#but its one of those things that's been passed around like crazy on the down-low

[sleepanonymous]

Legend has it if you listen to this soundcheck on repeat it will clear your skin, water your crops, and cure your depression. I hope this heals all of you like it has healed me.

#sleep token #vessel sleep token #vessel #song take me to church #take me to church #hozier #hozier cover #hozier take me to church #okay the caption is cheeky but this is pretty amazing #i wish the audio was better/longer but this was recorded outside a venue on a cellphone #the mp4 is in my google drive #in the rituals folder #it's literally a 30 second video of a wood door #but you can see the videographer get excited and thats kinda cute #because i'd be the same way fam #i wish i knew who actually recorded this so i could give proper credit #but its one of those things that's been passed around like crazy on the down-low #i know the person who *claims* to have recorded it is from ny or nj #so this might be from september 10th this past na rituals tour #i couldn't find this door on google maps #but i also couldn't get around to the back of the building to be 100% certain #i also tried checking union transfer the palladium and rams head live! but had no luck there either #if anyone has any more info on this soundcheck or the unedited video #(you can see and sort of hear it jump at the first “i'll tell you my sins”) #please please please tell me

[darlingmbappe]

Revenge Gift | Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

— Click here for part 2! —

Summary: When Kylian leaves you high and dry, you decide on a leaving him a little revenge gift.

Warnings: Making out, sexy pictures, teasing, cussing, English is not my first language

Kylian was so happy to see you when you came over today. His face lit up the second he saw you, pulling you in for a long and deep kiss. You both had the afternoon off — a rare occurrence for your never ending clashing schedules — and these past couple of weeks have been especially busy. Working on a project in its preproduction stage comes a lot of late nights and even later mornings. Kylian turns in early and is up at the ass crack of dawn.

Besides the cheeky texts you’ve been sending back and forth, you two hadn’t had a chance to be intimate in a while. Quality time has been at an all time low, probably three weeks had passed since you’ve touched each other in that way. So, imagine how eager you two were when you quickly made it up to his bedroom.

“I fucking miss you,” he breathes between kisses on your exposed neck. You hum in response, too lost in feeling his bare chest against your skin to properly tell him you fucking miss him too. “You drive me crazy when you send me those sexy pictures.” Your hips grind against him while you sat on his lap, earning huffs and low moans from your boyfriend.

He played with the straps of your bra before losing them, following with a trail of kisses on your shoulder.

You huff out a laugh. “How do you think I feel when you send me thirst traps from the locker room, huh?”

Any other time he would deny that they were thirst traps and that you were just thirsty for him, but he only has one thing in mind right now. He reaches behind your back and begins playing with the clasp of your bra, a part he (shamefully) always struggles with. “Why don’t they use Velcro for these things?” He grumbled.

You giggle at him, reaching back to do it yourself. He sits back on the bed and prepares himself to just watch you, his eyes dark with lust and need. Just before you were able to unhook it, his phone starts ringing.

“Shit, sorry.” He reached for it on the nightstand. “Thought I turned that off.” Kylian looks at the caller ID and winces, looking up at you with I’m sorry eyes.

You shrug and drop your arms from your back, disappointed but understanding. “Go ahead, take it.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats before sliding the answer button, immediately sounding annoyed with the caller. You crawl off his lap and make yourself comfortable on the open side of the bed, waiting for him to do something about the throbbing in your core. “What? Today?” He exclaims, jumping out of the bed and begins looking for his something to put on. “I thought it was next week, why didn’t you text me?” He pulls the phone down from his mouth and mouths another ‘I’m sorry’ before putting his clothes back on.

He ends the call with frustration, turning to you with the face of the guiltiest man alive. You roll your eyes and huff, but ultimately realize that this is something he has to do, or else he sure as hell wouldn’t be leaving you alone in his bed right before you were about to get naked. “Go.” You force a little grin out for both your sakes.

“You know I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t have to—”

“I know, Ky. It’s okay, go.” You’re used to forcing the good sport attitude. It was a package deal while dating someone like Kylian.

“Please be here when I come back.” He begs, putting a baseball cap on and a T-shirt.

You stand up, trudging over to him and wrapping a loose hug around his waist. “If you’re back before six…”

He hugs you back, kissing you sweetly. “I’ll try my best, amour.”

You kiss him quickly before shoving him toward the door, his gaze lingered on your bare body for a long second, tutting and cursing under his breath, then forcing himself out of the house.

Once he left, you put on some comfy clothes, made some tea, and began watching a movie in his living room. It wasn’t even two hours later when you phone binged — a message from Kylian.

Kyks <3: what’s the latest you can stay over?

You immediately respond back

You: No later than 6:15

You watched the three bubbles appear before his response.

Kyks <3: fuuuuuuuucccckkk :,(

You frown, realizing that your day with Kylian wasn’t happening.

Kyks <3: I’m sorry amour, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.

Kyks <3: I love you

You: I know you will

You: and I love you too

With a long huff, you stand up and decide to just grab your things and go to your place before you had to head out to work, maybe change into a less itchy bra.

As you walked around kylians room to double check that you grabbed everything, a small black and white object on his dresser caught your eye — his Polaroid camera.

Interesting.

He was obsessed with it for a couple weeks before completly forgetting about it, leaving it to collect dust in his room. Picking it up, you saw he had three photos left in it, and you had a plan brewing. A small form of payback, if you will.

Shuffling back out of your clothes, you propped yourself on his bed, the camera lying next to you. Kylian had yet to see this set in full, so you might as well let him know what he walked out on.

With a quick reposition, you laid down on his silk pillows, squeezed your boobs together to create more cleavage, putting your hand lazily near your mouth.

Snap!

Next, you sat up on your knees, opening your thighs slightly to give him a better view of the black lace that was sewn on mesh at the middle, angling the lens downward at your body.

Snap!

With only one more left in the roll, you decide to show him a little more skin. Taking off your bra, you toss it aside, covering your nipples with your arm. Once you figure out the pose, you snap the last picture.

You put the developing pictures next to each other and shuffle back into your sweatpants and tank top.

Damn, you thought when they were funny developed. You looked so hot. You displayed them nearly on top of his pillow. Now that your satisfied with your teasing revenge, you gather your things and head home.

Around 8:30, the writers room was very unproductive. Everyone had all hit a wall and was out of ideas for the time being. Bouncing off one another felt pointless and everyone was a little frustrated. Usually while at work, your phone was on focus mode so you didn’t get off track, but you had resorted to playing a racing game while hoping inspiration for the script would drop from the sky. Just when you were about to beat your high score, you got a buzz in your phone with a message from your boyfriend. Then another. And another…

Kyks <3: you cannot do this to me right now baby

Kyks <3: you’re evil

Kyks <3: fuuuuccckk bebe I need you to come over right now

Kyks <3: I’m serious. U fucking tease

You bit back a laugh, wishing you could see his reaction in person.

You: I take it you like the pictures?

Kyks <3: I will pay you double whatever you make today if you leave work right now

This time you giggle out loud, catching the attention of your co-writers.

“Sorry,” you said through blushing cheeks. As you were about to put your phone down, you got another buzz. Though you thought about ignoring it, you decided to take a quick peek.

Holy shit.

Your extremely sexy boyfriend had taken a photo for you and you had to physically stop yourself from drooling, your face flushing with color as you took in the picture on your screen. The phone was now held close to your chest just in case anyone was peaking over your shoulder and saw the filthy shot.

His abs we’re on full display — he snapped the shot from his perspective as he laid down in his bed, a white towel hung low on his hips. Your Polaroids were splayed out across his covered leg and his hand covered his groin, large fingers wrapped around his covered member, showing off his perfect outline.

Kyks <3: I’m I gonna have to take care of myself? :(

Without thinking, you wrote back.

You: don’t you dare.

“You guys don’t need me tonight, right?” Your voice cracked. None of your coworkers said anything, just looked at you with a face that screamed ‘seriously?’ “Pleeease, you guys? I swear I’ll come in on Monday with donuts from Azúcar.”

That promise was enough for them to be okay with you leaving early. You texted Kylian back as soon as you gathered your things.

You: be there in 20

He took no time replying.

Kyks <3: counting down the seconds

—Requests are open for Kylian Mbappé!—

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappé imagine #mbappe #psg #kylian imagines #kylian x reader #kylian mbappé x reader #Kylian mbappe x fem!reader #kylian mbappe smut #kylian mbappe fluff #kylian mbappe angst #achraf hakimi #neymar #achraf x reader #neymajr #jude bellingham #soccer

[thousandfourhundreddays]

In An Instant

Matty Healy x Reader

A/n hope you enjoy this sickly sweet depiction of my dream, aka eloping with the one and only Matty Healy. If anyone enjoys and wants part two of this then let me know because I’d love to write it!!

Masterlist

“Marry me”

The stillness of the bedroom was broken by Mattys hushed question, the words rolling from his tongue before he could process his own proposition. Your breath hitched in your throat when you heard his words, your heartbeat quickening with every passing second, the feeling of Matty holding you close being the only thing keeping you grounded.

Lifting your head up off of his chest, you tried to read his face, trying to decipher whether he was joking or not.

You and Matty had only been together for just over a year, but that year had felt like a lifetime, reminders of him now scattered through your everyday life, the single coffee cup that found its way into the sink but never quite cleaned, there were now two. The bathroom counter that used to hold only one toothbrush, now held his aswell. Alongside the tens of bottles of your own skincare and makeup, there was an addition of his, but only one or two. That empty, and once unused corner of your bedroom, was now home to Matty’s guitar, specifically the one you liked to fall asleep to the sound of.

Despite the darkness of the room, his eyes were bright and full of life, possibly longing if you looked close enough. His bottom lips was caught between his teeth, anxiety cursing through his veins whilst you could hear him hold his breath waiting for your reaction.

“W-what?” You stuttered, your words filtered through your lips with a confusfed laugh,

“Just me and you.” His voice remained low, his mind racing with the possibility of your reaction, the possibility of a ‘no’. He brought the arm that was wrapped around your shoulders to brush the stray hairs out of your face. “I don’t care about a big wedding” he continued when you didn’t speak, your eyes wide and firmly fixed to his, “I just want to marry you” the end of his sentence faded into a shy whisper. “Right now” It was a crazy idea, really, you were young, busy, possibly a bit naive, but in that moment, as you lay tangled together in the duvet, your bodies coated by the rays from the streetlights outside and a thin veil of sweat, a very telling reminder of the last few hours you’d spend together, you thought it was undoubtedly the best idea he’d ever had.

Slowly, you let a wide smile emerge across your face, the same smile that made Matty fall in love with you the first time he saw you and would fall insanely deeper in love with every time he saw it.

“Ok” you spoke definitely, moving to rest your chin on his chest, eyes not moving as you gazed up at him, taking him by surprise slightly although it was his idea, of course, there was a fragment of doubt floating in the back of his mind. The breath that was trapped within his lungs escaped as all the moments he’d once pictured whilst lay in bed at night, you in his arms, flashed through his mind, again. And suddenly, the big house, even bigger garden, just outside of the city, but still close enough for you to make your way out for your impromptu, messy, drunken nights out that ended with kissing against walls down dirty back ally’s, the dining table big enough for both your family and his and the Sunday dinners that he, but probably mostly you, would cook. And the as yet unknown number of kids running around the garden, grass stained knees and the sound of tears but always predominantly laughter, Matty felt one step closer to all of those moments.

“Ok?” You simply nodded. “Ok as in ‘yes’?” Another nod, your smile unmoving. “Ok as in ‘yes Matty I will marry you’?”

Tangled limbs came free as you moved against him, soft skin brushing against his own as you moved to straddle his hips, hands coming to cup his jaw as he watched you carefully.

“Yes, Matthew Healy” you kissed him slowly, “love of my life,” another kiss, “man of my dreams” he giggled, “I would marry you in an instant”

#matty healy #matty the 1975 #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy imagine #matthew healy

[besobendito]

"Shepard?"

"Bzzt- Yes, Commander Moss?"

"Start a new log recording will you? I need to settle my thoughts."

Log Number #14 Cycle: 10 Planet: PNF-404

"Despite exhaustion creeping into my very bones, I find myself unable to rest for the night. I need to note what has been happening- to convince myself that I haven't completely lost it... There is something.... strange about this planet, and for each day that passes the feeling grows even stranger. Small mistakes like misplaced items, something that Oatchi and I are very careful not to do- We have been rescuing for how many years and all of a sudden we can't seem to find where the ropes has been placed? Whatever we lose ends up right back in its proper place hours after we've lost it. Shepard clears it with me each time this happens... Those items have never moved from their spot on the cameras. Our frantic search shows up, all the crew members searching high and low- and we just... don't see them...? ......Ah, I don't know exactly how to explain this one. Oatchi joked that I might be haunted by the glowmin("Some invisible variety we haven't discovered yet!" he said) but I can see it in his face. It's happened to him too. We are all walking around... Something. Stepping to the side in an empty hallway, looking down and over my shoulder as to not bump into...Nothing? I keep feeling like there's something missing on the ship, something I can't quite remember. I've tripled checked my things and asked Shepard to list everything out in our inventory just in case. I just can't shake this feeling that...

-that I feel like I'm mourning... and for the love of everything, I don't know what. It's maddening.

I was ready to push it all to the side and continue the mission. The list of castaways only seems to be getting longer and we can't have campfire ghost stories to distract us! That is until I found a log not written by myself in my tablet...... Hmph. See, this is what's stressing me out so. No one but me has access to this tablet, it should be impossible!

The log is... Well it's creepy! From what I can tell, it's taken phrases from one of our Procedure Manuals("Bzzt- It would be the Distress and Urgency Procedures") and the logs from an unknown writer and spliced them together. I've been trying to make sense of it but- yeah I need the others to see this first. My theories wont help now. I'll have Shepard add it to this log for now, might as well...(sigh) Just what is going on...

Mm, right. I already mentioned this in the End of Day report- but I'm not done rolling this over in my head.

The castaway we picked up today- the one who limped out of that dark tunnel towards us. His clothing- you don't see pilot gear that old anymore, and the- the liquid? that fell off of him... I sampled what I could so I wont know for sure untill tomorrow, It looked like gold. I hope he wont mind sharing where he found a pool of gold to roll around in. It would be nice to be able to cover the cost of all the repairs... (Yawn) Ah- right there we go, ok I'm done for now. Have to get ready for- 'Everything' tomorrow, hope I don't sound too crazy. This is Commander Moss, Sleeping snug like a bug on a rug... (Yawns again) - - - Log Number: +#3@##0?/ Cycleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee Planet: PNF-404

(a) If distress [ ] If urgency [ ] Someone or something [ ] a loud BANG echoed throughout the cave. [ ] (b) Name of station addressed [ ] natural enemy [ ] (c) I got careless... [ ] (d) Nature of distress or urgency. and all the Pikmin perished as a result. [ ] (g) Present position [ ] Horrified, I made my [ ] ; or if lost, last known position, time, and heading since that position. Fuel remaining/Number of people/other useful information [ ] accidentally thrown to their demise [ ] crushed on hard surfaces of by some creatures' teeth [ ] I [ ] Me [ ] My [ ] Do not change frequency or change to another [ ] Fly a course toward the destination which the hijacker has announced. [ ] keeps leading me completely off track [ ] adorable leaf at the top of her [ ] (4) If unable to provide this information, [ ] trusty partner.trusty partner.trusty partner. PAN-PAN, PAN-PAN, PAN-PAN. [ ] I am so very tired... [ ]

#my art tag #what have i been doing between comms? dont worry about it #pikmin #ummm srry if typos lol. #do i need a writing tag. oh man i dont write often

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Secrets In The Dark

Sooooo, I wrote another drabble set in Aldreda’s backstory. It's not not a sequel to the last one, but there's probably a couple months between them. Also it's from her shitty cousin's POV, so content warning for being in the brain of the guy actively deciding he wants to groom a 13-year-old. Fully understand that not being something everyone will want to read, I just needed to expunge my soul of the idea I had. Anyway, felt slimy after completing this & again while editing so I'm gonna plan nice things now

Aldreda Tag | AO3 Series | Other Flashback Drabble

Stars blinked above in the great expanse of black as water gently sloshed against the sides of the longship, making it rock and softly creak as it sat still in the waters of The Sunset Sea. Westley groaned as he sat up. His arm was numb from having laid his head on it for so long, and The Sharp’s eighth son had rolled over enough to be on the edge of the blankets he’d wrapped around himself to keep out the cold and the wet and offer some cushion between himself and the hard planks of the ship. If it weren’t for the cold glint of a blade in the dark, and the shadow of Beorn Merlyn’s form huddled near the port side of the hull, he would have pushed the ship boy further away from him. He didn’t want to risk shoving him into one of the other men and waking up more people before he could talk to him.

Westley stretched, working limberness back into his shoulders and arms before pushing himself up and stepping over the sleeping man at arms that lay between him and the huddled form near the hull. Beorn's posture stiffened, and he watched Westley with hard, dark blue eyes. He didn’t move, the knife in his hand pausing in its work against whatever silly little trinket he’d been whittling to pass the time. A good bit of shavings crunched under Westley’s boot when he stepped in front of Beorn; he’d been at this a while it would seem. He crouched down before his man, arms rested on his knees and a manic grin on his face.

“Hope you’re not planning a mutiny with that.” He tried to keep his tone light as he inclined his head towards the knife, hoping his words would be taken as a jest. Beorn had been a good friend to him, loyal and true and willing to listen to his orders in spite of being a few years older than him. Westley had been just as true to Orwen, and he’d loved his older cousin like a brother…but that did not mean his loyalties to his cunt uncle’s now-dead son outweighed those to his own father, The True Farwynd. Such caveats to loyalty existed in everyone, even the fourth son of The Merlyn sent off to serve ‘one of those crazy Farwynds out in their lighthouse.’

“Not planning anything…unless you do something.” Beorn’s gaze faltered, unable to hold Westley’s unblinking eye contact, and he mumbled the second part.

“Do something?” his grin relaxed, and true humor played at the edges of his voice this time, “Where’s that coming from?”

Beorn’s eyes darted towards the sleeping figure curled up between him and the hull, and he followed the other man's gaze. Aldreda. Westley looked back from his cousin, fair and vulnerable, to his man. He said nothing, his smile fading to blank neutrality.

Beorn shifted under his near-black gaze, anxiety dripping from him like water off the oars. His hushed whispers came out as a desperate plea, “I know we've never cared, but she is too much risk, Westley!”

He didn't say anything, continuing to just stare at Beorn. The other man swallowed, and he rubbed his thumb over one of the rough edges of the half-formed carving in his hand. “I know The Farwynd said to do what you wish, but that was more for her than you. It had to have been, and you know that.”

“Beorn.” Westley’s low voice was cold and stern, a warning to shut his stupid blabbering mouth. He did not heed it.

“Westley, you cannot touch her. If you take her maidenhead, The Farwynd will have you stripped naked and thrown into the walrus rookery slathered in clam juice at best, and during their rut at worst. Naga's Bones, Orwen even–”

Before Beorn could continue, he grabbed his jaw, holding so tightly that he winced. Westley’s brother-in-arms didn’t need to be brought into this. A dead man had no business in his affairs, especially if his words were still being honored. The honoring was not how he meant it in life, but it was still happening.

“And your plan for if I touch Aldreda is what, exactly? To cut off the fingers I put in her and present them to The Farwynd? To take off my cock and throw it in the ocean? To betray House Farwynd and kill your captain?”

Beorn did not respond, probably because he could not. Still, Westley searched his face as he held fast to his blocky jaw, fingers pressing hard into the bone. It was uncomfortable for him as well, but there was a malicious sort of pleasure in the discomfort on his man’s face while he tried to impart his thoughts without words.

“You only care because Aldreda is special…which is why you have nothing to worry about.” An easy smile spread across Westley’s face as Beorn’s thick brows furrowed with confusion. He let go of him, and patted his cheek as the other man tried to work some amount of comfort back into his jaw.

“Aldreda is special,” he reiterated, careful to continue keeping his voice low, “which is why no one will have her. There will be a proper time, of course, but that is for me. When she is six and ten I will make sure that in these three years she has learned that she’s mine. Your only job, Beorn, is to ensure that Aldreda hears and knows nothing of anyone else. I have needs, you understand, and they are none of her business. Her only business is taking what I give her, when I give it to her; training, raiding experience, love as Orwen’s sister, and one day as my woman. Promise me you’ll do this.”

There was still that same confused sort of concern on his face when he started to respond, “Westley–”

He frowned, quietly furious, and moved his hand from Beorn’s cheek, to his neck. Westley hauled him up onto his feet by the scruff, and the knife and hunk of wood clattered to the floor of the longship as they were dropped in the process of being dragged to the hull. He bent Beorn over the edge, the other man’s face barely above the black brine.

Westley loomed over him as he spoke again, his words coming out through gritted teeth. “If you do not swear to make sure all she knows is that I waited for her–”

“Westley?!”

The rustling of waking bodies and Aldreda’s worried cry saw Westley leaning forward, dunking Beorn’s head into the sea, and grabbing his upper arm to get a better hold on him. With a grunt of put on effort, he pulled him back up and away from the hull. Beorn coughed and sputtered over the water that had gotten in his mouth and up his nose as all that salt soaking his hair and the collar of his tunic dripped down and softly pattered onto the floor of the longship.

“There you go,” he put on a show of straightening his tunic and caring for his waterlogged man, “you have to be more careful!” Beorn's eyes met Westley’s for a moment, angry and disbelieving, before ultimately a look of resignation crossed his face.

“I will…I promise.” When he spoke, the words were horse and brought about another coughing fit. 

“What happened? Beorn, are you alright?”

“He tripped.” The lie fell easily from Westley’s lips as Beorn coughed into his fist, and Aldreda and Vickon and other men looked on with concern.

“I am fine,” Beorn rasped, “I got pulled out before anything too bad.”

“Vickon, get something for him to dry off.”

“Aye, Westley!” The Sharp’s son scrambled to gather something at least mostly dry for Beorn as the men all mocked or checked on him, stretching and then easing back into the spots where they’d been sleeping. After a moment, Beorn went to Vickon’s side to dry off, leaving only Aldreda and Westley by he hull

“Beorn is usually so sure-footed.”

“Everyone has their moments, and it is a good thing I was up to see his. Best to not be down a man, we will need everyone once we hit the coast. House Reyne’s land is rich with plunder.”

“So that is where we’re going?” There was a sparkle of excitement in her black eyes, and a wild grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. Naga’s Bones, Westley wanted her now; wanted to see how that grinning mouth would feel around his cock. It wasn't the right time though, he wanted her to want it as much as he did.

“It is,” Westley returned her grin and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, “I thought you deserved something big for your first raid.” Her cheek felt warm when his fingers brushed it, and something soft entered her smile.

“Get back to sleep, Aldreda. We'll talk about the plans tomorrow.”

“Right…good night, Westley.”

A smug sort of satisfaction filled Westley’s chest as Aldreda did as he bid her. It wasn't much, not yet, but the willingness was there; his work could be done in three years.

#my writing #fic: a fair and handsome seal lord #ocs #oc: aldreda farwynd #westley farwynd i am in your walls #i mean i love when a villain is truly A Villain & is evil & knowngly do shitty things #but also this man needs to be jailed #the way this man is so self aware & so fucking delusional at the same time #asoiaf oc

[1-800-adoreyou]

RISK

Pairing - Harry x fem!reader

Words - 1.8K

Type - Smut

Warnings - smut, 18+, swearing, cheating, exhibition, praise, oral (f recieving), fingering and of course sexual content.

A/n - I figured I would try my hand at writing smut for the first time! Hope you enjoy.

It was so dangerous. So fucking dangerous. The Met Gala was overflowing with gossip-frenzied paparazzi just waiting for a story, fans and other celebrities. Don’t even get started on the fact Olivia and Florence were most likely looking for you and Harry. If someone were to stand too close to the bathroom, they would surely hear your whimpers and breathless pleas. Of course, you both hoped the music and people talking were enough background noise to cover up any clamor.

You had gone to the Met for your friend Florence’s new movie “Don’t Worry Darling”, packed with enthusiasm. You knew she would rock it out there, even with all the drama surrounding the film. You couldn’t lie, it had been rough. It was rough watching your friend grow to detest someone she once was a big fan of. And, it was rough seeing Harry with the woman he dumped you for, all those months before.

You had sworn to Florence that you would both show up, go bat-shit crazy with chaos then leave to get some mimosas back at the hotel. It was easy to agree to stick with Chris Pine, knowing he would lend you both some of whatever the hell he was taking. Plus the factor that he was just genuinely a cool person to be around.

But, Harry couldn’t help himself- not one bit. He couldn’t help his eyes wandering down your chest to where that satin red dress’ neckline ended. He couldn’t help but let his eyes gloss over how it hugged every beautiful curve, his mouth almost watering at the slit that went up to your mid thigh. He couldn’t believe how worked up he was getting over that bit of skin.

The same skin he used to be able to touch, kiss and bite. All just in the right way to make you a withering wreck under him.

Even with your ‘new’ best friend connected to your hip, he still thought you looked as ravishing as ever. Your lips were plumper than they were before, showcasing your perfect cupid’s bow. The dark merlot red that painted them drew him in, he had to break himself from his trance before a camera could catch it. He just knew he wouldn’t be able to survive without your angelic touch.

So, he settled with glares and pleading with his mind. After about thirty minutes of that, he excused himself from the woman who looked like a lemon for a ‘bathroom’ break. He was never really a good liar, but somehow she believed it. And that quickly turned into you squeezing Flo’s leg and telling her you’d be a few minutes. Then following a few feet behind Harry like a lost puppy looking for its owner.

You heard people passing by with each soundless step you took, heart beat escalating in your throat. The flashing of hundreds of cameras bought a new level of anxiety to rise into your abdomen- the last thing you needed was to be spotted with your ex. Especially after how things ended. Still, your feet carried you to the bathrooms where you just knew Harry would be waiting for you at. Just waiting.

Like a rabid lion stalking its unsuspecting prey, laying low just awaiting the right moment to attack.

The pink doors came into view, and you could see his laid back posture, clad in black designer. Was that Gucci? He was staring off into the opposite direction, and you paused. Was this a good idea? There was no way someone wouldn’t see one of the most famous men in the world slip into a bathroom with his ex-girlfriend.

Sadly, he turned before you could make the decision to run full throttle away. His lips turned upright, a cocky smile displaying upon his features. You never really liked that smirk, only because he would use it in arguments when he was right.

Fighting back an eye-roll, you looked over your surroundings to make sure there weren’t cameras on you. Once you decided the coast was clear you dashed over to Harry.

“Is someone in a rush?” His velvety voice asked, honey dipped british accent flooding your senses. That stupid smirk, you really wanted to slap it off him. He opened the door to the women's room and let you in first. He took into note the way your teeth sunk into your bottom lip.

“You started this, don’t turn it on me.” Your stared daggers into his soul, hoping he would get the memo. You bumped into his shoulder just to prove your annoyance, which resulted in him slamming the bathroom door. Someone definitely heard that. “How’s the old hag treating you?” You asked, staring up at him inquisitively.

He walked forward enough for your back to hit the cool tile, making a shiver run up your spine. “Just fine. But she doesn't let out those pretty noises you do.” His eyes surveyed you up and down, waiting for a reaction.

“I bet you're dreading the fact me and Florence are dating and she’s the only one who can hear my pretty noises.” His face twisted up in an expression you couldn’t quite place, maybe it was a mix of disgust and anger with a sprinkle of wonderment. Had you lied about dating Florence? Yeah, but you were feeling rather petty at that moment.

“Oh, yeah?” He rasped out, breaking the tensioned eye contact you two had held for the last five minutes. “If that was true you wouldn’t be here with me. You would’ve snuck off with her as soon as I started looking at you. Right?” He muttered his words harshly, dropping down to his knees in a quick, fluid motion. Your eyes trailed down to hold his gaze once more, his signature stare masked with a cocky and concentrated look.

With quick work, he hiked up the dress that hid your now wet black lace panties. He let out a low moan when he saw them, hoisting your leg over his right shoulder.

“Right.” You admitted breathlessly. “Just hurry this up, Harold. I need to get back to Florence.”

His jaw seemed to tense as his hand rose to steady your hips, moving his free hand to hook around the liner of your panties and tear them down your thighs. His finger started slowly, tracing a feather light line up your slit. He stopped at your clit, moving his finger in a counter-clockwise movement. His touch seemed to hardly be there.

Against yourself, you grabbed onto his hand that was steading you. He wasn’t letting you move at all to get more of what he was offering, even if that was a very little bit. “That’s my girl.” He spoke from between your legs, adding more pressure to the swollen button. He smiled at the string of whimpers that rolled off your lips and the way your hips pushed up for more. “Stay quiet, Darling.” he cooed from his placement on the floor, detaching his fingers from your clit.

He loved how he knew you would be moaning his name by the end of this night, not anyone else’s. He didn’t give a flying fuck who could hear, to be honest. He just adored how you would be reminded of his touch. The way he makes you feel. Before a whine could escape your lips, he attached his around your sensitive button. He knew what he was doing- he knew how to please you like the back of his hand.

He licked down your cunt, stopping at your entrance. He brought up two of his fingers. Dipping in and out, in and out. He brought his mouth's attention back to your clit, sucking and licking at it. He was like a starving man who hadn’t eaten for days, ravishing himself in the taste of you. “Does that feel good, Darling?” He asked, lifting his eyes to stare into yours, curling his fingers every few pumps. He got his answer from the string of pleas that crumbled from your throat, littering the bathroom walls with profanities.

Within a few moments, he felt your walls tighten around his fingers. He smiled, needing to feel you release all over his fingers. He dove straight back at your clit, sucking harshly and leaving little to no mercy. He moaned when he felt your fingers slide in his hair, pulling at the roots. Harry missed that feeling.

“Harry, so so so close.” You moaned out, thighs beginning to shake like leaves. Your fingers knitted further into his mess of chocolaty brown curls. The all too familiar heat spring in your stomach was just about to release, just needing a simple spur of words to rupture.

“Go on, cum on my hand and face Darling. Lemme wear you like a cologne.” And you did, with a shriek of his name and a hand whipping over your mouth to silence yourself. As much as you hated sneaking around and him, you would give anything for Harry to touch you like that again.

**** **** **** **** **** ****

“What the hell took you so long?” Florence asked, pouting her lip up at you. “I had to pretend to like Lemon Lady all by myself. How dare you put me through that?”

"Sorry, Flo. My tummy didn't agree with brunch." You chuckled, hoping to God she wouldn't medal further.

She hummed, looking over to Harry whose hair was still a mess. "Whatever you say babe." She looked at you then back at him. "Unless, those are your panties hanging from his pocket?"

#harry styles #harry 1d #harry edward styles #harries #one direction #harry #musicians #oned #harry fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry smut #harry styles smut #my writting #harry styles writings #fic writing #harry styles writing

[magalidragon]

dragonstone’s secrets | a Jonerys drabble (with HOTD tie-in)

I had to stay late at work and was like hmmm and before I knew it had this ditty down. It is similar in a way to a Dany POV fic where she goes searching Winterfell, but this is Jon at Dragonstone and has an HOTD tie-in but nothing crazy. Just a necklace and a name that I really loved for a tragic character that I felt so sorry for but it seemed to work. Anyway, here you go.

It was pouring rain, also storming, and Jon Snow was very, very, very bored.

He stared up at the ceiling of his bedchamber, flat on his back on the stone floor, counting the swirls of dragonglass in the ceiling's carved dragons. It was a pastime he'd started when he could not stop his mind and when he wanted to hide away from all the other things that called to him on an almost hourly basis. Besides, the floor was warmer because Ghost was curled up against him, snoring softly and occasionally kicking his back leg out as he dreamed of chasing elk.

In the distance he heard one of the dragons screech. There would be no riding today, he thought, and a very distinctive roar followed the thought as Rhaegal tapped into his mind. He chuckled and rolled onto his stomach, peering out towards the open archways from his chambers' terrace. He could pull the heavy curtains closed, but that would block the light, and honestly, one of his favorite things in the world were storms.

The cold, blustery winter storms in the North were never pleasant because it meant that the snow would pile up and they'd be locked in for some time until it could be dug out. He enjoyed helping as a child to do that but it grew tedious as he grew older. Now he could enjoy the screaming winds, the deafening sound of crashing waves, and watch the rain pour off the dragon sculptures' mouths like fountains without having to owrry about cleaning up when the storm passed.

He crawled to his feet, rolling out his shoulders. In lieu of the day's canceled activities-- no practices in the yard, no dragon riding, and certainly no meetings as the Queen had indicated all should spend the day enjoying themselves and <i>not</I> working-- he found himself wondering what to do. And wandering.

Dragonstone was older than Winterfell and like winterfell, it carried secrets it would only share to select individuals. And only on its terms. He liked to wander the halls and wonder about all the Targaryens who had stepped foot there before him. Before it became the seat of House Targaryen, it had been a trading outpost, and one evening while he'd been digging around in the cellar looking for spare weapons, he'd fallen straight through a concealed door and into an antechamber that had dusty old spice sacks and barrels that had to be at least 300 years old.

Maybe he'd find one of those today, he thought, Ghost padding silently behind him as they exited the room. He shoved his hands into the pocket of his breeches. It was odd to be without armor, but he didn't need it in the castle. He was in only a shirt and a light leather vest, belt low on his hips, no weapons weighing him down.

Alone on his trek through the corridors, he found himself going up a tower he knew he hadn't visited. It had a turret and long, spiral staircase that appeared to be without end. Ghost huffed behind him as they climbed, clearly not happy about the exertion post-nap. "Sorry mate," he apologized, but not really, because when he got to the top of the tower, there was a lock on the door. "Hmm," he murmured, examining it.

He wasn't completely unprepared, he thought, reaching into his pocket and removing a thin dragonglass sliver he used during council meetings when he was bored. He liked to just fiddle with it and keep his mind occupied. He slipped it into the lock and a moment later, it gave away, the door creaking open, hinges rusty from years of saltwater spraying in through a small curved opening in the stairwell.

Ghost sniffed ahead of him. The room was dark, glass shutters locked against the elements. He coughed a few times, dust settling in his nose. "What's this?" he murmured, looking around. Sometimes he encountered random things from Stannis Baratheon's time as castellan and they ranged from plain weird to gruesome.

It looked as though even in Stannis's time no one had ventured here. Or if they had, it was to use it as a storeroom. It was filled with boxes, covered paintings, and broken furniture. All of which had dragons on them. He remembered the Red Keep, when they finally got in to look at what the Lannisters and Baratheons had done, and despite his loating of all things Targaryen, it appeared as though King Robert had simply hidden away all the artifacts, armor and paintings left intact in chambers deep near the Black Cells.

He touched the top of an armoire, the wood almost giving way, rotten. He reached for the handle and tugged. It pulled straight out and the door came off the hinges. "Huh."

Ghost sniffed around some paintings, pulling at a tarp. He glanced over his shoulder and blinked, staring at the image of a haughty, square-jawed Targaryen with sleek silver hair pulled from his face. In black and red, with his hand on the hilt of a sword that he knew was Dark Sister, he recognized the face from the illustrations in the histories. "Daemon Targaryen," he breathed, forgetting the armoire and striding towards the paintings. He ruffled Ghost's head. "What did you find here, boy?"

He knelt, pulling at the painting, which broke easily from its rotten frame. There were more behind it. Targaryens going back almost to Aegon. He didn't know some of them. There were a lot. There weren't that many paintings in this stack, and he set aside a couple for future investigation. He was slightly disappointed he didn't find any of his favorite Targaryen. Well, one of his favorites.

Actually, his former favorite, Daeron. He also liked the Dragonknight.

He had a new favorite Targaryen now.

He stood and went back to the armoire, allowing Ghost to poke around behind a stack of crates. "I think we found some treasure, boy," he murmured, removing the other door and taking stock of what was in the armoire. It was old gowns, red velvet and black leather, with intricate embroidery and beading along the cuffs and collars. Back when the Targaryens were at their height, he thought. They were all womens' clothes and he grew bored, finding nothing of interest.

Ghost had climbed onto a stack of crates and was pawing at one. "What are you doing?" he mumbled, sighing. Ghost blinked and returned to scratching the lid. "Get down, let me get it."

He tugged at the lid, grunting with effort and falling backwards when it gave away. He pushed it up and looked inside. More random things, but this one was slightly more interesting. There were a few chests which he removed, setting aside. He took one, propping it on the crate and flicked the clasp. It was like a jewelry box, he thought, thinking it looked familiar to the one in his chambers.

Except it was no jewelry box.

Well, sort of.

"An ossuary," he whispered. He bit his bottom lip and lightly touched a few of the bones that were contained inside, on velvet cushioning that was still soft, despite the ages it had remained in the tower. He picked up one and recognized it quickly; if the shriek from a dragon beyond the tower didn't already confirm it for him.

It was a dragon tooth. There were a few of them, along with what he knew was a claw. And a necklace. "Odd."

He picked it up and stared at it, running his thumb over the ruby in the circular center. It was cool to touch. His eyes widened, understanding a second later. "Fuck Ghost. Do you know what this is?"

Ghost huffed; of course he did. He pocketed the necklace, locking up the dragon teeth and claws, and put them back in the crate. He rooted around a bit more with the paintings, checking them all to see if he could spot the necklace on one of the various Targaryens depicted, but none wore it.

He left the tower, closing the door carefully behind him. There was plenty of time to inventory all that that room contained, but right now he wanted to show this find off. He jogged down the stairs, dizzy by the time he got to the bottom, and took off, returning to his chambers. The bed was empty; which it hadn't been when he left, and he heard water splashing in the accompanying suite.

"Dany!" he exclaimed.

"Where the bloody hells were you?" came his devoted wife's complaint. She was propped up in the copper tub, her silver braids in a pile on her head. The top of her belly poked over the water line. He leaned over and dropped a kiss to it before pecking her lips. She wrinkled her nose. "You stink, what were you doing?"

"Looking for stuff."

"You're bored again."

"It's the storms. Look." He dropped the necklace in front of her, eyes wide, excited like a green boy with his first woman. "Valyrian steel. I found it in that tower in the east wing, near the south end of the castle. It's filled with stuff. Paintings and dragon teeth and claws...incredible things."

She grabbed the necklace, staring at it, her brow furrowed. "Wow...I've never seen Valyrian steel jewelry before...not even in Essos."

"I wonder who it belonged to." He knew that so many of the Targaryen artifacts had been lost to time and history. Blackfyre, somewhere in Essos. Dark Sister, up beyond the Wall. Aegon's crown. Her mother's crown.

She scratched her thumb over the disc, shrugging a shoulder. "I don't know, but...I think I've seen it before...I can't remember...a book maybe."

"Well, it's yours now."

Peering up, she smirked at him. "You're giving me gifts from your treasure hunts, Jon Snow? I'm flattered."

"I could give it to the babe."

"The babe is a boy."

"Nah, it's a girl." He leaned over again and dipped his hand into the water, cursing. "Fuck Dany! That's fire!"

She sighed, slouching down a little more and grinning. "A dragon does not fear fire."

"This one does," he mumbled.

"That's your wolf side."

Ghost snorted in agreement, coming over to briefly nose her belly and wag his tail. She reached to scratch his ears. "See, Ghost thinks the babe is a boy." He huffed again and shook his head.

Now it was his turn to smirk. "Hmm, a girl."

"We already know if it's a boy we shall name him Aemon, but what about a girl, have we decided?" she sighed, dragging her fingers over her belly. "I like Lyanna."

"I like Rhaella."

"There's plenty." She smiled sadly. "We could always do the female version of Aemon."

"what's that?"

"Aemma." Her voice grew sad. "Aemma Arryn was the wife of Viserys I Targaryen...she died in childbirth. She was the mother of Rhaenyra. The first Queen. Well, second, if you believe Rhaenys should have been queen first."

"As I do," he assured her. He never believed in the absolute rule by a male over a female, if said female was in line first. Or was better suited for the task, as was often the case. He thought of Arriane Martell or Olenna Tyrell. Seven hells, even Arya and loathe as he was to admit it, Sansa.

She furrowed her brow again, whispering. "I know this necklace. I can't place it, but...anyway...Aemma was tragic. She makes me think of my mother. Dying to birth an heir...and my father already had his male heirs."

He smoothed his hand over her cheek, brushing his lips to her forehead. "Your mother died so you could live, as mine did. Without her, there would be no you."

"Or you," she whispered.

He smiled sadly; it was unfortunate. Their mothers were probably the only ones that they knew nothing about. No one wrote about the women in the books, always the men. He picked up the steel necklace from her and shrugged. "Well, whoever owned this necklace, it's yours now." He kissed her gently, nose brushing against hers, murmuring. "Queen Daenerys Targaryen."

She giggled. "King Jon."

"Consort. I hate that title."

"You could use your real name."

"Hate that name too." He flicked water at her and got to his feet. "Come, the storm isn't letting up. We can go explore some more."

"We can look for dragon eggs."

"Aye, let's go look for dragon eggs."

They didn't find any dragon eggs and Dany couldn't remember who owned the necklace try as she might to remember where she'd seen it, but a few days after that horrible storm blew through and the clouds opened to sunlight, she went into labor and gave birth to a baby girl they called Aemma.

#jonerys #my fics #my moodboards #my drabbles #hotd sort of #random things #absolutely terrible but oh well lol #hotd #for the people who are blocking tag! #no judgment lol #but this is not really hotd

[tanushakyrano]

febuwhump day 8: panic

no i didn't nearly forget to post this what do you mean

characters: Alan, Scott

additional warnings: description of a panic attack

______________

Alan couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe. The air was thick, claggy, and he was trying - he really was - but he was gasping desperately for oxygen that wasn't there. It felt like someone was pressing down on his chest, forcing anything that got in straight back out again, squeezing tight around his ribs and lungs and heart until he felt like he was going to pass out.

He sucked in another desperate breath. The pressure on his chest wasn't getting any better. It was like someone had trapped his heart in a vice - or one of those thumb-screws that John had told him about when they'd visited the Tower of London, that they'd tortured Guy Fawkes with, but now he was getting off-topic again and-

Right. His heart. It hurt. Physically hurt, like someone was squeezing and squeezing until it was about to pop.

He still couldn't breathe.

Maybe he was having a heart attack. That would explain why his head was spinning and his chest hurt. Or maybe he was going crazy. He was too young to die of a heart attack, right? No, there were a surprisingly large number of cases of cardiac arrests in teens his age, so he couldn't exactly rule it out. 

Alan really didn't want to die, though.

It wasn't particularly high on his bucket list. Not on there at all, in fact, seeing as bucket lists were things you wanted to do before you died. On his list of ways to die, however, heart attack was pretty low. It would have been way cooler to die in an explosion after saving loads of people, or in a volcanic eruption. Or old age. Dying of old age would be nice. He'd have gotten to see the world. Make something of his life.

Alan didn't want to die at all.

"Help," he choked out, eyes blurred with tears. 

Was there anyone there?

“-Alan? Alan, can you hear me?”

He forced his head to move up and down in a jerky nod. A hand, calloused and crisscrossed with scars, found its way into his. He gripped it tightly.

“Okay, can you focus on my voice? Yeah?”

He nodded again. Nodding shouldn’t be this hard, but his body was drifting apart in so many different directions that it wouldn’t do what he told it to, and the air was still so thick, and-

“Can you breathe with me? C’mon Allie. In, one, two, three…”

He tried. He got to about two before his breath hitched and he nearly choked.

“Follow as best you can, okay?”

He tried again.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold again for four.

He squeezed his brother’s hand tightly.

In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

Slowly, slowly, the room came back into focus. His cheeks were wet. His chest still hurt, but it was a bearable ache, and he could just about breathe again.

Alan leant back - it was more of a backwards fall, really - into the wall behind him. Every limb was heavy with exhaustion. He let his free hand drop to the cold floor, letting the feel of the wooden floorboards help ground him to reality.

Scott sat himself down next to him, fingers still intertwined with Alan’s own. Their shoulders brushed. Alan shuffled closer, letting his head rest on Scott’s shoulder and his eyes close. He smelled exactly the same way he always did: of clean laundry and rocket fuel. The combination was unusual, but it was him, and Alan always found comfort in it.

“You feeling better, Allie?” his big brother murmured, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah…” he mumbled. “ ‘M tired.” Everything ached. His thoughts were still a jumble.

“That’s okay, kiddo. You can rest, don’t worry.”

“M’kay…”

He drifted off.

#thunderbirds are go #cora writes #alan tracy #scott tracy #febuwhump23 #whump #tw panic attack

[yurisorcerer]

So, I've been sick the past couple days. This led to me watching the Code Geass compilation movies. I don't know, the brain works in mysterious ways.

God, Code Geass.

This was another one of those anime things that was just omnipresent for a while in the late '00s. I think it's held up a lot better than its one-time sort-of-rival Death Note, but that's a very low bar to clear (I do not like Death Note at all). Code Geass, or at least the refracted form of it presented here in these recap movies (and going off of my own memories of the original show), is a series I like but don't really....respect. I don't personally get that feeling super often, usually it's the other way around.

It's hard to pin exactly why that is. It's not the campiness---I love that stuff---and it's not the characters, most of whom I genuinely really like. I think it's down to the narrative and what comes out of that narrative. Code Geass' themes and *especially* its political ideas are very....haphazard? They're definitely there; the idea that power corrupts, the question of what it means to deceive, political ideas about war, genocide, colonialism, and so on, but they feel surprisingly incoherent for a show whose central premise builds off the fact that it's taking place in an occupied country. There's a very strong FEELING of there being a big struggle between ideas, but I think that feeling is mostly illusory. The show's characters end up being defined more by their personal connections. Even the proposed duality of Lelouch as the pragmatist and Suzaku as the idealist seems to exist mostly to be taken apart over the course of the story.

On the other hand, maybe that's a good thing? Maybe---intentionally or not---that's what we should be taking out of this, that big ideals tend to falter in the face of the much more immediate pull of the people we love and hate? I don't know, that feels like giving the series a pass in a way I'm not sure I'm totally onboard with.

I'm spending a lot of time criticizing it here, but I do actually like this series. I think for its faults it works really well on a moment to moment level and it hits just an absolute ton of my personal buttons; big mecha fights, rapidfire mind games, and a generally theatrical sense of characterization.

The movies also change a few things from the original series. Mostly these are for the better; Shirley survives the entirety of the recap films, for example, and the entirety of Mao's character and plotline are---thank fuck---ommitted. Some of them I don't really get; Nina is less driven by being a Crazy Lesbian TM which is a good thing for sure, but also the motivation that makes up for that (mostly just being a hysterical racist) clunks off the narrative in a really uncomfortable way, since the series doesn't really address it. Ech.

Also the pacing of the three films both individually and in aggregate is absolutely horrible, like, people complain about pacing in stuff *all the time* but this is some of the worst I've seen in a modern anime production. An advantage the original series had was that, for all its weird detours about, say, Kallen's mom being a fantasy-drug addict or whatever, you got to spend more actual *time* with the characters, so they felt a bit more fully realized. This is definitely a case where the recap films do expect you to be familiar with the original despite making some of those changes. Which is itself fair enough in of itself I suppose, they are called RECAP films after all, but it did make me cognizant of the fact that like, it mostly sort of smears over the reasons people got super attached to characters like (again) Kallen, or Jeremiah. They both get plenty of screentime in these movies and they're absolutely great in what time they do get (and this is the case for a number of other characters as well), but the sheer difference in how these things are structured vis a vis the original show does reveal a few shortcomings of the format. IDK, I feel like I'm writing in circles at this point and again am coming off as more critical than I want to be.

Let me talk about something I think really shines in the movies. You know who's great in these films? This fuckin guy.

Lelouch is, to me, a hysterical fucking character. Bundle of contradictions, impossibly cool loser, gay as hell but always ends up with a woman because Reasons. When I was a youngish teen and watched Code Geass for the first time I had zero idea who Char Aznable was, but, like, this is pretty uncontroversial, right? Lelouch Lamperouge is the millennial Char. He is our forefathers' accomplishments handed down to us as farce. I absolutely hate him, and I hate that I still think he's as super fucking cool as I did when I first watched this story at age 14. My favorite scene in all three movies combined was when he got stabbed in the heart and died, and many of the other scenes I really liked involved him doing something extra. I'm going to bet his death doesn't stick, given that the sequel film to this trilogy (which is an original story!) is called Lelouch of the Re;surrection. What is that semicolon doing there. I'm the last person on earth who should be talking about semicolon placement but come on.

Some other thoughts:

When I was in high school I got into an argument with a friend over whether Kallen's knightmare frame (god, the mecha are fucking called knightmare frames), the Guren, was the coolest giant robot of all time. I don't stand by that assertion itself, but I do think its big hand weapon the Wave Surger is one of the sickest fucking things in this or any mecha series

For being in large part about how colonialism sucks, this series sure isn't in a hurry to visit any part of the world that's actually affected strongly by it IRL, huh? I get that there are Watsonian reasons for this but c'mon.

Kallen and Lelouch's romance in this is even less convincing than it was in the original series which is honestly impressive

Opposite of the above, I find Lelouch / C.C. a little more believable this go-around. Not sure how much of that is it being meaningfully different here vs. me just changing as a person as I've gotten older vs. who knows what else

the entirety of the World of C stuff is still so fucking bizarre to me. it's been years and I still cannot figure out for the life of me why that was how they chose to resolve that whole thing. It feels deliberate, though, because it's not really altered in any major way here and Gorou Taniguchi did something similar in Back Arrow (it kind of fit better there because that show is just weird as hell to begin with, but still, the similarities are striking).

the battles in this are really grandiose and cool and carried the movies for me when the plot did not

I love Kallen so much you guys, you don't even understand

the above bullet point again but about C.C. this time

I miss the gratuitous Pizza Hut advertisements so much. I don't know why. The fact that I do feels like a sign that something is deeply wrong with me.

They cut The Table Scene. Because of Woke, I assume.

god this got long for me just basically being like "I like this but it has a lot of problems." Whatever, no one reads these LOL

#code geass #yurisorcerer talks about media

[englishstrawbie]

3/3 Alright, last one, which is for our lovely Cosima and Delphine. It's just a single line (from the song Almost Made It by Racoon), to keep as much open as possible and leave you all the room to play around with it. Here it is:

One day we die, most days we don't.

Simple, right?! 😁 Thanks again, plus 3x please for all of them, as I might have forgotten with the first two (oops)! 🙏

I actually had part of this ficlet written out already from last year, but I never quite figured out what I wanted it to be. As I was reading the lyrics to the song, it prompted me to go back and re-read it, and I realised it fitted into how I interpreted these lyrics and the idea that, after all they went through, Cosima would want to live every day to the fullest. I hope you like what I did with it!

A link to the song

>>>>>>>>>>

Cosima sneaks into the bedroom just after midnight. The room is still except for the slow rise and fall of her girlfriend’s chest; silent except for her gentle snoring. Cosima slips into the bathroom to get ready for bed, stripping her clothes and pulling on an old Rolling Stones t-shirt. She removes her glasses for a moment so she can wipe her eyes clean of their thick, black make-up, and brushes her teeth, the taste of mint masking the beer and tequila she has consumed this evening.

Delphine doesn’t stir when she creeps back into the bedroom and perches on the edge of the bed. She is sprawled out on her front, lying down the middle of the mattress, her long blonde hair splayed on the pillow and her arms outstretched, taking up the whole of the bed. She does it on purpose, knowing that Cosima will have to rouse her when she gets home late, never wanting to miss a goodnight kiss. There were too many missed kisses during their months apart.

Cosima still feels the hurt sometimes of those months thinking that Delphine was dead.

She smooths the curls out of Delphine’s face, her fingertips tickling her temples to wake her.

“Hey,” she says quietly.

Delphine’s eyes flutter open, a lazy smile spreading on her face when she sees her love looking down at her. Cosima dips her head to steal it from her lips with a kiss.

“How are your sisters?”

“They’re good. The usual kind of crazy,” Cosima says. “I can’t believe the twins are going to be one next week.”

Twelve months have passed since they exposed Neolution, and since Cosmia and Delphine started their trip around the world, tracking down LEDA clones and inoculating them. It has kept them away from the sestras for most of the year but there was no way Alison would let them miss the twins’ first birthday.

“Did you tell them?” Delphine asks in a low voice, looking up with curious eyes.

Cosima’s hand instinctively goes to the Peruvian ring that hangs from a chain around her neck. Its twin is in its usual place on Delphine’s left hand.

The proposal had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. Their six months of travelling around South America finding LEDA clones had ended in Peru, where Cosima had insisted on hiking the Inca Trail. Delphine had tried to talk her out of it; after all, it had barely been a year since she had received her cure and, while she was doing well, hiking a mountain was a big leap. But Cosima was adamant, her only concession being that they opted for the shorter trail, reaching the peak after just two days.

“Okay, you were right, it was worth it,” Delphine concedes, in awe of the breath-taking view that surrounds them.

When Cosima doesn’t respond, she looks over her shoulder to where she stands close by. She can tell from the way she holds her body that she is feeling her feelings, and even from this angle she can see a solitary tear trickle down her cheek. Delphine walks over to her and slides her hands around Cosima’s waist, resting her chin on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Cosima puts her hands on top of hers and nods, biting into her bottom lip.

“Tell me,” Delphine prompts.

“My parents had a photo of this view on the wall when I was growing up,” Cosima says. “They came here before I was born. They used to talk about their trip and tell me how much they wanted me to see it for myself one day. I always thought I’d do it once I finished school, you know? And then Beth showed up, and the others, and I got sick, and I thought… I thought I’d never get to see for myself.”

Her body trembles and Delphine instinctively tightens her hold.

“And now you’re here.”

“We’re here,” Cosima says.

She leans her head to one side, resting against Delphine’s temple, and sighs happily. In that moment, she feels the weight of still everything she carries fall from her shoulders. They are free of all that once haunted them, free to do whatever they choose.

Free to live.

And Cosima wants to spend every moment of that life with the woman standing beside her.

“Will you marry me?”

She feels Delphine pull away, her hand still loose around Cosima’s waist as she looks at her with surprise and delight.

“What?”

Cosima grins as she turns and looks up at her with a glint in her eye.

“I wanna spend the rest of my life with you,” she says. “Marry me, Delphine?”

Delphine laughs, tears streaming down her face as she nods. “Oui… yes, Cosima, I will marry you!”

“Cosima?”

“Hmm?”

Delphine’s voice pulls her out of her daydream.

“No, I didn’t tell them,” Cosima says. “I want you to be there, I want us to tell them together.”

She wants Delphine to share the love and joy that she knows her sisters will smother them with when they tell them the happy news.

She leans down and kisses her fiancé softly, then shoves Delphine across the bed playfully. Delphine giggles as she makes room for Cosima to slip under the covers, then curls her body against hers, a hand sneaking up inside her t-shirt. It doesn’t take long for Delphine to fall asleep and Cosima lies awake for a while, listening to her snore. She can’t help but smile to herself.

What a life they are going to live.

#orphan black #cosima niehaus #delphine cormier #orphan black fanfiction #my fanfiction #february lyric prompt challenge

[starlit-hopes-and-dreams]

Chapter 10 ~ Nothing left to hide

Hidden Depths AU

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Hidden Depths Masterlist

Genre: Fantasy whump

CWs: lady whump, knife to throat, human remains (bones in a box, brief glimpse :D), blood, life-threatening injury, exceptionally brief reference to past noncon, very awkward conversation regarding relationships, like soo fucking awkward

WC: 3904

Taglist: @kixngiggles @dont-touch-my-soup

A/N: This is the end of the AU! Thank you for following along with my crazy 25k-long 'what if' scenario :') I love you all! <3

Stay tuned for Hidden Depths Arc 2.

Resh     

Resh stood so fast the table jerked forward. Oh gods, where had Carr come from? How… how much of their conversation had she heard? 

Fortunately, she pulled Nykim back before her knife completed its threatened action. Nykim landed on the stool, where he sat quite still. 

“Don’t play games with me, Carr.” 

Resh shivered at the silky darkness in his tone, the fierce gleam in eyes more gray than blue.

“I don’t play games, Nykim,” Carr snapped, digging the blade in a little more. “That’s your thing, isn’t it.” 

She glanced at Resh. “Turn up the lamp.” 

“Carr, I don’t think this is what you think it is. It may have started that way, but…” 

He trailed off as the wick flared, illuminating the rest of the room. 

On his left was a set-up similar to Mieste’s workroom, with cabinets holding vials and jars full of various herbs and remedies. On his right…

A gleaming assortment of weapons and scary-looking tools hung on the wall and adorned the long, low table beneath them. A chair with leather and iron restraints sat in the back corner. Fibrous tendrils descended from the ceiling around it, pale and writhing of their own accord. Resh shivered and turned around. 

The back of the room wasn’t any better. Chains hung over what appeared to be a pit, not that he wanted to go any closer to check. He jerked away from that only to have his attention caught by something rather strange–a large glass box sitting on another table. It didn’t seem to fit the room’s… theme. He tilted his head, wondering what on Valysii it was for. Gods, Resh couldn’t even imagine the expense of that thing. It had to be as big as a person–

What he had initially supposed was some kind of inky liquid moved, exposing patches of pale white. He squinted, trying to make out what it was. 

A larger mass of darkness split away, revealing the curve of a… skull? Fucking shit. Hoping he was wrong, his gaze traveled down the box. Goosebumps rose when he spotted a finger bone, the lip of a pelvic bone, a segment of the bones in the lower leg. A faint chitinous hum filled the room that he only now recognized. Insects. Those were insects in that box, not a liquid. 

Oh gods. He wasn’t wrong, not at all. Resh swallowed against the bile rising in his throat before he spun around. Nothing could have prepared him for the implied purpose of this chamber. One he’d been sitting in for hours, with no idea… 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Carr said to him before turning on the thief master. “The fuck, Nykim? I thought I made it clear Resh was off-limits. Why?” 

The faint hint of betrayal in her voice shocked Resh. And she’d vouched for him? He searched her features, but they were difficult to read, as usual. What wasn’t difficult to see was how little fucking color was in her cheeks. 

“This is my house, my pack, in case you’ve forgotten,” Nykim growled. 

Resh inched around the table. Nykim sounded pissed. 

Carr growled right back. “You don’t usually ignore a beta’s opinions or requests, though, do you? It’s ‘cuz I’m a girl, isn’t it?” When he didn’t answer right away, she yanked on his braid. “Isn’t it!” 

Nykim winced when the dagger dug in a little deeper. “Damnit, Carrah. I’ve always known.” 

Her face blanched entirely at that. Resh lurched forward, afraid she would pass out, but Nykim acted before he could get there. 

In the same move he used to knock Carr’s arm away, Nykim disarmed her and shoved off the stool. Carr stumbled back, eyes wide and fixed on the dagger now pointed at her. 

“I did it to fucking protect you!” Nykim shouted, splotches of red forming over his cheeks. He advanced on Carr, who looked like she was barely managing to stand. 

Fuck. Resh’s heart pounded as his eyes flicked between them. Should he say something? Or would that make everything worse? 

He couldn’t keep quiet while they looked like they wanted to kill each other, though. “I don’t think–”   

Carr launched herself at Nykim, nearly knocking the blade from his hand. He kept ahold of it, though, and forced her back. Beads of sweat shimmered on her forehead.

“Protect me… from what!” Carr’s chest heaved, her stamina nowhere near where it should be. 

And why would it be, after she’d nearly fucking died the night before! Godsdamnit, Resh needed to find a way to stop this.  

Nykim smirked. “Already out of breath. Carrah, what have I told you about conserving your energy?” 

She visibly flinched at the name, but Resh thought it suited her. Whatever the reason for her reaction, it didn’t stop her from circling Nykim, looking for openings, he assumed. 

“Won’t… allow you… to. Kill him,” Carr panted. 

“What? I’m not–” Nykim dropped his guard for a split second, and that was all Carr needed. 

She darted in, landing a kick to the side of Nykim’s knee. He dropped to the ground with a pained grunt. 

The hand he used to catch himself was the one holding the weapon. Carr stomped on his fingers when his grip loosened and tried to kick the blade away. But Nykim grabbed her ankle, pulling her down with him. 

They started grappling for the knife. 

“Both of you, stop!” Resh said, stepping forward.  

Carr was hurting herself, Nykim was trying not to die–and they didn’t listen to him, because who ever listened to him? 

Frustration built inside his chest, a pressure with no valve for release. Resh clenched his fist. It wasn’t like jumping in and physically separating them would work. That seemed like an excellent way to die.

Shoving Carr aside, Nykim wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Before he could so much as lift the blade, Carr returned, digging her fingers into his forearm. Resh saw the spasm that went through his hand, but Nykim maintained control. He grasped the back of Carr’s jacket, trying to drag her off of him.  

Plumes of dust from the dirt floor rose in the air around them while they scuffled. An elbow to the gut had Nykim releasing her with a wheezing grunt. She wrenched his wrist back, trying to break his grip. The angle of the dagger had Resh breaking out in a cold sweat. 

“Fucking shit, someone’s gonna get stabbed. Knock it off!” Resh roared. His fear triggered his magic, and he acted without thought. Purple light flared, and then the knife was in his hand. A dull ache took up residence in his head, his magic use reigniting the reaction headache he hadn’t fully recovered from yet. 

It took a moment for them to realize the blade was gone. Then Carr disengaged, flopping over on her back to press a hand to her side. Her labored breathing was clearly audible in the suddenly quiet room. 

Nykim sat up, staring at the blade, then at Resh with narrowed eyes. “Reaper’s pits, boy, why didn’t you just tell me you were a mage?” 

Resh gave a strangled laugh as the purple glow highlighting Nykim’s features slowly faded away. “I didn’t think it would matter.” 

The disbelief on the thief master’s face would’ve been humorous if not for the concerning way Carr started gasping for breath behind him. Resh threw the knife on the table, where it bounced off Nykim’s blade with a loud clang, and rushed to her side. 

“Where does it hurt?” he asked, brushing a stray chunk of hair from her brow.

She stared up at him through pain-glazed eyes. “Did you… heal me? Before? Missing wounds. I think.” 

Resh shook his head. There was no point keeping Nykim’s secret when the man was kneeling on her other side, eyes glowing green while he did whatever Healers do.

“Oh,” she said, and her eyes fluttered closed. 

Her elbow knocked into Resh’s thigh. He automatically shifted to give her more space, glancing down to ensure he’d moved enough. His gaze caught on the way she held her hand over her right side. Her fingers twitched, something dark and shiny coating them. Fresh blood. Shit. He snapped his head up, looking to Nykim for reassurance. 

“I may have missed something.” Nykim began unbuttoning the bottom of her jacket, his expression grim. “Or the exertion could’ve torn something. I only partially healed some of those wounds.”  

That was not reassuring in the slightest. 

Carr released a breathless moan of protest when Nykim moved on to the next button. The motion she used to bat him away was weak, but Nykim didn’t try to push. He pulled back immediately. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Resh said softly, reaching for her. Gods, her fingers were freezing. “Nykim needs to see to heal you. Will you let him?” 

Her eyes cracked open, and the pitiful look she gave him pierced his heart. His hand ached from the force of her grip. 

Resh looked at Nykim and shook his head. “Is there another way?” 

“I can probably get by with skin-to-skin contact,” Nykim said, his voice gentle. “Can I place my hand over yours? The one on your side?”

The barest of nods was her only answer. She kept her death grip on Resh while Nykim worked. 

Resh monitored her every breath, barely breathing himself until her stuttered gasps for air eased into a more regular rhythm. Nykim didn’t move, though, still bowed over her body, his large hand completely covering hers.    

“Resh?”

Carr’s voice startled him, and Resh realized he’d lost himself, searching through the hidden depths behind her hazel eyes. Heat crept up the back of his neck. “Oh, um. Yes?” 

A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Did… did Nykim. Hurt you?”

“He didn’t,” Resh said. He stroked his thumb over her fingers when her brow creased. “I thought he was going to kill me, but all he did was ask a bunch of questions. Maybe he would’ve if I hadn’t passed whatever test he was giving me. At least, I think I passed it? Kinda hard to tell since you put a knife to his throat.” 

“Looked like–” She winced. Swallowed. “Like he was about. To stab you.” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t be talking right now,” Resh said, concerned about her continued shortness of breath. He studied her for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, before looking at Nykim again. The green light behind his half-lidded eyes still bathed Carr’s abdomen. 

“I’m… fine.” 

Resh turned back to her. “It’s okay to not be fine, Carr. Or would you prefer Carrah?” 

She shook her head. 

“Okay,” he said, squeezing her hand. “You’ve been through a lot. Almost died. You should’ve been in bed, resting, not down here fighting with Nykim. As long as he’s taking, you can likely add another ‘almost died’ to the tally.” 

“Almost done,” Nykim interjected. 

Thank the gods. One of the knots in his chest loosened, just a bit. “So don’t tell me you’re fine. Please. It’s obvious you aren’t.” 

Her gaze shifted away at that, looking somewhere over his shoulder. Resh sighed; he probably shouldn’t have said that last part. 

While he was searching for something else to say, Nykim straightened, releasing a weary sigh. The light in his eyes slowly faded, leaving him looking about as exhausted as Carr. 

“I healed as much as I could,” Nykim said, running a hand over his face. “Listen to me, Carr.” 

She blinked and turned her head without meeting Resh’s eyes again. Heart sinking, he loosened his grip on her hand, prepared for her to pull away. She didn’t. 

“There’s not much time,” Nykim continued. “Someone will find the prince sooner rather than later. We have to get you out of the city before they close the gates.” 

Since Resh was watching her instead of Nykim, he caught the way her gaze sharpened. 

“Even before you ripped open that wound and tried to bleed out into your abdomen, you wouldn’t have had the strength to get out on your own. Someone would’ve needed to accompany you.” 

The set of Carr’s jaw showed she disagreed with that assessment. 

Of course she would. Resh almost snorted. Hadn’t Nykim just been telling him how stupid he was for assuming Carr would need help? 

Nykim shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Stubborn to the fucking core. Look, Resh here is in the same trouble as you. Plus, an… added complication. I needed to know if I could send him with you or if I needed to kill him. You can glare at me all you want, but that’s how things work in this life, and you know it.”   

At that, Carr wrenched her hand away and struggled to sit up. Although Resh hovered, it turned out she didn’t need his help. Another knot loosened.  

“Added complication,” she spat. “He saw you heal me the first time. That’s why you were about to kill him when you came for me.”

“What’s done is done,” Nykim said, waving his hand. “The boy is alive, and he’s going to stay alive unless you don’t want him along.” 

Resh looked up at that. “I passed?” 

“Depends on her.” 

“Not even a question.” She said it without a moment’s hesitation. 

A warmth bloomed in Resh’s chest that had nothing to do with getting to live. Which was also nice, of course. But he had earned enough of Carr’s trust that she’d not even had to think twice about him accompanying her out of the country. 

It was the greatest gift he’d ever been given. 

~~

Less than an hour later, Resh found himself seated in a carriage, moving at a brisk pace now that they had passed through the city’s gates. 

Across from him, freshly washed and in clean clothes, Carr shifted positions. Again. This time she wedged herself in the corner of her bench seat. It took a significant amount of fidgeting before she got comfortable. 

Despite her apparent restlessness, she’d given no indication she wished to talk. When Resh tried to engage her, she only gave one-word answers, so he elected to remain quiet. Instead, he studied her, trying not to be too obvious about it. A glance out of the corner of his eye while gazing out the window, really. 

Cleansed of the dried blood that had coated her, it was easier to see just how pale and worn she looked. Her damp hair hung about her face, grown out from the short choppy pieces he’d first seen her with. The longer strands seemed to be a source of annoyance. Resh watched as she pushed them back yet again, revealing the cut above her eyebrow and the bruises crossing her cheeks from that fucking muzzle.

Inside his sling, where she couldn’t see it, his right hand curled into a fist. There had been no time for either of them to process what had happened in that room. Resh was certain that was part of the reason Carr couldn’t be still. Probably why she wouldn’t rest either. 

He wanted to respect her choices. But he decided to speak up when she started blinking slowly, sleepily, only to force herself awake with more fidgeting. 

“Why don’t you lie down, close your eyes for a bit?” Resh suggested. Despite Nykim’s assurances, he was still worried about her overdoing it. 

Carr shook her head, tapping her fingers on her drawn-up knee. “I have months of this t’ look forward to, supposedly. Not gonna sleep through it all.” 

She’d lost a lot of blood, and Nykim had said it would take time for her body to replenish its supply. Resh hoped the resultant fatigue would keep her inactive long enough for the rest of her wounds to heal, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

Searching for a topic that might keep her interest, Resh latched onto the image of Carr and the thief master. He had seen them talking while he’d helped the ver–the kids load the carriage. He couldn’t think of them as vermin. Vermin were rats or other pests. Not children. 

Which had him thinking about his sister–no, he couldn’t think about Orla now. He would likely never see her again, and that was too painful to contemplate at the moment. A deep breath buried the ache in his chest, and Resh steered his thoughts back to where they had started. 

Carr and Nykim’s conversation hadn’t looked tense. Resh desperately hoped she’d forgiven him. It hadn’t escaped Resh that the man had guarded her secret for years. He’d only been looking out for her. 

Sucked it had been Resh’s life at stake, but Resh couldn’t really blame him.  

“Did you reach an understanding with Nykim before we left?” 

“Yeah.” Her response was short. Succinct. 

Godsdamnit. 

Resh leaned his head against the seat cushion, looking out upon the countryside. They were passing the fields outside the city, so he was treated to visions of farmers tending their crops or livestock grazing. Not very interesting, if you asked him. 

Time passed in slightly awkward silence, and they eventually passed through cultivated land into a stretch of wilderness. Resh sighed, relieved to be out of reach of the city. 

“Did you mean what you said?” Carr asked out of the blue. 

He raised an eyebrow, even while his palms began to sweat. Did she mean–

“When you said you loved me,” she said flatly, averting her gaze. 

Shit. Resh rubbed his left hand on his pants. “I… yeah, but listen, I don’t expect anything–” 

“Heard that part,” Carr interrupted, pulling her knees up to her chest. 

He had no idea what she was getting at, making him sweat even more. “I’m sorry. I’m not–I… I did mean what I told Nykim, but… it seems like maybe–maybe you mean something else?” 

Fuck, nothing was coming out right. Resh rubbed the back of his neck, trying to read her and coming up short. His shoulders slumped when she didn’t respond. “If that makes you uncomfortable, I can leave when–”   

“No! I don’t want that. I just…” Her arms tightened around her legs as she trailed off. 

When she didn’t continue, Resh took a deep breath and moved to the edge of his seat. “Carr, do you want… do you want to be friends?” 

He clenched his hands, hoping he wasn’t fucking everything up by asking. It just seemed like she needed some kind of reassurance, and being friends was safe, wasn’t it? And gods, how he wanted to be a friend to her.  

When she blinked at him, his breath caught in his throat. Shit, he wasn’t even sure his heart was beating. 

“I don’t know how,” she whispered. 

Resh offered an encouraging grin, even though his heart was breaking for her. “That’s okay. Our friendship can be whatever we want it to be.” 

She looked at him like he was some strange creature that had crawled out of the gutter. 

Okay, this was going well. Resh backtracked. “Or, um… we don’t need to name anything at all. We can just be… two people, traveling together. 

“And… when we’re done traveling? What happens then?” 

He didn’t think her eyes could possibly get any bigger. Or the look in them any wilder. If they hadn’t been trapped in a carriage, he suspected she might’ve run away. 

“Whatever you want.” Resh shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. He felt anything but. 

The silence was painful while Carr thought that over. The process looked exceedingly difficult; her brow creased and her mouth opened and closed several times before words finally came out. “I don’t… I want you to stay. With me. But I can’t–I can’t be… Fuck!” 

Somehow, she curled even tighter into a ball, burying her head between her arms. There was the muffled sound of a frustrated scream, and Resh shot across the space between the bench seats. 

“Carr, it’s just me,” Resh said, trying to give her some warning before he laid his hand on her arm. 

She twitched but didn’t jerk away. Still, he kept the contact light, something easy to pull back from if she needed to. Fine tremors he hadn’t been able to see but could now feel wracked her body. 

“Hey, it’s okay. When I said I don’t expect anything, I really meant anything.” He flushed, desperately hoping he wouldn’t need to elaborate. “I just… I enjoy your company. I want to be someone you feel comfortable around. Someone you can depend upon.” 

Gods, he sounded like a fool. He pulled his hand back, pushed it through his hair. Maybe she didn’t want anything that… familiar. Maybe all she wanted was not to feel alone. Either way, it didn’t matter what he wanted. He was the last thing she needed to worry about.   

“I hope you don’t think I’m trying to pressure you into anything, because I’m not. If you wanted to settle in separate towns, I would do it. If you never wanted to see me again, I would respect that. If all you wanted was to visit for a quarter of an hour once a season, I would take it. Look forward to it.”  

She lifted her head. “You don’t even know me outside of the prison. You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” he said firmly. “I don’t get the feeling you held back any part of yourself in there. Am I wrong?”

Her eyes were wary as she shook her head. 

Resh tucked a stray curl behind his ear. He didn’t miss how she followed the motion of his hand, and he sighed. “Look, I know this whole situation is fucked up. I’m sorry you heard what I said, and now you have to deal with that on top of everything else. It doesn’t change how I feel about you, but it’s not something I would’ve chosen to tell you barely a day after you were–” He choked on the words. 

Her face closed off. “Does that bother you?” She pressed against the wall, away from him. 

“How could it not?” A sharp pain pierced his chest, making it difficult to breathe. “I would give fucking anything for none of that to have happened. You should’ve left me. It should’ve been me. I wish it had been me.” 

He bowed his head to hide the tears stinging his eyes. Clenched his jaw against the sorrow that wanted to break free. 

There was a long silence while he struggled to pull himself back together. Then, he felt pressure against his shoulder. Carr had moved so silently he hadn’t noticed and was now leaning against him. 

“I don’t how t’ do any of this,” she said, staring straight ahead. “I’ll fuck it up.” 

The point of contact between them settled him and made his stupid heart jump at the same time. 

“I don’t care.” Resh leaned back against the seat and laid his hand on his thigh, palm up. Told himself not to start crying again.

Tentatively, Carr placed her hand in his. “I’ll annoy the shit outta you.” 

“Still don’t care.” 

“I’ll never be enough,” she whispered. 

The words were so quiet they were barely audible, and Resh’s heart contracted at the vulnerability in her tone. Carefully, slowly, he interlaced their fingers and squeezed. Her return grip was just this side of painful, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything. 

“You already are.” 

Masterlist

Image Description

[ID: The banner is a sepia-colored version of the original blue-green background, with tree branches arching over a set of blue-green eyes, forming an approximation of a face. The words Hidden Depths AU are written in white above the eyes. end ID]

#fantasy whump #lady whump #whump #whump writing #original writing #original characters #alternate universe #hidden depths au #angst #warnings above the cut #magic #magic healing #knife to throat #knife tw #blood tw #life threatening injuries #awkward romance #(kind of :D) #depends on who you're asking lol

[ithisatanytime]

Wicca Phase Springs Eternal - “Now That It's Dark” (Official Audio)

 i just want to say that its also the timing, for fear of appearing literally schizophrenic i dont document everytime i see them making moves specifically based on what ive literally JUST figured out for myself and shared publicly the night before. i dont think that the television is talking to me specifically, or that my cat is possessed by the ghost of st paul and hes commanding i kill taylor swift, i merely have seen numerous numerous very specific examples where i will offer up some idea or some take that i have literally NEVER seen anyone type nor heard anyone mutter before, and within hours or the following morning, threads dealing with that very specific thing. i have been harrassed online, but more, i have been harrassed in real life, only once that i NOTICED, but they made it so i had to notice because they realized that i dont pay attention. the way they harrassed me was direct, 2 strangers on the same day the fourth of july of this year, if i described the events of what happened it would sound like nothing, but if you had been there with me hidding perhaps in a bush i swear to you that youd believe everything i said in that instance because of what you saw. 

 im pretty sure i already mentioned what happened but i will briefly go over it, but understand i know this will sound mundane and there are other possible explanations that seem way more likely to you because i will not be able to properly express the nonverbal communication and full details. but in short, a jonah hill looking motherfucker was riding his bike in my direction on a sidewalk on my way to the beach, behind me about 20 yards so a bit of a distance was a group of young teenagers about 13 years old four to six in all. as he pass me, with his shirt open standing on his pedals as he rode past, he looked to me and said calmly “im on drugs im on probation, they cant do shit.” which he then repeated. i have been yelled at by crazy people many times, i spent 6 months in new york city, this shouldnt have made me feel as uneasy as it did, but it did. you have a sense usually, at least i do, of when someone coming towards you is crazy, or messed up on drugs, its not USUALLY a surprise when it happens you are tensed up waiting for it. i was immediately worried about the kids walking behind me, i turned around and started walking back towards the teens and saw him ride past them. when i got to them i asked if that man had said anything to them and they replied that he had not (this is highly unusual they were young attractive women with one very small young boy, the man didnt strike me as gay, i thought for sure if he yelled at me those kids were next makes no sense) i told them what he said to me, we laughed about it and moved on, occasionally while i was at the beach one of the kids would shout “im on drugs, im on probation, they cant do shit” and we would laugh. it made me really uneasy in a way no other public encounter had, not fearful but perplexed it just didnt fit in with everything else i knew about the world i had inhabit ted for 33 years. on my way home from the beach, a much more directly threatening encounter happened. this is the same day mind you, i am standing alone at an intersection, the road is clear, this is a small rural town, a young black man who sort of resembled xavier wulf but a bit skinnier a slightly more gracile bone structure, slow rolled around the corner, i mean hes practically stopped, and his window is down, his face is practically out his window at me and hes smiling as wide as he can in a cringy unsebtling low budget horror movie way, and nodding at me, his music is turned down, im not dressed out of the ordinary just waiting for my light, this is what i mean though, you will have to take my word that im not exaggeratting this and you must imagine it exactly as ive described it, if anything im under selling it. all i could do was smile and nod back mirroring him in a daze trying to make sense of what was happening right in the moment. he was so close i could have take a step forward and brushed his cheek as he slowly crept by. if you were there, you would have came to the same conclusion i did after a few minutes of walking home and pondering, but instead i must rely on peoples words.

 i am not taking pictures of license plates, or claiming a particular red car is following me, hell they might be! i literally would never know it, i am not paying attention. its possible these two encounters on the same day were not meant to be threatening, though independantly of one another, they on their own, each felt threatening to me, i wasnt scared, what i mean to say is i got the sense the message both these young men were sending was meant to convey a threat, each on their own, never felt that way about an encounter before, and both on the same day.

#youtube

[fantasticait]

Just as we were all getting back into the mainland domestic groove, somebody started in with dragons and crop blights from across the North Sea. Now bitter winds were screaming in from the west, searing the land and ripping the grass from the soil. I tried to put these things out of my mind. On summer evenings my young wife and I would sit out front, high on potato wine, and watch the sun stitch its orange skirt across the horizon. At times such as these, you get a good, humble feeling, like the gods made this place, this moment, first and concocted you as an afterthought just to be there to enjoy it. But I knew what it meant when I heard those flint-edged winds howling past the house. Some individuals three weeks’ boat ride off were messing up our summer and would probably need their asses whipped over it.

Djarf, whose wife was a sour, carp-mouthed thing and little argument for staying home, was agitating to hop back in the ship and go straighten things out in Northumbria. My buddy Gnut, who lived just over the stony moraine our wheat field backed up on, came down the hill one day and admitted that he, too, was giving it some thought. Like me, he wasn’t big on warrioring. He was just crazy for boat. He’d have rowed from his shack to his shithouse if somebody would invent a ship whose prow could cut sod. His wife had passed years ago, dead from bad milk, and now that she was gone, the part of Gnut that felt peaceful in a place that didn’t move beneath him had sickened and died as well.

Gnut’s wool coat was stiff with filth and his long hair so heavy and unclean that even the raw wind was having a hard time getting it to move. He had a good crust of snot going in his mustache, not a pleasant thing to look at, but then, he had no one around to find it disagreeable. He tore a sprig of heather from the ground and chewed at its sweet roots.

“Djarf get at you yet?” he asked.

“No, not yet, but I’m not worried he’ll forget.”

He took the sprig from his teeth and briefly jammed it into his ear before tossing it away. “You gonna go?”

“Not until I hear the particulars, I won’t.”

“You can bet I’m going. A hydra flew in last night and ran off Rolf Hierdal’s sheep. We can’t be putting up with this shit. It comes down to pride, is what it comes down to.”

I wished Gnut would go ahead and own up to the fact that his life out here was making him lonely and miserable instead of laying on with this warrior-man routine. I could tell just to look at him that most days he was thinking of walking into the water and not bothering to turn back. It wasn’t combat he was after. He wanted back on the boat among company.

The clouds were spilling out low across the sky when we shoved off. Thirty of us on board, Gnut rowing with me at the bow and behind us a lot of other men I’d been in some shit with before.

Gnut was overjoyed. He laughed and sang and put a lot of muscle into the oar, me just holding my hands on it to keep up appearances. I was missing Pila already. She hadn’t come down to see me off, too mad and sad about me leaving to get up out of bed. But I looked for her anyway, the land scooting away with every jerk of the oars. If Gnut knew I was hurting, he didn’t say so. He nudged me and joked, and kept up a steady flow of dull, merry chatter, as though this whole thing was a private vacation the two of us had cooked up together.

Thanks to the easy wind bellying our sails, we crossed fast and sighted the island six days early. One of the hockchoppers spotted it first, and when he did, he let everyone know it by cutting loose with a long, obnoxious battle howl. He drew his sword and swung it in figure eights above his head, causing the men around him to scatter under the gunwales. This boy was a nasty item, with a face like a buzzard’s, his cheeks showing more boils than beard. I’d seen him around at home. He had three blackened, chopped-off thumbs reefed to his belt.

Haakon Gokstad glanced up from his seat in the stern and shot the boy a baleful look. Haakon had been on more raids and runs than the bunch of us put together. He was old and achy and worked the rudder, partly because he could read the tides by how the blood moved through his hands, and also because those old arms were poor for pulling oars. “Put your ass on that bench, young man,” Haakon said to the boy. “We got twelve hours’ work between here and there.”

You could say that those people on Lindisfarne were fools, living out there on a tiny island without high cliffs or decent natural defenses, and so close to us and also the Swedes and the Norwegians, how we saw it, we couldn’t afford not to come by and sack every now and again. But when we came into the bright little bay, a quiet fell over all of us. The place was wild with fields of purple thistle, and when the wind blew, it twitched and rolled, like the hide of some fantastic animal shrugging in its sleep. Wildflowers spurted on the hills in fat red gouts. Apple trees lined the shore, and there was something sorrowful in how they hung so low with fruit. We could see a man making his way toward a clump of white-walled cottages, his donkey loping along behind him with a load. On the far hill, I could make out the silhouette of the monastery, which still lacked a roof from when we’d burned it last. It was a lovely place, and I hoped there would still be something left to enjoy after we got off the ship and wrecked it up.

We gathered on the beach, and already Djarf was in a lather. He did a few deep knee bends, got down in front of all of us and ran through some poses, cracking his bones and drawing out the knots in his muscles.

Gnut smiled and squinted up at the sky. “My God, it’s a fine day. Let’s go up the hill and see if we can’t scratch up a bite to eat.”

We hiked to the little settlement on the hill. Some ways over, where the monastery was, the young men were on a real binge. They’d dragged out a half-dozen monks, hanged them from a tree, and then set the tree on fire.

Our hands were stiff and raw from the row over, and we paused at a well in the center of the village to wet our palms and have a drink. We were surprised to see the kid with the thumbs in his belt bust forth from a stand of ash trees, yanking some poor half-dead citizen along behind him. He walked over to where we were standing and let his victim collapse in the dusty boulevard.

“This is nice,” he said to us. “You’d make good chieftains, standing around like this, watching other people work.”

“Why, you little turd,” Haakon said, and backhanded the boy across the mouth. The fellow lying there in the dust looked up and chuckled. The boy flushed. He plucked a dagger from his hip scabbard and stabbed Haakon in the stomach. There was a still moment. Haakon gazed down at the ruby stain spreading across his tunic. He looked greatly vexed.

As the young man realized what he’d done, his features fretted up like a child trying to pout his way out of a spanking. He was still looking that way when Haakon cleaved his head across the eyebrows with one crisp stroke.

Haakon cleaned his sword and looked again at his stomach. “Sumbitch,” he said, probing the wound with his pinky. “It’s deep. I believe I’m in a fix.”

“Nonsense,” said Gnut. “Just need to lay you down and stitch you up.”

Ørl, who was softhearted, went over to the man the youngster had left. He propped him up against the well and gave him the bucket to sip at.

Across the road, an old dried-up farmer had come out of his house. He stared off at the smoke from the monastery rolling down across the bay. He nodded at us. We walked over.

He pointed at Haakon, who was leaning on Gnut and looking pretty spent. “Looks like your friend’s got a problem. Unless you’d like to watch him die, why don’t you bring him inside? Got a daughter who’s hell’s own seamstress.”

The man, who was called Bruce, had a cozy little place. We all filed in. His daughter was standing by the stove. She gave a nervous little cry when we came through the door. She had a head full of thick black hair, and a thin face, pale as sugar— a pretty girl. So pretty, in fact, that you didn’t notice right off that she was missing an arm. We all balked and had a good stare at her. But Gnut, you could tell, was truly smitten. The way he looked, blanched and wide-eyed, he could have been facing a wild dog instead of a good-looking woman. He rucked his hands through his hair and tried to lick the crust off his lips. Then he nodded and uttered a solemn “Hullo.”

“Mary,” Bruce said, “this man has developed a hole in his stomach. I said we’d help fix him up.” Mary looked at Haakon. “Aha,” she said. She lifted his tunic and surveyed the wound.

“Water,” she said to Ørl, who was looking on. Gnut eyed him jealously as he left for the well. Then Gnut cleared his throat. “I’d like to pitch in,” he said. Mary directed him to a little sack of onions in the corner and told him to chop. Bruce got a fire going in the stove. Mary set the water on and shook in some dry porridge. Haakon, who had grown rather waxen, crawled up on the table and lay still. “I don’t feel like no porridge,” he said.

“Don’t worry about that,” Bruce said. “The porridge is just for the onions to ride in on.”

Gnut kept an eye on Mary as he bent over a small table and overdid it on the onions. He chopped and chopped, and when he’d chopped all they had, he started chopping the chopped-up ones over again.

Finally, Mary looked over and told him, “That’s fine, thank you,” and Gnut laid the knife down. When the porridge was cooked, Mary threw in a few handfuls of onion and took the concoction over to Haakon. He regarded her warily, but when she held the wooden spoon out to him, he opened his mouth like a baby bird. He chewed and swallowed. “Doesn’t taste very good,” he said, but he kept eating anyway.

A minute passed, and then a peculiar thing occurred. Mary lifted Haakon’s tunic again, put her face to the wound, and sniffed at it. She paused a second and then did it again.

“What in the world is this?” I asked.

“Gotta do this with a wound like that,” Bruce said. “See if he’s got the porridge illness.”

“He doesn’t have any porridge illness,” I said. “At least, he didn’t before now. What he’s got is a stab hole in his stomach. Now stitch the man up.”

“Won’t do any good if you smell onions coming out of that hole. Means he’s got the porridge illness and he’s done for.”

Haakon looked up. “Talking about a pierced bowel? Can’t believe it’s as bad as all that.”

Mary had another sniff. The wound didn’t smell like onions. She cleaned Haakon with hot water and stitched the hole to a tight pucker.

Haakon fingered the stitches, and, satisfied, passed out. The five of us stood around, and no one could think of anything to say.

“So,” Gnut said in an offhand way. “Were you born like that?”

“Like what?” Mary said.

“Without both arms, I mean. Is that how you came out?”

“Sir, that’s fine a thing to ask my daughter,” Bruce said. “It was your people that did it to her.”

Gnut said, “Oh.” And then he said it again, and then really no one could think of anything to say.

Then Mary spoke. “It wasn’t you who did it,” she said. “But the man who did, I think I’d like to kill him.”

Gnut told her that if she would please let him know who it was, he’d consider it a favor if she’d let him intervene on her behalf.

Ørl opened up his wineskin, and we all had a dose. It was sweet and potent and we drank and laughed and carried on. Haakon came to. His ordeal had put him in a mawkish bent of mind, and he raised a toast to his pretty surgeon, and to the splendid day, and how much it pleased him that he’d get to see the end of it. Bruce and Mary loosened up and we all talked like old friends. Mary told a lewd story about an apothecary who lived down the road. She was having a good time and did not seem to mind how close Gnut was standing. No one looking in on us would have known we were the reason this girl was missing an arm, and also the reason, probably, that nobody asked where Bruce’s wife had gone.

It was not long before we heard somebody causing a commotion at the well. Me and Gnut and Ørl stepped outside. Djarf had stripped to his waist, and his face and arms and pants looked about how you’d figure. He was hauling up buckets of cold water, dumping it over his head, and shrieking with delight. The blood ran off him pink and watery. He saw us and came over.

“Hoo,” he said, shaking water from his hair. He jogged in place for a minute, shivered, and then straightened up. “Mercy, that was a spree. Not much loot to speak of, but a hell of a goddamn spree.” He massaged his thighs and spat a few times. Then he said, “So, you do much killing?”

“Nah,” I said. “Haakon killed that little what’s-his-name lying over there, but no, we’ve just been sort of taking it easy.”

“Hm. What about in there?” he asked, indicating Bruce’s cottage. “Who lives there? You kill them?”

“No, we didn’t,” Ørl said. “They helped put Haakon back together and everything. Seem like good folks.”

“Nobody’s killing them,” Gnut said.

“So everybody’s back at the monastery, then?” I asked.

“Well, most of them. Those young men had a disagreement over some damn thing and fell to cutting each other. Gonna make for a tough row out of here. Pray for wind, I guess.”

Brown smoke was heavy in the sky, and I could hear dim sounds of people screaming.

Gnut didn’t come down to the feast. He said he needed to stay at Bruce and Mary’s to look after Haakon. Bullshit, of course, seeing as Haakon made it down the hill by himself and crammed his tender stomach with about nine tough steaks. When the dusk started going black and still no Gnut, I legged it back up to Bruce’s to see about him. Gnut was sitting on a hollow log outside the cottage, flicking gravel into the weeds.

“She’s coming with me,” he said.

“Mary?”

He nodded gravely. “I’m taking her home with me to be my wife. She’s in there talking it over with Bruce.”

“This a voluntary thing, or an abduction-type deal?”

Gnut looked off toward the bay as though he hadn’t heard the question. “She’s coming with me.”

We sat a minute and watched the sparks rising from the bonfire on the beach. The warm evening wind carried smells of blossoms and wood smoke, and I was overcome with calm. We walked into Bruce’s, where only a single suet candle was going. Mary stood by the window with her one arm across her chest. Bruce was worked up. When we came in, he moved to block the door. “You get out of my house,” he said. “You just can’t take her, what little I’ve got.”

Gnut did not look happy, but he shouldered past and knocked Bruce on his ass. I went and put a hand on the old farmer, who was quaking with rage.

Mary did not hold her hand out to Gnut. But she didn’t protest when he put his arm around her and moved her toward the door. The look she gave her father was a wretched thing, but still she went easy. With just one arm like that, what could she do? What other man would have her?

Their backs were to us when Bruce grabbed up an awl from the table and made for Gnut. I stepped in front of him and broke a chair on his face, but still he kept coming, scrabbling at my sword, trying to snatch up something he could use to keep his daughter from going away. I had to hold him steady and run my knife into his cheek. I held it there like a horse’s bit, and then he didn’t want to move. When I got up off him he was crying quietly. As I was leaving, he threw something at me and knocked the candle out.

And you might think it was a good thing, that Gnut had found a woman who would let him love her, and if she didn’t exactly love him back, at least she would, in time, get to feeling something for him that wasn’t so far from it. But what would you say about that crossing, when the winds went slack and it was five long weeks before we finally fetched up home? Gnut didn’t hardly say a word to anybody, just held Mary close to him, trying to keep her soothed and safe from all of us, his friends. He wouldn’t look me in the face, stricken as he was by the awful fear that comes with getting hold of something you can’t afford to lose.

After that trip, things changed. It seemed to me that all of us were leaving the high and easy time of life and heading into deeper waters. Not long after we got back, Djarf had a worm crawl up a hole in his foot and had to give up raiding. Gnut turned to homesteading full-time, and I saw less of him. Just catching up over a jar turned into a hassle you had to plan two weeks in advance. And when we did get together, he would laugh and jaw with me a little bit, but you could see he had his mind on other things. He’d gotten what he wanted, but he didn’t seem too happy about it, just worried all the time.

It didn’t make much sense to me then, what Gnut was going through, but after Pila and me had our little twins, and we put a family together, I got an understanding of how terrible love can be. You wish you hated those people, your wife and children, because you know the things the world will do to them, because you have done some of those things yourself. It’s crazy-making, yet you cling to them with everything and close your eyes against the rest of it. But still you wake up late at night and lie there listening for the creak and splash of oars, the clank of steel, the sounds of men rowing toward your home.

_______ Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower. Story Abridged. Buy his book here.

#literature #capital-L Literature #favorite books #book recommendations #short story #Wells Tower #vikings #abridged #the unabridged story has more blood though #April 1805. Napoleon is master of Europe. Only the British fleet stands before him. Oceans are now battlefields.

[funnywiccanwritingcorner]

Le Joyau le plus precieux - Candyfloss

Chapter III

The entrance to the candy shop was ridiculously squashed at the sides by the facades of the two adjacent buildings. It consisted of a microscopic shop window and an equally small door, all supported by a chocolate-coloured frame. The sign above the entrance displayed in large letters "Billy's Candy".

Jesse's first impression on coming across it was that the architect had been inspired by some bizarre building from a Tim Burton film. He grabbed the brass door handle and opened it; the sound of an old bell alerted the owner of the presence of someone.

Billy emerged from behind the counter; when he realised it was the actor he smiled: -Hello, stranger! Not even a day has passed and here you are!- But the other was not listening to him. He was too busy looking at the rows of shelves full of jars filled with all kinds of delicacies, each with its own label and the price written under the name. The furniture was all the same colour as the door, even the counter looked like a chocolate bar. Of all this, Jesse made an almost murmured summary: -It's bigger on the inside...- -Ah! I see where you got this one from!- -Huh?- -The quote.- -I didn't make any quote.- -... Forget it. Back to us, were you really that eager to see me again?- The actor snorted: -You told me where to find you, I simply...- -Wait wait, I'll be right back.- Billy disappeared again under the counter; after a minute Jesse, not seeing him not return, decided to peek over it. There was an open metal trapdoor in the floor.

-What the...- He went behind the counter and approached: a wooden ladder led down, and a smell of caramel was rising along with a strange bubbling noise. Taking small steps down the ladder, the actor gradually detected other aromas such as mint, vanilla and chocolate, and even biscuits. He then found himself in a space as large as the one upstairs, full of ovens and cookers but also strange stills for distillation and pots of various shapes and sizes hanging from the ceiling. Two large refrigerators in the corners of the same wall sent out a low hum; on the opposite side a large red brick oven had just been switched off. Right around it was bustling Billy, who with red oven mitts was placing trays of biscuits on a shelf. All the furniture, curiously enough, was in the the same shade of colour as that of the shop.

-Just in time! The lady would kill me if I screwed up her order!- exclaimed the blond man taking the last batch. -Do you bake the sweets yourself?- -Sure, what did you think, that I had mini workers cooking down here?- -I thought you had at least one helper.- -I can't afford staff.- He removed his gloves and bent down to take from the lower counters some white boxes, like those you see in American movies for carrying doughnuts. -That's a lot of biscuits.- -Yeah, they're for the owner of a tea shop I know; she's three blocks away. She's a bit of a cranky spinster but not a bad one, and she pays well.- Being careful not to burn himself, he transferred the biscuits from the baking tins to the boxes. -How long have you been open, exactly?- -Three months. But things have only been running for two.- -And you did all this by yourself?- -Not really. There used to be a Chinese restaurant here, but they closed it down after the owner served accidentally bad shrimps for dinner. Twenty people intoxicated, can you imagine? Everything was already set up, I just had to redo the wiring and tidy up a bit here and there.- He closed the chat along with the last box: -Now I gotta make the delivery, man, so...- -Naturally. But could I know the shop's closing time?- Billy looked at him puzzled: -Why...?- -If I may be so bold, I would like to continue our conversation later.-

The blond was stunned. Was he making fun of him? After all, he was an actor, even if he was a little weirdo. -Do you want a date?- Jesse didn't flinch: -I'd say more like a walk. What do you think?- -That you're crazy.- He loaded the stacked boxes into his arms and walked towards the steps. The other followed him:  -Remember when I told you about being interested in someone?- -Vaguely.- -What if I told you that my interest is seriously about you?- Billy placed the boxes on the counter top and took some string from a drawer: 

-You don't have many friends, do you?- -You don't answer a question with another question.- -And I'll ask you another: why would someone like you would ever have an interest in me?- -Like me?- Tightening the knot of the string, the candyman added: -Yes, well, you seem to me a cultured an refined fellow, whereas yours truly is just a high-school graduate.- -You shouldn't belittle yourself like that.- -I'm used to it.- He picked up the boxes again and headed for the exit: -Thanks anyway; it's been a while since I had heard an excuse, even if it was a bit trite, to convince me to go out. It's almost flattering, daddy.- While talking, he had opened the door by pushing the handle with his elbow, and without giving the other time to reply, gave him a playful tongue with a wink, and ran out.

Astonished, Jesse stood motionless on the spot for a moment, trying to put the sequence of events in a logical order, but he was unable to do so, and he also had the feeling that he had been somehow misunderstood. But one thing became clear to him: the boy had a problem relating to others. And neither did he get angry at being mocked. With a sigh, he adjusted his scarf and prepared to leave. He noticed that the shop's timetable had actually been placed in a corner of the window in the form of a sticker.

-I was expecting you ten minutes ago, boy! Where have you been?- -I've been having trouble, ma'am...- -Miss!- Next thing you know, she'll be getting yelled at by that nutcase, so Billy handed her the biscuit tins and reiterated: -Miss Jane, if I discount you ten euros will you stop yelling at me?- She took the boxes under her arm and, huffing, adjusted a lock of her carrot-coloured hair behind her ear: -I'll go get the money, wait here.- Billy watched her disappear into the diner; meanwhile he felt a slight dizziness. "Here we go again..." He took from his inside jacket pocket a chocolate cigarette and began to eating it. When Miss Jane returned, with cash in hand, she could not help but ask: -That hypoglycaemia problem again? Have you gone to see a doctor?- -It's all under control. One sweet treat and I'm fine.- -Except your teeth will rot from all the damn sugar you swallow. -She shoved the money in his hand: -And now get out of here, I have to open the lounge. -Evening, Miss.- Shoving the money in his pocket, he walked back to his shop at a brisk pace. When he entered, he saw that Jesse was gone. Not that he had expected to find him still there, after all. "I almost feel sorry for ditching him so badly... Ah, but who has time to think about that; I have to prepare the gummy crocodiles and grenadine!"

Jesse returned to the front of the shop five minutes before closing time. He was clutching a brown paper bag with one hand, and found himself fiddling with the hem of his scarf with the other, just to pass the time. Finally he saw Billy come out to lock up; he approached him at a leisurely pace as he put the padlock to the shutter: -Hey, hello.- The other jumped up with a shriek, and putting his hand on his chest, recognising the actor he shouted: -You almost gave me a heart attack!!! Does tha look like the way?!?- Th darkie stifled the impulse to laugh on the spot: Billy had such a funny face at that moment. He handed him the bag: -I have a peace offering.- -Uhm?- Grabbing the object, he immediately opened it to examine its contents. It was sandwiches cut into triangles. -They're all for you. I thought you'd be hungry by now- the actor added, -In return I only ask to accompany you to... whatever place you need to return to.- -I don't need to be accompanied...- His stomach muttered slightly; the sweets he had eaten earlier had not been enough to satiate him, only delaying the need for a full meal. He grabbed a sandwich: -But if you want to, it's fine; I should warn you, however, that I also speak with my mouth full.- -I'll avoid watching you do it, then.-

The two set off towards the centre of Paris, in the residential area, wandering through increasingly deserted streets. It was Billy who broke the silence: -How come you brought me food?- -I thought I had offended you in some way, seeing how you cut the conversation short this afternoon.- Filling his mouth with a sandwich, his cheeks swollen, the other mumbled: -What the hell? No!- Jesse looked at him: with those funny protruding teeth and cheeks full of food he looked like a hamster. A smile came to his face. -What is it?- -Nothing.-

As Miss Jane threw out the rubbish and was about to close up in her turn, she noticed across the street Billy walking with a strange, tall, distinguished man. She stared at them for a while, muttering to herself: -Where did that handsome guy come from? Yeez. The little boy has more taste than I thought.-

Jesse took the conversation to another tone: -About today... I was serious when I was talking about taking an interest in you. I actually don't have many friends outside of show business, and we end up almost always talking about the same old things.- -Really?- Filling his mouth with another sandwich, he mumbled, scattering crumbs on the the floor: -You must be pretty bored if so little interests you.- -Little? For pity's sake, what drives you to have such a contemptible opinion of yourself?- -Ah, the list is long, but the sad story of my life can be summed up in a few words: absent parents, troubled adolescence, running away from home as soon as I turned 18... Take your pick. As for me as far as I'm concerned, I try to live day to day worrying only about my business.-

The actor did not know what to say. That boy who at first sight had seemed to him immature, cheerful and irreverent had, after all, his own reasons for not talking about his private affairs.

-Fortunately I'm not one of those who gets depressed about his past misfortunes, otherwise you would have called me a whiner!- joked Billy, who, having finished his meal, rolled up the bag and, locating a metal bucket, threw it in an attempt to go to the basket; he narrowly missed the target. -Argh!- He ran to retrieve the waste, followed at a slower pace by Jesse, -I never get it on the first shot!- He threw the paper ball into the basket, huffing. The other took a handkerchief from his pocket: -You have some sauce left on your cheek, wait...- -Huh?- Jesse wiped his face with a corner of the handkerchief, then smiled: -Done. The pink of the tuna doesn't match your freckles, you know?-

He received no reply. Billy stood motionless, staring at him with wide blue eyes. -Are you all right?- He slowly saw the boy's face turn redder and redder, going from a more mild to a true purple. Still without answering, he ran away so quickly that it took the actor a moment to realise he was gone. -What did I say?-

Back at home, if you can call it that, a tiny flat in total disarray, Billy  closed the door behind him and let his uniform jacket slip off his shoulders, took off his shoes without even untying the laces and threw them off, letting them go their way to finish the path by throwing himself face-first onto the bed, raising candy wrappers and wrinkled clothes, sighing heavily. He then curled up on his side, hugging the pillow, and threw his face into it, which had turned red like a traffic light; he began to make a sound like a little girl shrieking. It was not very common that they were kind to him.

#lucky luke #joe dalton #joyau #modern au #fanfiction #spin off #candyfloss #billy the kid #jesse james #calamity jane #morris

[dreamerstreamer]

Pocket Knife Prince

Pairing: c!Technoblade x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] You’ve liked Technoblade from the moment he joined Pogtopia, but you could never quite bring yourself to confess. Who knew it would only take a pocket knife and some potatoes to change that?

Warnings: minor cursing & one slightly out of pocket joke

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this a repost of an older story i had posted a while back. this story takes place back when technoblade was still allied with pogtopia. i hope you enjoy! <3

You huffed as you pulled yourself up another rung on the ladder, your arms straining as you did your best to keep yourself balanced. You still couldn’t fathom why Tommy thought it was a good idea to dig straight down.

“I’ll hit a cave, eventually,” he had told you as he grabbed a pickaxe, already starting to mine away at the space beneath his feet.

“Maybe,” you had said. “But what if you hit a lava pool? Do you really want to burn alive?”

“Oh, I have a backup plan in case I fuck up.” He held up a bucket of water, grinning at you. “Bam. Fucking foolproof.”

Yeah, sure, you thought to yourself with a grimace as you continued to haul yourself upward. You might not have died while digging down, but I might die while climbing up. 

Pausing, you reached behind you to adjust the strap of your back with a cry of frustration. This is way too heavy—I should have gone back earlier.

You looked back up again, squinting for a second before your eyes lit up. At long last, light! You were at least somewhat close to the entrance, now. “Just a bit more climbing,” you muttered to yourself as you reached up once more, “and then you’ll be able to take this stupid bag off.”

A few moments later, you gasped as you finally dragged yourself out of the vertical tunnel, standing up on shaky legs. Without even an ounce of hesitation, you swung your pack off your back, dumping it onto the dusty earth ungracefully. Your muscles practically screamed with relief as you rolled back your shoulders, a wide smile stretching across your face.

“Hey, boys!” you shouted, your voice echoing in the tall ravine. “Guess who’s back?!”

You heard some rumbling, then a tuft of blond hair peeked out from one of the overhanging pillars. “Big [Y/N]!” Tommy shouted, waving at you. “You took for-fuckin’-ever to get back.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “It’s not my fault we needed so much stuff.” You narrowed your gaze. “Also, your ladder idea sucks.” 

Tommy scowled. “My ladder idea is fucking genius, you bi—”

A new voice cut in. “Tommy, that’s enough.”

You smiled triumphantly as you watched Tommy immediately shrink back, his tone quieting as he grumbled defeatedly, “Yes, Wilbur.”

Giving him a quick ruffle of his hair, Wilbur strolled down the ravine’s cobblestone steps down to the bottom. He pulled his hands out of his coat pockets as he flashed you a grin. “Welcome back, [Y/N]. How was the trip?”

You offered him a weary but satisfied look. “Oh, you know. Dark. Dusty. The usual. But…” Bending down, you flipped open the top of your pack and pulled out a smaller sack, shaking it in front of his face. “…I got all that gold you wanted! There’s probably a little less than seven stacks in there, which will be plenty if we want to make some golden apples.”

Wilbur blinked at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise as a smile began to tug at his lips. “Not that I doubt you or anything,” he said, “but where in the world did you manage to get nearly seven stacks of gold?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, dropping the bag into his hands with a hum. “In a cave.” When he stared at you in stunned silence, you quirked a brow at him. “What? It’s not like it was hard.”

He was grinning now, shaking his head. “You’re batshit crazy, [Y/N]. That’s incredible.”

You smiled sheepishly at his words. “For the record,” you pointed out, “I didn’t do it all in a single day or anything. I was gone for, like, half a week.”

“That’s still really good work, alright?” He reached over, playfully punching your shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

You winced, shooting him a dirty look. “Ow, that hur—”

“Oh, you’re back.”

Your head whipped around at the sound of low, rumbling voice. Your frown vanished at the sight of Technoblade standing a few feet away from you, a basket of potatoes held in his gloved hands. You felt your heart swell and a bright grin replace your scowl as you bounced over to him. “Hi, Techno!” you chirped.

He smiled back at you, his gaze kind. “Hello.”

From behind you, Wilbur let out a distressed noise. “Jeez, you seem so excited to talk to him but barely batted an eye at me. Did you miss him that much?”

You stuck your tongue out at him, trying to hide the flush of your cheeks. “More than I did you.”

Tommy cackled as he walked by, adjusting the straps of the pack in his hands. “Ouch. Maybe you should get some ice for that burn, Wilbur.”

Wilbur grimaced, opening his mouth to retort when his gaze suddenly lit up. “Actually,” he said, turning, “speaking of ice, who wants to go with me to the Nether to destroy some of the SMP’s and Manberg’s ice roads?” A devilish grin split across his face. “I figured that it would slow them down a bunch and they’d spend less time focusing on us, so it’ll be easier for us to get into contact with Tubbo.”

You blinked at him, then sent him a teasing smile. “Wilbur, this might one of the only good ideas you’ve had since starting a drug cartel.”

“Thank y—wait, is that a compliment?”

“Man,” Technoblade sighed, rolling his eyes at him, “just take it as one and let your ego coast on that for the next six months.”

“Anyways,” Wilbur said, ignoring him and moving on, “who wants to come with me?”

You shook your head, shifting your weight from foot to foot. “No thanks. I just got back from a long, long mining trip. I think I’m due for some time off.”

Wilbur nodded. “Alright, fair.” His gaze moved to the figure standing next to you. “Techno?”

Technoblade simply raised the basket of potatoes in his hands. “Nah. I’ve got my hands full here.”

Wilbur made a face, a hint of desperation seeping into his eyes. “You can farm potatoes any time,” he said, his voice raising a pitch or two. “How about you just come with m—”

“Why don’t I just go?”

Wilbur froze, and he turned with a shaky smile. “A-Are you sure about that, Tommy? You sure you don’t just want to stay in the ravine with [Y/N]?”

Tommy shrugged, flipping the stick in his hand. “Not really. It’s not like I have anything better to do, anyways.” He nudged the pack at his feet. “I’m even packed and ready to go, too.”

Wilbur swallowed, and you could have sworn a bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. “You really want to come?” he added, sounding more and more uncertain with each word that passed his lips.

“I dunno, Wilbur,” Technoblade spoke up, quirking his lips at him, “but it almost sounds like you don’t want to bring Tommy with you.”

Tommy gasped, looking appalled. “What the hell, Will? Of course you want me to go with you, right?”

Wilbur turned on his heel, dragging a tired hand over his face. “Sure, Tommy. Let’s just say that.” He strode away toward the stairs, practically stomping his way up to the second floor. “Just give me a second to grab a pack,” he sighed, waving a hand behind him. “I’ll be down in like five minutes.”

Tommy threw his hands in the air, waving his stick. “Fuck yeah!”

Technoblade let out a quiet chuckle, turning on his heel. “Well, I’m gonna go back to farming.”

You glanced at him shyly, trailing after him. “Can I come with?”

His step faltered, and he turned to send you a fond look. “Always.”

Your heart lit up at the sight and you grinned, following him into the garden room. The entirety of the floor had been replaced with dirt, tiny streams of water weaving their way around the potato patches. You let out a quiet hum as Technoblade set the basket of potatoes on the ground, grabbing a hoe from its place on the wall and walking over to the makeshift field. Digging the blade of the hoe into the earth, he pulled back and repeated the motion until the soft, dark soil was exposed to the air. Leaning back against the wall, a soft smile crept onto your face as you watched.

You remembered when Technoblade first arrived in the Dream SMP, all those months ago. You had been sitting in the ravine, peeling an apple with a pocket knife as you chatted with Wilbur, when Tommy burst in with a deafening shout about “the blade”. Raising your head, you had opened your mouth to make a snarky retort, but the words died in your mouth the minute you laid eyes on him.

He looked like a prince—a handsome one, at that.

While Wilbur had jumped down to greet Technoblade with a friendly hug, you had simply stared at the newcomer, pocket knife in your hand and apple slice in the other. As Tommy brought Technoblade over to you and asked you to introduce yourself, you remembered that dizzy pink feeling rising in your chest as you blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Want an apple slice?”

You had expected him to be confused, shaking his head and pulling away with a disgusted look. But instead, his gaze flickered to your hand.

“I’d rather have the knife.”

You had blinked at him for a moment, stunned, then burst into laughter, outstretching your hand with the pocket knife handle extended toward him. He had offered you a small, awkward smile back, gingerly taking the knife from you. When his hands brushed against yours, that hazy, rosy feeling swelled in your chest again.

Ever since that moment, you’d only fallen harder and harder.

It was difficult to put into words just what drew you to Technoblade. Of course, he was pretty, but you weren’t that shallow. He had an awkward charm to him, something that seeped into every aspect of his being. He was hardworking, determined, sarcastic, and oh-so very real. You couldn’t name one thing about him that you didn’t like, really. You loved his laughter that came in brief, giggling bursts. Every time he smiled, you couldn’t help but smile back. He never failed to keep you guessing, and you loved every second you spent with him.

You weren’t sure how far you’d fallen at this point, but you knew one thing, and it was that there was no going back.

“Hey,” a new voice said suddenly, pulling you away from your thoughts. You turned, watching Tommy stick his head into the room. “Can I have some potatoes for the trip?”

Your eyes shot to Technoblade, who paused for a moment, then nodded, gesturing to the basket at his feet. “Sure. You can have a couple.”

Tommy grinned, strolling in to lean down and pluck three potatoes from the pile. Standing back up again, he toed the basket, tossing and catching a potato in his hands. “Hey, Techno,” he said, “don’t you ever get tired of farming these things?”

Technoblade paused, patting down the dirt he had just covered another potato with. “Eh, not really.” His eyes flickered with contentment, and you felt your lips twitch. “I like it.”

Tommy frowned. “But,” he said, “it’s so fucking boring.”

You gasped, shooting him a glare. “Tommy! That’s mean.”

“What? Am I wrong?” He flung his arm out to point at the tilled dirt, clearly unimpressed. “All he’s doing is the same fucking thing over and over, again. We’re in a war, [Y/N]. Why can’t he just spar with me or something?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, deadpanning. “Tommy, the last time you sparred with Technoblade, you lasted less than ten seconds.” 

He grew quiet. “Okay, well, you didn’t have to put it like that, but—”

“What? Am I wrong?” you said, mimicking him.

A second passed. Then two.

“…touché, [Y/N].”

“Tommy!” Wilbur’s voice echoed from the top of the stairs, his head popping out from between the railings. “You ready to go?”

Without missing a beat, Tommy whipped around, rushing out of the farm room and slipping up the stairs. “I’m coming!”

A smirk tugged at Wilbur’s lips. “Heh.”

“Wha—oh, Will! That’s fucking disgusting.”

“But it was funny,” you called out after the youngest.

“Fuck off, [Y/N]!”

Beside you, Technoblade let out a laugh, his eyes curving into two crescent moons as he set down the hoe and picked up a shovel. With a fond smile gracing your lips, you took a step toward him, leaning down to take a closer look. There was something so endearing about knowing someone as powerful as Technoblade had a hobby as mundane as farming—farming potatoes, to be more specific. 

You liked it. A lot. You liked him a lot.

You wondered how much longer you could go without saying it aloud.

“Hey, Techno,” you murmured, watching his ears perk up at the sound of your voice, “could you teach me the best way to plant potatoes?”

He paused, his shovel planting itself in the earth as he turned to look at you, his lips parted in surprise. “Y-You actually want to learn?”

You bobbed your head, praying that your face wasn’t growing any warmer. “Of course. Fighting’s fun and all, but there’s more to life than just bloodshed.” You flashed him a bright grin. “Besides, an army needs food to fight!”

With a small grin, he gestured for you step closer. “You want to make sure you dig about six to eight inches down,” he explained, gesturing down the hole with his finger. “If you don’t dig deep enough, then the potato will be too close to the surface, and if you dig too deep, it’ll have a harder time reaching the top.”

You nodded, your tongue swiping over your lips in concentration. Technoblade let out a brief cough, turning away with a slight flush to his cheeks as he grabbed a potato from the basket next to him. “Then,” he continued, “grab a potato. You’ll want to cut it in half down the middle and plant it so the cut side is facing downwards.”

Sticking a hand into his pocket, he rummaged around for a second before pulling out a familiar pocket knife. Your eyes flashed with recognition as he flipped the blade open and sliced through the potato with ease.

“Is that,” you began slowly, your tone tentative and gentle, “my pocket knife? From when we first met?”

Technoblade’s hands faltered as he sliced, his gaze flickering to you with a bashful look. “It’s—um, yeah. Does… does that bother you?”

You immediately shook your head, waving your hands in front of you. “No, not at all! I-I was just wondering. I haven’t seen it in a while, that’s all.”

He lowered his chin, and you could have sworn his cheeks were pink. “I’ve been taking good care of it,” he admitted quietly, his gaze not meeting yours. “It’s important to me.”

You blinked, your heart beating faster in your chest. “It is?” you whispered.

He nodded. “It is.”

You wanted to curl up into a ball and squeal. It only took two simple words from him to send you into a flurry of awkward smiles and blushing whines. You couldn’t believe just how far gone you were.

Technoblade stretched a hand toward you, half of the potato he cut clutched between his fingers. “Here. You try planting one.”

With a shaky hand, you gently pulled the potato from his hands, nearly flinching at the feeling of his skin brushing against yours. Carefully, you reached over and set the potato face down like he had instructed. You pointed your hand toward the pile of dirt lying just beside the hole, about to start covering the potato when his arm shot out in front of you.

“Wait,” he said suddenly, making you freeze in place. “You don’t have gloves on. I don’t want your hands to get dirty.”

You sent him a small smile, waving a hand dismissively at him. “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

He didn’t budge. “Please. Let me.”

That fuzzy feeling was back, and you pulled back. “Okay,” you whispered, your stomach swarming with butterflies as you watched him cover your planted potato with his hands. For someone who made a lot of jokes regarding human ethics, he was far more caring than he let on.

“Y’know,” you said softly, glancing over at him, “it’s really cool watching you do this, even if Tommy thinks it’s boring.” A small smile flitted across your face. “There are all these specific conditions that you have to know to have the most efficient farm with the best percent yield of potatoes—it’s honestly kind of surreal just how much brainpower actually goes into farming.”

Technoblade stared at you, his eyes reflecting something thoughtful and warm, and another thought popped into your head. You felt your cheeks begin to grow warm at the words swirling around your head. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you opened your mouth, again.

“I-I, um,” you began shakily, suddenly finding the scuff mark on your shoe very interesting, “I really hope you know how smart we think you really are. How smart I know you are. Because you are. Smart, that is.”

You must have been trembling, you could almost feel it. Why was it so hard to put your feelings into words? At this rate, you were never going to be able to confess how you felt. Just how much longer could you drag this out fo—

“Hey,” he said gently, his voice pulling you out of your thoughts. You turned your head, your lips parting as you looked at him in surprise. The moment his soft gaze met yours, a spark of electricity ran through your veins, and you shivered for an entirely different reason.

“Thank you,” he murmured, tilting his head at you. “I appreciate it.”

Suddenly, he squinted his eyes at you, his carmine gaze narrowing. “Oh wait, you’ve got something on your face,” he murmured, inching closer in to take a better look.

“Oh,” you said, a hand immediately darting up to your cheek, “that’s probably just some dust or soot or something. You know, from the mines.” You wiped at your face with the back of your hand, embarrassment shooting up your spine knowing that you probably looked dumb. “Did I get it?”

He frowned, pulling off his gloves as he leaned closer. “No, here let me just—”

Suddenly, his hand was on your face, your cheek held gently in his palm. Your heart came barreling to a stop, your entire body freezing like ice. 

He was so close.

The pads of his finger were warm and calloused, yet they held a certain softness to him as his thumb slowly swiped just under her eye, careful to brush away the dirt that marred your face. Like a moth drawn to a flame, you found yourself unable to look away from him, hyperaware of the goosebumps that shot up your sides as his gaze met yours. A prince—he really did look like a prince.

For a moment, the two of you simply gazed at one another, a silent question hanging over you.

Before you could stop yourself, you opened your mouth.

“Can I say something kind of crazy?” you whispered.

“Of course,” he whispered, not moving his gaze from yours for even a heartbeat.

You sucked in a deep breath, screwing your eyes shut. “I…” You swallowed. “I really, really want to kiss you, right now.”

A moment of silence passed, and you held your breath, tension digging itself into your shoulders. Oh, I’m totally about to get rejected. This was such a bad idea. What was I even thinki—

“Can—” He started then stopped, and you could have sworn his cheeks were pink. “Can I say something even crazier?”

You heart leapt. “Yeah, totally,” you breathed.

He turned back to look at you, and you felt something deep in your chest click. “I really, really want to kiss you, too.”

Your eyes flew wide, and you couldn’t stop the giddy grin forming on your face. Almost imperceptibly, Technoblade dipped his head down close to yours, his crimson eyes darting across your face as he took in your every feature. As he leaned closer toward you, a question silently flashes in his gaze. 

Can I…?

You smiled and nodded oh-so subtly, just for him to see.

Yes, yes, yes.

Ever so slowly, he leaned down toward you, and you felt your eyelids flutter shut. Just then, his lips met yours, soft and tentative like a deer taking its first, shaky steps. Electric ran down your spine at his velvet touch, your hands reaching up to wrap around his neck and touch his cherry blossom pink hair. His crown tumbled to the ground off his head, rolling a few times before coming to a full stop, but neither of you particularly noticed, far too enraptured with one another to care.

This was everything you could have possibly asked for.

A moment later, you pulled apart, gasping for air as the two of you gazed into each other’s eyes. His hair had been mussed by your touch, his lips parted and puffy from the kiss.

You didn’t think he could look any more princely, but he still managed to prove you wrong.

Clearing your throat, you cast eyes away in shy embarrassment. “I feel like I should also clarify that this means I like you,” you added in a rush, fidgeting with your hands. “Like, way more than I thought I could ever like a person.”

Technoblade let out a sigh of relief, lips curling at the corners. “Oh, that’s good. I like you, too.” Your heart did a backflip in your chest, shouting in celebration as he added, “I was sort of thinking we were just gonna kiss and never talk about it, again.”

You shot him a quizzical look. “I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”

He sent you a crooked smile, but his gaze was fond. “Only kind of.”

You weren’t quite sure how many minutes passed in comfortable silence, both of you simply basking in the other’s warm presence. It was nice—this was nice. You wouldn’t mind staying like this for a while longe—

“—y it, Tommy, just say it!”

Your eyes shot wide open in panic. Across from you, Technoblade’s expression mirrored your own.

They were back.

“I’m telling you it’s okay, Tommy—you can call me ‘Wilby’ if you want to!”

Flailing your arms in a panic, you immediately began to backpedal to the other side of the room, Technoblade picking up his shovel and beginning to shovel as fast as he could.

“You’re still going off about this shit? Jesus Christ, I don’t want to call you ‘Wilby’, oh my fucking go—”

Wilbur crooned as they stepped into the garden room, “Aww, Tommy, my little gremlin.”

“Shut the fuck up, Wilbu—”

“B-Back so soon?” you prompted, pretending to have been looking at the potato field with great focus as you turned to face them.

Wilbur turned away from Tommy, the smile sliding off his face. He nodded with a sigh, adjusting the pack on his back. “We almost got to the portal, but Antfrost saw us, so we had to book it.” 

Technoblade paused his movements, deadpanning with an unimpressed tone. “Tragic.”

Tommy scowled at him. “Don’t sound so cocky, bitch. You didn’t have to outrun like, half of the SMP all the way back here without getting tracked.” Suddenly his gaze shot to the ground, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “And why’s your fuckin’ crown on the ground?” he muttered, snatching it from the dusty floor and tossing it back over to Technoblade.

“No reason,” you said half a beat too quickly.

Wilbur’s eyes flitted back forth between you and Technoblade, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks and Technoblade’s disheveled hair. Then, a sly, scheming smile crept onto his face. You gulped.

Oh, he totally knew.

“Tommy,” he said, the shit-eating grin still plastered to his face, “how do you feel about going on another trip with me?”

Tommy’s head whipped around, his eyes swimming with confusion. “Another trip?” he parroted.

Wilbur nodded, still smiling. “Yep. Another trip. Let’s get going, yeah? I’ve got something wonderful in mind.”

Before Tommy could even react, Wilbur had grabbed onto the handle of his pack, dragging him back and up the stairs. “Wilbur! What the fuck? Where are we even fucking going?”

“On a trip!” Wilbur sang as he trudged up the stairs with Tommy in tow. Throwing one last glance over his shoulder, he sent you a knowing wink. “You two have fun, now.”

You gaped at him as he walked off, Tommy still kicking at his heels when they vanished from sight. A moment passed in silence before you turned to look at Technoblade, again.

“He knows,” you whispered, half in awe and half in horror.

Technoblade grimaced back at you. “Oh, he absolutely does.”

A beat of silence fell over you. Your eyes locked onto his carmine ones, and something seemed to click just then, a smile crossing both of your faces.

Indeed, Wilbur had just provided you with the perfect opportunity.

Who were the two of you to not take it?

#technoblade x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #dsmp x reader #sbi x reader #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #mcyt scenario #mcyt fluff #mcyt angst #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt fanfic #mcyt imagine #mcyt imagines #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #technoblade x you #technoblade x y/n #technoblade fluff #technoblade imagine #technoblade scenario #technoblade angst #dsmp x you #dsmp x y/n #sbi x y/n #techno x reader #techno x you #techno x y/n #techno fanfic #techno imagine

[free-pool-trash]

dancing with our hands tied - peter maximoff

here it is you guys... the ✨very spicy✨ sequel to delicate which can be read here <3 (had to keep the rep song title theme going here)

please for the love of god let me know how this is I’ve never written smut before so please go crazy with the asks/comments/reblogs on this one I’d really appreciate it😩😓

word count: 4k 😳 (it’s not all smut dont get too excited)

warnings: +18 content, sexy times, unprotected wrap it before you tap it, swearing, i tried to keep vulgarity on a low level but i decided to just commit towards the end lmao, insinuation to sex from the beginning , some fluff and a tiny bit of angst sprinkled in there too, wandavision spoilers

You can definitely read this as a stand alone but it’ll make more sense if you read delicate first !! enjoy <3

masterlist

The days you spent in WestView had been tiring. Wanda seemed to be losing her composure with each day that passed, you watched how she became more and more skeptical of Peter and found yourself growing all the more anxious with the situation you’d run head first into. But, you were with Peter, your mind and his mind were free of Wanda’s influence and she’d been kind enough to appoint the pair of you your own house in the neighbourhood, a few doors down from her own, so, you couldn’t complain too much.

Today was a relatively quiet day, but you had a feeling that just meant you were in the calm before the storm. Tonight was, apparently, Halloween. Despite the fact that it was nowhere near October, you were more than happy to play along with Wanda’s over the top festivities.

Peter and Tommy had just zoomed into your and Peter’s bedroom, sporting matching outfits and excited expressions as they looked at you expectantly, “Well? What’d ya think?” Peter asked, motioning between himself and Tommy. The littlest speedster awaited your answer with wide, hopeful eyes, wanting validation from his cool uncle’s even cooler ‘friend’.

Yeah, you’d made out on Wanda’s couch but you still hadn’t addressed the question of where exactly your relationship stood. It felt as though the pair of you were both actively avoiding the awkward conversation, opting instead to simply fall into bed together every single night and completely disregard the boundaries of friendship in favour of hearing each other moaning until the early hours of the morning.

With a smile you let out a low whistle, “Looking good boys. I gotta say, Tommy, I think you’re outshining your uncle right now.”

You had to laugh when Tommy smirked triumphantly at Peter, “I told you she liked me more than you.” He boasted proudly and your laughs grew louder when Peter huffed angrily. He crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his bottom lip out childishly.

“Y/n, tell him you like me more.” Peter demanded, again, childishly.

You only grinned, “No comment.” You told him airily, making your way to your closet and hesitantly pulling out the latex costume Wanda created for you off of the rail, holding it by the hanger skeptically.

It was Peter’s turn to let out a whistle when his eyes scanned the skimpy looking leotard suspended by the hanger. The fabric mimicked the design of Peter and Tommy’s outfits although it seemed Wanda had gone out of her way to make yours ever so slightly sexier. The leotard was strapless with a sweetheart neckline and a silver lightning bolt ran through the light blue material. The only saving grace was the silver tights that hung from the hanger as well, at least you’d have some kind coverage. With one last peek into the closet, your eyes landed on a pair of white, knee high gogo boots.

“Christ…” You muttered, eyebrows furrowing at the thought of wearing the ensemble out in public, if it was cold tonight Wanda would be in for an aggressive telling off. With a deep sigh you turned to the two speedsters who were both staring at you, waiting for you to say something. “I guess we’re all gonna be matching tonight.”

“Sweet!” Tommy exclaimed while Peter only smirked. Peter, with a lot of effort, moved his attention from your costume to his nephew.

“Why don’t you go hang out with your brother for a while? I gotta talk to Y/n for a sec.” Tommy welcomed the suggestion, only nodding his head before he had sped out of your house and back to his own.

A gust of wind hit your face as Peter sped himself in front of you, the man didn’t hide his intentions as he gripped your hips and pulled you flush against him. Swaying his body against yours and bringing his lips to the exposed skin of your neck. He trailed his lips up your neck, sucking and nipping, smirking when you let out small noises of approval. When his lips reached the spot behind your ear, he gave a final, harsh suck which had your breath hitching and whining when he pulled away.

To be honest, you’d love to be able to call him your boyfriend and be certain that he thought of you as his girlfriend, but at the moment you were perfectly happy with whatever the fuck the two of you had going on if it meant you could keep feeling him against you like this.

“I cannot wait to see you wearing that.” He all but groaned against your ear, his voice deep and gravelly. The butterflies in your stomach went feral at his words and you had to pull your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from letting out a moan from his tone of voice alone, not to mention the fact that his crotch was pressed up against yours, he was excited to say the least.

Your hands slid up his chest and settled on either side of Peter’s neck, you gently pulled his head out from the crook of your nape and teasingly raised an eyebrow at him, “Maybe later I’ll let you help me get out of it.”

A wicked grin spread across his lips, he squeezed your hips in response, tugging you into him even further for some kind of relief then pressed his lips to yours briefly, murmuring against them, “That’s definitely a plan I can get behind.”

Giving him one last kiss, you pried his hands from your hips and pushed him away, “Alright, get lost I need to get ready.”

“Meet me at Wanda’s?” You nodded at his question, letting out a deep sigh you hadn’t noticed you’d been holding when he finally sped out of the room.

After a second of cooling down, you pulled on the outfit and you’d be the first to admit; Wanda knew what she was doing with this one. You looked incredible, albeit a little stupid in the costume, but still incredible.

When you made your way over to Wanda’s to meet up with the others, you let out a laugh seeing as Wanda was essentially wearing the same outfit as you, only with the added extras of a cape and gloves.

“Hey! Why are you dressed the same as Uncle P and Tommy?” Billy asked you curiously, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he glanced between you and Peter for answers. The speedster in question was smirking proudly, his arm finding a spot wrapped around your shoulder.

“Because she’s totally obsessed with me.” He lied with an over dramatic sigh, causing Tommy to laugh.

You rolled your eyes, elbowing him in the ribs playfully before focusing your attention onto Wanda, “I think it’s safe to say that Wanda and I will be winning best couples costume.” Wanda gave you a knowing grin and a not at all subtle wink in response to your statement.

“Only the best for the best.” She replied, walking forward and linking her arm with yours, stealing you away from Peter who whined in protest, “Oh hush, you can have her back later.”

Telepathy definitely had its perks, one of those perks being you could tell there was more to Wanda than just being an evil puppeteer. The two of you got along extremely well, you were actually growing to see her as a friend. It helped that you knew her story, though. You sympathised with her, knowing full well that if you lost the love of your life you’d probably create a false reality to be with him too. You’d already followed him into a fake reality so you supposed it wasn’t really too much of a stretch to imagine yourself in Wanda’s position.

As the night went on, yourself, Wanda and Peter were sitting around in town square, the twins having run off somewhere. Tensions were high between the interreality siblings at the minute, Peter seemed to be having the time of his life getting on Wanda’s last nerve, poking and prodding at her lifestyle choices.

“Lay off, Pete.” You warned quietly, your stare serious as you felt Wanda becoming impatient with the mutant. Your breathing stopped for a moment and you let put a horrified gasp, your hand clapped over your mouth as you stared at the image in front of you.

Peter’s skin was grey, his eyes were milky and he was littered in what you could only assume to be bullet holes- he was dead- no, you realised as you caught Wanda’s pained expression, he was Pietro.

Wanda regained her composure after a few seconds but the sight of Peter dead was enough to shake you to your very core and you found yourself shaking where you stood.

You didn’t even have a chance to regain your composure before shit had hit the fan. It had happened in a blur, Billy and Tommy were frantic and worried about Vision being in trouble and next thing you knew Wanda was sending Peter flying with a ball of energy after he made a smartass comment about Vision not dying twice.

Quickly, you ran to Peter’s side, he was groaning in pain and looking up at you through squinted eyes, “What the hell was that all about?” He grumbled, hiding his head in your lap when you got down on your knees beside him.

With a sigh you let your body fold against his, wrapping your arms around him and letting your head rest against his shoulder, the image of him bleeding out still too fresh and real in your mind. You could berate him for his brash behaviour another time, for now though; you just needed him close.

“Come on, dumbass. Let’s get you home before you decide to cause more trouble.” You mumbled, pulling him up with you. Ignoring his whining while you led him home, your arm remained firmly around his waist the whole way despite the fact he’d recovered from the blast Wanda dealt him after only a few minutes.

When you got back to the house that Wanda had deemed yours upon your arrival, you finally allowed yourself to breathe. Peter was staring at you with a guilty expression as you released a heavy breath through your nose and shuffled into the kitchen, the heels of your boots scraping on the hardwood as you walked.

Like a lost puppy, Peter followed you. Once he reached you lent against the sink he wrapped his arms around you from behind. He knew you weren’t angry at him by the way your arms immediately moved to grip his and tug them tighter around you.

“You know, her real twin- Pietro… he died,” Peter’s face contorted in confusion when you began to speak, he listened with concern as he could already hear your voice beginning to shake, absentmindedly he caught himself tucking you closer against his chest. “For a second… you must have said something that hit a nerve but for a few seconds…” Your voice hitched and you shook your head in an attempt to knock the image out of your mind, though you had a feeling it would haunt you for as long as you lived. When Peter noticed you’d started chewing at your bottom lip, as you always did when something was causing you anxiety, he gently turned you around in his arms so that he could look at you, his arms remaining firmly around you, yours finding a place resting against his chest.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He cooed, his eyes very much alive and staring into yours.

Swallowing thickly you answered, “You looked like him. You were dead.” You told him quietly and he was sure the look of grief on your face, brought on by the thought of him dying, would haunt him for a lifetime.

Your eyes watered as you took in his face. Scanning every part of it, his brown eyes that made you melt, the dimples that could still be faintly seen even when he wasn’t smiling, the lips that took up the vast majority of your thoughts and that tiny furrow between his brows as he looked down at you with worry.

You loved him.

Of course, you’d known this for years. But you needed him to know, and even though you were already well aware the overwhelming feeling is mutual, you needed to hear him say it.

His thumb running under your eye pulled you from your thoughts, “I’m not going anywhere, baby.” He whispered softly, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb ran back and forth over your cheek bone. Your stomach flipped at the pet name and you nuzzled against his touch.

“Good. I don’t want to lose you ever again.” You confessed, looking up at him through your lashes fondly as his lips formed an almost sad smile.

Gently, he brought his lips down to meet yours, pouring his heart into the kiss, hoping it would make up for the turmoil he felt responsible for causing you. Too soon, he pulled away.

“Believe me, I’m never leaving your side. I mean come on, I’m without you for like three days and I end up being mind controlled by my sister who isn’t even my sister.” He chuckled out, a grin growing on his face as you began to smile too. He let his eyes close blissfully when you brushed your nose against his, a toothy smile on your face.

“You, Peter Maximoff, are completely hopeless.” You whispered through your smile as he opened his eyes to look at you. His own face sporting an adoring smile.

Your heart skipped a beat the second his next words passed through his smiling lips, “Without you, Y/n L/n, yes I am.” Within a second your arms were around his shoulders and your lips were moving frantically against his. Peter’s hands wasted no time in sliding down to your thighs, gripping them and propping you up onto the kitchen counter.

Your legs automatically wrapped around his waist and your hands got lost in his hair, keeping him as close as humanly possible while his lips migrated to your jaw.

An appreciative hum left your throat as he lapped at the underside of your jaw, leaving a mark before trailing his lips back to your mouth. His tongue licked at your bottom lip as he kissed you, moving it into your mouth the first chance he got. Peter moaned into your mouth when you gave his tongue a light suck.

You grinned at the sound and leaned your weight forward so you were primarily resting against his body, your arms and legs wrapped tightly around his body, your ass barely resting on the counter by that point. Welcoming your movements, Peter’s hands glided up from your thighs to grip your ass and pull you from the counter completely.

He carried you clumsily through the halls of the house, bumping into furniture and pausing to press your body against walls, his eyes closed and lips never separating from yours. You were about a foot away from the stairs when you felt your back make contact with the plaster behind you, your chest heaving when Peter abandoned your lips in favour of littering wet kisses across your chest, no doubt leaving a trail of hickeys in his wake.

You let your head fall back against the wall, enjoying the sensation of Peter nipping and licking at your skin, the man diving back to your neck as soon as he realised that your head thrown back made it entirely exposed to him. You released a breathy moan when his lips ghosted over a sensitive patch of skin, he moved his tongue frantically and you shuddered at the feeling of his hot breath hitting your bruised skin.

“Peter…” You whined when he pushed his crotch up against yours, pressing you further into the wall smirking against your neck when you called his name.

“Yes?” He asked teasingly, rutting his hips against yours once more, deliberately attempting to pull another moan from you, he obviously succeeded. His smirk broadened when you let out a huff and tugged his hair so he’d look at you.

Peter swore he was in heaven when his eyes met yours again, your face was red and your eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust as your chest heaved. He could’ve exploded on the spot when you tugged your bottom lip between your teeth and looked at him innocently, all the while grinding your hips slowly and firmly against his. Peter clenched his jaw and let his eyes fall shut, his hands gripping your hips so tightly that you were pretty certain the area would have bruises come tomorrow. You were struggling to care about that though, focusing your energy on the man who had you pinned against the wall.

You brought your lips to Peter’s neck, repaying the favour, not detaching until you left a dark, albeit small, purple bruise on the underside of his jaw. Deciding to prolong the teasing for a little while longer you moved your lips up and let them hover by his ear and you began to let out soft little moans in response to his grinding, the action caused Peter’s movements to become more frantic and your lips to form in a smirk as you felt him hardening against you.

His breath was laboured when he murmured, “Let’s take this upstairs, yeah?” Before you could even answer he had sped the pair of you to the bedroom and you let your feet return to the floor.

As he stood in front of you, you took him in, swollen lips and Halloween hair completely tossed, not to mention the tent in his trousers that was very visible despite the layers of his costume. When your bodies collided again, it was a frenzy of hands, the both of you practically tearing the fabric off the other until you were in nothing but your underwear, kissing sloppily and stumbling towards the bed.

Peter’s lips attached to your chest again the second your back hit the mattress. He groped at your right breast while his tongue sucked on the other, swapping over before you pulled him back up to you.

The way he slotted between your legs and how his forehead rested on yours felt so perfect, you couldn’t help but grin.

“You’re gorgeous, sweetheart.” He muttered between kisses against your lips, his hands kneading your breasts as he did.

You were practically dripping by the time his hand slid down your stomach and under the band of your underwear. For someone with super speed he was moving agonisingly slow at the moment, his hand rubbing languidly over your wet core while he swallowed your moans.

“Fuck- God, Peter please.” You whined, your hips bucking into his hand, desperate for more friction than he was giving you.

The sound of your voice, so needy for him, was all he needed before he was pulling your underwear off, tossing the thin material over his shoulder haphazardly and shimmying out of his own boxers, clumsily kicking them away from his ankles, earning a giggle from you.

When he kneeled on the bed between your bent and separated knees you sat yourself up, sliding one hand up his bare chest and resting it against his shoulder while the other slid downward, only stopping once it was wrapped around his shaft. Peter sucked in a harsh breath when your began pumping him softly, the man completely losing it when your thumb swiped over his tip collecting the precum that had gathered and using it to wet the length of his dick as you continued to fuck him with your hand.

As much as Peter was loving the image and feeling of you jacking him off, he knew if you carried on he wouldn’t be able to last much longer. Still, he didn’t have the heart to pull your hand away when you were making him feel so good. His head found it’s favourite spot in the crook of your neck and he groaned out against the skin that was littered with little purple and red marks from his earlier work, which he’d be sure to admire later, “Shit, Y/n-“ He croaked through a moan, hands gripping your hips as he fought the urge he had to thrust into your hand, “M’not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that.” He groaned out, almost reluctantly, not truly wanting you to stop while simultaneously craving more.

You stopped your motions at his statement, giggling when he let out a strangled noise of disappointment at the sudden lack of pleasure. Doing the honours, you lined him up with your entrance, letting him take over when his lips connected with yours.

Peter gently pushed you back until your head was resting against your pillow and your back was flush with the mattress. His lips continued to mesh with yours as he pushed into you inch by inch until he bottomed out. The deep groan he released was music to your ears and your hands gripped his biceps when he began to thrust in and out.

A symphony of moans filled the room as Peter had managed to set a steady pace, trying his best not to let his mutation get the best of him, as much as he wanted to just go to town he was determined to make you feel as good as you made him feel and judging by the way your head was thrown back and his name fell from your lips like a prayer; he guessed he was doing an okay job.

In only a few minutes Peter had you gasping and clutching onto him like your life depended on it as he picked up speed, one of his hands reaching down between your bodies to rub your clit, his hips snapping against yours. Soon enough, you felt the pressure in your stomach release, your walls clenching around Peter’s dick as your back arched and you released around him. After only a few more staggered strokes, Peter moaned your name against your lips, finishing inside of you and thrusting lazily, riding out his high and subsequently helping you ride out yours.

You let out a blissful sigh when Peter pulled out and rolled over to lay on his back beside you, his chest heavy and his blonde hair sticking slightly against his forehead.

“That- that was awesome.” He mumbled, intertwining his fingers with yours, holding your hand by his side.

Over the last couple of nights you and Peter had, admittedly, ended up in a similar position but neither of you intended for it to happen. It’d usually start off innocently enough, with cuddling or just talking and then one of you would move in just that little bit closer and things would escalate. But there was something about this time that felt a lot more emotional than the few times before. “It was.” You agreed with an airy giggle, squeezing his hand affectionately.

A gust of air shook you from your haze. Peter had taken it upon himself to clean up the mess the pair of you had left between your legs, a pair of his boxers and one of his t-shirts now adorned your body matching him as he wore the same.

He was on his side facing you, his arms holding you against his chest securely the same way they had the night you’d shown up in WestView and urged him to kiss you. When he took you in, he kicked himself for missing out on so much of you for so long.

He was certain, one of these days he’d actually speak the three words that followed him around whenever he thought about you, but as he watched your eyes flutter closed, he decided the words would be best spoken some other time. He was well aware you already knew, just as he was well aware that you loved him, it needed to be said. Eventually, but not quite yet.

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