, laughing, joking, and just being them. beachbum!reader is DEAN'S mermaid baby && beach girl and wherever life takes them, she's always going to be the one who reminds dean winchester to slow down and enjoy the view.

✶ EXTRAS. this idea came to me while i wrote that blurb about dean sneaking photos of you at the beach. it was too cute to pass up. 'n it's kinda what i had in mind while writing it, but you can picture it as anyone you want or even yourself <3 this is just my take.

⎯⎯ SPECIAL TAGS. @fallbhind @deansbite @frosttbitessam @deanswidow @a1ecmcdowell @beausling @titsout4nicholas @jasvtsc . . . ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა

[burningembers91]

Cabin in the Woods - Hwang Jun-Ho x Fem!Reader

Tagging: @snixx2088 and @bananaminn

Follow up piece to:

Sleeping with the Enemy

The Gangster’s Wife

Escape Plan

Synopsis: You and Jun-Ho are on the run. But with no money, and a warrant out for his arrest, where will you turn?

A/N: the amount of time I spent googling coastal towns in South Korea isn’t even funny. If writing fan fiction is good for anything, it’s been amazing at expanding my knowledge of the language, culture and the cities and town outside of Seoul 😅

Also, I write most of my fics in my notes app on my phone and it’s not until I’ve read and reread each fic, and then published that I noticed the wild errors in my spelling and grammar 🫠

The cabin was freezing, the icy winter air blowing in through the cracks under the door. Hwang Jun-Ho hadn’t dared to light a fire, just in case the smoke could be seen. You’d been hiding out in the old hunting cabin for just over two weeks now, the two of you hunkered under blankets for warmth. You’d been surviving off tinned food and ramen, boiling water from a nearby stream on a camping stove he had in the back of his car.

He’d passed this cabin countless times as a kid when he went on hikes with his father. It had been in a bad state then, and was even worse now. He wasn’t entirely sure what was holding the old building together, the wooden walls groaning at the slightest of breezes.

He was worried about your health, your bruises healing steadily but there were underlying issues you needed checked out. Jun-Ho was sure your ribs were cracked, the whimpers of pain you elicited whenever you moved tugging at his heart.

A warrant for his arrest had been issued by the police three days after he helped you escape. He’d been in a local convenience store when he saw the news report, his face splashed all over the TV, falsely claiming that he’d kidnapped you from your home. His worst fears had been confirmed in that instant; someone in the police was working for your husband.

There was no way he’d be a wanted man if the department was clean, but he’d insulted your husband, had made him look weak by saving you. He had no idea who the dirty cop could be, but he didn’t have time to worry about it now.

Food was running low, and you needed more pain killers. He needed to take you a hospital to get your injuries checked out, but it was too risky so close to the city. Neither of you had your passports, and even if you had, escaping the country wasn’t an option with his arrest warrant and no money. You’d have to lay low, bide your time and figure out an escape plan. Jun-Ho knew he’d need to think of something soon. You couldn’t stay here much longer; he wasn’t sure you’d made it another week.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, gently stroking your cheek as you lay huddled under a blanket.

“I’m ok,” you smiled, your lips cracked and dry from your injuries and the harsh weather. He wasn’t sure how you managed to stay so strong, how you always had a smile for him despite the pain you were in.

“We’re going to need to get moving soon,” he told you, coming to sit with an old map he’d found stuffed in a drawer within the cabin. “Where do you think we should go?”

“Somewhere by the sea,” you said quietly, your voice hoarse with pain. You loved the sea, loved the calmness that came with the sound of the waves. You poured over the map, your bodies pushed together for warmth, as you decided where to begin your life.

The next morning, you headed out just before the sun rose, bundling into Jun-Ho’s car. He’d removed the licence plates last night, knowing they’d be looking for his vehicle. He’d have to find a new one along the way, but with no money and a wanted sign above his head, it wasn’t going to be easy.

You’d settled on a small seaside town of Samcheok. It was far away from Seoul and the perfect place for you to start again. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to stay hidden for, but Jun-Ho would do everything he could to keep you from harms way. He still couldn’t believe this was how your life together was beginning, on the run.

You held his hand tightly as he manoeuvred his car through the back roads, neither of you daring to breathe until you were far away from the city.

The further you got, the easier you found it to breathe, and the lighter your heart felt. Your husband had tried to break you, but he’d failed. He’d pushed you into the arms of a man who loved you more than he ever could.

Despite the fact you had no money, no home, nothing but the clothes on your back, you’d never been happier.

[bowieandqueen11]

Exchanging Pleasantries / Cooper Howard Imagine

Request: Could you please do hurt/comfort with The Ghoul? Like, maybe you got hurt during a fight with Raiders and he's being mean while stitching you up. Thanks pookie bookie ily

Omg bb @itsyellow ily too I couldn't wait to write this!! Hit me with that hurt/comfort that's my jam son

Also did I make this full of unresolved sexual tension? Frick yeah I did

As always, if you enjoyed please drop a comment to help me out and let me know!

Warning: slightly NSFW/ making out, mentions of injury and violence, slight mention of a choking kink? and some strong language!

(I do not own Fallout or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

'Y'know, you may be one of the stupidest goddamn people left on this planet. And I've seen a hell of a lotta stupid people.'

You know better to think that the one and only Ghoul: the slinking shadow that steadily tails and entraps every inch of the starkly barren world he can reach, the infamous bounty feared in every town, from Philly to Rivet City, would be one for pleasantries. Yet, even during your brief period travelling with the man across the wake of the formerly 'glorious' West-coast America, his callousness often left you wishing for the sweet silence of a Nuclear Winter.

Even Cooper Howard himself recognises the fact that he doesn't exactly, well, radiate off anything that could be called close to a succouring nature. Hell, he would be happy to radiate off anything that wouldn't have you spending his valuable time making detours to wandering doctors holed up in blood-splattered tents to use his hard-earned money in bartering for caps off your next bottle of Rad-X. He supposes, as you had shaken the bottle in front of his frowning face and wandered back off into the crowning desert sun, that if he could work himself back up to being unenthused, he would be able to count it as his first win in over two hundred years.

'Well, if you tried to stop fighting every single person still left out here I wouldn't have to risk my ass stupidly running in to save you', you retort, gnashing your teeth and trying your best not to squirm against his chest as he rips a fragment of broken plate from the back of your shoulder.

It wasn't often that you were allowed to light a fire in the wilds of the Wasteland: far too many radroach nibble bites littered your legs, far too many gash-covered tentacles slashes from the repulsive Centaurs marked your outer arms. However, as the two of you had spent your seemingly so lovely afternoon out on the highway being ambushed by a group of bloodthirsty Raiders, you had browbeaten the Ghoul into allowing the two of you such a special treat. An empty bottle of Nuka Cola lies by your faded makeshift floor covering that acts as your mattress, and you sigh in relief as the warmth of the flames licks across your tired arms.

Your soon drawn out of your repose by the feel of The Ghoul's cowboy boots thumping against either side of your legs; he awkwardly tries to leave enough room that he's not straddling your back, but his legs won't quite dip down enough to be more than halfway off the floor.

It leaves him having to scrape himself forward until his groin is nearly pressed against your tailbone, and you can feel the hem of his hat brush up your neck as he idly surveys the extent of your injuries. As he fidgets the strap of your vest down past the joint of your shoulder, you have to breathe in sharply to stop yourself grunting at the sharp scratch of his glove's rough seams as he drags his hand down.

'You're right', he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, dragging a strip of musty cloth out of his satchel bag and pressing it against your oozing wound. 'Your ass really is fucking stupid if you think that you were helpin'.' You grimace as a flash of stimulation and mortification flashes through your body; whether the pain in your gut is from the flesh wounds or from the clutch of thick leather as the Ghoul tantalisingly rakes his fingers up the tender skin of your shoulder and grips, you're too distracted to try and find out.

Sweeping your eyes over the fire-brushed ground that cracked and and crumbled underneath your heel, you can understand his frustration at you. At the world. Scorch marks litter the dusty ground around your make-shift campsite, the plasma rifles and energy weapons the Fiends had managed to barter, steal, and smuggle out from the Van Graffs stock lying in blasted pieces around the fragments of rusted metal once shielding the long gone diesel pumps. The violence - the anger, it always seemed never ending. Gosh, what you wouldn't give for a canopy right now: to stop the sun burns from blistering your face, to hide the sudden hush of shame and embarrassment that rose flush up your face like a mushroom cloud.

'Yeah, well, I did come running- you're welcome, by the way-', you start, but the Ghoul, as venomous a man as he is, cuts short your reply by prodding the point of one of the needles holding the tail edge of his coat together into the hanging flaps of your skin. Your hand balls into a fist as you feel the sharp tip scrape over muscle; you try your best not to whimper as his poison slits through your veins and slithers down to corrode your very soul, but the relief. Oh, god, corruption has never felt so good as the Ghoul's free hand sliding down to cup your ribcage. His middle and ring finger took turns tapping against your waist, a slight huff coming from his mouth and tingling against the shell of your ear.

At first, you think the Ghoul is mad at you: pissed off that if any of the Raiders had survived and scampered off back to their chem-den to frenziedly retell their confrontation with a certain duster-clad gunslinger, a certain ruthless reputation - a certain long upheld persona, would be tarnished. That he was aggravated in having to waste his dwindling supply of bullets in wasting the spiky-hair fiend that had sprung out from the door of the thought abandoned Red Rocket Truck Stop just as you were busy body slamming his friend to the ground. That he was embittered at the fact that you had the incredibly anserine idea to stop off in the middle of goddamn nowhere: somewhere straight off your Pip-Boy map to nestle down for the night on your route to the New Vegas strip.

Enraged, indeed, by the fact that he may have to admit that he wanted to save your life.

'You call that running?', he puffs out a chuckle, unceremoniously wiping the blood of the needle by using the back of your vest. 'I call that leaping up yonder head over ass across that Nuka-Cola machine.' He lets go of your side, much to your disappoint, and looks at you disapprovingly as you turn around to face him. He's waving the syringe edge of a stimpak in your general direction, and you make sure to slap his hand extra hard as you grab it off him.

'You know, cowboy, you were the one that asked me to tag along. Not the other way round', you groan in exhilaration as you stab the needle into the knife wound on your thigh, and that first hit of the Stimpak courses through your muscle. Cooper has to clench his fingers into the leather of his fist to stop himself from going feral right there and then. He sniffs loudly, scrunching up his nose and casting his gaze to the fireside to try and hide his displeasure.

'Well', he manages to choke out between clenched teeth, gripping onto his own leg so harshly he wonders if he's drawn blood between his claws, 'you are such delightful company.'

For the first time in his life, Cooper Howard wants to just... ride away from his problems. That's all you were supposed to be: a solution. A resource. Another object to exploit, to foist upon his own callous needs so that he may survive another day in this merciless hell pit. A life for a hundred and fifty vials felt like a mighty fair trade in the disintegrating shit-show of post-apocalyptic commerce.

It had been easier that way, luring you away from the only small shack left among the rubble of the underground Subway Station that the Fiends hadn't left splattered with blotted rivers of crimson and half-mangled body parts. It had been so much simpler, as he had shoved the still fresh bodies of the murderers and cannibals off the side of the Metro escalator, that he was here to save you. That he had no knowledge of the bounty held over your head by the Enclave, or of the reasons that you had become so... acquainted with the New California Republic during your month long travels for the Crimson Caravan Company. As the door had groaned open, he was left pointing his pistol in your face: a towering penumbra, larger than life, that seemed to swallow every inch of swinging lamplight around your doorway in a veiled sinfulness. He had found it so much easier, as he peered down at your gloomy face and smirked as the unmistakable sound of a Ripper reared closer to his head, that he was here to be your saviour.

That's right. As he had offered you protection: a safe route away, a constant presence, your second shadow on your journey back to the Strip for only a measly few caps, he had found it so much easier to pretend that this wasn't personal. That the way you shook his hand hadn't made his skin prickle, hadn't been the first thing his nerves had alighted at since the last fading memory he had of caressing his wife. That the way you had strapped your leather armour pauldron around your left shoulder, and pulled up the hem of your trouser leg to strap a hidden knife to your calf didn't have him unconsciously dragging his tongue along the cracks of his bottom lip, and left him staring in bemusement. The incredulousness that had his eyes glazing over and the bottom of his stomach clenching as the two of you pried open the doors back up to the surface, and he had nonchalantly inquired as to who had... disposed of the Fiends before his arrival here. You had just shrugged, throwing a smirk at him from behind your shoulder, and he couldn't help but feel his own mouth twitch up to mirror your reaction.

It had been so, so much easier to pretend that you were just another bounty. That you were the first person, since he had lost Janey in another life, that had made him feel something other than contempt. Or worse, nihility. Nothingness. Just a hodgepodge script of fabricated and fictional lines that he reeled off as if it were more than just second-nature; an amalgamation of everything hollow and horrid that he had spent so much of his long-lost life trying desperately to bury.

But Cooper knew better than anyone, that nothing, and no one, could stay buried forever.

And with every returned smile: every lingering brush of some Caravan Trader's fingers on your arm as they tried to sell you some over-priced snake oil, every repulsive simper of a NCR trooper as they tried to buy you a bottle of vodka during your rare stops at some remote barrack, had the rot he had constructed within his soul become that little bit more mutilating.

The silence between you is deafening. And so you do something really stupid: you decide to ask him about his dirt-stained outfit.

'So', you drawl, turning yourself around so your legs are crossed out by your side, doing your best to stay firmly seated between the tensing muscles of the Ghoul's thick thighs. He draws his spurs in a line across the sand, but to your astonishment, and wild delight, he doesn't pull his legs open any further. 'Did you rob a real cowboy or something? I didn't think they were real. The only ones we ever saw were those rugged, way too contrived looking ones on those old movies.'

Your fingers curl over the edges of his collar, tentatively letting your fingers drop to rest against the sharp gap against his breastbone.

A muscle in Cooper's jaw jumps.

Oh. Oh. You'd never seen him actually angry before, behind all that cowboy western shooter charade.

For a moment, you're worried you've offended him somehow; a faraway look seems to draw him into the pale billows that smoke up from the orange flames, and a look that you've never seen before- never could even contemplate drooping the face of the suddenly so haggard looking man sitting by your side flitted across his scrunching face.

Forlorn. He looked so forlorn.

Neither of you are sure if he's even conscious of his arm moving, snaking itself across the small of your back to clutch almost painfully against the meat of your hip. His thumb strokes against the outline of your bone: probing, testing, clawing and pinching as if he had repeated the action over and over and over again in his mind.

'This? This is as old as the dirt and the worms.'

He doesn't react, doesn't move the frozen stone of his stoic face when you hesitantly grip onto his fingers, and slowly... god, so slowly, pull his glove off and drop it on the ground. Suddenly feeling so exhausted, your droop your head down against the dried sweat on your neck and watch yourself place your hand gingerly over his own, holding him in a wary vice against your side.

'What... what's a worm', you tentatively ask, your eyes wide open in worry that your question might break the provisionary affinity of this moment.

Cooper actually... snorts, a smirk threatening to break across his face as he looks out of the corner of his eye at you. 'An 'ol creature that used to live under the soil.' His eyes burn a hole into your irises, and he finally cracks out in a sallow grin as he contemplates the fact that he has your whole, enraptured attention. 'In fact, almost a whole lot like you.'

You smack his shoulder, but he only tilts his head back with an inquisitive gloat on his lips. He tips his head down, moving his other free hand to grab and squeeze the other side of your waist, making you woefully buck back against the bottom button of his shirt as the pit of your bottom begins to thrum with a devastating heat.

'Now', you can hear the teasing in his voice as he dips his spine down to hover over the shell of your ear. 'The real question is, where in the sweet hell would you have seen such heinous films such as those?'

His hand crawls like sweet spiderwebs across to your bellybutton, taking your breath away as he cups his palm against your skin and carts you back till your resting against the side of his chin, entangling you against the last vestige of the man he's entombed within the Stygian shadows.

'My ma used to show them to me and my brother if we had been extra good. She spent a whole three months saving up whatever metal scraps she could scavenge to go trade over at the General Store in Goodsprings and buy ourselves a real life television. The picture was blurry as shit, and we only had one holotape that I swear I ended up being able to quote back to front by the time I was sick of watching it. But hell, if we didn't crowd around the floor in wonder and dream about being a mysterious, rifle swinging stranger that roamed around the wastes saving people.'

Cooper purses his lips, swallowing thickly as he lassos your words in a whirlwind around his mind. After what seems like an eternity of listening to the soft whistle blow through the cartilage of his nose, of noting the quiet scurry of Bark Scorpions barbing through the pale tufts of faraway brushes, and the sound of your own heart hammering against your ribcage, each hit cracking your ribcage open with a sledgehammer, Cooper grumbles a reply.

'Y'know, there's an old saying back where I'm from - one that those folks in those movies you... respected use' to say. Feo, fuerte y formal. It means you're ugly, strong, and dignified. And shit, I can say for sure that you've got ugly ticked off that list.'

'You cheeky shit-', you start, but you can't help but shove your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. With a jolt forward over your stomach, you wince at the pain that flashes through your body at your only recently closed wounds. The Ghoul snarkily utters a tut tut, making you actually fucking whimper aloud this time when his hands grab your love handles, lifts you up, and slaps you down atop his lap. A faint slip from the curve of your buttocks sliding down to settle against his inner thigh has him hissing against the back of your head.

Even though there was no chance of it ever occurring, the Ghoul loosely clenched his fingers around your throat and tilted your head back until your throat went dry, as if daring you to move away from him again.

'Ain't your fault darlin'', he twangs out in that hoarse voice of his, his tongue flicking as smooth as molasses against the shell of your ear: his pointed edge darting a sticky trail up to your inner ear. 'It ain't your fault that you look like a molerat.'

You snort, and Cooper finds himself smiling at the sound of a noise he hasn't heard since his daughter was... since his daughter was...

'You remind me of someone I used to know, you know that? She was... she was far too sweet. Far too good for all this shit too.'

'Aha, there he is.' You wrestle out of his grasp and turn your head disbelievingly. The Ghoul looks almost taken aback, before he draws back into himself and fixes himself to stare you down. 'Finally making an appearance after all this time, are we? Good to see I'm finally getting through to you.'

'Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?', he bares his teeth, gnashing them together almost instinctively.

'I mean, I think that was as close to an honest exchange with the man inside you I'm ever going to have.'

That makes him start.

Pensively, he watches you, assessing and appraising the quirks and emotions that wander across your face as he waits for you to finish your accusation.

'And unless you stop sticking your blaster in the face of every creature that walks and talks, probably your last as well.'

The Ghoul swallows thickly, doing his best to seem as straight laced as usual, but growing more and more discourteous in his manner by the almost sinful way he's darting your eyes down to your lips and allowing them to hover there. 'Now darlin', I'm only exchanging pleasantries.'

'Is that really what you'd call yourself? And here I thought it was cantankerous.'

'Considering the literal crap-hole you grew up in I'm surprised you even know that word, now.'

'The sewers are empty, Cowboy - I'd say there's more piss on you from Dogmeat than down there. Besides, I lived in a Subway Station... asshole', you spit out at your feet, hitting the fragmented remains of one of your assailants helmet spikes.

A jab pokes at your inner thigh; the clenched thumb of the Ghoul branding into your skin as he finally looks you dead in the eyes with a cold stare. 'And there you are.'

And yet there's something. There's something lingering there, in the dark. In the swirl of his irises. In the only part of his body that still remains fully intact. Fully him. Something valorous. A convolution of steadfastness and pride. An imploringness.

'Suppose...', you inhale sharply, not realising that the two of you have managed to claw and scrape and crawl inch by inch closer to each other during your... showdown. 'Suppose', you buck your knees forward until you have enough leverage to haunch yourself up and turn, using the exertion to swivel yourself round and straddle the Ghoul's legs. Your gaze dips down to watch the purse of his strangled lips, his head slowly raising itself to unmask itself from the murk. 'That we aren't so different after all.'

Before you have time to regret your words, the stout pressure of clashing thumbs and fingers have jerked against your chin and pulled you down to smash against Cooper's mouth. Gnashing teeth pull at your bottom lip without a moment's warning, slicing down to draw blood. Cooper pulls back to snarl, before diving back in and licking away the thin trail of blood driplets that dribble down your chin dimple with the flat edge of his impoverished tongue.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as the man leaning his weight eagerly against your stomach ravishes you, growling as he reaches down to pull at the bottom of your thighs, and raise your knees up so he can cup your ass and knead the sweet flesh.

Part of you wants to rip his clothes off him right there and then, part of the recesses of your mind worries about the impending danger of the Wastelands: a roaming gang of looters, the unlucky shimmer that forewarns the arrival of a Nightstalker, but all of you wants to slam your hands around the side of this man's face and knock him straight to the ground with the ferocity of your kiss.

Before you can even make it past the squishing his cheeks phase, you’re distracted from your plan by the pressure point of his fingers teasingly prodding against the outline of your inseam. You can't enact your plan - you can't, not when you can feel the tip of his finger run slowly... slowly... god! So agonisingly slowly up your inner thigh. Can feel the warm, almost ruinating nibble of his top teeth against the pulse point of your neck, before he leaves an apologetic slide of his inner lip against it: something bright and burning and beautiful making the nerves of his body scream as it gnaws away at their rot.

Perhaps, perhaps there was still time for the Ghoul to exhume the mouldering remains of Cooper Howard after all.

[all-things-fic]

Sugar // HS

AN: This is old, but given how ol’ Harry has popped up outta nowhere, I couldn’t resist. Really sorry if the read more doesn’t work properly, I’m on mobile.

Sending love x

***

Anguilla was a special place for you both.

It had its way of drawing you back to it time and time again. Whenever you wanted that little bit of winter sun, to ease the blues that may have been drawn from you with the grey skies of England.

Anguilla had been the first real place that you and Harry had chosen to holiday. It felt like your first real couple holiday. Where you shed all worry and apprehension about being seen with him in a setting that was absolutely nothing but romantic.

Anguilla had been the place where you’d had one of your nastiest fights too. The kind that had you sat in the backseat of a taxi ride home, close together in presence but the furthest apart in mind. The threat of packing your luggage and getting the next flight home fizzling through the silent energy.

And it was because of that - the highs and lows - it was only right to also christen this place with the crown of being your first born’s babymoon.

Thinking back on fond memories as you lay along the four poster daybed, was how you’d come to find yourself most days on this holiday. Looking out on your private beach and watching your husband of just shy of two years fight his way around a paddleboard or a surfboard, whichever has taken his fancy that morning.

The Caribbean seas were known to be calm, but not this part of the island. Harry knew about that one better than you, and seeing him so active sometimes made you feel like you were being far too lazy, using the pregnancy as an excuse.

Truth was, you had been struggling. Heartburn was crazy and you’d started to swell in your hands and ankles from water retention. While Harry swore to you it was just the heat. You hadn’t forgotten how he’d said that it was probably just the flight that had caused it.

You loved that about him though. That he tried to always make you feel better. Regardless of how neglectful you felt toward him, he wouldn’t hear you utter such words. You were carrying his baby, you were nothing but beautiful to him. You knew he thought that from the way he marvelled in you every single day. Both with and without the spoken word.

It was like he was mesmerised. You were a bit of a forbidden fruit to him, especially when it came to intimacy. Being touched in your current shape made you cringe. You’d spent a lot of the past week covered up, under the four poster daybed you currently found yourself upon and felt like some lewd voyeur as you stared out into the ocean, under the guise of reading, and watched your husband leave the ocean.

Harry was every inch golden, regardless of the length of time he spent covered up by a wetsuit. His face, which had been slightly sunburnt, now turning that mixture of bronze and dirty tan where his melanocytes cells had increased unevenly in the sun, resulting in darker and lighter patches of skin.

He was every inch handsome and strong and he was aging far better than you (much to your delight and your resentment). He still smiled like he was the same twenty-six year old you had first set your eyes on, in that dingy London bar while on a night out with friends that you were so adamant you didn’t want to attend.

But boy, you were glad you had.

Both back then and so vehemently still to this day.

You looked on, watching as he stood his surfboard in the sand. Abruptly pushing it down and working on untying the board from around his ankle. A force that you knew would be heavy. Had he always been this manly or were you just having a moment?

He was drenched. Wet through. You could tell regardless of how far away he was and you found yourself wondering how salty his skin would taste against your lips. Left leg wrapping tightly over your right at the ankle to quell the feeling of emptiness between your thighs.

Eyes squinting slightly behind your sunglasses, you fought the urge you so badly felt behind your twitching hands, to lift them from your eyes and push them back into your hair. For some strange reason you didn’t want him to know you were affected by him like this.

Harry knew however. Of course he knew. He was in the same position. It was why he was taking his time. Jutting his chin up towards the cloudless blue skies and pulling slowly at the zip of his wetsuit, feeling the too tight fabric become less taut against his damp skin.

Pruney fingers pulled at the Neoprene material, hands peeling it away and ears enjoying the sound it made while doing so. You noticed he’d dropped his head with a smile now, wet tendrils falling down and obscuring your view of the way his face dipped and concaved so majestically when he was pleased with himself.

That annoyed you. You wanted to see that face.

Sinking lower into the bed, you pulled your book higher to hide your pout and felt dirtier now that nothing but your eyes were visible over the top of the book.

He seemed totally unphased but you were sure he knew you were watching him as he finished removing the top half from his body and revealing himself to you. Golden and smattered with more ink than ever. Ink now upon his skin just for you, mixed nicely in between the memories and the mistakes from before.

Seeing his feet digging into the sand, you felt a jolt of excitement course through you. Hand lifting to rest gently against your stomach, you attributed the flutter to your child. “Is that Daddy making his way back to us?”

Harry’s feet burned under the white sand as he found himself walking from the water's edge and closer to the daybed. He squinted, bringing his hand up to his forehead to try and get a better look at you as he approached.

You took great delight in the way his ring caught the sun from his action. Lips pulling into a triumphant grin at the thought and knowledge of how he was yours.

Smug didn’t even begin to cover it.

As he got closer, his eyes surveyed the scene that was in front of him. His wife laid out, relaxed, on a four poster bed. Chilled drinks and fruits off to the side ready for both of you to leisurely enjoy.

You hiding behind the book humoured him to no end. He loved it when you thought you were being clever. Just not clever enough, eh? He’d probably say it to you as well before the day was out.

His presence at the bottom of the bed was felt long before he physically arrived. You refused to look up at him, however he noticed the rounded apples of your cheeks as the pages of your book hid your smiling mouth from him.

Hands tying the loose sleeves of his wetsuit around his waist, your peripheral vision allowed you to take in the way his hands moved efficiently to tie a secure knot into the sleeves.

“Took your time,” you started. “Thought I was gonna have to start playing the Baywatch theme tune just to get you to move a little bit quicker.”

His lips quirked at that, him taking a deep breath through his nose as he felt the corners of his eyes wrinkle with joy. Laughter lines they called them, right? He knew they had only deepened from all the years he had spent laughing with you so far.

“Books tha’ interesting ‘s it,” he sarcastically acknowledged, enjoying the confirmation that you weren’t reading at all. “What chapter you on now?”

Your non-verbal response was to turn the book around for him to catch a glimpse of the pages. He cackled when the text came into focus. You hadn't moved from the page you’d opened up to that morning as he slipped off the bed, and let the ocean before his lover for a few hours.

“Stellar effort, darling. I admire your sell,” he clenched his fist and shook it once to emphasise his words. Your sell being the way you’d made it look as if you had moved further along with your novel of choice for holiday reading. “Gonna take you in the boardroom wi’me next time wi’a poker face like tha’.”

“Take me in the boardroom,” you repeated his words back to him, much slower than his delivery.

From your tone, he tilted his head up, using both of his hands to brush back his wet hair from falling around his face. He blew out a puff of air, his lips looking so much bigger and more inviting when his mouth made that shape.

“Jesus woman, give a man chance to breathe.”

His deep tone forced you to push your face into the book, trying to fight the urge to squeal like a silly little school girl. The chuckle that filled your ears was bliss. It was one of his dirty sniggers, the kind that he would do by keeping his mouth closed so that the sound left more of his nose in a breathy sound but the vibration of his throat was prominent.

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, instead letting your hands fall away from the book as it remained in place from your horizontal state.

The dip to the bed was the next thing you felt, Harry placing his knees close to bottom left of the bed and pausing. It was calming silent apart from the sound of the crashing waves, and you found yourself peeking out from underneath the pages.

The sight you saw was far too soft, if a little bit intriguing. Harry was frowning lightly as he untied the knots of the tassels that held the netted white curtains framing the wooden posts of the bed.

“Unless,” he started, his voice concentrated. “You’re letting me taste you, then I’m gladly suffocating.”

Peeking out of the side of the book, you noticed how he hadn’t taken his eyes away from the way his nimble fingers were unloosening the fabric. You saw the way his facial expression changed when he triumphantly and gently tugged on the curtain to pull it across one side of the daybed.

“Don’t come near me, you’re wet-”

“‘S usually nice that way. The wetter the better, so to say.”

Usually you would’ve whacked him with the book by now, or threw a pillow at his head but all you found yourself doing was laying there and listening. Feeling a heat fill your face as your imagination was moving two steps ahead of Harry’s each time. Or so you thought, anyway.

Walking on his knees along the mattress, Harry made his way across the bed to the opposite set of net curtains.

“Why’re you shutting the curtains, I don’t want no funny business-“

Harry paused his movement, looking up at you under his drying hair thanks to the thick heat enveloping you both.

“Sure about that, darling,” he asked, fingers still against the knot. When you didn’t respond he continued to untie and pull the curtain across the opposite side of the best. “Thought so,” he mumbled.

Staying silent sometimes worked to your advantage, part of you slightly intrigued as to how he was going to play it. The book that covered your face, was gently lifted away by Harry. A soft whine leaving your lips.

“You’re gonna make me lose my place,” you made your high-pitched complaint known, only to be greeted by an amused chuckle.

“‘S the book more interesting than me is it,” he said slowly closing the item and pushing it away. “Nah. Now the fruit I can understand,” he started, feeling the way you looked up at him as he peered at the tray of healthy goodness and rubbed his hands together. “What have we got ‘ere? Cherries, strawberries, watermelon- your favourite.”

Before you could stop yourself, you reached for his hand that hung above you.

He was your favourite.

Your soft tug to his fingers had him dropping his gaze, his fingers curling around yours. His hands had changed to you lately, looking thicker and veiner. You could never bring yourself to say it out loud though, not to him directly anyway. You were sure he’d just laugh, if he didn’t already know that is.

You were positive he probably did. The amount of times you’d taken to playing with his fingers, or gently running the tips of your fingers across the dips of his knuckles and the veins on the backs of his hands. Those hands helped to make your baby, they’d help to take care of said baby in a number of months time too.

“Want summat?” He asked, eyes peering down at you behind his slowly drying tendrils. “Wha’ can I do fo’yer?”

Looking down at you, he took in the way you eyes blinked up at him.

“‘M already on m’knees for yer, wha’ more could you want? Want me closer?” He smirked, lowering himself down to lie on his side next to you thanks to your wordless nod. Head resting on his hand as he leant on his elbow, he reached up to scoop your hair out of your face and lift your lips to his. Voice lowering as his lips puckered against yours, he added, “Could do one better I s’pose? Put m’head between your legs.”

Shaky breath left your lips as he hummed. “Gonna let me do that fo’you.”

“‘S been ages since you last did,” he continued, hands smoothing down your back in circle motions, pulling you closer to his body so that you were almost flush against him.

“It’s not pretty down there,” you grimaced thinking of how your last shaving job had been harder to achieve thanks to your growing bump.

“‘S that not up to me to decide,” he asked, deeply. “Left a bit f’me to play with, yeah? ‘Ope so.”

“God Harry, stop being such a little boy,” you tried to hide your embarrassment, skin flamed for how open he was regardless of his boyish tendencies.

His snigger into the skin of your shoulder warmed you further, “‘m definitely not a little boy when I’m wanking m’self off, all over your hair.”

His comment lingered in the sexually charged air. Lips sucking gently and soft breathing barely heard over the crashing waves. Being close to him was what you craved. The sound of him coaxing you to be a little daring.

“Messy like one.”

“Messy like one,” he repeated, face amused as he looked down at you. “‘S better messy. When you can hear it, eh. All down my chin and rubbed into your thighs. Means we’ve enjoyed ourselves, don’t it.”

You found yourself opening your legs slightly at the sound of his voice and Harry took the opportunity to press his damp, wetsuit covered, thigh into the gap.

“Can feel ‘ow warm yer are for me-“ he groaned. “Let me in. Gi‘me a kiss.”

The deep inhale through his nose as he took your lips with his caused you to clench at his defined chest. He pulled off, a slight frown to his brow, “Christ nearly took a chunk of me wi’ya then.”

“Not close enough-“

“Let me in then, let me have a feast,” he hummed. “‘On your back f’me.”

Rolling to your back was easy when you had a man that weighed almost thirteen stone to guide you. Was easier when he caressed you with kisses that made you melt into him.

“You look bloody wonderful, d’ya know tha’,” he mumbled against your lips. His hand wandered as he spoke, fingers stilling at your rounded hips and dipping into your skin.

“You’re just trying to butter me up so you can get your end away,” you spoke in monotone, with your eyes closed.

“‘S it working?”

You giggled at his muffled question, his head pressed into the fabric of your beach coverup as your stomach shook lightly from your delight and laughter.

“Shift this out the way,” he gruffly spoke, pushing at the sheer item that covered your stomach. “Wan’ your belly.”

Your belly has become his kryptonite. The way it had grown and began to round out nicely. Popping into the bump that you had found yourself longing for the minute you found out that you were pregnant.

But it was also the part that you were self-conscious of. The dusting of stretch marks starting to appear, even if only light and small, among the ones that you’d experienced from when you were filling out as a teenager.

For Harry though, this was life. You were growing his son or daughter - the gender you didn’t know and weren’t going to find out either. Much to your dismay and his delight.

“One of the only surprises left in life,” he said, over a conversation around messy kisses and even messier tears from your panic of how your usual planning self wasn’t going to get a look in. “We’ve got this covered, Mommy. We don’t need to know. We’re sorted. Let us have that moment, that excitement for the entire nine months. The guessing and the little arguments over your cravings meaning that we’re definitely having a boy, or the way your shape is changing meaning we’re definitely having a girl.”

And that was a moment that you thought back on fondly now, cause he’d been right on his thinking. Those moments had been some of your best and most intimate conversations when he liked to purposely go against your guess and say the complete opposite. He loved seeing the fire in your eyes flare up as you both got friendly and competitive with each other. It was healthy to be this way and ultimately exciting and fun for you both.

You were in your thoughts so much that you almost jumped when you felt Harry’s hand get close to your belly button.

“Sensitive,” you softly whined, hearing his hushed apology against your lower body.

“‘M sorry, forgot,” he softly apologised, nose nudging gently at the underside of your bump. You felt him going lower with no desire to stop him, you intimate area letting you know that you wanted this far more than you were willing to admit.

“Had some watermelon for brunch? He mumbled into the sensitive skin of your thigh. “Saved me some?”

You whimpered in response, feeling the way the backs of his fingers rubbed gently up your clothed intimate area. His eyes were mesmerised by the turquoise blue of your bikini bottoms in contrast to your hair and softly tanned skin.

“Colour really pops, doll,” he mumbled more so to himself, watching the way your hands covered your face, elbows pointing to the sky at his words. “Love it when you show me how pink you are. Show me.”

“Stop,” you choked, lifting for him as you felt his face drop into your lower stomach and nosy along the hem of your bikini bottoms. His teeth drew up the material, pulling it away from your skin with a soft tension.

You wanted anything but him to stop.

“Can smell you from ‘ere, gagging for me,” his voice regardless of how it was muffled around fabric was the clearest thing in your mind. “Gonna give me some sugar.”

“You know I will,” you softly mewled, hands finding his at the waistband of your bikini bottoms.

“Do I?” He felt his lips tilt upward, eyes flicking upwards to see the charged expression on your face. “Help me get ‘em off you then.”

It didn’t take much from him before you started pushing the fabric down as he pulled. Hips rose of their own accord off the bed beneath you, as you let him shift and guide the bottoms down your legs, before placing them neatly to the other side of the bed.

He was close to you within a flash, his head back against your thigh this time and enjoying the way your plush skin felt pressed to his face.

“Put me where you want me,” he mumbled, hand blindly reaching for yours and placing it into his chestnut strands of hair that were beginning to form a waxy film from the sea salt.

You were shocked at how you didn’t hesitate in guiding him to your center. His groan of satisfaction caused you to scratch at his scalp as he turned his head slightly to the side against the crevice of your inner thigh, “My girl knows what she wants and what kind of man would I be ‘f I didn’t give it to her.”

Any kind of response you had fell flat into a hum, as you rolled your lips into your mouth and tried to keep as quiet as possible given the fact that you were in public.

You knew it wouldn’t last long, but you’d give it a good go.

[thezombieprostitute]

My Sun

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: it's too cold, stay in bed.

A/N2: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.

Warnings: Smut. Please let me know if I missed any!

Winter was well known as a time for more sleep. Unfortunately, as a King, Harald was not allowed to sleep. There was always work to be done. While his people had plenty to eat during the warmer months, they often looked to him to make sure they would have plenty to eat during the harsher months. There was also the upcoming solstice celebrations to prepare for.

He sighs, resigned to the work he has ahead of him, and moves to leave from under the furs. He don't get very far as your arm has a tight hold on him around his middle. He tries a few times to gently remove your arm without waking you but each time it doesn't work.

He feels you chuckling against his back. "Why are you trying to escape me, my King?"

"I would never leave you by choice, my Queen," he admonishes. "But there is work to be done."

"It's too cold," you gripe. "Stay in bed with me."

"You are a temptress," he jokingly complains as he turns underneath the furs to face you.

"And you are warm," you purr against his chest, making him chuckle.

"If I am warm, it is because of you. You are my sun." He kisses the top of your head. "My warmth," another kiss, this time on your forehead. "My light," another kiss, this time on your nose. "My comfort in the cold of the world," he proclaims before kissing your lips.

"Then why would you leave our warm bed? Stay with me," you plead.

His hand trails down your front, reaching your mound. He feels how wet you are and grins, "I think my Queen needs some attention." You moan into his ear, confirming his assertion.

"What kind of king would you be if even your queen is left wanting?" you tease.

"Then I shall have to see to your every need that none can say I am lax in my duty," he smiles.

He gently pushes one of his large fingers into you, making you gasp. "You're so wet already, my love. Makes me wonder what kinds of dreams you were having."

"I dreamt of you, my husband," you confess. "Dreamt of our first time together and how insatiable we both were."

"Mmm, we were both so fiery," he remembers. He removes his finger, making you whine, and rolls so that he's on top of you. "But while age may have tempered things, I promise, me fervor for you will never fade."

You feel the truth of his words in both the hardness you feel against your legs and in the passion with which he looks at you. Rather than telling him this, though, you meet his ardor with your own. Wrapping your arms around his head you bring his lips to yours while opening your legs for him. He welcomes your passion by groaning and kissing you in return as he lines himself up with your pussy.

"You're so wet already," he grunts, "I believe I could just fill you in one thrust."

You moan at the idea, encouraging him. He thrusts into you and you gasp in delight, wrapping your legs around him. When you start to kiss his tattooed shoulders he takes that as his signal to start moving, making you both groan appreciatively.

"So warm for me," he grunts. "My love is always ready for me to take her. Always ready to warm me during these cold months."

He hits a spot inside you that has you frantically asking him for more. He increases his pace and you arch your back in pleasure. He alternates between kissing and sucking on your nipples and your moans and whines become needier.

"How could I not love a woman such as yourself?' he continues lavishing you with praise. "So strong yet so soft for me. The most intelligent person in any room you walk into. A spirit as fiery as the sun itself." He groans as you squeeze around his cock. "All of that and you agreed to be mine. I am the luckiest man who as ever walked this world."

Between his words, his kisses, and knowing exactly what spots to hit, your quick to reach your climax. He follows only after he's certain you're satisfied. Both of you exchange gentle kisses, caresses, sweet nothings.

After a few minutes Harald grumbles, "I should get to work now."

"That would be ill advised, husband," you smirk. "You're covered in sweat. Should you leave the comfort of the bed now, you will feel even colder and fall sick."

"You are truly devious, my love," he teases. "Like the sun in winter, so bright but withholding your warmth. How am I to leave your arms now?"

"Not all the blame is mine," you counter. "If you'd truly wanted to get to work, you would have."

He sighs, "you speak truly. But what man in his right mind would ever leave your side? I am only human."

"No, you're no mere human" you smile. "You're my husband, my love, my king."

"And I'll stay in your arms as long as you'll have me."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly;

[queen-of-reptiles]

𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷

description: in which jenna clark realises she may be a little rough with her girlfriend

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jenna clark x female reader

disclaimer: this is all fiction! Do not take any of this seriously.

warnings: this is a short one! just fluff

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y/n slowly blinked her eyes open, the sun streaming through the thin curtains pushing her to wake up earlier than she would have preferred for her day off.

The girl sighed and pushed her arm out to touch her girlfriend only to feel an empty side of the bed. y/n sat up, a pout on her lips when she realised her girlfriend was not in the room.

Just as y/n went to move, the door to the bedroom opened and Jenna walked in with a tray in her hands and the small patter of feet echoed. y/n's and Jenna's miniature border collie Mollie jumping at the bed.

"Molls!" Jenna warns, the dog huffing as she moved back down the bed, her head flopping onto y/n's lap as she sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Hi fluff." y/n chuckled, running her hand over her head.

Jenna sild onto the bed carefully, bringing the tray down between them where their coffees sat and breakfasts, y/n smiled softly, leaning over to kiss her lover's cheek.

"Thank you baby." y/n sighed, Jenna sending her a bright smile.

"Of course, you've been working too hard, I always say it." Jenna hums.

y/n was in her final year of her solicitor exams and also worked part time in a law firm and in a cafe to help pay for it all. Once she completed her exams, she had a role lined up with a soliciting firm for estate and would be able to stop the cafe job.

However, as they got into the final term, y/n found herself studying late, running off caffeine and tears, frantic writing into early hours of the morning, a few hours of stressed sleep and then straight to work.

Jenna could see her lover burning herself out and didn't know how to stop it, so when they finally had a day off together the footballer made it her personal mission to cheer her lover up.

"I thought we would take Mollie for a W A L K, grab some shopping and bake and watch movies for the day?" Jenna asks her lover as they begin to eat and y/n smiles.

"That sounds lovely." y/n smiles, letting Mollie have a slither of bacon from her plate which the dog whined thankfully at.

The two ate in small talk and giggles before showering together in a similar way, ghosting touches and soft kisses as they washed and changed before moving to get their shoes on.

"Mollie!" y/n called out, the small dog arriving obediently at y/n's feet. "Do you want to go for a..." y/n begins but Mollie saw the lead in her hand and barked excitedly jumping at her playfully.

"I think she's figured it out babe." Jenna chuckled and y/n nodded, clipping her dog onto the lead before the two headed out into the crisp winter air.

y/n shivered slightly, bringing her scarf closer to her neck as she looked back at Jenna, rolling her eyes at the fact her lover just had a beanie and thin coat on.

Jenna always said she never got cold, maybe the fact she was used to playing in cold temperatures helped her, whatever it was, Jenna didn't often feel the cold.

The trio made their way into the park and y/n unclipped Mollie, Jenna throwing the tennis ball which made the dog race after it excitedly, y/n giggling at the dog who sprinted back and let the ball drop at her feet.

y/n smiled and leant down, stroking at the dog and cooing proudly at her, before she picked up the ball and threw it, pouting when it didn't go as far as Jenna's.

"What's that pout for?" Jenna cooed, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend.

"My throw didn't go as far as yours." y/n huffed and Jenna chuckled.

"Baby, I'm a professional athlete?" Jenna reminds and y/n shrugs, still relaxing in Jenna's arms.

"With your feet." y/n jokingly whined.

"I still need to be strong though baby. So I can fight off those other players." Jenna grins. "And so I can cheer up my pouting girlfriend." Jenna adds.

"How does being strong..." y/n begins but Jenna stops her by picking her up bridal style and spinning her. y/n laughs loudly arms clinging to Jenna's shoulders as the woman comes to a stop.

"What do you think Molls? Cheered up?" Jenna asks the dog who was watching her owners with a tilted head.

Mollie barks at them, before panting and y/n laughs as Jenna puts her down, picking up the ball only to throw it again, Mollie racing off excitedly.

"Cheered up?" Jenna asks, y/n wrapping her arms around the woman's shoulders as Jenna's arms snake around her waist and pull the girl closer to her.

"Mmm. Definitely." y/n grins, leaning up to peck at Jenna's lips twice.

Jenna grins at the affection, her hands squeezing y/n's waist tighter for a moment, the two enjoying their moment of peace as the cold breeze washed over them.

"You're it!" y/n suddenly yells, tapping Jenna and running from her, Mollie jumping around y/n excitedly as the girl grabs the tennis ball and sprints away, Mollie following.

"Get back here!" Jenna yells, y/n screeching as she sees the woman running toward her.

"Mollie come on." y/n giggles madly, her and the dog trying to make it away, however the dog had far more speed.

Two hands grab y/n's waist and she squeals, throwing the ball once again for the dog who bounces after it happily. Jenna grips her lover, exclaiming in victory as she spins her and holds her tightly.

"Jen! Jen!" y/n tries, as the woman stops, still holding y/n above the ground. "Jen, too hard!" y/n warns, tapping Jenna's arms and she gasps, releasing the girl who takes a deep breath in, wincing at her aching waist.

"Shit, sorry baby." Jenna sighs, cupping y/n's face.

"It's okay love, you just sometimes forget the strength you have." y/n wheezes out, smiling when Jenna peppers kisses around her face.

"You're shivering baby, lets head back now, yeah?" She asks, Mollie barking in agreement as the dog had started to shake slightly from the bite of winter.

"Okay." y/n smiles, pressing a kiss against Jenna's cheek as she clips Mollie back, the dog panting as she padded with her owners back home.

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y/n was changing her shirt into one of Jenna's jumpers which Jenna had happily taken off as she changed into a fresh one, y/n happily sniffing the clothing before Jenna gasped.

"Oh baby, I'm so sorry." Jenna says, moving forward, her hand shakily spreading across y/n's waist, where her handprint was already beginning to bruise into the skin.

y/n looked down, not even realising Jenna had her so tightly in the park and expected the bruise. Jenna had yet to touch the skin and y/n smiled softly.

"Jen, it's okay." y/n promises, Jenna looking at her with wide guilty eyes. "Hey, it's okay." y/n promises, pulling Jenna's hand to press against her bruise softly.

"I feel so bad." Jenna sighs stroking the skin slightly. "I shouldn't be so rough with you." She adds.

y/n sighs, pulling the jumper on as Jenna pulls her hand away from the bruise, letting y/n wrap her hands around y/n's shoulders as y/n wrapped hers around Jenna's waist.

"It's not the first mark you've left on me Clark and it won't be the last." y/n says to her, an eyebrow raising suggestively.

Jenna chuckles, knowing well what her lover was talking about and rolled her eyes, pressing a kiss to her forehead lovingly, a warmth spreading through her at the way y/n didn't care.

"Besides..." y/n begins, leaning up to whisper her next sentence in Jenna's ear. "I usually like it when you get rough, don't I?" She asks, before pressing a kiss underneath the lobe.

Jenna groans, as y/n leans back down and the player leans down, connecting their lips in a deep kiss, her tongue quickly twisting into y/n's mouth.

"Come on." y/n hums as she pulls from Jenna. "Let's go make some dinner." She adds innocently. She begins to walk to the door but Jenna grabs her arm and drags her back toward the bed.

"Dinner can wait - I want dessert first." Jenna hums as she drags y/n onto the bed.

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jennaclarkkk just posted on her close friends story

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END

[ventique18]

Edit: this post was made months before Diasomnia release.

- Delusional OC sketches and headcanons: Malleus' mama and papa -

*seduce, not saduce lmao sorry I'm tired

Malleus Draconia never met his parents, but Lilia could vividly remember them as if he only last saw them yesterday. Malleus' father (whose name also happened to be Malleus) was a student of his and had a consistent air of superiority about him-- he walked and talked with such confidence befitting that of the majestic horns that adorned his head like a crown. In dragon anatomy, you see, large, beautifully sculpted horns are a clear indicator of how fertile and desirable its genes were. So there was never a doubt that this man was a natural attractor for many a woman.

... Except nobody ever stuck with him. The prince had a terrible personality. He went on and on, on and on with prattling about anything and everything under the sun (actually mostly about weapons and griffons and philosophy and geography) to the point that ladies thought he was self-centered and was looking for a mirror to marry, rather than a wife. That was not true however. He was simply an excitable boy.

He had reached a record age of three centuries (still wifeless) when he decided that being stuck in Briar Valley was limiting his viewpoint of the world. He had enrolled at an academia overseas, and that was when he met his future bride: Matilda. Upon meeting eyes with her, he had known that it was love at first sight. (It was not. He merely thought having another dragon fae as queen would benefit his country.) And so, relentlessly, day in and day out, he pursued her in order to win her affection.

The lady simply treated him like furniture, however.

Still, everyday he would sit at her table in the library. He would first attempt to flirt with her, but as he noticed how focused she was in drafting her blueprints, he would give up and eventually become engrossed in whatever he was studying. He would scribble down notes and make commentaries to himself about this and that, and to be honest... She found that quite endearing. He had a frivolous mouth, but he was earnest in his pursuit of developing his country.

She had been secretly watching him, and one fateful day, she accidentally let out a giggle. A secretive acknowledgment of his presence. And of course, sharp as his draconic ears were, he returned her gaze and happened upon her beautiful smile.

That was when he realized that the words he sang to her-- the "you're lovely as blooming flowers in the spring", "your voice is as melodious as a crystal bell in winter"-- were all very, very true. The next words he had uttered were finally taken straight from his heart, and then for the very first time since they met, she had replied to him with lips upturned in an elegant crescent.

The following year, when he returned to Briar Valley for the holidays, his mother Maleficia almost squealed in pleasant surprise that her son had brought home a lovely bride. It was a blur after that. Lilia could recall how the castle seemed to have turned upside down with how lively it had suddenly gotten; secretive dates, a wedding, a coronation, pregnancy woes, and... a sudden despair.

The couple had created life, but paid for it with their lives.

Whenever Lilia was recalling this story to the toddler he was tucking under the covers, he would come to a sudden halt. Little Malleus would ask why, but he would just shake his head and ruffle the boy's hair.

"I was just thinking how great a king and queen your father and mother had been. They were strong, and brave, and kind..."

"Will I grow great like them, too?"

Lilia paused and gazed into the boy's eyes. Then, with a smile, he stroked his tuft of hair and patted him to sleep.

"Of course, dear. Now sleep. A future king needs to be strong and healthy to be great. You won't grow up without sleep!"

They were gone too early. Far too early; they never even saw what their child looked like beneath the shells.

For now, he would burn every moment of this boy's tiny smiles in his memory, so that he could recall in detail every moment of this child's beautiful life when he finally reunites with his old friends.

[justcallmecj]

Ice Dragons DON'T Belong In The Desert

"I would like to suggest a story with Jamil and the reader. Where Jamil finds our dragon passed out at the Scarabia dorm from overheating and takes care of her/them (i will leave the gender decision up to you). I could see this being romantic (like Jamil and our dragon are already dating). But i am open to platonic friendship too." Courtesy of- Foxtrot_Heart77 (On AO3)

Potential Trigger Warning: Passing out, extreme exposure to heat

Y/N's POV

        Damn this sun. Why is Scarabia so freaking hot?! Why couldn't it have been some winter wonderland instead!!

        Now, I've never been to Scarbia. Sure, Kalim has invited me over for parties and all that fun stuff all the time, but I've never gone through with it. If there is any lesson in life that I hope I never forget, it is that heat and Ice Dragons DON'T mix. Not whatsoever. Not even with hundreds of years of evolution.

        However, here I am. If it felt like I had much of a choice, I wouldn't be here. But there were problems and I needed to find my boyfriend quickly. It's not like Jamil to not answer his phone. And even in the times where he's too busy to answer a call or text, he's sure to get back to me eventually, which is why I left the texts as was for a couple hours. But even three hours later there was no response.

        I asked some classmates if they had seen him, but no one has. It's the weekend so no classes, meaning no reason for anyone to have seen him recently unless they went to Scarabia. The problem was that I'm not friends with many Scarabia kids due to the fact I've never been there.

        Why is there such a walk between the dorm building and where the Mirror Hall sends you!? Wouldn't it make more sense to put them right next to each other, or even inside the damn building???

        My wings flared out in an attempt to let whatever wind there potentially was brush against my skin and scales, however the desert air was stagnant and burning hot. Since that plan failed, I tried wrapping my wings around myself and producing whatever cold air I could, even letting out a small puff of Freeze Breath. Unfortunately, even that proved to be rather unfruitful.

        The sweltering heat of the sun beat down in me, my wings getting droopy and my tail dragging through the scorching sand. Thankfully my tail is covered in protective scales so it didn't hurt much. I could feel myself sweat, my clothes sticking to my skin and making me feel uncomfortable.

        A dull, throbbing pain settled in my head, making my stomach curl and knot. I could feel the beginning stages of light headed-ness set in and the desert sands started waving in the non-existent wind.

        I knew this was a bad idea. My only saving grace was the fact that I could see the Scarabia building getting closer and I know Jamil told me the building was purposely built to be much cooler on the inside.

        Is Scarbia moving? Why are the walls waving around? I swear this better not be some heat-induced hallucination! I don't think I can take that!

        The entire desert started spinning and right as I was at the doors of this potential hallucination, the world went black. The last thing I heard before blacking out was the yells of people.

        Ugh, what the hell?

        It is not fun to wake up with a headache, especially not a throbbing one. I attempted the smallest opening of my eyes but the light was far to strong. Opting to keep my eyes closed for the sake of my own head, I instead tried stretching out my limbs to make a quick assessment of my current state.

        Starting with my fingers, which moved without a hitch or soreness, I slowly worked my way up. Arms: working. Legs: sore but also working. Wings: extremely sore in the muscles but otherwise functioning. With a quick feel I can confirm my horns are still attached and my ears are still pointy.

        Well, at least I didn't lose anything important.

        "Y/N.." I heard a voice whisper. My mind may still be slow right now but that is a voice I could never forget. Jamil. My boyfriend. The man I came out here to Scarabia's blazing hot and annoying desert to see.

        "Mh." It was all a could manage. I still couldn't open my eyes, not with how heavy they felt. I quickly realize that my throat was sore, dry as the sands outside.

        Wait. Outside? I'm inside! How?!

        "How much do you remember?" Jamil asked. I felt his hand rest on my forehead and swipe something cold against my skin, a bit of fabric getting caught on a few scales. A cold washcloth. He's trying to cool me down.

        "U-um-" My voice cut out due to soreness and lack of use. It scratched and scrapped against my vocal cords and burned with the effort of responding. A weird object met my lips and it took me a moment to realize that it was a metal straw. I took an experimental sip, trusting my boyfriend not to try and poison me.

        I immediately gulped down as much as I could upon recognizing the refreshing taste of water. I only slightly registered the sound of Jamil's shocked yelp as he scrambled to hold the cup more firmly so there wouldn't be a mess to clean. The cup was soon empty. (I would later realize that it was a rather large cup that I had voraciously swallowed down.)

        "Well, I'm glad a grabbed multiple water bottles while I was getting that cup. You're gonna need them from the looks of it." he said, a slightly strained laugh in his voice.

        I finally worked up the courage to open my eyes again. The sun was bright as all hell but it did feel better to be more aware of my surroundings. My eyes opened one after the other, first the right one and when that one was adjusted to the light, the left followed suit. After a moment of forcing my eyes to stay open, I blinked a couple dozen times to orientate myself.

        Eventually Jamil came into focus. It didn't take long for me to see the worried crease of his brows and the slightly panicked look in his eyes. There was also a distinct tightness to his face that showed his strained facade of calm. There's the Jamil I know, always such a worry wart, but always keeping a clam face.

        Jamil lifted up another water bottle and opened the lid, holding it up for me to grab. My limps felt like they were filled with sand and my muscles strained to move, but I managed to lift my arm enough to take the bottle from him and hold it up to my mouth, gulping all of the water down in only a few swallows. I took a few moments after that to let my head stop spinning, feeling Jamil take the bottle from me.

        "Feeling a little better? You must have been really dehydrated." Silence followed while Jamil placed his hand on my back, rubbing small circles into the skin and scales and putting pressure to make sure I don't topple over if dizziness decided to poke its head. It was a couple of minutes before I could manage a response.

        "Better. No longer burning in the sun, so that's a plus." My voice was still rough and coarse, but it no longer scratched when I tried to speak. The water had helped.

        "Good to hear. However..." he trailed off for a split second before pulling me closer to his chest and maneuvering around my horns, trying not to poke out his eye. "What were you doing out in the sands? You know you can't handle the heat, so why risk it?" Jamil's voice was gentle, but also firm and scolding. Silence followed again.

        "I was worried about you.." I managed. The scratchiness in my throat was all but gone, little bits of Ice Breath cooling my throat now that it had water to create mist, but there was a tight feeling, like emotions squeezing my vocal cords.

        "I tried to text you, call you even, but I got nothing. And I know you're a busy man, with your duties and all that, so I let it be for a couple hours! You usually get back to me when you get the chance. But it had been hours and I still didn't get anything, so I started to worry. I tried a few more times and after that, I made a dumb ass decision to come and track you down.." I was rambling, and I knew that, but I needed to speak and Jamil made no effort to stop me, so why should I? Plus, I know it's best to be honest with my boyfriend, he appreciates it.

        "Shit..." he whispered under his breath. His arms hugged me tighter and I got the feeling it was less to comfort me than it was to comfort himself. One wing unfolded and wrapped around Jamil in a type of pseudo hug and the other splayed itself across my body in an effort to use whatever cold my body produced to keep me cool. I may be in the building now, but there is still a reason the Scarabia uniforms are sleeveless.

        "Sorry about that, babe. My phone died sometime around noon so I put it on the charger in my room, but with duties and all that, I haven't been back to my room since. I was actually beginning to prepare dinner when one of the Scarabia students found me, yelling about a student having passed out in the front courtyard. That's when I ran out to find you there, so I brought you back here, to my room, and did what I could to cool you down." he explained. Now, in Jamil's own weird way, he was rambling. It's a habit he may or may not have picked up from either me or Kalim. But he let me ramble, so I won't stop him.

        I hummed, acknowledging him while still giving him a moment to decide if he wanted to keep talking. He didn't speak again, so I took that as a 'no'. I moved just enough to be further up, so our faces were more level and I was less in his chest. I looked at him and he looked back.

        "You did great at that, by the way. You must have known what you were doing, because I feel better already. I bit hotter than I would normally like, but I no longer feel like I'm about to pass out and if you ask me, that's an improvement." I laughed, feeling the moment needed a bit of humor. Despite the fact he was still clearly worried, he laughed as well. It was a sweet moment.

        Jamil leaned closer and pecked me on the lips with a kiss. Sweet, gentle and meant to express every word that he couldn't properly speak right now. In turn, I kissed him back, this time longer and more passionate, and he returned the sentiment. And for an hour, that's all we were. Two lovers caught in each others embrace, sweetly kissing each other when the time felt right. Sometimes we spoke about our day, about the events that occurred when we were not at each others sides. Other times we sat in comfortable silence, speaking nothing because there was nothing that needed to be said.

        That was all we were until all the water bottles were empty and the sun had lowered some, cooling the air if only a little. We stayed like that until Kalim tracked us down and started to fuss over me. Jamil was a little frazzled, but let it be for the sake of peace. Realizing Kalim found Jamil for dinner, all three of us left Jamil's room and headed towards the kitchen, Kalim talking on an on in a quieter voice than normal and Jamil walking with my hand in his in silence, enjoying the peacefulness of the walk.

        My legs were still shaky, this being the first time I've walked since collapsing, but I managed with minimal help and was back to my normal self by the time we three reached the kitchen. But dread washed over me when the kitchen got infinitely hotter when Jamil turned on the stove, adding to the already hot air of Scarabia. But this time, I had my boyfriend at my side, and I knew I would be fine.

I feel really happy about this because there is something about this man that gets me so he is a delight to have content for

[talonabraxas]

Tree of Life by Talon Abraxas

Symbolic Meanings Behind The Tree Of Life

1.Everything In Life Is Connected

Everyrthing is connected tree of life symbolic meaning Tree of Life Symbol: Meaning & Origin

The tree of life is a symbolic representation that personifies how the world is a unified field. Everything in life is intertwined, nature, biology, your life, other lives, the past, the present, the future, all connected in ways we’d never think to realize.

The tree of life firmly anchors itself to the earth. It recognizes the earth as its source for nourishment, anchoring its roots into the earth’s soul. Its branches spread out for sustenance while leaves reach out to heavens to receive energy and strength from the sun.

After all the years of hard work the tree has put into growing, both internally into the soil and externally into the air, the tree is finally ready to give fruit back to those who need it.

This is a reminder of the importance of community in life. If you stop and think about it, everything you do connects around you.

2.Family And Ancestry

Notice how tree branches are increasingly complex and ever-extending? The same fractal pattern is expressed in how our families grow and expand through generations.

A tree sprouts from a seed and grows little by little while sprouting out branches and spreading them as far as possible towards the sunlight. At some point, the tree produces new fruits and new seeds that usher in the next generations of saplings. Just like trees, we connect to our ancestors in the generations both before and after us.

3.A Symbol Of Immortality And Rebirth

During the Winter months trees go through a metamorphosis, lose their leaves, and dive into a deep slumber; an almost death-like state.

Once Spring hits, forests full of trees across the globe are symbolically “reborn” and suddenly become full of life again. This “”new awakening”” is represented both physically and symbolically with the natural beauty of fresh new growth.

The tree of life is also represented as an emblem of immortality. Even as trees naturally age, they continue to bear seeds carrying life’s essence. The seeds survival ensure the tree species lives from one generation to the next.

4.A Symbol Of Personal Growth and Beauty

When you study a tree’s growth throughout its lifecycle, you’ll notice distinctive periods of growth over time. From a seedling, to sapling, to fruit bearing, and into old age, and eventually the tree stands firmly above all else.

Tree of life meaning symbolic representation the conscious vibe Tree of Life Symbol: Meaning & Origin

During severe storms and bad weather the tree weathers. Some branches may break off, and leaves may fall off, but still, trees find ways to ‘take the hit’, rejuvenate, and grow new branches.

Similarly, life experiences mold you into a better and more unique person. As humans, we too can rise from hard hits and deep corners of life. Over time we can also grow to stand out, be stronger, and into the best version of ourselves.

5.A Symbol Of Fertility

As a barrier of life, a tree always finds a way to keep thriving. The survival of its species depends on every tree doing its part to produce offspring.

6.A Symbol Of Strength

The tree of life is a prominent representation of strength, stability, and “groundedness”. The deeper a tree’s roots anchor, the more stable it is. Trees are also strong enough to endure brutal conditions.

Similarly, you can cultivate a sense of stability within yourself and build a robust support system if you desire to withstand the hardships of life.

7.A Symbol Of Individuality

There are no two trees that mirror each other. The unique challenges, different growth patterns, and environmental conditions they experience in their evolution turn them into individual beings.

Tree of life Symbolic Meaning Tree of Life Symbol: Meaning & Origin

Similarly, humans are unique. You, your life, bloodline, upbringing, experiences, challenges, home environment, and your past and future are all singularly unique.

[sunsdrop]

HCS FOR MY RAPUNEL, SPECIFICALLY AS THE EMODIMENT OF THE SUNDROP. (My canon for her)

Her abilities

1. It's not just her hair that has healing capabilities, just a single touch from her can heal someone completely. Typically her hands glow softly (think of the glow from her hair ..) but if she needs a lot of strength to heal someone, her whole body glows. (she still has to sing to activate her magic .... and if others know the song they... can use her magic for themselves... even against her will!)

when she cries, she doesn't cry tears but liquid of the sun. It isn't hot ... but is golden, and glitters....

being born to heal leaves her extremely emphatic to others, She wants to help everyone ... even at the cost of her own health.

2. Since the sundrop is connected to nature (at first being a flower) Rapunzel can easily revive animals and plants, much the same as she can heal humans. She has a deep love for all life and so she is a vegetarian! Sometimes, without her realizing .. she has flowers bloom at her feet when she walks or dances, flowers may sprout from the earth or her hair when she's feeling intense emotion. (@saheira for giving me the neat flower hair sprouting idea, along with crying sundrop tears haha)

3. It's not noticeable in regular daylight but if rapunzel is in a dark place, like a deep forest or just.. somewhere really late at night ... she gives off a dim light she is also remarkably warmer to the touch than regular people a good person to hug during the winter seasons!

Weakness.

4. Rapunzel's magic doesn't make her invincible. Though it's powerful, there are limits ... healing too many people or bringing life to large spaces (forests etc) exhausts her. She may even faint if she pushes herself too much ... if she over gives constantly it could actually even drain her own life.

Though she feels that is a sacrifice she's willing to make... if it means saving innocent lives. She was born to heal, after all -

Darkness.

5. Her magic is stronger during the day than at night, she finds the darness quite frightening since she feels more vulnerable, it's also far more risky for her to heal during this time .... she's just... not a fan of the dark for numerous reasons.

6. Her association to the light also makes her aversive to anything related to the dark. If a muse has a connection to darkness .... in varying ways ... she'll likely feel uneased, want to stay away from them. Darkness just creeps her out ... makes her uneasy ... creatures of the night, stay away! Unless you're a bat.... she likes bats. she also isn't a fan of winter... considering .... hardly any sun. At these times she tends to hide away in her garden....

Secret garden

7. Rapunzel has a secret garden that is like a sanctuary to her. The flowers there all look similar to the sundrop flower but they hold no magic of their own, Rapunzel keeps them alive all year long, even during the winter seasons. it's her special safe space... where she can be alone and one with nature. She hasn't invited anyone to it as of yet...but perhaps when she meets someone she trusts wholeheartedly they can witness the beauty of it.

Feelings towards the sun

Rapunzel feels a spiritual connection to the sun, considering she/her magic came directly from it. Sometimes she even has dreams about it ... basking in it's embrace. she's even a bit obsessive .... which may appear odd to others. Her desire for it to always be sunny and for night to never come ... is strong ... she's very vocal about it too .... another little odd thing she does.

Her loneliness.

Since she is tied so closely to the sun ... Rapunzel feels like no one can truly understand her. Which leads her to feeling lonely ... she also deeply desires to be loved for who she is ... not just what she can do.

[imbiowaresbitch]

A is for Assbutt, ch. 1

Summary:

Dean has been a teacher for five years, and a dad for three. Well, he'd been a dad for six years, but Lydia failed to share that information. When she died in a car accident, he got custody of Emma, who became his entire life in an instant.

Charlie and Stevie tell Dean he needs to date, but as a single dad, he can't just pick up anyone. Emma comes first.

A chance meeting with another single dad at pickup, the father of Emma's friend Jack, has possibilities suddenly occurring to Dean. Cas has sole custody of Jack, and is also the legal guardian of his neice, Claire.

Can Dean and Cas make it work?

~~

The mid-winter sun shone down on the schoolyard. Kids were running every which way as shouts and laughter echoed off the red brick of Crestview Public School, where Dean had been teaching for five years. He, along with two other teachers, was on yard duty, and he blew on his chilled fingers, his gloves forgotten at home yet again.

“Mister Dean!”  

The shrill cry, urgent and angry, but not injured, pulled his attention to the boy running full tilt toward him, a smaller figure trailing behind. The bigger kid, Ryan, stopped in front of him, the smile curving his lips wide with an unholy glee that he remembered far too well from the previous year when the little shit of a bully – sorry, energetic and strong-willed child – was in his second-grade class. 

“He called me the B-word!” Ryan declared, pointing at the younger boy, who tilted his head in confusion at Ryan before turning big blue eyes on Dean and shaking his head.

“Did not,” he said solemnly, and Ryan turned on him, looking like he was about to turn the argument physical. Dean stepped between them quickly, holding a hand out, and Ryan stopped his charge, a mulish expression on his face.

“He did! He’s lying! He called me the B-word!” Ryan shouted, his face red with the cold and with anger, and Dean sighed internally. 

“I'll deal with this, Ryan.” He crouched down to be at eye-level with the other boy, who met his gaze earnestly, bright blue eyes open and honest. “What's your name, buddy?”

“I'm Jack Novak, and I'm six years old,” Jack told him promptly, and Dean couldn't help but smile a little. Still, they really tried to discourage name-calling, so he smoothed his expression, going for serious but not threatening.

“Jack, did you call Ryan the B-word?” he asked, and again, Jack tilted his head to one side, a little like a kitten inspecting a bug for the first time.

Jack shook his head. 

“I promise I didn't, Mister Dean. My daddy told me I shouldn't lie to teachers.” Dean took a breath, sensing that Ryan was about to explode behind him, but Jack continued. “I called him an assbutt. That doesn't start with a B.”

~~

This is very much a WIP, with 8 chapters already, roughly 30K written so far. I've got a crap-ton of bangs to write, so this is the one that'll be going up as I work on those but can't share.

Read chapter 1 on AO3.

Part of my Embarrassing Things Kids Say series.

~~

Thanks to @nickelkeep and Ariadne for the beta!

[marzipanandminutiae]

You probably meant artificial tans, but tanning is not the opposite of leaving your natural skin tone be

I don't particularly sunbathe, but I do live in a Mediterranean country. Even with SPF 50+ I start tanning in late april and lose my tan in approximately october. Unless I should not go out or near a window for half of the year, I cannot just leave my "natural" skintone be

Your winter skin tone is your only natural skin tone, IMO. And people should take steps to prevent it from changing- sunscreen with 2-hour reapplications (the intended use), parasols, hats, sun-protective clothing, etc. Even though they often went too far and did it for the wrong reasons- racism, colorism, classism, etc -our ancestors were unfortunately right about needing to take sun protection more seriously. Sometimes it's not just leaving it be, no- sometimes you have to proactively work to protect it. like brushing your teeth is not just leaving them be, but it's still your teeth's natural, healthy state

Like I said, tanning is literally skin damage. It's your skin producing more melanin to try and protect itself from the sun- which means the sun is causing DNA injury. (source) If it happens every year that doesn't make it any less harmful. I have very light-skinned friends in Australia who are able to avoid tanning, so it's clearly not impossible.

also dark-skinned people still need sun protection- melanoma is less likely to be caught early on dark skin, partially due to racist teaching practices among dermatologists, so PoC often have worse outcomes and higher mortality rates from it

My mother just had to have basal cell carcinoma removed from her upper lip. There was a huge hole in her face- the surgery to remove it, Mohs, involves cutting off pieces of tissue, testing them, and repeating until the test comes out clean. It takes hours and you're only under local anesthesia. You're awake the whole time and sometimes the doctor shows you what it looks like before they close the wound. Luckily she was able to get reconstructive surgery, but she's now insecure because her lip looks different- not bad, and she realizes that, but it's not the version of herself she was used to for 70 years. She now hates looking in mirrors. And this is the best-case scenario because she's. You know. Not Dead.

She hasn't tanned on purpose since she was in her early 20s (occasionally laid out by her parents' pool). She used sunscreen when I was growing up. But she didn't reapply after putting it on once, or employ any other form of sun protection. This isn't even her first brush with skin cancer; just the first on her face that required reconstruction.

No method is foolproof; I have freckles on parts of my body that never see the sun, and though they look benign, things can still happen. And of course you should go outside and enjoy the outdoors as much as you like, with appropriate precautions; I'm not trying to stress anyone out. you don't have to wear those full-face UV masks or anything

But. I don't know. I take this very seriously because I do NOT want to go through what my mother- and her mother before her, actually -went through. It seems like all the evidence shows that any amount of skin darkening from your winter shade, caused by UV light, is dangerous. The precautions seem so easy and minor to me compared to the risk that I just don't understand why anyone wouldn't take them- besides maybe sensory issues, and there are ways around even that

(personally I wear SPF 50 on all exposed skin and reapply every two hours or when I'm about to go back outside for longer than like 10 minutes, if I've been indoors all day. I also use a parasol when the sunlight is strong, plus sunglasses, a long skirt, and long sleeves in a natural-fiber fabric up to like 85 degrees Fahrenheit. then again, I also just don't LIKE being outside in the sun very much- I love going for long walks and being outdoors if it's overcast and/or cold, but warm sunny days are not my thing. and my clothing style is Victorian GothicTM, so it's easy to adapt for sun protection. YMMV)

(and no, I am not Vitamin D deficient that I'm aware of)