#wisteria whiskey

[zommieblr]

Always a winner, never a loser.

♡ I'm always a winner

♡ I win in everything that's possible to win

♡ I achieve everything I put my mind to

♡ I achieve every goal I set

♡ Winning is as easy as breathing

♡ Winning is a regular thing for me

♡ Achieving great things is nothing out of the ordinary for me

♡ I get what I want, whenever I want

♡ I am able to prepare thoroughly and properly to win

♡ I am incapable of losing

♡ I know to celebrate my achievements, big or small

♡ Frequent success drives me to work even harder everyday

♡ Success is my motivation to get up in every day

♡ I am a winner through and through

♡ I am confident in myself and my abilities

[bonusdragons]

July 14, 2024:

Wisteria Primary, Auraboa, Piebald.

Dominos of whiskeyed's clan!

[ladybirdswritings]

SWEET THING, DBF — joel miller x reader.

DESCRIPTION: your life is a storm—an overbearing father, a shitty boyfriend, and the ache of growing up. everything becomes more tangled when you find yourself drawn to your father’s best friend, joel. NOTES - finally, part two. leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

two;

“Put your seatbelt on, Y/N.”

His voice was gruff—tired from overuse, nearly ready to silence entirely. A rich, southern rasp that sent chills down anyone’s spine, yours included. You obeyed without hesitation.

“Thank you for this…” was all you managed in a whisper while locking the metal into place—trapped.

You didn’t know your daddy’s friend too well, but you knew enough. Most people avoided him, whether it was the constant scowl etched on his face or those dark eyes that seemed to scream threats his quiet mouth never voiced. Everything about him made people stiffen, their bodies rigid as old boards.

He only hummed, his eyes fixed on the road, his jaw ticking as he navigated toward the party nearby.

“A left here,” you offered, leaning forward and pointing just past his line of sight.

When he breathed, the scent of honey and jasmine flowers on your skin clung to the air between you. His jaw locked tighter.

You knew you looked every bit the spoiled, overprotected little princess your daddy raised you to be. Skipping Jackson’s town dance to attend some trashy house party hosted by your boyfriend wasn’t exactly subtle rebellion, but you didn’t care.

Where your father insisted on preserving the innocence of your youth, you argued you’d only get to be young once. Only get to date questionable men, drink questionable drinks, and laugh about it later one time in your whole life.

Naive? Sure. But you didn’t know that.

Joel didn’t wait for you to notice he’d parked before snaking a firm arm across the console. His calloused fingers brushed the hem of your denim-clad thigh. Your heart stuttered, your eyes widening as his glare burned into you.

So close.

And then, the seatbelt clicked.

You exhaled shakily, a smile tugging at your lips as you reached for the door. But before you could escape, his rough fingers caught your chin, tugging your face back until you were forced to meet his eyes.

Dark, chocolate eyes.

“You’re real lucky tonight, sweetpea. Now don’t go in there and make me look like a fool to yer’ daddy. You drink responsibly, and you don’t touch a blunt in sight—understand?”

You gulped, cheeks burning tomato red. Wide-eyed and frozen, you nodded. You were nothing more than a fish caught in the hands of a cold fisherman, your pretty face cradled between his calloused palms.

“What, you think I’m stupid? Think I don’t know what’s gonna go on the second you walk that purtie lil’ ass inside?”

His voice was sharp, and you stammered, blinking up at him as your breath hitched. He knew. Of course, he knew. He was young once, too.

“I’ll be responsible, Mr. Miller—sir,” you lied through your teeth, the sweetness in your voice a thin disguise.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and a deep, gravelly laugh escaped him.

“Oh, sure you will, sweetpea.”

Satisfied he’d issued a proper warning, he released you. But before you could scramble away, he added, “Go on and behave, and I might just convince your daddy to let you live a little more often.”

Hope bloomed in your chest like wisteria tangling with your rapid heart. If Joel vouched for you, maybe daddy would ease up.

A plan solidified in your head. All you had to do was be good.

You could do that! Easy, just be good.

Step one? Sweeten him up.

“You’re a peach, Mr. Miller,” you chirped, leaning forward to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek.

You lingered a moment longer than you should have.

Where Jesse smelled of beer, snow, and fresh spices, Joel smelled of whiskey, cedar, and leather. Of hard work and blood-stained hands.

Joel noticed the pause, and slowly, his head turned. Just an inch closer, and his lips could press right against yours.

The thought made your eyes widen.

What was wrong with you? He was doing you a favor, and here you were imagining how his scowling lips might feel against yours. How his tongue—experienced, confident—might tease the roof of your mouth, trail down your neck…

He peered at you through bourbon lashes.

“That business doesn’t work on me, sweetpea…” he started, freeing a hand so to tuck a stray ringlet of your untamed waves behind your ear. You inhaled sharply.

“You gon’ be good?” His voice was low, a tickling whisper that sent warmth flooding through your body.

“I am,” you promised, your teeth betraying the truth behind your pretty smile.

He nodded once. “Go on, then. I’ll be parked out front. Holler if you need me.”

His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as you slipped out, your heart racing with every intrusive thought lingering in your head.

Maybe you were ovulating. Or maybe you were a basket case.

You shook your head. Jesse. Jesse. Jesse. Your boyfriend—Jesse.

With that, you slammed the Chevy door and hurried toward the party.

•••

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

As soon as the scent of weed and tequila hit your senses, you grinned. A tiny buzz wouldn’t be too hard to hide from Joel.

One shot here. Another there. You inched closer to Jesse, ready to surprise him.

And you did.

“Y/N!”

There he was, wide-eyed and guilty, his lips swollen from Abby’s kiss.

Tight, toned Abby.

They were tucked in a corner, her lips lazily trailing his throat. The sight made your knees wobble. When Jesse saw you, he jerked away, but the damage was done.

Abby’s hands shot up as though she were innocent, and it took all your strength not to lunge for the bitch.

“Baby—” Jesse started, but your throat tightened, hot tears threatening to spill.

You remembered how he admired your strength back in high school. When you were nerdy and unimportant — only glanced at after the tragic death of your mother. Everyone else pitied you. Jesse was different. He’d whispered sweet words to you after your mother passed, he’d made you less… stuck-up; convinced you that tequila could numb the pain. God, it did.

“Y’know, you’re a real tough girl to show up every day with your head high after everything that’s happened…”

“Sip this— baby. all those thoughts about your mom will go away…” he’d whispered once, tipping vodka onto your tongue. He had lost his mom, too. He knew how to stop the agony.

And now? He was the one causing it.

“Fuck you, Jesse. We’re done,” you snapped, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to sound strong.

You turned to leave, but Abby’s smug voice stopped you cold.

“Don’t know why you’re so pressed, princess. I dig chicks too. You could’ve joined us.”

You saw red.

Before you knew it, your ringed fist collided with her chiseled jaw.

Gasps echoed as she stumbled back into the crowd, her wide eyes meeting yours. Jesse grabbed your wrists, but you yanked them free.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

And just like that, you stormed out, leaving the crowd and your dignity behind.

This wasn’t how your night was supposed to go.

But instead of sulking to Joel’s truck, you vowed to drown your sorrows in tequila until the world stopped spinning.

Oh yeah, that’s exactly what you intended to do.

[deerlysacred]

✧ patching what's left of us | end!verse dean winchester x witch fem!reader ᨒ↟ | chapter one

💌 𝄢 no tw, just castiel being a silly lil guy and a tiny angst towards the end 🪽

♫ 𝄢 concept song : would that i — hozier ₊˚ʚ 🌱 ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

🌜𝄢 in this version of series of mine, it has been 2 years since the croatoan virus messed the world up. also yes, the world is in a very bad situation but it's not as bad as the show version. there are multiple survival camps in the world and the croatoans are not that much.

gang… i know this is a series for dean but i halfway started to want cas more… idk 🤨 anyways, #stanthemis 🫶🏻

english is not my mother tongue and i wrote the last half part of this very sleepy lol i'm sorry if i made some grammar mistakes. i hope you like it!! it won't be a very long series but i plan to make a few chapters 💕

The door creaked open loudly, letting in a gust of icy wind that rattled the loose panes of the cabin windows. The blond man looked up from the map spread across Bobby's old desk, his jaw set, green eyes narrowing under the weight of another sleepless night. He was nursing a half-empty bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid sloshing lazily as he swirled it in his hand.

"Boss," one of his men announced, pushing you forward. "Found her out past the south perimeter. Alone. Didn't look like trouble."

The man set the bottle down with a thunk, his lips pressing into a thin line. He didn't say anything at first, just dragged his eyes over you like he was trying to peel back your skin and see what was hiding underneath. Then he made his men go out with a nod of his head.

"Great," he muttered eventually when you two were alone, letting out a humorless laugh. "Another mouth to feed." His voice was rough, worn down by years of barking orders and screaming at ghosts that didn't scream back. "Kinda impressive, considering most folks out there are croats or corpses. What, you got a guardian angel, or are you just stupid lucky?"

The man didn't wait for an answer— it looked like he rarely does. He took a swig of whiskey, eyeing you like you were a puzzle missing half the pieces. "Name's Dean. Yeah, that Dean. And if you're not infected, congrats. You just won yourself a room in Camp Chitaqua." His voice dropped, darkening. "Don't make me regret it."

He observed you with a look that made the cabin room feel smaller than it was.

"So," he spoke, voice low and gravelly. "You got a name you mind to share, or should I just call you 'the new gal'?"

"Y/N." you muttered, shifting on your feet under his doubtful gaze.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Y/N.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. "Now, the next question, Y/N. How the hell'd you manage to survive out there on your own?"

Your hands fidgeted with the frayed edges of your sleeves.

Careful, you warned yourself, don't be suspicious.

"I… I got lucky." you bit your tongue subtly because of your stammer, not a great start.

Dean didn't buy it. His eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. "Yeah? Guess we'll see how lucky you really are."

Then his gaze dropped to your wrist.

Shit.

Before you could react, he stood up and walked to you in a few big steps, his hand shot out, grabbing your arm in an iron grip. His fingers burned against your cold skin as he yanked your sleeve up, exposing the tattoo you tried so hard to keep hidden. The triskelion and crescent moon stood out like a brand against your wrist.

Dean's eyes darkened, recognition passing in an instant.

"Son of a bitch." His voice was a growl as he shoved you back towards the timeworn couch behind, you gasped as you sat down, his hand already pulling a gun from his thigh-holster. The cold barrel pressed against the middle of your forehead, making you flinch.

"Wisteria Coven," he spat. "You wanna tell me why the hell you got this burned into your skin?"

Your mind started to race, you could swear your heart was going to jump out. You've seen that look countless times before. Disgust, anger, prjudgement, fea— No, not fear. More like precaution, this time. He wasn't just suspicious of you now. He knew what that symbol meant. Witches. Magic. Danger.

"I left them," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I'm not with them anymore."

Dean's grip tightened, and you could feel the muzzle pressing harder on your skin. "Yeah? You expect me to believe that? You've got five seconds to explain why I shouldn't gank you right here."

Your lips parted, trembling slightly as you spoke. "Please," you gulped, tears stinging your eyes. "I'm alone. They're dead. I didn't have a choice. Please— I'm not like them. I just want to live…"

Dean's finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger. He didn't move, didn't even blink as he stared into your eyes, searching for any hint of a lie or a fucked up trick.

I'm going to die.

It was all you could think. After everything you've been through and managed to survive somehow, this was how it would end.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, Dean cursed under his breath. "Goddammit." he muttered, lowering the gun.

You let out a shaky breath, you raised your hands, showing no threat as you stood up slowly.

Oh, okay… He's not going to kill me. Not yet.

Dean shoved the gun back into his thigh-holster. "Fine," he said, voice cold. "But hear me, and hear me good— if you so much as think about casting some freaky-ass spell with your pretty little head, you're dead. No hesitation."

You nodded quickly, fidgeting with your fingers. "I won't. I swear."

Dean shot you one more look, like he was trying to read your mind. Then he shook his head. "You better not if you don't want me to open a hole on you."

He turned away, rubbing a hand over his face before grabbing a flashlight from the desk. "Come on," he said gruffly. "We ain't got any empty tents. And leaving you outside… Yeah, no. Not with the horny bastards out there."

You followed him silently, your heart still racing. You could feel the weight of the tattoo on your wrist like it was your death warrant.

I should've cut it off. I should've get rid of it somehow.

Dean led the way up the stairs, his boots thudding heavily on the creaking wood. "You can stay in one of the rooms up here," he said, flashing the light down a dim hallway. "Bathroom's at the end of the hall. Don't touch my stuff. Don't wander around. And don't—"

"Cast spells..?" You finished for him, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips.

Dean shot you a look over his shoulder, his lips twitching in what might’ve (?) been a smirk. "Smartass." He jerked his chin toward a door. "That one’s yours. Get some sleep. You’re gonna need it."

You cracked your eyes open with the occasional talking of people outside and the singing of the birds, your breath fogging in the chill of the room. You blinked up at the ceiling, letting the silence settle around you for a moment.

Last night had been... intense, you really thought that leader was gonna blow your head off but he had a tiny bit of mercy, seemingly. It was gonna be real hard to convince him that you're trustworthy though...

But hey, at least you were alive, right? That was something.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your bare feet pressing into the worn floorboards. The clothes you found in the closet last night —a pair of jeans and a faded black sweater— fit well enough, though they smelled faintly of dust and men's cologne. You took a shower in the cramped bathroom before you went to bed last night, scrubbing away days of mud and blood.

Your eyes drifted to the window. The camp was waking up.

Guess I should figure out what I'm supposed to do here.

"Dean?" you called softly, stepping out into the hallway. Silence.

Of course, he wasn't here. He seemed like the kind of man who woke with the dawn— or maybe never really slept at all. You bit your lip, debating your next move.

You needed a jacket before heading outside.

Your gaze lingered on a closed door down the hall. Dean's room.

Hell, no. You shook your head. Bad idea. You weren't that stupid to snoop around his stuff. So instead, you wandered into a smaller room that looked like storage. There were chests and boxes piled high, many of them covered in dust. You knelt down, popping open a large chest in the corner. Your fingers sifted through blankets, some old clothes, until something caught your eye— a worn brown hoodie.

It was big, way too big for you, but the fabric was soft, and it smelled clean. You pulled it on, the hem reaching past your hips, the sleeves covering your hands.

Cozy, good enough.

You stepped outside, squinting against the crowded part of the camp. People were already moving around, tending to tasks and chores. You stood there awkwardly, watching them. Some nodded in her direction, but most seemed too busy to care.

Your eyes wandered to a tent with a small fire burning outside of it. A metal pot sat over the flames, steam curling from its spout. Coffee. Your mouth watered at the sight of it.

You approached shyly, feeling like an intruder, but no one seemed to stop you. You grabbed a freshly cleaned metal cup from a stack on the table and poured yourself some of the bitter liquid. The warmth of the cup against your hands was comforting, there was no sight of any food or anything like that near. You must've missed the breakfast, it seemed like you were stuck with coffee.

Better than nothing.

You walked around the camp, observing the layout. There were rows of tents, a few makeshift shelters, and the large cabin you were staying in with Dean. The air smelled of smoke and damp earth. It was quieter than you expected— almost peaceful.

As you passed by a woman and a man chatting near one of the tents, you couldn't help but to listen to their words.

"Dean's already out?" the woman asked.

"Left before dawn," the man replied. "Supply run into the city. The winter is doing its number on us again, nothing new."

Your stomach clenched. Great. He's not here to keep an eye on me… or maybe that's worse. How the hell am I going to prove that I'm not a burden now? I could at least ask him about the ways I could help around here…

You were so lost in thought that you didn't see the small hole in the ground until it was too late. Your boot caught, and you stumbled forward, barely catching yourself before you fell.

The woman and man stopped talking, their eyes snapping to you directly. You straightened, pretending to brush dirt from your jeans with panic though you didn't even touch the floor.

"Uh— sorry…" you muttered, embarrassed. The man raised an eyebrow, and the woman gave a small, amused smile. Neither said anything, though, and you quickly turned on your heel, walking away.

What a great first impression.

Your hand brushed against the hot coffee cup, and you winced as you realized now, that a few drops of coffee must've been poured onto your hand when you stumbled. "Shit…" you hissed, shaking out your fingers.

Eventually, you found yourself near a large tree at the edge of the camp. The branches stretched wide, providing shade and a place to sit. You sank down at the base of the tree with a sigh, finally letting yourself relax.

"Seriously?" a voice came from the other side of the tree suddenly, making you jump. "Can't a man spend some quality time alone with his buddy at the end of the world?"

You scrambled to your feet, heart pounding. You peered around the tree to find a man sitting cross-legged on the ground, a small squirrel perched on his lap. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, and his eyes were piercing blue, looking up at you with a calm amusement.

"Oh— I didn't mean to interrupt," You stammered, taking a step back. "Shall I… go?"

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "No need. Sit." He patted the ground next to him. "I'm not gonna bite. Neither is she." He held the tiny paw of the squirrel and made it wave at you, making the squirrel turn its attention towards you as it was focused on eating a peanut seconds ago.

You smiled at the cute scene, hesitating before lowering yourself back down, keeping a distance. The squirrel watched you with curious eyes, its tiny paws still clutching the peanut.

"You're new here," the man said, his voice soft but steady. "What's your name?"

You hugged the hoodie tighter as a breeze came along, answering softly. "Y/N."

"I'm Castiel,” the man said after a moment. He offered you a hand. "And this—" he gestured to the squirrel— "is Themis."

You frowned as you shook his hand, noting the strength in his grip. "Themis? Like… the goddess?"

Castiel's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Yes. The goddess of justice."

You glanced at the squirrel, who seemed far more interested in nibbling on its food than… dispensing justice.

Castiel chuckled knowingly, eager to talk about his little buddy. "She brought me justice once."

You tilted your head, curious. "How so?"

"Someone stole my bag of nuts one day," Castiel explained. "I didn't notice until I saw her dragging the bag back to me." He paused, stroking Themis's fur. "She carried it all the way across camp, like a tiny Lady Justice. She brought it back to me— every last one."

You smirked as you glanced at the squirrel, then back at Castiel. "Or she stole them for herself and felt bad about it."

Castiel chuckled. "Could be."

You couldn't help the quiet laugh that escaped your lips, the tension in your shoulders easing just a bit. Sitting there with Castiel and Themis felt so normal and peaceful despite the chaos of your world.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over Camp Chitaqua. You wiped the sweat from your brow, leaning on your shovel as you surveyed the area. You've spent hours cleaning up the trash, clearing leaves, and dragging fallen branches away from the main paths.

Themis, Castiel's squirrel, had been darting around your feet for the past hour, playfully chasing the movement of the shovel as if it were a game. Every time you dug into the ground, the little creature scurried after it, its fluffy tail flicking in excitement.

"Shoo…" You murmured, trying to gently nudge Themis away with your boot. "You're gonna get hurt."

But Themis was energetic and determined. She darted in closer, pouncing at the dirt you were moving.

This squirrel is relentless.

You shifted your grip on the shovel and swung it to scoop up more debris— only to feel a soft thud against the wood.

"Oh, shit." you dropped the shovel immediately, your eyes wide.

Themis let out a startled squeak and stumbled backward, her little body shaking.

"I'm so sorry!" you knelt down quickly, reaching out a hand. "Are you okay?"

From across the camp, Castiel's head snapped up. His conversation with a pair of women —who were clearly charmed by him— ended abruptly as he ran over.

"Themis!" he gasped, dropping to his knees beside the squirrel. He gently scooped her up, cradling her in his hands like she was a baby. "Are you hurt, my little goddess?"

You bit your lip, guilt flooding your chest. "I didn't mean to— she was playing with the shovel, and I—"

Castiel held up a hand, silencing you. He inspected Themis carefully before letting out a dramatic sigh of relief. "She's fine."

You let out a breath you haven't realized you were holding. "Thank god."

Castiel glanced at you with a playful smirk. "Themis is forgiving, but the goddess of justice does not forget. Karma will come for you soon enough."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his theatrics. "I'll keep that in mind."

As Castiel set Themis down gently on the ground, a low rumble echoed through the camp. You glanced towards the entrance, where three large black jeeps rolled in, their tires kicking up dust.

The vehicles came to a stop, and men began piling out, carrying bags and crates of supplies.

Dean was the last to step out, his green eyes scanning the camp as he ran a hand through his hair. His expression was hard and tired.

Before he could take two steps, the woman who saw you stumble earlier in the morning marched towards him, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Dean," she snapped, "you could've told me you were heading to the city. I would've come with you."

Dean gave her a glance, his jaw tightening. "Not now, Risa."

"But—"

"I said, not now." His tone left no room for argument.

Risa huffed in frustration but didn't push further.

Dean continued walking, giving instructions to the men unloading supplies. His gaze swept over the camp, and then it landed on you.

He froze mid-step.

You shifted nervously, your shovel still in hand.

Dean's eyes darkened as they locked onto the brown hoodie you were wearing, for a moment, shock flickered across his face.

Then came the anger.

His jaw clenched, and he stormed towards you, eyes narrowing as he closed the distance.

"Y/N," he called out, voice sharp.

Your heart pounded as he towered over you.

"Where the hell did you get that?!" he demanded, voice low yet barely hiding the rage behind it.

You blinked. "I—I needed something warm, so I found this in the storage room—"

"That's not storage." Dean's voice was sharp, like a blade cutting through the air between you. "That's my house."

Your stomach dropped. "I didn't mean to—"

"Did you snoop around?" His voice rose, drawing attention from a few nearby people. "Did you go through my stuff?"

"No!" You shook your head quickly. "I just needed a jacket. I swear I didn't touch anything else."

Dean's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His gaze flicked back to the hoodie, and for a brief moment, something raw flashed in his eyes— pain, maybe, or grief.

It wasn't just a hoodie.

It belonged to someone.

Someone who mattered a lot to him.

Dean took a step closer, looking down at you coldly. His voice dropped to a growl. "Don't. Go. In. My house. Ever. Again."

You swallowed hard, nodding. "Okay. I'm sorry."

Dean stared at you for a long moment before letting out a frustrated sigh. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving you standing there, confused and humiliated.

Castiel wandered over, his hands in his pockets.

"Don't take it personally," he said, offering you a sympathetic smile. "Dean… carries a lot of baggage."

You glanced down at the hoodie you were wearing, your fingers brushing over the worn fabric. Your bottom lip quivered as you nodded, trying not to cry because of guilt. You felt Castiel's arm wrapping around your shoulder hesitantly, he patted your back gently to soothe you.

"Karma," he said softly, tilting his head towards Themis, who was jumping around his boots. "It works fast."

You gave him a weak chuckle, but inside, your chest felt tight.

I shouldn't be here.

[wildsupernova]

too sweet.

summary: she was too sweet for him, everybody knew that. still, he couldn’t stay away, and neither could she, even when the sugar made his head spin and the bitterness burned her throat.

pairing: steve harrington x reader

warnings: brief mentions of sexual content, nothing too serious really

word count: 900

a/n: hey! just wanted get something up while i work on some longer pieces. i’m currently finishing up my second semester of my second year of college, so i haven’t had time or energy to write much of anything lately. figured i’d write a little blurb when i got the time to keep the content coming for you guys. anyway, hope you enjoy! hopefully new longer content will be coming soon. if you enjoy, leave a like, reblog, or a comment, whatever, any little bit of engagement helps. :)

masterlist | prompts list

She was too good for Steve, everyone knew that. She was a delicate, well groomed rose bush and he was the patch of weeds that grew in her planter box, stealing every last bit of water from her until her leaves turned brown and fell from her stem. He wasn’t someone a girl like her should ever be associating with, but something kept him coming back to her, and her to him. 

They didn’t speak in school, sharing stolen glances from across the hall, soft stares that turned desperate when they were filled with memories of two nights ago. To Steve’s friends, she was nothing more than a conquest, and to hers he was nothing more than a walking red warning sign telling her to run the other way. To each other, they were something they couldn’t quite name, unsure if it was love or boredom or something else entirely. But boredom wouldn’t have you running back to someone like this, wouldn’t have you lying awake thinking about them and your heart racing every time you shared a glance. 

He was the type to fall asleep when the sky was dark and wake long after the birds had already started singing, and she never crawled in or out of bed any later than the sun. He’d tried to see her once, crawl through her window after every streetlight had flickered on, but she hadn’t answered his taps on her window, duvet blocking out any sound that might disturb her early sleep. Two mornings later and he’s woken from his own sleep by the ringing of his phone, her sweet voice begging him to watch the sunrise with her at Lovers Lake. He had complained and told her it was far too early, but when she told him she got up that early everyday he simply laughed and grabbed his keys from the bedside table.

He asked her once if she’d ever thought about sleeping in, or staying out late to watch the stars around a bonfire. She’d shook her head, told him routine was what she needed, that she could get the most out of her day if she went to bed early, but that same night she’d made it back home long after the moon took its place in the sky, hair frizzy and skirt twisted sideways. 

She reminded him of when he’d drank a Screwdriver for the first time, far too sweet for him to handle without his head spinning, but giving him enough of a buzz that he couldn’t stop sipping it. He reminded her of the single sip of her father’s whiskey spiked coffee, the kind that turned her tongue bitter and burned her throat on the way down, but had her heart racing all the same. 

He always laughed at the way she’d scold him for his dirty mouth. He didn’t think he’d ever heard a single ‘bad word’ come out of her, and everytime one came out of him, she was quick to smack him on the shoulder and tell him off like a mother. She kept her body guarded, rarely letting his hands wander too far until it was two hours later and she was desperate for them to be anywhere else but on her face. He started to wake up earlier just to hear the birds sing about her. 

He started seeing her in everything. In the rainy days where the sun was still in the sky, the soft patter of raindrops hitting his window sounding more and more like her laugh every time. He saw her in the wisteria vines that climbed the trellis in his mother’s garden, in the sip of wine he stole from his mother’s glass. He told himself he could wait a few years until he didn’t burn so much, until he became a better man who could handle how sweet she was. She told him she didn’t mind the burn, didn’t mind the bitterness, but if he wanted to wait until he was smoother for her, she could do that. She could wait.

2 years later and she's still just as sweet, smooth like an aged bottle of wine but with that small bitter hint you don’t really notice until you’re two glasses in. He’s smoother, like the shot of bourbon sitting next to her on her kitchen counter, but he still burns just enough for her to recognize him. She downs the amber in the glass and tells him she can handle the burn, and he tells her that sweet still makes his head spin, even after all this time.

Suddenly he’s the one waking before the sun, slaving away over an oven and a glass of wine left out from the night before, birds singing the same song they used to years ago. He’s in bed by sunset because she’d pulled him to the bedroom by the arm, lips lingering on his skin in the same way he used to linger on hers. He finds himself watching his language and she lets a few dirty words slip now and then, and her hands move his lower when she gets tired of them on her waist. He still sees her in the rain and the roses outside of his apartment, down to the small thorns hidden just beneath the beautiful crimson petals. She sees him in the thunder storms and the dandelions, beautiful and dangerous all the same. 

Suddenly, Screwdrivers aren’t too sweet for him anymore, and whiskey doesn’t burn her throat quite like it used to.

[icarus-does-fall]

Alr alr

Simon x piercer/tattooer reader

I did my best to make my idea a thing 🤷‍♂️

Dub-con!! Trans Simon but it's not a major plot point, might make another one where it is

I just have brainrot and productive energy

.𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤. .𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, a simple man. A stoic and dealy man. A man who was claimed to have no emotions, no connections. To be a ghost. Yet whenever you were around, he seemed to be less of a ghost, he seemed to be human.

Then there was you. You were bright and filled with life, colourful to say the least as you were covered in tattoos and piercing, after all that was your job. The cherry on top, you loved- sometimes you loved too much and got yourself hurt.

He was spending almost all his money on booking appointments at your shop, he never had valid reasons to see you outside your parlour just to see you, feel you. Yet you never minded, Simon was polite, while he didn't always hold the best conversations he never made you feel uncomfortable like some of your other clients did.

Plus maybe you had started to develop a slight crush on the rugged soldier that was constantly spending his free time with you instead of going out with his mates. He made you laugh, smile, and he had an oddly safe feeling about him.

Simon had been away on deployment for nearly a year and the first thing he did when he got back was book something with you. It was a piercing, and one of a particularly sensitive nature- He was asking to get a jacob's ladder done.

You almost didn't agree. You liked the guy and piercing his dick? That seemed to cross a few too many lines, yes it was your job but you were still human and sometimes it is difficult to separate work from life. Simon instead though, he trusted you, you had the experience with it, and he wanted that specific piercing done.

So stealing your emotions and doing your best to lock them all away in a cage so deep within you it wouldn’t be easily found you waited for Simon's appointment time, getting everything ready in the back room- You doubted the man wanted to expose himself to everyone else in the shop… A low blush rose to your cheeks as your thoughts tried to wander about.

What if he liked the public scene?

After all, you didn't know much about Simon other than what simple conversation would allow. He had a dog- A german shepherd. He smoked, sometimes you’d smoke with him. His best mate was named Soap and he drank whiskey. And he was possibly trans? One of the first tattoos you did for him was scar coverups on his chest, but you weren't going to ask any questions. Scar cover ups were one of your specialties. Most people came to you for those types of tattoos specifically.

But his more personal details? Those you weren’t sure about.

Quicker than you thought the time for Simon's appointment showed up. He walked into the shop, looming like a shadow, before seeing you at the counter and his entire mood lightened up.

“Hey lovie.”

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh. “Hey again Si, fill out your paperwork, I’ll get everything set up in the back for you. And how's that last tat treating you? It heal okay?”

Simon shrugged and then rolled up his sleeve, the newest addition was still slightly red but the tattoo seemed to have healed without issue. It was a bundle of wisteria flowers, one of the few tattoos that you were given full control over. It was just a space filler.

“It’s fine, the lads thought it was too… girly ‘suppose but I like it just fine.”

You pouted playfully while heading to the back room. “Aw ‘just fine’? Thought we’ve moved into actual compliments before you left, you get tired of talking all that much on deployment or somethin?”

Simon merely huffed as he filled out his paperwork and then placed it on the counter. He liked talking to you, he did. Just sometimes his words failed him.

After a few minutes you were ready and called him back. He listened like a well trained dog, raising from where he was sitting without a work and went to where you were. If he had a tail it would be wagging.

Simon closed the door behind him and simply stood there a bit awkwardly as you had just finished wrapping the chair for him to sit on. Your face flushed slightly, it wouldn’t have been noticeable if Simon was as trained as he was to notice the small details.

“You gotta strip Si-” Now your blush was noticeable, it flared brightly. “Not! Not completely! But you gotta lose the trousers before you sit down-”

Simon chuckled slightly at your flustered state. And whether he meant to or if it was all subconsciously done, he slowly undid his belt and took off his pants. You had to force yourself not to stare at him. He took his spot on the chair and got comfortable to the point it’d be easier for you to pierce him.

You rolled your chair in between his legs, your tray of tools right next to you. You looked up at him, doing your damnedest to stay professional. “This will hurt, like… a lot Simon.”

He nodded and sighed out softly, he was thanking every god possible right now that he had his mask on to hide his own flushed face. “I know, go ahead.”

Now Simon wasn’t huge by any means, but he wasn’t small either, but he was girthy. Something that sparked your interest though was the scar lines down there. He unknowingly sent butterflies straight to your stomach as you tried not to blatantly stare at his half exposed body.

With a steady hand but a shaky resolve you took his dick into your hand, tentatively wiping it down with a alcohol wipe and then marking where the piercings needed to go. You were doing three this session. Simon tensed up under your touch and a soft groan slipped past his lips as you began. You froze, mistaking that groan for discomfort and not something else.

“You alright Si, something feel wrong?”

He merely shook his head and then nodded, gesturing for you to continue. You did.

So you lined up the needle with the first mark and went through the skin.

“Fuck! Jesus lovie! Can't give a guy some warning before you stab ‘em?”

You chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry about that Si… First one alway hurts more than the rest, and we still gotta put the barbell in too.”

“Christ-” Simon sighed and laid his head back against the hair, he was trying not to pant or focus on how your hand felt wrapped around his dick- Or the thoughts that followed. He doubted you even liked him, plus it was damn near unprofessional to think like that while you were working.

You apologised once more before putting the barbell into the first piercing, Simon let out another groan as you did that, and then you wiped down the piercing, cleaning it of the small bits of blood that’d showed up. Then you moved onto the second one. Simon's groans got a bit louder and he was biting his lip to hold back the moans that threatened to slip out. The third one went in without issue as well, but by now Simons dick was aching- From both the piercings and how you had been handling him.

He was all but dripping precum with each new piercing and touch of your hand, which you both were trying to ignore. Your heart was racing and your face flushed, Simon was refusing to look in your direction as you worked.

As you pulled away after finishing cleaning him and then took your gloves off you casted a glance over towards Simon. “How's it look? Everything feel okay?”

Simon laid still for a few moments after you began your clean up before he sat up slightly and looked to see how the piercings were done, forgetting just for a moment that you were in the room and ran a hand across the piercings.

He unintentionally came with that action of his. All over the chair and his thighs. He groaned out quietly and moaned and then he blushed hard, becoming nothing but a flustered and stuttering mess.

“Fuck lovie- That wasnt supposed to, ain’t mean to… ‘M not that used to having it yet… I'm sorry, fuck im sorry lovie, makin a mess all over your work stuff not professional at all.”

Your face had gotten bright red and you’d froze in your spot, your eyes couldn’t help but to be drawn towards Simon's leaking dick which was now covered in cum. His words pulled out of your mini trance and hurriedly gave him a few paper towels to clean up with, but he was too focused on apologising to realise you were trying to help.

Taking a breath you tried to steel your nerves and then placed your hand on Simon's calf. It's what was closest to you and you didn’t want to make him- or you comfortable. “Si, calm down- it’s okay honestly… You think you're the first guy who's been a little sensitive after this type of piercing?”

Simon's blush was now visible, even underneath his mask, and he was still avoiding looking at you as he cleaned himself up. His words were mumbled and hard to hear and he was still slightly hard making things worse. “Well… Probably the first to like you as ya do it… As it happens…”

You still heard him though, and you bit your lip while trying to find the words. What were you supposed to do? Admit your possible feelings while he was half naked and covered in cum? Well… you probably shouldn’t but you wanted it. He was a sight to see like that, hell he was whining and desperate for forgiveness. That sight, those feelings, it made your stomach coil.

So what did you do? Breaking all your rules, every boundary you’d been trying to set this entire session, you touched him without having a job to do. Your hands traced along his bottom surgery scars- Simons hands stilled and he looked up at you confused.

“Wha-”

Your hands trailed down to caress his dick and gently you milked out the rest of his come. Simon's eyes fluttered closed and he was reduced to a moaning mess. “L-lovie, what are you doing? Wh-why? What?”

You continued to stroke Simon's dick, careful to avoid the piercings you just placed, technically, for everything to heal correctly you shouldn't have been doing that but you were being careful. “Just wanna show you it's okay, nothing to be sorry for, yaknow?”

Another strangled moan fell past Simon's lips and his dick was twitching in your hands, you looked up at him through your lashes and then leaned forward, kitten licking his tip for a few moments before fully licking him clean. One of his hands ended up threaded through your hair, not wanting you to pull away just yet until there wasn't any cum left.

Finally when you pulled away after he’d been cleaned up, he was gripping onto the chairs armrests and panting softly, you on the other hand while blushing looked similar to how a cat looks after catching the canary.

“Well damn lovie… Fuckin hell… Wasn’t expecting that type of aftercare-”

“You taste pretty good Si…” You laughed softly and licked your lips, “Can I get another taste later?”

Simon groaned out softly and slouched back against the chair he was sitting in again as he caught his breath and once his head was clear he got dressed again and then bit his lip as he walked over towards where you were.

“You're a different type of crazy lovie, make things interesting… It’s why you're my favourite.” He sighed and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Coffee sometime then?- Or dinner?”

You laughed and kissed Simon's cheek through his mask. “I do what I can~ And I would love to, been wanting that for a while actually.”

[kyoteugly]

Don't feed the animal - Chapter 15 (Buddie AU)

Inside the restaurant there was a small patio in a shade of pergola covered with wisteria. A myriad of small lights twinkled gently above the guests' heads. Tables for two seemed to be chaotically placed on the stone floor decorated with colorful mosaics. The place was not that elegant but it gave a sense of privacy. It was cozy.

Eddie indulged himself with a glass of whiskey, which he sipped leisurely. He had missed the flavor but today it tasted especially delicious. 

With a slight smile he looked at Taylor sitting across from him. She was telling him something about her job or about the dessert they ordered. Eddie couldn't care less. Her voice was distant, her shape blurry except for one spot that caught Eddie's attention. Her red hair framed the fair skin of her neck in gentle waves. A delicate gold chain emphasized the exposed throat. Eddie licked his lips unconsciously, the smoky taste of the whiskey still lingering on his tongue.

Who would have thought that the gates of heaven were shaped like plush lips. They veiled an angel’s voice singing anthems so profound that they were reverberating to his very core. He still heard those sacred tunes even though he cut them off with nothing more but a little pressure. 

Fire without oxygen should die out but this one burned even hotter, devouring him to the point of charred bones… and he only wanted more…

-------

READ MORE

[koffeebreakmelts]

Final Fantasy Location Wax Melts

Etsy Shop

Available Scents:

Baron Castle: rose, musk, redwood, night air

Figaro Castle: sand, mountain air, sunflower, machinery

Midgar: campfire, sweet tobacco, poppies, bay rum

Costa del Sol: sea salt, caramel, sunflower, sand, ocean breeze

Gold Saucer: whiskey, new car, vetiver, champagne, sweet tobacco

Cosmo Canyon: poppies, clove, musk, dirt

Balamb Garden: ocean breeze, fresh cotton, fresh cut grass, new car

Alexandria: mountain air, ambrosia, fresh cotton, campfire

Ipsen's Castle: sand, old books, love spell

Zanarkand: teakwood, grapefruit, wisteria, peppermint

Rabanastre: sand, sweet pea, ambrosia, dirt

Galdin Quay: sea salt, bay rum, champagne, berries & cream

[astrid-sama]

Labyrinth of white roses

(Effie trinket x fem oc)

Chapter 2)

"Capitol City"

The station is full of journalists from the Capitol City who have come to film the departure of the tributes from the station, I'm happy I didn't cry before. Alexander on the other hand still has red eyes, I feel sorry for him, after all he is still a child; if Elia had been in his place he too would have cried.

The train is incredibly luxurious: the furniture is made of solid mahogany, the tablecloths are silk and the sofas are soft and comfortable.

We each have our own bedroom with attached private bathroom with hot running water, in district twelve we don't have hot water.

Effie told us that we can do whatever we want until dinner time, so I decide to take advantage of all this luxury, I take a long hot shower and I apply a berry scented cream on my body which makes my skin soft and fragrant; I decide to wear my green dress with white flowers again but I change my old boots with a new pair that I found in the wardrobe of my room and finally I tie my hair in a braid like the one Elia had done for me this morning.

Thinking about Elijah makes me sad, it reminds me that if I want to see him again I will be forced to kill; I think I wouldn't feel guilty if I were forced to kill to defend myself but the very idea of ​​having to kill scared children like Alexander makes me feel bad.

I leave my room and start walking towards the carriage where we will have dinner, I was hoping that walking would help me stop thinking but that's not the case.

When I arrive at the restaurant car there is only Effie sitting at the table.

-Darling you arrived right on time, come and sit down-

Effie invites me to sit in front of her and smiles at me.

A few minutes later Alexander and Haymitch also arrive and the Avox begin serving dinner.

As a first course we are served a delicious risotto decorated with wisteria flowers, as a second course we are served a cut of pork accompanied by various vegetables and finally they bring us some cakes filled with what I believe is chocolate.

When dinner is over I feel full like I've never been before and judging by the look of deep subscription on Alexander's face I can tell he feels the same as me.

Before going to sleep Alexander asks Haymitch for advice on how to behave as soon as we arrive in the Capitol, Haymitch replies that he will explain it to us tomorrow if he feels like it then grabs a bottle of whiskey and goes to his room.

I also go to my room and get ready for bed.

When I am woken up in the morning by an Avox I feel very tired due to the lack of sleep due to the constant nightmares I have been having.

After washing I put on a simple light blue dress that I found in the wardrobe and head to breakfast.

When I arrive, everyone is already there: Haymitch is pouring what I think is whiskey into a cup of tea, Effie is eating a pink muffin and Alexander is eating a bit of everything.

-Good morning darling, did you sleep well?-

Effie said smiling at me, "she has a beautiful smile" I think and I can't help but blush.

-I slept very well Effie-

In reality my sleep was downright terrible but Effie doesn't need to know that.

-I'm happy to know, we will arrive at Capitol soon and you will have to be in perfect shape for the tribute parade-

-Speaking of the parade, Haymitch told us yesterday that you would explain to us how to behave-

Haymitch looks away from his tea for the first time since we started eating and, far from happy, answers Alexander.

-Do you want some advice?! Smile, blow kisses to the crowd, make the citizens of the Capitol believe that you love them and that you are honored to be here-

-Do you have any advice regarding the Hunger Games? Should we try to ally ourselves with other tributes? What should we focus on during training? What is the weapon we should learn to use? -

-Girl, you're really trying to win, I like you. To answer your questions: the only solid alliance is that of the favorites but allying with them if you don't come from districts one, two and four is practically impossible unless you prove yourself incredible in training; During training you will need to balance practicing survival techniques with weapons training. Do you have survival skills or experience with weapons? -

-I know medicinal plants, I'm quite agile and I can climb practically anything but I don't think they are very useful skills-

Alexander seems very dejected, he already thinks he's done for. I take his hand in mine and squeeze it reassuringly, he turns to look at me and gives me a small smile.

-I know edible plants, I'm good with throwing knives and I'm really good with a bow I always hit my prey in the eye-

Haymitch hums thoughtfully, I hope it's a good sign.

-We have arrived, we will continue our conversation after the tribute parade in the meantime my first piece of advice is let the stylists do whatever they want with you, they know what they are doing-

Once we got off the train we were accompanied to the tribute preparation center, each tribute was assigned an entire staff with the task of making us beautiful for the parade.

I lie down on a metal surface, they massage my whole body and apply a lotion that makes my skin glow; at a certain point the trainers decide to remove all the hair on my body, when they're done, my body burns.

When I finally finish all the treatments I am taken to a room and told to wait for my stylist to arrive.

After a while a man with dark skin and a thin layer of gold eyeliner over his eye enters; in his hand he holds a garment bag in which I think there is my dress.

Usually for the parade the tributes are dressed to recall their district, for example the tributes from district one are often adorned with jewels; the tributes from district twelve almost always come dressed as miners and unfortunately this doesn't get us many sponsors; other times, however, the stylists decide that the clothes are overrated and leave the tributes practically naked, I remember that a few years ago the tributes of district twelve did not have a dress but had been covered in ash. "I hope I'm not naked"

-Nice to meet you, I'm Cinna your stylist. I decided to make you wear a particular dress that doesn't focus on the miners but on coal and fire-

"Oh no! I'll be naked for sure"

-The idea for your dress came to me when I saw you and the boy from district twelve. I thought about how different you two were, one with red hair and the other with black hair. Looking at you, coal and fire came to mind; you with your black hair will be the coal while the boy with his red hair will be the fire-

He opens the case and takes out a black leather suit. After putting on the pants and leather bodysuit Cinna has me put on some high boots with a small heel. Cinna attaches little pieces of coal to my dress which are covered in a thin layer of red glitter which makes the little pieces of coal look like they are glowing.

When I'm done getting dressed, I apply make-up: a little black eyeshadow with glitter, a red shaded eyeliner and a gloss with glitter.

-Now the final touch-

Cinna placed on my head a beautiful diadem with fiery red rubies.

When I can finally look at myself in the mirror I am left speechless.

"I'm beautiful"

The leather clothes bring out every curve of my body, the makeup makes my eyes appear a deeper blue, and the crown highlights the black of my hair. Without even thinking about it I hug Cinna, thanks to him I will be able to get some sponsors and my chances of winning will increase.

-Thank you Cinna, you are saving me-

When I see Alexander I notice that he is dressed similarly to me, but his crown is black.

Our stylists help us get on the bandwagon and wish us good luck.

Around us, there are the other tributes on their chariots: the tributes of district two wear armor that leaves little to the imagination, the tributes of district seven wear clothes made of leaves, the tributes of district nine wear a dress made of a fabric that resembles corn ears...

One by one the floats begin to advance and the crowd begins to applaud. Our wagon starts to move, I turn to look at Cinna and he motions for me to hold my head high and smile.

When spectators see us they shout our names and throw roses at us; I grab one and after kissing it I throw it back to the crowd and everyone tries to catch it.

"They're fighting about me! They care about that rose because I kissed it."

Continue to blow kisses to the crowd and smile until the parade ends and we are taken back to the preparation center.

Our stylists come to meet us, hug us and congratulate us.

Shortly afterwards Effie and Haymitch arrive and after congratulating us they accompany us to the elevators. Above us is the training center and above it are the living quarters of the tributes and their staff. Each district corresponds to a floor, ours is the twelve.

[zommieblr]

Little things I've done as a witch who's still in school!

♡ Putting sigils EVERYWHERE. And by everywhere, I mean in my books and notebooks, inside of pens, and hidden in my calculator. I've found that using sigils helps me with my studies.

♡ Lighting a white candle and burning some incense before stressful events (exams, competitions, etc.) to calm me down and help with focus.

♡ Wearing enchanted jewellery to help with how people view me and also to help with my confidence!

♡ Since I can't wear polish on my finger nails, I put nail polish on my toes with colours that correspond with my intention!

♡ Attaching a protective charm on my bag!

♡ A 3-5 minute meditation either before leaving or after coming home from school.

[astarab1aze]

REPOST — DON’T REBLOG. BOLD any which apply to your muse ! feel free to add to the list !

WHAT ARE YOUR MUSE’S AESTHETICS ?

COLORS — red. brown. orange. yellow. green. blue. purple. pink. black. white. teal. silver. gold. grey. lilac. metallic. matte. royal blue. strawberry red. charcoal grey. forest green. apple red. violet. navy blue. crimson. cream. mint green. bubblegum pink. sky blue. pale jade. coral.

ELEMENTS — fire. ice. water. air. earth. rain. snow. wind. moon. stars. sun. heat. cold. steam. frost. lightning. sunlight. moonlight. dawn. dusk. twilight. midnight. sunrise. sunset. dewdrops. shadows. blood. animus. divinity.

WEAPONS — fists. legs. shortsword. longsword. broadswoard. buster sword. dagger. spear. bow & arrow. crossbow. pike. hammer. twinblade. shield. poison. blowgun. bolas. guns. bats. traps. axes. throwing axes. whips. knives. throwing knives. pepper sprays. acid. explosives. tasers. machine guns. slingshots. katana. maces. staffs. wands. powers. magical items. magic. rocks. mud balls. claws. teeth. stealth. strategy. summoning an ally. sniping. rifles. shotguns. improvised weapons.

MATERIALS — gold. silver. copper. platinum. titanium. rose gold. diamonds. pearls. rubies. sapphires. emeralds. amethyst. ivory. metal. iron. rust. steel. glass. wood. porcelain. paper. wool. fur. feathers. lace. leather. silk. velvet. denim. linen. cotton. charcoal. clay. stone. asphalt. brick. marble. dust. glitter. blood. dirt. mud. smoke. ash. shadow. carbonate. rubber. synthetics. ribbon. ink.

NATURE — grass. leaves. trees. bark. roses. daisies. sunflowers. tulips. lavender. wisteria. petals. cherry blossom. seeds. hay. sand. rocks. roots. flowers. fungi. ocean. river. frozen lake. meadow. valley. forest. desert. tundra. savanna. rain forest. crystal caves. underwater. beach. waves. space. clouds. mountains. snow. mist. pond. sky.

ANIMALS — lions. wolves. foxes. eagles. owls. falcons. hawks. swans. dodo. snakes. turtles. ducks. bugs. spiders. birds. whales. dolphins. fish. sharks. horses. cats. dogs. rabbits. penguins. praying mantises. crows. ravens. mice. lizards. werewolves. scorpions. unicorns. pegasus. dragons. ladybugs. scarabs. hummingbirds. cicadas.

FOODS &. DRINKS — sugar. salt. candy. bubblegum. wine. champagne. hard liquor. vodka. beer. coffee. sake. tea. spices. herbs. apple. orange. lemon. cherry. strawberry. blackberries. watermelon. vegetables. fruits. meat. fish. pies. desserts. chocolate. cream. caramel. berries. nuts. cinnamon. burgers. burritos. pizza. ambrosia. eggs. milk. stew. whiskey.

HOBBIES — music. art. watercolors. gardening. smithing. sculpting. painting. sketching. fighting. writing. composing. cooking. baking. sewing. training. dancing. acting. singing. martial arts. self-defense. war tactics. electronics. technology. cameras. video cameras. video games. computer. phone. movies. theater. libraries. books. magazines. cds. records. vinyls. cassettes. piano. accordion. strings. violin. guitar. electronic guitar. bass guitar. harmonica. harp. woodwinds. brass. flute. bells. exploring. tea ceremonies. playing cards. poker chips. chess. dice. skateboarding. motorcycle riding. car driving. eating. sleeping. climbing. running. jogging. parkour. soccer. studying. people watching. shopping. alchemy. collecting.

MISCELLANEOUS — balloons. bubbles. cityscape. light. dark. clear. candles. mystery. growth. decay. war. peace. money. power. law. percussion. justice. clocks. ballpoint pens. photos. mirrors. lighters. pets. diary. journal. fairy lights. truth. deception. madness. sanity. death. sadness. wisdom. realism. happiness. optimism. pessimism. logic. loneliness. family. friends. clan. assistants. co-workers. enemies. loyalty. smoking. poison. drugs. kindness. love. hugs. kisses. spring. summer. autumn. winter. farmland. countryside. suburban. village. metropolitan. hospitals.

[ladybirdswritings]

BEHIND CLOSED DOORS, FIC — rhysand x reader.

DESCRIPTION: an anonymous journalist exposes the dark secrets of prythian’s elite, but when rhysand, the sharp and relentless owner of the night court gentleman’s club, uncovers her identity, she’s thrust into a dangerous game of blackmail, power, and unexpected attraction. NOTES - i HAD to do an ACOTAR fic. this is a modernish au with the brother’s best friend & enemies to lovers tropes. rhys is a rich playboy, reader hates him. steaminess ensues. leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | next part

one;

“I’m going to tear that wretched bitch limb from limb the moment I find them.”

You flinched as glass slammed against the counter, the sharp sound reverberating through the otherwise quiet house.

Rhysand was never subtle. Even in stillness, he commanded a room like a shadow cursed to expand—endless, suffocating, all-consuming. Tonight, he was a storm unrestrained.

He didn’t look at you. He never did. Then again, no one else did either, not with you tucked behind a fortress of old books. Romances, plenty to keep you sated. Tonight, you sat at the table, half-buried in their pages, your too-large glasses slipping down the bridge of your pointy nose.

And there he was—draped in black silk and leather, his movements precise despite the whiskey in his hand. The veins in his forearm protruded most inhumanly as he gripped his glass, his jaw taut with sparsely-contained frustration. Lucien, ever the diplomat, poured him another drink with the practiced ease of someone who’d been smoothing over Rhysand’s outbursts for years. He had.

“The fine people of Prythian won’t care about whatever drivel this so-called author is printing,” Lucien said smoothly. “The Night Court has been thriving, Rhys. No need to let petty gossip get under your skin.”

Gossip.

You winced at the dismissal, your knuckles tightening around the spine of your book. It wasn’t just gossip. It was your work. Your words. The invisible sister of Lucien Vanserra had finally found her voice—albeit from the shadows. If no one would listen to your words spoken aloud, they’d damn well read them. At first, it had been an act of silent rebellion, a catharsis as much as a challenge.

It wasn’t supposed to go this far.

Behind closed doors had spread like wisteria vines through Prythian’s small town and beyond, and the Night Court’s elite. And while they laughed and whispered about the scandalous columns over their evening drinks, you watched from afar, quietly vindicated. No one could suspect the shy, unassuming adoptive sister of Lucien—odd, foreign, and entirely overlooked. It was empowering. It was ironic.

And it was dangerous.

“Trashy gossip?” Rhysand echoed, his voice low and cutting, dragging your thoughts back to the present. He smoothed a sheet of parchment across the counter, your latest piece, the inked words practically searing into his violet eyes. “Do you think the author would call it merely gossip? Or perhaps truth, Lucien?”

He read aloud, mockery dripping from his tone. “‘The pretty ladies of the Night Court have found their respect elsewhere. Swaying hips grow tired of catering to the insatiable demands of Prythian’s elite, their so-called leader no better than the braying beasts who frequent his clubs.’”

Your heart hammered as his voice sliced through the air, cold and unrelenting. Hatred dripped like serpent’s venom from his pearled teeth. Rhys crumpled the paper in one hand and let it fall to the floor, his lips curling into a humorless smile.

“Poetic, isn’t it?” he sneered, downing the last of his whiskey. “Two of my finest dancers fled last month, and suddenly, every fool with a pen thinks they’re the arbiter of truth. Do you think they imagine themselves clever?”

Lucien frowned, pouring himself a drink now. “You’re letting this rubbish get under your skin. I doubt anyone takes it so severely.”

“Oh, they do take it severely,” Rhys said darkly, quickly— running a hand through his perfected raven locks. “Whoever’s writing this isn’t just clever. They’re precise. Calculated. This isn’t some scorned drunkard’s ramblings; it’s surgical. And you—” he jabbed a finger in Lucien’s direction, “—you’re telling me to laugh it off while my name and my life’s work is dragged through filth?”

You sank deeper into your chair, praying they wouldn’t notice you. A silly worry seeing as most times, they never did.

“Whoever wrote this, I imagine they know you well,” Lucien said, his tone light but edged with something sharper. “You think it’s a man?”

Rhys scoffed. “Of course, it’s a man. No woman is that cunning.”

A sour taste filled your mouth, and you finally dared to glance up. His words, so casually spoken, ignited something in your chest. He was dismissing you. Because what, you didn’t hone the same parts as he did? Annoyance surged your posture straighter and your palms to fists. Before you could stop yourself, you muttered under your breath, “I think whoever wrote it doesn’t like you very much, Rhysand.”

The room stilled.

Lucien choked on his drink, half-shocked, half-amused. Rhysand, however, turned slowly, his violet gaze locking onto you with the weight of a predator assessing prey. Bat to bleeding, weak little bug. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow to the space between the two of you. You only dared a blink when his lips curved into a slow, mocking smile.

“And what would you know of such things?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft. “You hardly seem the literary type.” His sarcasm was a direct mockery of what he’d called “rubbish” on more than one occasion. Your romance novels.

“Works of the devil, himself. Keep reading that rubbish and it will keep you lonesome forever.” He’d said once, one of the only times he’d spared you any words.

Heat flared in your cheeks, but you held his gaze, refusing to shrink beneath it. “Maybe not,” you said, barely above a whisper, “but I know truth when I read it.”

Rhys tilted his head, the smile slipping from his face. His stare lingered, uncomfortably long, as though he were trying to peel back your skin and see what lay beneath. You squirmed in your seat.

Lucien stepped in before the tension could thicken further. “Careful, Rhys. She’s sharper than she looks.” He gave you a fond glance, but his words carried an undertone of warning. Behave.

“Sharper?” Rhys echoed, turning back to his drink. “Hardly. Your sister is as meek as they come.”

You gritted your teeth, your nails digging into the dilapidated cover of your book. Without another word, you stood abruptly, the legs of your chair scraping against the floor. You gathered your things with deliberate slowness, each movement a silent protest, before stomping toward the stairs.

Behind you, Lucien sighed. “She won’t appreciate your company if you spend the night.”

Rhys’s laugh was low and awfully amused. “Even more reason to stay, then.” There was a gleam in his wicked eyes.

You clenched your jaw, willing yourself not to turn back. But as you ascended the stairs, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Rhysand’s violet eyes lingered on you far longer than they should have.

“She doesn’t like you,” Lucien said once you were out of earshot.

Rhys was silent for a strained moment before he finally spoke, his tone almost… thoughtful. “No,” he murmured, more to himself than his old friend. “She doesn’t.”

The realization hung in the air, heavy and inevitable. And somewhere, deep in the pit of your stomach, you felt the first flicker of unease. Why had he assessed you, spared you a glance for a moment longer than necessary? It was unlike him. It was for a reason. It had to be.

Though you tried to convince yourself that your mind was only making shadows from things that were not in the light yet— you just couldn’t shake the feeling…

Your secret was no longer safe.

[teprivando]

❛ Com esse baile, já se somam oito dias de atraso para a assinatura dos contratos. Levando em conta a idade, eu esperava mais preparo dos Thorn.❜ O comentário, apesar de ácido, dizia muito sobre a forma como Ivan enxergava sua estadia em Wisteria: um contrato. Não esperava encontrar o amor da sua vida, e potencialmente sequer acreditava nisso. Do lado de fora do salão, tendo escapado de toda a pompa por um instante, ele desfrutava de um copo de whiskey e um cigarro, soprando a fumaça de tabaco para a brisa noturna, quando notou a presença de alguém atrás de si. ❛ Posso ajudá-l@ ? ❜

[fereldanwench]

14 and 19 for the couple ask please !

Happy to oblige! 💙💙💙

14. What little things remind them of each other?

Little things that remind Goro of Valerie: The smell of freshly brewed coffee, NiCola cans, wisteria flowers, cats, prescription pill bottles, that shade of blue (really bad the first few months she's in Mikoshi, he sees it everywhere 😭)

Little things that remind Valerie of Goro: Jazz music, the city at night, any smokey, woodsy, musky scent, dress shirts, pachinko parlors, whiskey

19. What values do they not share? How do they reconcile those differences?

One of the big ones is that Valerie actually has a much more cynical worldview than Goro does. She doesn't really believe big, systemic change is possible, through "benevolent" corporations or otherwise, and she's under no illusions that the work she does for Arasaka is in anyway good for the masses. She does it because she needs to take care of herself and her loved ones, and that's enough justification for her.

And there's also a bit of a cultural difference here: Valerie grew up in a hyper-individualistic society whereas Goro comes from a collectivist culture. Valerie doesn't really do things for "the greater good," and she's not afraid to rock the boat if she's, for instance, ordered to do something that goes against her personal values or judgement. Goro is much more likely to keep up pretenses and keep his mouth shut if he disagrees with an authority figure.

I think they're able to reconcile these differences because they ultimately respect one another and trust that their intentions are still rooted in a sense of morality that is mostly aligned. They both have good hearts and are doing the best they can, and they see that in one another even if they disagree with some of the details.

Plus, sometimes the differences are even a source of admiration: Goro finds Valerie's boldness and self-assuredness endearing, and she finds his idealism and sense of duty inspiring.

[couple questions]

[indyflanery]

blue aesthetics

Repost, don't reblog

Prussian Blue: smoky parlours, wind in pines, silver chains on black satin, leather-bound books worn down with age, the smell of cedar and whiskey on the tongue, quiet sweep of silk on skin, cellos humming in an empty room, snow falling in the dark.

Ultramarine: a grand terrace at dusk, bare feet on marble, scent of gardenias lingering on skin, bright-eyed girls laughing in a dance hall, dark murmur of distant seas and skeins of light that quiver on water, slow moan of lovers whispering in the olive groves.

Cerulean: hot skin, white sand, seas burning beneath a midday sun, sloe-eyed musicians sipping coffee by the fountain, the thrum of bodies in a market square, scent of rosemary and wild thyme, slow drip of acacia honey from the comb, dark braids decorated with cowrie shells.

Indigo: ink black velvet, distant thunder, the half-remembered bars of a nocturne echoing in memory, stopped clocks and silent manors, wisteria blossoms in moonlight, the soundless running of fingers through your lover’s hair in the dark, the dying scent of damask roses.

Turquoise: surf on the sea, misty mornings, bronzed backs of clam divers wading among the rocks, the click-clack of beaded curtains in a shop door, delicate tendrils of anemone and the iridiscent shimmer of mussel shells, sunlight glimmering in rock pools, children laughing.

[depressedspacedoctor]

TEN QUESTIONS | Osanne Yates

So I promised character sheets, and this is the first one you’re getting. Captain of the Whale Shark, the hard-drinking, no-nonsense Osanne Yates! 

I’m using a series of questions from @wisteria-lodge to help define character, in part because it’s short but also because they’re designed to help me think about who this character is underneath, as well as how they present themselves. It’s really useful, in just ten questions I felt a lot more solid on who Osanne was and it’s given me some ideas for plot points I can use later in the story. Anyway, you can find the questions here; now let’s move onto the answers:

What is her go-to drink order?

Whiskey, neat. It doesn’t have to be good. Actually, she usually demands “rotgut” and gets given some kind of local moonshine, or a very cheap whiskey – she wants whatever will get her drunk quickly.

What is her grooming routine?

Quick shower, comb her hair out – as little as possible to look half-decent. She’s utilitarian in her self-care, and it shows: anything to keep her on the level. So she’s not exactly looking after herself properly, and her grooming routine is bare-minimum to reflect that.

What was her most expensive purchase? Where does her disposable income go?

I think Osanne’s most expensive purchase was her sword – it’s the first one she’s owned, and she makes sure to keep it sharp. Her gun was a standard service revolver which frequently jams, it’s cheap and does the job… mostly. Her captain’s jacket looks expensive, but it’s a hand-me-down from her father, and the rest of her equipment is a loan from her job, which a portion of her paycheck goes to paying back.

Most of her disposable income goes on drinks. The rest she saves – she’s saving up for a ship of her own.

Does she have any scars or tattoos?

She’s got a couple of scars from bullet wounds. One through her leg that might’ve been fatal, but Desiderio was there to get her to safety; and two through her right shoulder, the result of a disagreement with a client who didn’t want to pay. He got away, and Osanne made a note to shoot him first next time they met.

She has a few tattoos, too. They’re a rite of passage for a new crewmember – they’ve got to get  tattoo on their first trip out. Osanne got a sextant on her left shoulder for her first – it took a few hours but it still looks great, a testament to the artist her father picked out. She spent a few years trying out various places, getting a tattoo after each job – mainly small ones, especially after the first big one she tried didn’t go so well, she never used that artist again – but the amusement quickly wore thin as the job wore on her. She’s got about half a dozen tattoos, mostly small ones up her right arm, but the sextant is the only one she doesn’t regret getting.

When was the last time she cried, and under what circumstances?

It’s been a while. She’s a bit emotionally dead right now. At the beginning of the story, the death of her father hits her, but before that it’s been months, if not over a year. She keeps it all bottled up until she physically can’t, and it’s causing her a lot of problems.

Is she the oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

She’s an only child. Her father doted on her in the beginning, but they became estranged as he continued to take on military deliveries for Red Moon. She took a stand against it, along with a lot of Red Moon pilots, and it was only her father’s intervention that stopped her getting fired along with the rest. So she’s seen as a traitor by the remaining pilots, and a scab by those who were let go - she lost a lot of friends through her actions.

Describe the shoes Osanne is wearing.

Osanne wears worn, scratched-up leather boots with a low heel. They’re designed to be practical whilst also doubling as dress shoes, so she only needs one pair, but it shows in that she has roughed them up through lots of work. The heel is worn down from so much use, she’d feel awkward tottering along on new ones.

Describe the place where she sleeps.

Osanne’s job keeps her from sleeping in her own bed, but make no mistake: her Vega 4 apartment is a mess. Her bed’s never made, her nightstand is covered in tissues, beer bottles, mugs, glasses, and the only clean place is her living room because she never uses it because she’s never home. Even when she’s on-planet she tends to sleep at Desi’s place – it’s smaller, but he lives closer to the shipyard. And the bars.

When she’s on a job she keeps a berth on the ship, same as the rest of the crew. Not that she uses it – most of her sleeping takes place in the captain’s seat in the cockpit, because she can never leave it to anyone else.

What is her favourite holiday?

She’s not a fan of Worker Appreciation Day, because it doesn’t come with a day off for her. But then, few holidays do – she’s in the space lanes most of the time, so she rarely gets to celebrate. She likes the little local holidays that are happening sometimes when they land – especially if they come with free beer. She likes to look around during shore leave and find the parties.

On Vega 4, the closest to a decent holiday is Foundation Day, the day FerroCapita was founded – every year the city doesn’t plunge into a gravity well and get crushed amid the fathomless depths of the gas giant is a good year. It’s also an excuse for everyone to drink and party, because you never know if you’ll survive another year.

What objects does she always carry around with her?

She always has her sword at her hip. In addition, her pockets are full of reams of trash: lint, old lighters, half-finished packets of cigarettes (she’s really trying to give up smoking, she has enough bad habits), bouncer coordinates (to communicate with other ships at vast distances), and at least one packet of tissues. In addition, she always carries around the keys for whichever ship she’s currently flying, they’re kept as close as possible.

--

So that’s Osanne! Can you spot some of the threads I want to pull on? I’m excited to write some scenes for this, I might have to get started soon - but first, Desiderio is getting the Ten Questions treatment later in the week.

In the meantime, let me know if you’ve got a character sheet you swear by! Hope you enjoy this, look forward to more soon!