#wistful moodboard

[g-prs]

⎈ ⎈ ⎈

[maudlin-scribbler]

Brue Halley Utterson - The Wistful Storyteller

Look at me posting about ny fallen ocs. I tried making a moodboard for the first time in my life on Canvas and I think its decent so why not

[incubusnero]

Moodboard + 1/?

[coffeecatsandcoldnights]

There are so many things unsaid between you and I, perhaps, it's simply understood? It's a terrifying thought and yet it makes me incredibly brave for until you, I was never bare, soul and body. Every wound you might inflict, now seems worth it.

[kickassclefable]

[musicallisto]

or or or!!!!! consider i've been struck with genius and would like to posit an oscar piastri and roommates au.

· · · · ♡ roommate!oscar piastri...

"your roommate's never around," your best friend remarks as she cozies up in front of the laptop on your bed. "what does he even do all day?"

he flies out the country on a random wednesday night, each destination more exotic than the last—"what do you mean you're going to bahreïn? who even goes to bahreïn on a weekday?". he comes back with trinkets, magnets he sticks on the fridge, and horrible horrible tacky shirts from tourist trap shops just to make you snort. he turns every little thing into a competition; who can most effectively arrange the dough on the oven tray to bake the most cookies in one batch... he smiles when you knock on his door to give him back his hoodie—somehow it got lost in your laundry basket, this oversized gray hoodie sporting mclaren on the chest—and he says, "it's okay, keep it. i'll just ask for another one." he talks about australia with a wistful smile, but cackles in delight when you find yet another jar of vegemite hiding in a cupboard. he shrugs when you ask him why he hasn't moved out already, since he clearly has the funds to do so."i quite like living with you, actually."

"he drives," is all you reply.

send me a driver + a concept and i'll give you a moodboard + drabble !

[604to647]

Gouda Girl

1.3K / Modern AU Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: On a lazy Sunday afternoon, Din learns a few things about the Netherlands, and you learn a little something too.

Warnings: None - fluff! Bad puns! Established relationship, nicknames (pretty bird, pretty girl, baby).

A/N: This is for @happypedrohours' Charcuterie Board Challenge – I chose 1A and got Din and Gouda!  I legitimately tried to play around with ways that 'Grogu' could be mispronounced as 'Gouda' before settling on a kind of cheat and writing the story in the Safest with You universe with Modern!Din 🫣  (You don't have to read SwY - just know it's a modern au! If you do read SwY - here's a little fluff before we embark on some angst in the series 🫣) If there are any Dutch people reading this, I love you please don't be offended if I got anything wrong, and shout out to Mr. 604 who did in fact go to school in Rotterdam! Please see #happypedrohours for all the other wonderful works!

Orange divider by @saradika-graphics; all moodboard pics are from Pinterest, but I suspect the top and bottom Pedros are from the same source/edit. I’m sorry I didn’t have more info to go on but if you recognize your work, pls let me know so I can credit you properly 🥰

“Hey pretty bird, do you know it’s not actually pronounced ‘Goo-dah’?

“Yup.  It’s pronounced ‘How-duh’.”  You add a little roughness from the back of your throat over the H.

“How did you know that?” The truth is, Din is hardly ever surprised by the things you know – you’re generally a fountain of information; what he can't usually guess is how you come to know the things you know.

“The Dutch pronounce their hard Gs with an H-like sound.”

The two of you have very tentatively been talking about taking a trip to Europe, and a lazy Sunday with no definitive plans but to stay in seems as good a time as any to do some casual trip research.  You’re on opposite ends of your couch, you lazing on one end, one knee propped up against which you balance your sudoku book - twirling your pencil as you study the numbers in the grids.  Din’s extended his long legs on the L-shape end of the sectional, with his laptop open on his lap.  Alfredo the dog stretches out in between the two of you, his furry snoot and one of his paws curling over your calf.  Din was just reading an article entitled “10 Things You Didn’t Know About The Netherlands,” but apparently the proper pronunciation of Gouda, the Netherland’s most popular cheese, was something you knew.  Hmmm, he realizes that you didn’t exactly answer his question. 

“Do you… speak Dutch?”

“Ik doe niet. (I do not)” you grin playfully, still not looking up from your puzzle.  You don’t actually speak Dutch, but like a lot of other languages, you know a random phrase or two.

Din scrolls slowly through the listicle and picks a few that he thinks are the harder ones:

“Do you know what the iconic windmills are used for?”

“To pump water from the land.  A quarter of the Netherlands is below sea level.”

“Why is the national Dutch colour orange?”

“The Dutch royal family is from the House of Orange.”

Din smiles - looks like his smart, pretty bird knows all of these.  He’s now super curious just how familiar you are with Holland, and he knows the exact question to ask to get some additional insight. Pulling up a new web search, he asks, “What would you say are some common Dutch foods?”

“Stroopwafels, bitterballen… and kapsalon?” You look wistful at the memory of these dishes, clearly having actually tried them.

Clickity click click tap tap tap.  After a few seconds, Din’s eyes widen at his screen, “Oh wow, that does look delicious.”

Ok, this is fun, thinks Din – he’s not trying to stump you, he’s happy learning new things about this country and you.  And even though you haven’t actually looked up, he can tell by the way the corners of your mouth are curving and the shine of your eyes, though they remain focused on your puzzle, that you’re having fun too.

Click clack clickedy clack.  Din’s quiet for a few minutes while he reads.  Apparently not satisfied, he enters another search and reads through the new results before throwing out, “Do you know what they call peanut butter in the Netherlands?”

“Pindakaas,” you grin, “it translates to Peanut Cheese.”

“Do you know why?”

You do, “They can’t call it Pindaboter because only things that are actually butter can be called butter.”

Din scrolls, thoughtfully, “Do you know that the Dutch are the tallest people on Earth?”

“I think it has something to do with all the dairy in their diet? The Netherlands has the 3rd highest per capita milk consumption in the world.”  The truth is your knowledge of random Dutch facts is super limited, but by some hilarious coincidence Din is asking you the exact few things you know.  You can’t help but continue to tease him – he’s looking at you with a mixture of wonder and suspicion.

“Did you used to date a Dutch hockey player or something?”

“Don’t be silly, everyone knows that the Dutch winter sport of choice is speed skating.”

Again, it didn’t actually answer his question; Din’s sure that by now you’re just playing around, but he can’t help but picture you with some impossibly tall blonde with thick tree trunk thighs named Jan or Piet or whatever.  Involuntarily, he makes a face as he looks back down at his laptop, typing stoically.

You giggle - you’re out of facts and you want to give you big, pouting boyfriend a hug.  You and Din don’t have any secrets about your respective past relationships, and moreover, Din isn’t prone to jealousy or insecurity, but you feel the strong urge to reassure him nonetheless.  Putting your sudoku down, you hold out your arms, “Come here, baby.”

Din closes his laptop and wedges it against the back cushions before crawling over to your side of the couch; careful not to disturb Al, he comes to a rest between your legs, laying his head against your chest as you run your fingers through his soft curls, lightly scratching your nails against his scalp, “My firm sponsors an MBA program at Erasmus in Rotterdam, and I visited one year with my boss to give a talk.”

“Oh cool,” Din mumbles against your chest, “did you have fun?”

“I did!  We were given a lot of tours and did a few orientations with the students – that’s where I picked up a few Dutch facts and a little bit of nederlands.  It’s really such a lovely place - we should go together, Din.”

“We should, pretty girl,” and after a pause, “so, no 6’8” blonde speed skating paramours?”

“No, baby, I find that these days I only have a thing for brown haired boxers,” your eyes full of love when they meet the soft brown pair that peer up at you.  Then suddenly, those same eyes crinkle in mischief,

“What you’re saying is you’re my gouda girl?”

It takes you a beat before you get the good girl pun and you groan, but Din’s not done yet,

“And that I’m the only one who gets to stroop your waffle?”

You roll your eyes hard and attempt to push Din off, “Omigod, stahhhp.” You giggle as he settles more of his weight on you.

“Hang on, I almost had a good one for ‘bitterballen’ – it was right there.  Boter give me a minute.”

You shriek in laughter as Din lifts up and peppers your neck and face with a flurry of butterfly kisses before he gets off the couch.  Once he’s rounded to the other side, he leans over the back and peers down at you, still with a shit-eating grin on his face, “I’m going to get dinner started.  You gouda with that, pretty bird?”

Din narrowly dodges the swat of your book before chuckling all the way to the kitchen.  He’s ducked into the fridge, pulling out ingredients when you remember something, “Oh!  Can we do something new with the potatoes tonight?  I saw this recipe that I think you might like – and we can use up that dill we have.”

You phone is just out of reach on the coffee table and Al’s snoozing head has your lower half pinned down; you reach over by your feet to grab Din’s laptop so you can find the recipe you were looking at earlier.

Opening up the search engine, you click into the search bar and snicker at all the most recent searches:

Netherlands hockey team

hard little known facts about the Netherlands

Random facts about the Netherlands

How to spell capsulon Dutch food

common dutch foods

travelling to the Netherlands

2 week trip Europe best places to go

But when you get to the oldest recent search, you let out a little gasp that you hope Din doesn’t hear from the kitchen and your eyes widen to the size of saucers:

romantic European proposals

[dulcewrites]

White Christmas

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x wife!reader (a spy/The Americans au)

Summary: Bob has never been one to reminisce - his job keeps him ever-moving forward. But the holidays calls for reflection. (Wc: 1k +)

Warning: this came out more angsty than I thought :/

A/N: First, just want to say Happy Holidays and or Merry Christmas to those that celebrate. I wanted to get this out a bit earlier but life was life-ing lmao. This is my submission for @lewmagoo’s a lew magoo Christmas. I can’t wait to go back and read/interact everyone’s submissions. This is based off the song by Bing Crosby. This was not the original idea I had; this is much more melancholy but I think it came out well. I could not decide if I wanted to do a fic or moodboard so I kind of put them together. Please like, reblog, and or comment if you read something you enjoy ❤️❄️

Masterlist

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas

With every Christmas card I write

May your days be merry and bright

And may all your Christmases be white

Bob has been able to mark his life through events. Not exactly just with time or his age. Instead through a series of actions and domino effects that have set his life up to where it is now. He does not remember being 10, he just remembers the little house he was taken from. He doesn’t remember being 16, just the cold, smooth metal of his first revolver. His 26th birthday, with the real day he was born, was uneventful and terribly dull.

… that was until he got the envelope.

A face. A name. A never-ending mission. A wife to be.

27 was marked by a quick wedding. 28 was cemented by a crying baby girl and the sickly-sweet smell of baby wipes he grew to love. By 30, he saw his first gray hair and one little girl turned into two. Now he wonders what he can hang 37 on. He doesn't want it to be the bodies that have been left behind or 'daddy's business trips' as Georgia says.

Bob wants more. For once he wants something different. Something softer.

An idealist with the bloody ledger of a cynic, you call him. It is always with a smile but the biting edge that your voice can have never fully leaves. Bob thinks you resent that about him while likes to believe that it is a good thing - the little tug in the bottom of his stomach that he gets. Bob does his job, and he has done it valiantly for. Some days he may say he even loves what he does. But with his love comes a soft layer of sadness. It comes with wondering if there could be more outside of kills and mission and the bullshit, he would not have chosen for himself as a child. When things were syrupy in the way everything is when you're a kid.

The wistfulness grows stronger as the weather changes, and a dusty of white magic settles over the ground. The first winter snow he can remember in a long time.

The cabin idea comes with apprehension from you. Christmas was a holiday the two of you grinned and bared for the sake of the girls, but Bob found the words slipping out of his mouth. His fingers already inched looking into places - a little blue house in the snow. He knows that face well. Brows drawn tight and mouth pursed in thought.

“Emmie mentioned wanting to go camping.”

It was a bit unfair to mention your youngest daughter, Emerson. The frown lines on your face softened a bit, followed by a resigned sigh. There was little that made you like that - malleable. He knows you would never say it out loud but only the girls could do that.

I’ll have to talk with Maverick about it. He may need us.

Then it was his turn to frown. The growing dissolution bubbled under, and it all started with Pete Mitchell. But how does one turn his back on the only real family he has known. Bob cannot say he knows Regina and Don, - the people he should think to be parents; instead, thinks he was made in Mav’s image. Just like every other agent that has come through Top Gun. Your loyalty to Mav in admirable as it is a thorn in Bob’s side.

He likes to say there is three in your relationship if he could even call it that.

But he takes what he can get from you. A knowing smile when Aria says something completely out of left field. A kiss where you don’t flinch away or tense up.

It all works together in the oxymoron that is his marriage with you. Husband and wife. Partners in crime. He loathes you as much as he couldn’t imagine doing this without you. He endlessly pines for a woman he has two children with.

Nothing has ever been easy for the two of you, and he supposes he would not have it any other way.

———

“I don’t know your real name.”

The general statement made you pause as your looked away from the fireplace in front of you. Bob was sitting on the bed, the green reindeer slippers the girls gave him matched his pullover. While him and girls seem to thrive in the cold, you hated it. You liked the uncomfortableness that came with humidity and heat. You were used to beads of sweat above the brow and clothes sticking to you back. Uneasiness was your default setting.

A snow-covered cabin is beautiful in theory, tortuous in practice.

“What,” you muttered, gaze going back to the fire. The flames danced against the brick surrounding it. The name thing was an issue he pressed. For reasons you still don’t get.

“I don’t know your real name,” he repeats. “And you don’t know mine. You don’t know anything about me before we…”

He trails off contemplatively. You shrug softly. “I think Robert suits you fine. Perfectly, even.”

There was a beat of silence. You wanted to tell him it was better this way. Life has been separated into two different parts: BB and AB. Before Bob and After Bob. It was no use focusing on what happened before then. You hope he drops the conversation, but Bob has never been one to let things go. A dog with a bone.

“Do you know why I suggested coming here?”

“You enjoy watching me freeze,” it was a joke but there is little mirth in the room.

“I grew up in a little blue cabin, sort of like this one -,”

“Bob”

“In a small town in Illinois.”

“Bob,” you hate him for this… or at least you want to hate him for this. Hate him for trying so damn hard.

“Every winter, I remember sheets of snow on ground and - and my ma-,”

“Robert,” your voice echoes a bit off the room. You fully turn to him, wishing to have bit of venom in your voice but it comes out broken. “What do you want from this? From me?”

“Why does it have to be something? Why can’t I just want you, all of you?”

Penny warned you about this. She’s taught you everything you know. And for better or worse, it has led you done a straight and narrow path.

Even in our business, people grow… attached. It will be up to you to either let them in or close it before it gets to be too much.

You wouldn’t call yourself frigid, but you are sure others would. It never bothered you really. Not as you grew older. There was a weakness in others that you simply did not have. The coldness was an easy barrier that deterred most, if not everyone you came across.

“You have me,” your fingernail scrapes across the wool blanket wrapped around you. “I am right here, aren’t I?”

Cobalt eyes mute with sadness.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

You grow more exasperated. “And you think me telling you about my past life will do that?”

“No, but I think you being honest would. Honest about how you feel about me, about the girls, would.”

Does he want you to write on a piece of paper if he loves you and make him check yes or no like you’re in the fifth grade. There was something so innocent about the look he gave you. The stunted nature of how the two of you work around each other may be less of your faults and more of the world that failed the both of you. You look at Bob now and he doesn’t seem like the man you have seen dodging bullets or choking out men twice his size. He seems so utterly human. And despite yourself, all you can think about is how much Maverick would hate it. The spurred want others to think the same.

You do love the girls, frankly more that you would like to admit. Two little knives to which people can twist. And Robert…

People get hurt, killed, when feelings are involved.

let them in or close it.

“I am tired,” you mutter. “I really don’t feel like rehashing the past. Certainly not with you.”

It is the end of the discussion, and you try not to flinch when the door closes behind him. The silence had become a gentle friend of yours. A safe companion to embrace. You wait for him to come back, thinking he must be letting off some steam outside in the cold. But 30 minutes turns into an hour and you start to think he may have crashed in one of the other rooms in the cabin.

After numbingly sitting at the fireplace, the only thing you can think to do is get ready for bed. You crave a bottle of wine but agreed to a painfully dry Christmas.

Your fingers don’t go towards the drawers where you unpacked the plethora of long Johns and sweaters you brought; they go to Bob’s instead. You know he’d probably laugh at you if he could see it, and you’d deserve it. Can’t even admit your feelings but want to sleep in one his shirts. While digging for an old Led Zeppelin shirt. Your digging is thwarted when your hand grazes across a chest inside the drawer. Biting your lip, you look towards the door. Bad things come in threes. He’s already upset you; you’re digging in his stuff… might at well get your third strike.

A familiar sinking feeling muddled in your stomach as you lift the chest to see tinier ring box in it, along with a mini snow globe. You both promised no presents this year for Christmas, but of course he wouldn’t stick to that. Your gaze goes to the simple ring on your left hand. It wasn’t something either of you picked out. It was left in the envelope you received.

“You should be happy you even get one off the bat,” Natasha sighed. “Jake gave me a ring pop as joke before Mav stepped in.”

You don’t have it in you to open the ring box, a bile stuck in your throat. But you do pick up the mini snow globe. It is like nothing you have seen before; it looks homemade. Inside a little blue cabin with sparkles dusted around it. On the bottom, tiny writing painted on. Chicken scratch that could only come from kids.

To the best wife and mommy in the world. May all your Christmases be merry and bright.

You set the snow globe back in the chest hastily, as if you have been burned.

God you’re fucked.

[tys-kitty]

Hi! I'm the anon that requested the Kierarktina moodboard and I absolutely love it! Could I please request Jem/Tessa/Will with "I loved you like the fall of Rome"?

(Also, I'm gonna sign these now so you know it's me, if that's alright?)

-☀️

„Will looked down at Jem, and what he felt, more than jealousy, more than anything else, was a wistful desire to commiserate with his best friend, to speak of the feelings he held in his heart. For were they not the same feelings? Did they not love the same way, the same person?“

I may present to you Herongraystairs

[hand-picked-star]

The 13th Annniversary Arshi Fiesta

Moodboard: Historical AU

Whispers of the Heart | Chapter 06

I am not very good at writing ffs. I even read ffs very selectively. But it was an attempt of me to participate in the 13th-anniversary arshi fiesta.

I might be wrong about certain aspects of that age and era, but it's a fantasy, so why not? I don't own Arnav and Khushi and the story is purely fictional and has no relation to any living or dead. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 6

The Rajputs had organized a puja for the betterment of their younger son's married life, one day before the wedding.

The Maliks were also present with the future bride. Aman and Anjali had known each other since childhood. When their friendship turned into love, they couldn't tell, but they were glad that it happened, and their elders had also blessed their union. Thinking about them, Khushi couldn't help but exhale a heavy sigh, wishing things would have turned out similarly for her too.

Her Amma's voice broke her distraction, "Titliya, ja sab ko bulake la. The puja is about to start and call Arnav too. Tell him I asked him to come downstairs and sit in the puja." knowing very well that Arnav wouldn't reject his Roma chachi.

Suvadra Malik snapped in response to the comment, "Why invite someone to a puja who doesn't believe in God? Main nahi chahti ke us nastik ke aulad ke bajayse yeh puja barbad ho jaye. I only want good things to come to my Anjali Bitiya's married life."

Khushi was about to protest when her amma caught her hand and quietened her with a shake of her head. When Khushi looked at Suvadra the next moment, she realized everybody was already there. The dark look that fell across Arnav's handsome features made her realize that his Nani's rebuke hadn't escaped him.

Arnav never cared much about religion, Seeing his mother on her knees, praying day and night for the betterment of his father, filled him with a mix of hope and desperation. Her whispered pleas, her tear-streaked face, and her unwavering faith became a haunting backdrop to his childhood. Yet, despite her devotion, his father betrayed her, shattering their family. That betrayal caused his mother to choose death over her children. The bitter irony of it all—the unanswered prayers, the blind faith met with infidelity—gnawed at him. He felt abandoned, not just by his parents but by the very idea of a benevolent higher power. In that crushing moment of disillusionment, he swore off religion, cursing the heavens that had turned a deaf ear to his mother’s relentless prayers.

But despite his disbelief in these "riti riwaj", he was determined to ensure his sister's wedding proceeded smoothly. He chose not to give his Nani any reason to cause a scene, prioritizing a seamless and joyful celebration for his sister.

Seeing no other vacant place, Arnav sat beside Khushi. As the puja concluded and the crowd dispersed, Khushi subtly shifted towards Arnav, her voice lowered to a whisper.

"I am sorry you have to hear that.''

''I won't have to tolerate her after tomorrow, now will I?'' he stated, rolling his eyes.

Khushi smiled at his somewhat optimistic yet sarcastic tone of voice. "For that, I am glad."

After sometimes she started again, "She is wrong you know" when she didn't elaborate, Arnav looked at her with questions in his eyes.

"You are not your father-" she stressed " You never will be"

"How do you know?"

She chuckled, "For a change, I know you better than her and - " she paused to gather herself.

''and I believe in you.''

She gazed at him as a soft, tender expression crossed his face, conveying a multitude of unspoken emotions. She yearned to convey to him the significance he held in her life. With wistful thoughts, she silently mused if only he could see himself through her eyes. She hoped for her unexpressed feelings to reach him, emanating from the depths of her heart.

She looked so pretty today, with a green-bordered yellow saree and a green bindi. Of course, Arnav noticed. She had flowers in her braid that day. Arnav's heart gave a twist as the reason drawn to him.

'Can you sit idly and watch while someone else takes her away?' the voice wondered.

'Shut up,' he said, closing his eyes momentarily. But he couldn't ignore the intoxicating aroma emanating from her. He realized it was partly her and partly the flowers, and decided that he liked her smell the most when it was purely hers, without mixing with anything else.

Buaji spent the entire morning urging her to get ready. She styled her hair and adorned it with flowers. Even though it was a simple piece, her Amma's gold necklace felt like a heavy burden around her neck. She didn't want to dress up for Mr. Ganguly. Every fiber of her being rebelled against the thought of establishing someone else's 'haq' over her. It felt like a part of her was being torn away. How could she make Buaji understand that she was no longer fit for anyone else in the world, no matter how many flowers she pinned in her hair? That He had ruined her for all other men.

One time when she was 14, a similar puja for the betterment of crops was ruined. That ceremony took place in a field slightly far from the village. All of them went there and Khushi was so excited to see all the jalebi and golgappa stalls. However, all the merriments were disrupted by a dacoit attack. People were panicking and running to and fro. When the dacoits attempted to grab Khushi and Manoroma, Akash Vai and Arnav intervened. This resulted in one of the dacoits hitting Arnav on the head, causing a lot of bleeding. Fortunately, the dacoit attack was brought under control by the timely arrival of the village people.

They rushed to the Rajput Haveli and a doctor was called. He examined Arnav's head and face and found out the source of the bleeding. It looked like except for the cut below his left eyebrow, his head and the rest of his face were unscratched. The doctor stitched the cut. The cut wasn't too deep, but he lost lots of blood as it was on the face and soon after developed a nasty infection. The whole household didn't sleep that night. Manoroma spent the night sitting beside him as he kept shivering due to a high fever. Khushi didn't know what to do but stared at him from the corner of the room. Buaji kept saying, it was difficult for him to survive the night. Khushi prayed to Devi Maiya repeatedly and even swore on her life to save him. When he opened his eyes the next day, she cried out of relief. Even though weak he asked her why she was crying.

"I don't want the dacoit to take you away too," she said. To this, he laughed meekly "Don't worry, Phati Sari, You aren't going to get rid of me anytime soon."

As Khushi was watching Arnav helping the workers set up the mandap, she silently wondered whether he would make such a promise to her if she asked again.

Arnav was always like that: always helping around the house. He assisted Babuji in the garden, did the grocery shopping, and took on big responsibilities in arranging every event. These were not his tasks, but he did them anyway. In doing so, he exuded a commanding and authoritative aura, as if everyone was supposed to bow to him and acknowledge the "laad governor" that he was. Khushi silently laughed at his demeanour. Laad Governor, Her Laad Governor. She mused fondly.

Arnav always demanded attention wherever he went, didn't he? She thought to herself, at least he had her full attention every single time. Whenever he walked into a room, the conversation stopped and a stunned silence filled the space. Only the 'dhak-dhak' of her heart remained. He made her feel exposed and safe at the same time.

She understood why he helped around the house so much. He wanted to show his gratitude for everything Babuji and Amma had done for him. It would be a shame as a best friend if she didn't understand that. And sometimes she wondered if this was the reason why he was not willing to consider them being together, or if he just couldn't see her as more than a friend. After all, falling in love with someone was not in one's hands. Maybe Arnav just couldn't love her as she loved him.

But one could never be certain about things like that, could they? Just like how wrong she was in her previous assessment of him not caring about whether she got married to another person or not. He clearly was affected; she just didn't know the extent of it or what to make of all this. For example, for the past half hour, he had been glaring at her and her companion, clenching his jaw, and grinding his teeth, making his jaw more prominent. Khushi couldn't help but speculate whether he was angry or jealous as she observed him closely. She didn't dare to hope for the latter reaction; she didn't want to build castles in the air.

With a heavy sigh, she shifted her focus to the man in front of her. Dhruv Ganguly was undeniably handsome; no one in a million years would deny that. Still, Khushi, sitting across from him, couldn't help but scrutinize him. Maybe Bua Ji was right; her 'sanak' had finally gotten to her head.

She couldn't help but notice how he had a round, clean-shaven face, unlike the angular one with stubble. He smiled too much, and his nose wasn't sharp enough. He didn't have a defined jawline, nor did he have piercing eyes that could hold her gaze and make her feel warm all over. His eyes didn't brighten with excitement when she spoke, or flash with rage when she contradicted him, or show amusement and curiosity when she spoke about her favourite book. His eyes didn't conceal any dark secrets either. Instead, he wore black-framed glasses and talked with a downcast gaze. He had a nervous tic of fixing his glasses with his index finger. And alas! His hands were all wrong too—too slender, too light-skinned, too soft-looking. Most importantly, this man couldn't raise his left eyebrow singly when he asked her something. Khushi chastised herself; she was nitpicking for the sake of nitpicking.

Dhruv Ganguly had no flaws. He was perfect: handsome, well-mannered, and well-educated, except for the absence of a scar right beneath his left eyebrow.

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@featheredclover @phuljari @arshifiesta @jalebi-weds-bluetooth @chutkiandchotte @arshiradio @titaliya

[palatteflags]

Whimsigoth based Genderfae moodboard!~! ^^ For @wiste c: Hope you like the look!

Want one? send an ask~~ -mod Jay

[g-prs]

𐦖𐦖𐦖

[tamlinweek]

Tamlin Week Master List: Day 2

Fanfiction

Future Plans (Gen Tamlin) by @shi-daisy

From the Heart (Tamlin/OC/Lucien/Elain) by @nocasdatsgay (AO3 link)

The Ghost Of The One That Got Away (Tamlin/Rhysand) by @achaotichuman (AO3 link)

An Unexpected Encounter (Tamlin/Rhysand) by @justatouristhere

Wildflowers: The Lost Chapters, Warrior (Gen Tamlin) by @mathiwrites (AO3 link)

I hope you don't mind (Tamlin/Nyx) by @praetorqueenreyna

The Sorcery of Slumbering Secrets, Chapter 2 (Tamlin/Briar) by @booksnwriting (AO3 link)

The Lark Ascending (Tamlin/Rhysand) by @songofthesibyl

Wildflowers: The Lost Chapters, Poet (Gen Tamlin) by @mathiwrites (AO3 link)

Remains of Spring, Penny Falls (Tamlin/Female OC) by @climbthemountain2020 (AO3 link)

Dirty Limericks (Tamlin/Feyre) by @goforth-ladymidnight (AO3 link)

Where Fate and Stars Align (Tamlin/Rhysand's sister) by @thisblogisaboutabook (AO3 link)

Warrior Mind (Gen Tamlin) by @duaghterofstories (AO3 link)

The Warrior with the Poet's Heart (Tamlin/Fae!Reader) by @b0xerdancer-writes

Fanart

Soldier, Poet, King (Gen Tamlin) by @queercontrarian

Warrior (Gen Tamlin) by @taymartiart

Tamlin the Poet (Gen Tamlin) by @copypastus

Traveling ministrel (Gen Tamlin) by @thrumugnyr

The Wistful Creative (Gen Tamlin) by @arson-09

Miscellaneous

Two wolves meme (Gen Tamlin) by @szalonykasztan00

Cherry Blossoms (Gen Tamlin) by @sonics-atelier

Collaborative Tamlin Playlist (Gen Tamlin) by @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken

Poet/Warrior limerick (Gen Tamlin) by @rin-u-pos

Poet/Warrior Moodboard (Gen Tamlin) by @sonics-atelier

Tamlin's poem (Tamlin/Rhysand's sister) by @booksnwriting

The Ring Against Stone (Tamlin/Briar) by @ennawrite

Hanging by a thread (Gen Tamlin) by @lorcandidlucienwill

Story of My Life moodboard (Gen Tamlin) by @positivelyruined

[fastlikealambo]

Thank you to everyone that voted in my poll! No idea when the actual first chapter will come out but here's something I just came up with, not sure if it's any good. A moodboard will come out soon but have this with absolutely no context.

Light My Love|| Bodyguard! Eddie Munson x Disco Queen! Black Fem Reader 1970s AU

SNEAK PEEK

What a sight it had to be, The Queen of The Disco Scene and her knight in shining leather sitting on a Burger King's bathroom floor, using her designer dress as picnic blanket.

" Every time I sing, I'm throwing out a line for someone, anyone to catch but nobody wants to hold me, they want the fish, not the worm. That's the problem I think, when everyone wants you, no one actually does." You said, looking far too wistful into your Dr. Pepper.

Eddie puts down his fries and looks straight at you, the way a man should look at a woman, but certainly not the way a bodyguard should be looking at his client.

"I want you."

"You do?" You damn near whispered, kohl rimmed eyes so big and wide Eddie could see a whole candy coated universe.

"I'd want you every day of the week if you sang till your lungs gave out or you never stepped on a stage again." Eddie said ringed hand closing over yours.

"You promise?" It sounded silly, like a little girl on a schoolyard, but you couldn't help it.

"I don't need to promise, baby. I dare to want you every day of every week for the rest of my life, twice on Tuesdays. Triple fucking dog dare."

"Triple dog?"

"Triple dog angel, triple dog."

[somereaderinblue]

Sehnsucht

(n.) "the inconsolable longing in the human heart for we know not what"; a yearning, wistful longing for the familiar but far.

________________

Spider!Harry moodboard for my new Parksborn USM fic which can be read on AO3 here.

Preview:

“Tell me something only Peter would know.” Hooded Spidey asked, voice faint but familiar, where has he heard it?

“Um, I love Aunt May’s wheat cakes!” he replied.

“No, tell me something- tell me…how you met, Harry Osborn.” Hooded Spidey demanded stiffly, body tremoring with barely restrained hysteria.

‘Why Harry?’ “It was raining. My bike broke down and he offered me a ride.” He replied steadily. “I somehow didn't know who he was and he introduced me as ‘the kid who always gets beat up’.” A smile crept under his mask at the memory.

Hooded Spidey shook his head, stepping away from Peter as though he was the one about to get slammed into a wall.

“No, no you can’t be- you’re de-but I’m not- you….you’re alive.” He whispered the last word with heartbreaking awe.

“….you’re not Peter Parker, are you?” Peter realized.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Hooded Spidey snorted half-heartedly.

“But you know me- or well, your world’s Peter Parker.” He pointed out.

“…..that’s an understatement.” the six-eyed spider sighed.

Reaching up, he pulled off his mask and this time, it’s Peter’s turn to stumble back.

“Harry?!” he gaped, staring at a face that was a lifelong best friend and a complete stranger in one.

[zoeydoe]

“estelle and callum? of course they’re related; they’re the same breed of dumbass”

moodboard inspired by my hatchetfield ocs! writing ft. them under the cut

“You ever miss your mom?” Callum spread the blanket out on the dusty concrete, placing a book on each corner so it wouldn’t blow away in the evening wind. 

“Don’t remember her,” Estelle sighed, clutching the thermos to warm her hands. “I imagine she wasn’t the best mum, what with…him making her lose her mind.” There was a silence, not an awkward one, but one Estelle felt should still be filled. “What about you?”

“I don’t remember her too well, she gave me up when I was four. But I do have this…one memory. He sat down on the blanket, patting a spot at his side. “I was maybe 3 years old, and it was the first day in like a week it hadn’t rained. So she woke me up really early and we went out on the balcony and had breakfast while we listened to the birds. I remember her smiling at me while we heard their songs, even over the bustling of New York City below us.”

She gave him a sad smile, having noticed him becoming wistful, a melancholy sort of silence. She set her hand on his shoulder. 

“Well, maybe it won’t be the the same, and maybe it’s not New York City but…we’re here, watching a sunset over Hatchetfield. And we’re family.”

He nodded and took the thermos from her gently, opening it and pouring some of the tea inside into a mug for her. “Kind of poetic, isn’t it? The sun set on my time alone because I’m meant to be here, with you.”

She grinned and took a sip of tea, ruffling Callum’s messy blonde hair. “Glad to have met you, baby bro.”