#white Henley Pedro

[lowlights]

White Henley Pedro // 2014 - 2023

[pedropascalito]

Hand + Henley 😍

[yellowcry]

Flash fiction challenge? More likely than you'd think

Hosted by @justagirlinafandomworld

My song is 'White Christmas' by Tess Henley! 100 words. Went with Encanto for this one

Their first Christmas was truly magical. Alma remembered when Pedro walked her by the hand and the sun frames made his freckles shine with gold. The priest' speech wasn't unusual for the date, but when Pedro was around, every moment felt like a magical blessing.

Years after, nothing could replace this. She loved her family and how far they went. But every year, on the night when Jesus was born, Alma couldn't help but wondered if she had appreciated those little seconds enough back when she still had the chance. Because nothing in the world would make them happen again.

[onsunnyside]

Sonny idk if you’ve played the game The Last of Us but it’s my love again due to the show. But it’s got me thinking about a zombie apocalypse au with Curtis

~🥺

I haven't played it but I've watched a bunch of let's plays !! if I could rewatch a video game series all over again for the first time, it would be that one, or Detroit: become human 🥰 I also want to watch the show bc Pedro Pascal keeps popping up in my life and I think it's a sign to expand my love for a new dilf 🌚

AHHH ZOMBIE AU WITH CURTIS ?? this is what I'm thinking:

You're working on the gardens in your camp when people race towards the front gates, whispering about an intruder. Curiosity gets the better of you and you follow, just catching a glimpse of a man being led to the interrogation quarters. There's dirt and dried blood on his bearded cheeks, he's wearing a torn beanie and clothes that have seen better days. You barely notice the axe in his backpack before he disappears around the corner. And just like that, everyone is dispersed back to their jobs. 

"Who was he?" You ask, jogging to Sam's side. 

"Don't know, looks like he's been through shit from that scar on his face." He replies, the more cautious type when it came to new people, it took him weeks to warm up to you. "Let's hope he isn't bad news." 

It turns out he isn’t bad news after all, Curtis is a close friend of Carol’s (your leader) from the beginning of the apocalypse and by some miracle, ended up in your area. You heard through the grapevine that he’s been alone for a while, lived off the land, scavenged and travelled all over the country. 

total lumberjack/hunter vibes if you get what I mean. his few flannels and worn t-shirts... scruffy beard and deep voice... mhm yes

sweet, sweet you can’t help but want to know more about him but you aren’t the only one 😳 You watch him brush off attempts at conversations in the cafeteria, hanging his head low and slowly eating his food. 

“Stop staring at him.” 

“I wasn’t.” You nudge Wanda back, ducking down as he stands up and takes his plate to the kitchen. Your eyes follow his broad back, the defined muscles shifting under his thin white henley, and the fabric of his cargo pants clinging to his thighs. 

let's be honest, you’ve been alone for a long time, there was no shame in looking. fantasizes and foggy memories can only last so long !!  

Curtis being Curtis plays up the stoic, big bad mean man !! Shrugging off any attempts of friendship from the other campers, keeping to himself and his duties and only actually speaking to Carol or Steve, her second in command. 

you know it can end in tears or a bruised ego, but you want to try too !! What's the worst that could happen that hasn't already happened? 

Life right now was as terrible as it could get, so you take a chance: bringing him a fresh little basket of berries and some spare sheets you had lying around. To your dismay, he barely mutters a 'thanks' 🥺before continuing to mess with an engine, sleeves rolled up and that worn beanie on his head. 

You know when to take a hint and gather the last bit of dignity, “uh, there’s a group birthday party tonight if you want to come. Everyone is going… uhm, no gifts necessary.” When he doesn’t respond, you hide away from the other men’s stares, knowing well enough that Sam’s was one of sympathy. “I-It’s a lot of fun, they play music, the kitchen makes a few cakes, and Carol let’s us stay up as long as we want.” 

“As long as you’re all up on time the next day, I don’t care.” She said during one community meeting, “we deserve to have fun, even when life is so shitty.” 

Again silence, not even a glance at you or the perfectly red and purple berries on the workbench. You take your losses, wrapping them around yourself in a form of self soothing and start walking away 🥺🥺

The clang of metal and a voice freezes your feet in the dirt, “How do you even know what day it is?”

“We don’t.” You swallow your nerves, grateful for more than one syllable, “we try to go by months. The changing seasons help,” although you didn’t get much of that here, “but we guess for the most part.”

and oh my... does he go ?? how long does it take for him to warm up to you ?? DOES HE EAT THE BERRIES ?? AHH and the smut ?? THE KINKS ???? THE FILTH ??????? I HAVE MANY THOTS ABOUT THIS GRUMPY MAN

[firsttarotreader]

That spotting of Pedro.. He looks so hot with his white henley shirt. That’s my favourite of his 4 shirts collection 🔥🤣

Super hot!! 🥵

[oonajaeadira]

More pedros for these trying times

Can't go wrong with some White Henley Pedro

Tron Pedro racing to get to you:

Half lit Javi for all your brooding needs

Chilean Adventure Pedro

💚💚💚 love you!

KINDRED. Bringing back the half-lit Javi is a baller move. You know how I feel about that.

I keep forgetting about that bridge picture and it's the best.

Damn that white henley and those big arms....

[goalhofer]

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[hearts-hunger]

PEDRO PASCAL APPRECIATION WEEK ↳ Day 7: free choice: the white henley at san diego comic-con, aka his best look™

[heythere-mel]

Sir, please- 😍

[leslie-lyman]

his facial hair and hair cut in that interview are my favourite along with his hair and facial hair during the GoT era (eg comic con 2014)

2014 Comic Con was SUCH A GIFT. That white Henley with the tight short sleeves??????

I mean LOOK

AT THIS

SUNSHINE

BOY.

I also love that CC GOT panel because it gave us Pedro and Nikolai right next to each other which dlsjskskfkf

Me in the middle of this sandwich WHEN?!?!?!??

But for all that sunshine CC also gave us this:

Which, OOF. Hi there, daddy Oberyn. 🤤

[thernandalorian]

i just think that pedro in a white henley

[alwaysbethewest]

That reminds me we haven’t seen the white Henley in awhile… that shirt was a heavenly gift and would be even better on current Pedro than back in the day 👀

Oh do you mean like for example

like how the grey in his beard and at his temples these days would be complemented by the pop of white?

[sirowsky]

I posted 890 times in 2022

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#23 when i got my first car. it was a pos ford that my dad owned before me and almost never started for him. always did for me.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

A Little Menace 2

That didn't take me very long. Thank you guys for all the love for part 1, it was massively inspiring :)

Rating: Mature Warnings: ornithophobia (fear of birds), cursing, yearning, more improper thoughts, modern!din, din djarin x female reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader. Human boy Grogu. Word Count: 2518 Author’s Masterlist

Link to Part 1 Link to Part 3 Link to Part 4 Link to Part 5

–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–=¤=–

   Your doorbell rings at almost exactly 5pm, and you have to stop yourself from running to the hall with excitement.    Even though you’ve changed outfits five times and gone over every inch of it before settling on this one, you still check your appearance one last time in the hallway mirror, before opening the door.

   “Hi, guys!” you call out a little too loudly, your excitement spilling into the two short words and quickly overflowing. But you’ve been waiting all day and now they’re finally here, Grogu’s response being a reserved but polite smile, while Din is grinning almost as wide as you, making that pleasant warmth return to your stomach.

   “Hey. Good to see you again.” he responds softly, instantly making your knees weaken.

   “Likewise. Please, come in.” you offer, stepping aside to let them pass before closing the door behind them.

   They’re not wearing any shoes since it wasn’t exactly a long walk over, so you invite them into the living room without pause and then immediately set to work. Partly because you don’t want to give the kid enough time to start doubting whether he’ll be able to do this, and partly to distract yourself from the fact that his father smells intoxicating.    Had he trimmed his patchy little scruff of beard since yesterday? And who the fuck had told him that it was okay to wear a white Henley over those arms and chest?

   You wonder if it’s deliberate. If he knows exactly how that shirt accentuates his form and is being passively flirty. The way his jeans hug his ass and thighs makes you think yes, definitely deliberate.    Not that you ogled him while he made his way into the living room, or anything. (Yeah, right…)

   “Okay, Grogu, listen to me. I know you’re worried, but the first thing I want you to know, is that I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise. Do you believe me?” you ask, putting a hand on his shoulder, and he meets your eyes.

   He looks nervous, but seems to want to trust you, and after a few beats, he nods.    You take his hand and gently tug him along towards the balcony, stopping by the open door and kneeling next to him.    The feeder sits five feet above the ground, so its fully visible above the metal lower third of the glass walls that enclose the balcony, and the smaller birds are in the middle of their evening feeding routine. Another half-hour and they’ll all be gone for the day.

   However, the metal partition does hide the larger birds, hopping around on the ground, so the kid shouldn’t have to endure his worst fears on this first attempt to help him overcome his fear of them.    You don’t say anything at first, you just watch him closely, gaging his reactions and trying to learn just how frightened he is, how slow you’ll need to take this and where his hard limits are.

   “If you get really scared, just tell me and we’ll close the door, okay?” you say, and he nods slowly, keeping his eyes on the little finches, tits, thrushes, sparrows and robins, darting back and forth from the feeder.

   “See that little yellow one? That’s a yellowhammer. It actually lives about half a mile away at the edge of a big field, but because it hasn’t been a great year for grass-harvests, it’s been struggling to find enough food to feed its family. So, it comes here about three times a week to top up on quality grains.” you explain, and he follows the little bird with his eyes.

   You keep going like that for a few minutes, pointing out the different species and their characteristics until he seems perfectly at ease. Then you crawl on your hands and knees past the doorway and out onto the balcony, whispering for him to do the same, and he drops down and makes a show of being discreet and silent.    You crawl right up to the sliding door that leads out there, and he bravely follows, trusting that you won’t open it, so you take him in your arms and whisper in his ear.

   “They can’t see us through the glass, but just in case, move slowly and only peer over the edge.”

   Your conspiring tone makes him giggle, despite his nervousness, and he mirrors your movements as you slowly raise your head above the metal edge, just enough that you can see over it.    And when one of the birds turns its head towards you, you gasp theatrically.

   “Do you think it sees me?”

   He snickers and drops his head down below the edge again.

   “No, no it’s gone back to eating. It didn’t see me. Phew.” you exhale, dropping down next to him with a smile. “Do you think that’s enough for today, tough guy?”

   He nods, but still with a big grin on his face and you point towards the door, mouthing ‘go’ at him and following him when he crawls back into the apartment, where Din has taken a seat on the sofa where he could see the whole thing.    He’s smiling too, breaking into a laugh as his son gets up and jumps into his lap, clearly pleased with himself for getting so close to the birds.

   “Great job, kid! Was it scary?” he asks, while you get up and close the balcony door to help the boy feel safe.

   Grogu nods and hugs his dad, who chuckles and looks at you with sparkling eyes, making your knees wobbly again, so you sit down on your coffee table in front of the sofa, to keep from falling over.    Christ, he’s even more beautiful today somehow.    How in the hell are you gonna be able to do this every day without jumping his bones at some point?

   “You did really good, Grogu. I’m proud of you.” you say softly, and the boy lets go of his father’s neck and turns towards you with a proud grin, and even though he doesn’t say a word, you know what he’s anticipating. And you see no reason to keep him waiting. “So, how about we break open that box of LEGO now?”

   His eyes go wide and he all but leaps out of Din’s lap and runs across the floor, over to your work desk where the big cardboard box is sitting underneath it.

   “Hey, wait for me you rascal!” you call after him, earning you a fresh bout of giggles as you get up and chase him.

   The construction is too big for the desk, so you bring it back to the sofa and the wide expanse and sturdy nature of the oak coffee table, where you let him do the honours of breaking into the box.    You wouldn’t have thought that a kid so young would be this good at something this advanced, and you watch in amazement as he slowly and methodically follows the instructions, while you and Din mostly just support him by helping him find pieces and interpreting some of the more difficult instructions.

   “How old is he?” you ask his father, while Grogu’s focused on a hunt for a tiny black piece that he needs to find before he can move on.

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133 notes - Posted July 18, 2022

#4

Don't Die

Here comes the last of the prompts I've gotten for this celebration, and we're wrapping up with a heartbreaker! I got this ask by an anonymous sender, where the prompt was "You can't die. Please don't die." with Din x Reader, so naturally, my head went to angsty-land...

Now, as this concludes the 400 Challenge, I just wanna say thank you to everyone that sent me prompts and helped me to mark this occasion! I love all of you <3 And I'll always accept asks, requests and prompts, if I feel comfortable with the subject, so please don't hesitate to ask.

Rating: Mature Warnings: ANGST, Din Djarin x female reader, mostly Din's pov, AU. Grogu, Cobb Vanth, Peli Motto and Greef Karga appears. Word Count: 1500 Author’s Masterlist

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135 notes - Posted July 29, 2022

#3

A Safe Place

So, I have no idea where this came from. None. But it's Pero, and I don't really need reasons to write him.

This is a standalone Pero Tovar one shot, with a female reader but told entirely from Pero's perspective.

Summary: He opens the door one night to find a friend in trouble, and in trying to help, he discovers that she's much more than a friend.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: TW domestic abuse, TW physical abuse, angst, hurt/comfort, no physical description of reader beyond female, happy ending. Word Count: 3250

Author's Masterlist

The two short knocks were so faint that had he not been on his way to lock the front door, he never would’ve heard it. It was well past midnight, and he’d just turned the tv off to go and brush his teeth before bed, so the house was dark and quiet, and still he barely heard it. He switched on the lights in the hall and opened the door. It had been a long day for a lot of reasons, and he was tired, but that all became insignificant when he saw you out there, leaning against the wall, covered in cuts and bruises, and hardly able to stand. You’d been beaten. Badly.

He stepped out and wrapped an arm around your waist, seeing how you flinched when pain shot through you at his touch. He wasn’t the most careful or tender of men, but he tried to soften his grip so as not to cause you any unnecessary discomfort, while he helped you get inside and guided you to his bedroom. You followed without protest, moving slowly and with great difficulty. You didn’t meet his eyes even momentarily, and he wondered why it felt like you were ashamed. Once he’d sat you down on the bed, he went into the adjoining bathroom and got some warm water and towels that he brought back and placed on the nightstand. He tried to be gentle as he wiped the blood off your face to try and see where it was coming from, but some of it had already dried and therefor required more effort. Every time his ministrations made you twitch or wince, he felt more and more like a monster for adding to your pain, but it had to be done. He found three larger cuts on your face and head, none of whom would need stitches, but he was gonna tape them together after he’d checked the rest of you over. Next were your hands, and they were in bad shape. You’d fought, and you’d fought with everything you had, as evident by the badly chafed knuckles. Your hands would need to be bandaged, but at least you seemed to have avoided breaking any bones in them.

“Where else?” he asked while dunking the small towel in the now dark red water.

You gave no response and didn’t move at all, and repeating the question yielded no better result, which made him huff in frustration. He was neither patient nor eloquent, meaning his responses to most situations consisted of grunts, sighs and eyerolls, which was usually enough to convey how disinterested he was in most things. But this time, for the first time, he regretted using such a crude way of communication, because you visibly shrunk at the sound, hunching even further in on yourself and angling your bowed head away from him.

He’d known you for almost ten years, ever since working his first real job, as a bouncer at a bar where you’d been a bartender, and at first, he’d found you childish and spontaneous and way too naive. You’d been the brightest spot of every room you set foot in and the one that everyone wanted to hang out with, simply because you’d radiated fun. You’d basically been his complete opposite, and while he’d never had anything against you, he hadn’t particularly liked you either. That is, until he’d seen you take every ounce of masculinity out of a guy that had made the mistake of putting his hands where they weren’t welcome. Naive, yes, but by no means helpless in either words or actions. He liked that quality in people, all people, not just women, because knowing that they could and would handle themselves meant that he didn’t need to worry about them. And try as he might, when he cared about someone, he worried. He wasn’t sure exactly when he’d begun to care about you, since you’d been nothing but an annoyance to him ever since then, but he damn well did. Not that he’d ever admitted it, even to himself. You’d pretty much just decided to befriend him, whether he agreed or not, and that had been how your relationship had worked from then on. You’d show up unannounced at all hours of the day or night, sometimes inviting yourself to crash on his couch after a long night, and sometimes bringing takeout and a movie, just because you were bored and knew that he wouldn’t throw you out. Occasionally, you’d even cook or bake. And it didn’t matter to you that he rarely engaged with your ideas, or even answered you when you prattled on about anything and everything, you just smiled and kept at it, determined to have a good time, no matter the mood of the room. That was who you were at your core: someone that made the most out of every breadcrumb. And more importantly; a free spirit. Someone not meant to be tied down and trapped by commitments and promises. You’d been happy to take home a random guy to enjoy yourself with for a few hours on the weekends, but that was as close as you’d ever gotten to people. Even the friends you’d had were more shallow acquaintances than real relationships, since you’d never allowed anyone to really know you. Well, anyone but Pero. During your forced visits you’d usually talk all the time, and the topics were as varied as insects were plentiful. But sometimes you’d stray into more personal areas, like your family, or dreams, or things you’d gone through in your life. So, in truth, he was probably the one person that knew who you were, behind the scenes, even though he hadn’t asked or wanted to be. Or perhaps because of it. All of this meant that he’d known when you’d met the guy that had changed everything. He’d known it from the first day, because your behaviour had started to change that quickly. He’d never mentioned his observations to you, it wasn’t his place to judge or meddle with your affairs, but he’d noticed, and he hadn’t liked what he’d noticed. The guy had snared you into a relationship you didn’t want, but for some reason didn’t know how to get out of, despite your confidence in yourself. And the result of that had been a slow and painful death of the person you really were, as your soul became increasingly trapped behind the walls of the cage that somehow grew around you. He’d watched it happen, and said nothing, even though he’d wanted to, because in your eyes he’d seen how desperately you’d needed his house to be a sanctuary. A place where that person was still allowed to live and shine, as free as she’d always been. So, he’d let you, knowing that every time you’d left, you’d returned to that cage.

Now that he saw the finger-shaped bruises on your wrists, he regretted his silence. His compliance. Because this was how the guy had trapped you. This was why you hadn’t found the strength to walk away. And a part of him had known it all along, but told himself that it wasn’t his fight, and that unless you asked, he had no right to meddle. But the truth was simply that he hadn’t wanted to get involved. And for no better reason than because that would’ve meant admitting that he cared. Well, too fucking late, pendejo…

“I don’t care what happened, just let me take care of your wounds.” he pleaded, hating how gruff he still sounded.

You wouldn’t meet his eyes, but you took a jagged breath and reached up to pull your long-sleeved t-shirt over your head, grimacing badly with the pain the movements caused you. And as soon as the shirt was off, he knew why. Big black bruises had already formed along your left side, from the hip all the way up to the underside of your bra, and angry red scrapes, most likely from the toe of a boot, adorned the softer flesh of your love-handle. White-hot rage filled his blood at the sight, and he had to clench his jaws down tight, to silence the string of curses that spilled from his lips. But he couldn’t halt the anger.

“I’ll kill him.” he spat between his teeth.

You flinched, but more likely at the hard and cold tone of his voice, than the words he’d said, so he tried to speak softer, although with limited success.

“You need a hospital, scans, medica-…”

“No.” you cut him off, but your voice was weak and fragile, even with such a small word.

“You could have internal bleeding, broken ribs, damaged organs.” he pressed, but you just shook your head.

“He doesn’t know… about you. I’m safe here.”

That would imply that you weren’t safe at a hospital, and when he considered the fact that this man had forced you to marry him, and would likely have a story prepared, explaining your injuries, it wasn’t unthinkable that he could get his hands on you, even around medical professionals. You were scared, and you’d come to him to feel safe, which for some reason eased the rage and made a different kind of warmth spread through him.

“Okay. Let me get some bandages.” he offered, and you nodded once.

He noted that you still hadn’t looked at him, and that sense of shame still hung over your head somehow, which he just couldn’t understand. But for now, his focus was on making you feel better. When he came back to the bedroom after having retrieved his first aid kit from the kitchen, you’d slumped down on your side on the bed, with your feet still on the floor. He lifted them up to make you more comfortable, and you didn’t react to the movement at all, so he kept a close eye on your breathing while he worked, just in case you weren’t merely sleeping. Even though your pulse was strong, and everything seemed stabile, he was much too anxious to have a hope of sleeping that night. So, he dragged a more comfortable armchair from the living room into the bedroom, that he could sit in to watch over you while you slept. But before he settled in, he dug up the duffel bag from the bottom of his closet. He hadn’t used the blades inside of it in the ten years since he’d cleaned up his act, but he still trained with them, and kept them sharp and ready. He’d never imagined that you would be the reason he might have to resort to that kind of violence again, but he would gladly do it to keep you safe. For all the annoyance you’d made him suffer over the years, you’d never once been unkind or deliberately selfish or unthinking. Not to anyone, even your bastard husband. He took his seat by your side, and after a few moments, reached over and wrapped one finger around your pinkie. Just so he’d know if you stirred, in case he dozed off. He looked at your hand, all red even where there wasn’t any visible damage to your skin, and he thought about how hard you must’ve fought, and it brought a small smile to his face, just barely enough to twitch at the corners of his mouth. But it felt bigger than that. Because that kind of spirit was how he was used to seeing you, that was the person he knew you to be.

The morning came without anyone having banged on his door in the night, reinforcing your statement that your husband really didn’t know that Pero’s house was where you’d spent most of your free time, even after getting married. He wondered how you’d managed that? How had you been able to carve out entire days or nights away from him, for over three years? Abusive men were controlling assholes, they generally kept their victims on a tight leash, but somehow, you’d figured out a way to keep a little corner of freedom, no matter what your lesser half had done. It was admirable, and perhaps the only reason you were in his bed right now. Without that little speck of freedom, you probably would’ve succumbed to your husband’s control completely. Allowed him to dictate every thought and emotion. But perhaps only because you’d had a slice of something better, reminding you that life wasn’t supposed to be lived in chains, you’d been able to hold on to yourself, until you’d found your breaking point, and used it to get away. He wondered how much you’d managed to hurt the guy in return, given the state of your hands. He hoped that the answer was: a lot.

You regained some energy over the course of that day, even though the bruises only looked worse, and your pain was still not lessened. The improvement seemed to be more of mind and spirit, than body. He cooked for you and helped you move around, and you were strong enough to tease him about his culinary skills, which was a good sign. But any time he tried to ask you about what had happened, you shut down and stopped talking all together. He wanted to know so that he could decide what he was gonna do about the situation, and with his general lack of patience, it was twice as maddening to be forced to wait, when he had no clue what your husband was doing to find you. By the end of the day, you asked him to stay with you after he’d tucked you into bed, and he couldn’t refuse you. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d slept next to each other. Sometimes when you’d stayed the night, he’d found you curled up on one side of his bed in the morning, having snuck in at some point during the night, and he’d always woken you and told you to get your own bed. Your response to that had always been to suggest shared custody of his bed, since it was the comfiest one you knew of, and in more recent years had graduated to you simply reminding him of that shared custody, even though he’d never actually agreed to it. But now, he wondered if maybe it had just felt safe to you, even before you’d met your husband. A calm port in an otherwise perpetually storming sea.

There was no moon to be seen that night, nor stars to bear witness to his vengeance. It wasn’t his to take, not really, and he’d left you alone even though he knew that you needed him there. But his blood still boiled at the mere thought of the man, and there would be no peace until the bastard was gone for good. He knew which house it was, even though he’d never been there before. He knew where the hidden key was, even though he’d never used it before. Through your eyes he’d seen every inch of your home, and it seemed as familiar to him as you did, when he stalked through the bottom floor, making no sound at all. One step of the stairs creaked, and he skipped it without even needing to count them. The master bedroom was on the far end of the upstairs hall, to the right, past the nursery that he’d made you decorate in the hopes that it would make you yearn for a child as much as he did. No doubt only for appearances, as a man like him would take enormous offence at the suggestion that he wasn’t fertile, or man enough, to father a child. The bedroom door always stood open a few inches, so the bastard would hear it if you moved through the house at night. He snuck inside and found the guy sleeping on his side, the duvet down by his waist and his arm on top of it. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so the bruises you’d left on him were on full display in the light coming from the small lamp on his bedside table. Pero took a moment to admire your handiwork, some of it bad enough that large medical patches hid them, and he smiled in earnest. Because this meant that you’d already won. You’d already beaten him, in mind, body and soul. Meaning all he had to do was finish the job, so that you would never have to.

It would take another two days until you finally told him what had happened. He’d understood your shame then, as your kind heart had been made to endure terrible things for you to save yourself. Forced to reduce yourself to the most basic of instincts, ignoring all forms of humanity and decency and respect, in order to free yourself of a monster. You’d managed to stop your inner beast before delivering the killing strike, though, of which he was grateful. Both because it meant that your soul was still intact, but also because it had allowed him to exact his own revenge as well. It would take another few days before he told you about that, though. And only because the news reported about your husband’s disappearance, asking for tips concerning the whereabouts of his wife. You were shocked at first, but not appalled or disgusted, and after just a few minutes, you thanked him for his actions. He assured you that the body couldn’t be found, and that no blame could ever be laid at your feet, and you left it at that for the time being.

You never married again, but you did have a baby, a few years later after finally finding someone that you trusted to treat you right. He’d always been there, but you’d always thought that he was out of your reach, and he couldn’t say for certain that he hadn’t been. If you’d wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him to you for that first kiss, back when you were still just the friend he never invited, he wasn’t sure that he would’ve kissed you back. But he did that day. He kissed you with all the passion he possessed, tugged at you, begged you to come closer even when your entire body was pressed against his. He kissed you all night, everywhere that you would let him, and in those kisses, he learned what it was to love someone. How it felt. How it hurt and comforted all at once, how it burned and soothed and then started all over again, every single minute.

You gave him the rest of your life, and he took it proudly, all the way to your shared grave, many wonderful years later. In his final minutes in this life, having grown old and grey, he thought about the events that had unfolded back then, and he wondered if he’d given you enough. If the years you’d had with him had been good enough to balance those awful ones. To outweigh them, even. He looked at your face, still so soft despite the wrinkles, and still warm despite your soul having departed in the night. And you looked so peaceful, almost happy, even in death, that he had to have done something right. And that was enough. He’d gotten to be the one that made you happy. And now, he was the one that got to go with you to the next adventure.

--THE END--

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143 notes - Posted January 31, 2022

#2

Wrong Way Home

--Marcus Pike one shot--

This is so not what I was supposed to spend all my writing time on this week, but that's what happened. This was also not supposed to be such a self-portrait, but it really is. It's completely self-indulgent and I make no apologies. I wrote this for myself, because I needed it, but maybe someone else needs it too.

Description: You pick up a stray and decide to help him get to where he's supposed to be, a decision which ends up having lasting implications.

Rating: Mature themes 18+ONLY Warnings: female reader, vague physical descriptions, driving, animals on the road, cursing, blizzard, hazardous weather conditions, fluff, angst, happy ending. Word Count: 12,690 Author's Masterlist

Two consecutive blizzards had dumped almost three feet of snow on your hometown, in the space of just one week, and now a third one was bearing down on you, expected to drop at least another two feet. You were used to bad conditions, having grown up there, but it was just as cumbersome and inconvenient each year, no matter how well prepared you were. Thankfully, the city council was also used to it and had all its resources in the streets, day and night, to try and manage the frozen masses that were trying to bury you. They had urged all citizens to keep off the roads other than what was absolutely necessary, but you were a good driver who knew how to handle snowy roads and bad visibility, and you had a good car too. So, when your mom had asked you to help her clear some snow in front of her house that Friday, to make sure the winds couldn’t push it up against her front door, you hadn’t hesitated to make the drive over.

She was retired and had badly arthritic hands, and while she was good at managing on her own most of the time, there were certain things she just couldn’t do anymore. You’d made her stay inside while you’d battled against the winds and the whirling snow for a good two hours, until you’d cleared enough of it that she’d hopefully be able to get her door open in the morning, even if it kept snowing all night. Once you were done, you stepped inside to keep her company for a while and get yourself warmed up. You were sitting by the little table at the kitchen window, sipping tea and looking out on the storm, talking about the latest things to have happened in the family since the holidays that had come and gone. Your mother knew that the depth of winter was hard for you, because the lack of sunlight made you depressed, and did her best to keep the mood light, but she could tell that you were more than ordinarily tired today.

“How was work this week?”

“It was okay. You know how it is, it’s stressful and hard, but fun and rewarding too.”

“Yeah. Thanks for coming today, I know how much you need your weekends off to rest your mind.”

“It’s not your fault that the sky is falling down, mom.”

“No, I know, but I just want you know that I appreciate it. You always come when I call, and I wanna make sure you know that I try not to take that for granted.”

“Thanks for saying that, but I’m happy to help, and I need a kick in the ass to keep myself from never leaving the apartment until spring. Besides, shovelling snow can be really therapeutic too.”

“I suppose that’s true. Will you stay for dinner?”

“No, I think I wanna get home and shower. How about tomorrow? I assume there’ll be more snow to wrestle with by then.”

“Sure, that sounds good. I do have one more favour to ask, though.”

You smiled and shook your head a little, before taking the last swig of your tea.

“You always do. What is it this time? Don’t tell me you went and bought something on some online flea-market again, I’m not picking up some odd chair or a pair of socks on my way home, not in this weather.”

“No, no, it’s just the Christmas tree, if you could help me get it up to the attic?”

You couldn’t hold back the sigh that pushed past your lips at that. The plastic masterpiece weighed a ton, and the narrow steep staircase to the attic required some delicate manoeuvring, which should be interesting when your muscles were already spent from your battle with the snow. But your mother knew that you’d still do it, which was why you didn’t feel bad about the sigh.

“Fine. But that oldest brother of mine is bringing it down again next season, mark my words.”

She just smiled and took both your cups to the sink, while you got up and went to work on the eight-foot beast of a tree. Half an hour later, just after 3pm, you were back in your car and making your way through the small village where your mother lived, mentally mapping the ten-mile route to get to your apartment, trying to think which roads might be best maintained. The wind was howling and tearing at the car, even at low speeds, and visibility was awful with how much snow was being pushed around out there. It was a minor miracle that you even spotted him. He was little more than a shadow against a dark background, but his movements caught your eye and once you took a closer look, you got worried and slowed down further before reaching him. He wasn’t anywhere near dressed correctly for that weather, wearing the kind of coat that looks good but isn’t actually that warm, and suit-pants, suggesting a full suit under the coat. But nothing more. No thermal clothes of any kind, not even a hat or proper gloves. His shoes were under a foot of snow, but you’d bet anything that it wasn’t gonna be boots. On top of that, he was carrying what looked like an overnight bag and a generally confused body-language, leading you to the conclusion that this was either the most unprepared tourist you’d ever seen, or someone that was seriously lost. You came to a stop right next to him, but the windows were frozen shut, so you waited for him to take the hint, until he opened the passenger side door but politely only poked his head inside.

“Hi, can you help me, I’m completely lost?”

An American. That was unexpected, but thankfully your English was excellent, and you’d finally get a chance to use it.

“Get in, you’ll freeze out there.”

He did as you’d said, and sat down, cramming the bag down on the floor by his shiny shoes that were absolutely packed with snow. You turned the heater up to maximum and then started driving again.

“I need to keep moving or we might get rear-ended by someone not expecting a car standing still in the middle of the road in this weather.”

While you explained, he took his thin leather gloves off and put his trembling hands against the warm air fan in the centre consol.

“That’s okay, I don’t have a clue where I am anyway. Thank you for stopping.”

You reached underneath his arms for the button that started the heater in the passenger seat.

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147 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

A Little Menace

I recently had some trouble with the neighbors, and of course, my good friend @deadhumourist managed to turn it into an idea for a story. So, here's a lil thing based on her idea.

Rating: Mature Warnings: Includes ornithophobia (fear of birds), cursing, improper thoughts, modern!din, din djarin x female reader, Grogu is a human boy here. Word Count: 2080 Author’s Masterlist

Link to Part 2 Link to Part 3 Link to Part 4 Link to Part 5

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   He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know any better…    That’s what you keep telling yourself as you throw some clothes on to run outside and stop your next-door neighbour’s kid from breaking your birdfeeder.

   The thing is, this isn’t the first time he’s been messing with it, nor will it be the first time you talk to him about it, and he’s always apologetic once you catch him, which makes you think that this is about getting attention.

   But you’re not his parent. It’s not your job to teach this kid how the world works and it’s not fair to him that he should have to endure getting repeatedly told off by a stranger, when you suspect that it's his dad’s attention he really wants.

   “You know your dad will have to pay for that if you break it, and it wasn’t cheap.”

   He flinches at the sound of your voice, spinning on his heels to look at you, and taking a few steps back, but he doesn’t run away.    Your apartment is on the ground floor, and your balcony door is just a few feet from the feeder, so by the time he’s registered the sound of it opening, you’re already close enough to grab him, should you need to.

   The thing is about the size of a large suitcase, cylindrical in shape and housing over fifty feeding-stations that varies in the types of seeds or other kinds of feeds that it can hold. Large nets for peanuts and Plexiglas containers for small grains, for example.    It’s mounted on a big metal pole that’s been driven six feet into the ground to anchor the whole thing, and at the base of it, a separate type of feeder accommodates the magpies and other larger birds, to keep them away from the little guys.

   “I’m trying to help the birds survive winter, why are you trying to hurt them?”

   It’s a pretty solid construction, so in truth, the kid would have to work really hard to actually break it, but that doesn’t mean he can’t still damage it. Plus, it scares the birds when he throws sticks or sometimes even rocks on it.    Today though, he’d tried to sneak up on some blackbirds sitting on the ground and feasting on dried mealworms, doing his best to kick them as they scrambled to get away. Thankfully, he’d missed them all, but it had seriously pissed you off.

   As always, he doesn’t answer you, but he does meet your eyes and you can see that he’s close to tears. Real ones. His body-language shows you shame and regret as clear as day, and you just can’t figure out what he’s trying to accomplish with all this.    You sigh and cross your arms over your waist. He’s not your kid to teach, but this has to stop, and if his dad isn’t gonna take care of it, then you’re just gonna have to.

   “I told you last time that if this ever happened again, I’d be marching you home and having a serious conversation with your father, and I keep my word, kid.    So, you can either come with me calmly, or I can drag you there, what’s it gonna be?”

   He looks worried, but after a moment’s deliberation, he slowly comes to your side and walks with you through first your balcony and then your apartment, out your front door where you immediately ring the bell of the apartment directly to your left.

   Despite living next to them for over two years now, you’ve never seen his father. You’ve heard him bustle about in the kitchen, and their bathroom is wall to wall with yours, so you hear it every time the bathtub is filled or drained. But you don’t actively listen to your neighbours, you just register the sounds that are loud enough to cut through your music or sounds of the tv.    Since you’re not the nosy type, you haven’t been running to look through the peephole whenever you’ve heard the door open, but he comes and goes like any regular person so if you had, you would’ve seen him.

   The door opens, and you automatically begin to explain why you’re standing there with his son, in the hopes that he won’t get angry with you.

   “Hi, Mr. Djarin, I’m sorry but your son-…” you trail off when your gaze connects with a pair of deep brown and slightly sad-looking eyes that are studying you closely, in between glances at the boy.

   “What did he do?” he asks, his voice soft and low, and somehow making you feel like you wanna purr.

   “Uh…” you’ve almost forgotten your reason for bothering him. “He was being mean to the birds in my yard. I would’ve let it go if it was the first time, but he’s thrown things on my feeding station and nearly damaged it a few times too.”

   He sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, before sinking to one knee and beckoning the kid closer.

   “Grogu, I’ve told you so many times now… the birds aren’t dangerous. If you leave them alone, they’ll just eat and leave.” he tries to remind his son, and you idly wonder if you’ve ever heard a name like that before.    But the kid doesn’t answer, so Mr. Djarin looks back up at you.

   “He’s afraid of birds. The smaller ones are more skittish, so he can ignore them because he knows that they mostly keep their distance. But the crows and magpies and the bigger ones are bolder, and they frighten him.” he explains calmly, with a very apologetic undertone.

   You’re struggling to pay attention, though, because he’s kneeling just two feet in front of you, looking up at you with puppy-dog eyes and you can’t help but wonder what he’d look like buried between your legs.    If you’d known that he was this fucking beautiful you would’ve been glued to that peephole every time you heard him at the door.

   “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” you try to sound diplomatic, but you’re not sure what to do about the situation.

   One the one hand, it makes sense that he would be so aggressive towards the larger birds if he was hoping to scare them away for good, and that he’d be inclined to destroy the feeder to try and keep them from coming back.    But on the other hand, his actions are still not acceptable and no matter what he feels, he isn’t entitled to destroy people’s property.

   “I’ll pay for any damage he’s caused, of course.” he offers, and a streak of compassion stings your chest.

   He’s a single father, doing his best, clearly exhausted and unsure of how to ‘dad’ correctly sometimes, and you simply can’t be upset with either of them anymore.

   “Well, actually the feeder is homemade, so it would be hard to put a value on it. But he hasn’t broken anything yet, and I think I might have an idea on how to keep it that way.”

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185 notes - Posted July 17, 2022

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Superstar

Title: Superstar Chapter: One-Shot Pairing: Pedro/OC Rating: T Fic Summary: This is Ella's first year at Comic Con and it doesn't quite go the way she expects.

[A/N - Inspired by "Superstar (Taylor's Version). I couldn't find the Comic Con gif of Pedro winking, so I chose this picture instead because he looks so adorable.]

Ella had never been to Comic Con before, but she had been invited by her friend.

Unfortunately for her, two panels were taking place at the same time. The one her friend wanted to go to and the Game of Thrones one.

Ella wasn’t that big of fan of Game of Thrones, but she watched the show enough to understand the pop culture references.

Ella entered the hall and sat down in a chair near the front row. While she waited, she scrolled through her phone looking at the rest of the panels. Everyone chatted around her in a way that made Ella feel quite lonely.

The actors came on stage as they were announced and Pedro Pascal sat down in the chair almost in front of her. He was wearing a white Henley that was way too unbuttoned to be appropriate, but it made his olive skin and dark brown eyes stand out.

As they started the discussion, Ella found out that Pedro played a character named Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne, the father of eight daughters, brother of the murdered former princess Elia Martell, who tragically lost his life in a fight to the death for revenge for his sister and her children's death.

Oberyn sounded like a hothead, but Pedro was anything but. He was witty and funny. He gave a particularly smart-ass answer that made her giggle. Pedro glanced at her and gave her a wink before hiding his smile in his shirt.

Ella blushed as the girls around her screamed his name. She didn’t want to sound big-headed, but she was pretty sure that wink was meant for her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When the panel was over, Ella met back up with her friend and they went to the Game of Thrones signing. They got up to the table and Ella stopped in front of Pedro.

He looked up at her and smiled. “Hey. Saw you at the panel. Did you enjoy it?” he asked.

“Yeah, although I have to admit I didn’t watch this past season.”

Pedro pouted.

Ella laughed. “I promise to as soon as I get home. Sounds like it’s pretty good.”

Pedro signed her poster and said, “We’re having a beer tasting later. You should come hang out.”

Ella blushed. “I’ll…I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. See you later then.”

They walked off and Ella’s friend started squealing. “Pedro Pascal invited you to a beer tasting!”

“He didn’t invite me. He just mentioned it.”

“Yeah, but it sounds like he really wants you there.”

“Me? I’m nobody and he’s an international superstar.”

“What do you mean you’re nobody? You’re gorgeous and you’re smart. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”

Ella finally sighed. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Her friend squealed again and said, “Tell me all about it when you get back!”

Ella rolled her eyes and checked her phone again for the panels. She decided she’d go to one more and then head to the beer tasting so she wouldn’t seem desperate.

Before she headed to beer tasting, she touched up her makeup in the bathroom. It didn’t take her long to find the booth because people were crowded around it. Ella walked up and found Pedro was the one pouring the drinks.

“Hey, you made it!” Pedro said, giving her a megawatt smile that made Ella’s heart beat fast. Pedro put his arms on the bar and leaned in towards her. “What can I get you?”

Ella didn’t care for beer, but she wasn’t going to tell him that, so she picked a random flavor. “That one.”

Pedro gave her another wink. “Comin’ right up.” He pushed off the bar and poured her drink with a flourish, clearly trying to impress her. He slid it across the bar.

Ella picked it up and took a sip. “Wow.”

“It’s good, right?”

Ella nodded. She pulled out her wallet. “How much do I owe you?” Ella asked.

Pedro waved his hand. “On the house.”

“Please let me pay for it somehow.”

Pedro tapped his chin, pretending to think. “Your number.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your phone number. I’d love to take you out.”

Ella blushed. She wasn’t used to men being so forward with her. Ella grabbed a napkin and pulled out a pen, scribbling her phone number down. She handed the napkin to Pedro and picked up her beer. “Thanks for the drink.”

“I’ll call you later, cariño.”

Ella just laughed and shook her head before walking off.

He wasn’t going to call. He’d be in another city by tomorrow and she’d never hear from him again.

For now, she was going to finish her beer and go home and hang up her signed poster.

Taglist: @littlepadika @rav3n-pascal22

[dancingsunflowers-ocs]

𝗔𝗹𝗲𝘅𝗮𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗮’𝘀 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗰𝘀 ✷ 𝗮 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗲 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

𝗕𝗕𝗖 𝗠𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝗻

Name: Caelia Hartley (Adopted from @eddys-plot-shop)

Fic: The Whispering Grove 

Ship: Merlin

Faceclaim: Danielle Galligan

𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘁𝗼𝗻

Name: Delia Hathaway

Fic: Gone with the Wallflower

Love Interest: Colin Bridgerton

Faceclaim: Mia McKenna-Bruce

𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗻𝗲𝘆’𝘀 𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀

Name: Miranda Madrigal

Parents: Mirabel Madrigal

Fic: Butterflies

Love Interest: Evie Grimhilde

Faceclaim: Rachel Zegler

Name: Millie Poppins

Parents: Mary Poppins & Bert

Fic: Practically Perfect

Love Interest: Jane Godmother

Faceclaim: Emily Carey

Name: Kimberley Bjorgman

Parents: King Kristoff & Queen Anna of Arendelle

Fic: Love Is an Open Door

Love Interest: Mal Bertha

Faceclaim: Sophie Turner

Name: Dorothea Crowley

Parents: Diaval

Fic: Crow on the Cradle

Love Interest: Lonnie Shang

Faceclaim: Kathryn Prescott

Name: Roland Hood

Parents: Robin Hood & Maid Marian

Fic: Prince of Thieves

Love Interest: Jay

Faceclaim: George MacKay

Name: Willow Darling

Parents: Wendy Darling

Fic: Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust

Love Interest: Harry Hook

Faceclaim: Georgie Henley

Name: Eleanor Amora

Parents: The Enchantress

Fic: Evermore

Love Interest: Ben Beast

Faceclaim: Maude Apatow

𝗗𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗪𝗵𝗼

Name: Estelle Williams

Fic: Across The Universe

Love Interest: Clara Oswald

Faceclaim: Maya Hawke

𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗𝗦

Name: Paige Green (Adopted from @eddys-plot-shop)

Fic: Chasing Laughs

Love Interest: Chandler Bing

Faceclaim: Elizabeth Lail

𝗚𝗹𝗲𝗲

Name: Claudia Green

Fic: Songbird

Love Interest: Finn Hudson

Faceclaim: Katie Douglas

Name: Francesca Bellamy

Fic: Lovefool

Love Interest: Sam Evans

Faceclaim: Mimi Keene

Name: Ariel Berry

Fic: Help! I’m in Love with a Cheerleader

Love Interest: Quinn Fabray x Santana Lopez

Faceclaim: Kaia Jordan Gerber

Name: Pedro Fernandez

Fic: Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy 

Love Interest: Kurt Hummel

Faceclaim: Taylor Zakhar Perez

𝗚𝗿𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲

Name: Larissa Morozova

Fic: The Darkest Sea

Love Interest: Nikolai Lantsov

Faceclaim: Claudia Jessie

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹

Name: Victoria Brooks

Codename: Oracle

Fic: Gold Rush

Love Interest: Steve Rogers

Faceclaim: Olivia Cooke

Name: Clio

Fic: Part of Your World

Love Interest: Peter Parker

Faceclaim: Halle Bailey

𝗢𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗨𝗽𝗼𝗻 𝗔 𝗧𝗶𝗺𝗲

Name: Anastasia Tremaine

Fic: Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister

Love Interest: David Nolan

Faceclaim: Madelaine Petsch

Name: Marlena Wright (Adopted from @ginger-grimm)

Fairytale Counterpart: Rose Red {Snow-White and Rose-Red}

Fic: Roses Are Red

Love Interest: Lester Wright {OC}

Faceclaim: Maddison Brown

Name: Bianca Wright

Fairytale Counterpart: Snow White {Snow-White and Rose-Red}

Fic: Roses Are Red

Love Interest: Edward Wright {OC}

Faceclaim: Virginia Gardner

Name: Raina Mills (Adopted from @eddys-plot-shop)

Fic: Ahead Of The Pack

Love Interest: Ruby Lucas

Faceclaim: Camila Mendes

Name: Zarina Hendricks

Fic: The Pirate Fairy

Love Interest: Killian Jones

Faceclaim: Katherine McNamara

𝗣𝗲𝗿𝗰𝘆 𝗝𝗮𝗰𝗸𝘀𝗼𝗻

Name: Celeste Pinto

Godly Parent: Iris

Fic: Rainbows 

Love Interest: Jason Grace

Faceclaim: Olivia Rodrigo

𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝗸

Name: Guinevere Riordan

Fic: Rewrite The Stars

Love Interest: James T. Kirk

Faceclaim: Jessica Alba

Name: Sydney Berlin

Fic: Prodigy Perfect

Love Interest: Pavel Chekov x Kevin Riley

Faceclaim: Ella Purnell

𝗧𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗪𝗼𝗹𝗳

Name: Tabitha Stephens

Species: Light Witch

Fic: Bewitched

Love Interest: Isaac Lahey

Faceclaim: Josefine Frida Pettersen

Name: Julie Marigold

Species: Fairy

Fic: Bewitched

Love Interest: Enya Martin {OC}

Faceclaim: Aisha Dee

Name: Enya Martin

Species: Phoenix 

Fic: Bewitched

Love Interest: Julie Marigold {OC}

Faceclaim: Abigail Cowen

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗖𝗵𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗰𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗡𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗮

Name: Feyra Sherwood

Species: Cosmic Fairy

Fic: Courage, Dear Heart

Love Interest: Peter Pevensie

Faceclaim: Emily Bader

Name: August Sherwood

Species: Storm Fairy

Fic: Courage, Dear Heart

Love Interest: Edmund Pevensie 

Faceclaim: Jack Wolfe

Name: Joan Sherwood

Fic: Courage, Dear Heart

Love Interest: Lucy Pevensie 

Faceclaim: Ruby Cruz

𝗧𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁

Name: Beatrice Denali

Species: Vampire

Fic: Eternal Flame

Love Interest: Alice Cullen

Faceclaim: Sophie Skelton

𝗪𝗲𝗱𝗻𝗲𝘀𝗱𝗮𝘆

Name: Matilda Thorpe

Species: Telekinesis

Fic: Naughty 

Love Interest: Enid Sinclair x Wednesday Addams 

Faceclaim: Thomasin McKenzie

oc masterlist inspiration credit: @daughter-of-melpomene

[oonajaeadira]

Tag and thou will receive

Aw, I love this Pedro. The styled hair. The white henley. The dimple. The tongue bite. This one wants a hug and a hair ruffle.