#In The Air Is Christopher Gray | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lordprettyflackotara · 2 days

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if u think i’m pretty || chris sturniolo

SMUT. 18+. Minors DNI. tw: hate fucking. lots of it. bickering while fucking? idk you get the gist. finally got around to writing about chris. can you believe i scrapped like 5 fics? 🥴 yeah me either! also, sequel with matt if yall want it ;)

“Christopher fucking Sturniolo!”

Your words were laced with venom, the staircase rumbling beneath you as you stomped upstairs. Faintly you could hear Matt call out for you, your mind too filled with rage to hear him properly.

Pornographic moans flooded your eardrums as you reached Chris’s room, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. Your closed fist rattled his door, the dramatic moans coming to a screeching halt.

“Open the fucking door dickwad!” You screamed. Impatiently you tapped your foot, deciding he was taking too long. You grabbed the door handle, (surprised to find it unlocked), and swung the door open.

It was almost comical watching Chris and a girl you didn’t know scramble to get themselves dressed.

“What the fuck are you doing in here? Get the fuck out! Haven’t you ever heard of privacy?” Chris spat, shoving his gray sweatpants on. For a brief moment you felt bad for the girl, her waterline filling with tears. She was just one of many you had seen this week. You grabbed a shirt you presumed to be hers, handing it to her. You took a deep breath, containing your anger as you looked at her.

“Please get dressed and for the love of God, find someone better to fuck,” You sighed. The blonde was gone in a flash, practically sprinting out of Chris’s room. You crossed your arms, shooting lasers out of your eyes as you glared at the brunette across from you. Oh, only if looks could kill.

“I’m not believing my phone magically teleported into the dishwasher of all places,” You snarled. Your phone had been missing for six hours straight, your iphones location still saying it was at the triplets house. You had dragged Matt and Nick all around their house, searching from the ceiling to the floor. When you had finally accepted defeat, you had opened the dishwasher to grab a bowl to make a snack.

And to your displeasure, your phone was sopping wet, sitting in plain sight on the rack.

“You have zero proof I did that, literally zero,” Chris argued. Your eyes briefly flickered to his exposed chest, the amount of skin throwing you off. You shook your head, showing Chris your ruined phone. “Really? Because I can’t recall the last time you did dishes but you magically did them last night,” You snapped. Chris shrugged nonchalantly, a cocky smirk creeping across his lips.

“What can I say? I figured i’d help out the household,”

That’s it.

You chucked your phone at him, the brunette dodging the attack by seconds. It was ruined away, even the rice method was unable to save your phone. It smacked against the wall, the sound making Chris jump. “Maybe your phone wouldn’t be ruined if you weren’t having very LOUD phone sex with your boyfriend!” Chris yelled. You threw your hands up in the air, completely dumbfounded. “What are you talking about? Why would I ever-” You began arguing, before it clicked.

You weren’t having phone sex with anyone, that was for sure. But you stayed over at the Sturniolo household frequently, to the point where you were there more often than you were home. As much as Chris drove you insane, you couldn’t deny how attractive he was. The concept of the attraction being forbidden, soured by years and years of bickering, did something inside of you.

You could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, even though you didn’t want it to. Chris snickered at your loss of words, shooting you a genuine smile. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He teased. In a swift motion you dashed across the room, your palm connecting with his cheek. Your tension with Chris had never gone beyond yelling. He had never crawled under your skin so much before, embarrassment seeping over you as you thought about the whole house hearing what he said.

A long pause silenced the room, the sound of the slap echoing through out your ears. Chris took a moment to process what you had just done, before his sharp gaze meant yours. His hand flew to your throat, gripping the sides as he threw you against the nearest wall. The air was knocked out of your lungs, your body in fight or flight mode. He easily towered over you, his sharp blue eyes filled with rage.

“You’re such a fucking whore,” Chris grumbled. He squeezed the sides of your neck harder, a whimper escaping your lips. His grip loosened, his attention fully dedicated to the sound you had made. The brunette tilted his head to the side curiously, as if he hadn’t believed what he just heard. “Did you just whimper?” He questioned. You shook your head no, Chris’s knee spreading your legs apart. Testing the waters, he brought his face closer to yours.

“You know, your little stunt prevented me from finishing earlier. Perhaps you’d like to help me out,” Chris purred, the glint of lust in your eyes telling him everything he needed to know. You rolled your eyes, your heart beginning to race as his body pressed against yours. “If you’re going to kiss me get on with it before I change my mind,” You said plainly. Chris’s grip on your throat tightened, your airway becoming restricted.

“You’ve always been a mouthy one,” He muttered, roughly bringing his lips to yours.

Chris hated how good you tasted, how good you smelled. He hated how your skin always looked so soft, your lips so plump. He despised how confident you were, always charging into everything in your life head first. What Chris actually liked, was that you challenged him. He knew that his infatuation with you wasn’t actually feelings, just raw and untamed lust. But fuck, with your lips against his, it made him want to change his mind.

The two of you clawed off each other’s clothes, discarding the clothing to the floor. Chris’s tongue swiped across your lower lip, before sliding inside. His kisses were rough and sloppy, your body addicted to the electricity he made run down your spine. You pushed him harshly against the bed, his back hitting the soft mattress underneath him.

You straddled him quickly, attempting to take control of the situation. Ever so slowly you grinded your wet cunt against his exposed shaft, a groan escaping his lips. Chris cockily put his hands behind his head, admiring you. “Go ahead, get yourself off just by grinding on me. You can do it pretty girl,” Chris instructed. You felt heat dash across your cheeks at the sound of his praise, your hips moving seemingly on their own.

Curses left your lips as you threw your head back. “Making me get myself off since you can’t do it? Figures,” You managed to say, your movements becoming more desperate. Chris leaned forward on his elbows, watching your cunt slide up and down his shift. “I’d watch your words ma, i’ll overstimulate you until you’re nothing but a cock craving whore,” Chris warned. His warning felt real, the threat in it seeking genuinely true. Even if you didn’t want to believe it.

Chris bit his bottom lip as you shamelessly grinded against him, every little movement providing pleasure to your clit. “You really think i’d fuck as many girls as I do if I couldn’t make them cum? I thought you were supposed to be smart,” Chris said coldly, mockingly tilting his head to the side. Your gaze landed back on the man beneath you, ignoring his cock in between your folds. “Yeah? I thought I was supposed to be overstimulated by now. What happened to that?” You challenged.

He was quick to change positions, your back landing against the mattress before you could think. He roughly spread your thighs apart, shoving two fingers into your cunt. A gasp of surprise was ripped from your throat, his spare hand resuming its place as your personal collar. Chris’s name spilled off of your lips as his fingers curled inside of you, his name becoming a sinful mantra. “What happened? Not so cocky now are we?” Chris taunted, watching you fall apart on his fingers.

The sight of you was enough to make his cock throb, his body craving attention. Chris remained focused, determined to corrupt you. “Open your fucking mouth slut,” Chris ordered. You so without a second thought, flattening your tongue across your bottom lip. He gripped your face harshly, leaning over and spitting into your mouth. “Swallow it,” He growled, watching you intently. You did as you were told, swallowing his saliva. You felt humiliated as it slid down your throat, the feeling euphoric.

“Thats a good girl, now why don’t you cum on my fingers for me? Hmm?” Chris asked. His words of praise made the rope inside of you snap, your orgasm washing over you without warning. Your vision went white, your thighs trembling as Chris removed his fingers from your aching cunt. You watched as he sucked them clean, maintaining eye contact with you as he did so.

Still coming down from your high, you put every last bit of energy into rolling your eyes. “Are you going to fuck me or just stare?” You asked. Chris’s cocky smile fell, replaced with a frown. “Nothings ever good enough for you, is it?” He replied, crawling on top of you. He brushed the tip of his cock up and down your folds teasingly, enjoying hearing you audibly whine for him. “Why’d you destroy my phone?” You asked, your coherent thoughts interrupted by him shoving himself inside of you.

You both moaned in unison, the unholy sounds vibrating off of the walls. “Why’d you decide to have phone sex in my house?” Chris gritted out, sliding himself further into you. He had more girth than you expected, your walls struggling to accommodate his size. “I asked you first dipshit,” You spat, fighting back a groan as he slid in further. Chris could feel your walls spasming around his cock, the sensation enough to make him cum right then and there. But he knew you’d never let him live it down.

“Yeah? Well I asked you second,” Chris replied, bottoming out inside of you. The tip of his shaft brushed against your g spot, the slightest movement of his hips making you whimper. “If you must know I wasn’t having phone sex, dumbass,” You said honestly. Chris pulled his hips back at a teasing rate, entertaining the argument. “Yeah? So what were you doing?” He questioned, doubting what you were saying. His hips bucked back into yours, hitting your g spot purposefully slow. He was drawing his thrust out, enjoying the sight of you squirming beneath him.

“I-I was thinking of you, alright? Now are you going to fuck me or what?” You rambled, embarrassed by your confession. Chris paused for a moment, soaking in your words. He leaned forward, his breath hot against your ear. “Is that so? Well, I destroyed your phone because I got jealous. You belong under me, just like this, taking my cock,” Chris purred, ignoring the embarrassment of his own confession. He pulled back slightly, allowing the two of you to make eye contact.

Out of breath and desperate, both of you panted as you stared into each other’s eyes. “Well, in that case, you better get on with it,” You said weakly. The same cocky smile that you hated plastered across his lips, his hips bucking into yours quickly. Your nails dug into his back as his hips continued to slam into yours, his cock buried inside of your cunt. Chris couldn’t hold back his own groans, your walls milking his cock dry.

With glazed eyes he met your gaze, relishing in the sound of your groans, chanting his name. “Open your mouth for me,” He ordered, his cock abusing your cervix. Chris enjoyed that you didn’t hesitate, obeying him without a second thought. He put two fingers into your mouth, shoving them as far back as he could. “Now fucking suck them slut,” He growled. With each degrading word you squeezed him harder, your body snitching on your hidden desire.

“You look so pretty like this, when you aren’t yapping that mouth of yours,” He huffed. A painful whine came from his lips, your nails purposefully digging deeper into his back. You pathetically bobbed your head up and down on his fingers, concealing your smirk as you heard him in audible pain. Chris slithered his spare hand down to your cunt, drawing fast and sloppy circles around your clit.

“Go on, cum for me. Cum on my cock like the good girl you are for me,” Chris panted. The extra sensation was enough to make you throw your head back, Chris’s fingers still lodged in your mouth. Your warning of your orgasm was muffled, your thighs shaking violently under him. The sight was going to be burned into Chris’s memory forever, the feeling of your cunt spasming around him giving him an undeniable ego boost. He fucked you through your orgasm, becoming preoccupied with chasing his own.

His fingers roughly grabbed your waist, fucking you rougher. “Shit, i’m gonna cum,” He admitted. Chris watched, mesmerized as his cock slid in and out of your cunt. “Where do you want it?” He asked, his hips beginning to stutter. You grabbed him by his throat, dragging him towards you. You put your mouth next to his ear, smirking as you told him, “Inside of me.”

You filthy fuck. For the first time your name fell from Chris’s lips as he came, his warm seed flooding your cunt. In unison you both tried to catch your breath, Chris carefully slipping out of you. The room was silent, besides desperate breathing, a knock came from Chris’s door.

“Yeah?”

“Your uh, doordash is here dude,” Matt said awkwardly. You could hear him place a bag in front of his bedroom door. “Thanks,” Chris replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Hey Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time maybe fuck a little quieter, Nicks pretty pissed.”

You exchanged glances with Chris, watching as he shoved on a shirt.

“You heard him, be quiet next time,”

“Next time? There won’t be a next time. Mr.I lasted thirty seconds.”

The sound of you two bickering made Matt roll his eyes, causing him to walk away. He wondered if you both would ever get married, or if you both would hate fuck forever. He shrugged at the idea, heading back downstairs. All Matt knew for sure, was that your moans made him cum the hardest he ever had. And that, was enough for him.

#chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x y/n #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut

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lovingchrissposts · 2 months

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Our dirty little secret

Nates little sister x …sturniolo

Warnings: swearing, use of marijuana, use of y/n, mafia, drugs, kinda like refers to east side, ANGSTTT NOT PROOF READ SORRYY

A/N: i rlly liked this request and was so fun to write. I’m definitely gonna like make more parts but I’m just too lazy and this has been sitting in my drafts for like two weeks. Oopsiesss!! (The summary is terrible ik) the song has nothing do with this I just thought of it from the name of this

Summary: Nathans little sister y/n gets ‘introduced’ to two boys. Matthew and Christopher Sturniolo. Maybe reintroduced works better. They realize that she was an old co-worker of theirs and that theyre now on opposite teams so they can’t be friends. Nate and y/n are sent on a trip for 7 months to fulfill a girls requests and work. What will happen?

(Years ago)

“Y/N.” My older brother Nathan who goes by Nate screams up at me from the basement. I rip the blankets off of my legs and groan getting up.

“What?” I yell back from the top of the stairs my left foot hanging off getting ready to walk down. Nate peeks around the corner with his two friends Matt and Chris next to him.

“Yo, this is Matt.” Nate points at the boy standing on his left whos wearing the most innocent little boy outfit ever. Matt looks like he has brown curlyish hair that lays perfectly against his forehead and top of his head. His blue eyes are beaming through mine as Nate speaks again Matt shoots me a smile and nods gently.

“And, this is Chris.” Nate adds and i wave at him. I swear I think I stopped breathing for a second when I saw him. He was wearing gray sweatpants with a logo that looks like an F on the side and a white tank top with his nipples poking through the thin soft fabric. His hair is grown out to the sides and on his forehead.

“Hey,” I reply smiling trying to keep my cool to both of them. I look down at myself. I’m wearing the shittiest outfit ever and I let out a breath. “We are just gonna be in the back smoking some weed if you need anything.” Nate adds with a smile and his Nike slides slipping across the wooden floor as they exit through the back door.

The smell of weed fills my air as I’m sitting next to the three of them around a bonfire in my backyard. I’m absolutely fucking freezing even though we are around a fire.

I hear Nate laugh as they all remember funny stories from when they were younger. The taller boy with the over grown hair sits next to me drinking a beer instead of smoking the weed.

“Y/n?” Nate asks me making me snap my neck up to look at him. “Yeah?” I reply rubbing my arms slowly. “You okay you seem a little, spaced out?” He asks me curiously and i Shake my head. “Oh yeah haha sorry I was thinking about um..Kim.” I reply anxiously. Matt chuckles from beside me and puts his weed down.

“Whos Kim?” Matt asks licking his dry lips. “Oh my bestfriend from middle-“ I start to say as Nate’s phone rings from across the table. I look up and notice it’s our boss, Veno. His eyebrows raise and he stands up.

“Alright guys I’ll be right back I have to take this.” Nate mumbles and answers the phone walking inside. I’m now left alone with two guys I met about two hours ago but they seem..familiar..?

“Y/n, y/l/n.” Chris chuckles my name and looks at me with deaf eyes making my heart speed up a little bit. Shit.

“Y/l/n? It’s really you?” Matt says in shock.

“Uh. Yeah?” I reply awkwardly. And look at Matt and Chris. Chris slowly gets out of his chair setting his beer down. “Fuck. Really?” Chris whispers and I nod.

What. The. Fuck.

“You-Nate- huh?” Matt stutters out. “Nate is in the program?!” Once he says that I finally realize.

(Flash backs)

I just stepped into this guys office outside of post 89. I looked around. “Well hello, y/n.” Veno mumbled from his desk taking a sip of ‘coffee’

I stepped in again and my tan folders I had in my hands slipped and fell on the floor making all the papers go everywhere.

Oh shit, shit, shit.

Some guy with brown curly hair came up to me helping me pick up the files, after he helped me Veno made him and me sort the files again.

I could’ve sworn he hated me until he made conversation about who he was.

“Oh um by the way, I’m Christopher. Sturniolo. Chris for short.” He stated smiling at me nervously. I looked up at him and smiled back giving him my name.

We talked for about an hour while finishing sorting the files. Veno comes back in fixing his blazer and looks at the files. “Very well. Sturniolo, take Ms y/l/n around the warehouse for a quick tour.

So he did, we laughed, told stories, and became friends.

Nate and I’s family had moved across town making us go to different schools and I had to stop out of that program. Nate wasn’t in the same warehouse as me at the time so Chris and Matt didn’t know him till a few months ago when we visited for a family holiday.

“Shit, your Chris sturniolo?” I ask absolutely shocker that I’m seeing him again.

“Fuck, yes I am.” Chris replied and Matt let out a deep sigh. “We aren’t supposed to be friends with your brother, or you for that Matter.” Chris adds and him and Matt start to stand up gathering their weed and beers.

Fuck Nate is gonna kill me.

(Present time.)

Me and Nate had been assigned a trip to the Eastside for the program. We hadn’t been there in years and were really nervous.

This little ‘trip’ was us moving there for a few months (7) so we could fulfill this girl and get her on the program.

“Y/N!” Nate screamed at me and I knew he was packing the car to go so I quickly hurried my ass out of my room with my shoes on, jacket on, suitcase next to me, and backpack on along with a few boxes of furniture for our rental home.

“IM COMING.” I yell back and I rush down the stairs. I pull my suitcase out of the door locking it behind me. Over our driveway I pulled all my shit and shoved it in the trunk.

“Alright, alright, cmon.” Nate mumbled. It was around 4:30 in the morning and we had to be there by Noon. We stopped on the way to McDonald’s to get sweet teas, Pepsi, and coffees.

I was settled into the back until Veno called Nate telling him about what’s gonna happen over these 7 months.

What the fuck did I get myself into.

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fortheloveofbuddie · 4 months

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Inspiration Saturday/Seven Sentence Sunday 💕

I'm baaccckk. It's been minute but I've been away with my girlfriend for nearly a week and it's exam season which means that I should be working on my paper. But here we are and I came up with yet another AU lol. Aaaand also made a moodboard for it

Tagged by @wikiangela @jamespearce9-1-1 @daffi-990 @evanbegins @wildlife4life @disasterbuckdiaz mwah mwah mwah 💋

Soldier/War Correspondent AU

(Story and tags under cut)

Staff Sergeant Eddie Diaz bears the visible imprints of a life spent in the crucible of war. His sun-kissed skin and prematurely graying hair are a testament to the countless deployments and the myriad of challenges he has faced since joining the army at the age of 18. Eddie's stoic demeanor hides the depth of his experiences, and his piercing gaze reflects the proud resilience of a man who has faced the horrors of conflict yet remains committed to his duty. Despite being a decorated soldier, Eddie carries the weight of survivor's guilt, unsure if he truly deserves the accolades bestowed upon him.

The St. Christopher's medallion, a cherished possession given to him by his ex-wife, dangles from a chain around his neck, providing a glimpse into the personal talismans that anchor Eddie amidst the chaos of war. As a leader, Eddie embodies strength, resilience, and an unwavering commitment to his comrades, his very presence a testament to the sacrifices made in the name of duty.

In contrast, Evan Buckley, a 32-year-old war correspondent exudes the confidence of someone who has navigated the complexities of journalism for nearly a decade. His hard exterior and sometimes perceived arrogance stem from a deep understanding of his own capabilities and confidence earned through years of reporting from the front lines of conflict.

Despite his outward confidence, he carries the weight of the stories he has witnessed, and beneath the bravado lies a journalist deeply affected by the human cost of conflict. His journey as a war correspondent is fueled by a commitment to shedding light on the untold narratives and fostering understanding in the face of global turmoil.

And a little snippet inspired by 3 x 15 and the music video from the song 'Gone Away' by Five Finger Death Punch (my babies ahhh)

The crackling radio broke the silence in the aftermath of the ambush, blood staining Eddie's face, hands and armor. The air was acrid and filled with the smoke from the crashed helicopter, parts spread all around him on the ground, only adding to the vision of destruction. Eddie could barely lift his head to grab his radio, Command trying to break through. The realization of him and his fellow soldier, Sergeant Anita Mills, being the sole survivors of the ambush was slowly sinking in as he brought the radio closer to his face, his voice weighted with grief as he spoke into the receiver.

"Command, this is Diaz. Reporting three K.I.A. We need-... Requesting extraction from our current location. I repeat, requesting extraction and confirming three K.I.A. Chief Jennings, PFC Binder and Sergeant Norwahl are gone"

Mills looked at him with sorrowful eyes, her chest rose and fell in a strained and heavy pace, her head hung low between her knees, the weight of her armor pressing against her throat, restricting her breathing but she couldn't care less about herself in this moment.

The reply from Command crackled through the radio, the voice on the other end offering condolences laced with the stoicism of military protocol. "Acknowledged, Staff Sergeant Diaz. Our thoughts are with you and Mills. Proceed with caution, and we'll arrange for extraction once the area is secure"

He nodded solemnly, his eyes fixed on the wreckage of the helicopter, a poignant reminder of the friends he had lost in the chaos of war. Eddie and Anita found themselves grappling with the weight of confirming the loss of three lives, the echoes of grief lingering amidst the unforgiving and darkening landscape.

tagging!! @honestlydarkprincess @giddyupbuck @watchyourbuck @athenagranted @butraura @callmenewbie @cal-daisies-and-briars @jeeyuns @fionaswhvre @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @steadfastsaturnsrings @poughkeepsies @spotsandsocks 💗🦋

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 on abc #oliver stark #ryan guzman #evan buck buckley #buddie wip #edmundo diaz #fortheloveofbuddie writes #buddie fic #the sun behind the storm (can you feel my heart?)

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r-f-m-writes · 15 days

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A Lark In a Hollow Chapter Two

Lark stared at her hands, the cuticle on her thumb was bright red, scabbing over slowly, the curved edge of it gummy and recessed after years of relentless picking. Just her right one. Her left was the one she used to wound its twin.

Christopher Hollow’s truck was big, black, and almost as intimidating as the man himself when Lark walked toward it across the small, crowded, city parking lot.

Mrs. Poppy’s voice rose light and chipper on the air behind her, speaking to Hollow with enthusiasm while Lark came to a stop beside the truck, standing still and silent. Waiting. Her father’s voice rasped in her memory, hazy as a cloud of cigarette smoke, half as bitter.

Good girls are seen, not heard.

“- very smart, her grades are the best I’ve seen in a long while, no need to worry about tutors, just to have her enrolled in school before the end of winter break. Do try to get her outside and socializing once in a while. Lark’s a shy thing.”

Averting her eyes to the dusty cracks in pavement, Lark blinked at the white rubber toes of her worn shoes while Mr. Hollow moved past her, the heat of his body like an open log fire as he loaded her duffle bag into the bed of the truck, reaching up to fasten it to the safety screen with a length of elastic cable.

“That right?”

Christopher’s voice was rough and low, syllables rumbling out of him like the grumble of a bear who just woke from hibernation.

Lark tucked her chin toward her chest, shoulders hunching against the uncomfortable sensation of being looked at.

Mrs. Poppy saved her from having to speak.

“Wouldn’t say boo to a goose, this one. A bit of an introvert.”

The whole truck rocked when Christopher took his weight off its side, suspension squeaking slightly as dark boots stepped into Lark’s sight.

The steel caps of his boots mimicked the shape of her scuffed up sneakers.

Christopher stood near her and gave a grunt.

“‘s alright. Not much for people myself.”

Lark toed at an immature dandelion sprouting determinedly through cracks in the concrete.

Mrs. Poppy laughed, loud and bright.

“Oh, you two, peas in a pod! Come along Lark, let’s not keep Mr. Hollow waiting around.”

~R.F.M~

Christopher Hollow doesn't listen to the radio while he drives, and he drives safely, sensible and precise.

The inside of his truck is immaculately clean with dark leather seats and a grey plastic dashboard. The air smelled vaguely like dog and wood and muddy boots - but those were all scents that Lark was happy to endure for however long it would take them to get to where they were going.

He doesn't make her talk or take any offense to her silence, caution masquerading as shyness.

The girl sat still, not letting herself fidget, not letting herself become an irritation. Only Lark’s eyes moved, dark honey brown irises flicking rabbit quick over the landscape as it shrank from city, to towns, to farms, then shot up again in towering green-gray forest that enclosed all around them, swallowing the big truck in it shadows until Lark felt it must look like a shiny black beetle scurrying through dirt.

She had learned about old growth pines in school, got ninety five out of a hundred for her essay on the importance of preservation and advocacy. Gazing up at them from her passenger seat, towering and celestial like gods on earth, Lark felt she had sold them short in her paper.

The sun rose and rose and rose until it halted at its peak, then, slowly, began to regress back toward the tops of trees, casting long golden shadows over the road and the hood of the truck as it sank.

#original writing #original work #ao3 original work #ao3 writer #ao3feed #a lark in a hollow #sweet'nshort #rfmwrites #dark romance #dark writing #dark aesthetic #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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sonofenki · 6 months

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astaroth is such an interesting character - hear me out:

once the ban was lifted and he finally could roam around freely he felt like a bug, like he would always be one step down from everyone - he felt it was unfair that mc came from nothing and gained power but the same could not happen to him. he thought she looked arrogant, as if she would always be one step higher and he'd be lost in the crowd. so when the horsemen came and he was thinking about which side he'd take he realized it was easier to become a villain than a hero, it was easier to kill for revenge. the oppressed becomes the oppressor.

in a way the horsemen saved him and for that he'll always be grateful to them, no matter how despicable they are - they still made him feel more valid than those who were supposed to do so from the get go and didn't

he wanted mc to despise him because she was finally the 'bug' he felt like he was when she was a councilor, because even still he wanted her but had no hopes of getting anything positive from her - so it was easier to make her hate him

but as the time went by he realized he didn't want revenge anymore. according to him when you fight only for revenge and influence you're bound to have a meaningless existence - ''skulking around catacombs like a rat" - when you fight for something you believe in then your immortality makes sense

on top of that, christopher escaped alone after fulfilling his part as he was also done with everything and he started developing feelings past hate for mc - realizing she was not what he thought she was. he started caring for her: not telling on her, asking hunger nonstop about her, hesitating when they were on opposite sides. and of course all of his desire to have her in every way possible

"don't you want to burn to ashes along with all this madness with me?"

all of this culminated into him betraying the horsemen by taking a blow from plague that was directed at winchesto and officially becoming part of the resistance

after that the arrogance is gone, he says he wants her favor, her respect and her love, and he doesn't want to hide that anymore. his disdain towards her before was precisely because he thought he could never have any of that, he wanted her so he could stop feeling inferior, and now he wants her for her and proves he's by her side and won't budge

i feel like most of hs1 characters are very linear, he was a breath of fresh air truly - he's interesting and complex, unpredictable even. in my opinion he's one of the true gray characters that rc got right and i am loving his path

#i said i would write an essay aND I DID #thanks for coming to this ted talk #romance club #rc hs 2 #rc heaven's secret 2 #rc astaroth

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try-set-me-on-fire · 11 months

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If you’re still taking soft prompts - can I request buddie in the bathtub? 🧡🧡🧡

I’ll count this under “long showers” because i do love to check off a to do list. Send me soft prompts! Find the finished ones on ao3!

It isn’t long into this apocalyptic fire season when they decide to take opposite shifts. It’s awful, being out here in the hills working himself to the bone without Buck at his side, and even worse when Buck is the one at the front line and Eddie is sitting at home and helpless to do anything if something goes wrong. It’s October, though, and the city has been staring up at flames on the horizon on and off since August, the sky a choking reddish gray, and after the first evacuation order for their neighborhood went out when they were both in turnouts up in Malibu beating back the other edge of the 200 acre blaze and they’d had to talk Carla through what to pack and where to find important documents over a call turned staticky by phone lines overtaxed by the scared and desperate, they’d decided that Christopher should have one of his parents with him whenever possible. So it’s been Buck for the last 30 hours that should have been 24 but replacements were held up in some other hellish pocket of usually picturesque landscape, stranding Eddie, and some members of the 133 and many people he’s never met before who aren’t even from LA, up near the Getty Villa. He’d been there just last spring, a field trip with Chris. The gardens had been nice.

Finally, finally he’s headed home. They’re back in the house again, for the third time. The fire itself had never actually gotten close, but they’d always returned to ash caked thick over the building, working its way through any crack in the house to coat their things in fine toxic dust. They’d spent their last overlapping downtime cleaning together, Chris still at Maddie’s place a little further out of the danger zone, washing everything that could be washed in water they’d been warned not to drink. That had been a full week ago. Eddie hadn’t seen his husband for more than a quick kiss hello-goodbye since, and he’s uselessly mad that the 24 hours they were supposed to have together before Buck heads out has been cut down to something more like 15 with travel time, and that he’s so exhausted he knows he’s going to sleep through most of it. He can hear Buck in the kitchen when he gets through the door and then slumps back against it, kicking off his shoes. It’s late, near one AM, so Chris is probably asleep even at the terribly old age of 14 where official bedtimes are mostly a thing of the past. Eddie can smell food of some sort. If he can just make himself walk a few more feet he’ll have a hot meal and loving arms around him. He takes a deep breath, head tilted against the door, eyes closed, trying to summon some impossible reserve of energy.

Buck, of course, comes to him.

“Hey,” he hears, soft and familiar, a moment before warm hands slide up his chest and rest on his shoulders. Eddie opens his eyes so he can just see Buck for a second before he folds forward into his arms.

“Hey, you,” he breathes into Buck’s clean shirt. Buck just hums, and kisses the side of his head. Eddie should tell him not to, he’s still filthy, but it just makes him relax further into his hold.

“You want food or a shower first?”

“Oh god,” Eddie lolls his head back to squint at him. “Dunno if I can stay upright long enough for either.”

Buck grins just a little, one half of his mouth, an eyebrow raised, and points a finger in the air. “I have a two part solution to this.”

Eddie laughs through his nose. “Please, enlighten me.”

Buck takes his hand, pulling him along to their bathroom and propping him up against that door instead, making a show of it and drawing more quieter laughter out of Eddie. “Wait just a second,” he says, kissing his cheek and darting back out to the kitchen and returning in record time with a still warm quesadilla on a paper plate. It’s cut into sixths and Eddie gratefully stuffs a triangle into his mouth as Buck moves around the room. He zones out a little, blinking when Buck appears in front of him again some amount of minutes later. He’s cleared the plate without even noticing, and Buck takes it from him and sets it on the counter.

“Figured it’d be good to make an easily eatable food. No utensils needed! All self-contained!” Buck smiles wide and pleased with himself and Eddie smiles back, and pulls him in for a clumsy little kiss.

“Good step one,” Eddie concedes, still sort of pressed against his lips. “What’s next?”

Buck gestures at the tub, now full of steaming water. “So you don’t have to stand up.”

Eddie could blame the fact that he tears up on how tired he is, but he gets blindsided by Buck’s gentle care often enough when he’s completely awake to know it would be a flimsy excuse. He tugs on him again, kissing him steadily, one hand coming up to hold his face as he tries to start undressing with the other. Buck huffs a little against his mouth, and joins his own hands in the effort, getting Eddie’s pants and underwear off, kissing him a little harder before they have to part to rid him of his shirt. Eddie leans in again, but Buck dodges.

“C’mon, get in.”

Eddie tries to pout at him, but it’s ruined by the adoration writ in every feature. Buck holds his elbow to steady him as he steps over the edge of the tub, provides strength to lean on as he lowers himself into the water. He groans a little as he’s submerged, the almost too hot water eating away at the aches in his muscles. Buck grabs his body wash as Eddie settles back against the edge of the tub, and lathers up a washcloth.

“Is it ok to even do this? Water advisory is still on.” Eddie mumbles as Buck starts carefully cleaning away dirt and soot.

“Just don’t swallow,” Buck says, voice shaped around a laugh that Eddie lets out. He taps on Eddie’s shoulder so he leans forward, and Buck scrubs at his neck and shoulders, taking his time over the left one. Eddie had stumbled up on a slope somewhere in the early morning dark towards the beginning of his shift, and he hadn’t had the time to check but he was pretty sure he’d gotten scratched up back there. Eddie watches Buck’s face. He looks concerned, but only gently, so it must not be too bad. Buck kisses the area when he’s done, and then hands Eddie the cloth to get at the submerged parts of himself as Buck grabs the shampoo. Eddie cleans himself quickly, and he can tell Buck wants to take the cloth back and make more careful work of it, but Eddie plugs his nose and dunks his head underwater before he can say anything. He wipes water away from his face when he reemerges, then leans over and leaves a wet handprint on Buck’s shirt as he goes for another kiss.

“Please,” Eddie says, nodding at the shampoo.

Eddie is not a man used to being taken care of- not in an intimate, physical way. The 118, and Frank, and even his family, have dragged him into accepting care and support from those around him, but relaxing enough to let another human being touch him, surrendering control, letting someone else do the work of maintaining his body is something that took him a long time to admit he wanted. Buck has always been good at finding ways to burrow past any wall Eddie constructs, however, and it had only taken three showers together after they’d started dating to discover how much they both enjoy it when Buck washes Eddie’s hair. Buck just likes touching him in general, in any way, as much as he can, and Eddie had been glad to overcome shyness and indulge him in the impulse.

Buck glides foamy fingers through his hair, combing out tangles and dirt as he goes. He works so slowly, paying absolute attention to the task at hand. His fingers against Eddie’s scalp makes the aches and fear of the day (the week, the last several months) melt away into the bath water. He relaxes utterly into his husband’s hands, very nearly lulling into sleep and not even worrying much about it. He knows Buck will keep him above water.

“Hold your breath,” Buck quietly instructs, and then there are rivers of water flowing over his scalp and face, again and again until he’s clean. He opens his eyes when it’s over, and Buck has his chin propped on his arm resting on the edge of the tub, just watching him. He smiles when they make eye contact.

“Hey,” Eddie whispers.

“Hey, you,” Buck says, tilting his head. He’s beautiful. He’s kneeling on the tile floor and his shirt is soaked and filthy and it’s probably closer to two now, judging by how tepid the water’s become, and it’s felt like the end of the world since August and probably since a long time before that, and here they are in it together, and Buck is beautiful. Eddie reaches out to touch his cheek.

“Conditioner?”

Eddie thinks about it as his fingers explore his nose, trace his birthmark for the thousandth time, but he shakes his head. The water is cold. “I want to go to bed.”

“Ok,” Buck says, turning his head quick to kiss Eddie’s fingers before getting up to grab a towel as Eddie pulls the drain. Buck gracefully ignores the ache-y noises Eddie makes as he stands, wrapping him up and leaving to grab clothes. He gives himself a onceover in the foggy mirror as he brushes his teeth. He’s looked worse, but he’s looked better. Buck comes in with sweatpants and an old Buckley LAFD shirt that’s permanently migrated to Eddie’s side of the dresser.

“You should probably change, yourself,” Eddie waves at the run off filth down Buck’s front. “Sorry.”

Buck shakes his head. “Probably should have stripped too,” he says, tossing in a wink because the sentence calls for it, heading back out for his own change of clothes.

Eddie follows, and then walks on tender feet further down the hall, opening Chris’s door as quietly as he can. His calm breathing competes for noise over the air purifier a few feet from his bed. There’s a book on his bedside table, and his DS on top of that, and the dinosaur stuffed animal Buck had got him at the natural history museum years ago that had lived on a shelf for a long time when he’d outgrown it is back on the bed beside him. He’s not as sound a sleeper as he was when he was a child, and Eddie can’t go to his side and press a kiss into his curls without waking him up, and they could all use any rest they can find, so he stays in the doorway and just watches until Buck comes to find him.

“He’s alright,” Buck whispers. “You know how brave he is.” He looks as haunted by the words as Eddie feels.

“Yeah,” he breathes, taking one last look. “I know.”

They walk back down the hall hand in hand, and Buck lets Eddie lead him to one side of the bed, laughing as Eddie pulls him down on top of him. With just a little bit of wiggling they’re able to get situated under the covers, Buck draped over his chest in the way he insists is comfortable and Eddie can never figure out how he manages without his neck getting stiff. He’ll never tell him to stop, though. Laying there with the weight of Buck over his heart is the safest place in the world, and always draws him immediately towards sleep. Eddie manages to resist the pull long enough to glance at the clock. 2:15. Buck has to leave at noon. He sighs and wraps his arms around him, and Buck burrows impossibly closer. For now. They have right now.

#started writing. drank tequila. here we are #hopefully its coherent #buddie #my writing #911 abc #new era….#eddie diaz #evan buckley

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thedujifuji · 9 months

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I did a Color Analysis on the Outfits of the Doctor for a class

Okay first I want to preface this with a: I haven’t finished Classic Who, nor watched a whole lot of it, but wanted to include it in this analysis, neither have I fully completed 13′s run, but also wanted to include her. I adore her final outfit, but it feels much more like a compilation of references to other Doctors at the last minute than a deliberate choice made with Color Theory in mind. She really got cheated out of a lot on her run, and it makes me upset, because she deserved better. I hope this is taken with heaps of salt, I just wanted to write about Who for class.

Okay here we go:

For live Action TV Shows, I struggled, as I don't really watch that much live-action TV, as I find them boring. The exception to this rule is of course: Doctor Who.

Doctor Who is an interesting case, as Classic Who (60's-late 80's, includes TV movie from mid-90's) and New Who (2005-present) use color, and more specifically, the Doctor's color scheme in very specific and different ways, that are still relatively controversial in discussion online. Doctor Who actually began in black and white, airing on the same day JFK was assassinated. Eventually, the actor who portrayed the Doctor, William Hartnell, had to retire due to health complications, so they brought in a new actor to portray the Doctor, starting a new pattern of "regenerating" the Doctor when an actor wanted to quit the role.

While the first two Doctors were entirely in Black and White, Jon Pertwee, the Third Doctor, saw the series shift into color. His outfits reflected this, shifting from a black and white normal suit into velvety maroon suits, or even a normal suit, with a bright red cape to accentuate him. As Doctor Who had originated in Black and White, the designs for enemy aliens had a tendency to be achromatic, grey and dull- Classic Doctors incorporated warm muddy hues to contrast this wildly. This is also explained in-universe, as the 3rd Doctor is the incarnation that is forced to live exclusively on Earth, and is influenced by Earth's vibrancy for his outfits. Every subsequent classic Doctor has some sort of warmth in their outfits, as pictured in the previous poster, which contrast wildly with the lifeless grays of Daleks and Cybermen. The Sixth Doctor and his companion are pictured below alongside a Dalek and a Dalek control console, showing how alien those from our world appear.

We can additionally see how alien the Doctor looks in the TARDIS after having been influenced by Earth.

There is a clear shift however, by the time of New Who.

New Who's Doctors have a tendency to stick to cooler color palettes, making THEM seem alien. There are exceptions to this, namely the Tenth and Eleventh Doctors, but they will be talked about later. The colors I would associate most with New Who would be Brown and Green. Christopher Eccleston's 9th Doctor is very rude, and a bit eccentric, battered from a war in space, he has long lost the whimsical earthy tones that were so present in Classic Who, instead sporting a black leather jacket and a purple shirt, very often seen in green or cool lighting.

The 9th Doctor falls in love with his earth companion Rose Tyler, and in regenerating, is born of that love for humanity. The Tenth Doctor, played by the beloved David Tennant, is a stark contrast from the 9th Doctor, dressing in vibrant pinstripe brown suits. This continues to be the case until he is separated from Rose, after which he dons a blue suit, cool colors returning to signify that he is once again alienating himself from humanity. As he begins to heal, he dons his old brown overcoat over his blue suit, showing he is again allowing his humanity to resurface.

The Eleventh Doctor, played by Matt Smith, dresses in brown, earthy tones, as he's very connected and loving towards Earth and his companions, but after facing dramatic loss, shifts towards wearing cooler tones, namely a purple suit. His outfits are seen in the opposite order of appearance. (Right to Left)

Now for my favorite: Peter Capaldi's 12th Doctor! Capaldi's Doctor is much more like the initial Doctors, feeling very, VERY alien, compared to the almost human 11th Doctor. This is demonstrated in his first outfit, a cool dark blue suit. This suit comes with a catch however, flaunting bright red interiors, signifying a truth about the 12th Doctor, he has soul and empathy within, he's still learning how to show it. The series makes special attempts to have the red inlet be visible in scenes where Capaldi gets to show his emotions.

As 12 grows into learning better empathy through his companion Clara, and following a reunion with his wife River Song, Capaldi's Doctor starts to wear a vibrant Magenta/Red suit, signifying a massive change in his character- upfront, honest kindness.

After facing more massive loss, and being on the brink of regeneration, Capaldi's Doctor's new black suit is revealed once again to have a bright red interior in his final scenes, and he is deliberately lit up in oranges and yellows, not from his regeneration energy, but from lighting inside the TARDIS.

Unfortunately, the following Doctor, Jodie Whittakher's 13, does not shift outfits throughout her seasons, instead opting for cooler tones despite being much like 11 or 10. This may be to emphasize her alien-ness despite her warm-hued TARDIS, but to me, it doesn't feel as intentional as before, instead feeling like another way Jodie was given the short end of the stick in regards to Who. Jodie's 13th Doctor deserved outfit theming!!

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thewales · 1 year

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The Princess of Wales has a new private secretary. According to Roya Nikkhah, Catherine has hired public relations specialist Alison Corfield, who used to work for Jamie Oliver.

Alison Corfield, who masterminded Jamie Oliver’s childhood obesity and free school meals campaigns, will join the palace as Kate’s right-hand woman and most senior aide this month.

Described as “loud” and “persuasive” by those who know her, Corfield’s appointment has been hailed by royal insiders as a “breath of fresh air”. It is understood the princess actively sought out a “different kind of courtier” as she steps up her public work.

Corfield will replace Hannah Cockburn-Logie, a diplomat with the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, who left the role last autumn after 2½ years in post.

Known as “Al” to her friends, Corfield, 51, a mother of three and former air stewardess, worked as Oliver’s head of campaigns from 2015 to 2020. She led the marketing strategy for his drive to halve childhood obesity by 2030, improve food education in schools and create “a generational shift in young people’s health”.

She has continued to work with Oliver on his free school meals campaign, and has also advised the Irish television chef Clodagh McKenna.

The prince and princess’s aides have traditionally been recruited from government departments and the civil service, including William’s last private secretary, Sir Simon Case, who was David Cameron’s principal private secretary in Downing Street and is now the cabinet secretary. William’s current private secretary, Jean-Christophe Gray, is described by Whitehall sources as “the model of a mandarin”, and previously worked with several former chancellors including Rishi Sunak, George Osborne and Gordon Brown.

A royal source said: “Alison is an unusual fit. She is a bit out there for Kensington Palace, but there is a move to recruit more modernisers and people with private sector experience, not just civil servants. She will run rings around the courtiers and shake things up a bit.”

A royal source who knows Corfield, said: “She will be a massive breath of fresh air at Kensington Palace. She is loud, tons of fun and full of energy and enthusiasm.”

Corfield has also worked with the Labour MP Stella Creasy on her recent MotheRED campaign to recruit more mothers as Labour politicians.

Corfield will take on the role as the princess’s private secretary as Kate, 41, significantly steps up her public profile and work. Last week, she launched a new long-term campaign, Shaping Us, to raise public awareness on the importance of early childhood development.

You can read the full article here, for free

Not included in the article:

This is Alison’ experience, according to her LinkedIn page

#this is an interesting choice tbh #I’m not sure but maybe something different is what Catherine needs #The Princess of Wales #KP

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fanfiction101 · 25 days

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Jareth x Fem!reader

Hi loves, sorry this was a little late as I had some family over but here you go! Also I am one of those wackos that loves Christmas so that is sort of the time that this is taking place so deal with it lol. Anyways, be safe and love you!

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I studied my eyes and my hair. I looked at my face shape and make up that I had put on earlier. Cheery Christmas music was playing in the background as I got ready.

I grew up in a rich family. My mother and father, Amanda and Christopher Whitney, were well respected scientists and engineers. I had grown up in a well-off household but my parents knew how to parent. They taught me and my younger brothers, Theodore and Sebastian, to never brag about money and often took us to soup kitchens and donation centers to not only humble us, but to help others.

But every year, a couple days before Christmas, my father holds a party in which he would invite high and elite people in society, mainly to gain business connections. When I was younger I would stay for an hour and then go to bed and as a teenager, I would just stay at a friends house for the night. Now, as a woman, I go because I could perhaps, like my father, find business acquaintances. But, my parents are thinking that I am there to find the "Special someone."

"Okay y/n," I said to myself, looking at myself in the eye, "This isn't your first time at a Christmas party. You can do this. You will not just sit quietly in the corner like last year. You will socialize and at least be semi professional depending on how much alcohol is served."

After my pep talk, I changed into my dress. It was a floor length, burgundy dress. It had a mesh layer with flowers and sequins with a silky under skirt. My mother had bought it as a Christmas gift and I felt like an absolute princess in it.

I smiled and I exited the room. As I walked down the hallway, into the large room that the parties were held in, I could smell the most magnificent cooking. The smells of spices and sugary desserts flooded the air. Ham, turkey, and chicken. Cakes, cookies and candies. My mouth was watering.

I made it to the room and was amazed by the decorations. There was a large Christmas tree with large, silver and gold bulbs in the middle of the room with tables covered in piles of food across the far wall. Wreaths hung on the walls and candles were on the smaller, round tables. Guests hung about, eating and chatting with one another.

As I was admiring the room, I heard my father call me. I turned around and saw my parents talking to someone I had never met before. The stranger had a very different style. It was a peculiar style that seemed to remind me of an '80's Gothic rock-star. His hair was wild and his eyes seemed to be different colors. I would be a liar if I said that he wasn't attractive.

"Ah there she is." My father said as I joined their group, "Y/n, this is-"

"Jareth." The man interrupted, "Call me Jareth, Miss Whitney. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. " He then took my hand and pecked it, still looking at me with those beautiful mismatched eyes. I felt my face slowly start to burn up as I took my hand back and my mother gave me a knowing look.

I swallowed and fixed my face straight. "Pleasure is all mine, Jareth. You may call me y/n."

"Mr. and Mrs. Whitney! How long has it been?" an older man with a gray beard barged into the conversation and led my parents away, rambling on about the good old days, leaving me and Jareth to ourselves.

"So," I said, trying to make conversation, "How did you meet my parents?"

"Well, I met them on a business trip and they helped a great deal in my journey a year or so ago." Jareth replied, walking to the nearest table and pulling out a chair and gesturing me to sit.

I obliged and he sat at the hair across from me. "Ah, I see. What do you do for your business."

"Well you could say I'm sort of an ambassador of some sorts. Hey can I grab you a drink?" He offered.

I nodded, "Yes, thank you." I thought about his answer and thought about how vague he was. Perhaps there was classified information I didn't need to know about.

As he got up,I looked at his cape, draping over his shoulders. It had sequences, yet he was able to pull it off without looking so silly.

When he came back with some spiced cider, we began to chat about random things. I talked about my friends, college, and family stories and Jareth told me about his parents when they were alive and his passion for music. He would make a few jokes here and there and I would laugh. As the night went on, more and more people arrived.

I tried focusing my attention on Jareth, but I started to feel a little overwhelmed. I didn't know if he could read minds or if he wanted a change of scene, but he suggested we go outside. I nodded and he offered his arm as he led me outside to a small balcony.

I shivered as the cold wind blew. Jareth took off his coat and put it over my bear shoulders. His hands were warm, but firm. My breathing stiffed as his hands brushed against my shoulders, and they stayed there for a second before he slowly drew them away. His coat smelled good. It smelled like him.

"Won't you get cold" I asked.

"I'll be alright." He said leaning on the rail.

"Are you sure?" I said taking his hand, noticing the slight shaking. "You should be warm too."

"Well then I think that the only solution then is to share that warmth, hm?" He said with a sly smile.

I felt my face heat up as I let his hands drift down to my waist.

"You know, you look absolutely lovely tonight." he said stepping closer. It was almost as if I could lean in and kiss him.

"Thank you. I could say the same for you." I said, trying to keep myself composed.

His eyes looked into mine and closed the gap between us. At first the kiss was light, but we weren't done. This kiss only deepened. I felt his hand on my cheek and his tongue tracing my lips, asking for permission to take control. I granted it, feeling him exploring my mouth.

I felt myself taking a step back, leaning against the door frame. Our kissing continued. Our hands wondered over each other. My hands were on his chest, neck, back or his hair while his hands were tracing the curves of my hips or in my hair or on my cheek.

After a while, we parted for a breath of fresh air. Jareth continued his dominance, kissing a long my jawline and onto my neck area, looking for something until his kissed my sweet spot where I sucked in my breath.

I could feel him smirking as he started to kiss is harder as I softly whimpered. After a while, He pulled away and kissed me on the lips. It was shorter but nonetheless, passionate.

"Do you think we got carried away darling?" He said.

I smiled, "You are a good kisser."

"Maybe we should do this again sometime." He said half-jokingly.

"You know, this doesn't have to end. I know a place, that is if you want to continue."

Jareth's smirk returned, "Lead the way darling."

#jareth the goblin king #goblin king #labyrinth #the labyrinth #labyrinth fanfiction #jareth x reader #jareth imagine #jareth the goblin king x reader #jareth x you #labyrinth 1986 #labyrinth fanfic

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thmolineux · 4 months

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* ◟ : 𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐯𝐚𝐤 . 𝙳𝙹 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛 . 𝚓𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚌. 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚛. 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 & 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 .

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙳𝙸𝙶𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝙾𝙽 … ? ●● 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚈 : 𝚅𝙸𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻 . ● 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚈 : 𝙺𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙰𝚃 . ●●● 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙸𝚂𝚃𝚁𝚈 : 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳 .

* ◟ : 〔 jacob elordi , cis man + he/him 〕 theodore 'teddy' novak , some say you’re a 29 year old lost soul among the neon lights. known for being both a flop era survivor ✨ and a fuck-up magnet, one can’t help but think of marching powder by hyphen when you walk by . are you still a dj headliner at the gravity nightclub & an associate of the jade tribe as the prodigal ? i think we’ll be seeing more of you and loose ends, burner flip phones, off-label jeans & glitter stickers, although we can’t help but think of : the son ( bullet train ), christopher moltisanti ( sopranos // many saints of newark ), michael gray ( peaky blinders ) whenever we see you down these rainy streets . ( j. , 25 , they/them , N/A , GMT + none . )

full googledoc intro tbd pending plotting so for now this is what we get 💅

keeping the bar low like teddy would've wanted <;3

your honour he is literally a wet rag frankensteined from different media babygirls that have one thing in common: serving c*nt and abject failure

𝚃𝚆: 𝙳𝚁𝚄𝙶𝚂/𝚂𝚄𝙱𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙰𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙴 , 𝙺𝙸𝙳𝙽𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝙼𝚄𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁 (<𝟹 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙾𝙽), 𝙽𝙴𝙶𝙻𝙴𝙲𝚃, 𝙵𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚄𝙼𝙰 𝙴𝚃𝙲. 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝚁𝙸𝙻𝙻.

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 … 𝙷𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚈 ?

novak is not his real name.

teddy is also not his real name.

red flaaaag 🚩

born to a criminal family, with origins in southeastern europe but activating primarily in london & manch. ( stay tuned to see this in a wanted plot coming soon in your area ... tbd. if any of his former relatives/connections can still come into play somehow or if they're more of a past coming back up to bite situation )

family dealt with auto theft & stolen goods tr*fficking (esp. machinery & comm tech) and synthetic dr*gs as their specific niche, but they started to branch out into the ✨international hit list✨when teddy was in his teens

as a result of his father's enterprising spirit & determination to piss off every criminal white collar and blue and black, teddy spent his critical development years getting k*dnapped a lot 💗 literally worst school trip ever

initially, teddy was raised as the company's inheritor (sins of the father sins of the sire etc.) and primed to take the reins. however, it soon became obvious that he is a) a liability b) sitting ducks leverage because he's just here getting his ass kidnapped on the daily and c) more damaging to the family capital alive than dead bc homeboy does not have what it takes to hack it in the big bad world

if early years teddy was trauma central, 20s teddy was in his true delulu element. between rehab stints & dropping off the face of the earth whenever he felt like it, he didn't just fumble the bag - he actively jeopardized every one of his father's assignments. he really made dynastic disappointment his brand

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 … 𝙻𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙴 ?

it's hard to see the straw that broke the camel's back. hell, sometimes it's even hard to see the camel. maybe it was that one invoice from a private clinic in maui that offered 'energetic detox' as a cure for addiction. charge it to the game, mate. maybe it was the payphone pleas for bail money, each from a different jurisdiction. maybe it was the chain of untenable business ideas (replicant fight club anyone?) in the already-tanked entertainment industry. maybe it was the off-shore ransom calls, really. how many times can a man be asked to ransom his son from a serbian halfway house? it's not like they give air miles for that, do they?

whatever it was: a few years ago, his father stopped.

everything stopped.

the rescue missions. the cash flow. the security back-up.

teddy's father didn't just stop saving him from himself. he stopped saving him from everyone else.

for all the world knew, the fastest rising criminal in the european underworld never had a son at all.

teddy was stunned. struck dumb, that he could be cut off like this - like deadweight. not because he was under any illusion of being anything else, but because he thought he covered his base. he thought he leveraged his charms enough to be loved despite it. after all, he'd been relying on his mother & her side of the family for help for years. he assumed that line would never run slack, regardless of where his father stood on his waste of a son. only it did.

at first, he was convinced it was all over. this, his life - whatever he tried to make of it. if one of his father's rivals wouldn't get to him, then surely the job market would. because honestly, what's a quicker death sentence than capitalism?

then, he thought that maybe being dead to the world isn't as bad as all that.

there's a certain freedom that comes with no longer being the son.

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 … 𝙾𝙽𝙶𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶 ?

he went to the place where all lawless, turned-out creatures go - and all things without a name. new york. waste and dead-ends, sure; and boundless opportunity.

surviving the city in its first hungry, desperate years wasn't easy. it's a breakneck tie, what was worse about the whole affair: the poverty or the fear. having fuck-all to fall back on. always being on the lookout. constantly scouting for any hint of recognition; for any guy that knows a guy placing a call behind his back.

for two years, he holds his breath. the drugs help, sure; and then the popularity, the fame, the flow of people and offers and gigs - those help a little, too. he had always been loved; even at his lowest, even when he was not respected, perhaps - he was still loved. sought after. he couldn't be anything but used to it.

he falls in with the jade tribe, recruited on a white night. who knows what came first? maybe they picked him because of his downright psychic fucking knowledge of everyone's predilections; the cued-in awareness of what the gravity clientele needs. or maybe it went the other way around; maybe he somersaulted ranks at the club, made headliner courtesy of his name in some jade capo's pocket.

much like his downfall, teddy doesn't know where his luck began. he can't see the starting point. he just places his bets. he places it all on red.

two years, three years; five. a new moon and a tide changing. and still, theodore novak holds his breath.

the stakes get higher. he starts asking for more; he charges higher people, silent people. he trades in different bargaining chips. he collects data. that's what he is, now: a close kept book of names, and numbers, and needs. of weak points.

he rises higher.

if he was a betting man? if anyone asked him, back there at the start?

he'd have given himself five days.

but to his own surprise, new york has a magnetism for disaster. the only real way to win is sticking it out; staying alive one second longer than the other guy. that guy, there on the floor.

new york isn't conquered; it is survived. and if there's one thing teddy could do, it was enduring.

𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 … 𝙳𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 ?

for anybody who cared to look, for anyone who knew how, the boy who goes by theodore novak is everything he's ever been. liability. leverage. treasure. it all depends on who gets to him first. only this time, he isn't sitting idle.

it's a matter of potential; it's a matter of the right offer. the right question. could teddy be turned as a weapon - and if so, against who? his family? their contacts in the new country? the jade tribe?

what is theodore novak, the prodigal son - the boy that was once solomon 'sonny' belkov, looking for? a way out - or a way back?

most days, he doesn't know himself. besides, anyone who's been in new york long enough understands this: too often, a way out and a way back are the same thing.

what matters is that he will not have to wonder whether he's more valuable alive or dead ever again. what matters is not only that he survived, but how he did. what matters is that, when all is said and done, even if new york burns: teddy is covered.

he still has his family's training. better yet: he still has their secrets.

#literally everything is a placeholder because im so well adjusted 💗#𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽�� : 𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 .#LAWLESSINTRO

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thousand-winters · 1 year

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What are your favourite tlh characters and why?

Hi there! ✨

If you have seen my blog the past few weeks, you probably can guess some of them, but here we go:

Grace

I feel like Grace is one of the most complex characters we've ever gotten in TSC and it feels like such a breath of fresh air. Don't get me wrong, I am perfectly aware that these are YA novels, so I generally don't expect the books to be super amazing, I know what I'm signing up for, but that's precisely why I like her so much. Her personality is very unlike other female characters we've gotten in the series and I don't mean that in a "not like other girls" sense but in the sense that it caught my attention immediately, because CC doesn't have the best track of giving her girls gray morality without treating them like they suck for that.

I guess I was always curious about her? Even in CoG she gave the impression she was more than she seemed, and reading her backstory in CoI just made me hurt for her and root for her to have a happy ending after so much misery. There's something really satisfying about characters that have faced so much hardships finally getting a chance to simply be.

Alastair

Oh, boy. When I first read CoG and I read about Alastair, he felt to me so much like my older brother that I loved him immediately. It helped that I found his snark incredibly funny. However... as I kept reading TLH, he actually started reminding me of, well, myself. For many reasons, but let's not get too personal here, haha, let's just say I found his flaws, his struggles, and his stubbornness to go on in spite of that very relatable. How could I not love him deeply and dearly?

Aside from my biased reasons, I also find that his character is written very consistently and I loved his character arc (I stand by how simplistic some things felt in COT, but even so), how he had his highs and his lows, that was very nicely done. He also feels like a complex character because he's allowed to fuck up badly and it doesn't get swept under the rug, though I would say they go the other way with him and Grace by being too harsh, but I'll take my wins where I can.

Christopher

Oh, Kit, sweet Kit, you were the best of them all. Christopher is such a great character because, while mostly ignored the first two books, he's endearing practically without trying. CC's books have this thing where sometimes they try to convince you a character is likable for X reasons and it simply doesn't work for me that they tell me that I should love a character.

Christopher doesn't have that problem, they kinda present him to you as this klutzy nerd, but he's so much more than that. His logic helps him be the most compassionate and kind from the group, no matter what the narrative tries to tell you. He's perceptive, he's fair, he's fun. Who doesn't like Christopher even if he isn't their favorite? He knows what he is and what he wants and he follows through with it, he's such a pillar of the group that passes unnoticed because he's always in the background, but by the gods, he's so good.

Honorary mentions

Thomas and Ari.

I adored Thomas in CoT, though I must admit he doesn't spark my curiosity and excitement quite like the other three did, in the way that I would get immediately engaged the second I saw their names on the page. Nothing wrong with him, just my personal preferences, but he was truly funny and sweet and I quite liked that!

Ari... I do like her, in a way, I wanted to like her so bad, but she's trapped as the love interest in Anna's narrative, and given that I have no love for Anna's character or their pairing, it was hard for me to enjoy her appearances. She didn't have a chance to shine on her own, but when I think of all the ramifications of her story, I swoon a little. She could be so interesting.

#thank you for the ask!#this doesn't feel super coherent but since it's subjective bc it's about my faves that's probably fine #grace blackthorn #alastair carstairs #christopher lightwood #thomas lightwood #arati bridgestock #ari bridgestock #the last hours #tlh #the shadowhunter chronicles #tsc

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