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eveningepiphany · 10 months

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tease | H.S oneshot

summary: seeing harry tonguing his guitar last night has you finally admitting the state he puts you in. and that’s never good when you’re a tour photographer. especially now you have photographic evidence of the moment.

warnings: SMUT, oral (fem rec), dirty talk, praise, swearing

a/n: can’t stop thinking about that fucking video? like it’s on loop in my head I can’t. he was so slutty last night it’s illegal. also this isn’t 100% proofread so enjoy I hope it’s okay!

———

Some days at work are harder than others for you.

Today, you knew was going to be rough the second Harry walked out in single-handedly the most revealing outfit he could have. Borderlining absolutely slutty.

And as his tour photographer, that is quite a bold statement to make when you’ve seen every single outfit— and when his top half is often found shirtless up on stage.

But tonight, out backstage when you were prepping your SD cards and ordering your camera lenses, he walked out of his dressing room adorning his stage outfit to show you, and your stomach dropped the sight of him.

It was a new style, something he hadn’t worn before. A cropped, tasseled blue vest, paired with low rise pants that looked like they were clinging onto his hips for dear life.

“Alrighty, what d’ya think?” He asked, doing a little spin to shake the tassels.

Your mouth opened and words struggled to form as your head fogged over from just seeing his body. And the way his ferns were fully out— along with almost all of his other ink on display. Arms, chest and all.

You had sworn this, many times, was just your eye for art. For people like him who made photography electric. But as time and the tour progressed on from its earlier start in 2021, it was getting harder to convince yourself. Because even if you didn’t acknowledge it, there was no way to justify the heat that stirred in your stomach as just admiration.

“Oh— wow— I like the tassels,” you paused, tongue swiping over your lips, “they’ll be really fun in the photos, I’ll try to get some motion blur type shots with them.”

Your hand reached out before your brain even computed what it was doing, grabbing one of the rhinestoned threads at the base of his vest and running down it. Knuckles brushing the side of his chest.

“Excited to see them as always, m’lovely.” He smiles, the pet name making you flush.

“10 minutes till you’re on, H!” Someone called out.

You laughed at the panicked expression on his face as he realised he was probably dawdling, and in fact behind on his own schedule.

“Alright!” He confirmed back, then chuckling as he whispered to you, “I still gotta brush m’teeth.”

“Well, cmon let’s go, I’ll see what behind the scene shots I can get.”

And you thought that the time spent with him pre-show would ease your racing mind a little, but now that you’re out on the floor you’re almost jittering.

He looks fucking delectable. And by the sound of the stadium around you, they notice it too.

As he steps out you have to force your camera up to your face, which is something you never have to do? But looking at him through your viewfinder is hardly enough to satiate you.

Especially a little later in the show, when your camera is aimed to the back of him— and he’s squated down to get a drink of water…

His pants slipping so far down his hips that the waistband of his Calvin Kleins are easily visible.

Some girls on barricade behind you are going feral simply at the sight. And you can hardly blame them, because the sight of them makes you a little light headed too. Tonight he’s really not leaving much to the imagination.

You feel obliged to take a photo of it, lens aiming up to him— hearing the girls from behind you as your cameras shutters open to capture the moment. They’re shouting clearly, “Y/N, you get that pic girl!”

Another one yelling from your left, “SHES ONE OF US!”

You laugh at them. The fans are always an amazing part of the show. You leave with an array of adorable bracelets, funny shirts, and always lovely compliments.

You snap a few more photos before someone calls your name again, and you turn. A brunette girl, in an incredible replica of his recent purple and black heart overalls from the recent Wembley show, is standing.

“Y/N!” She reaffirms when you’re looking at her.

“Hi lovely, your outfit is amazing.” You smile, and she has fresh tears streaming down her face— a common love on tour occurrence.

“Ohmygod, thank you so much. I made you this tshirt, i wanted to give it to you!” She pulled a white shirt from her feet, presumably from a bag.

She held it out, unfolding it to show off the print on the front.

You immediately couldn’t help but let out a shocked laugh at it. A big pink shaded heart, with 2 also heart-shaped photos on each side of it— of you and Harry. But the best bit was the bubble written font, “my favourite parents!” that is above it.

“I— can I please take a photo of you with it first.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth, “No way, of course you fucking can.”

You take a few photos of her posing with the shirt, “I have 2, please feel free take them both!”

You can only assume one of them is intended for Harry. And even if it’s a little weird of you to take them, you do anyway because the girl was too lovely to even consider denying them.

“Thank you so much.” You chuckle as you hang them over your elbow. She still looks starstruck at the interaction that just occurred and you’re overly excited to edit the photos later on.

In the time of the short interaction, you turned to find Harry. He’s about to transition into she, and is over on the main stage.

You hustle to get yourself up from the floor and onto the stage area. Moving to chuck the shirts on the bench, where most of the bands essentials are for easy access.

Harry sees you over there and you decide to show him the design on the front before you can overthink it.

He’s beginning to sing the intro, and he chuckles the lyrics into the mic as he sees it. And fans around the whole arena scream at the shirt— which you didn’t realise was being displayed on the big screens.

You shake your head, struggling not to admire the tone of his laugh that just echoed around the stadium.

Also blushing a little at the fact you did genuinely just show him a shirt with both of your faces of it, deeming you both as a fans ‘parents’.

You go back to doing your actual job, moving to get a good angle, aiming to blend back into the background as you take more photos for the night.

Capturing the sway and jolts of his tassels as he sings. Getting a few shots that not only capture his energy but also his outfit perfectly.

You smile at yourself and at your work.

And you glance up as Harry joins in with Mitch while he absolutely shreds his guitar solo.

Sweat is beading on Harry’s chest and you’re all too aware how much money people would pay to see it from your angle. Thank god for Barcelona’s heat.

And, fuck, not only is it that. His arms look perfect as well. This outfit is really just showing as much of himself off as possible.

You change the settings on your camera hastily to alter the outcome of these next few shots.

He’d stepped away from the mic, turning to look at the band, mouthing something you couldn’t decipher.

He starts to lean down head getting closer to guitar. His tongue juts out…

Your eyes immediately pull back a little from your camera because, there no fucking way he’s about to let some kind of intrusive thought win here.

Time seems to slow. But not the movement of his tongue. It’s flicking fast, as if to mimic it playing the strings of his guitar. Or something like that anyway, because all you can think of is… well… something too inappropriate to even be entertaining in your head given he’s literally your boss.

You can hear the piercing screams around you, someone in the front shouting what the fuck loud enough you swear someone in the back of the stadium could’ve heard it.

You’re not even aware you bought your camera back up to your face and that you’d clicked the button a few times until it’s done and the moments over.

Harry’s laughing at himself, and Sarah is face palming at his lewd action. His smug smile after solidifies the fact he knows what the fuck he just did. And exactly the kind of effect it’s left on some people.

Just not aware you’re one of them…

Because you can’t deny the way you spent rest of the night with a nagging warmth between your legs. One that festered long after the moment was over.

After the show came to a close and you eventually ended up in your hotel room, freshly showered as you edited some of your favourite photos. Including the shots you’d captured of him and his guitar.

Which were fucking insane. You had just the right amount of contrast going on in them, and a certain degree of motion blur that indicated the movement his tongue was making.

The final product was amazing once you had edited it on photoshop. But you spent the remainder of the night in your hotel room ridiculously worked up. Left in bed toying with your clit lazily as you stared at the celling, acting like you didn’t have a specific person in your thoughts.

It got to the point in the next day where you stressed about what photos to show him. And whether or not that included the one you literally came to the thought of last night?

Usually you wouldn’t hesitate, especially since it looked incredible. But you were embarrassed internally. What would he think, or say? And could you even play off your sheer attraction to the image.

You placed your head in your hands with a groan, sat in the chair over by the window. You’re tired, and swear on your life your decision making is going to be impaired when he walks into your room.

Which you didn’t have much more time to stress much about it as a knock came to your door that you knew was him.

You rushed over to open it, finding him standing there, hair freshly washed and clad in much more clothing then you last saw him in. A plain white shirt and some gym shorts— that still made him look hot as fuck, without even trying?

He greets you with a good morning, voice a tad hoarse from last nights show. And he’s smiling as he hands you a cup, one you know is filled with hot chocolate. Just for you.

“I owe you like 100 hot chocolates for how many you’ve bought me just in this leg of the tour alone.” You laugh, letting him past you.

He glances at the unmade bed— you stopped making it a while after he started to come visit your room the morning after the show to pick which photos he liked best, and ones he also wanted edited. Sometimes he’d settle himself on it, legs crossed like a cute little kid.

“Think of it as a gift for all your talent. And putting up with me.” He chuckles, and plops himself down on the chair that’s opposite to the one you were sitting in.

So you follow suit, walking back over the your chair. Taking a small sip of the sweet liquid in your hands.

“Have any favourites so far?” He asks, taking a quick swig of his own drink— which you can only assume is hot tea.

Yes, you think, the one where you’re about to practically fuck your guitar strings with your tongue.

You substitute that for, “A few! The tassels were so fun to try and capture.”

You rotated the laptop screen to show him a cool shot you edited of him. It was a front on photo, his arms extended and washboard abs in their full fucking glory along with his tattoos.

He nods, a smile coming across his lips, crinkling the corners of his slightly tired eyes.

You showcase him a couple, all that he gives relentless praise on— regardless of if they had been edited or not. But you just want to show him your favourite.

You swallow as you stare at it on the screen of your macbook. Working up the courage to turn the screen to him as he waits cluelessly. Does he even know you took this?

“This one too…” you hesitate a little as you swivel the laptop around on your lap.

“Oh. I like this one a lot.” He says, nodding and then glancing up from the screen to your semi-flushed face.

“Didn’t know you took that.” He chuckles, shrugging and almost seeming… like he has more to say about this situation.

Like something is laying on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be said.

You think he’s not going to though, after a beat of silence, you nod.

“Yea… what actually are you doing in this photo?” You nervous laugh, and wonder what kind of answer he’s going to provide.

He runs a hand through his curls, brows raised a little at your question.

“What did you think I was doing?” He quizzes, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“I- well it looked quite… everyone in the audience was going wild. Were you trying to be a tease?”

“I wasn’t! I swear. I was playing the guitar.” He confirmed, yet smirking like he knew there was a two-way perception of the event.

“With your tongue?” You sighed out a laugh.

“You still didn’t answer me. What did you think I was doing?” He backtracks, eyes watching you intensely as you’re both entering some rather dangerous, untouched territory.

You’re quiet again, and he raises his brows still expecting a response.

You flush under his gaze, hand coming to cover your eyes. “It just looked very…”

“Very…?”

“Inappropriate.” You laughed, feeling like you were emotionally torturing yourself by letting this situation happen.

“How so?” He continues to push, wanting to hear more. Secretly adoring the way you get all flustered about it. How badly he wants you to tell him exactly what the movement of his tongue reminded you of.

“It just— you know what I mean, Harry!” You say, now being the one trying to backtrack out of this entire situation. That in the end is still technically your own fault.

You distract yourself with other photos, going in and trying to find another possible contender for his new post on instagram.

“Don’t try and avoid the conversation, love.” He chuckles at your sudden shy demeanour.

“Harry.” You place your hand over your face again trying to mentally reset yourself. Put your thinking back in line.

“Cmon! I’m just curious.” He tries to brush it off, but if he has to resort to begging, he honestly wouldn’t hesitate.

“I know you are, but— it’s weird!” You whine, wanting to die at the fact you had let this happen in the first place.

“I promise I won’t judge.” He places his hand over his heart, face serious, like he was swearing it on his bloodline.

You thought about it a little longer. He clearly was not going to leave you alone if he didn’t get an answer. You could try and lie, but he already knows anyway. He just wants to hear you say it.

“You know, Harry. You just want to hear me say it.” You murmur, bringing up the chocolaty drink to your lips to distract yourself.

“Sure, maybe I do. I wanna confirm my suspicions.” He proposes, a small shrug of his shoulders. You place the drink back on the coaster, staring at him. Eventually caving.

“It— everyone definitely thought it looked like you were, uh, giving oral.” You rushed out, trying to now act as nonchalant as possible to avoid further questioning.

I didn’t work.

“So everyone including you?” He asked.

“Well… yea.” Your cheeks were pink, and he smiled at your flustered voice.

“Dirty thing.” He chuckled, and you almost breathed a sigh of relief thinking maybe you could move on and pretend as if this never happened, but he continues on.

“Had you a little worked up, did I?”

“May I touch on how unprofessional this conversation is?” You bring up, trying to save yourself. But it’s evident in your voice you hardly mean it. You are admittedly a little curious as to where he’s going with this. Equally, if not more embarrassed than anything, but still curious.

“I suppose you can, yes.” He nods.

“But may I bring up how you undressing me with your eyes yesterday was unprofessional? Because unless I’m insane, you definitely were.” He’s cocky, and overconfident with his accusation.

Not that it can be really labelled as an accusation, given he’s not wrong at all.

“I—“ you swallow, “Okay. Whatever. Point proven.”

He laughs at your surrender, shuffling forward on the chair.

“So you were— that’s the kind of stuff you were thinking about me?” He rests his elbows on his knees, watching you intently.

“You are really trying to get something out of me aren’t you? What do you want to hear me say?” You raise your brows, adrenaline coursing through you.

“Just want you to tell me the truth. Be honest with me, since we’re talking about being professional. I think that’s a good start.” He sounds so gentle yet firm, and your devouring this dominant kind of trait he’s showing you.

“Communication and honesty is very important when it comes to professionalism.”

Pleasure has been simmering in your stomach since he walked through the door, and his persistence is beginning to pay off, since you’re starting to let your guard down.

“So you want me to tell you how wet I got after your little stunt last night? That if I wasn’t your employee, after the show you would have found me in your dressing room bent over on the table.”

“Waiting for you to come in there, all sweaty and ready to strip that teeny fucking vest off, and put your mouth to use.”

He’s got a dusting of red over his own cheeks now, blood rushing to his cock as he realised he cracked you open now. Your dirty words spilling out of your mouth after holding back seemingly since last night.

“That what you would’ve done? Bent yourself over my dressing room table waiting for me like a pretty little post-show gift?”

“Maybe so.” You feed into it, watching as his eyes darken with desire.

He sighs out, standing up promptly, “Alright, darling. I’m gonna offer you something. You don’t have to agree, but if you do we can stop at any time. Okay?”

“What exactly are you offering?” You ask as leans his tall frame down to you, hands bracketed on your hips.

“For me to pick you up, put you on that bed and strip you until I can bury my head between your legs.” He stated, matter of factly.

Your thighs are shaking so hard you’re clenching them together— clit throbbing at the pressure.

You can only look up at him and nod, to which he doesn’t take as an answer.

“Baby, need you to use your words. Tell me what you want.”

“Yes, Harry. Want that please.” You whine, very quickly becoming delusional at his close proximity.

He grunts as he picks you up, his arms firm around your body and he carry’s you the few feet to the bed. His lips hot as they suddenly come in contact with your jaw.

He pushes your legs open with his thigh, making you moan and push your hips forward.

“Needy girl.” He whispers, voice dirty and hot near your ear as he sucks on the skin below it.

His hands cascade down your body, finding the waistband of your sweatpants and tugging it down.

“Please, please touch me.” You’re wild, bucking your hips up. Wanting to get his tongue on you so bad.

He chuckles at your sudden spiral, how quickly you’ve unravelled before him. Truly like a present, all laid out waiting just for him.

He palms his hand over your damp front, “Soaking through already, fuckin’ hell.”

You groan as he rubs a pressured circle on your fabric-covered clit.

“Want to tell me who got you so wet?” He coos, slowly moving his fingers over you as he waits for an answer.

You give it to him shamelessly, “You. Want you so badly.”

He’s over the moon to finally have you like this. Because it became apparent rather quickly the crush he’d developed on you since you were hired. And he would be lying if he said he hadn’t fucked his fist at the thought of getting to touch you.

“Oh, you’re being so good for me now. Because I’ve got my hand between your pretty legs I bet.”

You cant even respond as he slides your drenched underwear down away from your tingling core.

He audibly groans at the sight of your bare, glistening pussy. Watching as you squirm under his stare.

“Jesus fuck, Y/N. How long have you been hiding this gorgeous cunt from me?”

“Too long.” You whimper.

His fingers slid through you, and he gathered up your arousal to play with your clit. Relishing the way it slides under his fingertips.

You were clenching around nothing as he gently rolled your clit between calloused fingers. Playing with it until you were a mess. Moaning and grinding up against his fingers. Begging for what he’d promised earlier.

“Your mouth, Harry. Need it. Anywhere.”

“S’that why your little hole is clenching so hard? Like it’s begging for me.” He watched, mesmerised as your hole pulsed around nothing, and leaked more clear arousal.

You look so delicious to him. And he took a moment to appreciate the fact you were about to let him clean up all that arousal pooling at your hole

He sunk down between your legs very slowly. Distracting himself a few times with mouthing over your fabric covered breasts.

Eventually making it there, so he could blow over your clit, letting you squirm at the teasing stimulation. You smelt amazing too, your sweet tangy scent making his mouth water.

He was grabbing at his cock, pushing at it trying to relieve pressure down there as he peppered kisses along your inner thigh.

“Stop teasing, H. Please I— fuck.” You hissed as he bit the seam of skin of your thigh.

“Cant handle it huh? Are you gonna come before I even get my tongue on you.”

“Want to finish around your mouth.” You plead with him. And he shakes his head with a laugh, anticipating your reaction as he leans forward to drag a long stroke through your slit.

Your whole body shakes with a moan. His velvety, hot tongue immediately leaving you a wreck.

“Harryyy…” You cry out, bucking your hips into his face.

“Gonna ruin your cunt, darling.” He murmurs into you, and you know it’s true with the way your hole is clenching.

He sucks your clit into his mouth before placing fast strokes over it. Flicking and rolling it between his tongue and lips.

The sounds of him lapping up your pussy are echoing through the room, further fuelling the fire that’s started in you.

Your whole jaw goes lax as he moves further down, gliding over your hole— pushing his tongue past your entrance.

“Fuck!” You moan, hips jolting, causing his hands to slide up and hold them into place.

He slides it into you as far as he can, nose bumping your clit. Making you realise very quickly that you’re going to finish around his mouth.

He moans into you, again the vibrations makes you writhe in his tight grip. “I- Harry- more!”

It’s making your whole body shake, and he’s pressed so far into you that it’s all you can feel. And it’s obvious that you’re about to come, just with the way your cunt is pulsing around his mouth.

“Fuck! Fuckfuckfuck. Harry, please, I’m gonna come!” You felt the burning spark fly through you, hitting you like a truck when his tongue curled and rocked inside you.

He’s humming and pressing himself so close you genuinely think he can’t breathe. And you realise immediately when the rubber band in snapped inside of you.

It gushed through your whole body, making you moan and cry in his grip. He couldn’t even explain the feeling of having you clenching around his tongue. It almost made him finish in his pants.

He lapped up every single drop he could. But he didn’t stop.

Your clit was so sensitive as he came back up to it with the same intensive pace.

You tried to push him off, “be a good girl, baby, give me another one.”

“So sensitive, Harry.” You whined, hand threading into his soft hair.

“Y’can take it.” He states, going back to sucking on your clit, and the outside of your entrance.

It made you a mess. A proper fucking mess.

You legs were being spread wide by the palm of his hands, and you were almost crying at how sensitive your pussy was.

You were always a five-minute-scroll-break kind of girl when it came to masturbation. So this came as a whole shock to your body. And it was so fucking hot from his perspective.

All he could hear was your filthy fucking whines, begging him one minute to stop and the next to go faster. And he was going insane at how sensitive your little hole was.

That was all he could feel. The clenching of your cunt, the absolute shaking mess your body was becoming.

His tongue flicked over your clit, just as you imagined he would after seeing him last night. And it was getting to messy, your arousal absolutely coating his mouth and chin.

“I-“ a deep suck of your clit, “I’m gonna fucking come!”

You writhed the whole way through your orgasm. Fucking into his face like it was a toy, grinding into it so hard your sure he was completely consumed by you.

And as you came down from the high, still shaking, he cleaned up down there again. Too good to waste, was his thought process. ‘You tasted like a dream’ you’re pretty sure you hear him mutter against you at some point.

His thumbs run over the dips of your hips to bring you back down to earth.

“Good girl, Baby. Took my mouth so fucking well.” He presses a final kiss on your clit as he stood up, your hands dragging up his back did.

“Feeling a little better too, i hope.”

“Yes. So good. H.” You panted, still in a bit of a daze.

“Next time,” he peppered a kiss on you shoulder, “tell me when you’re feeling all worked up okay.”

You nodded, hands sliding to rest in his hair.

“Or by all means, lay yourself out in my dressing room so I can make make come like you deserve.” He smiles at your little nod, still so out of it.

“My little gift, hm?” He coos, stroking a gentle hand down your face.

And he knows he’d do this moment a thousand times over with you. Just to see that smile flash over your lips.

———

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles barcelona #he is so fucking hot I cant #that clip 🧎‍♀️#smut

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neine · 4 months

Text

References in 1670 (Updated)

General info

Names

Jan Paweł - is a reference to a pope, Jan Paweł II. He's considered "the greatest polish person", up to a comical point. So he turned into a meme.

Jakub - A reference to a saying "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". In polish "Jak Kuba bogu tak bóg Kubie". Literally "As Kuba to god, god to Kuba".

Jędrula - A reference to a show about Foster family, to a character that liked to drink whiskey.

Andrzej - A stereotypical neighbour, where he has everything better than you.

Żmija - A reference to Ojciec Mateusz, a show about a priest solving crime, played by Artur Żmijewski (hence the name). Żmija is from Sandomierz, that's where Ojciec Mateusz was set. (From multiple people, @rabarbarzcukrem mainly.)

Historical background

Poland was going into a sort of a recession. It used to be one of the most powerful countries in Europe. As well as Lithuania, of course. Time of the Commonwealth. The plague didn't hit the Commonwealth as much because it wasn't densily populated. The biggest issue (one of many) were the tatars, who just kind of lived there. Usually were bribed into gaining some power in the country so they won't couse trouble. Lithuania was getting Polonised, but it wasn't going as good as you could imagine. It's the time after the swedish flood, where the whole country was basically looted. It was considered a very open country, many Jews lived here.

Liberum Veto - it's just that one person can say no and whatever they voted on, won't pass. Also huge reason why partations later happened.

Culture

Drowning of Marzanna is a ritual that happens every year, on the first day of spring, to say goodbye to winter. Marzanna is a slavic goddess associeted with death, winter and nature. Marzanna is sometimes set on fire and then thrown into a river. + Interesting tags from @ukulelegodparent (From multiple people)

Hunting by nobles was also kinda a cultural thing. It was often described in the books from that time.

References

"Ała kurwa rzeczywiście" - reference to this

youtube

"Quo Vadis" - meaning, "Where are you going?", is a reference to novel by Henry SIenkiewicz. More known overseas from a movie adaptation from 1951. (From multiple people)

"My wife, Zofia" is a reference to a movie "Miś". (From @gdzie-rosna-poziomki)

youtube

"Do dupy z takim spiskowcem. Mnie kury szczać prowadzić, a nie spiski" is a reference to Piłsudski's "Wam kury szczać prowadzić, a nie politykę robić. (From @gdzie-rosna-poziomki)

"Ta zniewaga... oczekuje, abym ją wymazał stosując przemoc." - "This insult... expects me to earase it with violance." Reference to "Zemsta", by Aleksander Fredro, "Ta zniewaga krwi wymaga." - "This insult requires blood spill". (From @rabarbarzcukrem)

Measuring tassels - likely a reference to "Pan Tadeusz". In modern speach, tassels means dicks. (Also from @rabarbarzcukrem)

Jan Paweł walking on Zofia and Rozalia in bed, the deer antlers look like they're growing from his head. It's a reference to a saying "przyprawić komuś rogi" (also in use in multiple other languages). Which means to cheat on someone. (Multiple people, mainly @rabarbarzcukrem)

Equality march - It's how Pride Prades are called in Poland. (From @rabarbarzcukrem)

Henry kicking a fern flower is a reference to Slavic mythology. It symbolizes ferility and love. (Also from @rabarbarzcukrem) @misticfog adds to it here. (And some other things)

Stasia the mouner saying "Wszystkie kary na mnie idą" ("All punishments come to me") is a reference to this: (from @00midnightrider00)

youtube

(Quote happens in 1:20)

Thank you for all the additions!

Lorem Ipsum - is a placeholder text often used in web page design.

"Koń jaki jest, każdy widzi" - What a horse is everyone sees, is a reference to the first polish dictionary.

#1670 #Youtube

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roseofthewind · 3 months

Text

Every week I watch the new Frieren episode, and every week I go a little insane over all the moments Frieren and Fern have in the OP and ED. (This is just the second opening and ending, I'm not even going to touch the first ones.)

Fern doing Frieren's hair

Master - student parallels

The tassels on their staves touching? cmon

The outro is even better. Frieren starts off alone.

She's lying by a gravestone, at night.

Then we have the section with the sculpted figures. Frieren reaches for a blue flower- it hasn't bloomed yet, but any blue flower is going to bring to mind the Blue-Moon Weed, Himmel's favorite flower.

There's been a butterfly following Frieren around for a while. It lands on the flower.

Himmel has an association with butterflies, since there's one on the ring he gave Frieren, but Fern arguably has a stronger association with them. Fern's butterfly pin makes an appearance earlier in the outro, and the pin transforms into the butterfly that follows Frieren.

We also have this shot of Fern and many blue butterflies in the intro.

The butterfly and the blue flower transform into a girl with long hair and a long dress. The sculpted figures are almost completely white, so we don't see Fern's distinctive purple hair, but the figure resembles her regardless.

The line of the song that plays when the butterfly and the flower transform into Fern is: その涙だって大丈夫きっと夜が明けるよ "It's okay to cry, the dawn will surely come." This is a line referencing past grief but also showing hope for the future, and it's so poignant that it occurs while a symbol representing Himmel (past) and a symbol potentially representing both Himmel and Fern transforms into Fern (present/future).

Finally, we get a beautiful shot that starts on a blue flower, now fully opened-

and pans up to Frieren lying down, like she was earlier, but this time on Fern's lap.

It's daytime now, instead of night, and if the image has retained its quality, you might see Frieren has the most unbelievably tender expression on her face.

What this tells me, is that Frieren absolutely loved Himmel, in her own asexual-aromantic elf way, and that she also loves Fern, in much the same way.

I've been noticing Himmel and Fern parallels all over the place and I barely get into any of them here. If I included every moment in the actual show where it's obvious how much Fern and Frieren care about each other I would be here all day.

#frieren beyond journeys end #frieren at the funeral #sousou no frieren #frieren #fern frieren #unsure what ferns most popular tag actually is #its not like you can just tag her name and nothing else its kind of a plant...

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awkwardwhims · 2 months

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Fern ended up getting the 3 tassels before getting to this stage; she bought two at the night market & found one in the tiger sanctuary when she snuck in.

Fount Of Tomarani Knowledge - Stage 3: Explorer Extraordinaire

Collect 3 Unique Tassels

Explore Tomarang's Cave

Explore the Sulea Tiger Sanctuary

View the Statue of Khun Mae and the Tiger

#ts4 globetrotter #ts4globetrotterexpanded #globetrotter challenge #ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 screenshots #simblr #ts4 gameplay

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wroteclassicaly · 1 year

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Bravado

(Gator Tillman x Female Reader)

Pairings: Gator Tillman x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, depression, anxiety, mentions of body hair, vaginal fingering, & oral sex (female receiving).

A/N: Listen, I know the show isn’t out and we have no real visual (besides that one pic), or any characterizations that are complete of our boy here, but this is just my take! It’s all in good fun! And I’m using this gif as a sort of visual for him, because we obviously don’t have anything else, lol. Dedicating this to my love Meg, @courtingchaos — I’m here and I see you, honey! Feel better! 🖤❤️

There’s a kind of explosive energy when he hears the front door slam — it’s worn, dust caked blinds slapping against a sheen of glass that could use its own cleaning. He prepares himself for a bantering battle, stubbing out the cigar’s end in the gun shaped ashtray you'd gifted him from your last summer’s venture to see your childhood friends in Virginia. He never has admitted how much he missed your presence, and not just because you kept shit running around here for him, kept his head on straight when his mind went galloping off at top speed — no, it was something else entirely that Gator Tillman was not ready to admit to himself yet. Uncrossing a boot clad ankle from the other, Gator lifts himself off the worn desk chair, uncaring as it hits the wall and makeshift cork board behind him. There’s more pressing matters.

His thick digits twitch at his sides, electric prickling at his fingertips. He’s ready to reach out and touch what’s his. And as he makes his way to the front where your back is to him, arms shrugging out of your thin leather jacket and discarding it on the office visitor rack — Gator feels an ache on his tongue. A longing to map, to explore, to taste, to lick every inch of your skin. You’re wearing a pale pink lace top with intricate buttons and blue jeans, but that’s not what throws him off, halts him in his tracks.

It’s your lack of hat wear. Every morning, each shift — without fail, you’d strut in here with your velvet cowgirl hat, delicate charms pinned to the tassel. Gator hated that damned thing, always loud and cliche, and you knew he did. He never missed a chance to tell you that either, until now. Maybe you’d already tossed it off and behind your desk?

His brows pinch together. That’s not right, something isn’t okay. He approaches slowly, uncharted territories. He’s unused to defusing you. Perps, yeah. But the woman he’s been having sex with for nearly a year and has known for much longer?

This is a new anxiety, one that temporarily halts that aching on his tongue’s tip. You turn around before he can say something, the leather in his boots giving his position away. He’s gotta fix that. You’re without makeup, but you’ve never looked more fucking perfect to him. A light dusting of perfume caresses your neck, along with a sheen of humid perspiration.

“Gator.” You’re sighing in exasperation, your own voice exhausted and demolished, incapable of anything more. “Please don’t start.”

For a moment’s pause, he wants to lash out, walk away from the unknown. But it’s you, and he can’t. He nods several times, licking the aftertaste of tobacco and stale coffee off his mouth, and he steps into your space and laces his fingers through yours, tugging. You don’t fight his grasp, you don’t complain when he adjusts the locks on the front door, you’re even silent when he walks down the small paneled hallway and nudges you into the pale blue painted bathroom. The tile flooring provides a little coolness to the room’s expanse, causing you to relax slightly.

Gator makes quick work of using the scratched metal towel dispenser next to the sink, dowsing what papers he collects in water, his large hand drifting into your sight. He knuckles scrape behind your ear, calluses on his fingers tickling the lobe. You let him maneuver you until you’re sitting on the oak dresser beneath the window, one dying fern beside you. He tilts your neck to the side and runs the wet towel over the sweat, mopping up the heat and instantly making you sway into his hold. You reach back and grip his wrist, nails rubbing at the bone, eyes closed.

He wrings it out along your flesh, his nose fitting into the curvature of your jawline, tongue finally filtering out to taste you. Every bead of water that rolls down your skin, he’s collecting, spreading around, leaving behind a trail of saliva in its wake. Once you’re more pliant and there’s merely wrinkled paper, he trashes them and pinches your chin between two fingers. “What’s wrong?” He’s not stern, but he is strong in his question.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lie.

“Bullshit, Bravado. Somethin’ is up your ass. And since it’s not me…”

Your head snaps up at that, a poor attempt at an eye roll getting lost on the both of you. Stupid fucker can read you like a book. There’s no need to hide it, you don’t feel like mustering the energy anyways. Shrugging, you give him your honest answer. “Everything. I don’t know. Just overwhelmed and over all of this. I’m tired, I need a break. And this stupid hell hole is hotter than Satan’s asshole. What do you want me to say, Gator? I’m just… I’m exhausted.”

He’s known you years before you’d ventured outside friend territory, so he automatically knows that if he pushes anymore — you’ll bolt. And hell, he’s been there. He’s been there multiple times in the past two weeks, but you’ve always been here to keep him together, get his ass in line… Make him forget. With a stern, bushy brow, you’re watching in bewilderment as his hand finds purchase on your shoulder and squeezes, an understanding tenderness that he hasn’t given you since he fucked you for the first time and you were extremely overwhelmed.

“I take care of my own.” He says it, a secret he doesn’t mean to let out of the treasure chest, a gift. His caramel enriched eyes swirl with mirth and self-shock. He doesn’t take it back though, just has his other hefty palm following suit and his fingertips trailing along your collarbone, toying with your blouse’s buttons, before settling on your other shoulder.

A helping hand, a brief understanding. Gator admires your ability to read people, it’s why you’ve never needed a polygraph in the office. You’re the internal ball buster. And he’s damn proud of you. You swallow harshly, throat glistening with his licks.

There's exhaustion, however, as a few seconds tick by. You don’t have the strength to pleasure him, to sink to your knees in these, on this dingy floor. But Gator is shaking his head, nose nudging the underside of your chin, lips pressing, a sentence filtering off smooth. “M’ not asking for everything. There’s only one question I’ve got for you, Bravado.”

Your voice is almost a whisper when you answer him. “And what’s that, Tillman?”

Without missing a beat, shards of green swirling beneath that glossy hazel — he’s there. “Are you gonna take your clothes off for me, or am I takin’ them off for you?”

He’s got something planned. Your stomach stirs, that pulsating ache slapping you between your thighs, webbing across your body and holding on, woven through every orifice, and latching onto every organ. He smirks at you when you try to decipher, waiting patiently. Your response is to lift your hands and sink them underneath his own, pushing your top off your shoulders, nodding at him, your hands meeting his on the buttons and undoing each one. His scratchy stubble bites into your jugular, his mouth at your neck the entire time until your shirt is coming apart and he can ease your bra cups below the swell of your breasts.

You begin to pant, struggling to stay still and hold onto the chipped wooden surface below you. He steps back to unwind his holster and secure next to your hip, his worn Levi’s dusted with fresh dirt and mud at the knees, ripped open and exposing hairy skin. There’s damp stains on the pits of his brown shirt when he raises his arms, your nails stimulating paths of goosebumps as you run your fingernails up his biceps, helping him discard the fabric. He smells so fucking good, just as he always does. That cologne has sunk into his neck, smeared in with aftershave and the hair gel he’s slicked his locks back with, and that layer of body odor he accumulates during the heat.

He sinks his pearly whites into his lower lip, pupils expanding — capturing the lush green and melting the caramel into a thin ring. His hairy chest is accentuated by his own sweat line that shines across his sternum, his gold chain pendant swaying back and forth with his brisk movements. You pull it into your palm and clutch, lifting your hips for him to get your jeans unzipped and pulling them off with your panties in one go, legs parting for him to filter in between. You’re like a buffet and Gator Tillman is ready to feast, whilst still keeping the task at hand — making you forget.

He helps himself to your breasts, big hands squeezing and jiggling, rolling your nipples until you’re arching your back and pleading. “Good girl,” he praises.

“Gator, please.”

“Got such perfect fuckin’ tits, darlin’.”

You hum your appreciation, a slight smile playing on your lips, your cunt awaiting attention, soaked every time you move — audible. Gator notices, of course he does. But what you aren’t expecting is for his hand to bypass you, tickling your inner thigh, already teasing slick, but not taking. He doesn’t break eye contact with you, his boots giving him away yet again (as if he’s not completely visible) as he lowers himself to the floor in front of you, his knees hitting the ground. Your tummy knots itself into somersaults, eyes glazing over.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You’re already pleading, demanding, encouraging.

He licks at his teeth and nods, his large hands looking diabolical clutching your knees and pushing you impossibly wider. His breath is warm across your thighs and soaked lips, making you jump slightly. He kisses you where your thigh meets you, inhaling like a starved man, running his fingers through your creamy curls. You both sigh in elation. He loves the way you look between your legs, unafraid to let your natural hair grow, always doing what you want, unlike a lot of the women he’s been with.

And when he’s finally able to taste you? It’s like a fucking memory that molds together nostalgia for him. The echo of a good song on a jukebox in an empty bar, how smooth his first drink he bought to celebrate when he became Sheriff tasted as it went down. You’re better than the celebratory cigar he planted between his lips and smoked as he watched you dance to that old song — drunk off your ass with your bare feet gliding along faded wooden planks. He thinks, he wonders, his finger gliding along the seam of you before it pushes inside your wet heat — that you’re feeling this all too.

You cry out for him and your legs drape down his back, thighs squeezing his head, pressing into his cheeks. That fucking day old beard burning your flesh. Gator mouths off one last time, before he dives in. “Tell me how much you need my tongue, baby.”

“Always need it, always need you.” You’re stammering and already close to exploding, everything hypersensitive.

The heat is boiling to a pressure point, and as Gator licks his way into your cunt, pulling your hips down onto his face, his finger finding your clit, he doesn’t object when you demand he take himself out and cum with you. He works you both in steady and easy rhythms, alternating, paying attention, not taking his eyes off of you the entire time. It’s intense, more so than you anticipated, and the coil tightens in your abdomen, seizing your muscles with a delicious destruction. He moans in vibrations against you, causing the high to drown you, your mouth opening and cries of his name dousing him, along with fresh waves of your arousal — hot and sticky on his tongue. With your curls tickling his nose, the fresh scent of your cum on his mouth, seeing you come undone and use one hand to grab your own tits — he spills all over the floor, uncaring about the mess, licking you through your orgasm while bucking into his hand to ride out his own.

He rests his head against your thigh, enjoying the heat. Your hands gravitate towards him, one linking through his own, the other combing through his now unruly mane. He has trouble standing, tucking himself back in, but you work together. He cleans you both in comfortable silence, helping you button your shirt and adjust your pants. You fiddle with his chain as he slips back into his t-shirt, accepting a kiss with your own taste.

Nothing more needs to be said, at least, not about the intimacy just shared. Gator, ever-the-little-shit, he has one more surprise up his sleeve. As you find your desk back in the small lobby and he unlocks the door, he leans into the counter on his elbows, leaving you with one last thing. “My place tonight. Steaks and drinks, so don’t be late, Bravado .”

// Eat me paragraph //

#kristenwrites #my work #my writing #gator tillman #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fanfic #gator tillman fanfiction #gator tillman fluff #gator tillman smut #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x female reader #gator tillman x you #gator tillman x reader #gator tillman x y/n

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m1d-45 · 1 year

Note

if you don't mind i'd love to see what'd you think it'd be like being found by razor first in sagau!!! he's my main and like a son to me <3. also i am handing you little cat shaped cookies, ur writing is always a treat when its on my dash!!!!!!

lightning sigil

a/n: in return to your delightful gift, i bring you this small love letter to the first character i ever pulled. i’m glad to know that i have brightened people’s day, and hope to reflect this kindness back to you <3

word count: 1111!!!

-> warnings: spoilers for razor lore / story quest? i suppose?

-> lowercase intended

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie

< masterlist >

you land in wolvendom, lamp grass cradling your fallen form. a soft blue glow lights up the dark forest, and despite the stars shining through the leaves, you can see a fair distance around you. the plants and ferns curl around and hold your curious hand, brushing carefully into your palm. it’s…. unnatural, for certain, but it isn’t unnerving in the way you’d expect.

you spend a little longer than you’d like to admit in a trance of sorts, watching the wind blow flowers against your wrist and leaves flutter between your fingers. it’s strange, but certainly a welcome distraction from waking up in a strange environment.

speaking of…

you inspect the lamp grass around you, ignoring the odd way they preen into your touch. are they really lamp grass? or is this some weird dream? it has to be, right? the wind doesn’t just… do that, it doesn’t curl bushes into your hair and brush away errant strands with the care of an actual hand. it doesn’t in your world.

the brush rattles with the breeze, but you don’t pay much attention, chalking it up to the same strange wind as the one affecting the flora around you, continuing to inspect the small plant in your hand. the small bulb seems to glow brighter just by being next to your skin, and your brain calls up some explanation of bioluminescence from some science class or odd youtube video.

sticks creak and leaves rustle, sounding like somebody’s approaching. you turn in the direction of the sound, scooting back until your back hits a tree. you were too distracted to notice earlier, but as you stare into the dark space between the tree trunks, you realize how unsettlingly dark it is. you can’t see anything.

your breath picks up, your fingers threading into the grass. it weaves back into your hand, cool with nighttime, and you falter momentarily on the fact that wind couldn’t possibly be affecting it this way.

the bushes part.

red eyes stare at you from the pitch black, something shimmering in the darkness besides them. you can’t look away, even as your spine prickles with nerves and unease, transfixed by something that seems so familiar and yet should have you running.

the eyes tilt. the bushes part further.

white hair comes into view first, then a dark hood and large white pendants. dark army-green pants fold and bend over a crouched form, buckles and tassels clicking over the bushes, somehow not catching.

you clutch at the grass. it holds you back.

“you…”

you can’t move as the boy—you tell yourself you don’t know his name, you tell yourself it’s not the same guy—approaches, kneeling in front of you. his hands are gloves, the leather shockingly warm where it reaches for your hand.

“you’re here.”

the shock and emotion in his voice surprises you, alongside the implicit recognition in his words. he knew you? he…

you tell yourself again that this can’t be the razor you know. this can’t be the one you’ve poured time and energy into, this isn’t the same boy as from your game, he’s not the one you cooed and called after. he’s not the one you cried over when he got hurt, he’s not the one you spent hours and hours grinding for and perfecting and leveling and loving-

not-razor tugs at your wrist. “stand. you should not be with the grass.”

you ignore the chord in your heart that burns at his voice and let him pull you up, at a loss for words. you want to say something, it feels awkward not breaking the silence, but you dont know what to say. what can you? is this version of razor aware of what you did for him? what kind of dream are you even having right now?

he steadies you with another hand on your arm, frowning. you didn’t even realize you were swaying.

“you okay?”

you nod. he doesn’t seem convinced.

“come. follow.”

he pulls you along, one of his hands falling away to push aside branches in your path. moonlight streams in bars from the sky, fireflies flickering along the path. you cling to razor’s hand, walking a little closer to him. the night is cold, and though the wind creeping through the trees was comforting before, it’s only off-putting now.

he makes an odd half-huff, holding your hand tighter. the noise doesn’t sound irritated, somehow, even as you’re certain it would from anybody else.

he leads you to a small ledge, coming up to your waist, and clambers up with ease. before you can struggle over the rock, he reaches his hands over the edge.

“here. i help you.”

the simple dialogue makes you smile.

he pulls you up and over the edge easily, standing and smoothly pulling you up alongside him. the action is quick, one that leaves you a bit disoriented, but you quickly get your bearings again. after checking you over, he gives a self-satisfied smile and continues walking.

“oh- ah, where are we going?”

your words come out strange and off-kilter in your continued confusion, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“place to sit. wait.”

“for?”

“wolf pack!”

he says it with such pride, you can see the affection in his eyes even from your angle at his side. they really are his family..

you come into a clearing with a large rock in the center, the moon falling through a gap onto a large portion of it. razor leads you near the center of the moonlit portion, sitting down.

“once wolves return, we will bring you somewhere better. less cold.”

you stare, watching as he fusses with his cloak. why would they take you in? surely they didn’t…

after a moment, razor managed to remove his jacket, leaning in to wrap it around your shoulders. it’s small, unsurprisingly, but warm in a way you don’t expect.

“you know me?”

razor smiles as he sits back, an awkward imitation yet endearing all the same. when he speaks, you catch a glimpse of fangs.

“you’re my lupical.”

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cypriathus · 2 months

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Here is my version of Lucifer!

WARNING: There are mentions of a mental health issue, coitus, and genitalia.

Luxaszofer is a melancholic, prudently watchful, and highly respected fallen cherub-virtue hybrid who has great leadership skills. He consistently engages with his responsibilities and critical thinking, understanding complicated ideas and proposing solutions to problems. He shows a lot of admiration, compassion, and tenderness towards people who have significantly impressed him. He’s overprotective of his beliefs, role models, family, and friends, and somewhat mischievous, finding amusing excitement in harmless pranks. He has wise courage that allows him to remain headstrong, intelligent, and stoic in most situations and admitting his faults. He’s fairly cynical about disinterested moral goodness, seeing it as a duty to test people by leading them astray in order to teach the importance of a virtuous life. He has palpable suicidal tendencies, slight self-esteem issues, and a yearning to be truly loved despite having a family and trustworthy friends. He shows arrogant superiority to and disdain of those he personally views as unworthy, especially individuals that get on his nerves. On that note, he only acts immensely cruel, barbaric, and traitorous to individuals who stand in his way.

He has no moral qualms about torturing sinners and brutally murdering people he considers as obstacles. He harbours pure resentment and hatred towards most angels as a result of feeling betrayed by his holy and righteous brethren. He holds a vast amount of brilliant knowledge and has a strange sense of raunchy and dark humour despite his indifferent sarcasm. He possesses a great concupiscent appetite that’s directed towards those who make a pact with him and/or sexually grab his attention. Luxaszofer exudes an air of unbreakable charisma, and he can easily swoon women and men with desire-targeting promises and his cunning eloquence. Due to having psychosis and being a pathological liar, he has a habit of believing his false judgements and disturbing delusions. He experiences confused and disrupted patterns of thought, blurring the line between reality and fiction. He used to lie a lot, but his curse forced him to become more honest and unafraid to positively assert himself.

As an angel, he appears to be a 7’ 9” (236.22 cm) mesomorph with a rectangular figure, sloping shoulders, a square chest, a beautiful musculature, a well-endowed penis, and prominent thighs. Luxaszofer’s unblemished snow white skin has the green, pink, red, and purple hues of the aurora borealis as lively blushing. He has two massive wings of polished bronze with an unearthly lustre, and four faces; that of a human male (front), eagle (right), lion (left), and ox (back). The masculine human face has rosy pink lips, dazzling and elusive sunburst yellow white-light pink eyes, and shoulder-length pink blonde hair with gracious curls. He has a gleaming aureole of thin sun rays, which is engulfed in blue holy flames. He dons plate armour that’s infused with the natural hues and magical energy of the dawn. He has beauty bush apple tree blossoms with fern green leaves on his pauldrons, a fish-scaled gorget of iridescent ruby red, and metallic green bird-feathered vambraces and greaves with a faint violet sheen. Whenever Luxaszofer isn’t donning his protective armour, he has a shimmering vivid violet mantle with tassels. He’s dressed in a one-shoulder diaphanous robe of yellow-green, red-violet, and dark blue with sparkling gold stars and a bronze cincture around his waist. In order to respectfully cover up his shame, he wears a knee-length kilt of glimmering saffron.

As a fallen angel, he’s 9’ 11” (302.26 cm) and the winged upper body of his former self protrudes from a grotesquely muscular body of a wingless dragon. The dragon has cardinal red scales with yellow-orange lustre and their four-toed legs end in glossy black talons. After his horrible fall from grace, he lost his eagle, lion, and ox heads, only leaving his human face. His once gorgeous face is somewhat disfigured on the left side due to severe burns and scarring. He’s missing his left eye, which is indicated by a vertical scar, and his hair is now a chin-length red blonde with delicate waves. He has curly red blonde pecto-sterno-infraclavicular chest and disperse abdominal hair, and sharp claws. Luxaszofer’s newly bone white skin has brown freckles on his face, neck, and hands, and noticeable stretch marks of silvery pink on his belly and upper arms. The hue of his wings and single eye retain its original vibrancy, but they appear to be dull and almost lifeless. On that note, he has prominent scars across his body: one from his right trapezius to below the left pectoralis major; two horizontal scars across his chest; a diagonal scar from the left masseter to sternocleidomastoid; a scar on his right cheek that looks like a fallen papal cross; and healed cuts on his lower arms. He can change his dragon body to a pair of legs with an engorged vulva and human-sized hemipenes, but the thighs and calves are covered in healed burns and stab wounds.

In order to cover his face, he dons a clairvoyant purple theatrical mask with fallow deer antlers that has a deadpan neutral expression, only having the lips match his mouth movements. He wears a mozzetta of reddish-brown damask silk trimmed with reddish-brown ermine and a beauty bush waist girdle of coral roses. He dons an alb of velvety mulberry wood that’s pleasantly adorned with white stars. He also wears a metallic green stole with saffron trim and a pattern of iridescent ruby red apple blossoms with fern green leaves. Hanging from his neck, he has a multilayered pink pearl necklace and a star sapphire pendant with a crescent framing its left. Luxaszofer has a few rings: a rose quartz engagement ring with a golden wedding band below it on his right ring finger; a green ametrine signet ring on his left middle finger; a silver dome on his left index finger; a purple tourmaline solitaire ring on his right index finger; and a gold thumb ring with an oval-shaped piece of red spinel on his right thumb. He often wields a gilded crozier with a pair of peridot-eyed serpents curled back to face each other, having a small sunstone patriarchal cross between them.

As a cherub, he was born with cosmic awareness, an indomitable will, and nigh-omniscience, having some information be mentally blocked. He can even turn himself invisible for half a day, repel intruders with a paralysing burst of emotional energy, and perceive the presence and emotions of angels, Lorvaztekiphus, and humans. As a result of his virtue blood, he’s capable of inducing blessed and wicked miracles, and evicting malicious entities that are possessing mortal bodies. He has total manipulative control over pride, lust, the elements of nature, the aurora borealis and australis, dawn, and the morning star. Luxaszofer can mentally interact with matter and energy, and obtain historical memories that concern sentient beings and objects he physically touches. He’s able to receive and transmit specific information with sentient and animalistic beings, and utilise astral projection. He can eloquently speak, understand, and decipher all languages, and his shapeshifting abilities are unlimited.

As a result of his abnormal strength, he can lift and move continents, planets, moons, low mass stars, and planetary systems, allowing him to move massive supergiants and destroy several astronomical bodies. He’s able to engage in physically strenuous activities for weeks without tiring and endure all temperatures and levels of discomfort. All of his senses are supernaturally acute than most living creatures, and he’s faster than the speed of light. In order to travel across the multiverse, he can create a gate of oxidised brass that has a hummingbird head as a handle and a stylised ouroboros slightly above the centre. When Luxaszofer is in a universe, his teleportation ability is restricted to three separate uses for one day before being forced to move onto another universe. With the flap of each wing, he can create boisterous, yet holy-sounding thunder and malicious lightning. He’s able to successfully grant any wish and bestow desired capabilities of those who make a pact with him in exchange for sex and/or their virginity. After his fall from Eylvhraszokjumni, the divine council inflicted him with a hex called the Curse of the Ancient Deceiver. This curse often forces him to lead morally righteous mortals astray from the path to a paradisiacal afterlife. Every lie he physically articulates is turned into a venomous serpent, which forcibly exits out of his mouth.

FAMILY:

Semujozrinkha (biological father)

Unnamed Angel of the Dawn (biological mother)

Yhamuzosiel (adoptive mother)

Aftmelokhivus (adoptive father)

Uyrenolahi (adoptive younger sister)

Koscharubiel (older brother)

Yekihojan (older brother)

Belszarvodi (wife)

Ezlaphorius (son)

Äbhiszelondur (son)

Blesaphongur (daughter)

ALIASES/NICKNAMES:

Lucifer

Phosphorus

Father (by Ezlaphorius)

Daddy (by Äbhiszelondur)

Papi (by Blesaphongur)

Angel of the Morning Star

He Who Fell Before A Lady’s Eternal Presence

Scarlet Master of Disaster and Trials

Bringer of Intellectualism and Enlightenment

Prosecutor of Evil Within Mortality

King of His Whispering Air

He of the Bottomless Pit

Flatterer of the Dawn

Father of All Lies

The Beatific Visionary

Son of Perdition

His Excellency

The Adversary

Roaring Lion

FUN FACTS/EXTRA INFORMATION:

He’s a closeted bisexual

He was born during a solar eclipse

He’s as old as the planet Mars

His secret bodily weakness or physical Achilles’ heel is the medulla oblongata of the brain

As an Æylphitus, his name means “light-bringer”.

He’s the supreme king of Nifjazroghetus

He committed the sins of pride and lust

The only two things he remembers about his mother are that she had control over the dawn and she was clad in fine silks and linens.

He’s in possession of a water pot full of saffron crocuses and a broadsword that’s engulfed in immortal purple and red flames.

Obnoxious sounds and extreme brightnesses cause him noticeable stress and anxiety.

Whenever he sits on his designated throne, he begins to strangely feel better about himself.

His throne is on red-carpeted dais adorned with scattering gold stars and a gilt-brass baldachin. The velvety cloth of the baldachin is an iridescent black with violet and green sheen. It has embroidered patterns of white-pink apple blossoms, yellow-orange and red-violet clouds, coral asphodels, and blue-green serpents. In the centre of the dais is his human-sized oaken throne with a comfy bronze seat cushion. It's enclosing a coved panel where the upholstery pattern is rendered as a low relief of a skeleton cloaked in shadows is rowing through a lake of grabby arms and agonised faces. Two ophanim, five stallions, and seven hummingbirds flank an openwork panel beneath the seat cushion. Above the throne is a circular tinted window of fiery hues, which has a bronze glory of sun rays and sculpted clouds surrounding it.

He has an Achaemenid chariot of gilded bronze that depicts a horned viper encircling a beaming sun at the front. The left side depicts a lion with eagle's wings and a bear, raised up on one side, that has three curves between its teeth. The right side depicts a four-headed leopard with four fowl wings and a ten-horned bull that has iron teeth. This chariot is pulled by a white horse, a red horse, a black horse, and a greenish-yellow horse.

As he shares a room with his beloved wife, his contrasting half possesses hues of red, purple, and green with golden accents. His walls are decorated with a pattern of golden apples, emerald serpents, pink-white apple tree blossoms, and ruby-throated hummingbirds. He has a blanket of chestnut sabino horse fur with extensive roaning. He also has a gilt-brass mirror that’s nearly his height, which is adorned with the display of an Indian peacock. He also has the marble statue of two playful stallions and a sturdy stand for his old angelic armour.

After having an argument with his wife, he either hides in his bedroom, takes a stroll through any Circle in Nifjazroghetus or goes on a little adventure in a different universe.

He smells like ambergris and frangipani

He has a massive crush on Smajuzhoktrine and Mikhazorsvel

The ruby-throated hummingbird is his most favourite bird

The blossoms from apple trees are his most favourite flower

#writerscorner #writing #creative writing #original character #personality #physical appearance #outfit #abilities #power #lucifer #angel #fallen angel #king of hell #morning star #planet venus #dawn #phosphorus #fun facts #extra information

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pix4japan · 11 months

Photo

Ferns during Rainy Season

Location: Shimoda Park, Shimoda, Shizuoka Prefecture, Japan Timestamp: 13:30 June 6, 2023

During the arrival of Commodore Perry's squadron of nine steam-powered U.S. Navy warships, known as the "black ships" (黒船/kurofune), in Shimoda Harbor between 1853 and 1854, an interesting discovery was made. Among the crew members was a botanist who embarked on one of the ships. During their time in Shimoda, the botanist collected an impressive array of plant specimens. In total, they gathered 106 species of plants, 69 species of trees, and 16 species of ferns. Notably, among these were 23 previously unknown species, including fascinating finds like the tachitsubo violet and kaji strawberry.

One particular sight that caught my attention during the Ajisai Matsuri (Hydrangea Festival) in Shimoda Park was the enchanting pattern created by a fern along the pathway. Although my knowledge of botany is limited, I believe this fern could be a Japanese tassel fern (Polystichum polyblepharum, also known as 猪手・inode). This beautiful fern is native to Japan and South Korea, and it thrives in moist, well-drained soil under the dappled shade of evergreen trees.

As you explore the park further, you will encounter a diverse array of plant species. From majestic pine and cedar trees to delicate cherry blossoms, vibrant azalea bushes, and, of course, the numerous hydrangea bushes that give the festival its name. All in all, the park offers a splendid display of natural beauty.

Fujifilm X100V (23 mm) with 5% diffusion filter ISO 160 for 1/300 sec. at ƒ/2.0 Provia/Standard film simulation

Checkout the Pix4Japan blog for historical references, further details, and geotagged locations. (Link in Bio.)

#スナップ写真 #静岡県 #下田公園 #猪手 #イノデ #pix4japan #X100V #Fujifilm #snapshot photography #Japan #Shizuoka #Shimoda Park #ferns

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cynefinisms · 2 months

Text

( mookda narinrak , nonbinary , they/them ) — one day the sea will sing of CHALIDA ‘FERN’ JIRAYUNGYURN, the TWENTY - EIGHT year old HEALER from the town of cynefin. there will be verses about OLEANDER UNFURLING IN THE PALMS OF THEIR HANDS , ONLY TO BURN & ROT BLACK AT THE EDGES ; THE WHISPERS OF A CREATURE AGAINST THE DANGLING , HEIRLOOM EARRING PASSED DOWN FROM THEIR FAMILY AS A SYMBOL OF THEIR FORTUNE ; THE BITTER & THICKENED TASTE OF HERBS IN TEA SCALDING THE THROAT in the hums of their hymn, about a person who is TRAINED in the magic of khemia. the land will know them as someone ATTENTIVE and EMPATHETIC, but perhaps, you’ll hear the old crones hiss that they are SECRETIVE and PARTICULAR. only the shadows of the ocean floor will bear witness to the truth.

𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙲𝚂.

full name: chalida jirayungyurn.

nickname: fern.

age: 28.

birthday: october 28th.

zodiac sun sign: scorpio.

gender + pronouns: fuck around. ( nonbinary + they / them. )

orientation: find out. ( down to clown. )

birthplace: beneath cynefin's stone foundations. ( so their mother said. )

languages: thai, english, welsh.

accent: distinct & prominent, softened, encouraging,

occupation: healer.

𝙳𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚂.

piercings: left ear only. they wear their family tassel. the tassel is approximately a middle finger's length, bright crimson with gold fringe & embroidery. it carries the name of fern's familiar on the innermost seam. the fish-hook attaches to their ear lobe, & a spiral of a serpent with its fangs bared hisses its way up the shell of their ear. they often wear their hair pulled up halfway so the strands don't tangle.

tattoos: ( left hand. )

mbti: istp, the inventor.

moral alignment: chaotic neutral.

+ attentive, empathetic, strong-willed.

- secretive, particular, egotistical.

khemia: anima, graduated from verum academy a year ago.

specific abilities: ( spirit healing, based on this. )

familiar: a pine marten named mors, who acts as your moral compass.

𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳. ( cw: mentions of death )

you were born halfway to dead in a screaming world. a fire instilled in your belly from the thoughts of the ancestors who came before you: be something else than a rattling coffin full of bones. you couldn't understand what that meant yet, that the khemia flowed through you like a second soul, buzzing, thrumming. you were only a child, an only child, who became doted upon & spoilt for even existing. yet this dissonance still existed like a minor chord from an off-tuned piano. you knew there was something off, something incorrect, & your spirit refused to settle. you were gifted from a young age as were all the feminine-bodies of your family, as if it was a blessing, a curse. you received your yak sant tattoos before you were sent to verum, as a premonition of the destiny which was written for you in the stars. you look up at the stars now & merely see lifeless, empty bodies.

still you read them. still you seek out their magic. you attended to your studies like any good, destined daughter. you strove to ignore the slice of temptation beneath your tongue. you roiled beneath the deputy headmaster's scorching gaze & sought out the approval of everyone else around you. you needed the gods-damned praise to feel alive, like someone kindling the lantern with fresh oil. your soul flick & flick & flickered like that candle until, at long last, it led you to the place where you found him: he slunk along the outer walls of the isle, approaching cautiously. all he wanted for loving you — was your love in return. what a simple request for such a small creature, whom you dubbed mors as a reminder of your mortality. he's been there as a beseeching voice in your ear all throughout your years in those halls. he made you gain a reputation as spirit - whisperer, as others would see you talking to yourself & smiling as though you had a secret. little did they know.

upon returning, your parents told you that you were ready. they avoided your eyes. they could not look you in the face with that same pride with which you left. there is a love rotting somewhere behind your eyes; you remember awakening with that hard start, the air gasping in your chest as mors said they had left you. you thought he was playing a nasty prank, as sometimes spirits are prone to do. but it was the harshest mountain's snow down your spine when you went downstairs & it was the truth. they had gone to the capital & left you the store. & yourself. the walls to talk to. the customers to care for. the books & ledgers to do yourself. lights to replace. windows to clean. you had no choice but to close down the shop for a week, & during that week, all you did was weep. clean, & weep. scrub, & weep. stare up at the stars from your balcony, feel empty, & weep. & then the soul moved within you. mors was there, loving you. others — gravitating towards you. perhaps something in the way you smile, vulpine & full of sinew, prepared to chew. perhaps it is kindness to be so honest in a day full of mysteries.

you haven't wept since that year ago. you ran out of tears just as the stars ran out of light for you. now you spend your days in your traditional dress, staying close to yourself that way, speaking mostly to mors. some might say it is a lonely life. well, it is a better one. certainly you have friends. lovers. but what could it all mean to a soul that is never satisfied. something is terribly wrong somewhere. you haven't a clue where the compass's arrow might be pointing towards. then you look in the mirror. there is your answer. & so you atone. & you heal. & you read other people's bodies in such a way that there is no mistaking intimacy. & yet, it is only mistake. so long as no one gets hurt worse. you delude yourself into believing you are strong enough to stop anything in its tracks. perhaps with more love. rotting.

#verum.intro #𝗙𝗘𝗥𝗡. / dossier.#well anyways

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