#my favorite horse in the game? maybe

[fablexdreams]

Old Boy appreciation week. Because I said so.

[hauntedtotem]

one of my favorite childhood games got a ""remaster"" for the switch but they replaced the music (arguably best part) and it looks so. So much worse than the original, and they want 30 dollars :/

Unrelated, now accepting eShop gift cards 🤲

[six-improbable-things]

Oh god. I played 9.7 hours of P:WotR today... that's fucking wild. I am clearly so very normal about this game.

[curlyflesh]

symbolism - POLLE

a mutual of mine pointed out that polle & anya’s text colors are the same, if not similar shades of blue. while we know that the anya symbolism we got during jimmy’s ‘purgatory’ hallucinations was the womb/pony centipede, the final polle scene at the top of the mouthwash hill could be one too

at first, i thought polle might have represented a godly figure that will pass judgment (considering polle is the mascot for the corporation), but i think she could also represent a fragment of anya that jimmy neglected, a part of her he didn’t hurt…

i know people have observed that through jimmy’s eyes, anya switches the way she talks to him since he’s her abuser. she cheers him on when he accomplishes something, she shrinks when he gets upset. at first she’s very enthusiastic and sweet, but then she becomes insecure and apologetic

so i’m like …. maybe the final polle hallucination is a part of anya that reflects who she truly is, someone who is wise cunning and self-assured, like her last moments when she is a door away from him,, she uses the rest of her strength to choose her own ending, albeit painful

polle is passing judgment now because anya didn’t get to. this is a parallel to the psych eval that anya didn’t want to perform with jimmy and not to mention the whole cartoon horse sexual fantasy thing …. it connects to this so ironically in an awful way. the pony baby, polle as anya…

“why are you still so concerned with him?”

this is probably one of my favorite lines of the game. after every purgatory scene he fails to take responsibility for the crew. after his epiphany/breakdown in front of curly, he misuses anya’s words to apologize to curly only. but polle knows damn well failing curly wasn’t his worst moment. why does polle know? yeah.

it makes the ending of the game even more fucked up. the fact that that was jimmy’s last chance to feel guilt, after the womb scene And the ID hallway where he doesn’t even conjure up her face but he continued to completely disregard her in yet Another dehumanizing form, as the pony express mascot.

i’m sure there’s even more to consider (like the very first scene where jimmy crashes the ship and sees polle), but yeah that’s all i got for now! check out my blog for even more analyses :)

[leftmysoulbythesideoftheroad]

i realized i still have the sims 3, it’s just on an old account that i forgot about. so now i have both 3 and 4, and i have three packs for the old game (seasons, pets, and supernatural). i get to compare them more closely, and it’s really weird to see all the little changes! i already noticed a lot of the big ones like how restricted travel has become and how limited the packs are, but i forgot about not being able to change your lifetime wish and how many traits there are, etc. there are a lot of pros and cons obviously, but i really missed being able to travel the town so easily. and cars! omg i have cars!!

[toxicanonymity]

Hello sweet toxic! May I pretty please have an age gap fic or drabble with game version of Jackson Joel ( my favorite long and grey haired man )!

Maybe something where in the beginning Joel comes off as shy and nervous and sweet but once he and reader get together he’s got the nastiest fucking mouth she’s ever heard once he’s confident that she likes him as a love interest

parts

JOEL x f!READER | 1.8k

"He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. 'Tonight, ya can leave any time. Ya’ain’t mine yet, so ya don’t gotta do anything I say...'"

NOTES: Hi sweet nonnie ❤️ I watched some tlou 2 gameplay for this, so I hope it helped. idk if I met the "love" interest part but she makes her interest known. Joel is quiet, then dom / dirty

WARNINGS: 18+ Age gap (Joel 60s/reader 20s-40s), objectification of reader, slutty descriptions of men as usual. Joel calls her "honey" and one time, "little girl" (condescending). Beginnings of D/s dynamic, no arrangement, no consummation. Joel holds out, a little grumpy/mean. talk of being owned. degradation, praise, body/pussy inspection.

He stood like a man who no one could bother. Stone cold and solid, with a face that always meant business. His clothes were rugged and worn-in like a cowboy, and the obscenity of his tight jeans left nothing to the imagination, from the back or the front.

The first time you became aware of him, it was from behind, and you did a double take. He ran a hand down the back of his head, smoothing his shoulder-length mane with his other hands on his hip. He was talking to Tommy, and when you heard his voice, the twang put you at ease. He sounded like a nice guy, nicer than he looked.

Your first time at the mess hall, he was kind enough to show you around. You took that as a go-ahead to follow him around anywhere. You began to watch him around Jackson. Not exactly stalking him, but you didn't have anyone else to latch onto. You learned where he went, and you happened to go there too. You were full of questions about how things worked. He always took it seriously. He was a good teacher and didn’t seem interested in anything but helping you when you wanted help.

He taught you how to ride a horse—he must not have noticed you arrived on one. Your loins buzzed as he demonstrated how to sit. His big hands on the reins and the horn were enough to make you wet, but the bulge of his jeans and the way it shifted as he started off at a slow walk. “Now look close, okay? See how I hold it?” You were looking very close.

He taught you how to shoot. Stood behind you and you never felt more safe than holding a pistol with his arms around yours, his chest against your back.

“Attagirl,” he said when you shot the glass bottle target. “Look at that,” he marveled.

To be fair, you weren’t (just) trying to get him in bed. You had lost your traveling party and you joined another one but you felt like the odd one out. It never felt like you had someone to look out for you, specifically you. You hadn’t felt the affection or encouragement of a big, capable man in a long time.

Still, there was no denying you had a crush on him. It felt like a shock that he didn’t have women following him around in droves, until you got to know him and found out he was pretty shy. He didnt't seem to have much interest in anything but practicalities and survival. He was sweet, but never crossed a line.

Even when you started crossing some yourself. He took you on an errand one day, and he was buckling in your seatbelt, and you stopped is hand. You put his hand on your thigh, and watched his face. He kept the same, composed expression, but he couldn’t hide the blush that rose to his cheeks. He left his hand there on your thigh for a moment, then pulled away without acknowledging your move. The time it took him to move his hand made you think he liked it there. It was as though he didn’t want to take it the wrong way, wasn't sure your intentions. He cleared his throat, finished buckling you in, and ran his hand over his smooth, gray hair. It was always so well-kept. You had to wonder what it’d look like first thing in the morning,

One night, at the tipsy bison, you came in by yourself in a short dress. He looked you up and down and gave you a curious look, but didn’t acknowledge you. He was talking to Tommy. Tommy craned his neck to get a look, raised his eyebrows, and gave you a nod before grinning at his brother and resuming their conversation. Tommy was hot, too, but he was taken. Otherwise you’d love to see him in nothing but that ponytail. You sat at the other end of the bar and Joel tried not to look at you, but Tommy gave you a wink.

Another night, you showed up to the mess hall too late for dinner, and he was on his way out. He lived close enough and offered to make you something at his place, no problem.

When you came inside, you took off your boots, he took your coat, and when he finished hanging it up, he looked back to see you in a thin, low cut shirt and no bra. His mouth hung open and you gave him a flirtatious smile, as though to say, what?

“Ya’ain’t cold, are ya?” He asked with a pink hue creeping up his neck. He rubbed his beard.

“No, are you?” You asked.

“No,” he muttered, then composed himself and went to the kitchen alone.

When he came to serve dinner, your eyes were on his jeans. The heft of his manhood was always apparent, but there seemed to have been some growth in the time since you’d been at his house. You leaned over the table as you ate your meal, and he tried to keep his eyes off your chest. It was a small, round table, and there wasn’t much of anywhere else to look. He looked at his meal as he ate. You looked at his forearms.

After he finished eating, he dabbed each corner of his mouth with his napkin, folded it, dabbed his beard, and cleared his throat. Meanwhile, your foot nudged his ankle. His face darkened. Your foot moved up his pants, and reached the seat of his chair. He didn’t bat your foot away, but he didn’t look at you until your foot slid right up his thigh and gently nudged the hard bulge in his jeans.

His strong chest heaved, and he didn’t make a move, but his face was reddening as he cleaned his hands with the same napkin.

He looked up as he finished wiping his hands. “Think I’m your plaything, little girl?” He harshly smacked the cloth napkin down on the table, then his strong hand wrapped around your entire foot in his lap. His eyes darkened with a forward tilt of his head, and his voice took on an edge. “Or you tryin’ to be mine?”

You rubbed your lips together and looked at him fondly. He raised his eyebrow to prod for a response.

“Wanna be yours,” you answered matter-of-factly.

“You dunno what you want, girl.” He pushed your foot away, then adjusted himself.

When he stood up to take the dirty dishes, the silhouette in his jeans made you throb. He did the dishes, and when he was finished, he opened a beer.

He walked through the dining area on his way to the living room. “Still here,” he muttered, but didn’t stop to talk. He sat down on the sofa and turned on the radio, not inviting you to join him.

You joined him anyway.

You sat on the sofa, not too close, with your hands folded in your lap.

“You wanna know what it means to be mine?” Joel asked.

“Yes, please,” you answered.

“It means I own you,” he said.

“Okay,” you agreed. “I’m yours.”

He looked at you skeptically. "I’ain’t agreed to own ya yet,” he clarified. "Ain't just something ya do. Takes work from both'a us."

"of course," you acknowledged.

“Gotta know it’s somethin’ ya really want, and if it is, we’ll agree on some rules, safe words and shit.”

“Okay,” you agreed excitedly.

He scanned you head to toe, then let out an alright fine sigh. “Tonight, ya can leave any time. Ya’ain’t mine yet, so ya don’t gotta do anything I say, okay?”

You nodded.

“But later on if ya *are* mine, you do what I say, when I say it.”

He was so serious and official about this, it sounded like he was briefing his men for some kind of operation.

“Okay” you agreed.

"so what's it mean to be mine?" He asked.

you shrugged. "You do what you want with me."

He nodded hesitantly.

“It means I take care'a ya, protect ya, and I own your body. it ain’t yours anymore,” he looked you up and down. “It’s mine,” he stated emphatically. “*if* I decide I want it.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” You asked.

He blew out air through puffed cheeks as if there was a long list.

“Ain’t got patience for brats.”

”I can be good,” you promised.

”Ain’t got patience for tears either. Too distracting out here, still gotta focus on survivin'.'

You tried not to show your worry.

”Ain’t sure ya can handle it,” he admitted

"Ain’t lookin to break in some tight little pussy while she cries and bleeds, either.” he cocked an eyebrow at you, and grabbed the massive protrusion in his jeans. “This ain’t no joke, honey. I don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“I’m not a virgin,” you insisted.

“Yeah? Well ya better fit four fingers 'fore ya 'spect me to try it."

“And I promise I’ll do what you say.”

Joel sighed. “Alright, take your clothes off.." He held up his hands to acknowledge your freedom "OR leave, and we’ll forget this ever happened”

You obediently stripped.

He took sips of his beer as he watched your body emerge from your clothes. “Alright,” he nodded. “Good girl.”

Once you were bare naked, he instructed you to turn around. You did just as he asked.

“God damn,” he whispered. “Now, c’mere.”

With him manspreading on the sofa, he made you stand between his knees and bend over.

“Spread your pussy for me,” he demanded.

You hesitated.

“Don’t have to,” he reminded you.

You reached back and tried to do it with one hand, one finger on each side of the lips. “Like this?”

”Both hands, darlin’. “

You spread your pussy lips for him with both hands.

”Good girl,” he said. “Wide as ya can. Wanna see your parts if they’re gonna be mine.”

You pulled wider

He let out a low whistle. “Juicy little thing. Sure would like to use it...But I’m thinkin’ it might not fit, honey.”

“Why don’t you try it?” You asked.

You turned around and tried to straddle him. He visibly tensed. You reached for the bulge in his jeans.

He snatched your wrist to stop you. “You don’t get to touch me without askin’,” he admonished you. “Notice I didn’t touch you that whole time?”

Your face heated in shame, and his hand loosened. You got off of him.

“That’s enough for tonight,” he said. “I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll think about it? ‘

“I’ll think about it.”

Your eyes were tearing up.

“Ya did good, honey, it’s okay,” he promised. He picked up your clothes and helped dress you. “Just ain’t the kinda choice ya make on the fly. You gotta think about it too, okay?”

You finished getting dressed and nodded.

“I’ll think about it too,” you agreed.

“Good girl,” he answered, rose to his feet, and gave you a kiss on the forehead. Then he got your coat and opened the door. As you began to leave, he stopped you, “Hey,” he lowered his voice. “Ya got a beautiful body. Anyone’d be lucky to own it.”

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Thank you for reading 🖤🖤

[babygirl-riley]

i need jealous / possessive / protective ghost plssss :)

Only Mine

Simon watches as a new recruit takes interest in you. Even though you both are married (secretly of course) He still needs to let you know who you belong to.

A/N: omg we LOVE possessive jealous Simon. 🤭 Might write one that doesn’t have smut but listennnn it’s a good.

“Are you really here to cast me off? Or maybe just to turn me on.”

Warnings: jealous!simon, husband!simon, wife!reader, smut, rough sex, semi-public sex, just a little choking, basically a quickie, fluff, squint for the angst, swearing

simon x reader guide

simon x reader smut list

God the way your body started to ache in such a numbing good way, as you gripped the bars of Simon’s bed. You didn’t really expect your day to turn out like this. Simon, your secret husband, dragged you to his room without any explanation. Demanding your pants down and pussy out.

Confused yet totally turned on you did what he said. Now it’s just growls and slapping of skin. You are trying to recall the day, what could have possessed the all might Lieutenant Riley to be so riled up.

The last thing you were doing was teaching a recruit how to clean his gun properly. Nice kid, young possibly just joined that’s how young he looked. He made stupid snide jokes to get you laughing but it didn’t peak your interest. You are used to having all the young recruits flirt with you and stare. Until one day they make sure not to even cross paths with you.

Little did you know Simon fucking Riley would be watching from afar. Narrowing in on any recruit who decided to play that game. Make sure he scratches their name down so he could give them heavy drills. Watching them get more and more tired until the end to come up and whisper to them. “Get near my Sargent again and this will be the easiest thing ya ever have to do.”

However there was one time you knew that he did it to one recruit. You were hounding the little asshole about how he almost killed his group during a mission. Simon was to be in the same room due to having a back up if things got out of hand. Simon not once stepped in as voices got raised.

The recruit scoffed as he was being told that he is off the next assignment. Due to not only his previous act but also how the respect was not there for you. The recruit turned to Simon. “Control your bitch.”

Before you could even say anything Simon stood up. “Drills now.” He said lowly as he walked up to him. The recruit didn’t move for a moment staring at Simon dead in the eye. Simon leaned to his face. “Ya do not get to call your Sargent that. Now go before I make ya.”

The recruit looked over at you, which you had your arms folded. “That was an order private.” You said as he stormed out.

Simon had you come and watch and give the orders out to him. Basically like whipping a wild horse to become domesticated. In which this case the private did, he was one of your favorites to have in the field. Made sure everyone listened close and trusted you with his life.

Simon later on that day made sure that you were never going to be talked to like that again. That the next muppet that does would be thrown against the wall, you did have to remind him that your marriage is hidden. Which meant to be careful when to start throwing people around. However you loved the fact that he was protective like that. Making sure you were respected. Cared for.

Even when it was outside of the base, when the team is off on leave. Only Price truly knew that you both are married. So whenever you went on leave Simon went on leave and vise versa. When one of your little leaves you and Simon went to a bar, have some drinks and go home. When Simon went to the bathroom another man came up to flirt with you.

No matter how hard you would give him the no time of day, he kept going. The man would causally try to touch your hand, even when showing him the small ring on your finger he would say, “I don’t see him here.”

You would just smile as Simon stood behind him. “Hello babe.” You would say. At first the man had a smirk ready to face whatever man he was going to face, to only frown realizing that Simon was much larger in size.

Simon glared down at him his mask only showing his eyes. The eyes of warning towards the man. “Betta get going mate. She is here with me. And me only.”

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes as he left. Simon taking his space, you rubbed his back and whispered to him of how you were his. And how he was yours. Possessive was always on Simon, you loved it. You made sure that he felt the same, you even both agreed that you both had that. Wrong look from anyone Simon would give the death glare. Smile at you. Dead to him. Even look at you wrong. Gone.

You seen everything when he got that way. Him saying something to giving them his death looks…This however. Was something you haven’t seen. Simon’s cocked dragged against your walls at such a high speed that you didn’t know what to do. Your mouth dripping with salvia as you gasped and whined as he hit the spot over and over, releasing your second orgasm. “Havin’ him near ya like that,” Simon growled as he reached for your neck, pulling you up to his chest. “You laughing at his jokes, fuck, you think I wouldn’t see that.”

It finally hit you once he said those words. “Si,” You whimpered as you felt his hand squeeze your neck. “Fuck, you know I only belong to you.” You knew that is what he needed to hear, to let him know that you belong only to him.

Simon chuckled. “Is that so,” He questioned snapping his hips harder into you, slowing his pace as he placed his lips next to your ear. “I want you to scream my name as I fuck my cum so deep in ya, that no fucking man in this base will get near you.”

You moaned as he bite your ear. “Show me and the rest of this fuckin’ base who you belong to.”

He pushed you back down pinning your chest to the bed as he slammed his cock into you once more. You screamed as you clenched around his cock feeling the knot start to form. Simon went back to his brutal pace, tears brimmed your eyes as it felt so good yet the overstimulating was becoming too much. You wanted more as he drove harder and harder. You moaned loudly as he started to grip your hips.

“Fuck Simon.” You mumbled looking behind your shoulder. He still had basically everything on, he tore your clothes off once you laid down on this bed.

“Louder.” He demanded combing through your hair. Not stopping his pace.

The noises that filled his room should be illegal. The tiny bed that squeaked, as the metal bar hitting the wall, skin to skin slapping against one another, the wet sound that came from his cock and your pussy, and the moaning god the moaning.

“Simon.” You said louder a whine coming out. Panting started to become faster. “It feels so fucking good!”

He gripped your hair. “Louder!” Simon growled.

Your orgasm was right there and you knew he was right there too, his hips stuttering as he panted. Your body shook as Simon’s fingers went underneath you to play with you clit. “Yesyesyesyesyesyss! Simon! Oh god!” You yelled as your orgasm hit you hard enough to see stars.

You could feel your cum lathering his cock as he growled lowly. “That’s it doll, let them hear you. You belong to me only. fucking. me.” He grunted as his cum filled your hole.

You collapsed against the mattress as Simon moaned as he leaned into you more. Shoving his cock further up into you. It was quiet for a moment, the sound of your breaths steaming. Simon sighed kissing your back, rubbing your sides. He noticed that he gripped your hips hard enough that he knew it would leave marks. It wasn’t his first time, you told him you loved when he would do it occasionally.

You sighed pushing yourself more into him. “You know that I only belong to you. That no one else can have me.” You whispered, moaning with content.

Simon nodded as he kissed the back of your neck. “I know, just gets me riled up to see men touching you. Especially when you laugh at their jokes.”

You chuckled slowly getting up having him take his cock out. You both hissed for a moment before you laid on your back. He hovered over you as you grabbed his cheeks. “Your jokes are the only ones that are truly funny.”

“Including the goldfish in the tanks?” He asked smirking, knowing damn well you hated that one.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes even that one.” You both stare at each for a moment. You inhaled deeply. “You should get jealous more often, it looks good on you Lieutenant.”

Simon scoffed getting up before pulling his pants and boxers on. “Shut it,” You giggled as he handed you your clothes. “Get dressed I have a private to run drills, you should watch.”

Oh, now how you were going to get him more jealous. You just loved the way your body ached for more than what you just got.

[ha-rinrin]

Wired for War

Summary: You and your beautiful wife, Jinx, are preparing for war, and you decide to let your family step into the game.

Pairing: Jinx x fem!reader (you come from a powerful family)

Wordcount: 2.1k

Authors note: soo, this randomly popped up in my head and I HAD to write it, I love married jinx x reader its an obsession. Hope you enjoy this one!

Jinx was hunched over her workbench, the dim lights of her lab casting flickering shadows over scattered blueprints, spare parts, and glowing vials of chemtech. She was absorbed, her eyes lit with a fierce focus as she twisted wires and calibrated triggers, whispering to herself with excitement. In her hands, each screw and bolt was a promise of devastation to come, a chaotic edge Zaun would soon wield.

Just as she adjusted her goggles, ready to test her latest creation, a familiar voice echoed through the room.

“Well, if it isn’t my destructive little genius.”

Jinx froze mid-assembly, a wicked grin spreading across her face before she turned around. “You know I can’t concentrate when you sneak up on me like that,” she teased, eyes narrowing playfully as they roamed over you.

You chuckled, stepping fully into the room, and Jinx felt a surge of warmth as you closed the distance. Dressed in sleek attire that hinted at the influence of your powerful family overseas, you looked as formidable as you did elegant, a reminder of the depth of strength you brought with you.

“Just checking on my favorite weapons designer,” you said, reaching out to tilt her chin up so she looked at you. “I see you’ve been busy,” you noted, glancing over the disassembled parts and the eerie glow of her latest chemtech concoction.

Jinx smirked, her hand resting over yours briefly. “Busy is an understatement. You know, I’ve got some surprises for Piltover that’ll blow them right off their high horse.” Her voice was charged with enthusiasm, that hint of chaos behind every word.

You nodded, running a hand along one of the blueprints on her desk. “I’d expect nothing less from you. But remember, there’s more to this than firepower.” Your eyes softened as they met hers, the playful glint in your gaze tempered by genuine concern. “War can be dangerous, even for a genius like you.”

Jinx’s smirk softened. “And that’s why I’ve got you, don’t I?” She stands up, leaning her back against the workbench, crossing her arms. “The powerful, mysterious wife with all the connections. You’re my ace, y’know that?”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Maybe, but you’re still going to be careful, right?”

Jinx stepped closer, slipping her arms around your waist as she murmured, “I’m always careful. Well, careful enough. Besides,” she smirked, looking up at you through her lashes, “you’d come storming in to save me, wouldn’t you?”

A grin tugged at your lips. “Oh, I would. But let’s try not to get there, alright?”

Jinx laughed softly, brushing her lips against yours. “Alright, wife. Just for you.” Then, with a mischievous glint, she added, “Now, wanna help me test out some of these bad boys?”

You immediately got to work, testing the connections on a detonator Jinx had just handed over, both of you shoulder-to-shoulder at her chaotic workbench. The room was filled with the faint hum of chemtech and metal grinding against metal, but the real electricity was in the way her gaze lingered on you, pride and mischief flickering in her eyes.

As you adjusted the detonator, you broke the silence with a casual mention. “I spoke to my parents about all this,” you said, glancing at her. “They offered their soldiers to support Zaun.”

Jinx’s eyes widened as she paused, looking at you with a mix of surprise and delight. “Wait, seriously?” Her smirk grew wider, almost mischievous. “They’d throw their whole army behind us?”

You nodded, a grin tugging at your lips. “Just like that. They might not be from Zaun, but they’ve got no love for Piltover. And as long as it’s to help keep you safe… well, they wouldn’t think twice.”

A flicker of warmth softened Jinx’s face. “Guess I really picked the right wife, huh?” She nudged your shoulder, her smile full of gratitude and affection. “Didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to have a family at my back… especially one that actually likes me.”

You laughed, setting the detonator back on the table. “They more than like you, Jinx. Remember the wedding?”

Jinx’s grin widened as she recalled the day. Your family, powerful and influential as they were, had completely embraced her the moment they met her. She was so different from anyone they’d ever known, but they’d loved her energy, her fire, and, most importantly, her devotion to you.

“Oh, I remember,” she said with a chuckle, her tone softening as she lost herself in the memory. “Your parents practically threw me a parade when we said our vows. Never thought anyone would get so worked up over a troublemaker like me.”

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of blue hair behind her ear. “That’s because they could see what I see. They knew you’d do anything for me, even if it meant going toe-to-toe with Piltover.”

Jinx smirked, a glint of mischief in her eye as she looked back at the blueprints. “Guess they’ve got good instincts. But it goes both ways, you know.” She leaned closer, her voice soft but fierce. “Anything for you, too.”

You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Then we’re both all in.”

Jinx grinned, slipping her fingers through yours. “Looks like Piltover’s got a storm coming. With you at my side—and that little army of yours—they don’t stand a chance.”

Your fingers brushed over a pile of metal scraps, picking up a thin wire as Jinx adjusted the fuse on her latest invention. The two of you worked in sync, comfortable and in tune, even amidst the chaos of her lab. She was about to speak when you decided to drop the real bombshell.

“That’s not all,” you said, your voice low, but carrying a weight that made her look up instantly. “My family’s pulling out all the stops. They talked to… well, you’ve heard of the Black Rose?”

Jinx’s brow shot up, and a spark of curiosity lit in her eyes. “The Black Rose?” Her voice dropped, almost reverent, like she’d just uncovered a secret too wild to be true. “You mean… the Black Rose is real? The whole dark magic, underground network, shadow-in-every-corner thing?”

“Oh, they’re real all right,” you replied, crossing your arms as you watched her face shift through surprise and intrigue. “They’re willing to offer their resources, but there’s a catch.”

Jinx tilted her head, clearly eager to hear what kind of condition such a group would demand. “What’s the price?”

“They’ll only help if we let them ‘take care’ of Ambessa Medarda,” you said, voice edged with dark amusement. “They want her gone, and not in some subtle way. They want her head.”

A wide, wicked grin spread across Jinx’s face, her eyes glinting with manic delight at the idea. “So, they want us to clear the path and let them take out the queen of Piltover’s power brokers? Just hand over Ambessa’s head on a platter?”

“Exactly.” You smirked, meeting her gaze. “They think she’s too much of a liability to leave standing. They’ll only help if they get full access to her and… take care of her their way.”

Jinx let out a low laugh, clearly reveling in the twisted web of alliances that had just come into play. “I have to say, toots, your family has taste.” She twirled a screwdriver in her hand, eyes practically gleaming. “And here I thought I’d be the craziest one in the room. Let the Black Rose do their thing, and we get all the backup we need.”

“Exactly. We get their resources, and they get their revenge on Ambessa,” you replied, feeling the thrill of the plan settle in your bones. “And my family? Well, they’re more than happy to keep the Medardas off their backs.”

Jinx leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Then let’s give them what they want. Let them paint Piltover red if they need to. With the Black Rose on our side, it’s not just gonna be war—it’s gonna be a whole damn reckoning.”

Her hand slid into yours, her grip firm and electrifying. “So, partner… ready to let the games begin?”

As Jinx’s hand held yours tightly, her wild grin softened, and her eyes, still blazing with excitement, met yours with a warmth that cut through the thrill of war planning. She leaned closer, her expression softer, almost tender—a side of her she saved only for you.

“Didn’t think I’d ever get this lucky,” she murmured, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Having you by my side… having a whole family by my side? Didn’t think it was in the cards for me.”

You felt a smile pull at your lips, squeezing her hand in return. “Well, you’re kind of hard to resist, you know.”

Jinx’s lips curled into a smirk, but there was a trace of a blush on her cheeks as she rolled her eyes. “Pfft. Me? It’s you who’s too perfect for your own good. Sweet-talking war councils and charming dark magic cults into doing our dirty work.”

“Just doing my job as your wife,” you said with a playful wink.

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine as she pulled you closer, her forehead pressing softly against yours. “Guess I got myself the best one, then.”

For a moment, the plans, alliances, and whispers of war faded away. It was just you and her, together in the quiet of her workshop, like you had all the time in the world. Her gaze softened, and she let her hand move to cup your cheek, her fingers cool against your skin.

“Stay with me,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “No matter what happens out there. Whatever crazy plan I come up with. Just… stay.”

You tilted your head, pressing a gentle kiss to her fingertips. “Always. From here to wherever this takes us.”

Jinx’s eyes sparkled with a mix of fierce devotion and rare vulnerability as she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours—a kiss that was slow, lingering, and filled with everything words couldn’t capture. You could feel her smile against your lips, that mischievous grin you’d fallen in love with, softened just for you.

When she finally pulled back, she wore that familiar, confident smile again, but it was edged with warmth and love only you could bring out. “Alright, wife of mine,” she murmured, her fingers twining with yours. “Let’s go turn the world upside down.”

As you and Jinx stood there, savoring the quiet moment, the door to the workshop creaked open. Before either of you could react, a little voice shouted, “Surprise!” and a burst of glitter erupted in the air, sparkling bits of color showering down onto you and Jinx.

You glanced down to find Isha, her face lit up with pride and mischief, holding the remnants of a small glitter bomb in her tiny hands. “Did I surprise you?” she asked, her eyes wide and gleaming with joy.

With a laugh, you crouched down, scooping Isha into your arms as she giggled, her little fingers still sticky with glitter. “Oh, you definitely got us,” you said, smiling as she beamed up at you, clearly pleased with her work.

Jinx let out a chuckle, brushing glitter off her shoulder as she watched the two of you, a soft look in her eyes. “You didn’t tell your parents about our new daughter, did you?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at you as she ruffled Isha’s hair, getting a fresh handful of glitter in the process.

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Not yet, no. I figured the glitter bomb announcement would probably be Isha’s idea of breaking the news anyway.”

Isha squirmed in your arms, a sign for you to let her down, and so you did, her attention now fixed on Jinx’s workbench, full of half-built gadgets and brightly colored wires. “Mom, can I help?” she asked, looking up at Jinx with wide, hopeful eyes.

Jinx softened, her smirk melting into a genuine smile as she knelt down to Isha’s level, nodding. “Alright, but just this once, kiddo,” she said, her voice filled with affection. “And we’ll keep the explosions to a minimum this time, yeah?”

You watched them together, your heart swelling as Jinx handed Isha a small, harmless trinket to tinker with. She shot you a wink, her hand resting on your shoulder, grounding you in this moment that felt like a gift in the middle of all the chaos.

“Looks like we’ve got a little troublemaker on our hands,” Jinx murmured, her gaze sliding over to you as you both watched Isha focus intently on the tiny piece in her hands.

You wrapped an arm around Jinx’s shoulders, pulling her close. “Well, with a family like this, it’s no surprise, is it?”

Jinx grinned, resting her head against yours. “Nope. She fits right in.”

[summervale]

「Merriment」

Third-person reader insert! Y/N is the younger sister of King Robert Baratheon. Her house sigil is a stag, yes, but it seems she has a particular fondness for hounds.

Contains: Reluctant pining, kissing, mature situations Words:  2,311

UNFINISHED WORK: This was supposed to be a long, multi-part piece which is why it takes so long setting up! This was part one and is about halfway finished. Figured there's a lot of Sandor fans that might enjoy a small something cute <3

No husband and no responsibilities made for a very happy woman indeed. Small wonder she was all smiles and riddles and gayeties; she must, the commonfolk thought, be the happiest woman in all the seven kingdoms.

This was likely true.

She was forever laughing. There was a smile on her face always, it seemed, and everywhere she went she took merriment with her. Her ladyship took great pleasure in riddles and games and shows of mummers and fools, and King’s Landing had not hosted a tourney that did not have her there in the pavilions in many a year. She was a friend to all regardless of birth or station or reputation (within reason), and for this she was quite loved, but also quite resented. The resentment was paid little mind—turning a blind eye and smiling was much more fun, as it was often irksome to those who were loth to favor her.

Y/N Baratheon. Lady of Storm’s End, younger sister to Stannis and Robert, older sister to Renly. She possessed the same appetite for amity as Robert coupled with the mirth and grandeur of Renly. Of Stannis, it was said, they shared only a name. Still she insisted she adored all her brothers equally, “even the gloomy one.”

Much was afoot in King’s Landing.

King Robert had named Lord Eddard Stark new hand of the king, and Stark had arrived with a host of his own and his two daughters in tow. This was cause for celebration, and celebration was cause for a tourney, and where there was a tourney (or a celebration), Lady Y/N was to be found.

And she was found in King’s Landing quite a lot, of recent.

There was a rumor, often dubbed a vicious and untrue one, that though her house sigil may be the King's own stag, Y/N had a particular fondness for hounds.

The sun was two hours from setting when a host of black and yellow arrived at The King's Gate. In came banners that bore stags, and a spate of wagons bringing wines and cheeses and polished pears from Storm’s End. An impatient rider rode ahead of the rest, leaving behind a cry of protest as she thundered away, alone, up the streets of King’s Landing.

She arrived with a well-lathered horse and a swirl of her cloak. A party had time to gather in the yard of the Red Keep; a paltry welcoming committee with little time to prepare.

But the King was there—of course the King was there.

Had she not already been grinning, she would have grinned. “There’s my favorite brother,” said Y/N, dismounting and already forgetting her palfrey.

The look on Robert’s face was strange, though, and uncharacteristic of the Robert she knew and loved. The years had not been kind to him (as was made most evident by his growing waistline), and his face was stern, drawn into a scowl, his brow furrowed.

Is he not happy to see me? she thought even through her smiles and excitement. Gods, he looks as grim as Stannis, maybe twice as much. When she made to throw her arms about his neck, he took her by the shoulders and held her at arm’s length instead.

“That’s your grace to you, woman. I am the King, or have you forgotten?”

The King’s sister opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, which was done dumbly and not unlike a fish.

The ruse was short-lived.

Robert Baratheon—King Robert Baratheon—broke into a roar of laughter like that of a bear made human. Still holding his dearest sister by the shoulders, he gave her a hearty shake. “Your face!” he boomed. “You should have seen it!”

Her smile returned, then her laughter. “You’re a fool if ever there was one, Robert!”  She threw her arms around his neck even as he shook her, and the big king lifted his little sister in his arms and hugged her so tightly, so fiercely, that the now-arriving party feared the king may crush their lady.

Robert didn’t crush Y/N, though. No, they were both used to it. “You’re crushing me, Robert,” she huffed at last, prompting the king to drop her back down onto the ground.

He clapped her on the shoulder. “Right then, let’s get inside. We have much and more to catch up on, and there’s a flagon of wine calling my name.”

“Every flagon of wine calls your name, your grace.”

The King was laughing again, then, and the King’s sister was smiling.

That, as far as the two Baratheons were concerned, was the way it always had been, and the way it always would be, until one buried the other.

Meeting the King’s party was a grand ordeal, though Y/N had already met most of the partygoers in attendance on at least one occasion. Of course she knew the Lannisters, her brother’s family by law, and she’d met Lord Eddard Stark once before. Lord Eddard’s daughters were new to her, however, and a few of the faces at court as well. Having been taught well, she recognized most of the family names and colors, smiling and shaking hands and doing all the formalities a lady should do.

The occupants of the Red Keep’s great hall that night came from houses big and small, known and unknown, and saw the attendance of lords and ladies, knights, hedge knights, bards, poets and singers, fools in their motley and mummers with their painted faces. There were cards being shuffled and dice being thrown. Serving girls brought plate after plate of selections from the kitchens: stuffed capons, wine-glazed lamb, honeyed figs, dark breads with thick crusts, sweet lemon cakes still-warm from the ovens. The courses seemed never-ending and the wine never stopped flowing.

“Never was there such a party before, brother,” declared Y/N. She lifted a gilded goblet with a flourish, and rich, purple wine splashed over the rim and down her hand. She was the picture of effortless joy.

And she knew it, too.

If she hadn’t known it, the guests would have reminded her; the way they flocked to her in throngs and yammered on and on whenever she should happen to lend an ear—which was often. Round and round she circled the crowd as the evening wore on and the wine continued to flow, searching the room for a familiar face—a face that would stand out even in the most crowded of rooms.

Her gaze passed the lords and ladies, passed the knights in their polished armor, until at last she found her mark.

Sandor Clegane, the Hound, stood near the far wall, obscured halfway in the shadows. His face was grim, as it usually was, pulled tightly into a scowl that had long since worn its lines permanently into his features. The burn scars that marred half his face were highlighted by the flickering torchlight, giving him an even more fearsome appearance.

She knew Sandor was not like the other knights, not like the men who fawned over ladies with flowery words and grand gestures. He was rough, blunt, and often downright rude.

He was the perfect change of pace.

Oft she sought him when at last she could take the rinse-and-repeat of perfumed nobility no longer. She wove through the crowd with ease, exchanging smiles and nods as she passed, until she finally stood before Sandor.

"Sandor," she greeted him plainly. “It’s been too long.”

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. For an overly long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a grunt, he inclined his head slightly. "My lady," he replied, his voice as rough as the gravel on the King’s Road.

Y/N smiled up at him, unfazed by his gruffness. "Why do you stand here all alone?" she asked, her tone teasing. "Surely even hounds deserve a bit of merriment."

Sandor huffed, a sound that could have been a laugh if it had come from anyone else. "Merriment’s for fools," he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“Forgive me, then, for it seems I’ve forgotten my motley.”

“So it seems.”

She knew he was not a man of many words, especially when it came to matters of the heart. But she also knew that, for reasons she could not fully explain, she had become someone he tolerated more than most.

Perhaps it was a royal decree by Robert unbeknownst to her. And what a royal decree that would be! The thought made her laugh aloud, which only earned her a raised eyebrow in response.

He indicated the floor from which she’d just come. "Motely or not, you should jingle along with the other fools,” he said, though his tone was less stern than usual.

"And you should be out there with your fellow dogs," said she, “but here we are."

Sandor's lips twitched as if they might have remembered how to smile for half a moment. “Surprised you’re not dancing again. It went well for you last time.”

With one sentence he had broken the façade she wore so well. Her look of smug mirth disappeared from her face in an instant and was replaced instead by one of flustered surprise.

It had been a celebration much like this one and she was deep in her cups by the time the sun had set and the dancing had begun. Y/N had been at the heart of it, twirling and dancing with little care, passing hand from one lord to another, from knight to knight, breathless and flushed and shoes long forgotten.

The next thing she knew, she was stumbling, and a moment later, toppling entirely. The ground rose up to meet her with an unpleasant wack!, and the pain in her cheek was overshadowed only by a pain in her ankle. She’d gotten too carried away and twisted something, it seemed, and hadn’t even felt it until she was picking herself back up off the ground.

Or, well, trying to pick herself back up off the ground. The usual cloud of courtiers buzzed around her in an attempt to see her upright again, but the pain in her ankle swelled red hot and angry.

A shadow passed, then, and she had looked up, her vision slightly blurred from the wine, to see Sandor Clegane’s gruff face above her. There had been no mocking grin or cold stare, just a look that might have been concern on a more expressive man. “You’re alright.”

Without another word, he had scooped her up in his arms, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all.

Y/N had gasped, her hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders. "I can walk!" she had protested, though she hadn’t made any real effort to leave his arms.

 "Not on that ankle you can’t.”

And so she had let him carry her, through the bustling hall and up the winding stairs of the Red Keep, all the way to her chambers. It had been awkward, but it had also been…

More.

“You’re quite strong,” she said to him, which earned only a grunt of acknowledgement.

Something—something—fluttered inside of her when she saw him so close; the burned skin unevenly healed, the scruff that dusted his face, the muscle of his neck that disappeared beneath his armor where her prying eyes could not follow—but her imagination could. 

When they reached her chambers, he had set her down gently on the edge of her bed. She had looked up at him, her heart pounding in a way that had little to do with the wine. As he made to release her, she caught the back of his neck with her hand and held him there, inches from her face.

She’d expected him to break free, to pull away, to do anything else. But he stayed.

He stayed there like that, his lips inches from hers.

He had hesitated, his expression torn between wanting to leave and the pull of something deeper that they both felt there between them. They both smelled of wine and honeyed mead, lips sweet.

She didn’t know who kissed who, but in half a heartbeat they were entangled.

Sandor’s breath came ragged against her mouth. Her fingers tangled in his hair. She bit his lip and he growled. It was fast, animal, raw want.

And a longtime coming.

When he pulled away, she pulled him back in again, and he didn’t fight her. Breathless, she’d pulled herself up by his shoulders and onto her knees, the pain in her ankle unfelt and forgotten. Her hands cupped his face and she pulled him in, in, in, until her chest was flush with his and she could feel every rise and fall of his on hers.

At last he’d taken her by the elbows and pushed her away, and it ended as suddenly as it had started.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he told her.

“But I haven’t had enough of you.”

“You’ve had your fill of that, too,” he said, turning cloak and leaving.

“I’m quite certain I haven’t had my fill of you.”

He paused mid-step and looked at her over his shoulder. “You don’t want that,” he assured her. There was something dangerous in his eyes, something sharp as steel and burning hot.

Y/N leaned back on the bed. “I know what I want,” she said, wishing she could stand and go to him, to pull him by his cloak and his armor and whatever else she could get her hands on—something lower than his beltline. “I’ve known for years and years.”

Slowly, deliberately, Sandor crossed the room again, silhouetted against the warm torchlight that poured in through the still-open door. “Trust me,” he said, towering over her, leaning in close. “You might want to get your fill of me, but you don’t want me to get my fill of you.”

Her breath left her body in a shuddering shiver.

Again he had turned, then, and didn’t stop to look back at her that time.

[anzulvr]

What are somethings he does as a boyfriend 😋

Karma x Reader — Things he does as a boyfriend ୭🧷✧˚. ᵎᵎ 🎀 SORRY! As always very late :'(

— Gets you out of your comfort zone,

In the play E-Class did for the elementary school kids, he’s the one to suggest to everyone you play the lead. He convinces you by saying you can spend your day together.

Another example of this is going through with your assassination attempts. He is the first to volunteer himself to go along with your plan! Need a guy to swing from the rooftops? Get him a rope. Need someone to shoot? Give him the signal and he’s ready. Need horse tranquilizer? He knows a guy.

— Defends you when you’re wrong.

This one is very specific, I don’t think he’s the type to back out of an argument for anyone, it’s more like he’s defensive around people who criticize you. He just shoots out insults before you even have the time to react. Somehow he doesn't sound aggressive when doing it, comes out of his mouth way too naturally.

Terasaka for example: “How’d you miss that shot? Your aim is the worst I’ve seen.”

“Maybe [Name] can use you as a shooting target. Your heads big enough.”

— Can’t cook? He’s got you covered! His favorite dish is anything as long as he cooks it, with his parents often traveling he developed that skill really well over the years.

— He“buys” you the best gifts (he gets them in the weirdest ways.)

The same as the time he pulled out math equations when he was getting scammed by the stand owner at the festival until he got a console for free.

Half of his belongings come from his “Delinquent fishing” money, so most of the things he buys for you are probably from the same guys he terrorizes.

— An arcade gaming pro, anything you want he can win on the first try! If he can’t he will find a way to prove it’s rigged or faulty and get the manager to clear out the prize stock. He’s shameless.

It's October so Halloween Headcannons;

His favorite part of Halloween is going out of his way to scare people.

He’s going to go around scaring his classmates and making you participate. (Rio happily joins in.)

He'll put you up to trick someone else that way he can come behind you and scare you.

He makes you match costumes but they’re never cute. He has disturbing, taste. But who can say no to his offer???

— Competitive.

“Whoever gets a lower score on this exam has to buy the winner food!”

“Karma you’re only saying that cause you know I didn’t study.”

He buys you food if you lose anyway to cheer you up.

— Makes you his accomplice,

“[Name] Im a block away from your house, I need you to pour some hydrogen peroxide in a bucket”

“I am not helping you clean blood off your clothes again!"

“He hit me first! It’s my own mouth blood.”

“Ouch, you lost?”

“No, just get the bucket.”

[zepskies]

As You Wish

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When Dean agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

AN: Here’s a little something in honor of Dean’s birthday! If you haven’t seen The Princess Bride, do yourself a favor. 🥰

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, and nothing but the fluff. (Established relationship.)

“My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!” Dean says, right in time with the iconic swashbuckler on the screen, complete with his best approximation at a Spanish accent.

You giggle against his side, hard enough to rock both of you on the bed. When he agreed to watch your favorite movie with you, you didn’t think it’d come with live subtitles.

“Are you gonna quote the whole damn movie?” you ask.

Dean brandishes an imaginary sword with his fist held out.

“HELLO! My name is—”

Biting your lip, you cut him off short by playing dirty. You wrap your arm around his middle and dance your fingers across his ribs. He’d never admit it, but he’s got sensitive sides.

He flinches and laughs on reflex. “Hey, hey! That’s a foul move!”

His arm tightens around your waist while his other hand closes around your wrist. You try to grapple with him, your bare legs tangling with his pajama-clad ones, but you both know it’s a losing battle.

Dean gathers you tighter against his chest and traps your wandering hand.

Huffing another laugh, you relax again. His heart clips at a faster pace under your ear. Your hand smooths up his chest and finds its way up the back of his neck.

Dean can't help it. He lets out a contented hum when your nails give his scalp a little scratch.

For a moment, his attention drifts away from the movie and down to you. He spies the soft edge of your smile, feels your hair starting to itch against his arm, your soft curves under his hand, pressing against him.

You two don’t get these quiet days often, but he wants to make sure you get some rest. You, Sam, and Dean spent about three straight weeks in a row with back-to-back hunts, and the last one had really taken it out of you. So now, Dean’s satisfied to see you so relaxed. Happy, even.

Yeah. You really do seem to be as happy as he (secretly) feels.

Sometimes, he finds that part hard to believe. If you could want this with someone like him, then maybe…maybe he doesn’t screw up all the time.

Dean tunes back into the movie just in time for Buttercup to jump out of the window in her pretty white dress. She and Westley join Fezzik and Inigo on white horses, and the couple shares the kiss that left all the others behind.

Dean glances down at your face. He’s amused by the way you’re eating up all this sappy rom-com crap. Your eyes are shining with unshed tears. He ducks down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

“You just spring a leak over anything, don’t you?” he teases. You shove at his chest with a halfhearted hand.

“Only over the good stuff,” you retort.

He accepts that with a chuckle. When the credits start to roll down the screen, he reaches for the remote and searches for the episode you guys left off in Game of Thrones. You tap his chest.

“Hey, wanna go out to dinner tonight?” you ask. A warm smile plays on your lips. “Just you and me?”

Dean blinks. He doesn’t remember the last time you two went on an honest-to-God date. No time, no privacy, always something evil on your asses…

A decision made in his mind, Dean gives you a smile back. He brushes his thumb across your cheek.

“As you wish,” he says.

AN: 😘 Hope you liked this one!

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

[littlejuicebox]

Handmade

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: Nine years post BG3 / You and Astarion are married; you now work as a Counsellor, Astarion handles your business investments. After a lot of hard work, the two of you have established quite a wealthy, wholesome life for yourselves. / If you're looking for more backstory and HCs for this version of AstarionxTav, check out my Highharvestide fics. Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / Holiday fluff / Sexual references / Maybe some mild in game spoilers Word Count: Notes: This is 4/5 "Days of Star-mas!"

I'm also entering this into the #BG3HolidayFluffle23 challenge under the prompt "gifts."

Click here to see my master list.

-----

Gift giving was, without a doubt, Astarion’s love language. He truly adored spoiling you with the most opulent things money could buy. A plethora of rare night blooming plants, ridiculously ornate gowns, a cabinet full of gem-encrusted jewelry, first editions of your favorite books (more than a few signed by the authors)… in truth, you’d been given it all. 

But well before this year’s Midwinter Banquet, just as the summer turned to autumn and the leaves in your back orchard were beginning to drop and kiss the earth, you explicitly told your husband you wanted something handmade this year. Something from the heart.

The vampire groaned at this stipulation. “Darling, I’ve got so many wonderful ideas. I’ve seen some beautiful dresses in the shops that would look wonderful on you. And a pair of earrings that would go beautifully with your eyes; just this morning I was in discussions with a horse breeder about purchasing you your very own riding horse since you seem to abhor the carriage… you just can’t be serious about this, my sweet.” 

“I am.” You’d responded, tone matter-of-fact, arms crossed, brow furrowed as you address your husband, “My love, we have everything. Everything we could possibly want and money to buy anything else we want or need, too. I’ve been given the most luxurious gifts for nine years straight… but I want something from the heart. I want something from my rogue. From the man that used to leave me flowers on my pillow at camp and steal me sweet rolls from the merchants. I know he’s in there, somewhere.” 

You step closer to your husband, peering deeply into his eyes like you’re searching for something lost deep within the pupil. Then you place your ear to Astarion’s chest and bring your hand up to knock on it. “Hellllooo? Rogue Astarion? Can you hear me in there?” 

Your love chuckles at your antics and grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly before planting a kiss on the knuckle. “Very well darling, have it your way. How could I say no?” 

You beam, overjoyed to have won this little debate. Then, for the next few months, the two of you sneak off to prepare your individual gifts for one another whenever you have a spare moment.

More than once in those few months, Astarion had rattled the door to your bedroom, threatening to pick the lock if you didn’t let him in that instant. You’d groan in frustration every time, quickly stow away your gift, and then rip open the door to roll your eyes at the pale elf. 

“It’s only been a few hours, Astarion. You interrupted me right when I was actually getting somewhere, do you know that?” You’d scolded, more than once. 

“Darling, it’s been several hours, not just a few. Why is it not possible for you work on your gift somewhere else? I need use of this room, too, you know. Unless this is somehow your way of telling me you’d like to sleep in separate rooms from now on, my sweet?” He’d challenged more than once, quirking his white eyebrow at you with a rakish smirk. Then he'd sweep into the room with a brief kiss to your temple and ready himself for bed or a bath.

“If I could work on it elsewhere, I would! But I can’t. You’ll see why.” You would always huff in response, wrinkling your nose impatiently at your husband. “And don’t pretend you’d be able to sleep a wink if you were made to lay in the guest chambers, Lord Ancunin. Don’t tempt me with any ideas.”

Astarion would sigh and dramatically roll his eyes at you, but continue to oblige your long stints alone in the bedchamber, nonetheless. He never mentioned that he only ever interrupted you when you exceeded more than six hours holed up in the bedchamber alone; even a vampire had to bathe and sleep at some point, after all. 

As for Astarion? He was regularly in the middle of meetings or reviewing contracts when you were working on your project, so his time had been allocated a bit differently. He would often prepare his gift while you slept… you’d always needed more sleep than he did. The vampire would slip out of bed and down into the parlor, where he would spend a few hours curled up in the sofa at work before cozying back up to you before you woke. 

Soon enough, it was time for the Midwinter Banquet. It was the Ancunin’s turn to host a dinner party; the Ravengards had just done Highharvestide, the Dekarioses had hosted Midwinter the year prior, and Lae’zel and Shadowheart lived a rather nomadic lifestyle that didn’t allow hosting parties. Technically, it should have been Karlach and Dammon’s first year to host, but as they were fresh newlyweds that had barely purchased a property that same month, you’d kindly offered them a pass.

As was typical for an Ancunin dinner party, the dining hall had been completely decked out by the staff. No surface was left untouched from the beautiful combination of candles, pine trimmings, and bunting you’d roped a reluctant Astarion into helping you string. You were quite proud of the bunting, which was handmade with dried oranges, cranberries, and touches of greenery. 

You were, as always, meandering about the dining room, far too fixated on the most minute details of the table settings. Astarion made his way over to you, as he did every time you hosted a party, to force you from your nervous habit of hyperfixation.

This year you were saddened to immediately notice the absence of Scratch as your husband entered the large wooden doors of the dining hall; the dog had passed that summer. Astarion, out of habit, flexed his fingers downward to make contact with the dog’s scruff, only to drag his fingers through the empty air. You’d seen this maneuver from your husband more than once, and as you watched him enter the dining hall, you made a mental note to find another furry companion soon. He’d never admit he was taking the loss quite hard. 

“Darling, it’s time for you to dress. And, it’s time for us to exchange presents before everyone arrives.” The vampire murmurs, taking your hand and pulling you from the dining hall and into the adjacent parlor, where your presents are sat underneath a tree adorned with baubles and more of that fruit-filled bunting you two spent an entire day crafting. 

You grab the small red and gold package sitting under the pine tree and grin, handing it to your husband. “Here, open mine first.” 

Astarion raises his eyebrow as he examines the package, giving it a little shake as he holds it to his ear. The package doesn’t make a sound, and he hums in idle curiosity as he undoes the red ribbon tied around the gift. You’re practically bouncing with excitement and anticipation as you watch him carefully undo the wrapping. 

“Just tear it!” You exclaim impatiently, and the pale elf chuckles at you and rolls his eyes before obeying your command and tearing the paper off the gift. 

Astarion is speechless as he stares down at the labor of your love. It’s a small painting, roughly the length and width of a book. The painting depicts you and… well, it must be him, cuddled in bed together. His arm is wrapped around your shoulder, and your hand is gripping the fingers dangling from that same arm. The two of you are laughing underneath the familiar maroon and gold bedspread always located on your four-poster bed. He’s in awe of the details: the little fangs in his mouth, his scarlet eyes and the glint within them, the pinprick scars on your neck, and the freckles along your arm. 

“Turn it over.” You whisper, watching as the vampire obliges with wet eyes.

On the back you’ve written: “My Favorite Place” in your delicate, flowing script. And as his scarlet eyes read the words, your husband loses his barely held composure, cold lower lip trembling as salty tears fall over his waterline. He tugs you into a crushing hug, placing repeated kisses in your hair, and you’re beaming because for once you’ve rendered the loquacious vampire speechless.

You’re teary eyed as well when you sniffle and pull away from Astarion. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to get it right. It’s taken me years, my love. I even snuck in lessons on my trips further into the city to meet with the other Counsellors or Wyll. But I hope you can see us how I see us, now.” 

Astarion nods slowly before placing the gift down on the end table, still overcome with sentimentality. He gives a soft chuckle as he wipes his own eyes and then yours. “Well, darling… now I’m quite worried my gift will pale in comparison, to be honest.” 

“Nonsense!” You promise, as you sit down on the sofa and hold your hands out expectantly. You’re bearing a child-like grin as you wiggle your fingers, bidding the vampire to continue on.

Astarion is nervous. You can see it in his crimson eyes and the twitching of his hands as he grabs the silvery package and gives it to you. His ears are flushed in that subtle way that only appears when he’s extremely embarrassed or aroused… though in this case, you’re quite sure it’s embarrassed. 

As you’re unwrapping the gift with much less care than your husband had unwrapped his, the elf in the midst of explaining himself away, “Darling if you end up not liking it, I’m more than happy to—“ 

But he’s interrupted by a thrilled gasp and ecstatic squeals as you lift a heavily embroidered blanket out of the plain wrapping box. 

“Astarion, how could I not love this? This is beautiful!” You exclaim, quickly opening the blanket and draping it over the couch to admire your husband’s stitch work, “I knew you were talented, my love… but I am blown away.” 

Astarion is beaming now, his ears completely red with some combination of embarrassment and excitement at your praise. He comes to your side and places a hand on your waist as the other one points to the bottom corner of the blanket before tracing up the width and then down the length in a repeated clockwise motion. 

“It’s… it’s symbolism, my darling. Of our love story.” He explains in a still-nervous whisper. 

You move closer to examine the piece and your eyes pick out bits of embroidered details between the floral filigree; you notice you recognize many of the plants from your own night blooming garden. As you move in the direction Astarion pointed, you note several obvious points of symbolism: a dagger, stars and a campfire, glasses of wine, that familiar forest clearing lit up by the moon, his old hand mirror, Lathander’s Mace (he’d conveniently left out the fallen crèche he’d saved you from), Moonrise Towers, the Warding Bond rings you two now kept in a jewelry box upstairs… on and on and on.

You follow the story all the way to the center, where there is a beautiful design of the sun, moon, and stars. At first, you think this is in reference to his proposal, but then you realize it would be in the wrong order. You can't quite figure out the meaning.

Your fingers stroke those center celestial stitches, the only pieces done in shimmering gold and silver thread. “And what does this symbolize, my love?” 

Astarion shifts slightly on his feet, fingers still flexing with anxiety. Your brows furrow as you look from the piece to your husband, wondering why he’s still so nervous when you clearly love the gift. He inhales sharply and bends down, putting his hand in the forgotten gift box that you’d all but tossed aside in your excitement. He pulls out a smaller piece of fabric. It's an infant’s blanket. 

You feel your heart stop in your chest as the vampire slowly unfolds the tiny blanket to reveal a beautiful scene of the sun, moon, and stars all done in that same gorgeous, shimmery thread. 

“My love, I… well, I think it might be time that we consider expanding the family. And Gale seems to be making great strides with the Wish Spell preparations and it seems that might be a real possibility soon and—“

You interrupt your husband’s explanation, crashing your warm lips into his cold ones, and he’s knocked off balance, forced to collapse into the sofa by the weight of your body careening into his. When you pull away from him, both of you are grinning like idiots and slightly flushed at the mere thought of such an impossible possibility. You simply give the vampire a little nod, and then break into delighted laughter, soon joined by him. 

Your husband kisses you softly, and then leans towards your ear, voice dropping into that devilish murmur. “How much time do we have before the party, darling? Perhaps we’ll do a test round before we dress. I would like the two of us to be well practiced when the time comes.” 

You smirk at the vampire when he pulls away from you, his face wearing that irresistible cocked eyebrow and a glimmer of playfulness in his scarlet eyes. You press a finger to your lips and feign humming as if in thought. “I think we might have time for one practice round… if you can catch me, that is.” 

“Why you little—” 

You don’t hear the rest of Astarion’s scolding, but you feel his fingers narrowly miss the curve of your hip as he tries and fails to grasp you. You’re off like a bow shot from an arrow, speeding out of the parlor and down the hall toward your bedchamber, swerving around the poor maid with a shouted apology. You’re grinning as you run down the hallway, thinking that for once you won this little game you liked to play with your love. But then Astarion is snapping his arms around your waist just as your hand reaches for the bedroom doorknob, and you’re laughing boisterously as the two of you crash into the bedroom and onto the bed. 

It isn’t until the maid is knocking on the door roughly thirty minutes later, announcing the arrival of the ever-timely Duke Ravengard, that the two of you hurriedly dress and rush out to greet your guests. Your friends would have been none the wiser, too, if it hadn’t been for the little love bites slowly blooming across your chest throughout dinner. Astarion brimmed with hedonistic delight, and perhaps a bit of subtle pride, as everyone slowly realized what you two had been doing moments before the party and tried with all their might to politely avert their eyes.

Sure, you two had been a bit naughty just before everyone arrived… but hells, if it hadn’t been exceptionally nice.  

[sw33tsuccubus]

when reader is a child of Poseidon

Being a child:

people at camp are either afraid of you or love you. there’s no in between.

percy was avoided like the plague and then slowly became popular sooo

there are multiple aspects to Poseidon’s domain. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Sea God.” there are different powers you could inherit from him.

you could be in control of water, like percy. you could make toilets explode and bend a river to do your bidding. you could make yourself swim extra fast and you could talk to sea creatures.

you could control storms. you could control the wind during a storm, you could create hurricanes, you could create thunderstorms. Zeus would hate you, but who cares?

you could control the earth, causing earthquakes with sheer willpower. when you stomp, the earth rumbles a bit. you could crack the surface of the earth if you focused.

no matter what powers you inherit, you’re always able to breathe underwater and talk to horses. those are the main traits of your fathers children.

you have a smell of sea that just clings to you. you also heal when in water. your father is quite powerful.

Relations:

your father does his best to keep a decent relationship with you. he answers as many prayers as he needs to. he wouldn’t choose favorites between you and percy.

speaking of percy

you two bully each other about your habits. you make fun of his blue food, he’ll find something to poke fun at.

you two have an ongoing prank war. you once dyed his hair pink. he once put shaving cream in your shoes. it’s awful. sometimes you team up together to prank the Stoll brothers.

when you two team up during games, everyone’s scared. first off, you two are some of the strongest demigods at camp. second, you work so well together, almost like you speak telepathically.

tyson loves you. he finds out he not only has percy, but now you too!

he crafts you something, like he made percy his shield. it’ll be engraved with something related to you. maybe one of your favorite greek heroes, or what you look like during training. it looks neat.

the three of you all hang out with Mrs. O’Leary and it’s so fun. percy plays fetch with her and you chat with tyson while watching everything with a smile. the three of you team up against the hellhound to play tug of war and you always end up bruised and scraped. but it’s so fun!

Annabeth comes up with a name, like she has seaweed brain for percy. maybe kelp head or rain cloud or something related to your abilities.

Grover will hang out with you whenever. he’s usually busy with counsel duties, but he’ll make time for you. he likes walking through the woods with you and chatting about nature.

percy shows up wherever you live for your birthday if it isn’t during the summer. Sally is often behind him, bringing in a gift and giving you a nice hug. percy will pick you up and say something along the lines of ‘My baby sibling is growing up!’

the gift is normally blue candies or a pretty seashell. it’s very sweet.

Sally and your parent will talk about whatever while you and percy talk about what’s been going on at school while playing a video game on the television or playing some random board game.

if your birthday is during the summer, percy insists you hang out at the beach and have a picnic with Annabeth and Grover and any of your friends.

percy gets a blue cake from the pavilion and carries it to the lake where they all sing you happy birthday. some Hermes kid got their hands on candles so you could make a wish.

as new eras begin, percy grows more protective over you. he can’t lose anyone else.

you become friends with will while you’re left at camp while your brother takes off all the time. #1 best friends. some may call it a bromance

he makes sure you don’t do stupid stuff while also having fun with you. you go walking in the woods and he’s making sure you don’t scramble up a tree while also chasing you around.

you watch sunsets together and have little makeovers. you style each others hair (it’s really funny sometimes) and paint each others nails. you go to the archery range together, no matter how bad you are at it. you comfort him after a shift at the infirmary, and he’s there for you after you’re strained from your abilities.

you become a popular person at camp, but this time it’s not because you’re scary. it’s because you’re older and people realize you’re gonna look out for them all.

and also you’re the half sibling of Percy freaking Jackson, but whatever.

[dancingtotuyo]

15. holding my breath for you

Woman | Joel Miller X Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed. Spoilerish for TLOU 2

Chapter Warnings: fluff, angst, hurt /comfort, gore, violence, TLOU II SPOILERS, Major Character Death

Notes: I would say sorry... but I'm not sure I am. I LOVE YOU ALL DEARLY THOUGH!

If you haven’t seen this beautiful commission of Joel and Reader yet, you should.

Words: 6125

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

Dawn is just forming when you roll over to find Joel’s side of the bed cold. A pout forms on your lips before you can open your eyes. He’s due to set out on patrol this morning and didn’t wake you up. He’s supposed to wake you up before he leaves. It’s the rule. 

You check on the kids to make sure they’re still asleep before trekking down to the stables. You pull the worn robe tightly around you as the wind whips at your hair and fresh snowfall threatens above you. You should’ve changed out of your pajamas, pulled on your boots and coat, but you fully intend to climb back into bed after this. They should still be there. Their patrol isn’t scheduled to leave for another 10 minutes. You find Joel in the stall at the end, diligently inspecting the saddle.

“You didn’t wake me up.” You cross your arms.

His head snaps up, a small smirk forming on his lips as he takes in your disheveled look. “You looked too cute this morning.”

“It’s the rule, Miller. We have rules for a reason. You always wake me up.” You put on a pout, but Joel sees through the teasing mannerisms, the stress that always creases your brow before patrols, especially overnight and snowy ones. 

“I’m sorry.” His hands grab your waist, pulling you against his sturdy frame as he kisses your forehead. “Will you forgive me?”

“Maybe.” 

He kisses your cheek. You don’t give in. He kisses your other cheek, then your neck, behind your ear until you're laughing like you’re a teenager and not almost 50 years old. He chuckles. It’s the kind that could and has kept you warm through the most brutal of winters. 

“Okay, Okay.” You throw your hands up in surrender. They settle on his shoulders. “I forgive you.”

“Good.” He presses a firm kiss to your lips. “They’re closer than we thought. We’ll probably be out there a few days, back in time for Willa’s dance recital. I promise.” 

“You better.” You push down the anxiety that rises. This is your least favorite kind of patrol. “She’s been practicing nonstop.”

“I know.” Joel sees it in your eyes, hears it in your voice. His arms wrap around you, burying his head into your neck. “She’s gonna be the prettiest damn butterfly up there.”

You lean into his warmth. You don’t sleep well alone. The kids get grumpy without him around. His breath is hot in your ear. “I’ll be back before you know it, Sweetheart.” 

You squeeze him tight and then his lips are on yours, soft and sweet. 

Tommy clears his throat. “You ready to go? You don’t have time to take her back to bed, Joel.” 

You flip him off. Joel gives you another sturdy kiss for good measure. Tommy rolls his eyes. 

You walk with them to the front of the stables, Joel’s free hand in yours. “Be safe.” 

“Always.” He squeezes your hand. 

He’s about to mount his horse, but quickly changes paths. Handing Tommy his mare’s reins, he kisses you again until you’re both breathless. Tommy shakes his head, teasing grin on his lips from on top of his horse. Joel smiles at you like you hold his whole world because you do. “I love you.”

“Stay safe out there,” you say as Joel takes the reins back, mounting the horse. “I love you.”

“Always, Darlin.” He winks at you.

You look at Tommy. “Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

Tommy chuckles. “As if I could start now.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “We’re losing daylight, little brother.” 

You step back. Joel winks at you. “Love you,” and then they’re off. 

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. The words echo in Joel’s mind. There are too many of them. How did they all get here? Jackson is supposed to be too far out for this many infected. His mind races, desperately scanning for an out, while also trying to keep himself and Tommy alive.

Then the girl shows up, like a light in the darkness offering up a plan of escape. He takes it. Who wouldn’t? He wants to see his family again. He doesn’t ask or wonder what the girl is doing here with a group of friends. There’s no time for caution. It’s a way to get out- a way back. The only thing on his mind is getting back to you in one piece. 

Once they’re safely behind the gate, inside the house- he knows this place. It’s yours- well your grandparents. It starts to sink in. He counts at least 8. He sees the looks between them when he introduces himself. Something's not right. 

“Say, what brings y’all out here?”

The room is quiet. They’re staring at him like he should know them, but they’re too young to have known him before. He exchanges a look with Tommy. Then there’s a shotgun in his face. Before he can comprehend that this is the end, it goes off at his knee. Joel yells out in pain. He can see his femur. His arms are pinned. A tourniquet is placed around his thigh to keep him from bleeding out. Two of the other guys hold Tommy back. 

The girl, Abby, holds a golf club. Of all the ways Joel imagined dying, this was not it. He can hardly hear her through the pain and the thoughts swirling in his mind. There’s no getting out of this. There’s no help on the way. This is the end. It hits him like a blow to the chest. There’s no seeing Willa’s dance retail on Wednesday. No more playing catch with Carter. No chance for Ellie to forgive him. No more holding you. 

The words hurt as they come out. It feels like giving up because it is. “Just get it over with.” 

His words seem to anger Abby. He doesn’t know who she is, doesn’t know who her friends are, but he knows he’s about to die. He knows the look in their eyes. He’s all too acquainted with revenge. 

Then another thought pops into his head as his eyes move from Abby’s. It’s the dark stain in front of the fireplace. It could pass off as dirt and grime now. You spent years trying to get it out, but he knows it’s blood. Carter’s blood. He can’t let this happen here. He can’t give you another reason to hate this place. Another bad memory to tarnish the good ones. 

“This won’t be fast.” The golf club collides with his ribs. 

He coughs, sputtering as his lungs struggle to recover from the blow. Abby paces in front of him stalking like a predator does to its prey. Taunting him. 

“Please,” he wheezes. “Not here. Somewhere…” he inhales deeply. “Somewhere else.”

Abby seems taken aback by the request. 

“Anywhere but here.” It hurts to draw breath, but it’s getting easier. “Outside-“

“So you can freeze before I’m done? I don’t think so.” 

Abby’s foot collides with his face. There’s the unmistakable crunch of a broken nose. Blood flows from it. 

“Please. Not here.” He meets her eyes. The golf club strikes his lungs again. 

Joel sees it. She won’t give in. He’s going to die here. His blood will mingle with your brother’s. He’s failed you. 

He lets his brain take him away from what’s happening, but each blow brings him back to reality. He’s thinking about you, the last thing he said. Did he tell you he loved you? The next hit knocks the air out of him. He left the house without waking you up. He almost left without seeing you this morning. He’s pretty sure the next one hits a kidney. He thanks whatever god is there you woke up. That he got to see you one last time, feel your lips against his. 

One of his ribs cracks. 

He waited too goddamn long to tell you he loves you. He didn’t say it nearly enough in the short time he had. 

Two more ribs shatter. 

Maria comes over to the clinic after watching the blizzard roll over the mountains. It’s hitting Jackson now, but you're worried about the people sent out there today, the ones who sit at your family table in particular. Ellie, Dina, and Jesse left a few hours after Joel and Tommy 

You’re organizing shelves to keep yourself busy, sure at least one person will wander in with frostbite shortly. It’s a good distraction from the other worries at hand. 

“Willa ready for her dance recital?”

“I can barely get her out of the wings to go to bed.” A smile flutters over your lips.

Maria laughs. “I was talking to Rachel last night. She’s running around like crazy trying to make sure they have everything ready.”

“I bet… I’m glad they’re doing this though. It’s been an especially cold winter.”

You’d lost more patrols to the cold than to Infected this year. That hadn’t happened before. 

“They’ll be okay,” Maria says. “Always are.”

The radio crackles to life before you can respond. Your stomach drops. Only two outposts have radios. You only use them in emergencies, preferring to stay off the radios whenever possible. 

“Outpost 2 to base.” Dina’s voice filters through the static affected by the ensuing storm. 

Your stomach drops. Maria picks up the receiver. “Base to Outpost 2- Dina is that you?”

“Maria?” 

“Dina, is everyone okay?”

Your heart feels like it might beat out of your chest. It’s a stupid question. You don’t use the radios when everything is okay. Outpost 2 is a 4-hour ride from here. In the blizzard, it’s probably longer. You start putting your kit together. 

“I don’t know- Jesse said Joel and Tommy missed their check-in.” The supplies in your hands clatter to the floor. You make eye contact with Maria. “We split up to look for them. I’m going to head toward the Baldwin Mansion to find Ellie. No trace of them this way.” 

You freeze, heart stopping. Not there. Anywhere but there. You lock eyes with Maria. “You shouldn’t-” But her words set your resolve.

“I’m going.” 

“It’s not safe-”

“It’s Joel and Tommy!” 

You don’t want to. You swore you’d never go back there, but this is Joel. If you aren’t there to help him, you’ll never forgive yourself. 

“Maria?” Dina comes through fuzzy as the blizzard interferes with the frequency. 

You can probably make it there about the same time Dina will. It won’t be easy, but you can do it. You have to. You stuff a few more things into your backpack.

“We’ll meet you there.”

“Be careful, there’s definitely a colony coming in.”

“You too.”

Maria drops the receiver, looking at you. “I’ll go have them saddle up a couple of horses, check out a few firearms.” 

You nod, focused on what to bring. You don’t have time to spare tears. Tears will freeze as soon as you’re outside and dehydrate you. 

You meet Maria by the stables. She hands you a rifle and a pistol. It’s been a long time since you rode out like this. You both know the implications if you don’t come back, but you don’t hesitate when the gate opens. 

Infected, burnt to a crisp, are pushed to the side and the gate is wide open when you arrive. It’s an eerie sight. Someone was here. 

A horse whinnies in the distance. The snow has slowed down but still creates a cover. You pull the pistol from the holster at your thigh, adrenaline pumping. Two figures come into view. 

“It’s us!” Dina calls out. Jesse rides beside her. You relax some, but your anxiety still rides high. 

You find Joel and Tommy’s horses in the garage. It’s all wrong. They wouldn’t have left the gate open, not with all those infected out there even burnt up. You keep your guard up as you clear the house room by room. Jesse and Dina don’t ask how you seem to know this place like the back of your hand. You avoid the den, leaving it for last. You hope to hear their playful banter drifting from room to room, but the house is silent. 

When you come to the den, you let the others take the lead. You’re struggling to keep your hands steady, and before you can enter the room, you hear their curses. You smell the blood before you see it. It’s splattered on everything around. Then you see him. Joel, your Joel, laying in his own blood. Your ears ring, pressure building between them. Your vision turns red. It’s so familiar and Carter’s limp body flashes before your eyes. A sob gets stuck in your throat. Maria’s arms are around you, keeping you upright before you realize your legs have given out. You stare at him. You wish you could stop looking at it, but you can’t as the sight sears itself into your memory. 

For the first time, your prayer changes. Please, let him be dead. You shudder. Because if he’s not dead, he’s suffering, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

Dina rouses Ellie on the other side of the room. Jesse helps Tommy into a sitting position. They seem okay, physically, but your brain barely comprehends it all. You look at him, battered and bruised. The bone of his right knee is exposed. It’s the work of a shotgun at close range. There’s a tourniquet around his thigh. Your stomach drops. This wasn’t some random hit. They wanted him alive as long as possible. 

Your eyes drift around the room. A bloodied golf club lays in front of the fireplace. Joel’s fresh red blood drips over the fading remnants of your brother’s causing bile to burn in your throat. 

“You have to do something.” Ellie looks at you. Tears streak her face. Anger and rage fit for a grown man rattle her small frame. “You’re the only one who can help him!”

You shake your head. The tears fall freely now. You try to get the words out, but it's like someone has shoved cotton down your throat. Your tongue flops uselessly in your mouth. “Ellie- I can’t-” Your words are scattered and disjointed. Maria cradles your head against her chest, “There’s-” 

Joel groans. Your heart stops. The world goes silent. He does it again. This time, one of his fingers twitches.

“Oh my God…” Maria breaths. 

Tommy curses under his breath. You feel it heavy in your chest. Fuck. 

None of it’s from relief. It’s pure horror. Because you all know, he’s not coming back from this. 

Ellie rushes forward. She touches Joel’s hand. You see the hope radiating as she locks eyes with you. “You can still save him.”

It’s a stab to your chest. “No, I can’t.”

You watch the light flicker from her eyes. “You have to! You fucking have to!” The tears flood her eyes. “C’mon, Joel. You have to get up! Fucking get up!” 

She presses on his shoulder in an attempt to get him to his back. He groans out in pain. The knife in your chest twists. 

She stops, choking on her tears. “Joel… please get up.” Her voice is weaker now. Her pants soak with dark red. 

He grunts out something that sounds something like “Ellie.” 

“You motherfucker.” She cries, but it’s an endearment. You catch the slight uptick of Joel's colorless lips. Ellie can’t stop crying. Trying to wipe the tears away, she leaves streaks of blood on her cheeks. Joel tries, but he can’t get anything else out. 

You lean further into Maria’s grasp but she can’t squeeze you tight enough, only Joel could ever do that. 

Something in Ellie snaps. The tears stop, and her breathing settles. It’s like watching a person go from human to robot, except she looks more like the girl you met 7 years ago, and less the angry young woman you’ve come to know. There’s a telepathy going on between them. You’ve seen it so many times before. Her hand rests on top of his. Her head nods like she knows what he’s trying to say. 

“I forgive you.” 

It knocks the air from your lungs. Tommy’s too. You know what it’s about. You know how big this moment is. The weight on your chest lightens a little bit. 

Ellie looks up at you, and motions you toward them. “He wants you.” 

She moves from Joel’s side, making space for you. You lay down next to him, not caring about the blood-soaked carpet around and the way it bleeds into your clothes. Gently, you run your fingers through his blood-matted hair. “Hey, Baby.” You’re careful not to cause more pain with your touch.  

His eyes meet yours. You see the sparkle of tears in them. He attempts to talk again in a long slow slur. You can barely make it out. “I’m sorry” 

The knife is pulled from your chest cavity, the pain so physical you shudder. His index finger moves over your left knuckle and your chest shakes again. You force a smile. You just want him to be at peace, “It’s okay, Joel.” 

His head shakes briefly, barely noticeable, but you’re tuned in to his every movement, his every breath, his every heavy heartbeat. “It’s okay.” You kiss his hand, then his forehead. It’s sweaty and the tang of blood hits your senses. “We’ll be okay. You can let go.” You whisper it in his ear. A tear rolls down his cheek. You want him to let go so fucking badly. You don’t want to do what’s required. What you wouldn’t do for Carter. 

His lips move but nothing comes out. It seems to frustrate him. Tears roll down your cheeks. He’s trapped in a body that doesn’t work but refuses to let him go. “Shhhh, I know, Joel. I know.” It’s the same voice you used to soothe your infants. “I love you.”

His hand squeezes yours gently. You give him a nod. He lets his eyes flutter closed. You lay there for longer than you should. It’s selfish, but you don’t think you’ll be able to do it if you don’t take your time. Finally, you sit up. Tommy comes over to say his goodbyes. You’re not paying attention, too focused on what you have to do. 

His hunting knife is still strapped to his ankle like it always is. You look it over even though you’ve seen it a million times. It’s big enough. It’ll work. You just pray you can go through with it. Maria joins Tommy at Joel’s side.

“Jesse?” you say. “Will you get a blanket to cover him. There should be a big comforter in the hallway closet.”

You catch the confusion in his eyes. How would you know that? But he nods, following your instructions without questions. You lay the knife on the floor and catch Ellie staring at it. You see it in her eyes. She knows what’s about to happen. You hope she doesn’t blame you. 

You can’t meet her eyes as you whisper it out. “It’s what-”

“I know.” She says quickly, her voice still wavering. “I know.”

“Tommy, help me get him on his back. I don’t-“ you choke up. You let the tears flow freely, but you will your medical training to take over. Except, this isn’t fucking medical care. It’s not even fucking palliative care. It’s cruel mercy. You aren’t trained in that. “I don’t think I can do it properly with him on his stomach.” 

You, Tommy, and Maria work together to get him on his back as gently as possible. He cries out with each movement. It’s torturous. Each noise comes from a deeper part of his body. You swallow back bile each time. You have to get this right the first time. If you don’t, you’re not sure you can do it a second. 

Jesse drops the comforter beside you. It’s the one with little pink rose buds, the one you always used to sleep under the stars, big enough to curl around you like a cocoon even as a grown adult, the one you and Joel picnicked on when you visited last. Your fingers run over it with the memories- so many nights spent under the stars dreaming of the future. It provides you with little comfort now. It's purely practical, thick enough to absorb whatever blood Joel has left in him. More memories washed in blood.  

Ellie is huddled in the corner, back turned to it all. Dina is at her side. Maria never takes her eyes off you. Finally, he’s on his back. You unbutton his flannel, use the knife to cut open his under shirt. Deep, dark bruises mare his skin. You can see where they targeted the most. Places to inflict maximum pain and prolong suffering. You focus at the place between his left ribs. His breathing is labored. You hear it with each breath, see it in the rise and fall of his chest. The spot on his chest taunts you, dares you to do it. 

You turn to Maria. “As soon as it’s out… cover him with the blanket.” You don’t want to see the wound.

You look at his face. You think he’s unconscious now. You pray he doesn’t feel it, hope his brain has taken him away from reality. Pressing your forehead to his, you tell him you love him again. There’s no response and no indication he hears you. 

You steady your breathing. “Ellie?” You look to her for permission. 

She barely meets your eyes but nods. 

You look back to Joel. You mentally clear the blood from his features. He looks peaceful now. You memorize his face as you know it, not how it appears. You look down at his ribs again. You touch the space and count with shaking hands.

You glance at the 17 year old stain reminding you of the way you failed Carter. You won’t fail Joel. You can almost feel your brother’s ghost at your side, assuring you this is the only option, assuring you there’s truly no chance to save the man you love, and it comforts you. This place homes your best memories and your worst nightmares. You wonder if Joel’s ghost will stay here, pacing the halls with Carter’s or follow you home. 

Then you recount the ribs, making sure you get it right through the blur of your vision. You feel his heart beating under your hand, the very heart you’re about to stop. You can do this…

There’s a hand on your shoulder, another on your wrist. Tommy crouches behind you. He takes the knife without a word. His eyes say it all. He’ll do it. You don’t have to bear the weight of it. You should tell him that he doesn’t have to bear it either, but you don’t because the truth is you’re just relieved you don’t have to. 

You lay a finger on Joel’s chest. Tommy’s replaces it. “Make sure-”

“I know.” Tommy’s eyes meet yours. You’ve never really contemplated how much they look like Joel’s until now. It’s reassuring. There’s a piece of Joel in him. “Just be with him.” 

You nod silently, Joel’s words echoing in your mind. “If it’s something else that gets me… where I’m not putting you in danger… I want the last thing I hear to be your voice. Not a gunshot. That’s all.” 

You scoot up so you’re only able to see his face. His hand feels cold under yours. You push his hair back again. Ellie joins you on the floor. You can tell she’s barely holding it together. 

You feel Tommy prepare himself behind you. You know when he goes for it, sliding Joel’s hunting knife in with the precision of an expert. You hear it slice through skin and muscle. It’s piercing, playing on repeat in your head. Joel grunts with it, moans once it’s withdrawn. 

Tommy drops the knife like it's on fire. Maria settles the blanket over Joel’s body.

Your eyes never move from his face. He gasps, air wheezing from him like a punctured balloon. It’s awful. It makes your stomach curl and twist and your chest rattle. You want to curl up and die with him at the mere sound of it. It feels like it will never stop, but you talk him through it. You hold Ellie close to you in one arm and cup his face in the other as you repeat the words from earlier. 

It’s okay. 

You can let go. 

We’ll be okay. 

I love you. 

You make sure your voice is the last thing he hears… and then finally, mercifully, he stops breathing. As much as your heart throbs, you feel like you can finally breathe again because he’s no longer trapped in a body that won’t work, no longer in pain. He’s free. 

You lean down to kiss his cheek. You whisper in his ear. “Say hello to Sarah for me.” 

You give it time. Watching his face, finger tips tracing his features. Denial brushes through your mind, expecting him to open his eyes, to smile, to laugh. It doesn’t happen. It won’t happen ever again. 

When you stand, it hits you like a freight train. Your breath hitches. You remember this from last time.This can’t happen, not here. You bolt from the room, putting as many walls between you and the others as possible. You don’t care how cold the furthest bedroom- your bedroom- might be, your skin feels like it’s boiling, melting from your bones. 

You’re barely across the threshold when the sob leaves your body. It sounds otherworldly, but you’ve heard it before, too many times. You’re all too familiar with it all. When will it end? When everyone you love is dead? Taken from you in different horrific ways each time? 

Maria’s arms wrap around you and the two of you sink to the ground. You don’t quiet your mourning for her as it rattles the walls. It’s still not far enough. Your muted cries haunt the rest of the group until your voice gives out. 

You stay the night at the mansion. It’s too dark to try and make it back to Jackson. Tommy and Jesse move Joel’s body to the garage where it’s colder. Maria builds a fire in the room that’s not soaked in his blood. 

You ignore the curious looks when you navigate the house with familiarity and manage to rummage up new clothes to replace blood-soaked ones. Ellie wears your Fleetwood Mac t-shirt from high school. You used to wear it all the time until you lost it, stuffed into the bin of clothes you never opened following outbreak day. It would be too small for you now, but it layers over the clean long sleeve shirt she found. It’s one of Grandpa’s old flannels for you. You’re thankful you never dug into this bin when you lived here. 

Before you leave, you stop under the old oak tree where the small bounder marks Carter’s shallow grave. You promise him you mean it this time when you say you’re never coming back. You’re tempted to burn the place to the ground, but it’s too good of a resting spot for patrol when they get stuck, protected by the gate. 

When you get home, you care for Joel’s body. There’s no embalming process. Usually you bury your dead the day after, but the ground is frozen solid. You’ll likely have to wait a few weeks to bury him. He stays in the small enclosed room off the back of the clinic where it’s cold enough to keep him. 

It’s after dinner time Monday night when you finally drag yourself up the front steps. You’ve been avoiding it. You don’t want to go home without him. 

Carter and Willa play Jenga with Morgan. You’re not sure you can tell them, so you watch your children through the front window. You memorize their smiles and the light in their eyes before this cruel world marks them with its claws. Willa knocks the tower over. She seems to enjoy it. His sweet little Wildflower. 2 months shy of her 4th birthday, will she remember him? Or will he be like a dream? Another ghost that haunts the footnotes of her life? Tears stream down your neck. 

“They don’t know yet?”

You spin around to find Ellie. She has dark bags under her eyes, shoulders slumping. “No, I just got home. I’ve been at the clinic all day.”

Ellie nods, peering into the window beside you. The two of you watch as they rebuild the tower and the game starts all over again. “I forget how much she looks like him.”

You manage a smile. “I’m not convinced she has a drop of my DNA in her.”

“Not with that fucker’s genes.”

A laugh interrupts your tears. It sounds so normal coming from Ellie. She wears a dutiful interpretation of her signature smirk. You could hug her, but you don’t. She’s not the most touchy feel y person and you imagine she’s had her full share the past 24 hours. Has he really been gone that long now? Yes. Somehow, it feels like it’s been years, yet you still expect him to walk toward you at any minute. 

You go inside without another word. Ellie follows, and you’re thankful for it. It feels right to have her there. 

“Mommy!” Willa gasps as soon as you open the door. She runs for you, still dressed in her butterfly costume. 

You pull her into your arms, squeezing her tightly. “Hey sweet girl.” You kiss her cheek. You hadn’t realized how badly your arms ached to hold your babies. 

“Where’s Dad?” Carter asks.

The question stops your heart. You can hear it in his voice. He knows. He’s barely 10, but he’s seen this in other people so many times before, and he’s put the pieces together. Death isn’t a foreign concept to him. He probably knew the moment he saw Tommy come home with Joel nowhere in sight. Carter keeps space between you. “Where is he?” 

Willa squirms in your arms like she's looking for Joel now too. You let her slide to the ground. 

“Carter…” You move closer. 

He steps backwards. You see the tears sparkle in his eyes bringing out your own. Both your children favor their biological fathers more than yourself. It slices deeper tonight. You manage to steady your voice. 

“Dad had a really bad accident while he was on patrol-“

“You’re lying! He has to come back! He always comes back!”

Maybe one day you’ll tell him all of it. Someone did this on purpose, but you don’t know who or why. He’s too young. You won’t have him overrun with the idea of revenge. Tommy is already plotting after the group that did this. 

You shake your head, tears falling again. You don’t know if they’ll ever stop. You go to your son, desperate to hold him, but he dashes upstairs, bedroom door slamming behind him. Do you go after him? 

Willa’s arms wrap around your leg. You fall to the stairs, placing her in your lap. Your body is exhausted. Ellie sits down next to you. “Where did daddy go?” 

You’ve been wracking your brain all day on how this will all make sense in her young mind. “You know how Daddy talks about Sarah?” 

She nods. You push back her soft brown curls. The texture has started to change in the past six months. It feels less silky and fine, and more like his. “He said she died, but she watches over us now.”

“Yeah… that’s right-“ you bite your lip. “Daddy went to be with Sarah.”

“When is he coming back?”

Ellie cringes in your periphery. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. “Willa… Daddy died. He can’t come back.”

“Not even for my recital?”

“No.”

You’re still not sure she gets it, but you see the tears well up in her eyes. Joel promised her he would be there. He always kept his promises. You want her to know that her Daddy didn’t abandon her, but it’s difficult to get that across. To her, Sarah is an abstract. Joel is concrete. The thought sends a pang through your chest.

“You know how your heart beats?” You put her hand over your heart. She nods. “That means you’re alive, and me, and Ellie, and Carter. We all have beating hearts.”

“I listen to Daddy’s when he rocks me.” 

You smile. The vision of Willa and Joel passed out in the rocking chair is one of your favorites. “Daddy’s heart got really hurt.” The slice of the knife echoes in the caverns of your mind. “It stopped beating.” 

His wheezing plays in your ears.  

“He stopped being alive?”

Joel’s final strangled breath carves into your brain.

 You nod carefully. “Yes, once that happens, it can’t be fixed.”

She sits with it for a minute. You see the wheels in her head turning. 

“He didn’t have a choice.” You wrap one of her curls around your finger.  “He would choose to be alive with us if he could.” 

“I miss him.” 

She lays her head on your shoulder. You kiss her head. 

“Me too, Wildflower.”

On Wednesday night, the seat beside you remains empty, like everyone is purposefully keeping it that way. You’re not sure if you like it. Is it a sign of respect toward Joel? Or are they afraid to be near you? Death comes in threes. It must be contagious. 

Carter sits between Ellie and Dina. They were sitting next to each other when you arrived. Carter still doesn’t want to talk to you, but he will talk to Ellie. 

The lights dim for the recital. It’s more of a silent movie of sorts. Rachel plays the piano. The music changes throughout the scenes. You spent all last night trying to get a grass stain out of Willa’s butterfly costume. You’re not sure if it was the soap or the tears that removed the last of it. 

You reach over on instinct, expecting your fingers to meet a denim clad thigh, but your hand falls to the wooden chair instead. Your eyes drift out the window. You can see the clinic at the end of the street. You know exactly where he lays, even from the outside. Everything around you blurs. You feel pieces of yourself slowly drift into the atmosphere bit by bit. 

Maria drops into the chair next to you. She grabs your hand squeezing it between both of hers. “Hey, I’ve got you” The pieces come back, snapping together like a jigsaw puzzle. “Look,” She points. “Willa’s almost up. You don’t want to miss it.”

You’re back, but Maria doesn’t let go. She anchors you. She knows exactly what to say to do it. She’s an expert in it by now. You don’t see the worry in her eyes, the guilt etched in the lines of her forehead. She doesn’t say it, never expresses the guilt she carries over what happened. If only she had asked someone else to take the shift. It’s the second time she’s failed you. 

Willa flits and flutters across the stage. In the context of the play, you’re pretty sure she’s actually supposed to be a fairy, but you know that Willa was only interested in being a butterfly. The costume is the same either way. 

She breaks character for a moment, loudly telling one of the other kids they are not where they are supposed to be, and then continues on as if nothing happened. There’s the rumble of laughter and Willa wears a smug smile. 

You feel a hand on your shoulder, but when you turn to look, no one is there. You can still feel the pressure on your shoulder. Then you hear it just behind your ear, That’s our Wildflower right there. It brings tears to your eyes again. 

With one last exuberant twirl the magical fairy, or in this case butterfly, heals the land. 

You squeeze Maria’s hand as people stand to applaud. You manage to get to your feet in time to watch your daughter take a bow and then another and another. She’s soaking in the attention. It tugs a smile to your face. 

When Willa bounces off the stage, you pull her in tight. “You were so good. I’m so proud of you,  Wildflower.” 

She smiles brightly. It's a relief in one of the worst times of your life. She gets close to your ear, like she’s telling you a secret. “I think Daddy saw it. I think him and Sarah watched it together.”

You smile back at her. You know they did. “Me too.”

Tag List: @pedrotonin @amyispxnk @joeldjarin @ilovepedro @justagalwhowrites

@missladym1981 @jessthebaker @annieispunk @ashleyfilm @moel-jiller

@eloquentdreamer @lizzie-cakes @hiroikegawa

[awkwardwhims]

🤍 Yearn For Fern 🤍

Introducing Fern Hargrave | Age: 26 | Pronouns: She/They

Fern grew up in Willow Creek & was bounced around to different foster homes when her parents both passed away. Once she was old enough she spent her days globetrotting, learning skills & finding herself.

Along her journeys she never once had a significant other, just her companion, Bandit & a rescue horse named Derby.

This clumsy, kind hearted, adventure seeker would love to settle down with someone & maybe even have a family of her own.

Entrant Guidelines:

Humans only (I'm not big on occults).

Female or male sims are accepted.

Young adults are preferred.

Skills & aspirations can be whatever you want. They don't need a job.

Should have hobbies, likes & dislikes.

Include their traits (keep them game only, no custom traits). Entrants can't have the romantic trait & at least one negative trait.

Give your entrants their own style. But Fern's favorite colors are earthy tones.

CC (just be mindful of how much cc you use) is okay as long as it's maxis match. You must be comfortable with slight changes to fit my style (ie. default skinblends/eyes, etc)

Tag me @awkwardwhims in your entrant post or use the hashtag #yearnforfern so I can find you easily!

Contestants i. Rowan by @theosconfessions ii. Eloise Anderson by @droolski iii. Mike Casey by @saartje77 iv. Merle Defossé by @kirsicca v. Gabriel Vasquez by @aniraklova vi. Andy Wiles by @minamill vii. Amara Wilson by @doodle-dee viii. Stephen Colbert by @itcrescentcrow

Please send the tray files & cc to my inbox, if you haven't already! You have ONE week at the latest to get your sim to me; otherwise I will choose a different contestant.

Deadline: Closed!

[vegafan69]

redacted drawing ideas because god prevented me from drawing

maybe i should pick up a pen. if anyone draws these ideas tag me PLEEEAAAASEEEE :333 or fics too??

some of these are nsfw ‼️ but i do leave a warning dw 🙏

─ ✦ vega

vega drinking whiskey seductively, but the whiskey is the sweet tang of sadism (thank aster for this ;))

prime | imperium vega and their appearance differences (imp!vega probably has more scars and sharper claws)

vega when he first coalesced vs modern vega vs reformed vega

NSFW ‼️ imp!vega putting the collar on pet :)

─ ✦ david

teen!david with gabe learning to shift

david crying at gabe’s hospital bed 🥰

the pack having fun as toddlers

that one button snapping scene in david’s valenweek ;)

david and angel’s encounter at the restaurant

─ ✦ asher

his terrified face at “make it two” YOU KNOW WHAT IM TALKING ABOUUUUT.

guy getting scared at asher’s big dog form

david helping asher with his tie before the wedding

NSFW ‼️ baaabe using toys on a blindfolded, tied up asher :3

dancer au !! i think he’d like nct and ateez :3

─ ✦ milo

MILO EATING THE RUNWAY SERVING THE RUNWAY!!!

model au. milo fits gucci. give this man a sponsorship rn

him crying to sweetheart in the shower after the inversion

him laughing at christian getting wreckt by morgan

─ ✦ gavin

him reading a book.

arrogant gavin. he’s a dick but i want it. he’s just so fucking hot

him noticing damihux’s feelings for one another

─ ✦ lasko

dying violently

imp!vega ending imp!lasko. holy fuck that scene made me bust everywhere

─ ✦ damihux

hux’s moms inviting damien for tea

practicing magic tgt

damien comforting hux crying at a sad movie

hux bringing random animals home and their home being an absolute zoo

huxley and david are gym buddies idc

─ ✦ porter

once again pushing my lawyer!porter agenda

him being vulnerable and confessing to treasure

porter’s life before turning

porter during the BA. those eyes preying on treasure

NSFW ‼️ him coming from the masochism :) he can cum on my face anytime

him and vincent beating the shit out of each other

─ ✦ vincent

him and porter beating the shit out of each other

his relationship with william, before and after the summit

him and lovely in the rain

lovely accidentally blowing up light bulbs

NSFW ‼️ pre-turning lovely using electric on vincent

─ ✦ sam

brushing darlin’s wolf fur

riding a horse. whats a cowboy without a horse

trying to figure out video games

darlin’ drooling at his c- tits :333

sam dancing to his favorite country tunes

teen!sam running away from an abusive home 😊

─ ✦ aaron

(pre-dating) aaron and smartass having the most intense screaming matches ever

aaron, eli and their partners hanging out

NSFW ‼️ smartass sucking him SO HAAAARD under the table like holy shit just BOBBING ON THAT CAWK MMGNFFGH 💦💦💦

─ ✦ the balance

blake dragging a scared sunshine into the basement

bestie dying and all of us laughing in the background

elliott and sunshine’s reunion

brachium yearning to be free again

d’deridahn breeding blake no im kidding. like. hes inside of blake. yk

bestie dying ahhahahha

─ ✦ caelum

playing on the switch :3

him as a mii. HOLY SHIT THAT WOULD BE SO CUTE I LUV MIIS

─ ✦ guy

yapping to honey about his murder mystery fiction ideas

making pizza

fool!guy with huge dark circles around his eyes

NSFW ‼️ him filming his playtime for honeyyy :)

okay that will be ENOUGH. if you do have suggestions rb this and lmk, i can make more :)

tagging my beautiful mutuals and people who can draw @deezbignutz @ashertickler @infinitelovewiithoutfulfilmentt @free-boundsoul @messenger-of-stupidity @youeverjustseeadog @yournewmusictaste @breezysuffers @capitalisticveins @dukecollinsbf @achios @porters-fangs @n0r @pagesupinflames @cozy-collins @stupd000 @ilovealotofwomen @laskosprettygirl @chmease @aurorialwolf @plaqying @marlowlvsu