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thebimbopalace · 4 months

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SOMEBODY’S WATCHING ME

ੈ✩‧₊˚eren yeager x f!reader

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ wc: 2.8k

✧.*blurb: Eren walking into the wrong shower room and catching you touching yourself. What can go wrong? Or better yet…what can go right?

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹| canon!verse, s4 eren, mutual masturbation, shower sex, voyuerism, pet names (beautiful, baby), choking (f.receiving), doggy style position, spanking (f.receiving), use of good girl, degradation (slut), nipple play (f.receiving), dirty talk, dom!eren (maybe), masochism (reader), begging, raw sex

It was a long day for Eren. The only thing he wanted to do was collapse onto the clean sheets of his bed and waltz into dreamland. Working in the hot sun for hours took a major toll on him more than he would've initially thought.

He entered his room and grabbed his towel and basic shower necessities from his bedside table. Exhaustion was written all over his face but, he still dragged himself towards the showers so he could wash away all the sweat and dirt built up on his skin. All that was on his mind was how the hot water from the shower would trickle down his muscular body, and soothe those same sore muscles.

Eren walks from his room towards the showers almost in a zombie-like manner. The closer he gets to the showers, the more the smell of soap fills the air and the steam comes through the open door. He mindlessly walks into the showers. The steam hits his face as the humidity brings him a sense of comfort. He starts to look around the room, searching through the cloudy air to find an empty shower stall. “Somethings off,” Eren thinks to himself.

Eren’s eyes begin to adjust to his surroundings as he starts to shake the fog from his brain and once he does, he realizes that he is in the wrong shower room. The smell of strawberries was a dead giveaway that he wasn't in the men's showers. A faint blush creeps up on his cheeks as reality settles in.

He quietly backs up towards the door when he hears something in the room. He stops dead in his tracks when he hears…moaning. “Mmm, ahh” Eren hears those sinful sounds and tries to brush off how they make him feel but, before he can even process what he's doing his feet are taking him deeper into the shower room.

He starts to look around the steamy shower room to find out who the culprit is for these sensual sounds. Each stall he passes is empty but, the closer he gets, the louder those alluring sounds become. A siren song calling out to him, making his cock twitch in anticipation. When he gets close enough, the shower fog clears and his eyes go wide at what he sees. You with your fingers knuckle deep in your cunt.

Eren swiftly ducks behind the wall where the sinks are facing you to hide. Your soft, breathy moans ring out in the shower room which causes Eren to freeze in place as he hides. His heart is pounding in his chest from the adrenaline rush coursing through his veins. Eren knows he should leave, he knows this is wrong, but your sounds cause him to stay.

With his back against the wall, Eren turns his body and rises to look over the wall where he is currently hiding behind. His eyes peek over the wall and he looks forward at you, and the sight he sees makes his erection rise.

You, with your leg up on the shower ledge as the water cascades down your perfect body. You’re using your middle and ring fingers of one hand to finger fuck your cunt while using those same fingers on your other hand to rub that pretty little clit of yours. You couldn’t see Eren since you were so engrossed in your pleasure with your eyes half-lidded and looking down at your stuffed, dripping pussy.

“This is even better than I imagined,” Eren thinks as he watches the spectacle before him. The number of times Eren has stroked his dick to the thought of you just like this in front of him is something he will never reveal. But one thing he can say is, that seeing the real thing is way better than anything he could've ever conjured up in his head.

The sound of your soft gasps and moans sends jolts of electricity through Eren’s body. He feels goosebumps form on his skin at the sexy sounds falling out of your mouth. “Oh—oh god,” you slur as the pleasure muddles your mind. Eren’s hand goes towards the waistband of his pants and black boxer briefs, he pulls them down just enough to free his cock. He looks down for a brief second and sees just how much precum is leaking out of his fat cockhead. Taking his fingertips, he collects some of the precum and smears it over his cock, using it as lube.

As soon as he starts to stroke his cock, he fights back a hiss in reply at the sensitivity. Eren peaks over the wall once again and watches you touch yourself. You slide your fingers out of your pussy and insert them into your mouth, savoring the taste of your arousal. Eren’s pupils dilate at your lewd movements as he mumbles out a small “fuck” in response.

You then slip your saliva-ridden fingers out of your mouth and place them onto your clit. As you start to do circles on your clit, Eren strokes his cock to match the slow pace of your fingers. Your free hand then moves to your tits as you begin to squeeze and pinch your nipples. Eren lets out a quiet groan as he sees your nipples form hard points.

“Jus’ wanna suck on those perfect tits,” he softly mutters to himself as the pace of his hand increases. Your moans come out shaky as you begin to reach your climax. “Mmm—ah—gonna cum—fuck,” you whimper out as that coil in your belly tightens. Eren’s eyes are glued to your cunt. The way it clenches as your high approaches, the way your fingers work over your swollen clit, and the way your juices drip out your pussy onto the floor.

Your labia twitches faintly, begging for your orgasm to rake through your cunt. That movement caused Eren to let out a deep grunt which came out louder than intended. Nothing can tear his emerald eyes away from your pretty pussy…besides the sound of your voice.

“Eren?” you call out. Your breathless voice snaps him out of his trance as both of your eyes lock. You and him maintain eye contact for what feels like forever before you break the silence. “Sooo…you were watching me?” you ask as Eren detects a hint of teasing in your tone. He stays crouched down behind the wall and asks “Is that a problem?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “That depends” you tease. “On what?” he asked curiously. “On whether or not you liked what you saw.”

A faint blush creeps up on his cheeks, making this whole interaction kind of endearing.

“Tell me Eren…did you like watching me play with my pussy?” the seductive nature of your tone caught Eren off-guard. He rises to his feet so he can stand up straight and the sight of his tall stature makes your arousal come back ten-fold.

His toned, muscular body, broad shoulders, and the way his hand is still wrapped around his thick, hard cock…just the sight of this man makes your body heat with a fire that only he can put out. “I did. But, I would like it even better if you let me have a taste of that pussy,” he said in a deep tone. You bite your bottom lip as you start to get flustered.

He walks around the skin wall and starts to tread closer to you. “Don't be flustered, beautiful…” Eren puts his free hand gently around your neck then says “I know that pussy of yours needs to cum, so let me help you, mkay?” in that same deep tone that makes your insides churn with pure lust.

You look into his eyes with yours glazed over with need and nod your head. Eren tightens his grip on the sides of your neck and says “Hm? I can't hear you” with every ounce of teasing he can muster. “Tell me that you want me to make you cum…or I’ll leave you here with your dripping cunt.”

You suck in a sharp breath then say “I want you to make me cum Eren.” He smirks and says “There’s a good girl” he loosens the pressure on the sides of your neck as his hand slides down to your waist. “Turn around and put your hands on the wall” he commands as dominance creeps into his tone. You turn your body and face the wall. Placing your hands on the wall, Eren puts his hands on your hips and moves your hips back so your ass is flushed with his hips.

“Arch that back baby,” he says with an authoritative tone. And you do just that. You spread your legs apart a little bit and arch your back which causes your ass to be high in the air. Eren groans in delight when he sees the view that you are presenting him. You just look so good and oh so ready for him to fuck that pretty cunt of yours. He takes one hand off your hip and grazes his fingertips on your oversensitive pussy.

“Ahh,” you breathed lightly. He then inserts two fingers into your cunt which causes you to arch your back further at the intrusion. His fingers feel way better than yours as he languidly moves them back and forth. “Eren,” you whined, urging him to go faster. “Don't worry, beautiful, I'm jus’ making sure that pussy is ready for me.” The smugness in his tone would normally make you roll your eyes, but his fingers expertly sliding inside you is making it hard to be annoyed.

Eren takes his fingers out of you and places them into his mouth, lapping up your juices with an audible moan, which only makes his need for you increase. “You taste good…just like I knew you would.”

You push your hips back with the hope that his dick just slides inside of you. Then, you feel a harsh slap on your ass, followed by Eren’s voice saying “Stay still” in a deep tone. Your cunt clenches around nothing at Eren’s mannerisms. Once he sees that you are staying still, he puts his hand on his cock and prods the tip at your entrance. You bite your bottom lip and try your hardest not to squirm in his hold.

Eren moves his hips forward and slowly sinks into your warmth with one smooth thrust. All the fingering you did prior mixed in with how wet your cunt is makes his intrusion an easy one. “God d-damn,” Eren stuttered once he was fully sheathed inside you. His hips are against your ass as he bottoms out immediately.

“So full” you mumble as his dick is fully inside you. Your fingers, hell, your toys could never give you the same feeling that Eren is giving you right now. And then…his hips start to move. Your hands start to grip the wall as you bite your lip harder to hold in your moans which are sure to be loud. The soft slapping sound of your ass crashing against Eren’s hips bounces off the walls of the shower room adding to the lewd atmosphere that you two are creating.

Eren’s grip on your hips grows stronger as he groans “fuck—that cunt is jus’—damn—jus’ sucking me in, baby.” moans start to fall from your loose hung lips as the pleasure Eren is giving you becomes too much to hold in. With every thrust of his hips, your body shuddered in overwhelming ecstasy in response.

You tried so hard to stay still and not move due to Eren’s command not to. But, it was like your body had a mind of its own. You start to move your hips to meet Eren’s thrusts as the slapping sound grows louder. “Theree you go baby, back that pussy up on me—shiit,” Eren emphasized with a smack to your ass. Your body jolted from the spank as a high-pitched moan fell from your mouth. “You like that shit, don't you?” he said as his hand landed on your ass cheek, delivering another smack.

“Yes Eren, again…spank me again,” you muttered which caused Eren to grab the back of your neck and pull your head towards him. The motion causes your back to arch even further in turn, causing his cock to reach deeper inside you. He hissed in your ear “Say that—fuck—say that shit again, louder, baby,” as he bullies his cock in and out of your wet cunt.

“Ohh, god—Eren…s-spank me a-again—fuckk,” you cried out. A devious smile widens on his face as his hand comes down on your ass cheek again. Your moans increase in volume as you whimper out “again…harder,” which Eren complies with more than enough enthusiasm. The grip on the back of your neck tightens as his other hand starts to spank the fat of your ass in rapid succession.

You let out a pleasure-filled giggle at the stinging sensation that is now apparent on your ass. “Looks like I have a little pain slut wetting my dick up,” Eren says in a baritone that makes your pussy flutter around his fat cock. That movement makes Eren let out a low moan in satisfaction. “Faster, please—fuck,” you beg as you feel your orgasm starting to form.

He picks up the pace of his movements as his hand slides up your waist towards your tits. His hand grasps your tit in his palm as he begins to massage it gently. “These perfect f-fucking tits…so soft,” Eren forces out as his release is starting to trickle up his spine. Your hips stutter and come to a stop as you can no longer match his powerful thrusts.

“Uh-uh, don’t stop now. Be a good little girl and push back that pussy on me again,” he demands as a whine leaves your lips. You slowly begin to move your hips again. Eren smirks while his fingers move to delicately pinch your nipple as his husky voice rings through saying, “Good, good fuckin’ girl.” The pain from the pinch travels through your body straight towards your neglected clit.

You remove your hand from the wall and start to circle your hard bundle of nerves eagerly. The feeling of Eren’s hard cock moving in and out of your warm, wet cunt heightens your sense of want to an overwhelming state. Your fingers continue to circle your clit clumsily as you feel that ruined orgasm start to form again.

You begin to unconsciously clench around Eren’s cock as the pleasure hits all new highs for your body. “Damn, pushing my cock out, aren't you baby?” Eren asks through gritted teeth due to your walls tightening around him so hard.

“It feels so good Eren,” you whine out to which Eren responds with “I know, baby. Jus’ keep taking that cock,” as his hands go to your ass cheeks and spread them. He looks down with a clenched jaw as he watches his cock disappear inside of you.

Your body starts to squirm as the movements on your clit increase. “Go ahead baby, make yourself cum. Make that fuckin’ pussy cum” Eren spits out. You feel a rush of cold pass over your cunt as your back arches more for him. That’s all it takes for you to fall apart.

“Cum—cumming ‘ren fuckkk,” you cry out as your walls clamp and squeeze around him, your moans break with each thrust of his cock. “God damn…that pussy’s cumming hard, isn't it?” Eren says with a broken groan at the end. He still feels your cunt sucking him in as you whimper “‘m still cummin’ ‘ren shiiit.”

He lets out a flurry of guttural groans as his eyes shut tightly for a beat. His eyes open and the slight of your cum coating his cock along with the loud squelching sounds tumble Eren into that euphoria right behind you. His hands grip your ass cheeks hard as he forces out “Gods baby…I’m cumming in that perfect pussy.” his cum spurts inside your cunt and fills you to the brim. It's so much that it leaks onto the ground of the shower you both are in.

Eren’s movements seize as well as the hard grip he has on your ass. His forehead lands on your shoulder blade as your heavy breaths fill the air. Eren starts to plant gentle pecks on your shoulder going down your back. “Shit, you feel so good,” he says catching his breath. You let out a small chuckle then say “You weren't too bad yourself, Eren.”

He gives you a light, playful tap on your ass in response. As you both come back down to earth from floating in the clouds of ecstasy, you notice that the water is still running in the shower stall you both are in. “I guess we should get clean now huh?” Eren asks. You look back at him and say “As long as you don't try to fuck me again, then we can get clean together.”

A mischievous smile appears on his face since he knows that he will most definitely fuck you again…and he did.

mdni banner by @/cafekitsune

#✎ᝰ. ( signed your majesty ) !#eren jeager smut #eren smut #eren x reader #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren aot #eren jeager x reader #eren x you #aot x y/n #aot x you #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #aot smut #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #eren yeager x y/n

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suzukiblu · 3 months

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If you feel up for it, for the writing meme prompt, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor, with the song You And Me by Lifehouse? If it's not your thing I totally get it though and hope you have a great time and fun writing the things that do catch your fancy!

I think we ALL knew that I was gonna do baby Kon for this, lbr. Also ngl, this came out way more cracky than the prompt would suggest it should've but it is absolutely my favorite thing I’ve written for this meme so far, as the necessity for the following cut should help attest, haha.

Unfortunately, Lex takes one look at Cadmus’s progress report on the newly-crafted Experiment Thirteen and realizes he has paternal instincts.

Well, that’s inconvenient. And a little disgusting, honestly. Certainly a disappointment.

He supposes it could be worse. He could be Lionel about this.

Anyway, that’s how he has a physiological four year-old on his lap when he hears the news about Superman coming back to life and fistfighting an evil cyborg with his own face about it, because of course the man didn’t have the decency to just stay dead. Why would he, after all?

Lex needs a drink. That would be a bad example for the physiological four year-old, though.

Then again, Experiment Thirteen should be completely immune to the effects of Earth-based alcohol in about another four to six months of consistent yellow sun exposure, so . . .

Lex is halfway through his second brandy when Superman shows up on his balcony at super-speed wearing a very pretentiously dramatic black suit and looking both winded and bewildered. And still alive, unfortunately.

“Don’t you have a murderous cyborg to be ensuring is in custody?” Lex asks dryly, deciding to just not acknowledge the presence of the physiological four year-old who’s moved on to messily but methodically coloring on the floor underneath his desk. Lex didn’t actually give Experiment Thirteen either a coloring book or crayons, mind, but he appreciates the clone’s resourcefulness in breaking into the office supplies. Anyway, it’s useful for developing its hand-eye coordination and fine motor control.

Superman’s pupils are pin-pricks, barely even there at all. Which is an unusual reaction from him, and Lex notes that fact reflexively but doesn’t particularly care about it. Meant-to-be-dead people do unusual things, especially the alien ones. And it isn’t as if–

“Baby,” Superman blurts, his eyes wide.

Lex . . . pauses. Takes a slow sip of his brandy.

Alright then.

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” he settles on eventually, raising an eyebrow at him. Experiment Thirteen peers out from under the desk, immediately decides Superman isn’t an interesting presence, and then goes back to coloring all over Lex’s floor. It seems to be drawing either a puppy or a chain of complex genetic sequencing, but judging by the kinds of things it’s been drawing so far, it’s fifty-fifty. Lex has been getting the impression the clone actually likes art, which is a baffling interest to find in his own progeny, but how does that quote go . . . “I am a warrior, so that my son may be a merchant, so that his son may be a poet”?

Or something like that, anyway.

“No, I–baby,” Superman stresses, looking bewildered as he floats down a little closer to the open balcony door.

“. . . yes, I’ve noticed,” Lex repeats, raising his eyebrow again and taking another sip of brandy. Superman looks frazzled, bobbing up a little higher in the air again to get a better view of Experiment Thirteen under the desk. Experiment Thirteen keeps ignoring him in favor of its coloring, displaying no apparent interest in the most powerful uninvited guest in the history of illegal immigration. Lex experiences a moment of overwhelming paternal pride, which is such a bizarre and unanticipated experience that he doesn’t even know what to do with it.

“Where’d he come from?” Superman asks with a wondering expression. Ugh.

“A cloning lab,” Lex replies dismissively, setting his near-empty glass down on the desk. It’s hardly worth lying about Experiment Thirteen’s origins at this point. He didn’t want to murder everyone in Cadmus to keep the secret. He might need them if there’s an issue with Experiment Thirteen’s genetics later, after all. “We mixed it up a couple weeks ago while you were off wasting everyone’s time being dead."

“You had my baby?” Superman says, tilting in the air and still staring at Experiment Thirteen, as if he's somehow forgotten both how much kryptonite Lex owns and how much kryptonite he keeps specifically in this office. “While I was dead. You had my baby while I was dead.”

. . . alright then, Lex thinks again, both eyebrows raising this time.

“I really wouldn’t put it that way, personally,” he says. “Also, I don’t recall saying it was in any way yours.”

“Baby,” Superman repeats inanely, then lands on the floor and ducks down into a crouch to peer under the desk better, his pupils still reduced to barely-there pinpricks. Lex is so mystified he doesn't even activate the security system or the weaponized red sun lamps. Experiment Thirteen frowns at Superman–Lex, again, basks in unanticipated paternal pride–and then turns its back on him and hides all its drawings from him as seriously and carefully as if they were under NDA.

It's almost adorable, frankly.

Not that Lex finds things adorable, of course.

“His heartbeat's so cute,” Superman says, looking absolutely fascinated. Which is surprisingly useful of him to mention, actually, since Lex had previously been vaguely concerned that Experiment Thirteen's odd thrumming heartbeat might be a sign of a heart defect, but apparently it’s just a Kryptonian thing. A . . . “cute” Kryptonian thing, according to Superman.

Lex is increasingly mystified by this interaction.

“Can’t say I’ve spent much time listening to it, personally,” he lies, because he has in fact obsessed over that heartbeat’s health and stability since first finding out about its unusualness and has done a truly aggravating amount of research into heart murmurs and conditions and the like. But that’s hardly Superman’s business, now is it.

“. . . what’s his name?” Superman asks hesitantly. Lex is possibly having an out of body experience.

“Experiment Thirteen,” he says. Superman immediately looks offended.

“We need to give him a name, Lex,” he says. Lex, again, has an out of body experience.

“‘We’?” he repeats incredulously. “I made it, I get to decide what it’s called.”

“He’s got my DNA!” Superman protests, looking indignant. Lex has absolutely no idea how to process that expression.

“It has both our DNA, in fact, yours was too irritating to stabilize alone,” Lex informs him dubiously. More accurately it was literally impossible to stabilize alone, but he’s not mentioning that to Superman. “So it has my DNA, and I made it. And also put eight point two billion dollars into its production, as a lowball estimate. Therefore I’m the one who decides what its name is, thank you very much.”

“Lex,” Superman says disapprovingly. “You can’t call a baby Experiment Thirteen.”

“It’s physiologically developed enough to complain if it doesn’t like it,” Lex retorts, narrowing his eyes at him. Superman frowns at him. Lex has never had a more ridiculous conversation with the man, including all the times Superman’s tried to appeal to his nonexistent “better nature”. “Well it is.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Superman says, then ducks back down and peers at Experiment Thirteen again, gentling his voice to address it while Lex is still incredulously mouthing “ridiculous”? to himself. “Would you like a real name, kiddo?”

Experiment Thirteen sticks its tongue out at him.

Lex is finding parenthood to be a very rewarding experience, actually.

#clex #lex luthor #clark kent #kon el #conner kent #superman #superboy #superfamily #rinfic #anonymous

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underdark-dreams · 6 months

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I would like to request something soft and sweet. Years after saving the Gate and having moved in with Rolan, Cal, and Lia, Tav is enjoying the day reading/admiring Rolan as he works, and then either a) Tav asks Rolan to marry them or b) Rolan asks Tav to marry him.

Thank you 💕💕

Rolan x fem!Tav

Was it wrong to feel selfish about the person you loved? Rolan and Tav finally get a night alone at the Tower to talk about what each of them wants.

Tags: Romantic Fluff, Mild Angst, Marriage Proposals | SFW

Word Count: 4,316 [Read on AO3]

“All right, all right. Three harpies at once, no weapons. How do you win?”

“Do they have the high ground?”

From the settee by the fire, Lia pointed down at her little brother as though he’d brought up a key point. “You’re on even terrain.”

“Right, this one’s easy.” Cal settled back comfortably against the rug with hands clasped behind his head. “I start yelling loud enough that I can’t hear the harpy song. Then, I charge at whichever one’s singing loudest and knock the wind out of them with my horns, and then, you know." He waved a hand around vaguely. "Rough 'em up."

“So fucking stupid—” Lia fell sideways in her seat, clutching her side with laughter.

“I keep telling you, you’re always forgetting about the horns.” Cal jabbed a finger at his forehead. “Natural advantage, Lia, you should know this by now.”

The absurd conversation was impossible to block out, but Rolan made an attempt as he bent over his desk. Behind him, he felt Tav's chest reverberating with laughter at his siblings.

She was in one of her affectionate moods tonight. She'd drawn up a chair behind his in order to rest her cheek against his back, one wrist draped loosely over his shoulder.

Rolan didn't mind the closeness—he never did from her. But between her warmth and his siblings' ridiculous game of what-if, he'd barely written one paragraph in the past ten minutes. He finally gave up and set aside his quill.

Tav shifted slightly on his shoulder. "How's Gale?" She asked, perhaps feeling guilty about interrupting his concentration.

“He’s well. His new class has a few with real promise, according to Tara.”

"I can't believe Tara likes you more than me," she mumbled suddenly against his back. "I met her first."

Her petulant tone made his mouth twitch into a smile. He would’ve turned to kiss her if they were alone. Instead, Rolan only pressed his lips to the hand draped over his shoulder. "Tressyms know a good wizard when they see one, dearest."

“Makes two of us,” she replied. The soft words ghosted across the skin on his neck, raising goosebumps under his collar.

It suddenly seemed like a very good idea to tell his siblings to get lost. Rolan was saved the necessity by a stroke of good timing. Near the fireplace, there was the soft clinking of plate armor as Lia got to her feet.

“Right, I’m off—” Lia buckled her scabbard around her waist as she rose, her shortsword tip clanking against the greaves over her shins. “Can’t be late to lead my first evening patrol.”

It had never occurred to Rolan before that Lia might end up in the Flaming Fist. He had to remind himself that the company’s reputation had improved considerably in the year since Florrick had succeeded Ulder Ravengard. Corruption and bad behavior had flourished under Gortash, but Florrick had done much to clean the Fists’ ranks of the worst—at least within the city walls.

As he looked at her now, standing tall in her emblazoned surcoat, Rolan realized that his young sister was quite grown up. She’d earned a promotion to Gauntlet faster than any of them expected, a fact she loved to remind them of—especially Rolan. Lia took care of others the way she always had, and now she could take care of herself. The thought was somehow bittersweet in Rolan’s chest.

"Me as well," Cal chimed in from the floor. Though he only stretched arms and legs out long with a massive yawn.

“Don’t rush off,” Rolan drawled, but there was affection in it.

“Highberry’s are across the street, I got a few minutes.” Cal scrubbed his face with both hands as if to wake himself. “We got new ones at the orphanage last week, twin boys. They’re good kids, but gods, do they play hard…feel like my back’s aged about ten years…”

Lia stepped over to give him a hand up with a chuckle. “Read the room, Cal. The lovers need their alone time.”

Cal glanced around at the two in question. Tav still rested her cheek on Rolan’s shoulder with an expression of dreamy happiness, while Rolan was failing to hide a scowl. Lia knew how he hated when either of them used that word.

“Ah, right—” Cal slipped to his feet, sounding eager to be off all of a sudden. “I’ll be back after sunrise. Keep the place together while I’m gone?” He added, a fine joke considering Cal was always the one breaking things.

Rolan’s only response was to wave his quill behind him in a shooing motion. Tav called a friendly goodbye to brother and sister as they made their way down the main staircase, chatting as they went.

Once their footsteps had retreated completely, her restraint evaporated. “Thank the Gods, come here—”

Rolan barely managed to save his inkwell from overturning as she twisted to launch her torso across his lap, capturing his face in both hands for an enthusiastic kiss. His near arm gripped around her middle, no doubt leaving ink stains from his fingers against her linen shirt—he found himself unable to care about anything but the sweet taste of her lips.

They each pulled away for breath at the same moment. Tav’s grip lingered, her fingers combing back through his hair gently to clasp together at his nape.

“Hello,” she grinned. Her eyes roamed over his face like he was everything.

Rolan’s palm brushed down her back, utterly content. “Hello.”

They took each other in like that for a long moment, just enjoying the quiet closeness. Her fingers smoothed and combed the hair back from beside Rolan’s horns needlessly—a fussy gesture that nevertheless brought a hum of contentment to his chest.

Apparently satisfied that she had him put back to sorts, Tav’s hands moved to rest on Rolan’s shoulders. “Got more work to do?”

Though she phrased it as a question, Rolan sensed she already knew the answer. He let out a reluctant sigh.

“Go on,” said Tav, not waiting for his reply. Rolan’s shoulders received a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll wait for you.”

With one last soft kiss, she slid off his lap and away. Rolan said nothing, but he instantly missed the warm weight of her against him.

Tav retrieved her current reading from the shelves behind and curled up on the now-vacant settee near the fireplace. Though his spirit rebelled, Rolan picked up his quill again to continue writing his last few replies. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could join her.

For a while the vaulted room settled into a quiet, echoing lull. There was the crackle of magical flame in the great stone hearth; the rhythmic scratch of ink against parchment; the faint whistle of an evening breeze out on the open balcony beyond. Periodically, he heard Tav turn another page of her book.

Before long he’d reached the final sealed envelope on the day’s pile. As Rolan stretched his hand for it, he caught sight of Tav watching him over the back of her seat.

“What?”

“Just admiring,” she sighed, eyes sparkling. “You look so handsome when you’re concentrating like that.”

Rolan’s brow wrinkled playfully at her. “Am I not usually handsome?”

“Always.”

“Hmm. You just think that because you’re in love with me,” Rolan replied curtly. He turned back to his work in an attempt to hide the way she made him smile and flush like an idiot.

“Both can be true,” she called back, not denying anything. But Rolan heard the shuffle of pages as she returned to her reading.

It took him a moment to regain concentration on his work. Rolan’s eyes reread several lines of the letter before him multiple times. But this one was truly quite important—a missive from the archwizards’ council at Blackstaff Tower. They were inquiring about his arcane research, apparently intrigued for the first time in years by his own Tower’s new ownership. He dove back in to focus on answering their questions in detail.

Half an hour and five sheets of parchment later, Rolan finally surfaced back to reality. He straightened up and promptly felt a pop in his neck from his stiff writing posture. The last light of sunset had slipped from the sky, leaving inky blackness behind each vaulted window of the cathedral-like interior.

As he rolled his aching shoulders, Rolan glanced toward Tav—only to find that the seat by the fire was empty. Rolan glanced back around the room, finding the rest of it empty as well.

Had she given up waiting and gone up to bed? The thought disappointed him, though it opened up other possibilities.

But Tav had told him she'd wait, and she wouldn't lie. As he rose from his desk to search for her, Rolan caught a faint metallic tap from the balcony.

Her silhouette was cast in relief against the dark sky. It was a moonless night; the pale orange glow of lamplight from the streets far below was the only light lining the edge of her figure, that and what little firelight streamed out through the highly vaulted doorway. Tav leaned on her elbows, the pewter wine glass under her fingers tapping an absent little rhythm against the stone railing. It was one of her habits when deep in thought.

Rolan allowed himself a moment to admire her. Seeing her in a quiet pose like this was one of his favorite things in all the Realms. Tav had become so many things to so many people in the short year he’d known her: hero, savior, diplomat, even rather a politician.

But tonight, for now…she was just Tav. His Tav.

Rolan felt a pang of something like guilt in his stomach. It was by no means the first time he’d had such a feeling about her. His; possessive, controlling. It reminded him of the way he used to think before she came into his life.

For a long time, Rolan had felt a need to control the people he loved. If he didn’t, who would? Control just went hand in hand with protection. Caring for others was a luxury, and if the events of his life had taught him anything up to that point, it was that fate and misfortune were always looking for ways to separate you from what you cared about most.

And Tav had slipped so easily into the deepest depths of his heart. At first begrudgingly, resentfully…Rolan hadn’t exactly seen her as a welcome addition to their lives when they’d first met long ago on the road to Baldur’s Gate.

Right now, it was impossible to imagine anything but love for her.

As Rolan watched a soft breeze ruffle the ends of her hair, something uncertain bloomed inside of him. Was it wrong to feel selfish like this about the person you loved? The question hung unanswered in his chest. Rolan felt its weight there tonight, like a heavy stone dragging on his heart.

His hand absently brushed against the small leather pouch he kept tied on his belt—there was a small clink of metal against metal from inside.

“Just going to stand there?”

Tav’s voice brought him back to reality in the most pleasant way. Rolan blinked to find that his legs had carried him forward to the arched doorway of their own volition.

Tav stood a few strides away, watching him over her shoulder with a bemused smile. The firelight streaming out from behind him softly illuminated her features.

In the next moment, Rolan had closed the distance to tilt her face into a kiss. Her empty cup clattered forgotten to the stone tiles at their feet. Would he ever tire of the way her arms circled around his shoulders like that?

Rolan didn’t think it was likely—he nuzzled against her cheek as their lips parted, inhaling her familiar and comforting scent.

“What’s with you tonight?” Tav laughed, the sound breathy and soft against his collar.

“What?” Rolan protested, drawing her away slightly to examine her face. “Can’t I appreciate the woman I love?”

A happy flush rose to her cheeks, unnoticeable in the dim to someone without Rolan’s precise vision. But notice he did, just as she caught the way his golden eyes traveled over her expression. Tav pressed her face back into his shoulder as her arms squeezed tighter around him.

“I wish we had more time,” she said against the crook of his neck.

Rolan tried to quell the instinctive panic that rose in his chest at her words. Instead, he stroked a hand over her hair. “What do you mean?”

The way she paused before answering allowed Rolan’s heart just enough time to wind up to a brisk rhythm against his ribcage. Eventually, Tav leaned back to look at him. Her expression had grown quite serious.

“I know that you—” She cut herself off, then wet her lips and began again. “Rolan, this place is your life. I’m not under any misconceptions that all this—” She tipped her head and looked sideways as if to indicate the Tower itself. “—That any of it’s going away any time soon. You know that, right?”

Her face tilted toward him with utter sincerity. Rolan found that his thoughts were forming with an odd slowness, as if swimming around his brain through something gelatinous.

“And you’ve been very understanding,” he managed to tell her. The guilt from earlier returned its grip over his chest. “More than I deserve.”

She sighed as her hand rose to his cheek. “Thank you for saying that…but you wouldn’t if you knew how often I daydream about kidnapping you away all for myself.”

Before Rolan could find a response to that, Tav had stepped back out of his grip with a soft curse.

“Damn—” She swore again, then wrung her hands with a shaky, anxious laugh. “This shouldn’t be this hard.”

Rolan still didn’t understand quite what she was saying, a sensation that he found deeply uncomfortable. It made him feel like a vessel adrift. He clasped hands behind his back to anchor himself, collecting his features into a guarded expression.

“Please,” Rolan invited her, tipping his horns to her in a way that felt awkwardly formal. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know.” She chewed the inside of her lip as she watched him. There was a tense pause, and then she launched in abruptly.

“I’ve been thinking our life here in your Tower. You and me—us. And,” she added, “I’ve been thinking about your work. How much it means to you…how far you’ve come in just a year.”

Tav gave him a small smile, as if casting back to those tense and awkward times when they’d first known each other. Then her face fell again. “Sometimes it just feels like there’s something missing.”

Rolan found he had to glance away from her for a moment to collect his thoughts. “Are you unhappy?” He asked her slowly.

“What? Not at all—” Tav shook her head with vehemence. “You make me so happy, Rolan, you have no idea. It’s just that I—I’m not always satisfied,” she finished weakly.

“I see.” Rolan kept his face very still, but his pulse beat painfully in his throat.

She was unsatisfied with the life of an archmage’s partner. It was perfectly understandable—before she’d come to live with him, Tav traveled far and wide, sometimes leaving the city for a week to visit her far-flung companions across Faerûn and the very hells themselves.

A life spent cooped up in a tower, no matter how grand—how could he have ever thought it would be enough for her?

Rolan’s guilty conscience was deserved. He had been too selfish with her. He wanted her safe; he wanted her here. Most of all, he wanted Tav to want to be with him.

And Rolan had been so sure that she did. Perhaps he’d let the strength of his own feelings mislead him.

Rolan was painfully aware of the silence stretching on between them. Another evening breeze stirred the air, and as it rustled through their clothing, Tav’s eyes searched his face.

“What are you thinking?” she asked quietly.

Behind his back, Rolan’s hands clenched where she couldn’t see them. Right now he was thinking of the small leather pouch that had hung from his belt for months, and the two small metal objects it contained, and the many ways he had imagined offering one of them to her. But none of those were things he should tell her now.

“Nothing,” Rolan answered aloud. “Only that I’ve been rather foolish.”

In response to that, a strange, puzzled expression passed over her face. Then her lips parted.

“Ohhhh—” The sound rose from deep in her chest, a pained exhale. “No, Rolan, no no—”

Tav stepped to grasp his face between her hands with such speed that Rolan nearly flinched in surprise at the contact.

“I’m such an idiot,” she confessed to him. Her voice was very small all of a sudden. “I know I might not have the right to ask you, Rolan—but I don’t want less. I want more.”

Rolan’s eyes traveled back and forth between hers as if there was some hidden message he was missing there. “More?” He repeated, questioning.

Tav nodded her head very slowly at him. “More of you. More of us.”

In the next instant it felt like the weight tangled around Rolan’s heart had snapped its line and plummeted straight down into his stomach. As he watched the firelight reflected earnestly in Tav’s eyes, realization shot up his spine like a shockwave.

The force of his relief made his head spin. Rolan wanted to say a dozen different things to her all at once. Unfortunately, he found that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth at the moment.

Instead—in a rare moment of clarity that was all reflex and no logic—Rolan felt himself sinking to one knee in front of her.

“Why are you—”

Tav’s eyes went wide as she followed his face down to where he landed. Her hands fell from where they’d held him to hang down limp at her sides; her chest rose and fell as if she’d run a flight of stairs.

“How can you not know by now?”

What a terrible way to begin, he thought—yet those were the words Rolan found leaving his mouth. Trying to right his thoughts, he reached for one of her hands and took it between both his own.

“Forgive me,” Rolan blurted out. “I swear I’ve practiced this before, but—I can’t remember all the best bits just now.”

Tav shook her head at him as if punch-drunk. “Don’t sell yourself short,” she whispered hoarsely.

A nervous bark of laughter escaped him. “Have you ever known me to be burdened with an excess of humility?”

Despite the electricity now swirling between them, the corners of Tav’s mouth twitched upward. “Point taken.”

Rolan used the moment to gather himself. His tongue suddenly felt two sizes too large, and he swallowed with effort against his dry mouth.

“You’ve always done so much for me. From the first moment…every moment. You’re the reason why I have Cal and Lia, why I have everything—” Rolan’s eyes left her only for a moment to pass up over the great spire of the Tower above them.

From his periphery, Tav opened her mouth to protest.

“Please listen,” Rolan begged her before she could speak. He wished he’d thought this through even a little; his knee was already starting to ache against the stone, but he pushed through the discomfort.

Tav’s figure froze still in response as she watched him. Only her hand shook slightly between his palms.

“You must know what you mean to me,” Rolan murmured. “You’ve given me so much more than I deserve. You’ve loved me more than anyone…better than anyone. But—” He drew her hand a bit closer to his chest. “But I’m afraid there’s one more thing I have to ask you for.”

Tav’s lips were parted in anticipation as she hung on his words. She stood so motionless it was like kneeling at the foot of a beautiful statue. Only her wide eyes moved continuously over his face, and Rolan felt he could lose himself in them completely if he gazed too long.

“Let me give you more,” he asked simply. “Let me give you everything.”

“You—you damn wizard—”

As she broke her silence, Tav’s expression was flickering somewhere between amusement and tears. She was shaking her head at him, moisture pricking at the corners of her eyes. “If you don’t say it plain in the next—”

“Marry me.”

Though they stood under open sky, the two words seemed to echo with deafening force against his own ears. The question hung like a tangible physical thing, reverberating painfully in the narrow space between their bodies. Rolan could only grip her hand like a lifeline and wait for her to say something—anything.

Finally, Tav burst out into a laugh.

Or was it was a sob?

It was some strange combination of both, a choked sound of relief rising in her throat even as Rolan watched liquid suddenly spill and roll down each of her cheeks. Before he knew what was happening, Tav had also dropped to her knees in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Whatever responses Rolan had anticipated, this was one he didn’t plan for. He could only freeze and watch her cry and wait for things to make sense again.

“I don’t know,” Tav hiccoughed through the rapid tears that were streaming down her face now. Her lips trembled as her hands found his shoulders, clutching two handfuls of his robes. “I d-don’t know,” she repeated. “But I want you, Rolan.”

He had just enough hope to take that as a yes.

Rolan folded Tav’s body into his own with near crushing force. He was now overwhelmingly grateful for their absurd position kneeling together on the cold stone of the balcony. It was unthinkable to have her anywhere but in his arms right now.

“Yes, by the way—” Tav’s voice was muffled against his shoulder, but her chest shook against him with unmistakable laughter now.

“I had plans,” Rolan answered against her hair, half to himself. “None of this is right, hells, I swear I had so many plans—”

“Hold on,” Tav replied in a trembling laugh. She pulled away gently, just enough to notch one hand under Rolan’s ear. Her face radiated joy despite the damp skin on her cheeks. “Rolan, what on earth could be wrong right now?”

Everything, he wanted to groan out. But he bit the word back.

Instead, Rolan ducked his head to fumble with the drawstrings of the leather bag fastened to his belt. Tav’s fingers dropped from his jaw as she watched on in silent curiosity.

He shook the open bag over his hand. With a tiny clink, two rings poured from it and out onto Rolan’s outstretched palm. Even on a moonless night, the metal seemed to glow from within with a silver-blue fire.

“Mithril,” Tav breathed in pure delight.

The observation was so unexpected, yet so thoroughly Tav, that Rolan let out a choked laugh.

She touched fingers to her lips. “How long have—when did you—?”

“The week you moved in,” Rolan answered. The way her eyes flicked up to his in pure adoration made Rolan’s heart swell in his chest, but he continued. “That’s when I gave Dammon the commission. Of course it took months to find a vein of it down in the Underdark, I nearly went mad, you have no i—”

The words were stopped up as Tav’s lips collided against his. Rolan’s fist closed over the twin metal bands just as his hand was trapped between their chests.

She kissed him so long and so hard that Rolan gasped for air a bit when she broke away.

“Do you like it?” Rolan asked, needing her answer more than his lungs needed air.

“You’re kidding me.” Tav blinked at him. “Rolan, if you don’t put that thing on my finger this fucking minute, I swear I might have to reconsider.”

He wasn’t about to chance it. Rolan slipped the band onto the finger of her outstretched hand without hesitation; it fit her perfectly. She followed suit, her hand shaking slightly with excitement as the ring slid down to his knuckle.

For a moment they just held opposite hands out beside each other in quiet admiration. Then Rolan linked his fingers with hers, pulling their palms together.

He supposed the rings were supposed to come after the vows, not before—but the sight of them on their interlocked fingers was too perfect to be wrong.

A moment later they helped each other back to their feet, both laughing at their stiff knees and the pins-and-needles in their legs.

Rolan felt giddy as a youth. He couldn't stop kissing her; his arms circled her firmly into him, his tail looping around and over her hips in a caress. As Rolan watched the pure happiness radiating from Tav’s face, his heart was the lightest it had ever been.

“Now what?” He asked eventually.

Tav sighed with contentment in his arms. “Whatever you want.”

“I want to take you to bed,” Rolan answered without hesitation. Words had grown tiresome; he could think of no better way to demonstrate exactly the strength of his feelings for her right now.

In response, she separated to tug his hand with both of hers back under the doorway.

“Then we’d better go,” she said, walking backwards so she could flash him a coy smile. “Because I want my fiancé to tell me about all those ways he didn't just propose.”

#rolan x tav #tav x rolan #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #fem unnamed tav #sfw #in which tav holds rolan's face in her hands approx. 29 times #and rolan misunderstands everything #they are a mes #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #bg3 tieflings

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rehfan · 2 months

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*opens calculator app* 😂 Wait so you were nearly the same age as the kids in Stranger Things in the RL 1980s? I'm so curious, do you have any pet peeves or things you chuckle about when it comes to the younger generation writing about experiences they've never had? Example, I'm in my early 30s so it's funny to me when I can clearly tell someone is currently in their early 20s by the way they write conversing on a landline phone. Like, not judging anyone or their writing. But it's amusing to be able to tell they grew up with mobile phones and wifi as the norm and I am really curious if you have that about the way my or any other younger generation writes certain things.

I was nearly the same age as the Party, yes. In 1986 I was actually 12 - which puts me in 7th grade/beginning of 8th - so I was more Erica’s age.

I had a Trapper Keeper. (Several actually.) I had leg warmers (red - given to me as a present) but I only wore them once because they felt stupid. My VERY FIRST CRUSH was on a senior student the next year (our school was a Jr/Sr High School so everyone from grades 7-12 were all in one building) and he looked JUST LIKE EDDIE. Not exaggerating. So when I saw the beginning of Season 4… I kind of lost my mind a little.

My “Eddie”:

When I finally got to high school (1988-89) I looked just like Eddie. Denim jacket with the buttons and pins, wild curly brown hair, all that.

I’m the chick circled in red talking with my friends:

So when I read fic written by younger people, I do tend to fact check them in my head. For instance: CDs were not a widespread thing until the 90’s y’all. (Google is your friend.) And most people of means had a set of encyclopedia in their homes, but they tended to only buy ONE set. Once outdated, there was no replacing them because they were EXPENSIVE. So going to the library for research was a thing. A BIG thing. There was no internet, of course, so that’s all we had. That, and our parents and teachers. That’s all we had to go for information about EVERYTHING — including sex.

Remember too: this is also 1986 and that’s the beginning of the height of the HIV/AIDS crisis. Gay men were dying in droves. No one knew the cause, but most figured that if it was relegated to only the gay male community then… *collective society shrug*. The insidious illness also added to the intended insult of being called “gay” or a “gaylord” at that time. Effeminate males were ostracized, treated as “other”, and even beaten and killed. It was dangerous to be Out - but it was also dangerous to exist. It was (for the most part, and to my limited understanding) a hidden-away hookup culture by necessity with an even darker underbelly because having sex could be a death sentence. Most all the Steddie stuff I’ve read set in that time tends to ignore these undertones - including homosexual characters practicing unprotected sex.

But if a writer is only smut-focused when writing their fic, I can see why that choice was made.

And even the Duffers kinda fucked up. In Season 4 Ep 1, the song that played (“Do You Want To Play”) when Dustin and Mike are tearing around the school looking for an extra to fill in for Lucas for D&D, that song (by Extreme) didn’t come out until 1988. I know - I owned that album. On cassette tape. Bought it when it came out.

So all in all, no one’s perfect and all these stories are based around a small town experiencing supernatural craziness, so I’m willing to give it all a pass.

Go write your fic, kids. And if you want An Old to 80’s-pick your fic, my ask is always open.

#fanfic #writing #personal #fandom #stranger things #eddie munson #joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe keery #steve harrington #steddie

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misscinnamonroll16 · 2 months

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John pulls his goggles over his face when he's embarrassed, been crying or hasn't slept in a while

Floyd sometimes draws on facial hair

John Dory is often over caffeinated. He can't sit still bc he's got way too much energy. He often paces while eating bc if he sits down, he'll shake

All the boys talk with their hands when they really get into what they're saying. They are passionately talking about something and their hands Moving ™️

John's first tattoo (I believe he would get a few more but Floyd would still be the most tatted) he doesn't remember bc he was really drunk while it happened. He got it done on Branch's birthday way before the band got back together. He was in his feelings that day

Floyd looks the youngest, he's short and baby faced.

John can also look younger when he shaves his face (which offended Bruce when it happened)

If John covers your mouth with his hand, licking wouldn't get him to pull away. He has four little brothers who have all done that at one point and isn't phased by it

The boys shared a room when they were kids

Clay puffs out his cheeks when he gets mad. When on his own at the course, he had to train himself not to do that bc people (trolls) didn't take him seriously when he did. But with his brothers back in his life, that habit resurfaces.

John Dory can not resist the puppy dog eyes, and the little brothers know this and use it to their advantage

Floyd can cry on command

John Dory and Branch mumble to themselves. They just walking around talking to themselves, no biggie.

John Dorys writing style has improved from "baby, baby, girl". He wrote his own songs while on his own. It's mostly feelings stuff, talking about going back and changing things, stuff like that

Floyd has the ability to silently communicate with any of his brothers. Whether it's queer on queer communication with John or younger sibling communication with Clay. He can speak through looks but it only works with whichever brother he's doing it with. He can rope in another if he wants to

Bruce is the self care king. He has to force the others to do self care, mainly JD and Clay.

Floyd has also written his own songs while on his own, he has his own album.

John and Spruce forced Clay and Floyd to go into a haunted house with them as kids. Floyd DID NOT wanna go, practically had to be dragged in. Needless to say, the two of them almost pissed themselves with fear and JD never forced them to do it again. Spruce however, did try it again and was told no by John.

Floyd is afraid of clowns

John is incredibly handy but it's only out of necessity.

Bruce is still a little self conscious about his body. He has some bad days but as long as he's comfortable in is own skin, he's happy

Clay likes puzzles

John also likes puzzles but he likes the 'figure it out' type puzzles not put it together puzzles

All of the boys will have at least two kids at the minimum. They loved having siblings no matter what they say and want the same for their kids

#trolls #brozone #trolls john dory #trolls floyd #trolls clay #trolls bruce #branch trolls #trolls headcanon #trolls headcanons #brozone hc #brozone hcs

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justmediocrewriting · 5 months

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Oh hello!! I read your koby writing and loved it!! You have a talent for writing 🩷 I was wondering if you could do a zoro x mermaid!reader who tries to lure them with a siren song but it only works on men so nami and robin fight back but not before reader can get her hands on zoro and steal him away! Maybe some steamy scenes back at her home/cave or something 😏😏

Lost In The Siren’s Song {r.z}

Summary: every creature has to eat. It’s the law of nature — and some creatures don’t have the most humane diets. You were more than aware of this, and even though you weren’t proud of what you had to do, you also knew it was a necessity, albeit one that was hard for you to stand — but it was made a bit more endurable when your prey was this alluring.

Genre: fantasy, smut, please do not read if you are not 18+!

Pairing: Zoro x fem!siren!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Requested: ✅

Warnings: sexual content (fairly explicit), non-con elements, language, themes of violence and/or gore, please let me know if you noticed any that I missed

A/n: before diving into this, I first want to say thank you so much for this request nonnie! It was such a pleasure (wink wink) to write, and I’ve never actually written anything in a prospect of a creature that isn’t human, and the fantasy element was definitely a joy to indulge in! Also, in folklore, sirens are creatures that lure men, so in my mind (and for the ease of this fic), I decided that sirens as a species feed on the desire of human men (much like a succubus), and therefore do not need to kill men after feeding (most do, however). I did have the OPLA!Zoro in mind when writing this, but I tried to write the story in a way in which you can imagine it as his anime counterpart instead. I really had fun tweaking this around and creating the world for it, so again, thank you so much! I hope everyone can enjoy this ❤️❤️

{=================================}

You’d never before had a victim that was so receptive.

The swordsman was panting, soaked trousers clinging to the shape of his tenting dick, his tan skin flushed so prettily and pupils blown wide as he stared at you with something akin to reverence; it was truly a sight, and the lust pouring from his pores and seeping into yours was the warmest and most satiating you’d ever had.

The man’s expression wasn’t exactly one that you hadn’t seen before — nearly every man you’d lured to your cave wore the same one when under the entrancement of your voice, but somehow, the expression was just breathtaking on this man’s face, and it had your skin flaming in ways you’d never experienced before. Perhaps it was due to him being quite possibly the most attractive mortal you’d ever captured — his cropped green hair accentuated his tan skin, and his shoulders and chest were broad, leading down to slim but well muscled abdomen. The rather large cock standing straight at attention in his trousers was just a bonus.

You swallowed thickly as arousal stirred in your gut, the sensation throwing you slightly off-kilter; you’d fed many times, but that’s all it had ever been to you: feeding. A simple necessity for your survival, and one that you found rather unpleasant. Luring men from ships and dragging them all the way to your den (and the subsequent act of touching them to draw out the most lust you could) wasn’t the easiest thing, and this catch was much harder to retrieve, given that the swordsman’s crew had two women on board, which was not something you encountered often — being as they were resistant to your voice, it was difficult to snatch the man, but somehow you had managed and returned to your cave with minor wounds, just a few scratches and bruises to lick later.

“I won’t kill you,” you assured the man. Even though you knew he wouldn’t be able to truly decipher your words in his current state, nor would he feel anything other than burning need, you always made sure to promise your victims that their lives were not forfeit by you; unlike most of your kind, you knew that killing off the prey was not a necessity, so you didn’t indulge in it. The man simply blinked at you, eyes hazy and unfocused and swirling with arousal, never moving from your figure. Even as hazy and unfocused as they were, they practically seemed to pierce through you, and the onyx hue was entrancing in a way that you’d never seen a mortal possess.

Your hand twitched with the sudden urge to feel him, to roam over his body and pull the clothes off of his skin, and so you did — your scales were long gone by now, replaced instead by smooth, soft legs, which you used to shuffle yourself closer to the man. It was a little known fact about sirens, that you were not, in fact, stuck in one form; it changed, and after enough exposure to dry air you could easily pass as a human.

The swordsman sucked in a sharp breath when your fingers danced along his collar bone, and his hips thrust wildly into the air, a groan slipping past his lips as his hardened member grazed against the confines of his wet trousers. You felt a pang of sympathy for the man. Being under the effects of your song was akin to being under the effects of powerful aphrodisiacs, and you had no doubt that the poor man was in a lot of pain from it — especially since he wouldn’t be able to touch you, not unless you gave him explicit command to.

“Do you want me to touch you?” You whispered into the swordsman’s ear, fingers still trailing along the jut of his collarbone and just barely dipping into the collar of his shirt, and from your close proximity to him, you felt more than saw his eager nodding. His breathy little pants and desperate hip undulations were really beginning to affect you, your cunt feeling extremely wet and hot, and you were taken aback by the sheer amount of desperate want you felt coursing through your veins.

You’d never before wanted your prey so carnally.

“I’ll make it better, as long as you keep wanting me.” You purred into the man’s ear, finding that you were the labored rise and fall of his breaths beneath your fingertips as you used one of your sharp nails to slice through the fabric of his shirt, careful not to damage the taut skin beneath. As your hand slithered further down his torso, the lust being pumped into the air gradually increased, and the man let out small, breathy whimpers and pleas under his breath that had your hips tingling.

“Shh,” you cooed, half because you wanted to comfort him and half because hearing his voice was doing things, and it felt too dangerous for you — there was a sinking wonderment in your gut of who was more entranced by who.

When your hand finally enclosed around the damp bulge of the man’s dick, many things happened simultaneously — the man’s hips arched up in a desperate thrust, a loud, guttural groan slipping past his lips, and you gasped when your entire body flooded with warmth as lust filled you nearly to bursting, lighting your nerves in a way that made you feel as if you were feeling what the man was.

“Please, please, need you — so beautiful, need you so bad.” The man’s voice was hoarse and broken, and it was the first real sentence he’d said, and his voice sounded so beautiful, so tantalizing, and the way his lips curved around each word filled you with a desire that you’d never had before — and you were but a helpless victim to it.

Electricity skirted across every inch of your skin when you pressed your lips against the man’s in a hungry kiss, swallowing every groan and pant and moan down like a beast starved. Goaded and fueled by the lust swirling under your skin — lust that you recognized as the man’s, and even more frighteningly, your own — you swung a leg over him and clambered atop his lap, settling your overheated core directly on the bulge of his dick. You couldn’t help the moan that the sensation pulled from your chest, and the man drank it down like the sweetest nectar, and his tongue plunged into your mouth, seeking your own.

The sensation of his wet tongue wrestling with yours completely wiped away any coherent thoughts your brain would have managed as the lust brimming within your body hit a spilling point, and you began to gyrate your hips at a rapid pace. The drag of your clit against the fabric of his trousers was rough but rich with friction, and the heat of his clothed cock seemed to radiate into your lower half completely. With how fogged your mind and body was, it didn’t even occur to you to wonder how the man had somehow broken from his frozen state without your command when his hands bruised your hips in a vice grip — all you could think was that it felt good, and your entire lower half exploded with harsh tingles when he took control over your movement, dragging you down harshly against his cock in time with his own desperate thrusts.

“So good, so fucking good — gonna explode, gonna fucking blow—” the man’s voice was harsh and ragged against your lips, his words somewhat hard to understand due to his reluctance to disengage his lips from the dance they were performing with yours, but they went straight to your core anyway, flushing your entire body with excitement and eagerness.

“Cum, cum, I want you to cum.” You moaned into his mouth, tongue licking into the crevice, and the man reciprocated your eagerness by removing his hands from your hips and instead wrapping them around your shoulders for a better grip — before you could fully prepare yourself, the man was bucking his hips with abandon, the friction against your clit fast and unrelenting, and you threw your head back with a moan. The swordsman took advantage of the access to your throat, and he began licking and biting the tender flesh, the ministrations adding more fuel to the fire within your belly.

There was a foreign tightening within your gut, something akin to a coil being wound, and it was something you’d never felt before — it was frightening but exhilarating, and though unfamiliar, you just knew that the snapping would lead to something amazing. So you allowed your body to relax and fall limp in the man’s hold, eyes fluttering closed as you let yourself fall into the sensations abusing your body.

“Fuck, so good, you feel so fucking good — so warm and soft, fuck—” with every hot word panted into the flesh of your neck that coil wound tighter, and with a few more harsh thrusts your vision exploded with white stars as your entire body clenched up, your clit bursting with pleasure and throbbing as an orgasm — your first ever — was pulled from your body. The swordsman was quick to follow, a liquid that was even hotter than his cock coating the front of trousers and seeping through to melt into your skin, and the groan he released into your jugular was so filthy that it was nearly enough to rip another orgasm from you.

Your legs were a trembling cage around his thigh, and as you sit recovering from what was probably the most amazingly intense experience of your life, you debated going against your long standing moral code and keeping the man in your lair forever.

#opla #opla zoro x reader #zoro x reader #opla zoro #one piece

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loving-family-poll · 5 months

Text

Ultimate Incest Tournament - Round 2

Norma and Norman Bates sculpture by artist "Rainman," titled Murderer

Propaganda under the cut:

Norma/Norman:

The weirdest, most charming mother/son duo ever. Bates Motel took an interesting story and turned it into something greater, exploring Norma and Norman's relationship with sincere sympathy. Their love for each other is beautiful, but destructive; their intimacy was born out of necessity and shared pain; the world won't leave them alone. It's awful to witness. It's beautiful and heartbreaking.

i mean COME ON. Norma is constantly upset that Norman expresses interest in other women. She hid her husband from Norman because she knew Norman would throw a hissy fit over them being together (which he did)

He tried to commit murder-suicide so they could die together and when he survived he taxidermied her corpse so they could be together forever

Norman “It’s like there’s a cord between us” x Norma “Honey that’s - that’s from Jane Eyre” are everything to me. I’m barely scratching the surface in doing justice to their insanity. They mean everything to each other and I love their fucked-up codependency so dearly.

After he killed her he couldn't live without her so literally absorbed her personality and started wearing her clothes and speaking for her and carrying her corpse around and when a woman he was attracted to showed up at the hotel he killed her as his mother bc of his mother's jealousy??

Gerard/Mikey:

Vocalist and bassist respectively of my chemical romance. they are insanely codependent (describing themselves as the same person just different heights etc). gerard has also licked mikeys nipple onstage. good times

Gerard is decidedly super abnormal about mikey. he has written many songs about him that are always adjacent to straight up love songs. he has also been explicitly sexual with him (giving him a pantomime handjob, caressing his chest, saying he looks like a hooker etc etc) while also constantly babying him. theyre codependent and they finish each others sentences and theyre in ickydisgusting brotherlove❤️❤️❤️❤️

Grew up together as the outsiders in their New Jersey town and spent their teenhoods together in a musty basement. Mikey learned to walk by running after Gerard and face-planting. Gerard drew comics for Mikey and told him stories. They went to a Smashing Pumpkins concert together and decided that being in a band is what they wanted out of life. Mikey learned the bass because Gerard was in bands and he wanted to join. Gerard called up Mikey after witnessing 9/11 and told him they're gonna start a band. Everything they do is together, they love each other. And isn't it so much fun to turn that incest?

Mikey Way wrote a comic where the main character, who looks like him from the black parade era, gets a woman pregnant. Which isn't incestuous on its own, but she looks like the female version of Gerard Way from the black parade era. Love is love or something

#tumblr polls #tournament polls #incest poll #norma/norman bates #psycho #bates motel #gerard/mikey way #waycest #mcr #my chemical romance #tw incest #round 2

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

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Hey , how would Jeff the Killer, Slenderman, Ticci Toby and Eyeless Jack react to a Albino reader ?

Jeff the killer, Slenderman, Ticci Toby, and Eyeless jack w/ an albino!reader !

jeff and toby are the only two characters strictly written as platonic as per admins personal boundaries, but the others can be seen as either way YAHOO playing TLTs new fnaf song on loop while writing this its so mf good got my bones getting in a twist YIPEE did some research on albinism since i didnt want this to be the characters simply reacting to the surface level stuff so thats why it took a little longer to get to this ! hope thats okay!

SLENDERMAN:

sticking true to my personal headcanon that outside of feeding and running people out of his forest, he doesnt actually interact much with humans... asides from the additional torment he puts potential proxies through but hush hush thats a whole different can of worms. point is, i think its unlikely that he would meet someone with albinism. sure, hes probably seen albino animals now and then, but a person? new experience for him, but i dont think he would be treating you like a spectacle. puts two and two together not long after meeting you... though even if hes accepting of it, he doesnt know of the extra precautions you need to take (to protect your eyes and skin from the sun, for example) but hes pretty receptive i think... notices youre having a hard time on days where its sunnier out so he either keeps you inside or keeps you in the shade. doesnt like giving you things from victims, so hes going to find other means to get you what you need (sunscreen, hats, sunglasses, ect). generally very accommodating, has a soft spot for you. i mean of course he does, you managed to win over this ancient forest demon thing

EYELESS JACK:

already knows what it is, down to common traits and the different types since i personally hc that before he became this silly man eating demon he was studying in medicine + generally had an interest in this sort of thing. doesnt bat an eye to the way your eyes sometimes twitch or drift off, helps you to the best of his ability when the strain gives you headaches. very good at reminding you to reapply your sunscreen and to remember to wear a sunhat when you go outside. if he has to, hes going to give you his jacket just so you can protect your upper body long enough to get back to your place/// just please give it back when you see him again..

JEFF THE KILLER:

"has heard of it but like slenderman knows next to nothing about it asides from "oh it means you dont have pigment/have low pigmentation" has heard of it but like slenderman knows next to nothing about it asides from "oh it means you dont have pigment/have low pigmentation", but unlike slenderman hes kind of... an ass about it... like hes generally an arrogant asshole, so it may take a while for him to pick up on things to make things a little easier for you. seems like hes annoyed with helping you remember to pack your sunglasses and other necessities, or when giving you something to help with any headaches caused by any strain... but let it be known that if he truly didnt care he wouldnt even bother to pipe up and drag you out into the shade when the sun starts beating down on you two.. he simply shows his care for you differently, you know?

TICCI TOBY:

he gets it, he does. maybe this is because he relates to having to just. deal with stuff that makes you different from others. or because admin is on the fence of headcannoning toby with poliosis... which while not albinism, visually he can relate and also relate to some of the other symptoms of it (namely the eye issues). flip flops between reminding you to pack stuff you need and forgetting.. but when he does remember hes very pushy about it, so much so that you might need to tell him to tone it down. you guys tend to vent to one another about things since theres some relatability between the two of you. as mentioned in my previous post hes prooooooobalby going to steal things for you to help you feel better; from things that will physically help you to things that will emotionally help you

#creepypasta x you #creepypasta x reader #slenderman x reader #slenderman x you #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #jeff the killer x reader #jeff the killer x you #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x you

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rabbits-of-negative-euphoria · 29 days

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I don’t mind taylor swift (although my mom’s convinced she’s a satanic worshiper, well according to her all the secular musicians/actors are so at least she’s consistent)

I actually liked some of the songs on TTPD but I wasn’t comfortable with the religious imagery she uses, at times it felt mocking

LOL, consistency is all I ask!

What a person is comfortable with is what they're comfortable with, and I'm certainly not advocating FOR Christians to listen to Taylor Swift--I think that's a matter of individual conviction. I'm not much of a TSwift listener for a variety of reasons not limited to her terrible worldview and frequent strong language. Nor do I think Christians should be naive when it comes to the secular, which hates God and His people.

That said, I want to invite everyone into my world of music. When I was a teenager, I created a playlist called Sense of the Divine, a phrase which I borrowed from a talk given by Vic Mignogna, but which refers to a concept I was raised from infancy to hold close: Humans are made to glorify God and enjoy Him forever, and every human knows this.

My Sense of the Divine playlist included artists such as OneRepublic, Tonight Alive, Bastille, Bear's Den, and Panic! At The Disco, with lyrics such as:

and

(This is one of my favorite lines of all time.)

But eventually, I stopped adding to that playlist, because 80% of all music I now listen to contains some kind of religious language, imagery, allusions, illustrations, allegories, etc. Any time I am listening to music, I am thinking on spiritual realities: how are God and man conceptualized correctly and incorrectly in this song and by the artist? How have I encountered those misconceptions in my own life? My own heart? Where do they come from? How do they affect us? How can they be defeated? Oftentimes, I'm asking, "How can I recontextualize this line in a way that is theologically correct?"; "How does this correspond with the themes of X Story?"; "How does this correspond with the themes in my WIP?"

If this sounds tedious to you, it's just second nature to me, like breathing. From childhood, my parents always asked us spiritual & worldview questions after any secular movie we watched or book we read, and yes, many songs we heard. I guess I've always assumed all Christians engage with media this way out of necessity, the only other option being to disengage with all media not written or distributed by Angel Studios.

Am I saying all Christians are equipped to regularly take in theologically questionable or downright incorrect content? No, certainly not. The discernment we receive from Scripture is a prerequisite, and I do draw the line for myself in some instances. But I feel it would be a safe bet that what most Christians miss in overtly religious poesy, they make up for tenfold in the covert philosophical assumptions (materialism, existentialism, nihilism, gnosticism, mysticism, scientism, etc.) found everywhere else, and which are arguably much more damaging to our relationship with God.

#- HK #(anon don't think I'm directing all of this at you it is more of a general PSA)#on a secondary level listening to overtly religious ideas in music is a great reminder that Western civilization was built on Christianity #it is still inspiring art like it did Milton and Shakespeare and Dante and Steinbeck #the artists can hate us but they still have to give us air time to do it #analysis #x #Christianity

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wandering-winchesters · 11 months

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Grief

Summary: The reader loses her grandfather and eventually seeks comfort from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2,576

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Death, Casket, Grief & Sadness

A/N: This was written mainly for me. The man in this story was based on my grandfather and the memories recounted are my own. I understand if this is not the type of story for you, but it helped me in my grief. Love always x

In the span of two minutes, in the early hours of my otherwise normal Wednesday morning, my world changed forever. Blinking away the fog of sleep, I reached for my phone that was ringing loudly on the nightstand. My cousin’s name was flashing on the screen, a number of missed calls showing in the background a signal of a bigger issue. I hurriedly accept her call, clearing my throat to enable my voice to speak louder than a whisper.

“Hello?” The words that would follow would break my soul in ways that I didn’t know possible.

“He’s gone, Y/N. He passed this morning.” Anything said after that I didn’t hear, I couldn’t process that my grandfather was gone. The call was ended and I sat frozen still tangled in my sheets. The warmth of the blankets no longer enough to replace the chill that had overtaken my skin. Before I knew what I was doing, I climbed out of bed and grabbed my duffle. Beginning the process of packing the bare necessities to get by, the need to get to him was suffocating and pressing in on me like a vice.

Not twenty minutes later, I closed the door to the bunker quietly behind me. I double checked that it was locked, before climbing into the drivers seat of my truck and throwing my bag into the passenger seat. I shot Sam and Dean a quick text, letting them know I was leaving for a few days and not to worry, even though I knew the text would not be enough to convince them of such. The reality of the situation still had not settled, I knew he was gone, but it just didn’t seem possible. I have hours of road ahead of me and focusing on his death was just not an option. The drive crawled by, every mile felt like ten. Every minute an eternity. I was greeted by family, friends and an overwhelming sense of grief. Yet no tears fell, anger was prevalent and boisterous, denial following in its sharp footsteps. Every intended encouragement of “He’s in a better place,” or “He’s no longer in pain.” Only aggravated my anger. Those words meant to comfort and ease my pain, only ignited it further. Everything I saw in his home, reminded me of the good old days. The times spent in the woods bird watching, or in his workshop creating something new and beautiful. The nights where he would sit and hold my hand, singing songs from when he was younger. I found his journal, read the words he had written and saved them for another time the pain too much to bear.

I had many missed calls from the boys, their texts growing more and more concerned as my silence grew greater. Their demands for an explanation only made my desire to ignore them more prevalent. Even though, I knew deep down they were just concerned for my safety. The days passed quickly, the funeral looming closer and closer. The grip that grief had on me was looming, it was as a reaper themselves had their icy hands wrapped around my lungs and throat.

Funeral homes were something that I frequented, many of the cases with the Winchester men ended up in a morgue or a funeral home. I had seen countless dead bodies, in many different forms. However, the morning of the funeral walking into the funeral home, seeing the man who raised me was so very different from every time before. There were many people who loved him that came to show their support, a blur of faces and a mass of stories, he had been so very loved. Yet every minute I stood there was soul shatteringly painful. It was exhausting, my body ached almost as much as my heart. I resorted to every self soothing technique I knew, bracing myself for the next person in line that was waiting to share their grief with me. Yet I survived, I made it through to the end. Everyone else had gone home, yet I couldn’t bring myself to leave his side. I could feel his presence surrounding me, embracing me. I bite my lip, holding back the sobs that have been at bay for days now. The ache in my chest so great it brings me to my knees.

I am caught off guard by familiar strong hands gripping my waist, fully supporting my weight. Dean’s cologne wafts over my senses and the smallest amount of relief floods over me.

“You don’t have to keep hiding your pain, sweetheart. There’s no shame in crying.” He whispers, tugging me back against his body and wrapping his arms around me. I am so overwhelmed and confused as to how he came to be here, that his words go almost unheard.

“How did you know I was here?” I ask, clearing my throat to relive the ache ever so slightly.

“I pinged your phone, found your location and checked the local paper. I figured there must be something going on, especially if you told us you were leaving but then wouldn’t tell us where or why. I found his obituary and drove straight here. I’ve been outside for the last few hours, I wanted to give you space. I noticed everyone else leaving, but didn’t see you. So I came to find you.” His voice is soft, comforting and it awakened the sadness within me that I had refused to allow space for until this moment. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes and silently began to fall.

“Dean, I-I didn’t want you to see me like this, the weak, crying side of me.” I said, my voice cracking slightly as I spoke. My cheeks heating up as they turn bright red.

“Y/N, I know it hurts. It’s okay to cry, I’ll be here to wipe your tears, sweetheart.” He says, his thumbs rubbing circles into my skin as he continues to hold me tight against him. I take a couple of steps towards the closed casket, Dean close behind me, his hand securely placed on the small of my back. I rest both of my hands on the lid to the casket and let every emotion free. Before I can stop it, a sob leaves my lips, tears are falling hard and hot. I have never cried like this, I have never felt pain like this. The guttural reaction it pulls from me, is something that I have never experienced before. My vision is blurred by the tears collecting in my eyelashes. The mascara and eyeliner I had applied earlier in the day, surely streaking black remnants down my face.

“I couldn’t grieve him, De, I had to be strong for everyone else. They were all relying on me to plan this and put everything together. I didn’t have the time to grieve and now I have to say goodbye. I’m not ready to say goodbye.” I get the words out between sobs, turning to bury my head in Dean’s chest, swallowed up in his embrace. He immediately wraps his arms around me once again, his head coming to rest against the top of my own. His lips brushing against my hair as he murmurs words of comfort, pressing a kiss every so often.

“I’m here, I’m always here.” He whispers once I pull away, he brushes my hair out of my face and caresses my face with his thumb. It’s not until that moment, that I see Sam, he’s sitting silently in the corner of the room. Waiting to offer comfort, but not wanting to encroach on Dean and I. The second our eyes meet, I burst into tears once again. The ache in my chest heavy, surely if I were to die of a broken heart this is what it would feel like. Sam quietly crosses the room and pulls me into his arms, his embrace just as warm and welcoming as Deans.

“I am so sorry for your loss, Y/N.” He says, his grip tightening momentarily before he lets me go. Dean offers me his hand and I gratefully accept it, allowing him to guide me outside. I steal one last glance at the closed casket and follow him closely.

“Can I drive you home, sweetheart?” Dean asks, hesitating outside of my truck, his eyes soft and concerned. I nod, not trusting my voice to give a verbal response. He helps me climb into the passenger seat of my truck, and gently shuts my door. I let my head fall back against the seat and my eyes flutter shut. I hear the drivers side door open and feel the truck shift as Dean climbs in and adjusts the seat to his liking.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just didn’t know how.” I open my eyes and glance over at him as he starts the truck, he gives me a small smile and extends his arm resting his hand on my leg.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I understand completely.” We ride in silence for awhile, my mind a constant rollercoaster of thoughts and emotions. My tears have stopped and everything other than my thoughts are quiet. There is rain hitting the roof of the truck, the tires are crunching against the gravel, but the only other sound is Deans fingers lightly tapping against the steering wheel of the car, keeping rhythm to whatever song is playing in his head.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, breaking the silence. I hesitate, trying to gather my thoughts into an actual sentence, instead of the dark depression that is swirling around in my head.

“Just remembering, the good times.” I say, a small smile breaking the surface of my lips.

“Care to share?” He asks, his eyes flitting back and forth from the road to my face. I chuckle softly, the memory in my mind floating through my head as an image.

“Okay, so you remember how my grandparents were together? My grandfather was always super flirtatious towards my grandmother? Well, this one time she was in a bad mood and he was trying to get her to laugh. So he took two balls of yarn, from her knitting project, stuffed them under his button down t-shirt and proceeded to parade around as if he had really big boobs. My cousin and I found it hilarious, my grandmother on the other hand was pissed. Well, for a few minutes, until she finally relaxed and laughed about it. I have the picture printed and hanging in the bunker?” Dean laughs, the clear and deep sound pierces the air around us and I relish the way it hangs in my ears.

“Do you have anymore you want to talk about?” He asks again, a slight twinkle in his eyes. I think for a minute, weeding through the memories in my head, some more clear than others.

“One time, after he got sick, he had this woodworking project that he wanted to do. He had all of these buildings on the farm filled to the brim with different types of wood, all different colors and ages. We spent no less than four hours, walking around so he could find just the perfect pieces for his project.”

It went on like this for awhile, I talked and Dean listened. He let me go on about how my grandfather would always shift the car into neutral when stopping at a stop light, how he would eat cranberry mousse on top of his pumpkin pie at thanksgiving. How he would sing my name as a greeting anytime I called him, or sing the numerous different old jingles from old toothpaste brands or other household products. How much I loved to hear him talk about anything and everything, from the weather to the stock market. The time when I was little, that he took me to a Poinsettia greenhouse that was a four hour drive and he just loved every minute of it. He was just so special and everyone loved him.

I grow quiet again, the rawness of my grief pulsing within me. Through all of this, exhaustion is creeping up within me. I scoot over the bench seat, getting as close to Dean as the truck will allow and rest my head against his shoulder. My intention was not to sleep, but just to close my burning eyes and seek the slightest comfort.

However, I fell asleep. Only realizing this when Dean opened the door to the truck and eased me into his arms.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” I open my eyes slightly and he shushes me.

“It’s okay. you needed it, and you looked too peaceful for me to wake you up. Close your eyes, I’ll bring you to bed.” He says, pressing a kiss to my forehead and tucking my head beneath his chin. I do as he says, closing my eyes and allowing the sound of his breathing and the smell of his cologne to overwhelm my senses. I can hear him cross the threshold of the bunker, whispering something to Sam who had driven the Impala back. He makes his way to my bedroom, gently kicking the door open with his foot and closing the distance to my bed quickly. He gingerly sets me down on the sheets, pulling the blankets up over my skin. I open my eyes once again, taking in the sight of the tall older Winchester in front of me, grateful for his friendship and the love he has shown me in this dark time. “Get some sleep, sweetheart, I won’t be far.” He presses another kiss to my skin and turns to leave my room. Fear grabs hold of me and before I can thing, I speak.

“Dean, will you stay, please?” I whisper, a sob clawing its way out of my lungs. He sighs, not a sigh of frustration, but of empathy. He nods silently, climbing in beside me and gently tugging me against his chest. He wraps his arms around me and presses a kiss against my forehead.

“It’s not gonna hurt like this forever. It will always be there, but your life will grow and it will hurt less. I promise, Y/N.” He says, stroking my skin gently. The comfort leeching from him, something I needed from the day I got that phone call. I let my eyes fall closed, trying to block out every thought and just exist in this very moment, surrounded by a man who would do anything for me, who would love me unconditionally and always let me be true to my emotions.

Dean was right, life went on. Even though some days, I wanted it to slow down more than anything, I wanted the world to stop so I could just exist in my grief. I wanted to go back several years before, take more pictures, listen to more of his stories, take more videos of him singing. I longed to hear his voice just one more time, ask him one more question. Instead of focusing on what I couldn’t do, I focused on what I could do. I noticed the birds more, some of his favorite creatures. I watched more sunrises and sunsets, embracing the beauty around me as he would have done. I will always remember the days we had together, I will always long for more. For now though, I will grieve. And that’s okay.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

@hunterscabin This contains some memories of my grandfather, I hope you will read them. <3

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omg-im-such-a-masochist · 2 months

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Maso! Do you have anything for our EVP birthday boy Matthew? I’m sure you can write something awesome for him

Yes babe, I can! And although it’s not Matthew’s birthday, I still did it because at last I finally finished something 👏. And no, I didn’t write EVP!Matthew, just regular Matt, it was what worked for this so I hope you get to enjoy it either way.

Also, I didn’t put the translation to the lyrics but you guys let me know if you’d like me to translate the entire song (google translate will fuck up some of the phrases as per usual), but for now I’ll leave it like this. And yes, I highly recommend you to listen to the song because it’s *chef’s kiss* the melody and flow is ugh, so good. Hope you like this, love💋

A/N: Huge shout out to @theworldofotps and for supporting me through this. Love you babe 🥰

*Written in Matt’s POV*

“Eu quero a sorte de um amor tranquilo

Com sabor de fruta mordida…”

The beauty of the known is often looked upon and taken for granted as something that shouldn’t be cherished. Because it’s comfortable, unexciting, predictable, trustworthy, and completely capable of making you yawn with boredom. But the thing is that the true beauty lies in what is expected, what you already know, in all of the things you can replay in your mind even before they happen.

You know it all, from the long pauses to the hesitation, the doubt in every word silently marked with an interrogation point. The uncertainty beneath the “I made a chicken pie for dinner”, it’s all so foolish to some, but to me, it’s the most wholesome thing that could ever exist in this world.

Love is overrated, not because it is a frivolous thing but because people often over-glamourize it as everything that it is not. Real love is not being excited to see your significant other every day, it’s not the urge to touch them nor the need to hear their voice. Real love is not marked by excitement but in fact, it’s nothing more than comfort.

When we’re young we have this vision that love will sweep us off our feet every day for the rest of our lives, and then reality hits us and love becomes everything that’s not advertised on TV shows or movies.

“Ser teu pão, ser tua comida

Todo amor que houver nessa vida…”

There is that raw excitement in the beginning, but after a while - like every new experience in life - you grow out of it and the only thing that remains is the person you know well enough to predict everything they do, from behavior to clothes, from speech pattern to preferences of food, drinks, movies, books, colors, vacation…you can name their routine as if it was your own, and that is the true beauty of love.

Not the eagerness to be together, but the comfortable silence as you watch the news. It’s the casual “Do you need something from the grocery store?”, it’s the care, the mute expression of true feelings, the lack of necessity to say anything at all.

True excitement lies in asking “Do you want some prunes on your greek yogurt?” just so you can see their nose scrunch up in disgust before the already-known answer of “Of course not! Yuck” fills up your ears and you silently repeat it along with them.

“E ser artista no nosso convívio

Pelo inferno e céu de todo dia

Pra poesia que a gente nem vive

Transformar o tédio em melodia…”

If anyone asked me “If you could, would you do it again?”, my answer would be “Absolutely”. I would choose the same woman, over and over again. I would experience the highs and especially the lows with a smile on my face because I know the outcome is worth it.

What makes our love special is not the two honeymoons spent on the Caribbean sea, but all of our endless crying and praying sessions on the kitchen floor at 3 am because we had no idea how we would pay the rent.

That’s why as I stare at her now, swiping the living room floor while singing the very same song that I now know the lyrics all too well, I’d confidently say “I do” all over again.

“Is everything ok?” She asked, after suddenly settling the broom to the side to skip the song currently playing on the speakers.

“Yeah, why?” I ask, incapable of keeping the soft smile off my lips. Sipping on my cup of coffee, I mentally mimicked her as she squinted her eyes “Are you sure?” She asks, a hint of uncertainty coating her words, “You’re looking at me funny”.

“Funny?” I chuckled “That’s an interesting choice of word. I wouldn’t say ‘funny’ but rather something deeper”.

“Todo amor que houver nessa vida.

E algum remédio que me dê alegria”

“Oh yeah?” She teased, “Like what?”

“Admiration perhaps?” I offer, before hiding an amused smile behind the rim of the cup.

“Nah” She clicked her tongue in sarcasm but was unable to hide the gleam of happiness in her eyes. “Get a life, you weirdo”.

“I already have a life” I keep staring at her, and the once amused smile turns into a full toothy grin.

“Rather boring I’d say” She teased, throwing one of the couch pillows at me.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, dove”.

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @bayleymania , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore

#matt jackson x reader #matt jackson imagine #matt jackson fanfiction #matt jackson #masochist writes #the young bucks #young bucks

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bluerasbunny · 7 months

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this song is soooo c!dream it is insane

like it is just him. i need you all to see my vision here i need everyone to hear my point. hear me out guys hear me out.

i am going to ramble so aggressively under the cut but hear me out here stay with me. this may not be coherent and that was because it was written in a haze. no idea what i wrote just hear me out

'The looking glass, so shiny and new How quickly the glamour fades'

its like the SMP. a shiny and new existance, something new he crafted for his friends and yet the glamour fades, it all falls apart and it dissolves and it crumbles in his hands.

'You made a deal, and now it seems you have to offer up But will it ever be enough? (Raise it up, raise it up) It's not enough (Raise it up, raise it up)'

do i even need to explain. the revival book. the deal for it, the crushing realization that reality is not what he thought, that infinity is possible and eternity is a truth, and this is not enough for him. he needs eternity. he needs forever, it will never be enough. he offers up his sanity, his grasp on reality, in exchange for a promise of eternity. hear me out-

'Here I am, a rabbit-hearted girl Frozen in the headlights It seems I've made the final sacrifice'

the rabbit dream agenda. this is just the rabbit dream agenda but also he is frozen in the headlights of the role he has to take on. he has to be the villain, he has to make the final sacrifice and give himself up to the box he's being placed in; because there is no other option. a trapped rabbit cannot flee. a trapped rabbit can only fawn and freeze and fight (reminds you of the prison, doesn't it?).

'This is a gift, it comes with a price Who is the lamb and who is the knife? Midas is king and he holds me so tight And turns me to gold in the sunlight'

oh GOD there is so much i can say. there is so much this post is going to be years long there is so much. the revival book is a gift. it is the gift, and it comes with a price. the lamb and the knife, discduo, vaultduo, however you want to see it; who is the lamb and who is the knife will change and rotate. tommy is the lamb in exile, dream the knife. dream is the lamb in the vault, sam the knife. dream is the lamb in the finale, tommy the knife. the roles will change, the gift always comes with a price. companionship is a gift that comes with a cost. hear me out stay with me here

'I must become a lion-hearted girl Ready for a fight Before I make the final sacrifice'

guys its the fucking disc finale its the. its just the disc finale that's the disc finale thats th. he has to shed his heart, he has to make the final sacrifice, he has to be ready for a fight because he needs to protect, he needs to defend and he needs to stand for his ally. he needs to mold himself from a rabbit to a lion, prey disguised as predator, a rabbit in lions clothing. the final sacrifice is just a price he has to pay. the gift of companionship will always come with a cost, and dream is more than ready to walk into it.

'And in the spring I shed my skin And it blows away with the changing wind The waters turn from blue to red As towards the sky I offer it'

OOHHHH god so much.s o much i can say theres so much there is so much. he sheds his attatchments like a snake shedding its skin, letting them dissipate with the changing winds- and he sheds himself, too. he steps out of his skin and changes the winds, walks a new path not of choice but of necessity, because this is all he can do. what else can he do, when faced with the reality of his situation, of his existance, flawed and cursed with mortality that he can cure? what else can he do, when faced with the reality of his server, his friends, lost to conflict, lost to disagreements, and he can fix it. he can fix it, they just have to trust him, they just have to hate him. he has to be a viper, a snake in the grass, he has to be a lion because he cannot be a rabbit. he cannot be prey, not anymore. c!dream is prey acting as a predator. he is a rabbit cornered and biting in retalliaton read as violence. he is a snake hissing and biting, desperate to be left alone and to be heard. he masquerades as a lion, a dragon, a beast of unknown proportion; but he is an animal that burrows and clings, grapples with the past and craves companionship and distance at the same time. the waters run from blue to red as he offers revival, as he offers himself.

this is a gift. it comes with a price.

okay im done this was probably so incoherent but i am in a c!dream and neurodivergence fuelled haze right now and i need you guys to hear my insanity /hj

no i will not be elaborating or explaining any of this

#grayy rambles #dreblr #cdream #no guys hear me out hear me out i know i sound insane but you've gotta hear me out here #i think in music i need to associate osngs with every character ever and this. this one is dream.#my dreamisms are getting a little too insane!! /hj #dsmp analysis. technically. kind of #long post #dsmp analysis but of music and the corellation to a characte rthat the song is not even about im just that insane about him #this was written in a haze ngl #i think i just like. went insane for a moment and then blinked and this was on my screen. the things c!dream does to my brain holy shit #Spotify

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darkestwolfx · 2 months

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It's a Long Story about the Topiary

I have nothing to say about this that hasn't already been said. @tsarinatorment as I promised you this series was always going to have more written, and as you requested it, I got straight on with it!

I'll add fanfiction.net link once it generates! Notes: I don’t know how long awaited this may be for everyone who reads it, but I know for some it will be very important to them! So I hope you enjoy whether you are new or old to this little universe (that will not be staying little at all)!

This was something I fully intended to write before going away, so I’m pleased to have the chance to finish it and bring it to you all now. It seemed like the appropriate next add-on, but there are a few others also that I want to add also.

Might be best read after ‘A Seed Once Sown’ and ‘Afternoon Tea’ but it’s not a necessity as this fic will contain everything you’d need to make this a stand-alone read also.

And if anyone had noticed, yes, the title is a play on the song “long way to Tipperary”.

Also ages don’t particularly matter, but I’ve worked out based on what rough idea TAG did give us that when the boys rescued Jeff they were around the following give or take: Scott - 28, John - 25, Virgil – 23, Gordon – 20, Alan – 17 In case this is something people like to have in mind when reading.

Words: 6226

Summary: After Jeff returned home, there were a few things that needed explaining. Like the intriguing garden furniture…Chronologically, this is looking to be part 6 of International Gardening Services, but for now it's only the 3rd part written.

----------------------------------------

There were many things to get used to again by being back on Earth.

Gravity was a noticeable first and combined with sunlight – a noticeable second – they had quickly become his bane for several days. Jeff had never had the same struggle with returning to gravity that John did as a young man, but now he felt a little of his second son’s difficulty. No– a lot, he understood it a lot.

He knew the boys had worried, but after a week or so, he’d managed to prove to them that he was right as rain (if not a little unsteady if he rose too fast, but that resolved itself again in another week).

The third – almost sadly – was his mother’s cooking. After surviving on rations, the thought of a meal was heavenly, until it was “meatloaf surprise” served up before him. This was a new take on the dish, something his mother had obviously developed in his absence, but it was no improvement to her known poor cooking - nor the standard “meatloaf” which had come before it - and Jeff had to admit he (momentarily) wondered if he would be better off on rations again.

The fourth, was the realisation that his boys… weren’t really boys anymore, not even the youngest. In his absence, they’d grown up by themselves, taught each other what they needed to, and – whilst he could look upon them now with as much love and pride as he ever had – the realisation that they didn’t need him anymore was (more than) a little soul-breaking. He couldn’t say that to them either, not after everything those developments had allowed them to achieve, which included rescuing me.

No, it would be an insult to say he wished for the sons he left behind, but… he did miss– no, regret what he’d lost. He supposed the boys likely felt the same way, to have lost him for eight years, only to gain him back now when… well, when they didn’t really need him anymore.

Logically, he knew that wasn’t really true. Although he may have missed the formative years to still play the role of father, he would always be their father, and they would desire he be around as much as he wanted them to outlast him. That was the truth, but emotionally, it hit hard still.

That’s why he’d tried so hard, desperately fought to think of anyway to get home, and yet, no matter how much he tried, he still wondered whether it would be too late – for him or the boys, or the years they’d have lost.

It could’ve been worse: it could’ve been better, of course, also.

You could’ve never gone…

No, Jeff knew – as much as he knew his family did – that he could never have not taken that mission to stop The Hood, no matter what it cost. But if things could be different, just one time…

That was no longer worth torturing themselves with.

The fifth – and well, everything else that came after – was a mix of the more little things. Letting former friends know that he was alive and a bit less of the “former” could come back into play.

Making time to see all such people was a head-rush and not something he’d yet got round to even thinking about arranging. Except for Lee was going to return to the island. Jeff had been intrigued to hear the tales of the adventures his sons had with his old friend in his absence and Alan had eagerly agreed that he could make the trip to pick the Captain up as soon as the weather conditions on Mars cleared up again.

There was redoing his wardrobe, because for all he’d tried to keep his physique, it hadn’t been an easy mission and some of his shape had dwindled away, if not his strength.

There was learning all about the “new” things that had come into play over the last eight years, like home-made AI’s and Hypercars, and gecko gloves and deadly space lasers. Not to mention weather drones and giant allegators!

The drama wasn’t just limited to the field either, as apparently there was quite the stack of films he’d missed the release of that the family had watched on their movie nights (sometimes afternoons – “depending on the type of week we were having”, he’d been informed by Gordon) that they now needed to rewatch with him. The first of such had been two weeks into his return when the holo-screen just about looked straight, and it had been enjoyable to spend such effortless time with his family again, even if he didn’t understand why Virgil and Scott no longer shared the popcorn, each having to have a bowl of their own instead, nor why John had to sit tediously (it seemed) in the middle of them both whilst Gordon seemed to snigger even when the movie didn’t prompt it.

No, he didn’t understand that, but then, it was another thing he knew he must’ve missed.

------

It was in his third week of being back – balance and vision somewhat back in coordination – that he ventured outside. The poolside smelt of chlorine and chemicals, and yet it was welcoming in its own odd way. The deck chairs were still covered the same and clearly hadn’t taken anymore burning’s from Scott’s launches of Thunderbird One. Jeff supposed he was thinking quite some way back to when the eldest was first learning to pilot the craft: and of course there would no longer be such issues. There barely had been when he left!

It seemed easier to remember the past, because he’d not made many memories over the last 8 years, only the previous twenty lived on repeat for him: from the day Scott was born to the moment he left them to go on the Zero X mission.

Only those years had existed for him.

Sitting beneath the sun, feeling the warmth on his face was glorious and something else he soon realised he’d missed. Moving their lives to the island had been necessary for so many reasons – for International Rescue to be possible, for the secrecy, and for them to start again. And the sun and the sea had seemed a good thing to encourage some of that healing.

He felt it now keenly.

It was only after a while sunbathing that he opened his eyes, blinked twice and finally took in the growth of trees opposite the pool. The island was full of trees, yes, an entire jungle worth of assorted sprouts to be more specific, so these shouldn’t be anything worth noting, but there was something… they hadn’t been there when he… left.

They seemed now to border and block in the little garden area he’d cut aside for his mother when she’d insisted if they were moving to a tropical island that she still wanted a normal garden. So he and Kyrano had put some paving stones down from the stairway he’d made around the back of the buildings, and maintained a lawn amongst all the fast growing greenery. Kyrano had planted a couple shrubs in the centre and some plants around the edges, but that was the best Jeff knew he could manage to maintain. It wasn’t really a garden as such, but it had worked to keep his mum happy.

He’d wondered, maybe once or twice, how the boys would maintain it, considering they seemed to inherit his skill in gardening from what he’d remembered and so the last thing he’d expected to see were trees.

Curiosity piqued, he rose and strode around the pool’s edge to take a closer look.

The stone pathway still seemed to run towards the stairs and through to a gap in the trees near the pool, but once you stepped through, the enclosed space originally set aside seemed to double in size. The middle of the path was now replaced with a pond, but the slabs of stone curved around the circular feature and broke off to each side, making four straight paths away from the pond. There were a series of chairs on one part of the lawn and a rockery to the far side that seemed to be full of an army of– were those geraniums?

He hadn’t been aware when he left of any of his family having strong feelings about the pink flower, but hey, he’d missed eight years’ worth of development and choices.

It was better maintained than he’d expected from the boys and some of the plant varieties Jeff couldn’t even name! It was fascinating, and intriguing. From everything he knew and all that he’d recently seen, he didn’t doubt the boys had the artistry and heavy lifting to make such a thing, he was just… bemused, he supposed. Last he remembered, Scott couldn’t even keep a cactus alive, so this much had to be a challenge.

Maybe he was giving the credit to the boys when it had all been his mother’s or Brains’ work. Although, saying that, neither of them would have been able to do something like this alone he didn’t think.

It was all a mystery, but it had a nice view!

He’d made a note to ask the boys, but that evening also brought in the revelation of Kip Harris when he rang on the holo-channel to confirm when he was next coming for dinner, and that was the start of a whole new conversation – led mostly by Gordon (for Virgil was a little starstruck and Jeff didn’t think his mother was faring better) with Alan and Scott chipping in obligatory sound effects and John rolling his eyes from where he didn’t think he could be seen, tuning in up on Five as he ran a check of all the monitoring systems and caught up with EOS.

Apparently, the red head had only come away for a few days at a time in recent years, but from the day Jeff returned with the boys until early this morning, his second child had remained firmly on the ground with them all and he’d promised to be back on the morrow.

Jeff knew John loved Thunderbird Five from the moment it successfully found orbit in space, but he hadn’t ever thought the boy would take to spending so much time up there in recent years.

But then, once again, you haven’t been here for eight years.

------

It wasn’t until the week almost turned into the fourth one since his “return to earth” – as Alan and Gordon had begun to tell time on the calendar, using “before leaving earth” and “since returning to earth” to reference pieces of conversations (and it was helpful for him, not that Jeff would admit that to his trickster pair of children) – that he remembered he’d never asked about the garden.

They’d been swept up in Alan’s graduation and a proper catch up with Lady Penelope and Parker. The old chap never changed and told him all about how he’d taught “Mr Gordon and Mr h’Alan Sir, to drive”, both of which were interesting tales.

Then, Colonel Casey had finally dropped by to visit – after Scott bashfully explained how the island’s location got revealed to her, but Jeff assured him he didn’t care about all that. In all honesty, the woman was a family friend, and he should’ve told her long ago, and most importantly, he was just glad to hear his family came off safe from their encounter with The Hood finding the island.

He and Casey had spoken for a while up in the roundhouse and by the time he headed back in, he was surprised to still hear the chatter of the boys coming from the lounge. Not surprised because that was unusual at all – the five of them had always known how to make noise when together and that didn’t seem to have stopped. It was joyful, a cacophony that he missed in his solitary grey cavern. No, what was surprising about it was that the boys were being so loud so near to dinner time! If there was one thing he’d learnt since being home, it was that the boys were hard to find (unless there was a rescue call) in that dangerous hour their Grandma occupied the kitchen before serving.

So, curious, he carried on up past the kitchen and into the lounge, trying to see if he could earwig what was captivating the boys so, and that was when he heard it.

The sixth voice.

It wasn’t his mother, or Kayo or Brains. They were all voices he was familiar with. Even The Mechanic, who had remained with them for a short stay, had gruff tones that would sound less surprising to hear than the odd, chirp reaching his ears.

As he walked in, it was easy to see his sons gathered round; Alan lounging across the leather chairs with John sat on the sofa beside him whilst Virgil and Gordon sat across from him. Scott was perched on the table and, stood between the eldest and John, taking up the centre of the room, was a complete stranger.

‘Oh, hey dad!’ Gordon called, spotting him first with the vantage of being directly opposite him. Alan promptly dropped his head back as though to confirm that his brother was right, looking at him upside down before blinking in recognition and slinging himself back up with enough speed to give him head rush, Jeff was sure.

‘Hey.’ Alan waved, almost as a way of recovering his near plummet to the floor as he barely managed to catch his grip on the side of the chair.

Gordon and Virgil were sniggering, Scott and John smiling, and the stranger… well, he seemed to fit in amongst his sons… seemed amused at the scene before them also.

For all he seemed an odd fellow, there didn’t see to be anything immediately harmful about the man and from the conversation he’d heard on the way in, it seemed like the boys had met him before. But how did he get here?

‘Uh, dad?’ Virgil’s question floated over to him, and Jeff jolted himself back into the present in time to see his middle child levering himself from the sofa, ‘You ok?’

‘I’m fine, Virgil,’ He held up a hand to halt his boy from approaching. He knew they all worried about him since his return, but he genuinely couldn’t be better. But if Virgil got started now on vitals and temperature there’d be no stopping him. No, he was fine. He was just trying to understand the conundrum of– ‘There’s a man holding a pot plant in my lounge.’

‘Ha, yeah,’ Scott started, filling him with confidence (not), ‘That’s Gladys.’

‘Him?’ He knew it was 2063, and their world had come on leaps and bounds, but–but by the laughter of his sons he’d very much misjudged this one.

‘No, the plant.’ Virgil corrected, motioning to the pot which the man extended further from his chest in response.

‘The– Boys...’ Jeff drawled, lost beyond belief, and wondering a little if he could be dreaming. None of this was making sense.

‘Dad, this is Ned Tedford.’ Finally, he supposed his second son had seen his confusion and John made the formal introduction, rising to stand beside the darker skinned man. ‘He’s our gardener.’

‘Gardener?’

Maybe that made a little bit more sense of the design that seemed to have gone into the outgrow.

‘Yep! That’s me!’ The man – Ned – cheered again, voice loud and bright, before he seemed to stumble, eyes almost visually backtracking over his words. ‘Sir.’

‘You don’t have to call him Sir!’ Gordon chastised, but the gardener was already passing off the pot plant to Scott who fumbled a moment over gripping the ceramic and all the boys seemed to start at the possibility of him dropping it (and it didn’t seem to be over concern for the soil going on the carpet, for goodness sake) whilst Ned – completely unaware of the chaos behind him – held out a hand.

‘Ned Tedford, Sir, at your gardening service.’

‘Right…’

It would be rude not to shake the man’s hand, but he was still trying to process all of this information. Of all the things he’d expected his sons to do in the time he was gone, finding a gardener, hadn’t struck him as one of them.

‘Ned,’ John continued, pulling him back into the room once more, ‘This is our dad, Jeff Tracy.’

Quickly he reached out and shook the man’s hand. He could feel Virgil’s eyes hovering heavily on him with clear question.

‘Jeff Tracy.’ He affirmed, surprised to find that the man had a stronger grip than he’d expected.

‘Mr Tracy. Ned Tedford.’

‘Yes, you said.’

‘Oh, yes, I did, didn’t I.’

But maybe the man wasn’t as confident as he tried to be, given the current bashful display, his eyes suddenly searching round until they landed on his pot plant again, which Scott seemed hasty to return to him and the rest of the boys breathed a sigh of relief at it being returned to the gardener’s hands.

The next thing he knew though, “Gladys” was before his nose.

‘This is Gladys.’

Scott had said… but when the man seemed to feel a little awkward, that seemed a little rude to say. Besides, he couldn’t deny that he still felt a little baffled himself.

‘A geranium?’

‘Yep! The world’s best travelled geranium, Sir!’

Gordon’s palm hit his face, with the mutter of, “you don’t have to call him Sir” again, just about audible.

‘Travelled?’

‘Gladys goes everywhere.’ Alan explained. ‘Like everywhere.’

‘Like, boys?’

‘You know,’ Alan continued, ‘Space.’

‘Underwater.’ Gordon added.

Virgil nodded. ‘The military.’

‘Back to space.’ Scott’s eyes were almost rolling.

‘The North Pole.’ John contributed.

‘And back to space!’ Alan finished.

‘It’s a long story.’ Ned added for himself.

Jeff was just trying to keep up with the brief explanations bouncing between his sons, aware there were many stories he was missing concerning this Ned Tedford.

‘And now earth?’ He assumed given the man’s presence before them.

‘Firmly planted, Sir.’ Ned reassured. Gordon sputtered into laughter that needed Virgil to whack him on the back to steady. ‘It’s all gardening now for us, isn’t that right, Gladys?’

Jeff felt himself blanch. Scott had risen from the table and now passed beside him, close enough for him to mutter, ‘He talks to the plant?’

‘Ah, you get used to it.’ The eldest dismissed, like it was an everyday occurrence.

Scott’s exit didn’t go unnoticed by the youngest who was craning his neck to follow the elder’s steps, his eyes narrowing as the brunette turned towards the stairs before widening as he suddenly vaulted over the back of the chair and zoomed past him.

‘Scott, keep your hands off!’

‘I’m getting the plates, Alan. Just the plates.’

‘If I catch you with a fork in your hand…’

Jeff blinked again.

He knew his boys liked food – in all honesty, they’d probably inherited that from him – but this was his mother’s cooking they were talking about. And he’d been back for a good few weeks: if she’d learnt to cook, he thought he would’ve tasted the difference by now. Which begged the question why an argument seemed to be brewing over what, no doubt, was more “meatloaf surprise”.

‘Alright, have I missed something?’ He asked finally, knowing he had no chance of working this out alone.

‘Uh, yeah!’ Gordon cheered. ‘Ned, can cook.’

Well, that was another revelation he hadn’t been expecting, but it seemed to be something else his boys were accustomed to with the same ease as they were Ned being their gardener.

The man nodded, the pot plant swaying with the motion, still held tightly in his grasp. ‘I brought lasagna. It’s in the oven at the moment.’

‘Lasagna…’ Jeff muttered, feeling more like gravity had done a number on him in these last five minutes than in the five hours immediately after his first foot was back on solid earth.

‘Family favourite.’ Ned pointed out. ‘So I’m told.’

‘Right!’ Gordon cheered, ‘You can’t go wrong with lasagna.’

‘Unless it’s Grandma’s.’ Virgil added and Gordon’s nose scrunched up as the pair of them rose and followed Ned – and Gladys - towards the kitchen.

‘Should be ready about now.’ The gardener agreed as they headed for the stairs. ‘Oh, how’s Gloria and the family doing? Gladys has been wondering.’

‘Oh, they’re doing great!’ Gordon replied immediately, seeming to be well aware who this apparent “Gloria and family” were meant to be, ‘I’ve been following what you said about watering in tropical climates…’

Because that didn’t leave him with more questions than answers at all…

‘Come on dad,’ John encouraged, setting a hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to the world of the lounge. ‘Scott and Alan shouldn’t be left in the kitchen alone.’

No, that much he did remember.

------

It was, several hours later, when Jeff was laying in bed that he remembered the pink geraniums in the garden.

But no, surely… maybe he had to consider that the boys had named them.

Yes, Gloria and family indeed.

Although, it was also as he lay there, contemplating sleep, that he had to agree with the boys. Ned could cook.

And it seemed his mother – “do call me Sally, Ned” – didn’t seem to mind being outdone for once.

------

Ned, and Gladys, were still on the island the following morning and serving breakfast he discovered!

And breakfast seemed to be a civilised affair for once with china teacups, and plates of assorted cakes. Well – civilised besides from Scott swatting at the hands of the youngest two every time they tried to reach for a cake, insisting they needed to finish their breakfast first.

Ned seemed to be most in synch with John, but he had his own way of interacting with each of the boys and Jeff was surprised to see someone from outside the family fitting in so well. The air of secrecy to their lives and of living so far out from civilisation were both his doing, and though his sons had never seemed to mind, he’d still had reservations over their schooling and whether they’d have the chance to make any solid friends in life like he had found in Lee and Casey. But it seemed after all this, those reservations had been needlessly placed, for every son was a graduate and seemed to have found their own friends.

(Even if that was a grown man and a pot plant).

Each son was also highly skilled at what they did in the rescue business, yet that one went without saying or concern after all they did for him, to bring him back.

They’d never given up.

And he couldn’t be prouder of them for that.

Now, it felt foreign to eat food without worry or horror for the second time in a row, and to wonder instead at the taste of it.

He learnt that Colonel Casey had brought Ned to the island with her, the boys quoting that it was best for keeping the island secret. He could agree there, but he wasn’t born yesterday and sensed there was something unsaid. It was – when they were finally on the cakes (to Alan and Gordon’s delight) that he got the rest of that story.

Ned was something of a “magnet for trouble”, Gordon had explained, to which Alan had merrily chipped in, “more so than me”!

After initially being hired by John it seemed and working on the garden for a while to turn it from a “jungle-lawn” into what it was today, Ned had made fortnightly, then monthly trips to the island to manage the upkeep of the garden. Scott had explained that if Colonel Casey wasn’t stopping by, he tended to pick Ned up.

‘Can’t the man get a plane?’ He’d asked, and that seemed to be his foolish mistake, but even Ned was laughing.

Scott was outraged, ‘Dad, you’ve got to be joking! International rescue would only be called out to it.’

‘Ned here has a loyalty badge.’ Gordon quipped, and it was then Jeff realised there was clearly a lot more to his son’s acquaintance with this man than he knew, what with so many stories on hold to be told in full.

‘We are sorry about that, aren’t we Gladys?’

Jeff wondered if the man was actually thinking the plant would reply when he left these pauses.

‘We know, Ned.’ John reassured.

‘Besides, it is our job.’ Virgil added.

‘And we haven’t rescued you since you went back to gardening!’

‘Don’t jinx it, Alan!’

‘I’m just saying Gordon–’

‘Well don’t!’ The four elders chorused and even Ned seemed to blanch at the thought.

‘Okay, okay!’ Alan insisted, ‘I’m just saying–’

‘More cake?’ Ned offered quickly, holding a plate of Battenburg round to Alan who took one immediately, previous thought track forgotten.

‘It’s nice of you to bring all this every time you visit, Ned.’ Virgil praised. Jeff wondered just how many visits there had been for this to seem as easy as daily routine to the boys.

‘Yeah,’ Scott agreed quickly. ‘It’s gets us away from the mercy of Grandma’s cooking.’

‘I heard that young man.’ It was Scott’s poor luck it seemed that the very woman was on her way past as he spoke. Jeff saw the way the eldest’s eyes rolled as the youngest pair sniggered.

‘Why is it always me!’

‘Why do you put yourself in that position, Scott?’ John questioned instead, and he wasn’t wrong. For though the eldest could keep himself out of trouble, Jeff remembered Scott had always had a tendency to accidentally fall into the mix. Just like now.

Ned chuckled. ‘Well, after all you’ve done for us, it’s the least we can do for you. Isn’t that right, Gladys?’

The plant didn’t answer. The plant wouldn’t answer! It was infuriating and Jeff was trying to mind his manners not to roll his eyes every time. It was true testament that his boys were used to this as not one of them seemed to blink at the plant being drawn into the folds of conversation. Maybe more concerning should have been that his son’s didn’t tend to speak in these immediate pauses either…

‘I’m just glad you’re not hiding it all away on Thunderbird Five.’ Gordon stated, taking two slices of cake from the proffered plate.

‘That was one time.’ John answered firmly as Ned set the plate down and rose with the kettle to refill their cups. Jeff noted that the man seemed to know exactly how his sons liked their relevant teas and coffees, moving round them and serving faultlessly.

‘Um, I count Two.’

‘They’re never letting you live it down, bro.’ Scott murmured.

‘Its’s a good thing Thunderbird Three was refuelled!’

‘It was a good thing you didn’t crash it in your rush, Alan.’ Virgil stated, bringing the volume of the younger right down as Scott’s eyes flicked over also.

‘You guys wanted cake too.’ Alan mumbled in a moan, arms folding over his chest in a – compared to what Jeff remembered of him – contained strop.

‘How is Gladys’ good friend?’ Ned asked finally and Jeff blinked, frowning. What friend could a pot plant possibly have?

‘EOS is good, thank you.’

John’s AI. Of course. That only made sense, the father supposed.

‘Gladys can’t wait to come back up. Try out our space legs again!’

Jeff wondered if he should be worried about the man going up to Thunderbird Five – given all the stories he’d half-heard about the boys rescuing him, but John didn’t seem bothered by the man inviting himself back (which wasn’t like the red head not to bat an eye at) – because without needing to be told, he could hear it wouldn’t be the first time.

‘EOS will be glad to have you. She’s got a timer set to remind me about the plants.’

‘I still can’t believe you’re managing to grow space flora.’ Scott muttered, his tone saying everything he thought about it.

‘You’re just annoyed they’ve proved you wrong.’

‘Of course I am, Virge! It’s space and flowers. When have those two ever gone together?’

‘Well–’

‘I don’t need the science again, John.’ Scott ceased the younger promptly. ‘It gave me a bad enough headache last time.’

Jeff saw the way John smirked and sneakily accepted the homemade ginger biscuits from Ned as the gardener set the kettle back and snuck behind the second child on the way to his own seat at the table where Gladys still rested on her pedestal. Hmm, yes, whether it was because John was responsible for getting Ned the job (as he’d learnt) or whatever connection the plant and the AI shared, it seemed certain that of all his sons, Ned and John had the strongest of friendship. Jeff was honestly just pleased to see John have a friend outside of the family.

‘It will be one of my great achievements.’ Ned cheered. ‘Me – first gardener in space!’

‘Don’t forget first gardener for International Rescue!’ Gordon chirped in, sounding equally as excited about it, and Alan was nodding around his mouthfuls of cake.

‘International Gardening Services!’

Jeff blinked, confused, but relieved that Ned didn’t seem to be trading under that name. His confusion was clearly noticed as the youngest pair chuckled, and Scott waved it off as another “tell you later”, along with the myriad of rescues they’d clearly undertaken for the man in the years he’d been gone. Gordon – of all the boys! – was adamant it was rude to retell the rescues whilst Ned was with them. Virgil had later suggested to him that what Gordon actually meant was that it would be rude to retell them as they’d come to remember them. Jeff could only imagine what chaos they meant had been ensuing whilst he lived in another galaxy.

‘I am most thankful to you boys for the job.’

‘We’re thankful you took it.’ Virgil replied, and Gordon was all sniggers again.

‘Yeah, before any more plant murders happened.’

‘There could still be one Gordon.’ Scott seethed, but Ned carried on like the argument wasn’t occurring – as was most uncivilised – across the table between his two boys.

‘Oh, it’s been an absolute honour–’

If he spoke to the plant–

‘– Isn’t that right, Gladys?’

–that was it!

------

Jeff was surprised – though relieved - they’d managed to go without receiving a rescue call for the duration of Ned’s stay so far. It wasn’t so much the man knowing their secrets that concerned him at this stage. It was rather the fact that it was nice to see his boys being boys. Well – men for the elder half, but still. These were sights he’d missed for too long, and he’d happily be greedy for once in his life and soak them in as easily as Gordon did the sun when sat by the poolside.

After Scott and Gordon’s argument had been peace kept by John, the eldest had snuck off, insisting he needed to check all the maintenance was done on Thunderbird One, just in case of a call and Gordon had insisted it was time he went for a swim anyway.

“With the amount of cake you’ve eaten, yeah,” Alan had cajoled and Gordon had thrown a tea towel at the younger as he went by, causing the blonde to race after him. John and Ned had headed up to the lounge. John was itching to check in with EOS and make sure everything was okay, and Ned had decided to tag along because “Gladys would love a chance to say hello, wouldn’t you, Gladys?”. And just like that, he and Virgil were left in the quiet of the kitchen, and “with all the dishes too!” as Virgil had pointed out, his very tone sounding wronged.

A few hours passed before they were all back together. Ned had been waylaid a little while by his mother insisting upon catching up with him also. Jeff soon realised their heading was the kitchen and that gave him some hope that dinner tonight could be edible also, especially when Ned came back with the idea that they would be eating fish pie – which his sons reassured him Grandma didn’t tend to cook.

By then tensions between Scott and Gordon seemed to have defused somewhat and Jeff was ready to be able to tour the gardens with them in peace.

The boys were pleased to show it off to him now, pointing out the places that had been remodelled and anything they’d done to assist. Virgil had drawn up a lot of the plans it seemed with John in charge of the calculations. Scott, Gordon and Alan had ended up on the supply runs, and Ned had done all the real work in telling them what to buy and what would or wouldn’t be plausible.

‘There were many options once I cleared away the jungle, Mr Tracy.’ Ned finally finished the explanation.

‘Was it that bad?’ He asked.

John shrugged. ‘We never took a photo.’

‘I knew we should have!’ Alan moaned.

‘There was nothing photo-worthy.’ Was Virgil’s returning argument.

‘It would have been interesting to look back on.’ Scott mused.

‘What? The results of your murder scene?’

‘Gordon I am serious about the Geraniums!’

‘You leave Gloria, Gillian, Giles, Gerry and Ted alone!’

Yes, Gordon was indeed pointing to the rockery family of pink geraniums, where the potted Gladys was also currently residing. Somehow, it didn’t surprise Jeff that Gordon was the one with the attachment.

‘Scott.’ John cautioned.

‘What? I didn’t start it!’

‘But you don’t have to antagonise him.’

‘Dad, you have to see what we did with the stairway!’ Virgil interrupted, latching onto him and dragging him forward.

‘Mine is the best!’

‘Shh Alan! Don’t ruin the surprise for him.’

‘It is very good, Mr Tracy.’ Ned insisted. The man had finally stopped trying to call him sir, but the formality of the address still hadn’t changed.

‘Oh boy, here we go.’ He heard Scott mutter from behind them as John and Gordon followed along. He noticed that unlike talking about the pond and the geraniums (as the youngest pair had happily done), that this interest seemed to be primarily Virgil’s and it made him wonder what they could be going to look at besides a set of stone stairs. Not that he wanted to say that when the excitement was so palpably felt by his sons and the gardener.

The boys led him to the end of the stone pathway within the garden lawn and towards the stairs on the far side and through the trees that obscured the staircase. And ready as he had been to see this “grand feature”, he’d truly not expected it to be… well, topiary.

And not the topiary you would expect to find in the average garden, he was sure.

It left him more than a little speechless.

Following the stairs up, rows of trees has been planted on each side and, in matching sets, topiaries of the Thunderbirds cut: Thunderbird One all the way up to Thunderbird Five up towards the top of the stairs.

Jeff blinked again but the sight didn’t change.

No, he was actually looking at what he thought he was.

Goodness help him.

‘What do you think, father?’ Virgil asked, face full of glee. ‘I made the Thunderbird Two’s.’

‘They’re very good son.’

‘We each made our own Thunderbirds!’

‘They’re all good, Gordon.’

‘But what if you had to pick a favourite, dad?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly, Alan.’

‘Ned helped. He taught us how to make the shapes.’

‘Virge, you had a head start.’ Gordon grumbled.

‘I learnt nothing from that gardener like I learnt from Ned!’

‘Doesn’t change the fact you made a Thunderbird Two topiary before.’

‘It was smaller than this!’

‘It was still topiary.’

‘Yeah, and I still haven’t forgiven you for–’

‘Is this another long story?’ Jeff muttered to John beside him, for he was the only one (besides Ned) still close enough and of who would avoid the non-sensical answer: for Ned seemed to be torn between laughing and shaking his head, his arms folded as he looked on; Alan was lost to fits of giggles; and Scott had tried to intervene before it became a “scrap” only for Virgil to accuse “you’re just as much to blame!”. To which Scott had retorted, “What did I do? Gordon was driving”. Which had been promptly and unhelpfully followed with “you two always were Parker’s worst students”. And Jeff didn’t think much of anything had been avoided.

‘Yeah dad, it’s a long story about the topiary.’ John answered, ‘Although, the way this is looking, I may have time to tell you.’

‘I’ll save your brothers then shall I, and you can tell me later over cocoa?’

‘I’ll hold you to that, dad.’

Jeff nodded, looking forward to another late evening with the second child. It would remind him of when they used to stargaze together. But first, he was going to be reminded of the days his son’s squabbles were still for dad to resolve.

‘Alright boys, settle down. I don’t need any more “long stories” to add to the list.’

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