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#anyway here's wonderwall
didiflowers · 10 months
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BROTHERS!!!!🔥🎩👒
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inkyquince · 7 months
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anyway, here's gortash.
characters.... enver gortash. cmon now
content warning. gore mention? kinda? its not detailed. dark urge reader. they're in the middle of a long fuck sesh but its not that nsfw except gortash is fucking hard and it'll take talking about thorm to make him go soft.
The sound of Baldur's Gate's people going about their day always managed to steal through the windows, even with the thick curtains darkening the room. So many individuals walking around, haggling, buying, working, crying, loving, living.
So many beings. So much blood to spill, till the cracks in the cobblestones were stained red, never to be washed away.
Between your thighs, Gortash gives a low hum of contentment, looking up at you with his intensely dark eyes glinting in the low candle light.
"Thought about something you like, did you?" He murmurs, dragging his thumb over his slick covered lips, spit and precum gathering on his finger just to be tucked into his mouth to be sucked clean.
"Maybe," You muse with a smile, adjusting the way your leg lay over his shoulder and along his spine. "Maybe I enjoy you being on your belly for me."
Enver chuckled, low and amused. His reputation meant that he was held in high respect, and to tell him to take a knee to anyone other than maybe the Duke, was absurd. But here he was, on his stomach in his bed, with luxurious sheets, naked as the day he was born, with his face nestled between your thighs. You'd have considered this a victory, if it wasn't that he gave this freely to you. Gortash was the one who greedily hooked your legs over his shoulders, the one who always needed a hand against your back or cupping your elbow, no matter the looks he got from Thorm, or servants around his manor.
It was... Cute.
He licked his lips again, before slowly nosing over your pubic bone, up, over your stomach. Dropping kisses to the naked skin, he didn't stop till you felt his teeth against your throat, beginning to suck and bite away.
Now, this? This was adorable.
The only way for your lover to hurt you, the weapon your father favoured above all other, was to attack you with kisses and bites, till your neck bloomed with love marks and bruises. You had slaughtered so many in your father's name, and there was countless ways to gut Enver as he tended to your throat, but he could never.
What was clear to you, but maybe clouded to him, that he would never be able to bring harm to you. His hands weren't clean of blood, and the sulfur of the hells always stuck to his skin, as one's past often does, but you had no doubt that if the time ever came where he wanted the Brain all to himself, you'd fell him easily.
You gave another low sigh of pleasure and Enver answered with one of his own, finally abandoning his need to mark up the one person who'd never fully give themselves to him, not in the way he craved. But at least the love marks were pretty. Instead he kissed you deeply, his lean forearms caging you in.
His cock was hard again, dragging over your slick thighs as he lost himself in the taste of your mouth, something sweet and something metallic along your tongue giving him a head rush.
"Again?" You murmured against his lips, your tone inquisitive as you felt his heartbeat pick up.
"How could I ever show restraint towards you?" Gortash pulled away, his dark hair falling into his face. Despite spending most of the morning in bed, with the initial meeting he called fully abandoned, he had already spent three rounds with you on his cock, and when you weren't milking him for all he was worth, he was worshipping you. Between your thighs, with his fingers deep inside of you, demanding more orgasms from you than he had. According to the whores around town, he was a selfish lover, so you were surprised when you two first shared a private room. He had you against the desk, demanding you to cum twice before he even thought about pressing into you.
"Hmm," You mulled his words over, dragging your fingers over his chest, enjoying the hammering of his heart. "Might be wise. Thorm looked repulsed at our last meeting when you mentioned that red was definitely my color."
Gortash snorted softly, leaning back so he was on his knees yet still towered over your body.
"Hard to believe he had a wife, given his disgust towards any romantic intent shown."
"I doubt it's romantic intent he hates." You laughed softly as he curled his fingers under your ankle and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to the skin. "I bet he was a big old romantic, given his plans for the future. But coming from you? No doubt he nearly had a heart attack, if he could still have one."
"You wound me." Enver murmured, contiuing to kiss up your shin, till he got to your knee, when he ran his nose over the side of it. "I'm quite the romantic I'll have you know."
"More like a roguish flirt." You smirked at his short, bark of a laugh.
As his chuckles died down, he didn't resume his exploration of your body with his lips, which surprised you. He was usually so dogged in his chases. Instead of lust in his eyes, it was clouded with something else, despite the way his cock remained hard, jutting against his stomach with precum still slowly leaking against his skin. Something vulnerable, something scorching.
It was as if you had taken your favourite blade and sliced open his chest to admire the way his heart thumped amongst the gore. You waited, intrigued to see how long he dared to give you such a soft look, as if you weren't brought up with nothing but hard edges and burning brands. You wondered what you'd do, if he bared his heart to you willingly. Would you kiss the ruined organ? Embrace the stench of sulfur and rot and lick over it, or would you dig your nails into it, ripping it asunder and watch him twitch and scream? It worried you a bit that you didn't immediately settle on ruining him if he dared to whisper heartfelt confessions over his murmured lusts and desires.
Maybe he remembered what you were, a foul child of Bhaal. Maybe he saw the way your eyes flickered. Maybe he remembered how hard his cock was and craved to feel your insides around him once more before you killed him for a sickly love confession.
So, while the softness of his eyes didn't leave, a dirty heat clouded them.
"Now, let's abandon all this talk of Ketheric, lest I go soft. Instead, can I recommend we see how much I can make you scream before the servants get worried."
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You awoke with a low hiss of pleasure, the luxurious surroundings of your lover disappearing for the chilled wilderness of your camp. It was dark, too dark, so you doubted anyone other than you were up, except maybe for Astarion.
Slowly sitting up, you raised your fingers to your neck, feeling as if the bites still lingered there, fresh and raw. You were unsettled. More unsettled than when your first dream visitor started appearing, more than waking up with Alfira's blood under your nails.
You were privy to what felt like someone else's life, rife with blood and gore and the feeling of someone's hot tongue pressing into you. It was calling to you, as if you were being offered this path again, to come back and take your proper place.
It wouldn't do to wonder about if this past lover dreamed of you like you did of him. You had things to do, memories to recover... Someone to look after.
Little did you know that Nautiloid Ship ride away, Gortash lay in his own bed, idly dragging his fingers over the pillow next to his. He felt foul. Orin's flirations were usually dredged in promises to gut him, to spill his blood till she could bathe in it. It usually left him feeling disgusted, but today it left him feeling nostalgic.
You weren't like Orin, despite having the same Bhaalspawn blood running through your veins. Your flirations were more subtle. Teasing. Flashing the dog a bone only to hide it away, and smirk as it sniffed hopefully at you. She was nothing compared to you.
With a low exhale, Gortash once more began to ruminate on where you were. Why you let Orin take over. What she had done to you.
And what must be done to get you back. No matter how much blood would be spilt, throats slit, lives lost, he knew that none of the dreams he had would cease until you were back at his side.
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lionlesbean · 11 days
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I want that soft pure love, the smiles when you see and think about her, the giggles between kisses, the butterflies, the gentle touches, the cheeks and forehead kisses, the heart eyes, the crying laughing with eachother, the worshiping eachother, the texting non stop so we keep talking all day, the long calls, the cuddles, the cafunés
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venx-art · 1 year
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BLOOMETH THE ROSE
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scuderlia · 3 months
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via ‘Hamilton, Button and the BBC F1 Team - Wonderwall’ on YouTube
pov: slagclaren serenades you at a house party
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deweyduck · 7 months
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MONSTER HIGH: THE MOVIE (2022)
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ryebecca · 1 year
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it’s time to go back to school and meet your professors 📚
dr. jake seresin, associate professor of classics
dr. bob floyd, assistant professor of art history
dr. bradley bradshaw, assistant professor of aerospace engineering
dr. natasha trace, associate professor of physics
dr. javy machado, associate professor of chemistry
dr. mickey garcia, assistant professor of english language and literature
dr. reuben fitch, associate professor of economics
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cade-space · 9 days
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I will die on the hill that Wonderwall by Oasis belongs at the top of my John/Martin playlist because it feels like s5 tma at its finest.
"And all the roads we have to walk are winding, and all the lights that lead the way are blinding
There are so many things that I would like to say to you but I don't know how
Cause maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me and after all, you're my Wonderwall"
Like you can see it right???? Walking through the fear apocalypse you see it right?????? Wonderwall?????????
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agendratum · 2 years
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x
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supakixbabe · 3 months
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Nick Jackson: “Anyway here’s Wonderwall.”
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piratekane · 1 year
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2
two: it’s okay to not be okay sometimes
Consciousness comes slowly, like the long beams of sunshine stretching their way across the bed and her face. It feels like warm fingers brushing over her forehead, coaxing her awake. A new day, new possibilities. She can be anyone she wants to be when she opens her eyes.
"Bea," Ava sings from the doorway.
She smiles, rolls over and presses her face into a pillow that still smells like Ava's shampoo. Today, she will be Beatrice.
The bed dips as Ava sits down, her bare thigh warm against Beatrice's bare arm. "It's late."
She turns her head, nose brushing against Ava's hip. "It's hardly past eight."
There's a moment before Ava breathes out a laugh. "How do you even know that?"
She doesn't. It was a good guess. But she's not going to let Ava think otherwise. So she rolls away a bit, just enough to see the soft tangle of Ava's hair where it rests against her smile, and she lets her eyes close again. There's a laugh, a sigh, and then a finger slowly walking from her forehead down over the ridge of her nose and off the cliff of her bottom lip.
Ava sings again. "Beatrice."
~
Beatrice opens her eyes. The room has shifted. The sun is higher in the sky now, the room a little hotter with it. Ava is standing at the window now, cradling a cup of something that smells warm. She looks back over her shoulder at Beatrice, a smile on her face.
"It's late."
Beatrice sits up, blinking. "I didn't mean to sleep so late."
Ava shushes her gently as she sets the mug down on the small nightstand. "You needed the rest. You've been working so hard." She sits at the edge of the bed, just out of reach. "Too hard."
"Not hard enough." Beatrice reaches for Ava, breathes easier when Ava slides into her hands like water into a glass. Ava doesn't say anything when Beatrice's grip tightens, when the space between them goes from paper-thin to nothing. "I'm going to work harder."
"Bea." Ava's hand brushes away her hair, fingers tickling her neck. "How much harder can you work?"
For you? Bea doesn't ask the question. She doesn't need to. Ava's fingers pause against her pulse and she feels her own heartbeat echoed in Ava's fingertips.
Ava keeps running long fingers through her hair, scratching at the sensitive skin behind her ear, murmuring her name over and over again until Bea can't distinguish one sound to the next. Her eyes close slowly, a heaviness drifting over her like a warm blanket in winter. She curls under its weight.
~
Beatrice opens her eyes. The sun is starting to set. Ava is sitting up in bed next to her, a book open in her lap. She's mouthing the words as she reads them, soundless as she goes over each one. Beatrice watches for her a moment, enraptured by the way Ava's forehead wrinkles as she stumbles upon a word that doesn't come easily.
She reaches up to brush the wrinkle away and Ava turns to her with a smile.
"It's late."
Beatrice blinks at the worlds stored in Ava's eyes, rings of honeyed color that shine back at her. "I was going to get up."
Ava waves her off. "You deserve a lazy day in. You don't take enough of them."
A tidal wave of affection threatens to drown her. "We can't all afford your amount of 'lazy days.'"
"You're not trying hard enough, then." Ava winks at her before her face softens. "Besides, this is not a true 'lazy day'. You're in far too many clothes."
The laugh that escapes her surprises her. She nearly stuffs it back down. But Ava seems pleased by it and so she lets it exist between them, huffing after a moment and burying her head into Ava's side. Fingers work over the side of her head, brushing against the shell of her ear. She resists the urge to shiver, afraid to dislodge Ava even a millimeter.
"Ava," she starts.
Ava shushes her kindly. "No, Bea. You deserve this. Here, listen." She props her book up with one hand, the other still working its way along Beatrice's skin. "I'm reading Le Petit Prince. See, I can do it. Lorsque j’avais six ans j’ai vu," she starts, mouth clumsy over the words.
Beatrice breathes in the sounds of a language she's never found to be romantic before and lets her eyes close as Ava's voice settles over her. She slings an arm across Ava's hip, hoping to anchor them both to the bed.
~
Beatrice opens her eyes. Night has fallen now, the sky dotted with stars like a black piece of paper dotted by a pinprick. She's stretched across the mattress like she's swimming to shore, but her shore is standing across the room, back to the bed and her hair blowing in the light breeze coming through their open bedroom window.
"Ava," she says, voice raspy.
Ava turns, a smile on her face. "It's late."
"I'm sorry." She pushes up onto her elbows. The moonlight hits Ava's skin. She seems ethereal. Beatrice stretches out her hand and Ava comes to it like a lightning lure, moving without hesitation. "I had plans to get up."
Ava shushes her. Her body molds into the space Beatrice's left behind. She pulls up her legs, leaning into Beatrice. "You're tired."
It's not a question. And Beatrice can't deny that she isn't. Things have been so heavy lately, like weights tied around her ankles. She can't move without monumental effort. She can't get ahead. Each day she falls further behind. Each day the mountain stretches impossibly higher.
"Ava," she tries.
Ava coos at her, pulls Beatrice around until they're sitting back against the headboard. Ava wraps her arms around Beatrice's shoulders, holding her close. She feels her heart beating through her back, their rhythms syncing easily. It's always been so easy with Ava.
"It's okay to not be okay sometimes," Ava whispers into her hair, the words a whisper in their empty bedroom.
Beatrice feels each muscle group contract and release, a series of steps she takes to ground herself. "I can't do this without you," she whispers back.
The truth is staggering. She hasn't spoken it before now. Years without Ava - miles logged and memories built and routines established - have done nothing to prepare her for the years without Ava that would come after.
Ava hums quietly, her fingers working in complicated patterns along Beatrice's bare arms. "You're not," she finally says.
Beatrice fights back the huff of indignation. "Then where are you?"
She doesn't want to doubt. She's a believer, she always has been. Her faith may have shifted, but her belief never has. Still, it's been so long, she's starting to see Ava in hazy half-memories that fade by morning. Her voice becomes a whisper, her touch more like a dream.
Time is moving forward and Ava is stuck somewhere in her past, becoming more of a thought than something she can hold in her hands.
"I'm here, Bea. I promise I always will be."
Beatrice shakes her head, hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She blinks them back, unwilling to taint this moment with that much grief. "I need you here. I'm so- I'm so tired, Ava."
Ava's lips press against her hair, her temple, her forehead as Ava gently tugs her around. "Then let yourself rest, Beatrice. Let your body rest." She taps Beatrice's forehead with a light finger, mouth quirked in one corner. "Let this rest, too."
Beatrice's throat is dry. "How do I rest without you?"
"You don't." Ava smooths a hand down the side of her face. "You let me rest with you." She shimmies down the headboard until she's lying next to Beatrice. Her hands pulls until Beatrice is tight against her body, her arm slung low across Ava's waist. "I'll be here, every time you close your eyes. You just have to look for me."
I'm looking in every corner and coming up empty. She doesn't say it. Ava hums softly into her hair, her fingertips ghosting up and down Beatrice's arm in a melody that Beatrice can't quite grab.
She can't quite grab Ava, can't quite make her stay.
But Ava keeps murmuring in her ear, keeps running her fingers across her skin, keeps her heart beating steadily under Beatrice's ear. Her eyes droop closed and peace washes over her like the warm light of the Halo she hasn't seen in what feels like three lifetimes.
She hears Ava's voice whispering her name as she falls asleep.
~
Consciousness comes slowly, like the long beams of sunshine stretching their way across the bed and her face. It feels like warm fingers brushing over her forehead, coaxing her awake. A new day, new possibilities. She can be anyone she wants to be when she opens her eyes.
"Bea," Ava sings from the doorway.
Beatrice smiles.
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octoberspirit · 8 months
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All the gun-talk in the wwii magic show minisode gives such ao3-tags Experienced Aziraphale / Virgin Crowley vibes.
We get A.Z. "earthly pleasures" "gentleman's club" Fell casually revealing he already has a firearms license and in fact keeps his own weapon in the bookshop, just in case.
And he's fully assuming Crowley has lots of experience with firearms himself, since he's a demon and all, to which Crowley's like "yeah totally" until it's no-miracle go-time and he reveals that he's never done this before, actually. because he's been saving himself for Aziraphale
Then after it all works out they have a romantic exchange about trusting each other, and it's all very sweet.
(Plus, y'know, the low-hanging fruit where Crowley's shooting and Aziraphale's catching) (with his mouth) (sorry this is inappropriate talk for a jane austen ball)
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princip1914 · 9 months
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Oh boy we are really in it now.
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barely-medi0cre · 9 months
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Anyway, here’s Wonderwall
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ang-31 · 5 months
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i’m gonna marry him, idc if he’s 51 x
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ryebecca · 7 months
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"I don't mind a reasonable amount of trouble." - The Maltese Falcon 🕵️‍♂️ 🔎 | (a noir au)
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