#had a lot of thoughts on that one ��when the sun has set no candle can replace it” loras quote

[llutik]

sun, moon & roses

[steviewashere]

I Don't Wanna Leave Him Now

Rating: General CW: None Tags: Post-Canon, Future Fic, Set in the '90s, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Marriage Proposal, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sap, This is Really Sweet, Romantic Eddie Munson, Engagement, Nervous Eddie Munson, Happy Ending Guaranteed, Listened to The Beatles While Writing This Title from "Something" by The Beatles, but make it gay.

💍—————💍 Eddie's nervous. The most nervous he believes he's ever been in his entire life—which is saying something, a lot of somethings. He's put himself in front of crowds, of classmates who have never wanted to hear a single vocal from his lips, walked on tables and shouted profanities, placed himself in the dungeon master chair, and screeched with laughter as he deemed fit. But here, in an apartment he's made with love—with Steve by his side, unexpected and bright like sun on a gloomy, fall day—he's the most nervous he's ever felt.

When he first realized he liked men, could even view men as a possibility, he never thought of a future in it all. Never thought much of what comes after the dating phase. Of sharing a bed with a man, let alone a life. He didn't put himself in the shoes of somebody a partner is excited to come home to. A life of warm stew in the kitchen and low lights and mosaics of lives coming together like stained glass in the Catholic church he and Wayne used to frequent. Of a whole within a heart so beaten and battered, he never thought to consider it beating alongside another's.

Steve started his heart with the tenacity and urgency crackling in his palms. With parted lips and swimmer's lungs. Pleads and cries under a desolate sky, in a darkness burdened upon their shoulders, blood soaked fingers skittering over his pale cheeks. Tears that he could never piece being poured for him like the tap leaking from a broken pipe—one more incident and it may just burst, explode and flood and damage. And yet he lived, woke up in a hospital bruised and stitched to all hell, fluorescents beating down on him in nauseous buzzes, sweaty hands still crackling around one of his own. "Steve?" he had croaked and those tears arose once more, this time coming down like God's flood.

And now he paces the carpet of their apartment's living room. Up and down as if marching through pews, brightened by the mosaic that is their lives—crisp magazines and peeling books and a couch ready to collapse from how worn it's become through their midday cuddles. There's a candle dancing and flickering before him on the coffee table, some linen scent that Steve has sworn by his entire growing up. Its off-white wax and orange on the wick, ablaze and coating the room. He inhales and places Steve ahead of him in his brain, smiling gooey before he left for the day, hair swooped away from his forehead still eternally seventeen, and an ochre polo ironed over his shoulders because it's his favorite color—so, of course, it's Eddie's favorite, too.

He's warm under his layers. A sweater Steve knitted him, this deep pink thing that scrunches at his hips and gently lays over the base of his neck—because screw the sweater curse, he'll cherish this falling apart masterpiece until it's nothing but spooled yarn once more. And a t-shirt to prevent the sweater from rubbing his healed scars raw, it's a plan shirt, black and fitting. Grey sweatpants because he wasn't sure what kind of pants to wear for what he's going to do. At least his hair is tied back with a tired elastic band, he isn't sweating there.

But he holds his breath and waits. Waits for Steve to come through their front door. With his overflowing college bag because he's a determined college boy now. For his shoes to be set aligned with the other sneakers they bunny ear tie for one another. Keys to be hung up with a soft click. His drooping dog eyes, heavy with the day, but alight with love anyway.

There'll be snow on Steve's shoulders. White and melting and sticky for a few seconds before the radiator catches up. He'll smile with all his teeth in that gentle, kind way he does. Where his whole face radiates and his eyebrows shoot up in excitement and his eyes pool with reverence. Eddie will kiss him, despite his nerves. Trembling and soft, almost as if they were new, but he'll kiss him.

Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

There are tires against pavement and he shakes his already shaking hands out at his sides. Jumps up and down like he's seen Steve do a million times before, right before the big playoffs, right before the World Series airs, before he's determined to win. He leaves the living room and stands in the entryway, merely two feet from the door, and waits. Patiently impatient, he waits.

Steve bounds in after his key clicks the lock loose. Tosses his book-bag to the ground with little care, arms stretched and plucked from the snowed-on jacket sleeves, shoes stepped out of after the laces are undone, and the key goes on the hook. He turns and finds Eddie with those puppy back soft eyes of his, hazel and bright and fresh even after all this time, and he smiles. God he smiles.

It's a gentle peck. A reminder of lips against lips.

"Hey, baby," Eddie purrs.

Crinkling eyes. Mm. "Hey, Eds." And the way he says those words, all sweet and dripping, affected by the push of his smile, of his lips pulled wide and pink and just crackling from the cold air, cheeks flushed and bulbous. He sways further into Eddie's space, love colored across him in pinks and reds and gentle peaches. His hands are cold in Eddie's palms, warming slowly from the radiator, from the body heat they exchange, from words and gooeyness and stew in the kitchen and linen candles and mosaics. "You look comfy," Steve says, murmured hot and cold over Eddie's own grinning mouth.

"I look like a million bucks, thanks to you," he whispers.

"Mm. Mhm. You look so good in pink."

He smiles bigger, his own teeth showing, Steve's eyes dropping down to where he's missing one on the left side—still droopy and in love, caught up. "Why don't you go in and get comfy? I made us some dinner, I'll dish you up."

"Yeah?" Steve's eyes are still on his mouth. Voice still low and stirring. "It smells good."

"It'll be even better on your tongue, sweetheart. Go get changed, m'kay?"

Another peck. And then Steve disappears into their bedroom with a gentle click behind him.

Eddie's hands shake, but he jumps further into action. Diving behind their sofa for a bouquet of roses he hopes he hid well enough. Places them on the coffee table so that they're right in the open. He does as he intended, pours them two bowls of steaming stew—turkey stew he made with leftovers at Thanksgiving, using the scraps just as he's been taught by Wayne's guiding hands. Puts those on the coffee table, too, the candlelight dancing off the porcelain bowl edges. The last piece of his not-so-over-the-top puzzle is his acoustic, banged up and still shiny, resting in his lap.

His breath comes fuzzy and his heart jumps and spins behind his ribcage like ribbon dancing in the wind. Sanity spilling out his ears, but he holds on. Listening in as Steve shuffles back down their hallway, poising himself at the ready with his fingers angled on the gently taut strings, watching Steve come around the corner in his own sweatpants and another sweater he made—this one a light cherry red, slightly messier with its strings, but put together and comfy.

The surprise on Steve's face makes Eddie giddy.

Eyes wide and eyebrows scrunching, mouth gaping, but still at ease and pleasant. He breathes out some half-humorous, half-shocked sound—a chuckle or something like. But he sits down next to Eddie on the sofa, sinking into the middle cushion with practiced ease, right where he usually leans himself into Eddie's side to watch reruns and talk gossip.

Tonight, Steve smiles at him all the same, but scrunches his fingers into his own knees. Just as a kid does when they're getting the thing they wanted the most for Christmas, trying not to wiggle too much out of their seat.

He strums down with his thumb, plucking out the notes as he places the tips of his fingers over the frets. Sings, in his husky rasp:

"Something in the way he moves, Attracts me like no other lover"—

The shock doesn't really leave Steve's face, but there's this calm that settles over his features. Leaves his eyes shiny and curious and warm. His mouth settled in this soft, all lips, shy smile. And a light pink flush to his wonderful, full, mole-dotted cheeks.

—"Something in the way he woos me I don't wanna leave him now You know I believe and how"—

Steve begins to wriggle more in his seat, swaying gently back and forth to the music. Just as he does when he's standing in the kitchen, focused on the dinner he makes or the dishes he may do. The way he does when he's nose deep in his homework and Eddie comes up behind him to soothe his tense shoulders. And just as he does with ear protection deep in his ears, at the front of their local bar, weeping beer in his hand, watching on as Eddie performs for him and only him—despite the crowd, despite the nerves set deep in his bones.

—"Somewhere in his smile, he knows That I don't need no other lover Something in his style that shows me I don't wanna leave him now You know I believe and how"—

He finishes out the song, his eyes down at his own fingers, but he knows Steve is still looking on directly at him. At his thumb plucking dutifully over the strings, the scrunch he slowly produces between his eyebrows as he focuses more and more, and every single time he licks his lips before singing the next line. But his gaze remains the same, gooey as the brownies he bakes around Christmas, as passionate as he ever is.

And by the end, Eddie is no longer trembling, putting aside the guitar. Steve gives him easy, soft applause. "That was so beautiful, Eds," he compliments.

Eddie, no longer nervous, but still shy, rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Thanks," he says quietly, "I learned it just for you, sweetheart." He takes a deep breath, and before he lets Steve respond, he's digging deep into the left pocket of his sweatpants. "I have...I have a question to ask you, though."

"Sounds serious," Steve comments. "Whatcha need to know, babe?"

Of course he's nonchalant after something like that. It makes some of the nerves come back, timid and tepid. Eddie's way of wooing probably isn't all that original, he's aware of that at least, but Steve doesn't seem bothered by it. If anything, his face is open and expectant, soft and still curious.

He takes a deep breath, lunges his shaking hands forward, and props the lid of the little box he's holding.

Inside is a shiny gold band. It's not the best of the best, that's for another time. But it's a hefty ring, fit for Steve's left ring finger, and engraved with their initials on the inside of the band. When he received the finished ring to place inside the yellow velvet box he found, a part of him flourished and bloomed like newborn roses. He wept that night, staring down at it. Something was finally settling into place.

He was one step closer to getting a future he never expected.

One step closer to a happy ending he never thought he'd get.

Steve gasps quietly between his parted lips, eyes darting down to the ring, up to Eddie's, and back down. He's still gently swaying in his seat, happy and vibrant and beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous, it makes Eddie blaze like the candle, warm and dancing.

"Eds..." Steve breathes. "Oh my gosh, Eds."

"Steve," he speaks softly, "I know we can't do anything legal about this yet, but I guess my heart's too eager for a lifetime with you. You started that heart, kept it cherished and going, wrapped up and safe in your hands, and now I'm here, offering it to you all over again. Offering to you a life we already share, with your excitement over sports games that I may never understand, our music tastes both daunting and similar, and all these soft moments we have.

"I know that how we started isn't the most wonderful of stories, but I wake up everyday to make it better and better—you somehow outdo yourself day in and day out. And I'm ready, if you are, to take the next step. No matter how long it takes until we can get the gaudy, giant wedding of our dreams. I still want this with you, all of you—as you are, as you will be.

"So...

"Steve Harrington, the love of my life I never expected, but cherish anyway, will you marry me?"

"Eds," Steve breathes again.

Instead of saying anything more, Eddie swallows down his words with a gentle gulp. Grips the box tighter, trying to keep his shaking at bay. The bundle, of every emotion he's ever felt, pulsing and tight deep in his stomach. But he's patient. And he's sure.

"Of course, oh my god," Steve answers, "of course I'll marry you. This is...this is...wow."

Eddie pries the ring free of its little white cushion. He takes Steve's left hand in his own, fingers gripping to soft skin. And he smooths the ring down Steve's ring finger. It sits bright and pretty on him. Just as Eddie imagined it to be. He tightens his hold on Steve's hand, wrangling them so they're fully holding onto each other.

When he looks back up from their tangled fingers, Steve kisses him. All encompassing, devouring, with fervor. He kisses with words, all the words Eddie's read, with every what-if and eventually, and every soft memory they'll make in the near future. A love that coats and soothes and flames; a love that's kept Eddie's heart beating after all these years.

He gasps for breath when they pull apart. And is reminded, endearingly, of all their breathless make-out sessions years ago—when they were in their early twenties, tentative, and nervous.

When Eddie asked Robin for permission to date Steve.

And now, in their early thirties, the permission to marry Steve sitting heavy in him—welcomed fully and tight by Robin's squeezing arms. That's a story for another time, though.

"I love you, Eddie. I love you so much," Steve whispers, "you beat me to it."

"You might'a been the jock, but I had to make sure I was faster than you on this. I like to jump the gun when I know what I want."

"And you want me forever," he says in awe.

Eddie nods once, a sure thing. "I want you forever, Steve Harrington. Just as I promised in the beginning, sweetheart."

"You're such a sap, Eds."

"For you, sweetheart. Just for you."

Their stew needs to be reheated. And they'll cuddle into each other to watch their reruns. Maybe do some other exciting things tonight.

For now, though, Eddie holds onto Steve's engaged hand. Gazes at him. And continues to promise forever.

A forever after that he's always dreamed about—made real in those honey drenched eyes.

💍—————💍

[amsznn]

heyy i love your writing! idk if this is where you take requests or not or if you do requests but i have a kinda specific one? could you do one with matt where y/n has her own small, cozy home, and she and matt kinda unspokenly like each other and hang out alone all the time? like they're super close and flirt low key all the time in small, sweet ways, and they're "just friends" but could definitely be found watching a scary movie alone together in her super cozy room *sorta* cuddling? going on late night drives together and talking for hours?? that kinda relationship! like id just LOVEE for you to write about a breezy fall night, her bedroom windows open, fall scented candles in her room, homemade chocolate chip cookies, and a scary movie kinda cuddled up with matt under thick blankets? but they obviously like each other a lot and he's the first one to tell her and share really cute kisses??? you know?? like matt can't fully focus on the movie because his heart is beating out of his chest with super cute feelings for y/n. just lots of fluff, cozy fall vibes, nothing super cringey! i hope i got the very specific vibe across haha!

CAN WE BE MORE? - m. sturniolo ⋆⭒˚.

A/N: TYSM for this request, its soo good and hopefully you enjoy reading my take on it!

-

no one was more excited for fall like you and your best friend matt were. in your eyes, fall was when you thrived the most. with the nice breeze, to the crunch of the leaves under your converse as you make yourself up your driveway, nothing could compare.

opening up the door to your small apartment, you immediately felt at ease. quickly kicking off your shoes, you made your way to your living room that was sorta a mess from yesterday’s activities. the triplets came over to bake cookies with you, but chris ended up crashing on the couch. it was no big deal though, you loved the triplets. maybe sometimes you had a little more love for one.

snapping out of your thoughts, you checked your phone to see the time. 5:30. the triplets would be coming over once again so you could have your anual scary movie session.

the day went on with you cleaning every crevasse of your house, of course knowing it would go back to it’s horrid state after the boys got there. then you made your way to your room, looking around to see if anything was out of place. you noticed that matt’s blanket was hanging off your bed so you made way to grab it. matt sometimes liked sleeping over to get away from all the chaos. it was normal for your friendship with him. nothing ever really happened though.

although you loved all three of them, you couldn’t help but wish for some more alone time with matt. maybe it was selfish but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart pounded ten times faster whenever he was around, or when he would sneak glances at you thinking you weren’t looking. maybe it was all in your head, you thought to yourself.

the time was now 6:20, and the sun had already fully set, which made for a cozy environment in your house with the lights dimmed, and pumpkin scented candles flickering. you also made a mental note to check on the cookies you put under the oven.

a few minutes later you heard your front door start to open. it didn’t alarm you since the triplets had an extra key. well, matt had an extra key. “y/n?” you heard a familiar voice call out from the hallway. you couldn’t hide your excited expression as you made your way towards the voice.

you expected to be bombarded by nick, and chris as well but nope, it was only matt. “hey, where are your brothers?” you asked, taking the bag of snacks out of his hands.

shuffling to take his shoes off matt says, “well, i thought it’d be better if it was just us.” you blinked for a couple of moments before smiling. “sure why not, maybe we can actually finish the movie this time.” you chuckled, before making your way to the kitchen, with matt following closely behind you.

he sighed when he smelled the aroma of the cookies surrounding the area. he always secretly loved coming over alone. he liked spending time with just you. of course you guys hang out occasionally like going to random food places together, or heading to the thrift store, but something was different when just hanging out at your house. over the years it’s become like a safe place for matt where he can escape from the world for a little bit. you were his escape. except how does he tell you that?

he watched as you opened the oven to take the cookies out, forgetting about oven mitts, and heat. “hot! hot! hot!” you shouted but refusing to drop your cookies on the floor. matt quickly made his way to you with and oven mitt and placed the cookies on the counter before turning to you. “are you okay??” he asked while gently taking your hands to inspect your burns.

it was nothing fatal, nothing cold water and vaseline couldn’t fix. he led you to the sink and held your hand under the cold water. “stay right here, okay? i’ll go get some vaseline.” matt knew his way around your house like the back of his hand, so he came back with the vaseline in no time. taking your hand out of the water, he gently dried it with a towel, before applying the vaseline to it.

you scrunched your face up at the uncomfortable contact which matt seemed to notice. “i know, i know, but this is what happens when you forget the fucking oven mitt”

you couldnt help but laugh. “hey, i just wanted my cookies.” matt softly smiled before letting your hand go. you both stood there for what seemed like an eternity just staring at each other. until you realized the oven was still on. (id burn the house down yall)

-

after that whole fiasco, you and matt ended up settling down on the couch to watch your favorite scary movie. there wasn’t a lot of space between you two since you liked being close to matt whenever watching these movies. no matter who was there you subconsciously were always closer to him.

the movie started and you were bundled up in your blanket while matt’s arm rested on the couch behind you. although the movie was creepy, the smile on your face almost never left since you felt so secure with matt. eventually though, that smile faded away as a jumpscare popped up on your screen. causing you to jump closer into matt’s side.

on the other hand, matt was freaking out. and not because of the movie. sure you guys have cuddled before, but that doesn’t mean he never longed for more. or for it to more than just two friends being close. his eyes darted between you and the screen. he was sure you could hear the pounding of his chest. he gently removed his arm from the couch and wrapped it around your shoulder, making sure to watch your reaction, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

you sighed at the contact and rested your head on his chest further. if anyone walked in right now, they’d definitely think you were a couple. but unfortunately you were just two friends as of right now.

eventually the movie ended, but you and matt’s position on the couch didn’t. his arm was still around you, afraid that if he’d move just a little, you’d move away. you looked up at matt and found him staring right back at you. this made you shift up, to properly sit. “what?” you asked him.

matt’s mouth only opened and closed. desperately trying to find the right words. eventually he just sighed, letting everything out. “y/n, i know we’ve been friends for a while but i really cant keep ignoring my feelings like this.” matt shifted on the couch as you listened, worried that you did something wrong.

“i like you, or maybe love im not sure, but i do know that you mean so much to me, and just being friends is killing me.” matt paused for a moment to catch his breath from rambling so much. “i just want to be more.”

“you have no idea how much ive been wanting to hear that from you.” you softly laughed as you watched matt’s face soften. “i love you too, matt.”

matt only smiled as he brought you into a hug, resting his head on your shoulder. “can i kiss you?” he asks, close to a whisper. you nodded before wrapping your arms around his neck. matt smiled at this and leaned in, before his lips landed on yours. matt’s arms made their way down your body and landed on the sides of your waste, trying to pull you in closer.

it felt like your heart was going to explode at any moment with the way matt’s lips were moving against yours. he was gentle, but passionate. matt pecked your lips a couple of times before pulling back and holding you there.

“so, can i be your boyfriend?” he asks, bringing his hand up to caress your face.

“of course you can.”

-

A/N: i really hope this is what you meant / wanted. this was an amazing first request, i was literally smiling while reading it. If anything, message me if you want anything added or changed and leave some more requests!

also ty guys so so much for the love on my recenr works, its so crazy, love you all <3

[bubble-leaves]

Money - Reth x Reader

cw / subtle angst

The day has come to a close. The sun has set, the crickets are chirping outside, and the candles in your home have been extinguished.

You had invited your boyfriend to stay over at your place for the night; today was hard for him. Against their deal, the cartel Reth was involved with had raised the price for Tish’s flow treatment. To keep up with this new flagrant price, Reth may have to work at the inn until midnight, now. He didn’t understand. His payments were always on time, always. Why was he being punished so cruelly?

Reth sits upon your comfortable bed, his eyes without shine. He’s in casual pajamas and his bandana and jewelry are off. In his peripheral vision, he can see you lighting the wick of your small homestead lamp that sits on your nightstand. The soft light is comforting to him, yet you know he’ll need a lot more than just light to make him feel okay right now. You stand directly in front of him. Reth looks up at you, a look of pure heartache on his face. He sighs as you cup his face with your hands.

“It’s gonna be okay,” You whisper, before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He closes his eyes and softly hums in response. When you pull away, he gazes back at you sadly.

“I’m gonna help, okay? Any extra money you need, I got you,” You assure.

Reth’s brows furrow together with sorrow and he shakes his head. He pulls his face out of your hands.

“No, you aren’t,” Reth says. “This is all on me. You’re not getting in any of the cartel business, okay? Over my dead body, literally.”

Your shoulders sink as you exhale. Reth has a terrible problem with accepting help, but you understand where he’s coming from here. He never wanted you involved in any of the shady business he does, he’s always let you know that. But seeing him suffer this internal turmoil is killing you.

“They won’t know the extras are from me,” You argue. “With how much you work, especially so early in the Market, they couldn’t.”

“(Y/n). I said no,” Reth affirms.

You frown. You feel a bit helpless, as though you’re watching him struggle to keep his head above water. You both stare at each other in silence before Reth finally looks away. He rubs his wrist anxiously, then decides to abandon the conversation. He crawls up to the side of your bed he’s come to call his own, and slips underneath the covers with his back to you. It’s not that he’s angry with you. He just . . . doesn’t know what to say. You know. One thing Reth will never deny is that you understand him better than anyone else.

You release a quiet breath and get into bed with him. Reth hears you settle down, but doesn’t expect to feel your back against his. His eyes shift to the side and his brows furrow. You two never sleep back to back, never ever. He hears the crackle of your fireplace in the other room as his lips purse in thought. Did he upset you? Was he too cold toward you? Quietly, Reth looks over his shoulder to check on you. He sees you breathing peacefully. There doesn’t seem to be any distress, but he still feels bad. Finally, he lets out a sigh and turns over to you. A small smile breaks on your lips as you feel his arm curl around your body and tug it against his.

“Was I being mean?” He mumbles.

You breathe out a laugh. “No, not even close. Don’t worry about it. I understand, love.”

Reth’s lips press together as he feels his heart throbbing. Your unrelenting, unwavering kindness surprises him every time. He nestles his face in the crook of your neck and closes his eyes in bliss. He pecks a few kisses against your skin as your hand caresses the arm that anchors you to his chest. The air inside the room feels fresh and comfortable, effortlessly easing the tension from a few minutes ago. Your weighted covers, the ambience of the chirping crickets and nearby fireplace, all calm down both of your nerves.

Just then, your fingertip begins tracing over the marking tattoos on his forearm. His eyes open once more to watch. He sighs deep in his throat. The memory of him being held down by several cartel members to get these inked is somehow less painful when you’re here, idly tracing the patterns. Reth wants the memory to be replaced with this very moment. Because you don’t bring him pain or fear, anger or disappointment. You just bring love. It feels so strange, but he just can’t get enough of you.

“You’re making me shiver,” Reth chuckles.

You smile, “I know, isn’t it amazing?”

He rolls his eyes before closing them, a big smile on his face too. “It is. But you’d know all about amazing, huh?”

“Mhm,” You smile, turning over on your other side to face him. “Like giving you 10,000 gold a week. How’s that?”

Reth’s smile drops. His mouth hangs open in pure shock for a beat, then he snaps out of it.

“Babe, that’s, like, nearly 3 weeks of me working at both the inn and the Market,” He says.

You shrug. “Would that cover the costs?”

His wide eyes blink a couple of times. “Well . . . I mean, yeah, but . . . ”

His words trail off as the arm around your waist retracts a bit. Your lips part with regret; maybe you should have laid off the pestering. Instinctually, your fingertips brush along his arm as it subtly moves. Reth looks down. It’s hard to decipher what he’s feeling. You wait patiently for him to continue. Just then, Reth looks up to you with eyes glossed over with tears. You softly gasp. His brows are furrowed upward in something resembling sorrow and confusion.

“ . . . I don’t get it. Why are you so insistent on helping, even in the face of danger, just for me?” He asks in a low, quivering tone.

Your head tilts to the side. You’re taken aback by his words.

“What do you mean, ‘just for you?’ Reth, I love you,” You emphasize.

Reth’s eyes close tight after those last 3 words. One single tear streams down his cheek. Then another. And another. You deeply frown and use your thumbs to rub them away, listening as he tries to keep his breathing steady. He’s never wept in front of you before. But, like usual, you seem to know exactly what to do. Reth softly grasps one of your wrists, then looks up at you.

“I have no idea how you do this to me,” He says with a bittersweet laugh. “Ah . . . not so tough when I’m with you, huh?”

You smile and caress his cheek back and forth with your thumb. “It’s fine to cry, crying is good.”

Reth stares at you for a second, then groans and hangs his head. “Dragon, why are you so . . . ugh. I am so lucky to have you.”

You giggle, just before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. It’s clear that he just needs to stop talking for a minute. He quietly moans due to the delightful chill you send down his back. He kisses you back immediately, with the same softness, until you let go to speak.

Eyes half-open as you pull back, you say, “Money is the least thing I could give you, okay? This isn’t no loan, this isn’t no mooching, this is me just helping you out until the price is lowered again.”

Reth sighs, clearly still bothered by this notion. He opens his mouth to refute, but he recognizes that he’s not going to make you sway on this matter, despite how dangerous it could be for you.

You continue after a spell of silence. “And what am I gonna do with all the extra money I get, anyway? Buy a farm?”

Reth’s concerned expression is abandoned for a smirk. “I mean, you could.”

You brush a stray hair from his eyes and nod. “I could. But I’d rather spend it on you.”

“Damn it,” Reth says under his breath, his face feeling hot.

You giggle as you watch him blush and shift his shoulders, flattered. Normally, he’s the one that would say something like that to you. Reth didn’t know that it felt this good to hear.

“Okay. Okay, fine, just . . . don’t bring it into the inn or the Market. Just give it to me when I ask, here,” He finally compromises.

A soft gasp leaves his lips as you kiss his forehead again. He didn’t really expect another one.

“I got you, don’t worry,” You murmur. “Just get some rest, okay? I’ll be here.”

Those words make him feel so safe. Reth closes his eyes with a sigh and melts into the crook of your neck. His arm wraps around your waist again. You sweetly caress his arm up and down as he hugs you tight. His face is a rich maroon and his spine feels pleasant tingles floating down it. Suddenly, the world doesn’t seem like it’s crashing down on him. You would never let that happen, anyway; you are Reth’s fortress. And he feels so secure in your arms, comforted by your warmth and your kind spirit. He doesn’t know what he did to possibly deserve someone like you loving him like this, yet he’s inspired by the unconditional prospect of it. Reth wants to love you in the exact same way.

He feels your fingertips softly brush over his skin until he falls asleep, in a state of pure peace.

[maple-the-awesome]

Twilight's Calling ||

Pairing: Twilight x GN! Reader

Words: 2,544

Requested by anonymous: Heeey. First of I love your writing style! It’s just amazing! Cause twilight is my fav. could you maybe write something like xreader with him, for example they’re in a battle or smth? Only if it’s okay ofc! Thanks a lot and have a good day and week! best wishes :) Twilight may or may not be my favorite Link, too (TP was the first game I finished, so I'm a little bias, okay?). I've had this draft lying around unfinished for awhile, so I figured this would be the perfect opportunity to finish it. Here you go, hun 💜

Zelda Masterlist 🤎Fandom Masterlist

It's getting pretty late. 'Late' as in the sun has long set and the last time you saw any of the boys was about an hour ago when Time finally managed to herd the remaining stragglers out of the room, although he was being a bit hypocritical seeing as he still lingered in the doorway for a good minute himself afterwards (not that you dared comment on it).

Since their heavy footsteps had faded into silence - and aside from the innkeeper sometimes shuffling down the hall or a sudden 'pop' of the bedside candle - you've been left entirely alone with your thoughts as they dance on the very edge of sleep, but you refuse to lose balance. It's your shift. You promised to be a good lookout and it took a lot of convincing to even get the position, so you can't disappoint no matter how heavy the weight upon your eyelids or heart is.

You've always been well aware of the risks that would come with this mission and from traveling alongside nine heroes of legend; troublesome young men and boys who can definitely handle themselves in battle, however none immune to making possible mistakes. You expected one to occur at some point, yet never wanted the aftermath to be anything too serious.

Wild getting a decent scar on his forehead was a scare when it initially happened, but he was back on his feet within the hour - less than that actually, because if you remember correctly, his quick recovery had been controversial and resulted in quite a bit of bickering. The bottom line is that Wild bounced back with little to no trouble thanks in part to his thick skull. This is different. Twilight has yet to follow his protege's example and it's been hours.

You must admit you underestimated the situation at first due to a lack of context. It's not to say you didn't care about Wolfie when he got struck, however there's a notable difference between a wild 'pet' that occasionally trails your group and the very man you've grown to secretly admire over the months you've spent traveling together. If you had known then that they are one of the same, you would've likely shared a similar level of panic as the Champion, but instead you were left in the dark until Four finally explained Twilight's secret to you.

Even at that moment, although more worried, you figured everything would be okay. Wolfie or Twilight, a fairy should be able to do the trick to heal the worst of injuries, so one can imagine your heartbreak once learning that, for some odd reason, the state of his wounds haven't changed even under a fairy's sacred touch. That's when you truly became fearful, but you refused to show it outwardly - no more than whatever made itself present on your face, anyway.

Making a fuss won't aid Twilight's condition nor will it calm the concerns of your friends, so instead you had mostly stayed out of the way until Time announced everyone should get some rest. At that point, you made your presence known, quick to shoot your hand into the air while volunteering to take the first shift for watching over Twilight. Champion was the only one to fight you for it and honestly, you still aren't certain how you won the argument, but here you are, sitting quietly at Twilight's bedside while trying desperately to keep yourself from descending into madness as you fret over his well-being.

He's doing somewhat better after Hyrule's magic managed to stop most of the bleeding, however his wound remains deep without any further healing progress and his skin is drained into a pale, sickly color clear even through the dim glow of candle light. He looks like shit and you'd guess he feels like it, too, seeing as his face curls into a pained expression every now and again, a whispered groan leaving him whenever he slightly shifts his body (not that he moves that much).

It's gotten a bit chilly tonight, however all blankets in the room have been laid over him and you refuse to swoop as low as to steal comfort from a dying man, so you simply keep huddled to yourself, half praying the next shift will come sooner and half praying it won't because a stubbornness inside you is somehow convinced that the simple act of you being here will keep himsafe from death's hands.

You don't pay much attention to the quiet groan that comes from the bed, having already bitterly accepted that there's nothing that can ease whatever pain haunts Twilight during his nightmares, although you do lift your head when a hand shakes its way into view, barely able to carry itself to the edge of the covers where it collapses with a broken echo from its owner, "W...What time is it?"

You almost cry simply by the sight of Twilight's dull eyes staring up at you, half-lidded and only appearing bright if compared to the dark bags hiding underneath them, but you manage to hold back the tears for the sake of not scaring him.

"I-I'm not sure. After sunset," You answer slowly as to prevent any wobbling to your voice.

"And the others? Is every - everyone else okay?" Hylia, he sounds awful, his once handsome, accent-laced voice butchered by a hollow croak.

"Yeah...Yeah, we're all okay - and don't worry about the shadow. Wild managed to take it down - thanks to you tiring it out, I'd say. You sure gave that thing a run for its money there," You attempt to joke lamely. Although your laugh doesn't carry much life to it, Twilight's expression does soften a tad after the sound.

"...Good..." Is all he says before closing his eyes with a sigh through his nose. Meanwhile you fidget nervously, debating with yourself on whether you should let the conversation die off so that he can continue getting rest or keep him talking while he's able to. You sure do love hearing his voice, after all, no matter how broken it may be; it reminds you that someone as great as him is actually real and, after recent events, still alive.

In the midst of your depressed thoughts, you notice Twilight reach his hand out towards you again - or at least it looks like he's trying to. Really, he only has the strength to lift it palm-up slightly off the covers, yet you understand this movement's wordless request. Ever so gently, as if he's made of glass, you take his hand and sandwich it between both of yours. He's a bit too cold for your liking, a sharp contrast to his normally warm touch, not that you draw attention to that worrying detail.

"...Is there anything I can get you?"

He tries to shake his head, but loses will halfway through the action and instead chooses to simply let his head lull to the side towards you. From there he stares for a bit longer than he means to, his dazed brain struggling to process his thoughts at its usual speed.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on you," You allow a small smile, slowly reaching forward to help move his bangs away from his face, "We're all taking shifts throughout the night. I was just lucky enough to get the first."

Twilight hums, closing his eyes for a brief second when your fingers brush his forehead, "How'd you manage that?"

"Barely. For a second there, I thought I was gonna have to duel the Champion for it - had my hand on my sword and everything before he finally caved," Twilight makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh which makes your smile more genuine even if he does flinch in pain immediately afterwards, "The real question is how I won against Time...Actually, I wouldn't be that surprised if he's secretly standing outside the door as we speak."

A creak of old floorboards in the hallway makes your eyes dart to the door, almost expecting the man in question to walk in and call you out for your jokes, yet you calm that doesn't happen. Twilight brings your attention back to him by moving his thumb against your hand, "Don't tell 'em, but I'm glad it's you here. I like having ya' here with me..."

You press your lips, hoping it'll help you ignore the heat against your cheeks. That must be the first time Twilight has ever openly said he 'likes' anything related to you; you're certain you'd remember any other instances of such a milestone. It might not be the exact sentence you'd want him to use the word in, but it's a step in the right direction, so you'll take it.

"I like having you here with me, too, Twi...which is why I've officially decided that I'm too selfish to let you die on any of us. I don't care if I have to fist-fight Hylia for it; I'm not letting you get out of this journey so easily."

"That right?"

"I swear it on my life."

He chuckles weakly, although the sound is taken over by a fit of coughing. Promptly you pour a small glass of water using the pitcher kept on the bedside table before gently helping him sit up to take a careful sip.

It's insane for you to think that only a few weeks ago, you had been secretly watching him move hay bales at Time's place effortlessly. Now he lies here in bed struggling to hold a conversation, his muscles shaking horribly by the simply action of prompting himself up even slightly. Seeing him like this makes you feel awful, but you also consider yourself blessed to be the one taking care of him during a low point like this, ensuring that he's properly cared for and tended to almost like a spouse would.

"Seems like I'm starting to lose you, farm boy. You should relax and get some more sleep," He makes a face and seems prepared to argue, however he must not have been able to think of anything convincing to say - that or the aching in his bones has become too hard to ignore. Either way, instead of saying a word, Twilight nods droopily before inching his way back down against his soft pillow while you fix the blankets over him again.

"Look on the bright side: make it through this and you'll probably get special treatment from here on out. Get your bags carried for you, have whatever meals you're craving be made each night...If you hobble around a little I'm sure you could even get Time to fuss over you -"

" - And what about you?" Twilight quizzes and you can't tell if he's being serious or just teasing. It feels like the latter, yet the way he watches you while awaiting your reply makes you feel another way; soft and warm, but a tad anxious at the same time, "What can I get from you?"

You pretend to think, although in truth, you already know there wouldn't be any limitations for what you're willing to give. If he asked for the world right now, you'd figure out some way to gift wrap it for him...but that's too embarrassing to admit aloud, "...Depends on what you're thinking and if you can swing it the right way."

He hums, once again staring at you just long enough to make that anxious feeling really prominent. Is there something on your face that no one told you about earlier? Is he judging your messy hairdo that you had no time to fix since the battle? Did you sound too flirtatious in your answer? Maybe his injury has given him the ability to read minds, so now he knows just how desperate you are to earn his affections!

"...If I asked you to stay with me, would you?" Twilight whispers so quietly that you barely hear, yet you do. 

"I, uh...Time will be here in an hour or so for his shift, but I won't go anywhere until then, okay?" Not even your poor excuse at smiling can save your stumbled words, yet you pray he doesn't look beyond either. He's loopy from such a stressful day, so it makes sense that he's have trouble properly wording questions. It also makes sense for him to be scared to be left alone - anyone would be in such a state. He doesn't have to worry, though; between you and the boys, someone will always be by his side throughout the night. You'd expect that knowledge to be a relief for him, however Twilight only frowns and looks away with a surprisingly depressed look in his eyes. 

Fiddling nervously with your hands upon your lap, you ask carefully, "...Unless you're wanting me to watch over your for the whole night? In that case, I wouldn't mind staying if it would make you feel better. I'm sure the others would be fine with it if they could just check in here and there."

Twilight presses his lips, refusing to look directly at you. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that based on his continued reaction, you're still somehow missing the point of his question, yet no matter how much you rack your brain, you can't think of what else he would've possibly meant.

You were tempted to ask for more clarity, but Twilight speaks before you can, "...I'd like that."

"Yeah?"

He nods bashfully which melts your heart in a way you're sure would be shamefully clear if he were only looking in your direction.

"...Well, since you took one for the team -" Scooting your chair closer to the bed allows you to cross your arms over the mattress and rest your head on top of them. Desperately you try to ignore your nerves and the cute way Twilight curiously looks over at you, "- I'll stay for the night if you promise me one thing."

"Hmm?"

"Stay with me, too? Without you, I might just loose my mind. Don't tell anyone else, but you don't drive me nearly as insane as some of the other boys do," not in the same way at least.

The corner of Twilight's lips turn upwards, his hand taking it's time to move over yours. The second it makes contact, you take the chance to hold onto it, "...Sounds like a deal..."

You match his smile easily, "Get some sleep, Twi. I'll be right here when you wake up, so just focus on getting better for me, alright?"

He hums one last time, drifting off to sleep as commanded where he seems to be far more peaceful than earlier. As promised, you remain by his side until morning, eventually falling victim to quick naps yourself only disrupted whenever someone else sneaks into the room to see how things are going. You're certain you'll be tired tomorrow with an aching back after spending an entire night hunched over, but that's a small price to pay for someone like Twilight. It'll all be worth it to see him recover, granting you even more time to spend by his side through thick and thin.

[j-one25]

WILL YOU BE MY VALENTINE?

Genre —> Fluff, Friends to Lovers

Pairing —> L. Felix x F!Reader

Synopsis —> Felix and you have been best friends since high school, now as adults you two are still as close as can be. Although, Valentine's Day comes up and you're wanting to stay in, what'll happen when Felix shows up at your door instead?

WC —> 1k

You never thought of Felix in that way. Sure, you've been best friends for a good while. Best friends all through highschool and best friends to this day, six years later. You're grateful to have him in your life, of course you are. Despite you two being so close, you've never really thought of him as a dating option. He's a great guy, really. For instance, he pays for your meals, holds your hair back when you're throwing up and makes sure you're safe while too drunk to function. When he lets you be his taste tester for when he tries new recipes, massages your feet when there sore from wearing those awful heels for hours and hours on end. There's far too much to name, but he's done more then enough for you and you wish you knew how to return it back. Although, everytime you try too, he says it's no problem at all and that's what a best friend is supposed to do and he loves doing it.

Valentine's Day was coming up in less than a week, and you, again, had no Valentine. You usually hung out with Felix and his friends and have a fun night out. However, this time, you were more in the mood on staying home and having a fun time yourself. Keeping cozy, watching some movies or shows to catch up on and order take out, just having a great time.

“Hey, I forgot to ask, is there something you want to do for Valentines day? I think the boys wanted to go to this new place a few blocks away. What do you think?” Felix asked, he's looking through your fridge for something to eat.

“Hm, no. I'm planning on just staying home this valentine. But I hope you guys have fun!” Felix looks at you, confused. “Wait, why? We can go somewhere else if you don't want too I'm sure the boys will be fine with it.”, “no, no it's not that at all. I just don't feel like going out this time, it has nothing to do with you or the boys, though. I promise.” Felix grabbed a drink before closing the fridge and making it way to you where you're sitting on a stool at the island. “Well, would you like me to join you? I don't want you to be alone, especially on Valentine's Day, sweetheart.” You smiled slightly. You loved how he would cal you cute petnames sometimes. “It's alright, I won't force you. Go out and have fun, okay?”

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

The day of Valentine you wait until the sun starts setting. Once it does you order your take out, get your fine fragrance candles Felix got you for your birthday last year and light them as you put one on your nightstand, one on your dresser and the last two on each side of the stand that was holding up your TV. You got all your blankets and pillows and made your bed comfortable and warm for you to snuggle up in soon. You change into more comfortable clothing and grab the remote on your way back to the bed.

You get under the covers and bundle yourself up and start looking through something to watch while you wait for your food to arrive.

You hear a knock at the door, you quickly got up from your blankets and out of your bed to get the door, excited that you could finally eat your delicious food. You weren't expecting Felix to be at your doorstep with your food, though.

“Your food?” He smiles widely as he hands you your take out. “Why're you here? I thought you were with the guys?” You didnt want him to not have fun because you're alone. You knew he didn't a lot because of his idol life so you were confused and couldn't help but to feel slightly guilty. “Oh, I wanted to come here to make sure you were okay. Can I come in?” You nodded, stepping back and opening the door more so he can walk in. You close the door once he's in and locked both the bottom and top lock. “Is everything ok?”, “hm? Oh yeah, everythings fine, love. Are you?”you place your food on the counter and head to the cabinet to grab yourself a cup.

"yeah, I'm alright. I was about to eat and watch some shows, actually. Wanna join?" You weren't expecting him to agree to it, though he did. He took his shoes off and jacket and placed them where they were supposed to be before following behind you to your room where you had your food in hand and your cup with your drink in it in the other hand.

You put your drink and food down on your nightstand next to your bed and got under the covers as Felix jumped on you just to get on the bed and sit next to you. You groaned playfully in annoyance before taking a sip for your drink, then picked up your food. Felix reached across you dramatically to grab the remote and changed what you were about to watch to a movie youve been holding off on. You knew there was no changing his mind so you let him do whatever.

“Why're you really here?” You say, filling the comfortable silence after you've finished your food.

You looked over to him, seeing him focusing his attention to you as well after a few seconds. You both stared into each other's eyes for what if felt like hours. It was only a minute a most before he replied to you. Time seemed to slow down somehow and you weren't too sure why.

“...will you be mine?” You stared back at him, your heart beating faster as he mumbled those words. You were trying to figure out if you heard correctly.

“..what?” He breathed out, hoping he'd be willing enough to repeat himself again. “..will you be mine?” Your breaths became uneven a little bit.

The air was thick and not so comfortable as before. You felt like the time has stopped and nothing mattered right now, just you two.

You nodded as you were at lost for words, not trusting your voice to find the right words. Felix smiled snaked his arms around your waist, shoving his head gently where the crook of your neck was, hugging you tightly. He was so happy. Felix was so nervous and had to built up courage for a few weeks leading up til now.

“Of course I'll be yours, lixie.”

🏷️: @jinnie-ret @hannahhbahng @sharonxdevi @amararosesblog @lolareadsimagines @dunno-wut-to-do @baribaaari @miniminverse @lil-kpopstan @qweebsarse @atinyniki @michelle4eve @newhope8 @hongying52 @depressedvee @iyeeeverydee @kpopsstuffs @writingforstraykids-reblogs @palindrome969 @sona1800 @loveforhyunho @straykidsholicleigh

[ad-caelestia]

i've spent a lot of time saying "here's what you could do" as a witch versus "here is what i actually do" as a witch, so let's go.

as much as i try to stir my coffee in one direction or another, it always ends up counter-clockwise - instead of seeing it as a mistake, i just work around it by thinking of it like, i'm banishing (counter-clockwise) negativity from my day versus attracting (clockwise) positivity.

i tend to use colors that align with planets versus other folkloric associations - instead of a green candle for money, i'll use a blue one because blue is associated with jupiter which is associated with wealth and good fortune. lucky for me, all the other planets have colors that align appropriately so i don't have to think about those as much (sun - gold, moon - silver, mercury - ehhhhh a mix of like, yellow/violet/indigo, venus - baby pink/mint, mars - red/rust, etc etc.).

i have a money bowl that i redo on the first of every month and i set a cinnamon stick above my front door for prosperity - i have a tiny little angel of a bunny whose health means more to me than the ritualistic act of blowing cinnamon into your home from outside the front door.

my "grimoire" or book of shadows or WHATEVER you wanna call it lives on my computer via onenote and is also scattered through many many notebooks i have collected over the years - if i'm being honest, i am way too picky about my handwriting and messing things up when i am writing in pen that i would just rather keep it somewhere i can type and alt+f to get where i need to go.

my main altar lives on a pretty gold and faux marble bookshelf but honestly, my whole house is my altar - there are sacred spaces at every corner if you know what to look for.

if i want something for my craft, i try to repurpose old things or thrift for them - you'd be amazed what you can do with some of the most basic things (i found my money bowl, which is a crystal dish, at the thrift store for 99 cents); the dollar 25 tree is also a good spot to shop for cheap trinkets.

much of my craft is muscle memory, which has come from YEARS of practice - if i'm cooking and need to use like, basil for example (luck, money, protection), i just kind of already know what it's "good for" and keep that in the front of my mind while i'm cooking so the intent doesn't get buried.

i really REALLY prefer to make my own stuff but that's not always feasible - i really thought the other day that i could just start making candles for myself and had to put that thought on HOLD because let's be real, i'm not doing all that. instead, i will continue to use all the chime candles i have collected over the years instead of immediately going out to find something new.

cleansing ritual who? every time i mop my floor or clean the baseboards or wipe down the counter, i'm cleansing my space. i very much believe that mundane cleaning can be equally as magical and therapeutic if the intent is there.

same thing with literally any other magical thing i do these days: i won't go digging for new items to serve me and my spellwork, i will just use what i already have.

doing spells when the opportunity presents itself versus days of planning - i got a new body wash the other day whose main ingredient and scent is rose so i figured i could use it for a glamour at some point; needed some cinnamon the other day for pancakes and stashed some away for use as a catalyst later on; stuck a bay leaf in my pasta sauce while cooking and made a little wish beforehand.

tethers. everywhere. this one's a bit personal for me but generally speaking, i like to tie energy to a physical object and store it for later use.

i have never buried anything in my yard for any reason - i usually just stick it in a box if the spell isn't finished, cleanse and reuse, or discard all together after thanking it for its assistance.

i swear i have a mean tarot deck and a nice one so i tend to be biased and choose accordingly. 🙃

i also have two pendulums i don't use and a set of blue goldstone runes that i have had for 8 years but don't touch anymore. let that be a gentle reminder that you don't have to do all the things, i promise.

anyway, those are some things about my craft ok bye

[dreamlandreader]

Cruel Summer

Chapter One - A Recipe for Disaster

Merry Christmas @throneofsapphics - it is finally time for me to reveal myself as your Secret Santa for the @acotargiftexchange ❄️ It has been such a joy getting to know you over the past few months, and I've had the best time writing this fic. I really hope that you love this gift as much as I have loved working on it.

Summery: Nobody knows what happened between Mor and Elain last Winter Solstice. One day they were joined at the hip, giggling as the seer taught the warrior how to bake, and the next morning, they refused to look one another in the eyes. Sick of the tension, Rhysand and Feyre are hopeful that two weeks in the sun will be enough to help the pair rekindle a friendship, but the inner circle are oblivious to the fact that their relationship went much deeper than they know, and it will take a hell of a lot more than a beautiful beach to repair what was broken.

Story contains: Forced proximity, only one bed, second chance romance, lovers to enemies to lovers, angsty start with an eventual HEA.

The patrons of The Frosted Peak - Velaris's sparkling new fine dining restaurant - sat silently as they gawped at the family dispute breaking out before their very eyes.

The High Lord and his beguiling cousin sat centre stage amongst the crowd, but the gentle tinkling of piano keys and candle lit ambience did nothing to soothe the tension that was taught in the air.

“Absolutely not!” the warrior growled through gritted teeth.

“Mor, please just-”

“No, Rhysand! I am 540 years old. I do not need a babysitter!”

Mor had already suspected that Rhys had an ulterior motive when he invited her for dinner on such short notice. It was ever so rare for the two of them to dine alone these days, especially since Rhys had become a father. She knew she was going to dislike what he had to say when they arrived at the restaurant and Rhys began to skirt around the subject. Mor lasted five minutes before snapping and telling him to just ask what he wanted to ask.

“She is not a babysitter Mor, she is a very skilled seer who has been training tirelessly with Azriel and who needs the opportunity to practice what she’s learnt in the field,"

"The field! Rhys, it's a conference for emissaries in the Summer Court, it's basically a paid vacation!"

"It is still official court business and anything could happen. You need someone to support you if anything untoward happens, and she needs to prove to Azriel that she is ready for actual missions,"

“Sounds like a babysitter to me,” Mor mumbled, glaring at Rhysand so furiously that he feared she may set him alight through sheer willpower.

“Please do this for me. I don’t know what happened between you two last winter, but you were friends once, I’m sure you can get back there again,"

Mor continued to glower at her cousin, internally begging that he would back down, but Rhysand would not be backing down today. Not when he had been sent here by his mate.

“I'm serious Morrigan,”

“Ooh full name, boss man must mean business,” Mor quipped sarcastically, scrapping her chair across the hard wood floor, readying herself for a dramatic exit. That would show Rhys just how serious she was.

“If you can't do it for me then do it for Feyre,” Rhysand threw out, desperate for Mor to see sense.

“It's crushing her that she can't have her best friend and her sister in the same room without you both ending up at each other’s throats. Please, Mor,’

Mor contemplated for a moment telling him no, but then she thought of Feyre. Of all the sacrifices she had made for them all. Of how much she valued her friendship.

“It’s a damn good job that I love your wife!”

Elain Archeron had spent the last three weeks pretending that her upcoming trip was not happening. Three glorious weeks of ignorant bliss, that did not involve her dwelling on the dreadful adventure upon which she was due to embark. But present Elain was actually rather furious at past Elain for her decisions, because she had left every ounce of packing until the very last minute. This was why she sat on the cool floor of her bedroom surrounded by piles of clothing, as her sisters draped across her bed, giggling at the language coming out of the seer’s mouth.

“Elain, calm down,” Nesta drawled, a lopsided grin spread across her face. “I know you enjoy dressing up, but it’s not the end of the world if you take the fusha skirt instead of the magenta one,”

“It does matter! For starters, I have to blend in if I’m going to feed information back to Azriel. I also need to consider the heat because most of these clothes are far too warm for the Summer Court, and don’t even get me started on what she will have to say if I end up wearing a fashion disaster!”

“Elain, breathe!’ Feyre said, sliding off Elain’s plush bed and sinking onto the floor besides her sister.

“You will blend in just fine, you’ve trained so hard. I have every faith in you,” she smiled, softly holding Elain’s hand. “Secondly, if you are struggling with packing me and Nesta can help, can’t we Nes,”

“Mmmhmm” Nesta mumbled, face down in Elain’s pillows, lazily lifting her hand in a thumbs up motion.

“Look, Elain. Are you sure this is really about the clothes?” Feyre pried carefully, tiptoeing around the point.

“Huh,” Elain replied, scrunching her brows in confusion.

“I just mean are you sure that you’re not actually freaking out about spending time with Mor?”

“That’s ridiculous Feyre! Why would I care about that?” Elain screeched, her voice rising an octave and a rosy colour creeping across her cheeks.

“I just don’t understand how you and Mor went from barely interacting with one another, to joined at the hip, to enemies in a matter of weeks,”

“I don’t know. Sometimes people just don’t click that’s all,” Elain brushed her off, as if it was nothing. As if her sister’s investigation wasn’t ripping open a barely patched wound. As if Elain had not spent months agonising over the same thing, wondering what happened and how they had got themselves into such an uncomfortable situation.

“It didn’t seem like you were struggling to click last solstice,” Nesta interrupted, “We barely saw you because you were oh so busy getting to know each other,”

Nesta raised a brow and Elain’s heart sank … did she know? Had Nesta worked out the details of the worst heartbreak Elain had ever suffered.

She wished more than anything that she could tell her sisters everything. How she fell in love, slowly and then all at once. How she had placed her delicate heart in the hands of someone she thought felt just the same, only to watch them destroy it in front of her eyes. How she had been living, heartsick, and guarded ever since. She wished she could, but she couldn’t, because speaking it out loud would mean acknowledging the ache she felt in the depths of her soul, and no good would come from digging that up, not when she had spent so long pushing it down down down.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Elain whispered.

“But I just-” Feyre started.

“No! I just want to have one last night with my sisters before I’m stuck in another court for weeks. I’ve agreed to go so that I can be approved for actual missions. I will put up with her company and keep things professional. But I have so much to do before I leave, and I don’t want to spend the time I have talking about Morrigan. Please,”

“Fine. Fine,” Feyre said, raising her hands in surrender. “You and Nesta get started with the packing and I’ll go grab the wine!”

There was not much in life that Elain Acheron hated more than being late. Perhaps it was due to the etiquette lessons her Mother had forced her and Nesta into as children, or maybe she just appreciated punctuality. Either way, the clock was ticking ever closer to four pm and Mor had yet to show her face.

Elain began to pace, her heart fluttering relentlessly at the anticipation of coming face to face with the woman who had smashed her heart into pieces. They’d done a pretty successful job of avoiding one another over the months, but it had meant sacrifice. Avoiding each other unfortunately also meant avoiding the people they loved.

On the few occasions that they were forced into each others company, the weight of the air around them became suffocating. Harsh words were flung across the table, as vicious and deadly as daggers. Neither party seemed able to restrain themselves from snipping, despite the protests from everyone else in the room. It seemed that time was no great healer, no matter what the ancient poets said, things had only become worse the longer they went on.

"Elain, you are wearing a hole into my new flooring. Please stand still, I beg of you," Feyre implored, guiding her sister into a chair.

Elain shot up again immediately, and continued to pace, and rant, and pace some more.

“Where is she! We have to leave in five minutes Feyre!” Elain screeched, making her sister jump.

“Four actually,” Mor drawled, having slipped unnoticed into the grand entrance of the River House with Rhysand whilst Elain was mid tirade.

Elain stopped dead in her tracks, and span on her heel. It felt like the blood had frozen in her veins, like time itself had melted away. Mor stood, beautiful as ever, with utter contempt consuming her features. Silence rang through the room like a warning bell, begging Elain to run, to hide, but she wouldn’t. Not any longer. After all, she had done nothing wrong. It was Mor who had lied. Elain had nothing to be ashamed of.

“You will both make it with plenty of time Elain, don’t fret,” Rhysand spoke soothingly, patting her arm as he passed and settled next to his mate.

“Mor here was simply primping and fussing over what to pack. But, she is here now, aren’t you?” He continued, smiling over to his cousin who fixed him with a deadly glare.

“And you are both sure to have a wonderful time,” Feyre finished enthusiastically, far more hopeful than the rest of the room.

“Pfft,” Mor scoffed, at the same time that Elain mumbled something equally as obstructive under her breath.

“Are we going then, seeing as you are oh so desperate to keep to schedule?” Mor asked, paling somewhat as she offered Elain her arm. Dread swept over Elain’s body like an icy wave, as her hand made contact with Mor’s bare arm. Feyre was wrong, this was not going to be a wonderful time. This was going to be a total disaster.

The second that Mor's feet touched the white sands of Adriata she tore her arm away from Elain and put a healthy amount of space between them.

The turquoise sea glittered under the boiling midday sun, lapping gently at the shore, but the calming scene did nothing to ease the anxiety that swirled in Mor's chest. To feel Elain’s touch once more after so long without it had thrown her completely, the skin of her arm still tingling. With her closeness came a flurry of memories, of soft caresses and urgent grasping.

Mor snapped herself out of her thoughts. It would do her no good to sink into memories that were once so warm, but were now twisted with a tinge of guilt and a bucket load of resentment.

“Neither of us wants to be here. Let’s just make the most of it and stay out of each other’s way,” Mor asserted, daring to glance at Elain, whose loathing was written across her face.

“Fine with me,” Elain replied, offering Mor only her back as she turned and walked towards their accommodation, a hauty sway in her step.

 “One room,” Elain squeaked.

“With one bed!” Mor spluttered, wide eyes taking in the hotelier with desperation.

“I thought we’d have separate rooms,” Elain stated plainly.

“With separate beds!” Mor exclaimed.

“I’m sorry ladies, but we were not aware that Ms Acheron would be accompanying you on your travels, and all of our rooms are fully booked,”

“And there is really nothing we can do?” Elain asked. She had paled considerably upon hearing the news. Not only would she be sharing a room with her ex lover, but a damn bed. White hot claws of anxiety punctured her chest. This trip was brewing to be a total nightmare.

“I’m afraid not. I can provide extra blankets and pillows if you want to try and fix a bed on the floor?” The hotelier offered, sensing the discomfort radiating off her two newest guests.

“Thank you. That would be very helpful.” Mor said quietly, clearly resigned to the idea that avoiding each other was now not so simple after all.

As they both slumped up the staircase to their room, Elain fought the memories of the last time the two had shared a bed. It was a rush of tangled limbs and searing heat, purposefully placed kisses and fumbling hands. It was nothing short of incredible. Until the next morning, when Elain had woken to an empty bed.

“I’ll take the floor,” Mor stated coolly, breaking Elain from her thoughts as she threw the bundle of bedsheets and pillows onto the ground.

Looking around at the room Elain suppressed the idea that in drastically different circumstances she’d be squealing with joy. The room was pleasantly sized, perfect for one person, or even two if they were willing to make themselves cosy. A beautiful arched window looked out onto the sea, reflecting oranges and pinks with the setting sun. The bed looked luxurious. Although it was on the smaller side, she knew the second she sat down, that she’d sink delightfully into the plush mattress.

“You aren’t taking the floor, don’t be ridiculous!” Elain grumbled.

“Pardon me?” Mor replied, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“We are both fully grown adults, I’m sure we can handle sharing a bed,”

“Thanks but no thanks, I’d rather take the floor,” Mor quipped, writing the idea off quickly before she even considered it.

“Fine. I should’ve known you’d act like a child,” Elain huffed, rolling her eyes.

“I am not a child!” Mor snapped, a hot rage beginning to burn behind her eyes.

“Sure,” Elain replied sarcastically, striding for the door. “I’m going to get some food. Do as you please,”

Elain felt Mor's eyes on her as she strode out of the room towards the oak staircase, feeling ever so smug that she had the last word.

Mor had spent an hour stomping around the room, unpacking her bags and seething over her conversation with Elain. How dare she act as though Mor was the child? After everything that had happened between them. After everything she had done! No, Mor was most definitely the adult. It was Elain who had acted like a teenager. Fickle, and thoughtless. It was her who had treated Mor's heart like it was worthless. Well Mor was ready to show her just how mature she could be.

Plonking herself down onto the bed, Mor huffed as she surrounded herself with the luxurious sheets and turned her back firmly to the door.

It seemed like hours passed before Mor heard the door snick open, though barely twenty minutes must have passed. Just long enough for Mor to fight off the memories that so desperately longed to be on her mind.

Mor lay silent, feigning sleep, as Elain began to pad around the room in an effort to prepare herself for bed. When Mor felt the weight of Elain joining her in bed, she had to stifle an intake of breath. The sweet scent of rum seemed to drift through the air as Elain adjusted the blankets, and the slightest brush of their legs had Mor unravelled.

No longer able to fight against the memories that flooded her brain, she decided to let them in, oblivious to the fact that right next to her, Elain was also lost in the same thoughts.

~ 6 Months Prior ~

The River house was full of revelry. Laughter bounded around the room, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with joy. Wine flowed freely as Elain entered with desert propped carefully in her hands.

The three tiered cake towered high in the centre of the table as she gently placed it down. The inner circle looked on in awe at the masterpiece. Elain had decorated the cake with a multitude of pastel colours, pinks, blue and purples made up a scene of a beautiful sky and spun sugar adorned the sides like fluffy delicious clouds.

‘Elain, once again you’ve outdone yourself’ Rhys beamed.

‘A true artist!’ Feyre added, painting a soft blush along Elain’s cheeks.

‘Yes Elain you are truly wonderful, but please can we eat it now!’ Mor whined, plate at the ready.

‘You’re just jealous, Mor,’ Cassian smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

‘Jealous?’ Mor replied, her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

‘I think he means because you can’t bake, dearest cousin,’ Rhys said.

‘I can bake!’ Mor scoffed, rolling her eyes.

‘Mor do you not remember the bread incident?’ Azriel suggested gingerly.

‘That was one time Azriel!’ She responded, whipping her head in his direction and fixing him with a pointed stare.

‘What bread incident?’ Elain enquired curiously.

‘The girl made a loaf of sour dough that was raw on the inside but burnt to a crisp on the outside, it was quite the feat,’ Amren stated, lazily sipping from her glass.

‘Sour dough is hard!’ Mor was quick to clarify, shrinking a little in her seat. Elain eyed her carefully and was surprised to see that the warrior, who never seemed to be anything but confident, looked mildly embarrassed.

‘I can help teach you to bake if you’d like?’ Elain blurted out without thinking twice. Mor’s warm brown eyes flicked up to meet Elain’s and her heart began to race at the attention.

‘You’d really do that?’ Mor said

‘Of course,’ Elain smiled softly. She had always silently admired Mor, her strength and femininity so intrinsically intertwined that she didn’t have to give up one in order to wield the other. She would never admit it out loud, but when she first began to train with Azriel and the sessions felt unbearably difficult, she would picture Mor’s powerful presence and it would motivate her to keep moving forward.

‘Good luck with that’ Cassian muttered under his breath, swiftly followed by an ‘Ow!’ when Mor smacked his arm.

‘I bet you 500 gold marks that by this time next month I can bake a cake as grand as any bakery in Pythian!’ Mor stated, determination flaring in her face. ‘With lovely Elain’s tutelage of course!’ She smiled.

And so they began to meet and bake. At first it was planned they would meet twice a week, but after the second session that increased to every two days. Their baking lessons were filled with laughter and accidental touches which caused heat to bloom in places that neither party was yet willing to admit. Before long both were making excuses to see each other every single day. Whether Elain had found a new technique she thought Mor might want to help her with, or if Mor had come to Elain for advice on how to make tiny fondant flowers - they were spending every waking moment in each others company.

Then three weeks in to their arrangement something shifted. Elain floated into the kitchen of the River house bright and early to make herself a pot of lavender tea, only to see that Mor was already pottering about. Her back was to the door as she hummed a little tune to herself, fussing with something out of Elain’s sight.

‘Hi,’ Elain said softly, smiling as she leant in the doorway.

‘Oh Elain you made me jump!’ Mor clutched at her heart as she span around, hiding whatever she was working on so carefully.

‘Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you. What are you doing up so early?’ Elain moved into the room, trying to see what Mor was blocking from her view.

‘I - well I wanted to make you something. As a thank you! But uh it’s - well it’s better if I just show you I guess,’

Elain could sense the nervousness vibrating from Mor as she gingerly moved out of the way, and presented her with a very runny looking raspberry tart.

‘I had put edible flowers on top. I thought you’d like them. But they sank to the bottom,’ Mor explained, her eyes looking to the floor.

‘I love it!’ Elain whispered, her eyes lined with tears as emotion bubbled in her throat.

‘What? It’s inedible how can you love it!’ Mor sputtered, perplexed at how anyone could appreciate her failed attempt at a thank you.

‘Because you put so much thought into it! No one has ever made me anything before. Thank you!’ She replied, nothing but genuine joy written across her face.

Elain leaned up on the tips of her toes and placed the most gentle of kisses on Mor’s cheek. Her lips tingled, and her heart swelled in her chest. Hearing the light gasp in her ear, she pulled away, slowly, leaving their faces only inches away. This close to the warrior, Elain could make out every tiny detail of Mor’s face. She could have stayed there all day, counting the freckles before her, mapping the constellations of her face, but she knew one of them would have to speak soon.

‘Mor I -‘

Elain never had the chance to finish her thought, as Mor leaned in and kissed her. It started slow at first, tentative pecks and trembling hands. After a while Elain felt Mor’s mouth part and they deepened the kiss, heat swelling between them. It was far from the first kiss Elain had ever shared with another, but it was the first time she felt so light that she could fly. Mor sucked gently on Elain’s lip, eliciting a soft groan, before pulling away, bursting into giggles and leaning in once more.

Elain broke from her reverie. Remembering just how good things were at the beginning hurt so ferociously now that she knew how it ended. She couldn’t let herself get swept up again. No matter how much her heart longed for Mor. No matter how much it hurt to remind herself over and over how it was never meant to be. She had to let it go, she thought as she began to drift off to sleep. It was the only way she would ever make it through the next two weeks.

A/N - Ah I’m so happy I finally got to share this, I’ve been bursting to share the first chapter of this gift for such a long time and it’s finally out in the world!

The next chapter will be out soon and it gets spicier from here so it is definitely one to look forward to! ❤️‍🔥 I really hope that you’ve enjoyed the story so far!

Check out my masterlist here!

Dividers by the incredible - @tsunami-of-tears

[friend-crow]

Hi crow, hope you're doing well. I have a question for you and/or your mutuals reading this.

Im usually too sick and unwell to cast spells anymore, gathering all the ingredients is the biggest problem because i have to walk and thats really painful with my crps. I feel i have the emotional energy for spellcasting but not the physical energy. I have so many spells I'd like to cast but am just stuck in bed too often to do them. Whats a bedridden friendly way to cast spells? I've heard someone in the community mention "energy batteries" but i didn't really look into it. I feel my most useful spell I've done is a wishing necklace, i enchanted the necklace years ago and occasionally make wishes with it that come true, but i don't think i can rely only on that for spellcasting when im not feeling well. Im starting to ramble so I'll end it here. Thanks for any advice.

Hello! I'm sorry to hear you've been struggling. I'm not sure how applicable my advice will be for your situation, especially without knowing what sort of magical framework you're working with, but I'll give it a shot!

Something that's helpful for me is having premade spell vessels for the main sort of categories of needs I might have, which I can recharge and repurpose as needed. There's still a certain amount of set-up involved, but if you can manage to work on them when you're having a relatively good pain day, then you can (ideally) have them on hand for when you're not feeling up to a whole crafting process.

Example: I enjoy planetary magic as a system because you have 7 "planets" (the classical planets include the sun and moon), and they each have their things they can help you with. Between the 7 of them you can basically get your needs met. So I have a book that I made for Jupiter, which has images of the planet, the symbol, seal, kamea square, Orphic hymn, etc. in it, and inside the back cover is a little envelope where I can put petitions for what I currently need. The idea is that it's supposed to function as a sort of combination talisman and portable shrine, so when I want to do something under Jupiter's rulership, I basically just need pen, paper, a candle, and incense to repurpose it.

Side note: I don't know if you're interested in planetary magic, but I plan on making a series of zines that's basically a zine version of what I described above, one for each planet, that people can print out and assemble for free. Eventually. When I'm not drowning in work and other projects.

Along these lines, I recently posted about the fact that I do my job from bed about 60% of the week. I don't have a laptop, so I've had to get creative with my computing setup so that I can use my PC while reclining in bed. It's taken a few years to get my setup dialed in, but something like getting an overbed table can make a huge difference (I think mine was like $70 and worth every penny). Burning candles in bed is iffy, but maybe you can set up an extra bedside table or something for spell work, and really dial in the most basic components you need and can keep within reach. Simple is good! You can really do a lot with just pen and paper.

I also know people who do a lot of spell work during astral travel, which requires no materials or movement. I don't have a ton of experience in this area as I tend to really enjoy working with physical materials, but that might be an avenue to explore.

Alright, that's my thoughts on the matter for the moment. Opening it up to mutuals!

[whxtedreams]

Chapter 10: What Reminds You of Them

Blood Runs Thicker than Water - Joel & F!Reader (Platonic DBF!)

Summary: The weight of the new world is heavy on everyones shoulders. Maybe a card game will help?

Word Count: 2.3k

Tags: Mentions of loss, mentions of readers mom, mentions of sarah, reader has short hair, depression (myles), everyone just dealing with shit, joel trying to explain to reader that her dad is just a lil sad.

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on AO3

Chapter 10: What Reminds You of Them

The horizon is bathed in a soft, hazy red glow, casting a warm hue across the landscape. Down below in the valley, a thick, dense fog weaves its way amid the mountains, slowly creeping up the sides like wisps of cotton. Scattered across the valley floor are various transmission towers, their metal skeletons once humming with activity. Now, nature begins its slow takeover as they lay dormant on the forgotten grounds, vines twisting up the towers and trees gradually swallowing them into their embrace.

The sun makes its slow descent behind the towering mountains, its last rays casting long shadows over the valley below. The moon takes its rightful place high up in the heavens, overseeing the narrow hiking trails snaking through the terrain. You sit at the edge of the rocky cliff, your legs tucked up against your chest as you take in the breathtaking view. Your thoughts drift back to the previous day, remembering how you had explored the valley. You had braved the climb up a fallen transmission tower to cross rapid waters, much to your father's worry.

Your eyes follow as Joel and Tommy appear in your line of vision at the bottom of the steep trail, their rifles held at the ready. They had ventured out around noon, armed with the intentions of hunting, and their efforts are now evident as they make their way up the trail, the weight of a freshly hunted deer in their grasp.

Your face lights up at the sight of the brothers, and you quickly rise to your feet, a grin spread wide across your face. You break into a jog, making your way back to the historic pub where your small group has sought shelter for the night.

You emerge from the tree line and navigate your way through the parking lot, skirting around dilapidated cars and piles of rusted scrap. In the distance, the pub comes into view, standing majestically tall as the last rays of the setting sun cast a warm glow over its brick exterior. The building takes on a castle-like quality, silhouetted against the orange and red hues.

You struggle against the considerable weight of the oversized front door, your feet shifting slightly on the ground as you summon all your strength to push it open. Muscles straining, you slowly creak the door open, the heavy wood groaning with resistance.

Footsteps echo loudly on the tiled floors as you race through the old building. As you reach the top of the stairs that would have been used by guests during the pub’s prime, you come to a halt in front of one of the rooms your father has started to set up camp in.

He stands with his back towards you, his gaze fixed out the window. Candles on the bedside tables cast a flickering, buttery light onto the mustard-colored walls, the wax of the candles starting to drip down the candlesticks. The rooms are basic but cozy, equipped with the bare minimum - a double bed, a chair, and a floor lamp along with the bedside tables.

You approach him silently and stop next to him, curious to see whatever it is that he's observing so intently. However, upon peering out the window, all you see is the peaceful sight of birds flying to their nests in the trees as the day comes to an end. You glance up at your father, taking in his expressionless face as his gaze remains fixed on the outdoor view.

You observe him closely, noticing the way his eyes glisten and his jaw clenches, a familiar expression that mirrors your own when your emotions begin to overflow. Concern tugs at your heartstrings as you speak softly, the question falling from your lips, "Why are you sad?"

He jolts slightly as he looks down at you, having been lost in thought before your sudden presence pulled him back to reality. With a heavy sigh, he glances back out the window as the light from Joel and Tommy's torches become visible. His gaze becomes distant as he speaks. "Your mom and I used to visit a lot of places just like this one," he says softly. "She was quite the history buff." He pauses, his words tinged with a hint of nostalgia, before he walks away from the window towards the door.

Your dad's casual comment about your mother catches your attention, and your eyes widen with keen interest. It is rare for him to bring her up in conversation, usually brushing off any mention of her name. So the fact that he's mentioned her unprompted piques your curiosity - and you are determined to grasp onto any details he shares.

You turn away from the window, a question about your mother on the tip of your tongue. But before you can voice it, your father has already made his way halfway down the stairs, leaving you alone in the room.

By the time you reach the downstairs area, Tommy is already hauling the slain deer into the small kitchen behind the bar. Joel, meanwhile, drops his bag onto the counter top with a thud and proceeds to start unloading its contents. He carefully places the assortment of items they'd managed to scavenge on top of the bar.

You clamber onto the stool next to your father as his conversation with Joel ends with hushed voices as your eyes scan the items spread out on the counter. A few sealed packages of food and some basic necessities cover the surface. You cast a quick glance at the finds, trying to hide your disappointment. You understand that survival means only grabbing what's necessary and nothing more, but you can't help but feel just a bit let down.

Your dad's fingers close around a packet of cigarettes, a sigh of relief escaping his lips. "I can't believe you actually found some," he mutters, extracting one from the pack. He rises from the stool and announces, "I'll be outside." Without further words, he turns and begins to make his way out of the room.

You pivot on your stool, intending to follow your father, but Joel gently suggests it might be best to give your dad some time alone right now.

You reluctantly turn away from your dad's departing figure and return your attention to Joel. With a heavy sigh, you rest your arms on the bar.

Joel pats at his coat pockets, a frown of concentration etched on his face. He rummages through them, eventually pulling out a small yellow and white striped cloth from his back pocket. With an enigmatic smile, he stretches his arm across the bar and hands it to you. You take the item, your fingers curling around the fabric as you regard it with cautious intrigue.

You unfurl the fabric and examine it quizzically, your curiosity piqued. Expecting to find something concealed within, you're momentarily surprised to find it's just cloth. "What's this?" you ask.

A soft chuckle escapes from Joel as he shakes his head, moving to stand beside you. Taking the cloth from your hands, he begins folding it with practiced ease. "It's a bandanna," he clarifies, positioning himself behind you. He then places the cloth on your forehead, skillfully tying the ends beneath your short ponytail.

"Keeps the hair out of your face." His touch is gentle as he removes the hair tie from your hair, allowing the short strands to fall loosely around your neck. Joel moves to stand beside you, and you notice the subtle rise of a soft smile at the corner of his mouth as he carefully adjusts the fabric, ensuring it's secure.

You shake your head to test it out and smile as the hair stays out of your eyes.

Tommy reappears in the room, holding two half-full bottles of alcohol in his hands, his face lit up with an excited grin. "Looks like we're eating and drinking well tonight," he declares with a booming chuckle. He sets the bottles down on the opposite side of the bar and proceeds to scour the cabinets for unbroken glasses.

With a glass in hand, Tommy turns and starts pouring alcohol for both himself and Joel. He pushes the glass across the counter towards Joel and takes a long sip of his own drink. Then, he glances your way, nodding approvingly. "Yellow suits you," he praises, his words accompanied by a small smile.

You murmur a quick thanks in response as Joel and Tommy start discussing their plans for the freshly caught deer. Their conversation fills the background as you fiddle with the ends of the bandanna.

You peer over your shoulder towards the parking lot through the large window. The world outside is steeped in almost complete darkness, the stars above offering minimal light. Your father is seated on the husk of a car, a small lantern by his side and a lit cigarette between his lips, casting a flickering glow against the side of his face that you can see.

Joel's hand gently rests on your shoulder. His gaze meets yours, accompanied by a sympathetic smile. "Come on," he murmurs, a playful tone in his voice. "Why don't we play a game of cards while Tommy cooks us dinner? Let me beat you again."

A disapproving frown creeps onto your face, and you let out an exaggerated huff before jumping off the stool. "You only win because you cheat," you retort, moving towards a table by the fireplace with a pout.

Joel responds with a scoff, an amused grin tugging at his lips. He takes his seat at the table, retrieving the deck of cards and diligently shuffling them in his hands. "Is that so?" he retorts, his tone both challenging and playful.

You can't help but gloat as you take the cards he's dealt. "Tommy told me so," you declare as you begin organizing the cards in your hand, the hint of a smirk on your face.

Joel responds with a resigned sigh, his focus on sorting out his own cards. "Just because he says somethin’, doesn't mean you gotta believe him, sweetheart," he warns, his tone a mix of gentle teasing and mild irritation. He shakes his head slightly, seemingly displeased with the cards he's been dealt.

You can't help but chuckle as you place down a card on the table. "He told me you would say that," you repeat, your smile widening as you revel in the thought of having anticipated his response.

Despite your smug attitude, Joel remains unfazed. He exhales a deep sigh and places his card on top of yours, matching your play.

Joel ends up winning four times in a row.

Your dad remains mostly withdrawn over the following week, his expression distant and detached. Both Tommy and Joel seem to intervene whenever you attempt to engage in conversation with him, subtly redirecting your attention elsewhere.

You've seen your dad behave this way before, but never for this extended period of time. Day after day, you wake up, silently hoping that it will be the day that he snaps out of it and returns to his usual self — just like he has in the past.

And yet, he doesn’t.

On the sixth day while you sit by the river, lost in your thoughts as you watch the soothing flow of the water, you turn to Joel. "Have I done something to upset my dad?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, the concern palpable in your words.

Joel's expression softens as he hears your question. He immediately pulls you into his side, pulling you closer to him. "Of course not, princess," he replies gently, his voice filled with a mix of reassurance and tenderness.

After a moment's pause, Joel continues, his tone soft and understanding. "He's just a little sad, that's all," he explains, his gaze fixed on the flowing water before you.

You scowl slightly at Joel's explanation, genuinely confused. "Sad?" you repeat, your voice tinged with confusion. "Why would he be sad?" The situation doesn't make sense to you, and you look up at Joel, seeking clarification.

Joel lets out a deep sigh, his eyes meeting yours. He tugs gently at the bandanna tied around your forehead, his touch gentle and tender. "He just misses your mom," he explains, his voice tinged with melancholy. "He misses how things used to be, how the world used to be."

You murmur a soft "Oh" in response, leaning into Joel's side as your gaze drifts to Tommy, who is washing his hair on the other side of the river with your dad. The silence that follows is filled with your unspoken questions and thoughts, hanging heavy in the air.

You turn your gaze back to Joel, a slight frown of confusion creasing your forehead. "Why is he missing her now?" you ask. "She died when I was born."

Joel takes a deep breath, seemingly contemplating how to explain it to you. "Sometimes," he begins slowly, "there are things that happen that remind us of something we've lost. It brings back memories."

You fall silent, mulling over his words as you begin to comprehend what Joel is trying to say. It's then that you recall your own fears and how the sight of fire still makes you think of losing Joel. The memory of being caught in the fire still haunts your dreams even years later.

You realize that your dad, like you, must also suffer from the same pain. The memory of losing someone you love can be triggered by the smallest things and bring forth powerful emotions, even years afterward.

“What reminds you of Sarah?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

There's a sudden tightness in Joel's grip on your arm, and you can feel the shuddering exhale of his breath. The mention of Sarah's name brings a flash of pain to his face, as memories of his lost daughter flood his mind. For a brief moment, his grief is palpable.

He's silent, his gaze transfixed on the river, his knuckles turning white as his grip on you involuntarily tightens. After a few moments, he finally speaks, his voice thick with emotion.

"Everything.”

Click here for Chapter 11

Notes

this is kind of a intermission, just a filler tbh. not extreamly happy about this chapter but i wanted to write them travelling before they reach somewhere suitable to stay.

If you want to be tagged, please comment on the masterlist for this series and I will add you. If you want to be taken off, please DM so i don't miss your request.

Every comment, like and reblog means the world to me. please let me know your thoughts about this, i want to ramble about this story so much.

tags: @sunandmuun , @rain-soaked-sun, @frootloops1213 , @samarav , @geralallfandoms , @joelmillersblog , @severussimp , @kitdjarin1 , @yesjazzywazzylove-blog , @justanotherteen12@lils-1979 @elisha-chloe

[wasjustred]

Winter Weather Warning - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: A blizzard comes barreling through the area and you find yourself stranded———in Larissa’s quarters.

Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x femprof!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smut – fingering and cunnilingus (reader receiving); Larissa gets an orgasm

Word Count: ~6.3k (oops)

Author’s Note: Whaaat? A fic? From me? Finally?? I hope this was worth the wait! Thanks to all you lovely folk who’ve been so patient with me; there’s been a lot going on in my life so I’m very appreciative of you all. Feedback, as always, is welcome and encouraged! ♡ ﹠. a special thank you to my beta readers @sapphicsbeloved and @zephyr-is-tired ——— sending you many kisses and finger waggles for your help! 😙🥰 ╱ AO3

You try not to begrudge the snow for falling when and where it will. It’s pretty, you have to admit: soft, and flurried, sweeping over the stone grounds of Nevermore without prejudice. You peer out from your window and watch scattered groups of students chase after each other gleefully, faces turned up toward the sky like small purple sunflowers in their school uniforms, arms outstretched and reaching. The low angle of the sun against the trees suggests dusk will fall soon, just enough light still to cast long, excitable shadows across the ground.

A smile prods at your lips as you turn away from the window and further into your classroom with the intention of setting up for your last class of the day. You’d originally planned to guide them through a review period for an exam next week, but with the state of the sky and the weekend finally here, you decide a film might instead be just what everyone needs; you can afford to push the exam back another day, and really, they’ll be gunning for extra time where they can get it anyway. You know your students well enough.

When the kids begin filing in, you delegate tasks without explanation, the room abuzz as you instruct one student to close the blinds and a few others to adjust the desks just so. You catch a glimpse of the world down below before the windows cover up: Steady flurries still, but nothing that worries you. The kids’ thrill at spending the period in relaxation when you reveal your plan to them is enough to distract from any further thoughts on the weather, anyhow.

The hour passes swiftly as you sit in the back grading papers, every so often glancing up to take stock of the room. Everyone files out just as fast at the sound of the bell and calls out wishes for a good weekend while you’re left to rearrange the room back into its original state. You take care of the desks first, pack your own items up, decide to leave the windows for Monday since it’s dark out by now, no longer any ribbons of light sneaking through the cracks where the blinds don’t quite meet glass. A nice bottle of wine, a fire, maybe a few candles and a good book… the night is promising, and you run through a mental checklist of how many comfort items and practices you can employ as you wander down to the front entrance, bundled up tightly in your coat to brave the cold.

But when you reach the landing of the long staircase, the sight that greets you is not promising in the slightest: the outer floodlights cast a muted glow over what had been a harmless shower of snow, now furious gusts of heavy flakes collecting faster than your brain can entertain. There has to be at least a couple inches out there already, and the realization that you’ll have to navigate through the winding, hilly roads of Vermont in the middle of this elicits a groan. The treeline is hardly visible amidst the dark and the snow, and the roads are likely no better off: the town tends to skirt right around Nevermore when salting the streets. This drive’ll be a perilous one at best.

“Absolutely not.” The sound of Larissa’s disapproval startles you into a sharp and over-dramatic gasp, every muscle of yours tensing at once when her voice comes from just behind you. 

“Jesus, you scared me! ‘Absolutely not’ what?” You turn to her with features marred by confusion - once the surprise has melted away - and tilt your head up, taking a small step back to balance yourself when you realize how close she is. She looms over you in a way only she can: regal and overwhelming–––yet cordial all the same, offset by the soft floralness of her perfume. The fact that she’d reached you there without a sound would likely be unsettling if it were anyone else. With her it’s just… attractive, the slyness of it all. The mischievous grin she bares in response to how you jump doesn’t help.

“There is absolutely no chance I’m letting you drive in that.” This elicits an incredulous scoff as you peer up at her, arms lifting at your sides like a pair of very exasperated, very amused wings.

“Letting me? What am I supposed to do? Break my back sleeping on the floor of the library? No thanks.”

“Don’t be silly,” Larissa tsks, pressing her lips together in an all too familiar demonstration of thought. She’s quick with her next words, though, and something tells you there wasn’t much thought to be given at all. “You’ll stay with me.”

The firmness with which she says this, the matter-of-fact tone that has always so easily slid off her tongue, leaves no room for discussion. You gape at her but Larissa’s already swiveling on her heel and walking in the direction of her office as though it’s been decided once and for all, no questions asked. She throws a crooked finger over her shoulder and gestures for you to follow, the sound of her heels now echoing through the mostly-empty halls.

You wonder, frivolously, how in the hell you didn’t hear her the first time around.

You rush after her with quick steps in an effort to keep up; Larissa’s long, unhesitating strides carry her farther and faster than you can move without some effort. The view of her backside, however, is not one that merits complaint. You follow the curve of it up until you come upon a landing you’re not familiar with, nearly knocking into Larissa when she halts abruptly and turns towards you for the first time since this little journey began. She looks almost unsure of herself now, eyes flitting about rather than meeting yours. It’s one thing, you know, to flirt in passing; to brush arms when you’re both chaperoning students in Jericho; to trade amused, knowing glances across faculty meetings. But it’s another to invite you into her sanctuary, a decisive and loaded crossing of one of the last lines between the two of you.

“If you’d prefer, I believe there’s an empty dorm room I can have made up for you. It’d be no problem.” She finally looks down at you long enough for you to read what’s going on behind that mask of hers, typically pristine and perhaps a touch righteous: she’s trying to give you an out, trying to relinquish control for a second before she commandeers your night, and she’s worried she’s already gone too far by bringing you up here in the first place.

But you’re not going to say no to a night at Larissa’s side, especially when the potential for a warm fire and a glass of wine or two is so high.

Especially when it’s her asking.

“No, it’s alright. Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

“Not at all,” she’s quick to blurt out, shaking her head. “I simply wanted to make sure you knew you had the option, that’s all.”

With that, Larissa turns again and begins the ascent to what you assume is her hall–––until you’ve reached another landing with only one door, and she pushes it open to reveal an entire apartment all her own. It’s very her, this place: Warm, shining, elegant. The living room is awash with low, simmering lights, furnished with a mix of dark leather and velour, a towering bookcase taking up the whole of one of the far walls with an accompanying reading nook. She walks you further into the threshold and eases the door closed behind you, hovering silently as you take the space in. There are a few framed art pieces that you promise yourself you’ll review more thoroughly later on, scattered vases of flowers and various, high-hanging mirrors.

What truly draws your attention, however, are the photos strategically lining the walls, clearly taken at various points in Larissa’s life: A small platinum-blonde girl carefully posed before a Christmas tree with two very proper looking hounds on either side of her, all very regal and staged except for the wide, nose-crinkling grin on the girl’s face; a beach trip with the same girl, slightly older now, arm thrown over her face as she squints against the sun and into the camera - and a pair of kids that look to be around her age chase each other in the background; teenage Larissa suited up and on horseback, smiling proudly as a judge strings a blue ribbon around the horse’s halter; graduation photos from Nevermore; a trip to the Scottish Highlands, it looks like, a twenty-something Larissa soaked to the bone but grinning out at the miles and miles of luscious greens like she couldn’t be bothered less by the weather. It’s the most you’ve ever seen of her.

Eventually Larissa brushes behind you, laying a hand at your waist in passing as she toes off her heels and begins the process of lighting the fireplace.

Her touch leaves an emphatic tingle in its wake.

“I didn’t think my wall was that particularly exciting,” she muses, glancing over her shoulder at you. You duck your head and turn from the wall, following her lead as you slip out of your shoes and place them next to her own.

“I always like to see what people were like before I knew them. It’s intimate.” Larissa’s gaze softens almost imperceptibly before she returns her attention to the fire, adjusting the logs one last time and replacing the latch on the brass screen.

“What do they tell you, those pictures?” She wipes her hands and comes to rest against the edge of a couch, gazing at you as you shift on your feet and consider her question. Her eyes remain soft, but there’s something else lurking there behind the blue now: Curiosity? Interest? Desire, even? You can’t read it for sure, so you clear your throat and move back to the photographs on her wall, crossing your arms over yourself.

“Well, .. this one,” you start, gesturing towards the Christmas tree, “screams rich.” Larissa snorts loudly and tilts her head in a way that says you’re not wrong. “Probably an only child - at least at the time, otherwise there’d be other kids with you.” Her smile gives nothing away this time, but you charge ahead, brushing your fingers against the frame that holds the beach between its borders.

“This isn’t an American beach, that much I know.” You choose not to elaborate, allowing your ‘Americanness’ to speak for itself. “But I can’t tell if you grew up going there or if it was a special vacation, maybe visiting family… ?” you trail off as your gaze drifts over to her questioningly. She just shrugs, and you click your teeth in mock disapproval before moving on.

“You look happy here,” you observe, allowing your hand to drift over the photo of Larissa in her English riding gear. “Unforced. You enjoyed competing, maybe preferred your horse to people.” This one might be an unfair deduction, supplemented by your understanding of how cruel kids can be–––especially to an outcast, especially to a 6’3” girl.

“The Duke,” Larissa pitches in, pushing up off the couch’s back to join just behind your shoulder, gazing over at the photo in question. “My mother hated the name, but I insisted. He was a gift for my fifteenth birthday,” she reminisces, breath coursing over the tip of your ear. You peer up at her as she smiles, something sad and regretful there before she sucks in a deep breath and points out a new photo to you, more recent by the looks of it: Larissa stands with a large group of students in their Nevermore uniforms, mid-laugh as one of the kids waves his hands wildly and another has their mouth agape in what looks to be protest. Her eyes are crinkled - genuine - and one of her hands seems to be in the process of making its way up to cover her mouth, the other mindlessly resting at her midsection. You know that laugh. It’s her most uninhibited, her most authentic, which only comes out when she’s caught completely off-guard. Your favorite, if you’re honest.

“My first class of students as principal of Nevermore,” Larissa offers, scrunching her nose happily at the memory.

“What’d he say? That student?” You’re part genuine curiosity and part selfishness: eager to know what made her laugh like that, and how you can take hold of that kid’s humor and use it for yourself, elicit a look like that, a laugh like that, which so rarely comes about during school hours.

“I wish I could remember,” she murmurs, taking one last look before clasping her hands together and shocking you out of the reverie. “But nevermind all that. Have you eaten dinner yet?”

You nod sheepishly, nearly apologetic knowing she likely hasn’t and is looking to be a good hostess. But she merely nods, looking relieved: “Oh good, I can’t be bothered to cook tonight,” Larissa admits, a teasing grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“Let me show you where everything is, then.” She guides you down the hall and nudges one of the doors open, gesturing with an open palm. “Here’s the bathroom. Extra amenities are in the second drawer there, towels in the closet.” The suite is nicer than any bathroom you’ve ever had, really the stuff of luxury hotels: white marble floors, a deep soaking tub, gold knobs and handles on almost every appliance. You’ve no choice but to forcefully shoo away the startling, indecent imaginings that break through your reserves of Larissa sinking deep into the lush bubbles of the tub, skin glistening, chest bare––––

“Heated floors, too. I never go cold in the winters.” Ever humble, Larissa pulls at your shoulder gently and switches the light off, directing you to another door just diagonal of the bathroom. When she swings the door open, you’re embarrassingly aware of the way your jaw drops.

“Bedroom’s this way,” she says, stepping into the space. It’s gorgeous, swooping drapes of dark ruby and gold, satin bedding that pools over the mattress and onto the floor, puddles of fabric against a thick persian rug. There’s another fireplace opposite the bed, an area farther off with another scaling bookcase and two large, well-worn armchairs, a small number of intricately designed table and floor lamps, a matching vanity and armoire, the former of which is careful, lived-in chaos with its scattered tubes of lipstick and skin care tinctures.

It’s Larissa.

“Wow,” you breathe, meeting her amused gaze. “You never mentioned you live like this. I would’ve taken you up on a sleepover much sooner if I’d known.” Larissa flushes and coughs out a coy laugh, smoothing a hand over her hair as she looks out across the room.

“Yes, well. You’re here now.” She reaches out and lifts your handbag from you, pulling at your coat lapel next to signal you should take it off. Once you do, Larissa hangs it along one of the walls and places your bag on her vanity. Busy work. “I have clothes you can borrow of course, though they may be a bit big. I’ll set them out, although,” she pauses, glancing at her bedside clock, “it’s early still… Up for a movie? Glass of wine?”

You’re almost - almost - embarrassed by the unrestrained nodding of your head, but hell, it’s been a long week, and relaxing with a bottle of wine sounds like the perfect reward for making it through without breaking down [in front of your students]. The fact that it’s Larissa’s personal wine, in her personal quarters, in her personal hands does nothing to lessen the appeal.

The question of where Larissa will sleep, if showing you the bedroom was her way of offering it to you, hangs in your head, but you decide the answer can wait until the time for sleep comes around. By no means are you going to allow Larissa to banish herself to the couch in her own home. You’d sooner take the floor–––even if you’d jokingly complained about that very same concept earlier in the hour.

“Do you have a preferred genre?” She asks as you both return to the living room, you perching on the sofa as she disappears into what you assume is the kitchen to fetch the wine. It’s not normally a loaded question, nor one worth considering too deeply, but you realize you have an opportunity here… and if Larissa’s occasional blushes, her soft gaze, mean what you hope they do, perhaps there’s a strategy to be employed. You shift further into the cushions, absentmindedly running a hand over your clavicle in thought.

“Don’t laugh… but I’m a sucker for romance when the weather’s like this,” you call out. Larissa peeks her head out from around the corner, brows furrowed in funny disbelief.

“Really?”

“Wha–– why is that so hard to believe?!”

“It’s not, I just.. wasn’t expecting it, I suppose. You seem more of the action or thriller type.” She shrugs and disappears again without further explanation, leaving you to half-pout half-ponder at her words. Before you can make an argument in your defense, however, she’s returning with two full glasses, bottle tucked under her arm, and dimming the lights, a practiced look of concentration slanted across her features as she makes her way over to the couch and lowers one of the glasses into your waiting hand. The red sloshes up just near the edge when Larissa hands it off, and you half-jokingly prod at her as your brows shoot up in amusement.

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Principal Weems?” She tuts with faux indignation, but the growing flush of her cheeks betrays her.

“I wouldn’t dare.” She settles next to you - still a respectable distance for colleagues, but closer than mere acquaintances - and places the uncorked bottle on the table ahead of you, grinning.

“Romance it is, but I pick.” You ‘d be surprised by her demand if you didn’t know Larissa’s need to be in control at all times. In fact, if anything surprises you, it’s her calmness in the face of this turbulent weather–––perhaps the most uncontrollable variable there is. Even the most headstrong people can be manipulated, but not the sky.

The film she chooses isn’t one you’ve seen before, which excites you, and you both sink into the couch with a comfortable silence. You share little notes back and forth on the revolving plots and chuckle at the occasional joke, however cliché, as the movie rolls, finding an easy rhythm you’ve never before been able to appreciate amidst the chaos of classes and faculty meetings. 

It’s about an hour in, having finished your first glass and poured another for yourself and Larissa, that you make the mistake of peering over at her from the corner of your eye. A particularly sappy scene is playing out before you. The TV’s light flickers softly against her face, which is content and dare you say tender as the two protagonists share a moment together. The stumble before the fall. Her forehead creases and you have the sudden urge to kiss the lines away, warmed by the wine and her beauty.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispers hoarsely, though her eyes never leave the screen. 

Your heart jolts when she catches you out, running hot with guilt. Your legs shift beneath you as you move to scoot a few inches away - to give her space from your leering gaze - but you freeze when you feel her hand on your knee, holding you in place. You watch her for any sign that’ll tell you what’s going through her head but she doesn’t budge further, only loosening her hold on you a fraction when you relax against the cushions again. Your heart is beating hard at the door of your ribs as you tilt your head back towards the movie, far too distracted to actually process anything that’s happening. The air is so thick now your lungs can hardly keep up; it’s a dizzying thing, electric, and your thoughts jumble haphazardly as you wonder whether or not Larissa’s feeling it, too.

You risk a peek at her again–––but Larissa is already looking at you. 

Her chest is heaving, albeit subtly, and her eyes are dark. A steep wave of arousal pulses through you when her tongue slips out along her upper lip, her gaze flicking down to your mouth and back up again: a question. The second you nod her mouth is on yours, both of you sighing into the touch. You cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer still as your other hand fists around the fabric of her dress. An insistent tug at your waist brings one of your legs between her own, hips rolling against each other as she gropes at you mindlessly, squeezing the thigh slotted over her heat.

“Is this okay?” she asks breathlessly, dragging your bottom lip between her teeth before she pulls away to look at you. Her cheeks are flushed a heavy pink and her lipstick is smudged. You giggle at the realization that there must be bright crimson streaks along your chin and lips.

“Yes,” you assure her between steadying pants, stroking a hand from her shoulder to her wrist and entwining your fingers, giving them a gentle pinch. “You alright?”

A smile briefly turns her lips, soft and loose. “Very much so.”

The next few moments are sweeter, slower as you take your time savoring her taste, tracing the swell of her lips, the delicate scar at the top there, following the line of her jaw up into her hair with your fingertips. She presses into you as gentle as ever, drawing shivers up to the surface of your skin as her hand snakes up the length of your spine. Barely there still is the sound of the fire lingering in its box and the distinct roar of wintry gusts at the window, mere suggestions at the back of your brain. The wine’s been long forgotten on the table.

You shudder when Larissa’s fingers tease at the lower hem of your blouse and brush against a bare sliver of skin, resting there before you arch into her and take hold of her wrist, guiding her hand higher. Her lips quirk to one side at your earnestness, especially as she reaches the clasp of your bra. She hesitates again, more teasing than searching, and slides her tongue into your willing mouth, exhaling sharply when you meet her move for move. Nimble fingers unclasp the bra without issue before they drift around to your front, putting distance between your bodies as Larissa palms your breasts, takes a nipple between her fingertips and pulls and twists with wicked dexterity.

A whimper escapes you when she sinks her teeth into your lip for a second time, much harsher this go around before she suddenly parts from you and begins pressing open-mouth kisses along your jaw and down your neck, nipping and soothing in time with the hapless rocking of your hips. She adjusts to unbutton your top, never once pausing in her assault on your neck as she does so.

“Wait,” you pant out suddenly, and all at once her body leaves you, drawing back to give you space. The look on Larissa’s face is a concerned one, but gentle still, and you know she’ll follow where you need. It’s everything you can do not to keep her waiting in exchange for the chance to look at her, swollen lips and mussed hair, dress askew. 

She’s never been more beautiful to you. 

“Take me to bed.”

Her concern is washed away and replaced with relief - and then more prominent, want.

Larissa rises up from the couch and reaches a hand out to you, catching you off-guard when instead of walking you to the bedroom once you stand, she bends at the knee and scoops you up, your legs coming to wrap around her waist as you laugh in surprise.

“Who am I to say no,” she teases, placing a chaste kiss to the corner of your lips before making the careful trek over to the bedroom.

The question of where she’ll sleep is hardly that anymore. 

You’re both already naked and rocking against each other beneath her blankets when the power goes out. Neither of you truly take notice until the temperature in the room’s significantly plummeted.

“Oh–––one moment, darling.” You push yourself up on your elbows and whine as Larissa slips out of bed, hissing against the cold. Goosebumps raise along her skin, the peaks of her nipples hardening further as she rushes to kneel before the fireplace, sparking a flame in record time. Her skin nearly glows in the moonlight that trickles in from the windows, reflective amidst the snow. She looks like a ghost before you - ethereal, hauntingly so - and you tilt your head, gaze tracking from the deep slope of her calves to the fine curve of her ass, the faint divots of her spine, the wisps of hair that have come loose from their hold and fallen to her shoulders.

“You’re staring,” Larissa chides as she slides back under the covers, shivering.

“I’m admiring,” you correct lamely, a pitiful pout coming to rest upon your lips as you open your arms and draw her closer to warm her now-frigid skin. She hums as if to say ‘yeah, okay,’ burrows into you and drapes an arm across your middle as she pushes her leg between yours. Your hips instinctively buck when her thigh slides against the wetness of your cunt, and you’re both abruptly reminded of what had you so distracted in the first place.

Larissa tentatively nods towards you again and runs the tip of her tongue along your pulse point, your hips beginning to rock together once more, panting heavily and in unison while the storm surges on outside, unabated. The heat pooling in your stomach is in stark contrast to the drifting chill in the room, rearing a confused, overwhelming sensation of hot-cold along your skin. Larissa’s breath, warm on your neck, only further urges the feeling along until you feel as though you might snap if she doesn’t take you fully.

“Please,” you whimper, dragging your nails up over her back with little reserve. Larissa nips at your chin and yanks your leg further across her, taut against your clit.

“Please what?” Her voice is raked over with a carnal desire the likes of which you’ve never seen on her before, deep and airy. It only serves to pull the coil tighter. Your breath hitches as she pushes herself up on her hands and knees, hovering over you now, and she leans down, down until her face is level with yours, an intense wave of adoration flooding through you as she caresses one of your cheeks. She whispers, “I want you to beg, sweetheart,” and it’s all over, never a chance, the air all but torn from you, slick heat gone straight to your cunt.

Beg for her. Beg for Her. No matter how many times the thought bounces around within that empty little head of yours, you’re frozen in place both by lust and surprise. You’ve had your share of fun, of course, but the type that usually involves you calling the shots, taking charge. You thought you liked it that way.

You might’ve been wrong.

You’re only finally jostled from your thoughts when Larissa pulls back and draws a brow up at your silence. A shadow of concern passes over her face but you’re quick to pull her back in, nodding.

“Please fuck me,” you all but whisper, desperate to be filled, to be warmed, to be taken care of while the elements ravage the earth beyond these four walls. Larissa grins smugly at your feebleness, pressing her full weight upon you before she winds a hand down between your bodies, cupping your slickness in her palm. You’re dripping all over yourself, you know: a cool, nearly chafing wetness coating the inside of your thighs, so easily spread when Larissa dips her fingers in between your folds. She sinks a single digit into you just halfway, draws it out, sinks in again and curls it against that soft spot, yes, right there––

She easily adds another and hums at the way your body translates its own neediness, busying her mouth with the soft line of your jaw.

“You feel so good..” she murmurs as her fingers bury themselves into you knuckle-deep, so long and soft and better than you’d ever imagined (and you’d certainly spent time imagining it). Her hips press into yours from above, throwing weight behind her hand as she rolls against you, a slow and steady fucking that excites the fire already roaring within you. You gaze up at her in awe as her eyelids flutter in time with the movement of her hips, realizing she’s found just the right friction against the back of her own hand that each time she thrusts into you, a firm, rippling pressure rubs up against her own clit.

Your hands search frantically now until they’re planted at the slope of Larissa’s waist and you watch, carefully, as you pull her harder into each drive of her hips, rejoicing when she gasps and shudders into the pattern, breaking it for a fraction of a second before driving into you with a far greater desperation.

“Oohf, yes, th-that’s it, darling,” she pants out before capturing your lips in a sloppy, bruising kiss. Suddenly your own orgasm is incidental as you revel in the picture of her coming undone above you, chest flushed, cheeks pink, her hair falling further from its updo as she works her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Look at me, I want to see you,” you clamor with a novel burst of confidence, hands drifting up from her waist to cup her face in your palms. You want to look her in the eye when she cums. You want the memory of her sounds, her face, so deeply imbedded in your mind that it’ll keep you warm when you’ve returned to your own quarters. You want, you want, you want, and she whimpers - a heavenly sound - and obliges, gaze unfocused for a moment before she looks down at you, tongue darting out as she attempts to maintain some degree of focus.

“Right there, right there.. I can feel how close you are,” you huffily encourage, shifting so that both of your legs wrap tight around her and wrench her deeper, harder into you, smiling when her breath hitches at the change of pace and pressure against her sex. You watch her closely, in awe: Larissa’s brows are furrowed, her mouth fallen open and the pink of her tongue closely matched to that of her cheeks, the slight swell of her tits lurching which each thrust. The knowledge that each plunge into your cunt brings her closer is surreal––that she’s so obviously getting off on fucking you, that the frantic snap of her hips is building both of you up, simultaneously.

Her hips begin to stutter into you, airy whimpers falling from her as she teeters on the edge, fingers curling haphazardly in an attempt to continue fucking you through the oncoming rush of her orgasm. The mattress rocks and dips momentarily as Larissa gasps, sharp, and suddenly bows over you with the force of her climax, breath hot on your neck, forehead pressed into your temple, chest heaving against yours as she mindlessly ruts. Her fingers remain buried in your heat, pulsing slowly in time with her come-down. 

Larissa’s body shudders as you run your palm over her in light, gentle sweeps, one hand carefully traveling to cup the back of her neck.

“You’re alright.. I know.. ‘s good, hm?” You feel a weak nod at your side, Larissa eventually stilling atop you. The pad of her thumb draws slow, lazy circles around your clit as her breathing slows, nosing the crook between your shoulder and neck. 

“Christ,” she mumbles against your skin, and you chuckle as her lips draw a line from your ear to your chin.

“Yeah?” She hums and - slowly, determined - begins to wriggle down your body until her face is level with your cunt, glancing up at you with a blissed-out smirk before she presses an open-mouthed kiss to your slickness. The wet warmth of her tongue slides easily against you, dipping between your folds, lapping up the puddle that’s collected at your center, working in tandem with the pressure of her thumb at your clit, a feeling dumbly akin to religious devotion: a reverent prayer at your sex, holy flames licking up the walls of her bedroom, the weighted creases of her sheets stretched where she kneels before you.

A strong gust of wind wracks the shutters of her windows. They bang haphazardly against the glass, knocking in time with the surges of the storm.

Your fingers clench around the bed covers as Larissa rolls over your entrance once more, teasing, then pushing into your dripping hole with an embarrassing ease. She fucks you slow and as deep as she’s able, fingernails digging into the flesh of your hips. Not even the devil themself could stop you from rolling your pussy against her face in search of some greater friction, whining as the sounds of her tongue wading through your arousal mixes with the crackling of the fireplace, the moan of the storm outside.

“Ohfuckyes,” you pant as your legs spread further on their own accord, knees drawing up to alter the angle at which your pleasure floods through you. She moves with delicious ability, and you watch the stark blondeness of her hair bob with every fervent lap of her tongue, overwhelmed with the sudden realness of the moment: Larissa’s scent on the pillows, her lipstick smudged across your lips, her sweat on your skin. Her thumb abandons your clit, and a desperate cry waits at the threshold of your mouth until her finger is replaced with the pointed flicking of her tongue, quick and full and firm against you. The coil pulls tight within your core.

She murmurs something brusque but you’re too consumed with the sensation of her fingertips at your inner thigh to process, but she repeats herself as you release a heavy sigh, her fingers sinking deep into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl..." Your back arches at the same time Larissa takes your clit into her mouth, sucking and slurping as if to drink from that little bundle of nerves drawn straight to your core, as if to quench an otherworldly thirst. She pulls your orgasm from you quick and unforgivingly, never stumbling in her ministrations when your thighs begin to close in around her, or when your hands wind into her hair and pull, hard. She continues to devour you as if she doesn’t notice the snapping of that coil, the sounds that melt into the satiny sheets of her bed as you cry out for her–––the curling into yourself as your clit throbs towards unbearable tenderness.

“Fff––please, please, I’m––” Sapphire eyes bore into yours as her lips stretch into a devious smile, slowly but surely unlatching. A mercy, if you’ve ever seen one. You tremble in relief.

“You can’t take it?” she coos, superficial concern floating by your quivering sex. You don’t know whether to pull her closer or push her away when Larissa glances down towards your soaking cunt again––––

but the choice is made for you when she draws herself up and grabs hold of your chin, pushing her tongue into the waiting cavern of your mouth. The sure expanse of her thigh slides between your legs as she does so, eliciting a startled twitch as she brushes against your clit. She swallows your gasp.

“So sweet.” Larissa nips at your chin, presses her thigh against you more firmly and rubs her thumb back and forth along your cheek. Your hips buck of their own volition, acting solely on the most primal of instincts despite the sensitive twinge between your legs. There’s only Larissa’s softness, her warmth, her gentle affection circling your head, coloring the air around you. The world’s ending outside and it’s just her.

“Please kiss me,” you whisper, suddenly overcome with the need to absorb her, to touch her anywhere and everywhere all at once as if you could meld together somehow amidst the tousled satin.

She stills, hovering over you with a smile so soft you’re almost certain this has all been a very long, very desperate webbing of dreams until she obliges, brushing her lips against yours with the utmost of care.

“Are you alright?” Her voice is hushed, eyes searching.

“Better than alright,” you assure her, brushing a stray hair from in front of her face. “Kind of just wanted to be close to you…” You shrug sheepishly and turn your attention to the far wall, suddenly very interested in the twisting shadows of trees cast against the space there. The abrupt rush of vulnerability reddens your cheeks, lips pursing as the regret at such an intimate admission prickles up with equal swiftness. It’s quickly brushed away, however, when Larissa clicks her tongue and tilts your face towards her with a palm against your cheek, brow arched amusedly.

“Then be close,” she says, pressing a small kiss to the tip of your nose before she pulls you flush against her and buries her face into your neck. The fire’s dwindling, informed by the dying light of the room, the falling temperature beyond the bed, but neither of you notice as you wrap yourselves up in the arms of the other, tending to a warmth all your own.

[jeankluv]

Happy birthday my love || Satoru Gojo x gn!reader

Words: 0.8k

Warnings: hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, short fic, fluff, use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, my love)

Notes: a few days ago was my birthday and this short fic came to me. It doesn’t have anything special but I wanted to post it. And since I’m preparing a Gojo college fic I wanted to post a one shot about him before releasing it, maybe in the future there are more one shots.

Materialist

You hated your birthday, ever since you were 7 and no one decided to show up at your birthday party you hated it. It was that moment you decided not to tell anyone when your birthday was because it was pointless, no one would remember it anyways. And no one bothered on asking.

So now turning 28 you do it on your own, the only called to wish you a happy birthday is from your mom but no one else called and you don’t blame them. In the end they don’t know when your birthday is. Is more your fault than anyone else but you don’t want to suffer what you suffered back on the day. So it’s better like this, at least that’s what you tell yourself, but the pain is still there.

Now you are on your sofa, with the sun already gone and watching a random film you found on stream. It’s entertaining, even funny you could say but your mind is lost in other parts.

You heard three knocks on your door. You are shattered at first until you see a message on your phone.

Open up! It’s me

You rolled your eyes, what was he doing there? He was supposed to be out of city for the weekend. You got up heavily from the couch and shuffled to the entrance. You opened the door to see the smiling face of your boyfriend, Satoru Gojo.

You had met through a dating app almost a year ago and after a couple of dates you had started dating. Satoru or 'Toru as he liked to be called, used to spend a lot of time away from home, his work made him travel and be away from there for short periods. You can't deny that at first he gave you a bad feeling, all those “trips” set off alarm bells, but after 9 months of dating, Satoru had never done anything to make you doubt what you had. Rather everything he did made you fall more in love with him. You could safely say that you trusted him completely.

“Hello baby.” He said giving you a kiss on the forehead, he was way taller than you so it was a gesture he would always do. “I got us pizza.” He said showing it.

“That’s great.” You closed the door. “But I thought you were out for a business trip.” You sat down next to him on the coach.

“Yeah, but I finished everything earlier so I came here as soon as I could.” He hanged you a piece of pizza.

“Hmm.” You tasted it, pepperoni, you’re favorite.

It was scary how well he knew you sometimes.

“Besides.” He looked at you. “How could I leave my baby alone on this day?”

You looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

He smiled and turned around to search for something on his jacket. “I know you have never told me.” He paused for a moment. “And maybe this is crossing the line and I’m sorry if I’m crossing the line but.” He turned around and you saw what he had on his hands. Two candles, a 2 and an 8. “Let me spend your birthday with you my love.” He placed the candles on one slide of pizza and turned them on. “Happy birthday sweetheart.” He placed the portion in front of you.

“How…” Your eyes stung, you were going to break at any moment, how long has it been since you blew out the candles? You don't even remember it anymore. “How did you find out?”

“It's not very gentlemanly of me but look at your ID. I'm sorry.” You shook your head. “Now make a wish my love.”

And for the first time in years you blew out the candles making a wish. You opened your eyes to find Satoru's blue eyes looking at you and smiling.

“I was going to buy a cake but the bakeries were already closed. And since you loved pizza you decided it could be interesting to be a cake right?”

“‘Toru.” You threw yourself and braced him. “Thank you for this.” You couldn’t contain your tears any longer, so you let them flow.

“Don’t thank me babe.” He kissed your hair. “Next year, I will take you out and we will have a big birthday party for you.”

You shook your head. “If it’s you and me, like this, next year it will be perfect.”

He touched your cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too, ‘Toru.” You kissed him.

“Happy birthday my love and thank you for being in my life.”

[synintheraven]

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: you finally find Ivarr Ragnarsson and a cup of ale gives an unexpected turn of events between the two of you.

✵tw: mentions of violence, mentions of alcohol, drinking, other than that lots of fluff :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part five

The sun was hiding behind clouds and a thin layer of snow covered the hills around us. It was cold, the wind crawled under my clothes and a shiver climbed my spine as their eyes were on me.

We had just arrived to Repton, yet the little army under Ivarr and Ubba's command was far more cautious than that of Tamworth. And as their famously reckless Lord stood proud before us, the rabid dogs followed close behind.

There were no children, no wives. Only soldiers dressed in mail, their Lord's most trusted hounds.

—And what of her? Is she your gift to me? —Ivarr asked almost too proud of himself and I was ready to bite back, but Sihtric was quicker to answer.

—She’s my woman. —He said. I frowned, his words still echoing in my head.

—Slave girl? —The Ragnarsson grinned, his eyes fixed on my expression. —Either that or she hates your cock.

Sihtric then gave me a strange look, his hand finding its way along my back and stopping where my butt joined my back, pulling me awkwardly closer to his side. —We’re just tired, it was a long journey from Theotford.

Surprisingly, he seemed to bite on Sihtric’s lie, while I pictured myself with a knife going through the Dane's throat.

—So, why are you here? Guthrum isn’t treating his hounds right?

—We got word that a son of Ragnar had taken Repton, so we thought to serve a true dane lord was better than to follow a stupid man to his defeat.

We knew nothing about Guthrum; not the colour of his banner nor the look of the man’s face. But it was easy to make up a lie when the man himself wasn’t there to deny it, though in truth Guthrum would’ve embraced us as his warriors as long as we looked like Danes.

Ivarr was hesitant, like dry weeds waiting on a spark to set ablaze. Yet he welcomed the fire, not afraid to get burnt.

—Ha! —He said loudly, his gaze studying me with curiosity as he crossed his arms. —And you, woman? Can you fight? Or are you only here to please this pretty warrior? —He finished as he looked at Sihtric, but he was out of words.

—The son of Ragnar wants me to teach him how to use his axe? —I snapped back happily, but my man, the one I wasn’t aware I had, was concerned about Ivarr’s deadly stare.

—I love sassy bitches, you can stay. —He smiled widely, as the men around us joined their lord with a grin. —Same for you, pretty boy.

Everything was blurry; the candles provided the room with a gloomy light and the flickering flames made the shadows around us deeper than they really were, like if whole territories hid among that darkness.

It made me wonder about the unknown, all that is hidden from plain sight but lurks in the blackness of the night. The wild beasts, the magic creatures, and all else that is hidden to us mortals.

I could hear the voices from the drunken warriors around me, their laughter, their joy after a succesful battle. The sound of wooden jars and metal clashing as they celebrated with ale, their harsh steps on the floor.

I was hearing Sihtric as he talked, telling me one more time stories about all his battles, all he had conquered to get here, to England. All about the raids: priceless treasures, gold-filled chests and wealthy norse fools ready to give everything up if only to escape an unneccesary fight, all that he'd managed to steal for himself after years of serving under Yggr's banner.

I watched as he wrapped his hands around the mug and a puddle of ale drenched the linen around his arms, yet he didn't seem to care. A tattoo showed from under his sleeve, an interesting shape playing in the shadow and hiding from the candle light. He simply kept on talking, ever proud and happy about his stories, his life.

Maybe it was the ale, maybe there was something in the air that night, but his words sounded funny in my ears. He was explaining how he once cut off a man's hand with an axe: the splatter of blood, the horror in that man's voice as he screamed out of pain. But all I could hear was a mumble, his attempt at sounding coherent while the ale made its way through his throat.

And so, I laughed. Sihtric's response was to look at me with a frown, then proceeded to burst out laughing with me.

He suddenly stopped and went completely quiet, worrying me for a moment that perhaps I was the reason of such a sudden change in his reaction, though nothing about his glare betrayed whatever was going on inside the man's head.

A young girl walked in our direction, trying hard to avoid Sihtric's eyes. She was skinnier than the others, with skin as white as snow and several bruises dyeing the flesh around her neck, making it no surprise that she was so afraid of the drunken warriors surrounding her. But she was there to serve drinks and so she would.

Her trembling hands made their best to hold the jar firmly and fill his cup, avoiding eye contact with the fearsome man before me. Yet when she was done and ready to escape, his hand wrapped around her wrist.

For whatever reason, I felt as if fire burnt inside of me; but I couldn't recall what was causing such a feeling, nor could I stop myself from standing up, as if something else was controlling my body.

—You're too pretty to be working at this stinking alehouse. —He said while pulling her closer, watching as the poor girl's panic intensified. —There's nothing to fear, woman, wouldn't you rather be with me than serving all these bastards?

There was a glimpse of a smile on his face, despite the terror in her eyes. He was a good man, for a drunken fool, and would've easily let her go if asked to: but that's not what those women were used to around there, so she was desperately looking for a way out.

So I took his mug in my own hand, spilling all its content on the floor. And his confused reaction was priceless.

—You better have a real good reason for that bullshit, y/n. —He stood up, freeing the girl's wrist, though she was still too frightened by him to go away.

—You're trying to hump some random girl and expect me to act as if I didn't care? —I asked with pride in my voice, though struggling to figure out what those words were supposed to mean.

He frowned again, probably trying to remain offended but failing miserably as a silly smile appeared on his face.

—We're supposed to be together, don't you remember, my love? —My words made no sense, yet they seemed sufficient for him, even if Ivarr and Ubba were too far from us to hear anything we were saying.

—Right! —His eyes widened up and he quickly took a step further from the girl, resting his hand on the messy table. —It's just that I'm so in love with you and to touch you would mean to ruin your pure beauty.

To this day I still don't quite remember what happened that night, nor do I recall when did the scared girl left us and ran back to the owner of that shithole of an alehouse. But I do, however, remember how he started to laugh mid-lie and looked down on his empty mug, only to remember I was the cause of it.

—Or perhaps my dear husband struggles to use his plow sword with his beloved wife. —I snarled back and once again he let out a noisy laugh then went quiet when he realized I had meant no compliment by that.

—Are you challenging me? —He asked with a playful smirk, leaning closer as I wrapped my arms around his neck and tangled my fingers on his hair.

My heart was beating hard: surprised at the shiver running through my body as I felt his skin on the tip of my fingers. And, for the first time since I’ve met him, something about his gaze felt different.

The candle light reflected on his face, his brown eye looking warm and inviting while the other side was ever bright, sea waters dancing within his eye.

His breath smelt of ale and his hands were getting a little too comfortable around my waist, but that didn’t stop me from reaching for his lips; even as he teased me, pressing the tip of his nose to my cheek, but avoiding my touch.

Sihtric’s kiss was full of warmth and necessity, feeling as his hands roughly pressed me onto his body. So I gave in.

[yourlastbraincell-kiwi]

Hi could I please request a Carl Grimes x fem!reader fic. Some angst but mainly fluff

The reader has a lot of anxiety in general but lately she’s been feeling extra anxious and stressed, more than usual, and Carl takes notice of her change in behavior. He decides to do something about it. He later shows up at her house that night and takes her to the lake as a mini surprise date because he knows it’s one of her favorite spots and that she likes being by the water. They lay next to each other staring up at the night sky stargazing and pointing out the different stars. He talks to her and she opens up about her recent anxiety about losing him fearing that she’s not good enough for him. Carl comforts the reader and gives her any reassurance she may need. Carl and the reader are dating so maybe some soft kissing and making out moments at the end with lots of cuddling.

Thank you 🌙✨

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for the request! It’s not that long it’s more a blurb than anything else, and I also decided to write it from Carl’s point of view. I really do hope you enjoy it though!

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Fem!reader

Setting: Alexandria!

Watch out for the typos y’all.

I smiled to myself as I managed to light the few amount of candles I found in Alexandria.

I made sure everything was set and positioned in a way that made it look like we were royalty. And I was on the way to serve the queen.

I noticed how (Y/N)’s been acting lately, and that’s not the version I know, so I thought a nice dinner out by the lake would be nice for us both.

Looking out at the sun, I realized the sun was setting and thought it was the perfect time to grab (Y/N).

I walked over to her house, and gently knocked on the door. “(Y/N)? Are you in there?”

No reply, but I heard a bit of shuffling. As if someone was trying to get up off a chair.

The door opens and (Y/N) looks at me with a thousand yard stare, that made a shiver go down my spine.

“Hey, I have something to show you.”

“No.” She said and proceeded to close the door in my face. I’m quick to put my foot in the crack of the door before it shut completely.

“Don’t do this. It’s important.” I said, and she opened the door wider.

With a roll of her eyes and a shrug of her shoulders, she motioned for me to go with her chin. “Fine. Show me.”

I smiled, closing the door for her, before placing a hand on her lower back and led her to the lake.

The sun had almost completely set, by that time, and everyone could see the stars shining through.

“What is this?” She asks and I just stand back and let her explore, the entire set up.

There was a table with 2 plates, and one with the dome to shield the food from being shown just yet.

Some of the candles I lit up had died down. But it was the least of my worries. I just wanted to make sure she was having a good time.

“Carl..”

“Remember when you told this was your favorite spot? I decided for us to have dinner here.” I said even though dinner was a bit of a stretch. Considering that the ‘dinner’ was a couple of granola bars and some fruit.

As she took it all in I could tell her emotions were getting the best of her, and tears started welling up in her eyes. I was quick to grab her hand softly and pull her flush into my chest.

I let her do what she needed, continuing to hold her tight and rubbed her back in a soothing manner.

Once she had calmed down, she wiped her eyes and said, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. If you ever need, someone to talk to or just listen, you know I’m here for you.” I replied and she looked like she was going to cry once more.

“I noticed how different you’ve been acting and thought you’d like to have a moment away from the world. By having this dinner with me?”

“Of course, I would love to.” I smile, and pulled her chair out for her, and once she sat down I pushed it in. Then sat in my own chair.

I removed the dome from the food to show her the ‘dinner.’ I even tried to explain why it wasn’t actual food, but she shook her head in understanding.

She reached her hand out and set it atop of mine. “Don’t worry about it. It’s perfect actually.“

We talked about events that happened today whilst eating our dinner. Then decided to lay on the grassy floor and look up at the stars.

“The stars are really pretty tonight.”

I nod, “Well, not as pretty as someone I know, but still a close second.” I replied and she playfully rolled her eyes.

“Hey, Carl?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry, truly. For the way I’ve been acting lately. I’ve just been stressing out and it was just getting to be too much.”

“You don’t have to do tell me anything, you don’t want to. But what’s got you stressed, (Y/N)?”

She sighed and avoided eye contact before speaking, “I don’t.. It’s just…. I’m scared to lose you.”

“You’ll never lose me-.”

“You don’t know that! We can protect ourselves as long as we can, from the walkers. But from the Saviors? They’d kill any one of us in a heartbeat, without thinking twice.”

“I know. None of us know when we’re going to pass on, we just know that it’s going to happen.” I stated. “As much as that pains you, it’s out of our control. But you know what isn’t out of our control?”

“What’s that?”

“This. This right here. Our time together. The world may be ending, but they can’t take this away from us. I won’t let them.” She smiles sadly at me, and I put a hand on her cheek.

“But I can assure you, that I will be careful as I can with the walkers. I’ll even bring my dad along with me, as a second pair of eyes. Okay?” I lean forward to place a kiss to her forehead.

Once I pulled away I looked into her eyes, as corny as it sounds, her eyes really did sparkle in the moonlight.

“I love you, Carl Grimes.”

“I love you too, (Y/N) (L/N).” I smiled, leaning in once more, but this time kissing her lips softly. I placed a hand on her waist and hers around my neck.

I deepened the kiss, really wanting to show her that I truly wanted to spend every waking moment with her. And she did the same, before we both had to pull away from each other.

We smiled, taking in deep breaths. We didn’t have to exchange any words to know that we loved being in each other’s presence. I pulled her close and she rested her head on my chest.

Before I knew it she was sleeping on me, with a smile on her face.

[burst-of-iridescent]

atla live action thoughts: episodes 7 & 8

SPOILERS AHEAD

tw: opinions

things i liked:

i keep forgetting to say this but i love the stylization of the opening credits it looks so elegant

northern water tribe looks beautiful. the spirit oasis is stunning, this show almost never fails to deliver on visuals

i fucking KNEW they were going to end the season with azula producing lightning for the first time and it looks great i won't lie. can't wait for her blue fire

the pakku v katara fight is not bad actually, though it obviously doesn't hold a candle to the original. glad they kept the ice discs moment in because that was iconic and it does have a nice set-up of her learning it from the earthbenders

i do like that they allow aang to interact with different avatars and that they all give him different perspectives. it highlights the differences in their personalities and how the role of the avatar had to be adapted to the times they lived in

i can't remember exactly what it was but aang's line about how this isn't his world or his time went hard

"i underestimated zhao" "funny i figured that out as i was swimming away from the burning wreckage of my boat" i live for sassy zuko

good decision to take out pakku only deciding to teach katara because she was kanna's granddaughter. that reeked of exceptionalism and never sat right with me, so i appreciate that she at least proves herself and also that she includes the other women in the tribe when pushing him to let them fight

yugoda getting to yell at pakku for being a misogynistic idiot is exactly what she deserves, you tell him queen

KOIZILLA!!

seeing the fall of omashu to azula was an addition that made a lot of sense, and sets up the return to omashu episode in the next season nicely

things i disliked:

yue's wig was atrocious. can't believe i'm saying this but the shyamalan movie did it better. amber midthunder deserved so much better

the misogyny arc was a godforsaken mess. the northern water tribe is still sexist... but no one seems to be sexist except for pakku?? chief arnook seems to be grooming yue to take over as chief, the other male waterbenders are impressed by katara and respect her right away, yue seems to have a lot of autonomy, hahn is respectful and kind, and then pakku himself changes his mind on women fighting pretty much within one day. so what was the point of including it at all?

this show has completely nuked katara's rage. she would not be calmly announcing that she's fighting pakku as though it was a calculated decision because it very much wasn't! it was her sense of righteousness and outrage over injustice taking over and it hurts me deeply that they removed that because it's so important to who she is! i needed to see a LOT more power and fury in her in this scene but instead it felt extremely lukewarm

KATARA AND AANG NEVER. FUCKING. LEARN. WATERBENDING. for a show that marketed itself so heavily with the tagline "master your element" there isn't a lot of mastering going on here?? i'm sorry i don't buy at ALL that katara would be able to become a master with One waterbending scroll and watching some earthbenders. i know she's a prodigy but no one can be THAT prodigious. and it really makes her fight with zuko and subsequently being called master katara fall flat because i don't think i've been shown enough to justify that

also hate that my girl got knocked out halfway through the zutara fight because of the moon wtaf let her kick zuko's ass

a moment of silence for "aren't you a big girl now" and "you rise with the moon, i rise with the sun" you will always be famous

despite knowing the avatar needs to learn waterbending, pakku and arnook just?? walk away?? when they find out he hasn't??? SOMEONE TEACH THIS POOR BOY AN ELEMENT OTHER THAN AIR. ANY ELEMENT, I'M BEGGING

real quick, who had "momo saves a random little girl from falling rock only to be nearly killed and saved by yue and sokka in the spirit oasis" on their live action bingo? no one, that's who, BECAUSE THAT'S FUCKING BONKERS. people are dying all around them but sokka and yue decide this is the time to fuck off to save a lemur?? please be so fr

iroh telling zuko to remember his breath of fire when this show has not once established (at least, iirc) that power in firebending comes from the breath is... something. heavily dislike how little focus was given to the intricacies of learning bending in this series

HATE that they removed zhao dying because of koizilla and gave it to iroh instead. that was such a great moment of karmic justice for zhao and really highlighted how he brought about his own downfall through his pride and arrogance. i know they tried to show zuko's compassion by having him spare zhao and walk away (as a callback to the agni kai i'm guessing) but zuko risking himself to save the life of the man who tried to kill him in the original just hit SO much harder.

the pacing of the north pole arc in general was FAR too rushed. at least in the original animation we got the sense that they'd spent weeks there, but in the show it feels like it's been a couple of days MAX. there had to be much more time to build up the threat of the fire nation and the yue/sokka relationship

the sense of time passing was a problem i anticipated the show would have from the start because 8 episodes just feels shorter than 20, but i wish they'd at least done some montages or something to make it seem like time was passing between episodes. as it is, it felt like every episode picked up right after the previous and so the whole season felt like it happened within a week or two. which is a shame because it weakens the epic scale of their journey in having to cross the entire world

overall rating: 6/10. unfortunately i think these episodes were the weakest of the series both in quality of writing and entertainment value, but still fun to watch for the most part

[loser-jpg]

Best 4th in the North

A common occurrence between the housewarden of Savanaclaw and the prefect of Ramshackle was moments spent at sunset, lying on Leonas bed. Leona would use Dee as a pillow, trapping him underneath, with him really not seeming to care as he spent the time scrolling through his phone or distracting himself with his thoughts on the occasions Leona was unsuccessful in getting him to nap with him.

Moments like these Dee would speak to Leona, not often expecting an answer, more to fill the silence, or possibly just a love of hearing his own voice.

"Oh, it's the fourth of July."

Leona glanced up to see Dee looking at his phone, eyes wide at the screen.

"...And?" Leona looked at him in confusion, what did the date mater? Last he knew there wasn't anything important today.

"Back home today's a holiday. A fairly stupid one, in my opinion, but I just happened to notice." Dee paused for a minute, staring at the ceiling as he thought. "Though I did like my families traditions."

"Hmm?" Leona hummed in a low tone, he wasn't actually interested in the topic, but he liked hearing Dee talk, and it was nicer to be somewhat invested in the conversation.

"We'd go up north to my grandparents house, cook out, play yard games, and when the sun started to set me, my sister, and my cousins would light sparklers- OH!" Dee sat up, moving fast enough to almost give Leona whiplash. "I need to tell you the story of how the table exploded!"

"...How what?" Leona was even more confused than before, especially with the excited look Dee had at remembering whatever this story was.

"How the table exploded one year! My dad set up all the sparklers on this glass table, and had the candle to light them on it too, and my uncle accidentally got some of the sparklers sitting on the table on fire so all of them were popping and the table shattered. It was actually really funny, because my cousin just grabbed the hose and sprayed all the broken glass even though the fire was already out." Dee giggled a bit, settling back down as if the fire hazard horror story he had just shared was some fond childhood memory.

"How in the world is that story supposed to be funny."

"It just is. Anyway, once it would get properly dark we would go down to town hall and sit on the steps to watch the fireworks show...It'd be nice to see fireworks here."

The last part was said almost in a whisper, as though it was a thought he intended to keep to himself rather than share with Leona.

"Whys that." Leonas words were mumbled and quiet, with him seemingly balancing the edge between sleep and consciousness.

"The sky here is a lot clearer than back home. I always thought it was so cool how many stars you could see. You really only saw that many when you went out to the north country, but here you see a ton. I figured that'd mean fireworks would look cool too."

Leona couldn't say he was fond of fireworks. Maybe there had been a time where he was, but in recent years any celebration that used them only served to remind him of troublesome memories.

When Cheka had been born the whole of Sunrise City celebrated the entire day, ending it with a gruesome amount of fireworks. Leona assumed the same happened when his brother had been born, but of course he wouldn't know. Leona doubted anyone set off fireworks to celebrate his birth.

Only a few days later Leona was woken up by an annoying amount of notifications on his phone, the fact that they were from his boyfriend being the only reason he didn't ignore them entirely. The notifications consisted of a string of messages accompanied by a single image.

Herbivore:

I FOUND BACKYARD FIREWORKS AT SAMS!!!

[insert image]

GET UR ASS OVER HERE RN

PLEASE

PLEASE

PLEASE

:DDDD

Leona half debated not responding, or at the very least saying he wasn't getting up to go all the way over to Ramshackle, but another message was sent before he could decide.

you have read receipts on i know u saw if u dont show up ill set them off in savaclaw causing who knows how many problems O-O (<- face for intimidation factor)

Leona didn't actually care if Dee did set of fireworks in Savaclaw, but he was obviously very excited, so Leona decided to indulge him.

Fuzz head:

Alright, alright. Gimme a minute.

Herbivore:

lame ass dude usin proper grammar in text

Fuzz head:

Or maybe I wont.

Herbivore:

NO WAIT SRY IM SRY PLS COME OVER ToT

Leona chuckled at the stupidity of the conversation, and then the stupidity of the contact name Dee had given him. He'd have to come up with something more ridiculous to change Dee's contact to.

By the time Leona made his way over to Ramshackle, unsurprisingly quite a bit after Dee had texted him, Dee was already setting up a small yet colorful box on the concrete away from both the building and the grass. He waved Leona over when he saw him and Leona saw more boxes a ways away.

"I got a lighter too at Sam's, somehow he always has what I want."

It was a surprisingly true statement, that shop was always stocked with things you'd never expect, seemingly just after you had thought of needing it.

Dee waved Leona back away from the box, as he leaned down to light the fuse. Leona took a handful of steps back and watched Dee race over shortly after, with the small firework lighting as soon as Dee had stepped out of the way.

It was pathetic in Leona's opinion. But Dee wore a stupid grin on his face at the sight, and the way the bursts of light illuminated his face in the dark was quite a sight.

Leona wrapped an arm around Dee's shoulder, pulling him into his side to watch the firework finish and flicker out. As Dee pulled away from Leona to set up the next firework, Grim came running out from Ramshackle.

"Mrah! Hench-human what was that noise!" Grim ran past Leona and up to Dee, grabbing onto his leg.

"It was the firework, I told you I was setting them off but you said you didn't care." Dee looked down at Grim who was seemingly on the verge of tears.

"Well stop it!"

"Hah, the furballs scared." Leona laughed at Grim as Dee leaned down to pick him up anyway.

"I am not! The great Grim is not afraid of some measly fireworks!" Grim struggled in Dee's grasp, trying to pick a fight with Leona from too far away.

Dee groaned in annoyance at the two, "Then do you want to try lighting one?" He leaned down again pointing to the fuse on the next firework. "Use a small flame to light it."

Grim hesitated before blowing a flame on it, Dee pulling him away right after to join Leona again at a safe distance. Leona watched as Grim cowered back into Dee's arms for a moment before growing accustomed to the loud cracks and the bright light.

Grim jumped out of Dee's arms as the firework died, looking over to the pile near them. Both Leona and Dee could tell that his fear had subsided and instead was replaced by awe at the small show of lights.

"Set up another one! I will light another! Haha!"

Dee laughed, but grabbed another anyway, Grim following him to light it and run out of the way. The two continued like that, sometimes even lighting two at a time, as the pile of fireworks left grew smaller and smaller.

Maybe fireworks were a nice thing after all.