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dollarstoreartsupplies · 2 years

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@haaaawaiianshirt says: how about the renaissance of the Neibolt kids.

I say: ah, did you mean just post the literal first thing I Ever Wrote about them two years ago in a very weird second person perspective thats honestly probably really confusing where I was trying to get some sort of grasp of Neddie in my brain.

If thats not what you meant I'm terribly sorry but here you are:

Your name is Eddie. Just Eddie.

Eds, Eddie Spaghetti, Edsie Wedsie, a loud, familiar voice crows in your head, you want to swat it away, clap your hands over your ears and make it leave you alone- but the familiar voice cackles that ignoring him would be a bad, bad idea. You inform the voice that that’s bullshit, because it is, but you listen to him.

He seems amused by you.

He fills your lungs with tar, thick and gooey and pleasant in a way that is really not very pleasant at all. It weighs you down, until now you feel as though you’ve been floating entirely ungrounded in nothingness, but with the slime in your throat your feet scrape the very bottom of the aforementioned nothing.

It scratches uncomfortably at your bare toes.

Edith Kaspbrak, another voice informs you after a while, all round, soft vowels and warmth, too warm. The familiar voice that keeps calling you Spaghetti doesn’t like it.

You decide you don't like the name Edith Kaspbrak, Eddie is much less saccharine sweet when you roll it over your tongue. Eddie slurs well with the goo that coats your mouth, Edith cuts through it, squeaky clean and cutesy.

Your name is just Eddie.

The warm voice chuckles when you inform it of this and apologizes to you, you don't really know for what, it’s I am sorry, child is far too sad sounding to just be for calling you the wrong name. Or maybe it’s not, you don’t know much of anything at all. Maybe you should ask.

But then the voice is gone and you are alone.

Your name is Eddie and the world around you is itchy-cold and dark. There is a layer at the very top of the nothing made up of graying padding and half-torn fabric. Before, when you were just floating entirely untethered, it had arched high above your head but now that you are close to the floor it’s almost within reach.

That feels wrong but you don't know nearly enough to question it.

You float in the dark just below it, gripping at loose springs that corkscrew from the fluffy roughness of the ceiling’s stuffing, sometimes the ends of the springs pierce your palms and the sticky black bubbles from the holes and down your arms.

You fade in and out.

It’s not particularly nice, you like being in control, your life your body yours yours yours, but it isn’t as bad as it could be. You don’t really know how bad it could be but a nasty voice in the back of your head hammers in that it could be worse.

You ignore it and try to escape anyway, partially because you are a delightful little asshole who likes to push buttons, but overwhelmingly because you need to find Your Richie.

You don't know what a Your Richie is, well, you think it’s more of a who Your Richie is, because you are in love with her.

Pennywise, that is the familiar voice’s name, informs you, gleeful, accusing, and blood smeared in a way you have gotten fairly used to, that you and Your Richie are dykes.

He says it like it is something disgusting but you like gross things so it doesn’t really bother you.

Lines blur a little after your first few moments of consciousness, the words Your Richie and Pennywise and Loser and YourRichieYourRichieYourRichie slurring together in your muddled, here-but-not-fully-there brain.

Eventually after what feels like secondsyearsdayshoursalwaysnever of floating your feet hit the ground, the patchy padding splits and you poke her head through eager to see something more than your own hands in front of you; an opening that will lead you to Your Richie.

She is right in front of you.

Well, kind of, it's not Your Richie, you don’t know exactly what a Your Richie looks like but it isn’t this. She isn’t this loud, wide eyed, sloppy girl in front of you and that makes you angry. You want to kill her. She is an imposter and not Your Richie.

You just want Your Richie and you don’t think that is too fucking much to ask.

Pennywise is yelling in the back of your head to scare her, scare her, scare her and that’s good enough for you.

You ask her, angry but grinning so wide it hurts, if she wants to play loogie. She just stares.

Pennywise makes a suggestion, so you tilt your head and ask if maybe she wants to swap spit instead. The black slime in your lungs begins to spill from your lips. You didn’t know it could do that but it’s fun. You laugh because Pennywise tells you to. You look pretty manic but you don’t quite care because fake Not Your Richie acts afraid (scare her to death) and stammers and wobbles and looks stupid until another girl drags her out of the room.

Good fucking riddance.

You set out to find Your Richie, hours later than you would like but you need to wait until Pennywise is distracted and pouting and plotting to tug yourself out of the mattress that has kept you floating and trapped. It’s tacky from the slime you haven’t really figured out how to stop, your mouth is like the worlds’ leakiest faucet and more liquid is spewing out than staying in. You really don’t mind it much at all.

You find her in a room full of clowns. Well, not real clowns, at least you don’t think. They look enough like the image of Pennywise you have hidden somewhere in the recesses of your mind, despite being a lot dustier, much more colorful, and far quieter. They don’t even move. You kick one over, frustrated by its lack of reaction at your incredibly scary entrance, but it just topples, hollow head thunking dully against the hardwood.

The coffin nestled in between the rows of clowns is much more enticing. It creaks when you open it, which is a nice touch, really makes all of this seem much more thrilling than it really is. You’re just opening a box but the box has hinges that squeal, rusty and sharp, when you shift them, an adventure created by a single, grating sound.

There is a poster plastered to the lid, thick black letters that spell out MISSING, not that you really know what that means, a grainy picture of the Not Your Richie printed below it, all toothy smiles and poofy pigtails, all wrong wrong wrong.

You appreciate that half her photo is marred with a bloody smear, it seems appropriate. For some reason you can understand what the letters written across the inner lid of the coffin in blood say, though you can’t seem to place how they make you feel.

SEEN AND NOT HEARD.

You decided with the certainty of a twelve year old who was only born today that the words make sense but you are more than glad that they aren't aimed at you. Though, Your Richie is yours and you can’t quite shake the annoyance at having them aimed at her either.

She’s laying in the coffin, the second you see her something so intrinsically right clicks into place within your chest that it almost hurts. The slime dribbles to a stop.

Your Richie (now that you’re seeing her just Richie sounds more correct than adding Your in front of it, though she is yours, all yours, only yours and you you won’t let her go) lays just as still as the ugly, dusty clowns, save for the maggots that wriggle in her broken cheeks. She is a doll. Hands folded politely on her stomach from where they had been placed and whited out eyes staring unseeing into the ceiling. You wonder, anger suddenly bubbling over before you realize it’s even there, before you can even hope to control it, why the fuck the universe would decide you were hopelessly in love with something so boring.

She’s wearing shiny little black shoes that buckle at the sides and have a strap over the top. That is perhaps the epitome of boring. Well, that and a stupid doll who can’t even move.

The only thing even remotely interesting about her is her mouth, stitched shut with thick black thread. It’s a sort of sloppy stitch job despite how cleanly the needle clearly jabbed through the porcelain of her face, crooked and stained slightly copper-brown with something your mind is telling you is blood even though that really doesn’t make much sense. Dolls don’t bleed. They’re too boring.

You go to leave, huffy and feet stomping loudly on the creaky, thinned out floor boards. It would have been a somewhat gloriously bratty exit, something you could push past your anger to be proud of, but something grabs your wrist before you can.

Without thinking you tug your arm hard away from whatever it is, off off off get off, and the something comes with you. An uncertain sounding crack that echoes through the empty, disappointing room.

Your Richie’s hand, broken at the end in an awkward sort of slant, stays tight, fingers bruising in your skin for just a second, long enough for a spider to scrawl it’s way through an over-bent knuckle-joint and across your thumb, before it falls, scattering porcelain across the floor with a shattery-crashy sort of sound you decide quickly you Do Not like. You Do Not want to hear it again.

Your Richie tilts her head in the coffin, looking just as silent and just as annoyingly dull, but also put out in a way you weren’t aware was possible.

And then the Yours, but maybe not in name, but still Yours, you're still figuring it out, Richie unfurls the middle finger of her remaining hand up at you.

For the first time in your day long life, you actually laugh. Not because any of the voices told you too or anyone said to. But because she made you. Because she did something funny. Because she’s yours and she’s almost smiling in the same way she’s almost upset at you for breaking her hand off, and she’s fucking gross which has to count for something against all the boring.

At least you think it does.

And you also think, as you tuck the spider between your back molars to get it out of the way, and offer your hand to drag her out of the coffin, that maybe, this whole existing thing might not be half bad.

#neibolt kids #fem neibolt reddie #It does Say the D-slur once and also is generally gross just a warning #neddie #n!richie #love them dearly this might make NO sense and for that im like sort of sorry but I also wrote this two years ago #which is its own apology #Ghjklghjklghjkl

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solvskrift · 3 years

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fic: they don't turn to dust (or fade away) (also on ao3)

Peter figured the worst thing about losing his sight would have been...losing his sight. It isn't. Whumptober Prompt #7: My Spidey-Sense is Tingling | numbness + blindness

Peter was pretty sure he was dead. Or dying. Or had gotten into a fight with a twenty-storey building. That had happened a couple of times. Well, the second time he hadn’t really had anything to do with it, he was just there and if it hadn’t been for the leaking gas line (and the pretzel vendor who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time) he—

He was getting off track. Where was he? Oh yeah – dying. On some sort of fluffy soft surface. Which unfortunately wasn’t doing much to help his raging headache or the feeling that an hippo was sitting on his chest. He tried to move and immediately regretted it. His head throbbed like an overgrown heart and he groaned in pain, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

A hand pushed at his shoulder, keeping him still.

“May?” Peter mumbled groggily.

“Sorry, kid, you’re stuck with the slightly less pretty one out of the two of us, she’ll have to get in line later to kick your ass.”

Mr. Stark.

Right. May was upstate for the week, and Karen had called Mr. Stark right before—

Right before he’d passed out from the body-wracking, mind-numbing pain of whatever acid slime (goo? paste?) those goons had thrown all over him. It had practically melted the mask right off of his face before he could tear it away.

“Where are we?”

“Columbia Presbyterian. It was closer to the docks, where - you know, it’s funny - I specifically remembering telling you not to go because Rhodey had it covered.”

Peter swallowed. “I’m sorry…I— ” He broke off, coughing. His throat was like sandpaper.

Mr. Stark sighed. A second later there was a glass at Peter’s lips and he gratefully gulped down the cool water.

“Look, just…don’t worry, alright?” said Mr. Stark in a way that instantaneously made Peter begin to worry. “I’m having you transferred over to the tower, I’ve got better facilities there, best doctors in the world flying in right now—”

Best doctors for what?

Peter tried to sit up again and willed his eyes to open. Which was the exact moment his brain caught up with him and he realized with a sickening jolt that his eyes were open.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter asked. “Why can’t I see?”

----

This was fine. He could do this. This happened to people all the time, right?

Well, maybe not this exact situation. But minus the supervillain henchmen and battles between good and evil and the surreal plot twist of moving into Stark Tower, plenty of people had accidents and woke up to find out they were blind or paralyzed or had lost a limb.

People adjusted. Peter would adjust.

Besides he was only temporarily blind. That’s what the doctors kept trying to tell him. The acid hadn’t damaged his skin too awful bad – he probably wouldn’t even have scars. It was just that eyes…they were fragile, they said. Sensitive. Stuff like that took longer to heal.

His eyes would mend.

That’s what Tony – Mr. Stark – kept saying, too. They’ll heal. No problem. You’ll be okay.

Peter had convinced him not to tell Aunt May yet. She had two days left of her trip, Peter was fine, and she would only end up worrying and racing home when there was nothing she could do. She’d find out soon enough anyway, might as well let her enjoy herself while she could…

Peter shuffled towards the bathroom. They had finally let him out of the medical wing after three days and Tony had set him up in rooms just a floor below his and Pepper’s. It was a relief to be away from the sterile equipment and smell of antiseptic, but it meant that he had to map out a brand new space all over again. Despite how slow he was moving, hands stretched out in front of him, Peter still managed to slam his toe into the foot of the dresser and gave a sharp yelp. He sat down heavily on the floor, fumbling for his foot.

Every throb of his toe seemed to push another dose of panic through his veins until the fear made his hands shake.

Peter swore and slammed his fist into the floor.

You’ll be okay.

----

The real kicker was that he should have been able to rely on all his other senses.

More precisely, That Other Sense.

The one that set off the tingle in the back of his skull and let him know intuitively what the danger was and where it was coming from. Touch and smell and hearing were great, sure – he could tell when Happy was baking cookies or when the elevator dinged to deposit someone near his rooms. Awesome. Terrific.

But he should have been able to maneuver around any building, swing from any traffic light, crawl up any high-rise in the city even without his eyes, and he couldn’t.

It was all off. Jumbled and twisted and warped, and he couldn’t trust it. It wasn’t exactly something you could find in a medical textbook, either – there wasn’t a diagnosis for Peter Parker’s Spidey-Sense Going Numb. One of the doctors made a valiant attempt anyway and said the best he could figure it might have had to do with Peter’s eyes and swelling and general trauma to the head or – well – Peter had tuned him out after that. It didn’t matter, in the end. Not really.

All Peter could think was that it might not ever come back.

He had Karen and the suit he’d gotten from Mr. Stark, but it wasn’t the same. Wouldn’t ever be enough. And it wasn’t the best idea to wear that one at the moment, anyhow.

Karen would tell Mr. Stark where he was.

Peter hadn’t been expressly forbid from the rooftop of this specific office building, but it had probably been implied in his instructions not to leave Stark Tower by himself. It wasn’t like he’d gone that far, he just had to check.

He had to see if he could still do it. Still be Spider-Man. Maybe all it would take to jumpstart that sixth sense of his was getting back in the saddle. Making his mind work for it, and remember.

Peter nudged the toes of his old suit (the one that didn’t have an incriminating A.I. programmed into it) up to what he could tell was the edge of the roof, took a deep breath, and shot a web out into the open air as he stepped off the side of the building.

----

“Do you have any clue what could have happened if I hadn’t been the one to find you?” Mr. Stark ranted.

He wasn’t yelling (not really, not yet) but hell if it didn’t feel like it.

“Forget about the fact that you could have broken every goddamn bone in your body, or how I would have had to tell your aunt I completely fucked up this whole babysitting gig – sorry, May, I looked away for two seconds and Peter stepped off the first roof he could find and slammed straight into a mile-high billboard—”

Despite how very clearly pissed off he was, the wet rag dabbing at the cut on Peter’s forehead was surprisingly gentle.

“—wouldn’t even have been able to tell her with a straight face that it was a billboard for Crystal Clear Corrective Lenses—”

A pack of ice was pressed into his hand, and Mr. Stark guided him to hold it against the growing bump on his forehead.

“—you realize anybody could have walked up and taken your mask off if you’d been knocked out cold? I guess I should be grateful for that egg on your head, maybe it’ll recalibrate your self-preservation skills…”

Peter sat there, letting Mr. Stark’s frustration wash over him. He felt numb.

Because Mr. Stark was right, he did need a babysitter now. He hadn’t been able to do it on his own after all. He would never be Spider-Man again. He had no vision, no warning in his head going off telling him what to hit, where to go. No powers…

No powers that were good for anything, anyway.

He felt…pathetic.

Useless.

This is what he had wanted before, wasn’t it? Not to have to be Spider-Man? To let someone else make the hard calls and tough decisions? Now he didn’t have to worry about it, about any of it. He could go back to being just…him. Peter Parker.

Peter’s breath hitched. The corners of his eyes started to burn.

“Hey…” Tony said, his tone suddenly losing its edge.

Peter let the hand holding the ice to his forehead fall slowly to his lap. He blinked his unseeing eyes and swallowed.

“I’m never gonna be able to see again, am I?” he whispered.

There was a beat of silence, then Tony said. “Of course you will. Come on, Eeyore, I’ve told you—”

“What if I don’t? What if I don’t get better?”

Peter sucked in another shuddering breath. The last thing he needed on top of everything was to fall apart in front of Mr. Stark, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Mortified, he felt the tears spill over, stinging his ruined eyes.

“Hey,” Tony said again. “Shit…”

Peter swiped quickly at his face with his sleeve, but a warm hand touched his neck.

“C’mere.”

And then a pair of arms went around him, strong and solid.

Something inside Peter snapped and before he knew it, before he could get a handle on himself, he was sobbing his pent-up grief and terror into Tony’s chest, his fists gripping the soft shirt on either side of his arc reactor.

Peter couldn’t see the glow of it, but it was a comforting presence all the same.

“I’m – sorry,” Peter forced out, or tried to. He wasn’t certain it had sounded like anything resembling English around his hitching sobs.

Tony’s hand found the back of his head, a reassuring weight. Just holding him.

“It’s gonna be alright. You hear me?” Tony rested his chin on Peter’s hair. “You’re going to be okay.”

Peter pressed his forehead to the little circle of metal that had saved Tony’s life. Kept him alive for so long. Peter knew the story of why he had needed it in the first place – everyone did – and it occurred to him that Tony knew what he was talking about. That he probably understood exactly what was going on in Peter’s head.

The words were anything but empty, and for the first time since waking up in darkness, Peter thought he might be able to believe them.

You’re going to be okay.

“I promise.”

Tony held him and murmured quiet reassurances, until all his tears had dried up.

Peter let him, and listened.

He breathed.

#whumptober2021 #no.7 #blindness #marvel #mcu #fic #spider-man #peter parker #tony stark #eye trauma #solv fic #peter is an actual puppy #someone help him

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specterchasing-a · 3 years

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Brainberry Picking || Morgan & Eddie

TIMING: Current-ish

LOCATION: Jericho Hill Cemetery

PARTIES: @mor-beck-more-problems & @specterchasing

SUMMARY: A zombie and a medium meet in a graveyard, one of them might have a foot fetish.

CONTENT: Aside from the foot fetish, all is well.

“I just don’t see how you can have a whole existence that relies on human systems and communities--well people systems and communities and not give a crap just because you’ve been doing it for a long time,” Morgan complained, swilling her chopsticks around her brains and rice. “Aren’t we responsible for each other even if we’re three hundred and some baby normie is twenty? How can apathy be a good thing?”

It was her off day from work, and rather than worry her family by spending the day cooped up inside, she opted to spend as much time outside as possible, even if being in hunting range made her nervous. But Jericho Hill was more ghostly than anything else, and the trusted the soldier to signal if he saw anything dangerous looking, even if he did talk a big game about being specater in the game of humanity, and the effects of longevity. He’d saved her and Erin. He had more of a heart than he wanted to admit, even for a centuries-old kid.

The colonial soldier shrugged and said that she should wait and see until she was older.

“Okay, teen grandpa,” Morgan deadpanned.

The colonial soldier changed the subject by way of nodding toward her foot. Did she require assistance or was she really just that bad at noticing grievous injuries?

Morgan looked down at the chunks of broken bottle protruding from her toes. “Fucking--” She hissed and propped up her foot, starting to yank out the pieces one by one and wipe the black blood on her skirt so there wouldn’t be anything for hunters to find when they prowled at night. Her wounds would close up soon enough. As much as she wanted to sport as much extra strength as possible, she hadn’t figured out how to negotiate her fear of being caught off guard by some junior college murderer and the fear of not being herself.

In the distance, stone scattered across the tall grass. Morgan stopped, mid tug, and looked around. “Hello?”

Jericho Hill, one of Eddie’s most beloved places to visit. The other cemeteries in town had their charm, but meandering among the derelict headstones of White Crest’s oldest burial ground came second to none. As per usual, he arrived with a camera—just in case.

Eddie minded the graves as he wandered, making sure not to intrude on anyone’s final resting place. Midway through the graveyard, he spotted two figures with their backs to him in the midst of conversation. Considering Jericho Hill was open to the public, that would’ve been a perfectly ordinary occurrence, except one of the figures happened to be a colonial soldier far beyond his expiration date. Eddie’s heart skipped a beat at the possibility of encountering another medium but, as he grew closer, he noticed the potential medium doing something with her foot.

Raising his camera, Eddie slowed his pace and zoomed in on the woman’s feet for a better look. “Oh, what the fu—” He stumbled over a semi-interred rock, nearly losing his balance and dislodging the rock in one fell swoop.

“Hello?” said the woman.

Eddie froze in place as if staying perfectly still made him invisible. Realizing she likely had very little in common with Spielbergian dinosaurs, he cleared his throat and waved sheepishly. “Beautiful day, huh? Hey—is your foot okay?”

Morgan stiffened at the sound of a voice nearby. She ran a dozen or so scenarios Mina had drilled into her. She was better at defense on account of nine more months of practice, but that didn’t mean she relished the thought of having to throw anyone to the ground or break any bones.

But it was just some kid, looking like a peeping tom who’d been found out.

“Is it a beautiful day?” She challenged. “Because being spied on doesn’t usually fall under my ‘beautiful day’ umbrella.” At the mention of her foot, she put hers back down and yanked as many pieces out under the cover of the grass as she could. “I’m fine. Why are you looking at my feet in the first place?”

“Hold on, don’t do that,” Eddie said with a shake of his head. “Don’t make me sound like some kind of graveyard-foot-pervert. Look at it.” He gestured towards the foot in question. “That’s not natural and neither is talking to ghosts—hey, by the way, nice to see you again, Terry.” The second half of his statement was directed at the colonial soldier and paired with another short wave.

“Hi, Eddie,” the ghost responded.

“Y’know, I was just excited to meet someone else who could see them, but the whole black goo thing kind of threw me off my game.” Eddie’s attention reverted back to the woman currently picking at her foot. “Also, who eats in cemeteries? I’m just saying, let he who is not being super weird in public cast the first stone.”

Morgan didn’t know what to process first, having her injuries spotted by a Gen-Z wunderkind with a camera, the “not natural” thing, him seeing the ghost, or--

“Terry? Really? You tell him your name, but not me?” Morgan reached over and elbowed the soldier through his arm.

“A man has to keep some mystery with a pretty lady,” he replied, smirking through the gash in his face.

“Now you’re just trying to clean it up. Did you see him coming too?” She turned back to the kid, Eddie apparently, and tucked her feet under her skirt. “Whatever you are, you aren’t the only kind of person who can make friends with ghosts,” she said, miffed but starting to deflate. He had said he was excited. Excited people usually didn’t try to lop off your head. “And for your information, cemetery picnics have been a time honored tradition for centuries. The Victorians designed some of their cemeteries to be enjoyed like parks. And there’s a lot less---” Kids. Couples picnicking. Burger wrappers and empty slushie cups. Life. “Crowds, in a cemetery. I like the quiet. And the company. Sometimes.” She side-eyed Terry, who clutched his chest like he was wounded.

The conversation unfolding before Eddie left him feeling like a child seeing their parents get into an argument. He casually averted his gaze in an attempt to give them some semblance of privacy while they worked through their dispute. Before he knew it, the irate woman’s attention was back on him and he found himself wishing their argument would have gone on longer.

“That’s… actually very cool,” Eddie admitted, his brows raising in approval. “But, um, circling back to what you said about seeing ghosts—I’m a medium, I thought we were only ones with that specific privilege.” He couldn’t help feeling inadequate as he confessed his ignorance. Eddie dedicated his life to knowing about the supernatural, but he barely knew anything for certain. “Who else made the cut? Obviously, you don’t have to, like, tell me what you are, or anything. Not unless you want to, which would be stellar, but… I feel like I should know that kind of thing.”

“Medium, huh?” Morgan said, sizing the kid up again. “I’ve met a few of you. Exorcists, mostly, but still. But, since you asked so nicely, all of the undead I’m aware of and some fae can see and hear ghosts. It seems to be a proximity to death sort of thing, but I don’t know how the metaphysics works.” She set her lunch aside and dropped her hand under her foot to finish picking out the glass, away from view. She was mostly sure he didn’t actually have some voyeuristic foot fetish, but that didn’t do much for her self-consciousness. It was one thing to patch herself up at home, or with dead people who didn’t care, but with strangers, she felt the wrongness of her body. It wasn’t neutral, it was batshit. “You must be some kind of death enthusiast too, though. Coming out here by yourself in the middle of the day? It’s not exactly the nicest cemetery in town. I hardly see anyone alive out here on my visits. Shouldn’t you be hustling or studying or having fun somewhere?”

Eddie’s eyes glistened with rabid enthusiasm at the mention of the undead and fae. He’d only recently learned about the existence of zombies, and his fae-knowledge severely lacked depth. And here this woman was, sounding like she knew a great deal about both.

“Hustling?” he repeated the word with bashful incredulity. “I mean, this is fun for me. Not to sound edgy, but I love the dead. The living are cool too, but… they’ve never felt like home, y’know? All my life, I’ve been surrounded by dead people that either needed my help, or who helped me. I like spending as much time with them as I can.” He tried not to watch as she covertly plucked at her foot. Curious as he was, he could do without further insinuation that he harbored some sort of affinity for feet. “Is that how you are?”

With the last of the glass picked out, Morgan went still and regarded Eddie more carefully. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met a human who spoke so affectionately about the dead, and she wasn’t sure whether to be thrilled or concerned. “You talk about the living like you aren’t one of them,” she said. “I don’t meet too many humans that apathetic about who they are. But your ghosts--they were good to you? You weren’t ever scared?” But one revelation deserved a little something in return, and anyone that fond of the dead probably wouldn’t sell her out. Morgan pursed her lips as she thought her answer over. “I am recently un-humaned, yes,” she said. “A little over a year now. You could say making friends with death saved my un-life, but I had lots of other help too. Living-people-help.”

The stranger had a point—Eddie never felt like he belonged among the living—but never had the dissonance he felt been stated so bluntly. “I guess, yeah. The living are assholes, for the most part.” There were, of course, exceptions to that rule, but they were few and far between. “Most have been good to me, except…” Eddie shook his head gently. “They’re individuals too, can’t expect them to all be winners.” As she admitted to being undead, he looked at her with enraptured awe. “That’s… wow. I mean, first of all, I’m sorry for your loss. You’ve probably got a handle on things by now, but I’m sure that’s a pretty wild transition. And, I’m glad you had people to help you adjust, support systems are so important.” Eddie took a moment to center himself. “What’s the, uh, preferred terminology for your… condition? Also, wow, I should probably ask your name, huh? Like Terry said, I’m Eddie. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed his head slightly to punctuate his sentence.

“The living are individuals too, Eddie,” Morgan said. “And if you didn’t know about undead and fae seeing ghosts, I’m guessing you haven’t met many of the other living species of people out there. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to dismiss all of them out of hand. Or especially kind. Your ghosts were living once too, you know.” But Eddie’s vagueness piqued a troubling sense of familiarity in Morgan. Children didn’t tend to rely on ghosts if they had live people to take good care of them. “Those must have been some pretty shitty assholes to make you give up on everyone alive, human or not. I’m sorry for that, Eddie. Whatever happened to you, whoever was that cruel--I know how it can feel safer to just pull away and not risk yourself again, when you’ve suffered enough in a certain way. And I’m sorry.” She sighed and held out her hand to the kid, smiling sadly for both of them. “I’m Morgan Beck. You can refer to my ‘condition’ as zombie. But that’s classified. I don’t really enjoy having to fight for my existence. Not that a slayer won’t already know what I am on sight, but I’d rather they not get any extra help you know?” Her smile curled bitterly and she turned her eyes to the rest of the cemetery. “Are you really out here because it’s fun, Eddie…?” She asked quietly. “Or is it something else, too?”

When Eddie set out for Jericho Hill earlier in the day, he hadn’t expected a lecture. “Death changes a person,” he said softly after she reminded him that ghosts weren’t always memories. It didn’t take him long to realize the issue with his statement. “Preacher, choir.” He gestured first to himself, then Morgan as he assigned the labels. “You probably have a point.”

Eddie found himself nodding along with her condemnation of ‘shitty assholes’ initially, but he stilled when he heard her apology. His expression fell into unsure neutrality; he didn’t know how to respond. Strangers weren’t usually that kind, and they never read him like a book. It took him a moment to register her outstretched hand before he grasped it with his.

“Pleasure to meet you, Morgan Beck,” Eddie said, mirroring her sad smile. “Your secret’s safe with me. People like you shouldn’t be hunted, anyway.” Her question took some mulling over. Eddie didn’t particularly like being open and honest on that front. “Well, I mean, it is fun, but…” He trailed off with a sigh before shrugging. “Actually, that’s kind of bullshit. I can’t remember the last time I had fun—maybe with Bex or Alfie, but that’s different. Having fun with friends is easy but, when I’m alone…” Eddie shook his head and let out a terse sigh. “Are you, like, a psychiatrist or something? Analyzing brains by day, eating them by night.”

“What? Death changes you? No kidding,” Morgan deadpanned. “You can consider me an expert on both sides of the curtain,” she added more kindly. “Thank you. For your...Human-Plus allyship?” She wasn’t sure what to call it. She confided in so few humans these days. She had enough on her plate with her family as it was.

She kept looking at Eddie, his battered hollowness and his resilient vitality. There was more than one way to be alive and dead, she supposed. “I’m an adjunct professor in the English department at the university,” she said. “But I spent my alive-time on earth literally cursed with suffering, and consequently spent a lot of time desperately wanting to get to know people and being afraid of getting too close, in case they got sucked into my magic bullshit. So I’m good at noticing things and I understand a lot. Like that feeling where you can be mostly okay when you’re with people, especially the ones you care about, but when it’s just you that feeling you’re running from is still there and it settles in. But we don’t have to talk about that, if it makes you uncomfortable. Also, I resent the suggestion that I eat people. I’m actually trying to hurt as few people as possible right now for reasons that have nothing to do with my appetite, which I monitor and manage very carefully. So I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that again. You can tell me about how you know Bex, if you really want a change of subject.” Beaming at Eddie, she brought up her knees and let her head fall to rest on them and settled in. She’d given him a lot, but if he was friends with Bex, it was probably best he got used to the ride.

Eddie deserved her snark, even he could admit that. Despite his theorizing, fantasizing, and romanticizing—he didn’t know what it meant to be dead. Against better judgement, he envied Morgan and the way she straddled the line between life and death. It sounded ideal, at least on paper. “I strive to be a friend of the dead,” he said with a mild shrug. “Clearly, that doesn’t absolve me of insensitivity though, sorry about that.”

As she caught him up to speed on the source of her empathy, he listened with enraptured fascination. Eddie didn’t know the first thing about curses, but he liked to think he understood the loneliness she alluded to. “Sounds like you got saddled with a spectator role, that sucks. Most people aren’t built for that.” He hoped he wasn’t projecting, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that turned out to be the case.

“Shit—thanks for correcting me. I shouldn’t have made an assumption like that,” he admitted timidly when she kindly scolded him for his comment about brain-eating. His face lit up at the mention of Bex. “You know ‘er?” he asked, taking a seat in front of Morgan. Knowing she was familiar with someone like Bex instantly eased whatever lingering uncertainty he still felt. “We met pretty recently, I guess, but she’s the kind of person I feel like I’ve known a lot longer than I actually have, y’know?”

Eddie wondered how much information was safe to bring-up, ultimately deciding to play it safe. “It was after… well, she’d just gone through something pretty awful, and I think I made things a little harder on her. Not on purpose, of course, I didn’t know, but… she was really kind to me, anyway. I think that goes to show how special she is.” He neglected to mention the magical mishap; maybe Morgan didn’t know that side of Bex. “How do you know her? If that’s alright to ask, I mean.”

“You weren’t built to be a spectator in your life either, Eddie,” Morgan said. “No one is. We are here to learn, to connect, to experience. What’s the point of being stuck in a body if not to feel? What’s the point of being surrounded by so much mess and beauty if not to learn as much as you can from it? It’s cruel to take it for granted. And it’s cruel to hurt someone in a way that they cut themself off from anything good they might find in their tiny little existence.”

She fingered the tall, young grass as she spoke. She could never settle on a memory to give its strange, invisible touch more substance. When she was a child in Houston and her mother would send her into the yard to practice her alchemy, the grass was thick and sharp. It prickled her feet so badly she’d check her heels to see if they had cut her. They never did. So maybe the grass was like dull needles, or like tiptoeing around the rules, since she would often do her exercises slowly or skip steps on purpose so she could do them over again and make her time out last longer. Long enough to see the stars appear, but before the mosquitoes ate her up.

“But yes, I was really bad at keeping my distance,” she went on. “Which made for a lot of good experiences and a lot of hurt. Honestly, I wish I’d taken more risks, made more kinds of alive-memories to hold onto.”

She couldn’t help but beam at hearing the boy talk about Bex. Nothing he said was news to her, but it was nice to see her kindness reflected in someone else’s eyes. “Bex is staying with me right now. Has been for a while. Well, me and my girlfriend. We care for her as if she was ours, as best as we know how, anyway. So I know,” she grinned. “You’re not breaking supernatural club rules if you want to talk about her.”

Eddie wanted to agree with Morgan, to say that life was something precious and cherishable, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie. Death looked a lot more appealing to him whether or not he made a triumphant return as something a little less human. “Cruel or not, people do it anyway,” he said with a shrug. “I’m coping with it the only way I know how.” Granted, his coping looked a lot more like sabotaging.

Eddie didn’t think much of the grass, it was just grass; everywhere and unextraordinary. All it had to offer him were stains, the thought of which made him shift uncomfortably. He felt that way about a lot of everyday life’s mundanities. They didn’t exist unless they caused a problem. Morgan had a point when she warned him against taking things for granted, but Eddie didn’t realize it. How could he?

“I bet that’s weird,” he said. “Everything changing, but also not. I don’t know much about zombies, obviously, but I know coming back is rough for a lot of ghosts. I’d tell you that there’s still time to take those risks, but I get the sense you didn’t come to Jericho Hill looking for silver linings. At least, not ones given to you by some random guy with a foot fetish.” He ended on a joke in the hopes that it might lighten the mood, praying she didn’t think he was serious.

A sigh of relief passed Eddie’s lips. “Beamed a heaping helping of trauma right into my head,” he explained. “She didn’t mean to, of course, and I’m not exactly mad about it, anyway. Knowing her is worth a little muss and fuss. That said, I learned my lesson. No more alleyways for Bex.”

“Eddie, and I mean this kindly, with the kind of empathy that comes from experience--” Morgan prefaced her words softly, giving Eddie a look that pitied and understood too well. “Putting all your attention on other people’s problems so you don’t have to look at your own doesn’t make them go away, or get smaller. A lot of the time it just makes them grow heavier and sink their roots deeper into you.”

She reached out and gently flicked some of his long hair out of his eyes. “Worrying about me isn’t coping. What’s so bad about turning all this nice attention on yourself? I know people haven’t been kind, but whatever they said or did, they weren’t right about you. You deserve kindness. And love. Being here is hard enough without being cruel to yourself too. But--” She grinned wryly. “You didn’t come to Jericho Hill for a pep talk from a walking dead lady.”

She picked up her Pyrex and ate the last bit of lunch and dusted herself off. “I’m going to go home and prep some raccoon bones for my next art project, if you want to come. Bex has some really great pieces she’s made too. But we know each other now, so I hope you won’t try and disappear just because I know what song you’re playing.”

Eddie listened as Morgan spoke. Meanwhile, his stomach twisted into anxious knots. He didn’t want to hear that putting others first wasn’t the answer. Tackling his problems head-on hurt too much, especially considering he rarely had help. “Yeah, so I’ve noticed.” His gaze fell to the ground. Eddie couldn’t bring himself to say more, it might inspire her to confront him with even more difficult truths. It was nice feeling like she cared, he didn’t expect that from someone he just met, but it was also heavy.

Eddie let out a soft huff of laughter when she flicked a strand of his hair. Such a simple gesture, but the familiarity of it inspired a gush of affection. “Maybe not, but I’m glad that didn’t stop her from giving it to me anyway.”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie asked in disbelief, rising to his feet. “You’re a bone-art making, pep talk giving zombie with a weirdly comforting southern accent. Good luck getting rid of me, you’ll need it.”

#c: morgan #wickedswriting #brainberry picking #/// HNNGH I LOVE MORGAN #kat really blessed us with her existence #and this is actually very wholesome #it gets a little heavy conversation-wise #but i don't thiiiink anything mentioned will be particularly triggering?

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jessiebanethedragon · 4 years

Text

Scuttle (4/?)

Big thanks to all those reading this!!!! hope you enjoy part four ❤️

also warning of talk about Hutt reproduction for comedic purposes (sorry...)

You wake to the sound of a very angry sniper. And even though his default setting is angry, he seems more perturbed than usual. Muffled voices can be heard from outside the small bunk area that you’ve already made your personal space. Wet, destroyed clothes sit on the floor in the corner and you’re wrapped only in Crosshairs blanket, save for your undergarments. You swing your legs over and plant them on the cold metal floor. As you reach the door, the voices become clearer.

“Absolutely not.” - That's Crosshair for sure, only he would be so blunt.

“I wasn't asking for your permission Crosshair, only your opinion.” The other voice is more of a long sigh at this point. The exhaustion and caring sound to it tells you it’s Hunter. For clones they are all remarkably different, you think to yourself.

“Yeah and my opinion is ‘no’.” Crosshair snaps.

“The seppies will come after her whether you like it or not.” He counters.

“Which is why we can’t take her into bounty hunter territory!” You freeze as you realize they mean you. Panic settles in when you come to terms with the idea of being ditched on some degenerate planet with non resources whatsoever. You retreat back into the bunk, pulling the blanket closer to your frame.

“Just get her up.” Hunter finishes and you hear him walk back down the halfway of the ship. Crosshair grumbles something about not being in charge of you before the door slides open. He’s shocked to see you sitting up and awake, and his eyes rest on the pile of clothes on the floor before meeting yours. His blanket looks far better on you than it has in all his years of owning it.

“Food’s up.” He says before turning to leave. Less time spent interacting with you the better. Means less time for him to stare at the one exposed shoulder that the blanket has fallen off of and less time to wonder if you’d ever spare someone like him a second glance.

“Where are you dumping me?” He hears a small voice ask. And all the warmth leaves his body.

“We aren't…” He starts, not turning around. Because if he doesn’t turn around he can claim ignorance if you're crying or not.

“I heard you and Hunter and i’m not stupid.” You interrupt him, voice void of any emotion.

“Then you'd know i'm not going to let him do that.” He snaps, almost angry at you for thinking he’d leave you on your own.

“I’m deadweight, aren't I?” It's a question you know the answer to but have to ask anyways. You want to scream at the republic, for using your intel and then throwing you away. Taking advantage of your selflessness and empathy, just like they take advantage of the clones caring and giving nature at every opportunity.

“You’re not deadweight.” Crosshair states, leaving no room for argument, “You just need to be somewhere off the grid for a while.” He hears you stand, and slowly he turns his head, his blanket bunched awkwardly around your frame. His jaw clenches as his heart pulls at strings he swore weren't there.

“Crosshair…” You start, but don’t continue, words escape you, the right ones don’t exist in that moment. Or at least you can't bring yourself to use the ones you want to. So instead, you opt to blankly stare at the metal floor. He will leave eventually, turn and head out the door. You’re not his problem, your brain explains this as the floor becomes more and more interesting. Except he doesn't go. And the very tips of his fingers meet your chin, gently pulling your head to meet his glance.

God his eyes are stunning, you think, before cursing your brain for being in the totally wrong place at the wrong time. But his eyes might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen. Light brown with hints of ashy tones.

“I won't leave you on your own.” He tells you, but what you want to hear is that he will stay with you. You're already inexplicably attached to the sniper, it's unbearable.

“Thank you.” You whisper to him breathless just from being this close to him.

“Now come on, or Wrecker will have eaten everything before you even get out there.” Crosshair cocks his head towards the door, pulling away from you.

The members of the hold greet you excitedly, Wrecker seems to have really taken to calling you little bird as well as patting your head affectionately. And you find yourself sat wedge in between him and Tech while they both talk your ear off. Hunter is smiling and eating in contentment of his little family and Crosshair is starring, you fit so nicely in this scene. Wrecker piling more and more food on your plate while you laugh at Techs retelling of one of their ridiculous missions.

“Tell er’ about Nal Hutta!” Wrecker says with an evil smile.

“Don’t you dare.” Crosshair snaps at his vod, who's already laughing his blacks off.

“It wasn't that bad Cross.” Hunter admits grabbing some empty dishes and patting his shoulder as he walks by.

“Yes it was!” Wrecker says between wheezes. And you notice the faint flush in his cheeks.

“Okay one of you needs to spill the details.” You demand looking from Tech to Wrecker.

“Well, as you probably know Nal Hutta is run by the infamous Hut cartel…” Tech launches off, waving his hands about as he talks. (you've picked this up as one of his biggest habits.)

“Tech…” Crosshair groans with his face in one of his hands before giving in and leaning back. Preparing for the worst.

“I can't tell you all the details, classified and all, but the important part is that Cross was working recon and cover, like usual. So he's up this step mountain that's basically all dirt and sand. Looking for this Hut fellow right, and before we can warn him Wrecker throws this thermal detonator and the whole side of the mountain collapses.” Tech tells you excitedly. And your worried eyes look across the table. Crosshair had moved so he could lean back with his arms behind his head looking just a tad embarrassed.

“He would've been fine, if he hadn't gone rolling right through the window of the house he was collecting intel on.” Wrecker was killing himself laughing by this point.

“And then the… the” He tried to get out between gasps of air before waving it off and letting Tech continue.

“And well, sorry Cross, there's no easy way to say this.” Tech laughed a little himself. “He rolled right in on a Hutt reproducing session.” Your eyes went as wide as they could, and a hand covered your gaping and giggling mouth.

“Wait, so Crosshair burst in on two Hutts doing it?” You gasped, trying to stifle your growing laughter.

“Gets worse.” The man in question grit out, looking at the mess of comrades before him.

“How does that get worse?” You exclaimed, leaning into Wrecker with his contagious laughter. Tech turned to you, smiling wider than ever.

“Hutts reproduce asexually.” He stated, “scientists don't know too much about it but from the condition we found this one in.” he pointed to a grumpy Crosshair. “It gets real messy.” You closed your mouth into a thin line, blinking as you tried not to laugh.

“Oh…” Giggle “no, Crosshair…” More giggles. “That must’ve been awful.” You tried to emphasize you really did, but the look on the snipers face had you laughing all over again.

“He was covered head to toe in green Hutt goo!” Wrecker boomed.

“Well it’s nice to know yet another finds my torment hilarious.” Crosshair grumbled as he stood up to escape the laughing hyenas before him.

“No!” you objected, “I promise I am not finding this the least bit funny.” You told him, trying to keep a straight face. Receiving a sarcastic ‘um hum’ reply.

“I mean it, you could have been seriously injured.” You countered, thinking you had successfully hidden your smile beneath your hand.

“I can see you smiling.” He said, raising an eyebrow at you.

“You could've drowned in Hutt goo…” You quietly said with another round of giggles.

“Ahhh yes CT-7733 of Clone Force 99 killed in action on Nal hutta, death caused by drowning in Hutt goo.” Tech snickered from beside you.

“He will be dearly missed, and as an apology the Hutt has named the child in his honour.” You added taking note of Crosshairs millionth eye roll of that morning alone.

“Okay that's enough of that now.” He said. “Wren, you want clothes or are you spending the rest of your life in my blanket?” He teases, watching you blush a tad.

“I don't take life advice from a man covered in goo.” You shoot back with the biggest smirk on your face.

“No clothes for you then.” he smiled as your protests began.

“Okay, okay, calm down, don’t get your goo in a tuffle.” You say maneuvering yourself from with the blanket and over Wrecker who's still chuckling to himself.

Down back in your makeshift room, Crosshair shows you where the extra clothes are kept, which means you’ll be swimming in extra sets of blacks all meant for clones that are bigger than yourself. But you think your pants may survive given a good enough wash, so for now you roll the waistband and the legs until you look somewhat presentable. Greeting Crosshair on the other side of the door.

“See,” He says, “told ya’ it would fit.” Before he turns from you and starts to walk back down the hall.

“Wait Crosshair!” You call jogging over to him, a look of fau-concentration on your face as you reach up to where his short hair meets his right ear. Carefully running your fingers through it. He knows his heart has either stopped beating or hammering so fast he can’t feel it.

“There, all good now.” you declare patting his cheek a few times. Hoping he inquires as to why you just had your hand in his hair. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before deciding on:

“What was that for?” and if there was an inter-galactic clone flirting competition, Crosshair just lost. You grin up at him, pure evil in your eyes.

“Oh no reason,”You say walking past. “Just a little leftover Hutt goo.”

tags: @mangoberry43 @imalovernotahater @professionaltrashcompactor @vesperstalksclones @haloangel391

and: Thinking the next chapter might be longer but be out of order in relevance to these chapters... thoughts? questions? comments? etc???

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alitheamateur · 5 years

Text

The Grind- Chapter 31

A/N: Here we are, my precious jewels. The end of my own little era, but the beginning of a renewed passion. This story brought back a love for story-telling that I had long neglected, and although most don't understand the sentiment, I owe a lot of happiness to these characters. The Grind sprouted during a very dark, confusing, heartbreaking time in my life, and it became such a welcomed distraction from my emotional spiral. This piece of fiction will be held near and dear to my soul for all of eternity, and my heart beats with love for each & every one of you who has shared a kind word.

One last time, The Grind.

I was grateful that even over all the unsteady commotion, the gravel of his familiar voice busted through to my eardrums. The thud of my pulse hammered, already bringing along the gift of a taxing migraine that would only worsen once a pair of fists lashed into my skull. I was dreading the aching road of recovery before Kat and I had even thrown a punch.

Hers came first though. Quick, and robust it met the girlish roundness of my chin, shaking quivers over every hair on my skin. My footing staggered, and I swear to you my very eyeballs rattled. The early stages of pain I felt didn’t talk long to drag back the memo to my brain to protect my face as much as possible as she obsessively stalked to land an even more brutal hit the next time. I swished the blood laced spit around my jaws to wet my tongue, and settled in for war.

She could tell the blow had combusted an inkling of uncertainty in my spirit, and it only fed her desire for violence. With a random bout of bravery, I pointed an attempted swing for her ribs, connecting successfully to the tight ripples of her abdomen. Seeing as she hadn’t foreseen the body shot, it crippled her standing straight stance, and I was able to rock two more fists to the opposite cage of her ribs. Something felt off for a second when I heard her gasp for a breath when I released the wind from her belly. I felt… bad.

Violent nature was foreign to me, and I let myself feel briefly apologetic on the inside watching her suffer for air. Then, the fighting side of me rose to rule. I lobbed a club-foot kick to her chiseled thigh, victoriously capturing her balance. However, I couldn’t completely escape my often clumsy tactics, and I let my own legs tangle with hers as she dropped buoyantly to the mat.

I scurried with fluster to try and reach my standing position before Bex, but unfortunately her quickness outweighed my own. I brought my forearms to my face, doubling them as a shield of armor for my breakable nose. With her every delivery of a fist, my head bounced like a ball on the soft mat below. I prayed for her to tire, or somehow make a careless mistake and allow my escape. I could already feel the tenderness of plum-shaded bruises forming up and down my arms, and I just wanted to cower in Colton’s arms.

Where was his voice? Why couldn’t I hear the assuring yells of he and Tia?

Just as my arms began to weaken in defeat, the squealing of the timekeeper’s bell halted her strike.

Katrina stood to her feet with ease, running for the cool swig of water waiting in her corner, leaving a shaken and hallucinating swirl of stars swimming like a halo around my skull. I tried to assess myself on the mat, still surveying what damage may have been done. Aside from my fractured pride.

“Baby! Get up, c’mon! Get over here, Liv!”

I frenzied to my feet shakily, remembering the very limited seconds I had to steal a second with my coaches in between rounds. Tia tried to masquerade her reaction of pity, but the squinting sickness of her eyes told all the tale I needed. I didn’t feel much pain, other than a tight pressure settling inside my nostrils, so the unknown markings couldn’t have been of much severity, right?

Suddenly, settling on the 3-legged stool for a ticking minute of a break, I caught glimpse of the very sopped, very stained towel that Colt applied to my stuffy nose. He squeezed gently, and his touch seemed to re-apply sensation to my busted snout. I yelped as his massaged as gingerly as his rocky hands would, and plugged the holes with some sort of swabs to drink up the blood-spill.

“You good, Liv? Hey… Look at me, right now. Look in my eyes. Do you wanna keep going?” Colton shook my shoulders, demanding a surefire answer. Bless his soul, there was nothing but devoted protection and the will to be my strong tower in his silver eyes.

“Have a little faith, remember?”

He rehearsed his best fake smile, and slung the ruined rag over his shoulder to scoop up my cushioned seat when the ref tapped a finger to his imaginary watch hurrying us to pick up the pace.

Besides the whelped imprint of my ankle bone on the upper of her thigh, Bex would enter the second round only rested and ready for more. She would go viciously after my obviously very broken nose, so it was my responsibility to protect it like a mother bird to her helpless young.

Two nippy little jabs, but thankfully she had missed. The dodging alone of her efforted hits made my entire face spasm with pain, and I was already daydreaming about the blue-green blossoms of bruise I would wake up to in the morning. If I even made it that far…

“Go after that leg, Liv! She’s tryin’ to baby it, so get after her!”

With Tia’s help, I did begin to notice the awkward teeter to Katrina’s steps. She was hobbling in the slightest, and her leg carried a barely detectable limp of uneasiness. If I could numb that leg enough, and swipe her footing to crash, I knew I could get her. I needed just a cracked window of opportunity, and I wouldn’t let my submission training go to waste.

I fell into rhythm with bizarre fist fakes, confusing her reflexes when taking shot after shot at her leg. With unyielding focus, I beat the tender skin of her thigh with kicks like a well-oiled meat tenderizer, the stretch of my own groin muscle also suffering.

Dribbles from my nose spilled blood down my chest onto the mat, painting a slickness beneath our feet. The metallic flavored goo gurgled in the back of my throat, and I wanted to spit free my mouthguard and guzzle the strongest proof of some sort of dark alcohol to curb its stain on my tongue. I made a mental note that Colt make a liquor run once I settled into the featherbed in our hotel room.

As Katrina and I tiptoed on light feet ‘round the cage, I’d give side glances to Colt. Once finding his foot standing in the seat of my stool with his elbow resting on a knee, his mouth taut behind the hand his rested over his lips. Assessing. Strategizing. Criticizing?

Another moment his forearms interlocked over his beating chest, toes tapping in a wide stance, and even a barely traceable half-smile sitting across his face. Just knowing he was there, close to me, only a few arms-lengths away should danger really arrive, slowed the pace of my overbeating heart. I’d win this for him. For me, of course. But, it was decided nevertheless that Katrina’s very first loss tonight, would ultimately rally a victory for me, my camp, and my Colton.

As the round ended, Bex felt the buff weight of pressure stalking around her. As I turned, this time much more aware, towards my corner for a rushed break between blows, she smashed both palms to the blades of my shoulder, childishly showing me to the ground. Our ref consumed her with a tight embrace, quite firmly chastising into her ear. Thankfully for the much ,much needed backup, I bounced out of the way for Willow to swallow Tia inside a resisting bearhug, as I attempted to handle Colton’s own bursting of incoherent fury.

“Handle your fuckin’ girl, Tyler! You and I both knew we ain’t here for any shit like that!” My rumbling bear growled across the mat to Kat’s fumbling coach. “I see anything like that again, and me ‘n you may have to borrow this damn cage for a short minute.”

“Hey, hey, hey! Colton, hey. Stop, baby. C’mon! Look at me, I’m good, ok?” I purred and hummed into his hot ear. Hoping some sort of soothing spell would lull some calmness back into his raging eyes.

“COLT, STOP. Shit! Take a deep breath, Colton. Don’t ruin this for me, damn it! I’m fine, babe. I promise.�� I was rambling to an empty shell. His spirit was climbing the rafters like a demonic spirt lurking above the darkest shadows. “Please…”

With that simplest plea, the pink of his cheeks reappeared, and his lips relaxed. I think his teeth cracked from the tense of his unbreakable jaws.

He shuddered, as if feeling his spirit mold back into his body, and turned away from Bex and her coach. Placing two firm paws atop my shoulders, he hurried me to a seat, kneeling himself to eye level.

“Beat. Her.” A growl buzzed from the back of his raw throat.

He knew her sideshow had embarrassed me, and if I wouldn’t let him intervene in my honor, I best do it myself.

Colton kissed me. Hard. Teetering the stool on its back legs. And if I couldn’t win this fight with that kind of motivation, I never had a chance to begin with.

The referee had taken some extra moments to scold Katrina for the uncalled for, untimely reaction, and began ushering Tia and Colt towards the cage door.

I hissed an engrossed inhale, focusing best I could to even out the pace of my tottering, rambunctious heart.

But my heart would be the only thing I would slow.

Barely registering the ‘ting’ of our timekeepers bell, I lunged forward sighting in on the nose protruding from the middle of her smug face. The girl hadn’t given a single clear peep at her face the entire match, but it seemed in that moment that fate had tied her hands for the upper hand of my fist.

Her eyes wept instantly at the burn of her nasal bone cracking in half. But that didn’t stop me. My humanity switched long flipped with the scent of a wound, and I was only out for blood no matter the cost. With battered knuckles, and uncontrolled swings, the light of defense dulled behind my opponents’ eyes.

A happen-stance shot deep into the mushy socket of her eye obliterated her focus, and the cage rumbled and rattled when her body fell limber at my feet. Until I was torn from her, and the match was called, I wouldn’t stop the invasive assault and risk any odds of a comeback.

Her head bobbled like a bottle cap rolling over the waves of a high tide ocean, and it seemed the way her eyelashes batted in slow motion that they themselves were even too heavy for her to bear. Our official closely observed her behavior, watching for signs of drooping unconsciousness, and any other medical qualifications for calling the match.

With one roll of my knuckles over her chin, her knee buckled at the bend and sent her tumbling. Trying to resist the inevitable admirably, in true fighters’ fashion, Katrina’s feeble, worn down body emptied of any overcoming abilities. Tears began to twine with red leaking down her face when the ring ref signaled to the timekeeper, calling the bout.

TKO.

Colton’s obsessing pride, uncontainable joy, and earnest tears of content dissipated whatever inkling of patience he was born with, and he kicked his lead foot into the cage door, bending loose the hinges to get to me. As my left hand was raised in baffling triumph, he pulled it right back into his own, sliding back into to place the sparkling gemstone on my ring finger.

Colton’s sentimental tears turned loose into an unbroken stream, his chest choking free chuckling sobs as he folded at the knee, and buried his reddening face into the pumping breaths of my belly. I could feel his mumblings vibrate into me, and his mouth movements tickling the bare skin above my waistband. Pulling him free and seeking his face, I combed through his shagged hair with giggling of my own.

“Baby. Hey! What is it, Colt?!”

I adored the way his smile danced with his tears, the odd coupling a beautiful one.

“You are fucking amazing, Liv Elliott! And fuck me for ever thinking you didn’t belong here.”

With an eager, rising fever to kiss his forever gorgeous lips, I cupped his face and willed him into me. His hands wormed under the crook of my arms and suddenly the ground disappeared from beneath my tired feet. No protest present, I hooked the clutches of my legs about his abdomen, and captured him. If I had any breath in me after the battle, he would’ve sucked it clear from my lungs with his smothering display of a kiss. I heard cameras snapping, analysts and fellow writers begging my name for a statement, but all the world might as well have been a foreign, unpopulated wonderland where only my soul and his could survive.

The fusing of his plush-skinned mouth with my own lit my spirit on fire, and I considered dragging him to the courthouse first thing the following day to marry him on the spot, just to be able to pair his own name with the word ‘husband’.

“Do your thing, champ. They wanna hear from you,” Colton plopped me down to meet to ground. “I’ll be right here. Always”

He eased himself backwards, dismissing himself from the sight of cameras and attention, pushing me to bathe in the limelight of the results of my hard work. He may not have been holding my hand in the literal sense, but the glow of his cheery cheeks as he watched me share the rundown from my point-of-view with the newspapers comforted me. I spied Tia even chatting at his side, with some strange sentiment resembling a genuine smile, as my parents weaved through the aisles.

Standing in my own portrayal of center stage, feeling the gratifying weight of his diamond promise on my finger, his last name soon-to-be mine on the wrist of my blood-stained gloves, and the unpredicted win of an MMA bout under my belt, there weren’t enough words in a Webster to define my state. Whether things would never be the same again, I knew all change would be for the better with the treasure of my Colton tucked in my back pocket for cherished keeping. With a determined heart, a driving passion, and maybe a few more callouses on my hands than before, I would strap down and relish in the ride to come. Lots of work, even more play, and back to The Grind.

TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935 @mollybegger-blog @littleluna98

#Tom Hardy #tomhardy #tomhardyfanfiction #tomhardyfanfic #tommy conlon #Elizabeth Olsen #thegrind

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rewrentless · 5 years

Text

Taz Balance Quotes

I have no idea how long ive been working on this, between 2 and 7 months but finally ive made a list of memorable quotes /quotes that made me chuckle

-Any you driads down to clown

-That was my grandfathers haunch

-Everyone needs a barry bluejeans!

-You shouldnt had your dog jump up my ass! I dont think my dog could fit in an ass! You havent seen this ass

-Eat me barry

-If you were making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and you dropped some jelly on the counter are you gonna take a knife and just start cutting at it you dumb son of a bitch??

-she thinks my tractors sexy and i think im no longer welcome here

-hello hello welcome to my caev

-abraca fuck you

-hey you calm the fuck down sir theres no yelling at fantasy Costco!

-its like a bag of holding but for ass

-merle i can see 3/4 to 4/5 of your entire butt

-the railsplitter passes through the tree like a baseball bat passing through a ghost

-youve solved my shrek puzzle

-a witch kissed me and cursed me so that anytime anybody yells a secret word i have to attend to their every need and that word is my fucking name jenkins

-infinite bean!!!

-i got a murder wall in my brain!

-time-pon! The time travelling tampon!

-lord steven q fletcher esquire the goldfish the third

-'yeah he really beat me in a test of wits and wagers' and winks at taako over and over just winking

- hey baby i love your tendrils

-i got here a few minutes ago and i can not take my eyes off you i looked at you across the square 60 feet away and i said do not be chopping on this baby

-you and the box both drink poison and you survive but the box has died. With that the box pops open

-does everyone get that i have an elevator fetish at this point?

-griffen we gotta fight some weeds at floor 20!

-my names not jerry its ... jerrieeeeee

-but listen guys now i gotta take a poop, you know like a poop like a real emergent poop

-'your name ... of course ... is... taako. Sike thats just mine say my name!' i cast magic missile

-so youre sayin we eat him

-youre all beautiful butterflake snowflies

-im actually a mongoose meow

-and inside the envelopes there is 200 gold pieces ‘thanks for these shitty jangly envelopes’

-i hand her a coupon for one free backrub

-magnus this is the nightmare scenario

-hot diggity shit that is a baller cookie

-i made you guys chairs for your new digs and if you lift up the cushion it doubles as an indoor toilet

-davenport read the room!

-mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm davenport

-i start to very subtly and very easily cry

-last time i was in an elevator vines tried to eat my dick

-the late merle highchurch rolled a 5

-’youre a god!’ I definately am

-youre not stupid youre beautiful

-its kinda ridiculous how many pies we got our toes in

-your mother would swaddle you young taako baby taako and just sing to you oh shit sweet flip oh dip sweet flip my little nugget

-god liiiieed to me

-magnus can kiss my kenny chesney tattoo

-you found her?!

-hey thug whats your name im about to tentacle your dick?

-if travis cant move his legs then i shall create his legs!

-im just an elevator climb on in ma belly!

-press ma buttons from inside a me

-if you wanted to lure me in there you shoulda stayed handsome ma fella

-'i tap it with the gluttons fork and i swallow it' 'what the f uck'

-ive got to switch between different accents to trick my prey

-when that day comes little man oh when that day comes i will summon whatever powers i still have at my disposal that you have not sipphoned away from me and i will take all of my canny and all of my cunning and all arcanas still within my reach and i will use it to strike you down little man

-dungeons and dragons and daddies

-fantasy shorts fantasy shorts fantasy shorts fantasy shorts!

-i cast zone of truth!

-junebug

-this chair smells like grandmas

-this scene is memorable to you now but in the moment you werent thinking im going to remember everything about this moment

-inifate bag of boys

-if it had flesh then it would be a bag of skin full of fucking goo

-"how do you not have a six it comes with every board game?" "My daughter..." "eats them for power??"

-because in wonderland... there is no healing (shit eating grin)

-liches get stitches

-son of a lich

-you built the fucking door out of wood shit wood

-bad luck

-ill be having my body back you undead fuck

-sturdy. denim. and blue

-i have updated my list of people i trust and things i believe to no one and nothing

-those are the arms that have held my wife

-i cant fight i cant protect i cant do anything in this body

- i saw seven birds

-the twins, the lover, the protecter, the lonely journal keeper, the peacemaker and the wordless one

-i dont know but i feel like i trust you

-dont let them erase me magnus

-how could you forget lup

-nerd alert!

-greg grimaldis you owe me $15 and i aim to collect

-i have to believe that im gonna get those $15 back from greg fucking grimaldis

-the one thing we do have is the thing that people in love rarely ever have enough of and its time

-I dont know about in love its only been... 21 years

-are you my friend?

-what brings me joy is... life. I think you can find joy anywhere in life i thibk its a concious choice i think you choose joy in life and no matter how bad things are no matter how crummy no matter how dark no matter how many times some guy named john kills your ass you find joy. I’ve found joy, honest to God, getting to know you. I’ve found joy playing chess with you. I have enjoyed - i haven’ t enjoyed you know, getting my ass killed, but i find joy in whatever I do. I don’t always do things right, and I don’t always do things smart, and I don’t always do a character voice, but whatever i do, i find joy in it. Because at the end of the day, that’s all you got. It’s looking back on the joy you had, and the joy you found, and the joy you gave other people

-soon you will call us ascendent

-kiss my ass you sanctimonious bastard

-huh. I feel sad

-its not perfect but its the best i can do

-our capacity for love increases with each person we cross paths with throughout our lives and with each moment we spend with those people but too often we neglect that part of ourselves in favour of others and by the time we realize just how importnat it is we find ourselves with fewer folks around to practice with but the seven of you have something that nobody else ever had time all the time in the world time enough to grow indescribely close time enough to learn how to care for each other how to allow yourselves to be caref for and in the case of barry and lup time enough to fall deeply and truely in love

-there was romance in every measure and longing in every note

-have we not earned a little wrath?

-i made it

-you are my heart you know that right?

-sometimes there arent right decisions sometimes theres just decisions

-when someone leaves your life those exits are not made equal. Some are beautiful and poetic and satisfying others are abrupt and unfair but most are just unremarkable, unintentional clumsy

-back soon

-who?

-taako kill me

-you fucking took everything from me

-understand this, i have nothing and i don’t give a shit. The world is ending and i don’t care

-phantasmal and resplendent

-youre dating the grim reaper?!

-ill take one taco with extra destiny

-i tell the trees when to shed their leaves and i make every piece of fruit taste the way that it tastes and i taught every blade of grass in the ground where to grow did you really think i had forgotten about you?

-im not your pan but you will always be my merle

-i run over and im already kissing him this is ridiculous

-I want to warm up my face i dont want it to be cold and weird

-whats up ghostrider

-i met god no big deal

-lets save the world and 420 blaze it

-hear that babe? We’re legends

-youre going to have to fight and… youre gonna win!

-you hear it now too dont you? The song is now yours, just as the story has always been yours and with this final piece your understanding of these impossible events is complete. Like i said before, youre ready now, darkness surrounds you but be not afraid, after all youre going to win, we know that much but that is the limit of my knowledge. Youre all caught up now, whatever happens next, well, we’ll just have to find out together

-you boys know the best of the fantasy costo? Free samples

-we won

-youre going to be amazing

-it takes time as all difficult and important things do, for the world to recover from what was done to it that day. But it does recover, and not just that, it thrives.

-im about to smooch your fucking brains out babe

-one small criticism, i think you may have forgotten to make it taste good

-‘youre kinda full of dog shit sometimes’ thats what it was i forgot i did include dog shit

-i should mention my boyfriend is death

-if you will all excuse me i have… to shit

-i tried to make you proud

-we see you one last time as magnus rushes in

-even happier days were to come, because that was the world that you made, that was the ending you earned

#taz #taz balance #taz quotes #taako taaco #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #lup taaco #barry bluejeans #lucretia #davenport

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tisfan · 5 years

Text

Normal Everyday Asshole Aliens

86 Tony/Eddie/Venom @journeythroughtherain & Anonymous “Damn, you’re strong for a little thing.”

The last time Tony had been in San Francisco, he and Eddie had gone on a pub crawl, sampling not beer or whiskey, but onion rings. Tony had been determined to find the best god damned pub rings in the city, and Eddie had laughingly tagged along.

Some five hours later, groaning from too much grease and fried dough, they’d gone back to Eddie’s apartment and made out until they’d fallen asleep in the middle of necking. Tony had woken up with a stomach ache, a horrible crick in his neck from sleeping slumped over on top of Eddie on the couch, the worst morning breath of his entire life, and absolutely no regrets.

He knew why Eddie’d had to leave New York, and he understood, but he kind of wished it hadn’t been necessary. Eddie was fun, challenged Tony’s assumptions about things, and understood completely about the kind of schedule Tony had to keep and the reasons he couldn’t commit to being a boyfriend. What they had was good. It was enough.

It had been more than half a year since Tony’d had an excuse to go to San Francisco, and he was looking forward to meeting up with Eddie. Maybe hooking up, if they could make their schedules match up.

He wasn’t expecting Eddie to meet him at the airport, but there he was, leaning against the wall as Tony’s private jet touched down. Tony wasn’t sure how he’d gotten past TSA or security, but he didn’t ask, either.

“You… uh, you look good, Tony,” Eddie said. “Came on my bike, thought you might want a ride?”

Eddie paused, tipping his head to one side, his eyes glazing a little bit, as if he was listening to a phone conversation, before he shook it off and gave Tony a wide grin. Eddie was nothing like most of Tony’s partners, scruffy and wearing a shlubby hoodie. He had a bike helmet in one hand, but pulled Tony in for a quick embrace with the other.

Tony grinned back and swung his leg over the bike, snuggling up against Eddie’s back suggestively. “Got a bitch helmet for me?”

“This one is for you, I don’t, uh… I don’t wear one anymore,” Eddie said. He handed over the brain bucket to Tony and then kicked the bike to life. The motor roared and the whole thing buzzed like an overgrown vibrator between Tony’s thighs.

(more below the cut)

Tony pulled on the helmet. “Your funeral,” he said, raising his voice a little to be heard over the growl of the bike. “I heard they were cracking down on helmetless riders, though. How are you not swimming in tickets?”

“Gotta get caught to get a ticket,” Eddie said, and with that, he gunned the motor and they peeled out of the airport, leaving a very angry Happy behind waving Tony’s suitcase at them. “Long story, lemme take you-- uh, someplace special. And I’ll… I got some stuff to tell you that you won’t believe.”

Tony laughed. “I was fighting off shapechanging aliens in Chicago last week; what’ve you got to top that?”

“Challenge accepted,” Eddie said. He was pushing the bike well past the original engine’s capabilities, and not at all safe for the hilly roads and narrow pavement of the city, but Eddie never faltered. It was like flying in the armor, only… more. And lower to the ground. It was all but impossible to stifle a whoop of excitement.

Eddie took them out of the city and up through a suburban neighborhood, still topping well over ninety, and then skidded to a sudden stop at the very edge of a cliff that overlooked San Francisco's famous bridge.

“Pretty up here,” Eddie said, casually, slinging himself off the bike.

Tony was still thrumming from the ride as he joined Eddie at the edge of the cliff, the helmet dangling casually from his fingertips. He looked out over the water. “Nice,” he agreed. He cast a sidelong look at Eddie, who was shuffling around a little, which usually heralded a case of nerves. Tony looked back out at the view, willing to wait for it, whatever it was.

“So, you were dealing with shapeshifting aliens, huh?” Eddie asked. “You ever… deal with any that aren’t bad guys? I mean, not benevolent, or nothing, but maybe, just normal everyday asshole aliens?”

“Oh, sure,” Tony said. “I mean, Thor just for starters, and the rest of the Asgardians. And there’s the Guardians of the Galaxy, they’re an okay bunch, most of the time.”

“So, uh, if I mighta had, well, a close encounter, that’s… it’s not a deal-breaker, you know? With us?” Eddie was wringing his knuckles together hard enough that his skin was white. White, and perfect. Hadn’t… hadn’t Eddie had scars on his hands, from where he’d gotten into a fist-fight with a plate glass window and lost?

“I... wouldn’t think so,” Tony said cautiously. “Who did you run into? The Kree?” They had weird healing abilities, Tony thought.

“They call themselves Klyntar,” Eddie said. “They’re… um. A little difficult to describe, and unfortunately -- oh, would you just--” Eddie’s eyes did something weird, and they were suddenly jet black, sclera, iris, pupil and all. We want to say hello.

Tony didn’t hear that so much with his ears as sort of feel it in his skull, loud and aggressive and eager.

“Oh, shit!” Tony took a step back, startled, then paused and leaned in again, looking closely. “That’s... It’s... In you?”

We are together. One of Eddie’s eyes went back to normal, rich sapphire blue. “Will you let me do th’ talking, Vee, come on, man, we had a plan, can we not just stick to the plan?”

He is very small. That black, almost oily color oozed out from Eddie’s eyes until it covered most of his face, and then-- Eddie grew, tall, taller, impossibly… not quite as tall as the Hulk, but certainly huge, with gnarled, massive limbs and… fucking claws, and goddamn teeth--

Tony flicked his hand to the side and a gauntlet formed. He aimed it at the... thing. Klyntar. Vee. Whatever it was called. “What the fuck-- What did you do to Eddie?”

The enormous clawed hand reached for Tony’s gauntlet. What is it? This-- he? It? Whatever. Grabbed Tony’s wrist and pulled the gauntlet (and Tony practically up onto his toes) up to examine it closely. Is this a weapon?

“Buddy, you’re going to find out just how much of a weapon it is if you don’t let Eddie go,” Tony snapped. He wrenched his arm around until he was aiming right into those dagger-like teeth.

“Woah, woah,” and the face, that monstrous thing, fucking unzipped and Eddie pushed his way out. “No shooting, no… Vee, love, come on, let’s all calm down and talk about this--” Eddie’s shoulders came out of the Klyntar and he balled it up until he was cuddling a little fanged oil slick about the size of a cat. “Let’s just all take a few deep breaths and calm down.”

Eddie demonstrated the calming breaths, sounding like some sort of bad victorian heroine who was about to need a fainting couch.

Tony looked at him dubiously. “You’re okay?” He looked at the thing in Eddie’s arms, and then back at Eddie’s face, suppressing the urge to pat him down and check for injuries. “Jesus Christ, I thought it ate you.”

We wouldn’t eat Eddie, the goo confided. Eddie is ours.

“Tony, this is Venom. Venom, Tony,” Eddie said. “I’d say not to worry, that his bark is worse than his bite, but it’s really, really not.”

“You’re... friends,” Tony said. Venom (and there was a name that didn’t inspire trust) oozed up Eddie’s arm and draped around his neck like a scarf with slitted opal eyes at one end.

The whole thing suddenly seemed utterly absurd, and Tony let out a bark of not-quite-hysterical laughter. “Only you, Eddie. Only you.”

“Unfortunately, not only me,” Eddie said, stroking the little alien gently, and it purred/rumbled under Eddie’s caress. “And, uh, they’re not all as, uh--”

Protective. We will protect Eddie. From Carnage. From Riot. From anyone!

The little alien stretched and snapped like a rubber band, lifting up Eddie’s bike with arms that formed out of nothingness, apparently planning to chuck it in the bay to express its anger.

“Not the bike, Vee!”

Venom hesitated, holding the bike aloft over their heads. Sorry. Venom gently lowered the bike back to the ground and then patted it for good measure.

“...Damn, you’re strong for a little thing,” Tony said.

“So, if… uh, you and Venom are good with getting along, I thought we might do another pub crawl? Venom’s quite the connoisseur of tater tots and french fries?”

“Well. I guess any alien that eats fried potatoes can’t be all bad.”

#starsymbrock #tony/eddie/venom #tony stark #eddie brock #venom #introductions #sarcasm prompts #journeythroughtherain

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eclecticminded · 6 years

Text

Bad Day

anonymous asked: I’ve had a crappy day and need some Barba fluff and smut, when you get the chance:)

Sorry this took so long dear anon. I hope you like it nonetheless.

You have a bad day. Rafael makes it better.

Warnings: Sex. A little cursing.

Tags: @southsiderepresent @glimmerglittergirl @madpanda75 @southern-magnolia @katmstanton @esparza-army and @sweetsummertime99 Anyone else just ask!

Today had been a true shit storm of a day. Your coffee spilled all over you when you were leaving for work and you were late because you had to change. While being under caffeinated, you'd been yelled at while at work and couldn't control your face. Which resulted in more yelling. You texted Rafael to vent about your day and your phone promptly died after only being able to send “Bad day. Hurry home please.”

Once you were home, you put your phone on the charger, but Rafael hadn't responded so you figured he would be home late. You poured a large glass of wine and camped out in front of the TV. You flipped through channel by channel looking for something before giving up and letting the news play. You retreated as far as you could under the soft blanket you'd pulled around you and zoned out.

That's where Rafael found you when he came home two hours later, hiding from the world on the sofa. You heard the door open, but didn't bother to look at him. He was home a little earlier than normal but nothing drastic. You weren't even sure if he got your text because he never responded.

“Cariño? I got your message and came home as soon as I could. I made a few stops first,” Rafael sat a large brown bag down on the coffee table and it peeked your interest.

“What's that? Smells good,” you sat up and leaned to peck his lips.

“Chinese. You had a bad day. Figured you wouldn't eat so I picked something up,” Rafael pulled his tie off and disappeared to the kitchen. You watched as he pulled two glasses from the cabinet and filled them with ice and water before returning to sit next to you.

“Thank you baby,” you rubbed your cheek against his shoulder and started unpacking the food. You weren't in the mood to eat, but humored Rafael by settling in with the fried rice.

“You're welcome. Gotta take care of my girl,” Rafael squeezed your knee and took the remote. A few clicks of the remote and he had your favorite movie playing on Netflix. He lifted your feet into his lap and dug into his own food.

“You take such good care of me, mi amor,” you smiled briefly at Rafael before silently eating and watching the movie. When you had some rice in your belly, you realized you really were hungry and happily ate some of the other foods he'd brought. When you'd had your fill, you held a crab rangoon up to his lips and he ate half in it in a big bite. You giggled softly and pressed a kiss to his lips before finishing the rest of it.

“You're adorable,” he tapped his finger on your nose.

“Te quiero,” you scrunched your face up.

“I love you too,” Rafael gently dropped your feet to the ground and pulled you into his side. You nuzzled your face against his arm until he put it around you. Once settled, you let out a long sigh and relaxed.

“Wanna talk about it,” Rafael looked down at you. He wanted to know what happened, but didn't want to push. You chewed on your lip, afraid he'd think it was silly.

“I dunno,” you shrugged.

“Y/n. Whatever it is I won't think it's silly or trivial. It upset you, so it's worth talking about,” Rafael looked at you knowingly.

“Are you a mind reader,” your eyes were wide.

“No. I just know you well enough to know how your brain works,” he started playing with your hair and kissed the top of your head.

“It started a little after you left. I was already late and I spilled the coffee you made me all over my clothes. So then I was really late,” you looked towards the kitchen and pursed your lips.

“Oh no,” Rafael shook his head, “That's not good.”

“Then I got yelled at about something that wasn't even my fault. And I couldn't control my face,” you hand flew to your cheek, “you know how expressive I am.” To prove your point you quickly smiled, frowned, glared, and pouted before huffing.

“I love how expressive you are! It makes talking with you all the more fun,” Rafael squeezed you in a half hug.

“They didn't think so. They only yelled more,” you let your head fall to the back of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. You avoided looking at Rafael but you could feel his eyes on you. Knew he was thinking of what to say, to figure out what would comfort you in this moment.

“No one should yell at you,” Rafael's eyes bunched together in frustration. He didn't want you to be treated badly by anyone about anything ever. You were so precious to him, he wanted to protect you from any and all harm, but he also knew that was unrealistic.

“It's whatever,” you rolled your head so it laid on his shoulder and laced your hands with his.

“It's not whatever. There was no reason to yell,” Rafael gathered the leftovers and put them in the fridge and disappeared down the hall for a few minutes. When he came back, he turned the tv off and motioned for you to follow him.

“What,” you fake whined but got up anyway, holding his hand.

“Let's take a shower. Get you all warm and clean,” Rafael smiled warmly over his shoulder at you. In the bathroom, you both brushed your teeth, then he turned the water on piping hot and helped you undress. There was nothing sexual about it. Just a man taking care of the women he loved. His clothes joined yours on the floor and you climbed in together.

Rafael made sure the water was okay then moved you under the stream by your shoulders. Very carefully he leaned your head back and made sure it got nice and wet, without dripping into your eyes. After he spun you around, Rafael lathered shampoo into your hair, massaging from root to tip. A soft moan escaped your mouth from how good it felt and he bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Once all the suds were rinsed, Rafael massaged in conditioner, eliciting another small moan. Next he suds upped your scubby and went to work washing your body. Satisfied with the front, he spun you around to clean your back, pulling you against him when you were done. With great care, Rafael rinsed your body and hair then let you stand in the water while he quickly took care of himself. You tried to help but you pushed your hands away with a shake of his head.

“I'll be right back,” Rafael wrapped a towel around himself and disappeared after rinsing off. Your face was one of confusion as you turned the water off and started wringing your hair out.

“Where'd you go,” you questioned when he returned.

“I warmed up some towels for you,” Rafael beamed and dried you off.

“You did? That's so sweet,” you used his shoulder for balance when you lifted your leg to be dried.

“I learned it from you. Come on,” Rafael pulled your behind him to the bed, “Lay on your stomach.”

“Why,” you laid down without hesitation.

“So I can give you a massage,” Rafael gathered your hair and moved if off your back. He started at your neck and worked his way down rubbing out the tension. He went down each arm and paid special attention to your shoulder blades that gave you trouble. The twin knots in your lower back got rubbed out too. Rafael even massaged down your thighs and calves all the way to your toes.

“You have magic fingers,” you mumbled into the mattress, “you've turned me into goo.”

“Very beautiful, very sexy goo,” he kissed your neck and your eyes fluttered open.

“Why are you so good to me,” you rolled over and pulled his naked body down onto yours.

“Because I love you and you deserve the world, princesa,” Rafael kissed your lips and made a sloppy trial down your body. He kissed from the left corner of your lips across to the right and down your neck. He kissed and nibbled a path across your collar bone and down to your left breast where he sucked and teased. Equal attention was given to the right, before his trail continued to your right hip and across your stomach to your left hip.

Rafael sucked and nibbled at your thighs before sitting back and watching you circle your hips. You hands brushed against your hardened nipples and a soft whine escaped your lips. Opening your eyes, you saw him smirking. He saw the desire in yours and lowered his mouth to your folds.

From opening to clit, Rafael licked your wetness. You shuddered and whimpered, so he brought one hand to hold your folds open and give him better access. Up and down his tongue lapped, every so often circling and flicking against your clit. When you looked down you could see him, sometimes he was looking at you, sometimes his eyes were closed.

Teasingly Rafael slipped a finger inside of you and pumped it before adding a second. He bumped against you g spot and you cried out. Rafael moved his mouth to your clit and kept stroking your g spot. Your thighs were shaking and your hands balled in the sheets.

“Please don't stop,” you breathily moaned. He responded by pressing his fingers firmer and rubbing faster. When you came your thighs clamped around his head. You didn't realize you were still clamping him until he removed his fingers from you.

“You okay,” Rafael crawled up the bed to kiss you once your thighs fell open.

“I'm perfect. Are you okay? I didn't mean to do that,” you closed your eyes in embarrassment and tried to hide your face.

“Hey, come here,” he stroked your cheek until you looked at him, “That was hot as fuck okay? Never be embarrassed about that.”

“At least let me suck your cock,” you reached for him but he pulled away.

“If you suck my cock I will cum instantly. I want to be inside you,” Rafael grabbed a condom and rolled it on. While you moved to the middle of the bed, he climbed between your legs and lined up with your entrance.

“I'm ready for you,” you bit your lip. Rafael slid inside of you slowly, watching your face as you stretched around him.

“Have I mentioned I love how expressive you are,” he pulled out and entered you again just as slowly. Once fully inside you, Rafael leaned down and kissed you will pumping in and out.

“Just a little faster, por favor,” you scratched down his back and turned your head to the side. Your hand came between your two bodies and rubbed at your clit. Rafael buried his head in your neck and bit down hard. The combination of pain and pleasure triggered your second orgasm. Which in turn made Rafael cum as well.

“Wow,” Rafael was still inside you while he kissed you again.

“Wow indeed,” you patted his back. He pulled out and threw the condom away. Instead of rolling over to cuddle you, he got out of bed. You crossed your arms across your chest and pouted until he returned.

“Pouty princess,” Rafael handed you cold water, “I had to go get the blanket from the dryer.”

“You are too much sometimes,” you shook your head and gulped down the water.

“What do you mean,” he tucked the warm blanket around your bodies and laid on his side.

“You have ruined me for other men. You do all this sweet shit for me. Take care of me. And,” you giggled, “ dick too bomb.”

“I'm supposed to take care of you cariño,” Rafael kissed your nose, “But what does 'dick too bomb' mean?”

“It means we have great sex Rafi,” you giggled again and snuggled closer, your chests pressed together and foreheads resting on one another.

“That we do,” he squeezed your ass then left his hand resting there.

“Good night my love, te quiero,” you yawned.

“Te quiero,” Rafael pecked your lips and you both drifted off , completely content and wore out.

#rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #law and order svu imagine #svu imagine #svu fanfic #law and order special victims unit #law and order special victims unit fanfic #law and order special victims unit imagine #not mine #my writing

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skarletterambles · 5 years

Text

The Mummy Returns Re(-re-re-re-re-) watch blog

I might be short a few “re-”s there, as I know I saw this four times in the theater, and plenty of times on DVD, but close enough.

Below are my thoughts, typed as I watched (while eating the pizza leftover from last night’s viewing of the first movie)...

[Disclaimers: Spoilers for both The Mummy (1999) and, obviously, The Mummy Returns (2001) Expect lots of squeeing and/or crying over Imhotep/Anck-su-namun.]

And here comes The Rock in his first film appearance. All those big movies he’s been in since owe a debt to this one. *insert sound clip of “You’re Welcome” from Moana*

Anubis needs to feed his warriors better. They’re way too skinny.

Got to love the detail where there’s a carving of Anck-su-namun and Nefertiri in ritual combat on the wall Evy and Rick are excavating. One of those things you don’t notice on first viewing.

“No harm ever came from opening a chest.” Evy, I know you’re doing a cute callback, but you were there when the Americans suffered the consequences of opening the canopic jar chest in the last movie.

Since Evelyn is actually the reincarnation of the Bracelet’s official guardian, why did her taking it trigger the booby traps? I guess that kind of role doesn’t carry over.

Oh joy, more scarab beetles.

I know we have to be able to recognize him, but it’s silly that Ardeth was spying on the Hamunaptra digsite with only a hood on. Someone--especially Meela--would have recognized his face tattoos. ... Wait, did I just suggest covering up that gorgeous face? Never mind!

Rick/Ivy = relationship goals

Meela: “And your point is?” Jonathan: “My point is I told you so you wouldn’t kill me!” Meela: “When did we make that arrangement?”

I wonder if she collected her snake before they left. Otherwise the O’Connells (or their housekeeping staff) will have a nasty surprise later.

I could listen to Rick, Ardeth and Jonathan bicker and banter all day.

Notice how Alex gets annoyed when Rick ruffles his hair. So it’s not just Imhotep’s head-ruffles he hates. Heh.

In my drooling over Rick, Ardeth, and Imhotep I had almost forgotten that Lock-Nah is built like a brick shithouse. Nice.

There’s a camera shot that appears to show the POV of Imhotep inside the hardened goo. So I guess he could tell what was going on...sort of.

Both Alex and Evy recognize Curator Hafez from their time in the British Museum. There’s room for some wacky prequel stories there.

I love that little “Eew, whatever,” reaction from Hafez when Imhotep is done declaring his love for Anck-su-Namun. LOL

I still want to know how Meela managed to snap her fingers with her gloves on.

Imhotep recognizes Rick and roars “YOU!” and Rick clips him in the shoulder with a hail of bullets, knowing full well it won’t hurt him, just as a big “eff you, too.” Love it.

LOL @ “Honey, whatcha doin’? These guys don’t use doors” and “Oh, I hate mummies...” So many funny lines in this part.

That’s twice--no, thrice--the bad guys have drawn blood on Ardeth tonight. Leave him and his glorious body alone, you big meanies! :P

Alex has a good point: props to Jonathan for driving that bus safely through all that mummy battling. (Well, mostly safely. Better than I would have done, anyway.)

Ardeth geeking out over his first bus ride is too freaking adorable for words.

I just noticed the parallel between Rick hanging on the edge of the drawbridge, near tears in desperation as he watches the kidnappers driving away with his son, and, well...you know which scene. Sigh.

I could watch that flashback kiss between Imhotep and Anck-su-namun a dozen times on repeat...if I could manage to time it perfectly so I could rewind before he morphs back into a mummy. Because eew. LOL, but eew.

Imhotep tried to be nice to Alex, talking to him as gently as he could (which is still raspy and scary, but he was trying) and explaining how the bracelet works, and in return Alex told him how his dad would kick his ass. I don’t blame Imhotep for taking off his mask and scaring the kid then. :p

Then Imhotep takes off his robes before attacking the mercenaries. Freedom of movement? The cloth wouldn’t survive the magic regeneration? He wanted to be naked because he knew his girl was peeking through the door? All of the above? Who knows?

LOL @ Meela squeamishly tip-toeing around the desiccated corpses of the mercenaries. It’s worth it to get to the now-normal-looking Imhotep, though. ;)

I want to slap the editors for inter-cutting the big, romantic reunion with Alex tampering with a filthy toilet.

I know Imhotep wanted to stop his minions from shooting Alex, but yeeting those guys into the pillars was totally unnecessary. I bet he was showing off for Meela.

... And I was too busy holding my breath and freaking out during the big duel/regicide flashback to type anything. Oh well.

I did notice one moment where Imhotep is watching the women fight and something goes wrong for Anck-su-namun and he gives this little involuntary gasp. Subtle, but neat.

What I like to refer to as The Look(tm) is such a great moment, though. They actually slow down the film as Imhotep and Anck-su-namun make eye contact, drawing out that stolen, subtle moment of intimacy just like it must have felt for them. *swoon*

Back to modern times... Once again Imhotep watches out for Alex by making Lock-Nah put him down and stop threatening him. I mean, yeah, he’s also about to try killing the boy’s parents, so he’s not perfect, but still... I thank that attempted head-ruffle was his way of apology... *polishes villain-fangirl goggles*

It’s been awhile since I mentioned how breathtakingly good-looking Ardeth is. But he is. Just sayin’.

Imhotep looks conflicted and even a little sad when Hafez says they don’t need the boy anymore. He doesn’t give the order to kill him, either. Just makes a vague statement about needing the bracelet. It may be a coincidence, but he even smirks right after someone says “The boy!” (i.e. Alex is making a run for it). It could just be my fangirly brain playing tricks, but I really think a case can be made for Imhotep having a soft spot for the kid.

I see Jonathan has learned the “scream at things” technique from Rick. Alas, it didn’t save the red-robed guy from the pygmy mummies. (I swear I know that actor from somewhere... The red-robed guy, not the pygmy mummy.)

I can’t believe I still get a tiny bit misty-eyed at Evy’s death. I’ve seen this movie at least ten times, and even the FIRST TIME I knew she wasn’t going to stay dead. But man, the actors sell it.

I just noticed that after he loses his powers, but before he takes off his black robe, Imhotep and Anck-su-namun were holding hands while walking through the pyramid. Awwwww!

Mighty brave of Rick to attack Imhotep without knowing he had lost his powers. Luckily Imhotep’s split lip bleeds, tipping Rick off right away...and then the blood disappears in the next shot. Yay, continuity!

Everyone remembers the Scorpion King himself as being the CGI lowlight of the film, but those Anubis warriors don’t hold up very well, either.

God bless Arnold Vosloo for doing this fight scene in a loincloth. I’ve read how punishing it was to film without the padding that Brendan Fraser had under his costume, but the eye candy was worth the sacrifice. Heh.

I was too busy watching to type much during the climax, but that’s just as well, as it’s hard to articulate “YAY NO OMG WOOHOO NO LOL WHAT AAAH YEAH NOOOOOOOOOOO DAMN IT.”

After the Anubis army went poof I was like, “Okay, great, we won, let’s all call a truce and get out of here before anyone else gets killed.” But did the stupid movie listen to me? Noooooo. Instead, there are Rick and Imhotep, hanging onto the cliff for dear life.

Time for the worst experiment in reverse psychology ever: Rick: “Go! Save yourself!” Evy: *does the opposite* Imhotep: “Help me!” Anck-su-namun: “does the opposite*

Sigh.

Fight or flight is a deeply ingrained response, and I just can’t bring myself to hate Anck-su-namun for going with the wrong reaction in that moment of panic. It’s simply another facet of the tragedy that is their love story. That doesn’t make it hurt any less to watch, though. There are tears in Imhotep’s eyes right before he lets go. Actual tears! Even Rick and Evy look like they feel sorry for him! Aaah! I can’t take it!

As he was letting himself fall I maaaay have screamed at the TV, “Don’t make me write fanfic to fix this--oh wait, I already did.” Heh.

Better luck next reincarnation, you two.

Then the good guys escape and live happily ever after, yada yada yada. The end.

(And no, we don’t speak of the third movie. It doesn’t exist. I saw it once, was amused by Jonathan opening a nightclub called “Imhotep’s,” and found the rest totally frustrating and forgettable. So nope, there are only two movies in this series.)

#the mummy

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justanotherloveaffair · 6 years

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After Midnight (Chadwick x Reader)

This week I wrapped up the Just Say Yes series and was thinking a lot about the flirting/interactions between Chadwick/Reader that would have gone on prior the events of the story.

I guess you could call this a Just Say Yes prequel, but I think it also works as a one shot - you don’t have to read the series to read this.

No smut or anything, this is more of a slow burn on the tension building front. I just couldn’t get this damn scene out of my mind and had to write it.

Also I feel like Chadwick throws LEGENDARY parties. That’s my headcanon and I’m sticking with it. lol

Summary: You are invited to an exclusive wrap party at Chadwick’s, who you’ve got a major thing for.

Warnings: No smut, just unresolved sexual tension

Word Count: 2,395

Your name: Submit (what is this?)

My Masterlist

Taglist: @afraiddreamingandloving, @stevesthot, @kumkaniudaku, @nah-imjustfeelinit, @tchallaholla, @a-heretic-child, @simplyyamberr, @wildaboutchrisevans, @fullonfrenzy, @h-challa, @theunsweetenedtruth, @ljstraightnochaser, @90sinspiredgirl, @maverickabull, @big3gocandykahn, @sarahboseman, @airis-paris14, @tacohead13, @blackmissmarvel, @big3gocandykahn

Somewhere around midnight, you came to the realization that you were having one of the best nights of your life and by 1:00 in the morning the party was far from slowing down.

Chadwick’s huge outdoor patio was packed and the entire space had become a dance floor. Even the guys working the makeshift bar were dancing, joining in on the infectious energy of happy people and throbbing music. Almost all of your favourite people were there, everyone buzzed on alcohol and good vibes as they all celebrated the end of a long shoot at a very private event thrown by the King himself.

Everyone was sweaty and hot from dancing and more than a few took solace in the pool, even with their clothes on. It was that kind of night. Nobody cared how they looked, how much skin was showing, how bad their dancing was or whether they even knew the lyrics they were screaming out. The music was masterfully curated to hit just the right height-of-summer, beach-party vibe that made you all feel euphoric. Everyone was free to leave their inhibitions at the door, helped along by Chadwick’s strict no-phone policy, a staple of all of his events that ensured there were no fears of anything going on social media, which would have altered the whole dynamic and free pass to just have an amazing time.

The only thing that nagged at you and held you back from true bliss that night was your agonizing crush on Chadwick.

Crush wasn’t even the right word. Maybe it was, at first. But over the past few years it had bloomed to so much more and you were convinced it wasn’t returned no matter what your friends insisted. No way in hell could he be interested, you staunchly repeated every time you heard “he’s looking at you right now” or “Chadwick asked if you’re coming to the party.” You could always explain it away somehow. “Well I’m in his line of sight” or “He probably just wants a number count for the RSVP.”

The truth was, it would have killed you inside if you took a shot at him only to be rejected. You would rather dig your own grave and climb inside than experience it. It was unthinkable.

Still, you stressed for days about what you were going to wear and felt knots in your stomach whenever you thought about seeing him.

To you, Chadwick was perfect, too gorgeous to even look at with his panty-dropping eyes and smile. Making him laugh out loud fed your soul for days. Lord help you if he brushed your arm casually… you’d obsess about it as if he’d shown you his dick and it would be on instant-replay for weeks. You couldn’t figure out what it was exactly about him that scrambled your brain and made your body chemistry go haywire. Obviously he was attractive, but so were a lot of men. Was it the laidback, confident-without-being-cocky attitude? The way he spoke? His sly smile whenever he made a smartass comment?

God only knew. Whatever it was, it turned you into liquid goo and was ruining your life by making you distracted and stupid in his presence and even out of it.

Getting ready the day of the wrap party was full of difficult choices. Understated outfit or bold and eye catching? Bright lipstick or nude? Would he even notice you and care? Since you held your feelings for Chadwick so close to your heart, and outright denied otherwise, there was no friend to call and ask for help. Your turmoil was something that had to be endured alone.

If anyone would have understood, it would have been Penny, who was the whole reason you knew Chadwick in the first place as he’d come into her circle of friends, and ultimately yours, once she started dating Captain America himself. You loved her goofball boyfriend like a brother and became a part of Chris’s world as he and Penny absorbed you into their lives and friendships.

Which is how, a few years later, you found yourself riding in a car with Chris and Penny to the ultra-private invite-only event at Chadwick’s house in Los Feliz to celebrate the wrap of filming Infinity War, something that would have seemed crazy at one time, but now was just another fun night you were looking forward to hanging out with your friends.

A text message from Chris once the car pulled in alerted Chadwick to your arrival and you anxiously sucked in your breath as he appeared at the front door in faded jeans and a light cream t-shirt.

You plastered on what you hoped was a natural-looking smile as you exited the car, immediately hearing the sounds of laughter, chatter and thumping music coming from the patio. You were last to step out into the evening air and watched as Chadwick enveloped Penny and Chris into a hug. You noticed him peering at you and smiling over their shoulders and he seemed to be rushing through the motions in order to get to you faster.

As they finished their hellos, he advanced towards you and your heart caught in your chest. He was simply gorgeous and being the recipient of his focused, warm attention made the earth drop several inches below your feet.

“Y/N, so glad you could make it,” he smiled in earnest, putting his arms around you before you were ready for it and you hoped he couldn’t feel the rapid-fire beating of your heart as your bodies pressed together. Your nose and lips grazed his neck where you stood on your tip-toes to get to and when you came away from him, it was with his dizzying scent and warmth tingling along your skin.

You savoured his wide smile as you pulled apart, tucking it away into your mind to think about later along with other details you could only admire up close. Long eyelashes. Dewy, glowing skin. Groomed curls with a widow’s peak. The scent of shea and cocoa butter. His soft expressive eyes that you wanted to let roam all over your body and pierce into your soul while he took you.

While you stood there staring, a whole conversation was happening around you and you snapped back into it halfway through, and nodded pretending as if you’d been there the whole time. Oh yes, Chris’s Broadway show. Chadwick was congratulating him and Penny was complaining about the time it kept him away from home. You looked between the three of them pretending as if you weren’t completely absorbed in Chadwick’s mesmerizing presence.

Lord. You thought for the millionth time about his muscled arms, those long fingers, his veined hands…

“You good, Y/N?” Your eyes shot to Penny at the sound of your name and only then did you realize, not only had you been staring at Chadwick’s hands in intense silence, but when your eyes came back up, he was watching you with a little smile.

“Head on through, drinks and food are outside,” Chadwick flicked his head backwards, “and you know the rules, don’t forget to leave your phones.”

As you dutifully handed over your phone, Chadwick’s fingertips brushed yours and his penetrating eye contact made you question whether it was intentional. As you always did anytime you felt his touch, you had to work to breathe properly again and thankfully Penny began dragging you towards the patio and the bar.

You danced. You drank. You mingled, drifted from one group to another, the music and alcohol making you horny and unsettled whenever you spotted Chadwick in the crowd.

You didn’t cross paths for hours. He was busy playing host and you became absorbed in the magical night, where hours passed like minutes.

At around 11, the music coming from the speakers nearly doubled in volume and once the dancing really started it left no prisoners. Moving, wreathing with other bodies tightly packed around you as if you were one, euphoria crept over the crowd, creating a feeling only music was capable of. All around you, faces and bodies blended together. It was sweaty and hot and you’d lost your voice singing but you couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t leave the gyrating crowd if you tried.

You had no idea what time it was but it must have been long after midnight as song after song took you to another plane and you never wanted it to end.

A Weeknd song started just as you were swivelled facing Sebastian Stan and you began singing the lyrics cheesily to each other, paired with terrible dance moves. You laughed as he went to reel you in and you pretended to be the fish, swimming towards him, moving your hands like fins while he cackled.

In front of you were Chris and Penny, their silhouettes nothing more to you than moving shadows in the laser lights blasting out over the crowd with their arms around each other, foreheads together as they danced. You smiled wistfully and looked back at Sebastian who had shifted to sandwich his body behind Chris’s, cupping his friend’s butt who threw his head back in laughter and moved his hands from Penny’s hips back to his as they moved together in sync, making a chain of three.

Your clapping with amusement was interrupted as a body shifted in behind yours, pressing into your back and butt and you looked down at Chadwick’s unmistakable fingers curling around your stomach.

There was no time to react. His body demanded your movement along with his and you had no choice but to give it.

His hips swiveled side to side to the beat and at first you stuttered, overwhelmed with surprise at his closeness, but he held his hands to your hips and guided you, back and forth, side to side, easing you into his rhythm.

Your eyes closed as you gave yourself over to the perfect feeling of his body as you moved together. His nose and lips buried in your neck, fingers gripping your hips, and the feeling of him behind you, his crotch bouncing against your ass as you moved, made your soul transcend to heaven. The way he was touching you, moving with you was beyond something friends would do and at that point in the night, there was no mistaking the blistering heat between you or even the bulge you felt against your butt as you arched back into him.

Suddenly Chadwick swiveled you, using his arms to easily move you and, breathless and gasping, you succumbed to his strength, following his lead to find yourself face to face with him.

There was no hiding now.

The music continued to compel you to move together and you easily returned to your rhythm, fitting perfectly together as Chadwick’s thigh pressed slightly between your legs and you bit your lip as his hands went back to your hips, pulling your crotch to his while your upper bodies moved side to side.

Your arms curled around his neck as you shared intense eye contact, just barely flirting with what was decent for friends as sweat dripped from your foreheads from hours of dancing and the red-hot, suggestive grinding of your bodies.

You were sure he could feel your steamy heat against the firm contact of his leg, could hear your moans and sighs in his ear.

He held you tighter.

It wasn’t until much later that you could think rationally about what happened in those three minutes.

The connection went beyond something physical, something you could put your finger on, or describe. You were acting on unspoken, wanting lust with the simple act of moving to rhythm, the release of energy bursting from you with wild abandon, with no thought to consequences or anything outside of the feeling you were exchanging without words.

It was a perfect moment that ended too soon.

When the song came to an end, you felt the absence of his warmth and touch as he removed himself from you, slipping away as quietly as he came.

You whipped around to search for him but he was gone, swallowed up amongst the crowd.

The loss of him was immediate on your psyche and on your body, still hot and throbbing from his touch. You were dazed, trying to comprehend what just happened and you noticed Sebastian looking at you, mouth agape, having witnessed the whole exchange. “Holy fuck,” he mouthed, and leaned in closer to your ear to be heard over the music, “Are you pregnant now?”

You laughed giddily, feeling high, bursting with energy and sure nothing so good could ever happen to you again.

You danced for another hour or so but it soon became clear the party was winding down as one by one, people started to leave and you, Chris and Penny gave each other an unspoken look of agreement that you were ready to go.

As you walked towards the house your eyes shot around for Chadwick, and after some searching you spotted him talking to the DJ, clearly too engaged in conversation for you to interrupt, although you had no idea what you’d say.

Before you left the patio, you paused for one long last look at him, hoping he would turn around and see you but he was too wrapped up and you sighed, following Chris and Penny back through the house.

While you sifted through the pile for your phones, you were quiet, but buzzing with barely concealed bliss and Penny kept shooting you looks.

She nudged you, a curious glint in her eyes. “What’s up with you? You’re glowing.”

You knew then that she hadn’t seen your moment with Chadwick, so for now, it was a memory of yours to cherish and as you looked back at her, biting your lip, you decided to keep it that way.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, deliberately hiding the euphoria buzzing in your veins with a serene smile.

Penny gave you a long look, having known you long enough to know when you were acting strange, but she didn’t press, instead taking your hand and squeezing it as you walked out the door.

“Did you have a good night?”

You let out your breath, doing your best to hide the shaking in your voice as you answered,

“The best.”

#Chadwick Boseman #Chadwick Boseman x Reader #Chadwick Boseman x Reader fanfic #Chadwick Boseman fic #Chadwick Boseman fanfic #Chadwick Boseman fanfiction #Chadwick Boseman imagine

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ffsshawn · 6 years

Text

I Wanna Taste You First

a/n: this my friends, has smut in it. you have been warned, but I hope you enjoy! c:

You open your eyes, moaning softly at the heaviness of your eyelids and the throbbing of your head as you take in the unfamiliar setting. Your body felt numb and tingly all at the same time, while your brain felt like a puddle of goo. Lifting your hand, you rub your face, trying to rub the sleep out of it but only groaning as you feel flecks of hardened mascara come off onto your fingers.

Looking down, you notice a large warm hand splayed across your belly. The same hand that made you feel otherworldly things the night before. Your eyes move to his arms, then to his neck where you can see purple marks, evidence of your need before moving onto his lips. His lips that tasted like liquor, just without the bitterness or burn, warming you from the inside out.

His eyes are closed, mouth slightly open, hair looking throughly mussed up. It was probably your doing, having a weakness for boys with soft hair like his. This wasn’t a stranger’s face though, this was Shawn. The Shawn you grew up with. The sweet kindhearted Shawn who didn’t deserve waking up to a cold pillow, only having the scent of your perfume left behind.

You carefully lifted his hand off your abdomen, laying it down on the bed, with Shawn being none the wiser. Peeling the covers off your lower half, you wince at the tender feeling between your legs, sticky residue still left over from the night before.

As quietly and carefully as you could, you slid out of bed and started feeling for your clothes in the darkened room. Bra? Found it. Underwear? Not here. You looked around for the rest of your clothes, cheeks burning as you remember Shawn taking them off and tossing it somewhere in the living room.

Tip toeing out of the room, you find your dress abandoned in a pile with the rest of his clothes on the hallway floor. You slide the dress over your body, biting your bottom lip as you remember the feeling of his hands doing the complete opposite last night.

“Fuck. We shouldn’t be doing this, we’re drunk, not in the right frame of mind,” you whispered, lips centimeters apart from Shawn’s.

“No, but I want to. So fucking bad.”

You search his eyes, looking for answers, but only finding a reflection of yourself: eyes glazed, face flushed, lust spread throughout your features.

“Fuck it,” you said before crushing your lips against his.

Last night was a mistake, and as good it it felt, it was still a mistake. You just planned on getting drunk at Shawn’s to relieve the stress from losing your promotion to the dick who spent his days kissing ass rather than working, but something must’ve been in the air, or the vodka, because Shawn’s voice sounded extra smooth and dreamy. His touch set fire to your skin, leaving behind a trail of heady desire.

You were straddled above his strong thighs, dress bunched up to your waist. He had a hand on your hip, the other working a rhythmic motion on your clit as you were grinding against his hard length, leaving a patch of wetness on his sweats.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet,” he mumbled, lips against your neck.

“Mmm, maybe we should—” you gasp, words caught in your throat, as you feel his lips on your nipple. “We—we should move to the bed.”

You found your phone abandoned on the table next to the half empty bottle of vodka, underwear sitting not so innocently on the floor. Pulling on your underwear, you move onto your purse, messily putting the contents strewn all over the floor back into it.

“I wanna taste you first,” he said before flipping you onto your back on the sofa, your hands accidentally knocking your purse onto the floor in surprise.

He slowly moved down your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses. He took a deep breath, taking in the scent of your desire and need through your underwear. Shawn looked up at you as he ran his tongue to taste you against the lace, eyes shining with hunger as you throw your head back in pleasure.

He slowly peeled your panties off, taking his time, like he was unwrapping a long awaited present.

“Fuck—“ you say sharply as he runs his tongue against your slit. Your hands reach down and tangle in his hair, pushing his head closer to your heat, toes flexing against his lower back.

His tongue is ruthless as he licks and laps at your pussy, treating you like a piece of art and he was the painter. You moan his name over and over again, like it was the only word you knew as his lips sucked on your clit until it was swollen and pink. Your breathing became increasingly erratic as he continued his ministrations, stomach contracting with each stroke of his tongue, getting closer and closer to your release.

Grabbing your coat and scarf from the back of a chair, you consider leaving him a note, but what would you even say? ‘Thanks for the good fuck Shawn, let’s watch a Harry Potter movie next weekend?’ No chance in hell that would work out well.

You run your hand through your hair, groaning at the headache this situation will most likely turn out to be and slip on your heeled boots. Maybe Shawn won’t even remember last night? You snort at your own naivety and start to wrap your scarf around your neck, arms stilling when you hear a voice from behind you.

“Don’t go.”

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes x you #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes writing #shawn mendes fanfiction #my writing #yolo swag solo dolo #smut #fanfiction #reupload by ur resident dumb bitch

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sp4c3-0ddity · 7 years

Text

The Art of Seduction

For @pidgeshipweek, Day 6: Intimacy

Pairing: Pidge/Lance

Summary: Pidge's method in convincing Lance to confide in her is...unconventional. (Rated T, just to be safe)

Also cross-posted to Ao3

Sometime after Shiro disappeared, Coran suggested they develop their teamwork anew by using the mind-sharing headsets.

"Nope, not doing that," Lance declined quickly, immediately arousing Pidge's suspicions.

"Why not?" she quipped, smirking at him. "Got anything to hide?"

"Me?" Lance said in that faux nonchalant voice he did too well. He pressed his hand to his chest, eyes wide in indignation. "No, I'm an open book, Pidge. I'm just worried about you."

"...me?" Pidge said. That was not at all the answer she expected, whether or not it was true.

"Yeah," Lance said, nodding. "Remember what you were hiding last time we used the headsets? I wonder what else you could be hiding." Now he was the one that smirked, and continued sagely, "For all we know, you can reveal you're a shape-shifting slug."

"Shape-shifting...slug," Pidge said lamely, stunned by Lance's imagination...or lack thereof.

"Lance," Keith pointed out from his spot down the table, "it took Pidge telling us she was a girl for you to figure that out."

Lance scowled at him, blushing while Pidge snickered. "Maybe I'll be watching out for other secrets this time!" he retorted, pointing his spork at Keith.

Keith raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, then turned to her. "So, Pidge, are you a shape-shifting slug? It sure would be nice to have another half-human alien on the Castle."

Pidge grinned at him, surprised by the joke; Keith hadn't joked much to begin with, but his humor dried up even more since Shiro's disappearance. "Sorry to disappoint you, Keith, but I am not."

"Too bad," Keith said.

Pidge then glanced sideways at Lance, who still looked troubled, though he hid it well. He laughed at something Hunk said, but he had a faraway expression on his face as he played with his food rather than ate it.

Pidge sighed. If Lance had something to hide, she could easily find out what it was; she just had to do it in the hour or so before they did Coran's suggested exercise.

She decided her best bet would be to seduce Lance.

Pidge nearly choked on her goo as soon as the idea crossed her mind. Hunk helpfully slapped her back when she coughed, but she was too stunned by her own thought process to thank him.

Pidge? Seduce Lance?

She blushed furiously and hid her face in her hands before anyone else noticed.

"Pidge?" said Allura. "Are you all right?"

"Perfect," Pidge gritted out.

"You sure?" Hunk asked. "Your face is really red."

Which meant there was no point in hiding it. She looked up to see the rest of the table's occupants staring at her. "I'm fine," she lied. Then, she decided now or never, pushed her chair back, and stood. "Hey, Lance, can I talk to you outside?"

Lance dropped his spork into his plate, splashing goo onto the table. "What? Why?"

"It's important." He sat on Hunk's other side, so it was simply a matter of grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him out of the dining room.

He came easily enough, though when she looked over her shoulder he was utterly bewildered, his jaw slack with surprise, his eyebrows furrowed with confusion. And when Pidge opened a closet door and shoved him inside, following him a second later, he looked even more confused.

The space was so small, and they were so crowded into it, that Pidge felt his warm breath on her face when he said, "Pidge, I would love to talk to you, but why--"

Pidge grabbed him by the collar and jerked him down to kiss him.

She'd never kissed anyone before, and though deep in her heart of hearts she'd wanted to kiss Lance in particular for months now, she never thought she would get this far.

Oh, God, she thought, shoving him away from her, suddenly nervous and ashamed. "I'm sorry," she said as Lance straightened, rubbing his lip where she accidentally bit him. "I shouldn't have done that."

"No kidding," said Lance, looking down at her. "At least give me a little warning next time, won't you?"

That was not at all what she expected. "What?"

"Look, I know I'm irresistable, Pidge," Lance said, rubbing the back of his neck, "but if you want me that badly, at least tell me."

"I want to slap you," Pidge said, annoyed.

"I'm not really into that," Lance said nonchalantly. "But I could be for you."

Pidge blushed lividly. He was joking about her wanting him, and then he had the audacity to tease her like this? She crossed her arms, suddenly hating the crowded space. Why the hell had she thought this was a good idea? She should've known Lance wouldn't be seduced out of his secrets.

She decided to try for a blunter approach.

"What are you hiding, Lance?"

"W-what?" Lance backed away from her as far as he could in the tiny space. "N-nothing!"

"Yes, you are!" Pidge pointed at his face. "And whatever it is, it's bothering you and affecting your well-being, so either 'fess up or I'm going to dig in your head later whether you like it or not."

Lance snorted. "We're not that intimate," he said.

Pidge stood on her toes, holding onto his arm for balance as she tried to put her face as close to his as possible. "Lance, we regularly merge our brains to operate a giant sword-wielding weapon of mass destruction," she reminded him. "That's as intimate as it gets."

Lance stared down at her, eyes wide and frowning. He pinched his eyes shut then and mumbled, "This is a weird way for you to show you care."

"What?" Pidge said. "Of course I care! You're one of my best friends, and I just kissed you!" She hated that she blushed as she said it and was glad it was dark enough he probably wouldn't notice.

"Right," Lance said sarcastically, "because I remember you saying at the Garrison that you weren't there to make friends."

"That was then!" Pidge said, frantic. Had he really misunderstood her that much for this long? "Everything is different now!"

"Oh yeah?" Lance said, skeptical. "Then explain why you keep belittling me."

Pidge, floored, slumped, dropping his arm and stumbling away from him - which wasn't very far - until her back touched the wall. "I don't...I'm..." She rubbed her face; was she really that awful to him?

Yes, a small voice that sounded like a strange combination of Matt's and Shiro's voices chimed in her mind.

Lance wasn't Pidge's first crush, but the way she behaved towards him only proved that she didn't always handle her emotions well. "I'm sorry," she said, quietly. "You're right; I'm an asshole."

"Hey," said Lance, just as softly. He touched her elbow. "I wouldn't go that far. But I do accept the apology. And we are friends, you know; I don't dive for coins in a fountain for anyone."

Pidge looked up to see him smiling at her, and she cautiously returned it.

"And!" Lance said, looking uncomfortable all over again. "I wouldn't say no to kissing you."

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him. He wasn't acting suave (or how he thought suave should act); in fact, he looked...embarrassed, and a touch hopeful. "Why?" she wondered suspiciously.

"Because I like you?" Lance said, shrugging.

"Why?"

"Because you're..." Lance waved his hands, a rare moment of him being lost for words. "You're you, and--"

"No, I mean, since when?" Lance had given no indication that he might feel the same way about her.

"Since..." Lance shrugged. "I honestly have no idea."

Pidge was reluctant to just accept that; she needed a timeline, she needed to know why Lance, who fancied himself a ladykiller, liked her, a girl that he definitely mistook for a boy for the better part of a year.

"Is it...just me?" she asked.

"Oh, what do you take me for, Pidge?" Lance demanded, crossing his arms. "I'm not that big of an asshole."

Relieved, Pidge took the two steps separating them. "Okay, just making sure." She wound her arms around his neck and stood up on her toes, leaning her weight against him as she kissed him again, this time gentler and without an ulterior motive.

He made a funny surprised sound, one that made Pidge's face heat up all over again, but he held onto her waist and kissed her back enthusiastically. And as they kissed, Pidge couldn't help but muse that she never once imagined that her first - and second - kiss would be in deep space, stuffed in a three-foot-by-three-foot supply closet, and that it would be with the bane of her existence from the Garrison.

Oddly enough, that made the experience more intimate.

---

"Where are Lance and Pidge?" Allura asked once the rest of them were assembled in the common room for their telepathic linking. She looked at Keith, who frowned and shrugged, then at Hunk.

"The last time we saw them Pidge took Lance aside to talk to him," Hunk remembered. It had scarcely been an hour ago too.

Allura sighed, rubbing her forehead.

"They must've been distracted by something," Hunk defended them loyally.

"Yeah, you know how Pidge is, Princess," said Keith, smiling a bit. "And Lance."

"<And> it's a lot worse when they're together," Hunk added.

Allura, apparently deciding to take their word for it, frowned. "I suppose you're right," she said, "but they should've been keeping track of time."

"We'll find them," Keith suggested. "Split up?"

"I'll check their rooms," Allura said.

"I'll go down to the Green Lion's hangar," said Keith.

Hunk shrugged. "I'll go back to the kitchen and dining room and check that they didn't go back after we left." When Allura shot him a skeptical look, he said, "Don't worry, I ate enough earlier."

Keith laughed, but then he left for his desintation without another word. Allura followed him out, and then Hunk ventured down the hall to the kitchen.

They weren't there, but Hunk couldn't say he was surprised. And they weren't in the nearby dining room either. "I didn't find them," he admitted, activating the intercom in his helmet.

"I didn't either," Allura said. "Neither of them is in their room."

"Pidge is never there even when she's asleep," Keith pointed out. "Also they're not in the Green Lion's hangar."

Hunk sighed. He was starting to get worried. As he walked back into the hall, Allura mentioned checking the bridge, and his helmet fed her voice directly into his ears, so he almost missed a muffled sound coming from a nearby supply closet.

The mice? he wondered, reaching for the panel to open the door.

Lance tumbled out backwards, landing with a groan with Pidge falling on top of him. Hunk, stunned, watched her slump into him, her face pressed into his shoulder.

"Uh..." Hunk said eloquently, gaping at them.

At the sound of his voice, Pidge shot straight to her feet, face as red as the Red Lion. Lance, whose face was just as red if not redder, stood up slower.

Hunk took in the details: their flushed faces, Pidge's askew glasses, Lance's missing jacket, their hair in disarray... "I knew it!" he said, pointing between the two of them and grinning triumphantly.

"Knew what?" Keith asked at the same time as Allura wondered, "Did you find them?"

Pidge's eyes widened with realization, likely because she heard their voices from his helmet's speakers. "Don't tell them!" she said quickly.

Lance, by contrast, wore a goofy smile and seemed too happy to understand what was going on. "Tell who what?" he said, looking at Pidge.

Hunk might have been more embarrassed at interrupting their makeout if he didn't feel so smug, which was why he told Keith and Allura, "I found them in the supply closet near the dining room."

Pidge groaned, hiding her face in her hands while the situation finally dawned on Lance, a comic look of shock crossing his face. "Oh, no," he said.

Allura, the closest, arrived first and immediately demanded, "Did you forget we had training? Why aren't you wearing your armor? What were you doing in a supply closet?"

Keith appeared before either of them could answer, his eyes widening as he took in Pidge's and Lance's appearance. "Do I want to know?" he asked.

"Probably not," Pidge offered, her blush fading.

"Yes," Hunk said, grinning.

Lance only hid his face in his elbow.

#pidge ship week #plance #pidgance #flirtyrobot #and this is my final contribution for the week #it's been fun #but take this weird borderline crack mess lmao #but hey i finally made them kiss #no seriously i wrote this based entirely around the fact that i wanted them to kiss #voltron #anyway don't take the title too seriously lmao #i cannot smut to save my life #nor would i want to to be honest #reem writes fic

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sunken-standard · 7 years

Note

'I think I like this holiday.'

Set in the same universe as the ‘raising the dead’ one. Only one single prompt to go, and I don’t think I’ll be getting to it before November. Sorry :(

“So who are we raising this year?”Sherlock asked, breezing into the morgue. She wanted him there a bitearly, probably for help with the set-up this time.

“You’ll see,” she said, ahint of mischief dancing in her eyes. "Just need to do a bit ofprep work and then we’ll grab the bags and be off.“

Not much had changed in the year sinceshe’d revealed who she was, though he wasn’t sure why he’d expectedit to, really. Experiments in the lab had shifted to experiments inher flat or sometimes road trips out into the country, sometimes heasked her for a bit of a shortcut with her scrying mirror for anurgent case, and he’d saved a few hundred pounds on dry cleaning. Turned out she wasn’t as habitually tidy as he once thought; herentire flat was ensorcelled to keep itself clean and she had spellsfor everything. He understood why they’d tried to endwitchcraft all those centuries ago; the incantation she used tounclog a drain could dissolve a human being into a puddle of goo in amatter of minutes. If Mycroft got wind of it, she’d probably belocked away in some secret island prison and weaponized as-needed.

And Toby, who wasn’t just a plain oldhouse cat, but actually her familiar… Sherlock still didn’ttrust him. He knew entirely too much and he was too smug about it. At least his silence was easily bought with a tin of sardines or asprig of fresh catnip. For now.

Sherlock’s virginity had become hisbiggest asset, as far as Molly was concerned. Blood of a virgin,hair of a virgin, tooth of a virgin (and oh how unpleasant that onehad been, but she had a spell to re-grow it so it wasn’t thatbad, considering), once he even had to hold a raven’s egg in hismouth from sunset to sunrise; he was a rare and valuable commodity. Between that fact and the cat, he was sure never to get a leg over. Not that that was important, exactly, he had Molly all to himselfanyway because he made sure to keep her busy with experiments andbringing her in on more of his cases and the occasional celebratoryouting that was certainly not a date. Even so, a bit more would benice.

“Catherine Eddowes.”

“Nope.”

“Mary Jane Kelly.”

“No, none of the Ripper victims,they’d be too decomposed. They need soft tissue, remember?”

“Not Robert Pakington, then,”he muttered, racking his brain for who the surprise guest of honourcould be.

“I don’t even know who that is.”

“First murder ever committed inLondon with a handgun. 1536.”

“Ah. I’ll give you a hint—”

“No hints! I want to figure itout on my own.”

“More data, then. We’re notgrave-robbing.”

“Well that’s disappointing,”he huffed. Not that he was looking forward to the shovelling, but hedid enjoy flouting laws and decency.

“Maybe some other time,” shesaid, sounding like someone’s Mum.

So, soft tissue, but not grave-robbing. Probably not a corpse in another morgue, she’d just have them sentto Bart’s (she could get her hands on anything she wanted and didn’teven need magic to do it). More decomposed than last year’s cat-ladybecause she was working backwards from fresh after the skeletondebacle, so dead more than four months before being discovered,assuming no extenuating circumstances like exposure to the elementsor submersion…

Either she’d been keeping a corpse onice in a Lok'nStore somewhere or it was a preserved specimen.

“One of Gunther von Hagen’sbodies?”

“No, but that would beinteresting. I wonder if it would even work on a plasticized body,since they’re mostly inorganic. We’ll have to remember that for nextyear,” she said.

Her use of ‘we’ in conjunction with‘next year’ made him warm inside. But back to the matter at hand—

“Jeremy Bentham?”

“No, but warm. Ish. Right train,wrong station.”

“A mummy?”

“You’ll see.”

“So it is a mummy.”

She mimed zipping her lips and throwingaway the key.

“I knew it was a mummy,” hewhispered as Molly’s friend led them through the bowels of theBritish Museum to one of the conservation rooms. She squeezed hishand hard enough for the bones to grind together, probably afraidthat he’d blow their cover. Him,of all people. Who did she think he was?

Assoon as they were in the room with the mummy, the alarm system wentoff (Molly’s doing).

“Bollocks,”Molly’s friend (whose name he hadn’t caught, but was no threat at allbecause 1. gay, 2. married, 3. under 30) swore. "Must havetriggered a sensor somehow, it happens sometimes, be back in a tick.“

Thefriend scurried off and Molly dropped Sherlock’s hand with theone-word order of “Candles,” while she set her bag on thenearest table and unpacked the grimoire and Thermos flask ofblood-herb ‘soup.’

“Sheet?”she prompted over her shoulder, pouring the blood mixture into thecap of the flask.

Heleaned over the mummy and pulled back the sheet and stared indisbelief for a moment before finally finding his voice.

“Molly,this is Lindow Man. One of the most significant artefacts in all of British history, notsome ten-a-penny Egyptian mummy! Whatif something goes wrong?” He watched in horror as she dippedher fingers in the blood and smeared three lines on the corpse’sforehead.

“Nothing’sgoing to go wrong, I’ve done this before. You’ve seenme do this before. Unless there’s something you’re not telling meabout the potential reactivity of one of my reagents—?”

“I’mstill—” he cleared his throat and rolled his wrist in a vaguegesture because he wasn’t going to say avirginout loud “—if that’s what you mean.”

“Thenwe have nothing to worry about. And I thought we’d have a betterchance communicating with this one, unless you can speak ancientEgyptian?”

“Ihave a working knowledge of ancient Greek, the linguafrancaof the time,” he sniffed, annoyed with her tone.

“AndI have a working knowledge of all the Brittonic and Goideliclanguages, andLatin, thanks to this,” she countered, holding up the grimoire. “Now, if we could get on with it? On a bit of a schedule.”

He huffed and stepped back; it wasn’tthat he didn’t trust her abilities—he did, more than anyone (notthat he knew any other witches, but that was beside the point)—hewas just very aware of the consequences should something not go toplan.

Molly graced him with a half-smile thatwas the equivalent of a sarcastic thank you and continued anointingthe body, then grabbed her book, realizing too late that she’dforgotten to wipe the blood off her hands. She scrunched her nose inannoyance and his stomach did that funny, flippy thing it always didwhen she was being utterly adorable. She read the incantation andthe blood glowed gold for a moment before disappearing into thecorpse’s skin; nothing happened for a moment, and then the toes onthe severed right leg began to wiggle.

The head slowly turned from its bentposition to face forward, crackling like old parchment, its mouthworking to form words. Sherlock prided himself on his ration andsubsequent immunity to fear; a chill ran down his spine from thesight and he fought the urge to grab Molly and run. Molly,however, seemed utterly delighted and leaned closer to try to catchwhat Lindow Man (!!!!) might be saying.

He watched as her brow wrinkled and herexpression morphed into consternation. She stepped back from thebody and looked up at him.

“I’m pretty sure he just called mea cow’s vagina and told me I should be strangled by my own hair,”she said.

“Going to go out on a limb and sayhis ritualistic murder was carried out by your forebears,”Sherlock said dryly, watching the corpse try to prop himself up onwhat was left of his arms.

It was then, of course, that Molly’sfriend re-entered the room, muttering something about needing keys;they hadn’t planned for that contingency.

She looked between the body, Sherlock,and the door in a panic; the friend was supposed to be gone for tenminutes at least, long enough for Molly to cast an amnesia/re-written memory spell. Sherlock triangulated and worked out anglesin his head and moved two steps to his right, pulling Molly alongwith him as he wrapped his arms around her and dipped her backwardsagainst the table the body was on. Molly flailed, off-balance andcaught off-guard, then flung her arms around him in a bid to stayupright and just out of reach of the angry, wheezing corpse behindthem.

“Sorry,” he murmured beforeleaning in to kiss her, committing fully to selling it despite thefriend not being able to see their faces from that angle.

Much to his surprise, she kissed back,and rather ardently at that.

“Whoa, sorry! I, ah, I didn't—Imean, you said it was your anniversary but I—yeah, I’ll just be outin the hall for a few minutes,” the friend said, footstepsalready retreating.

He lingered for just a second longerbefore breaking the kiss and pulling Molly upright. "How longuntil the spell wears off?“ he asked quietly.

"I don’t know, it could beminutes, it could be hours!”

“Is there some kind ofcounter-spell or something to break it, like snuffing the candlesor—”

“Blood,” she interrupted. “The blood is connected to you and the purity of your life forceis what’s animating the body. If your blood is corrupted, the spellbreaks.”

“So you mean…?” Surely shecouldn’t.

“Do you have a better plan?”she snapped.

He couldn’t fathom there being a moreperfect plan ever conceived of in the history of plans. "Virginsacrifice it is,“ he said lightly, dipping back down to kiss heragain before she could say anything else.

"So much for grave robbing orplasticized bodies next year,” he said, breaking the awkwardsilence in the cab on the way back to—where were they going? Bart’s? Her flat? His flat? He hadn’t been paying attention whenshe’d given the cabby the address. They hadn’t spoken a word to eachother since they’d broken the spell.

Really, he’d rather forget those threeminutes of mortification, being watched by a two thousand year oldcorpse no less; he wondered if she’d do him a favour and alter hismemories.

“It’s alright, I’ll just go backto the universities again. Might be able to weasel my way into ananime club or a LARP group. Or, I mean, there are, ah, other…spells… rituals, really… we could do, if you still want to haveum, the same level of participation with, ah… fluids.”

“Fluids.”

“Nevermind, forget I said that.”

“I believe we can work somethingout,” he said tentatively. Then the full impact of what she was(probably) offering hit him. He couldn’t help but grin. "Ithink I like this holiday.“

#anon #halloween sentence meme #sherlolly #sunken's secret stash

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writekindofwrong-blog · 7 years

Text

Cat-Blocked - Keith x Reader

Anon Requested: 161. “Where did that cat come from?” and 84 “You’re lucky you’re cute.” for Keith

A/N: This is made even better by the revelation by the guidebook that Shiro likes cats lol. Also yes the title is a pun on cock-blocked, this fic is a tad more steamy than my others, but I dialed it back a bit because i wasn’t sure about it, it’s nothing super explicit tbh just not purely fluffy like I normally write.

Love this request, hope you like it anon! If you wanna see the prompt list the anon is referring to it’s here

“Aww it’s so cute” Hunk cooed, looking at the fluffy creature curled up in Y/N’s arms. “Err what is it exactly?”

“At a glance I’d say it’s a cat of some kind” Pidge helpfully supplied, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“Noooo, it’s a space cat, way cooler” Lance said reaching down to stroke it, the cat let out a soft purring noise.

“Where did you find it?” Pidge asked.

“It sort of snuck aboard Blue whilst Lance and I were getting back in, we didn’t even know it was there until we took off.” Y/N explained.

It was at that moment that Shiro entered the hangar where the four of them were standing in a huddle, he wore a slightly concerned expression.

“I have a feeling that I’m gonna regret asking this but what are you guys doing?”

The four of them spun around and Y/N attempted to hide the cat behind her back. As it turned out that was a lot easier said than done and Y/N ended up dropping the cat on the floor, luckily it wasn’t a long drop and the cat seemed unphased as it trotted between the groups legs and sat in front of them, eyeing Shiro.

“Is that...a cat?” Shiro asked slowly with a smile.

“What? Oh my god, guys look, it’s a cat, where on earth did it come from? I had no idea it was here, I-” Y/N’s mock (and not particularly convincing) shocked ramblings came to a halt as the cat leapt into her arms.

“Uh huh, well it sure looks like it knows you” Shiro said, with a raised eyebrow.

“Traitor...” Y/N said looking down at the cat in her arms with a disapproving frown.

“Well there’s only one thing for it then” Shiro said looking at the group gathered before him.

The group of four exchanged looks, nodded and instantly began pleading with Shiro to let them keep the cat.

“It’s so adorable Shiro just look at it’s big eyes and it’s little toe beans”

“Shiro you can’t kick it out, that’s just too cruel”

“Please let us keep it, It’ll be really good for team morale”

“We pilot giant robotic cats, clearly this is a sign from the universe”

“Enough!” Shiro said, raising his hand to silence them. “If you had let me finish what I was saying, I was going to say that we need to give it a name” He finished with a smirk, before walking over to scratch the cat behind the ears.

A round of thank yous were heard by Shiro before he waved them off and they all began to suggest names, ranging from Muffin (Hunk’s suggestion), to Leo (Shiro’s), to Garfield (Lance’s), before Pidge interrupted them.

“We should probably find out it’s gender first” She suggested before peeking under the cat as Y/N held it up. “It’s a girl” Pidge declared.

They continued to argue about names until they were interrupted, this time by Hunk.

“Um you guys, I hate to bring this up but do you think space cats hunt space mice?”

Everyone stopped as they remembered the three little mice that also lived aboard the ship, they all shuddered thinking about what would happen if the cat and mice met.

“Maybe we should talk to Allura” Shiro suggested and everyone nodded in agreement.

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

“Oh and I should warn you Y/N, Keith...doesn’t really like cats”

“What do you mean, is he allergic?”

“No no no, I had a cat and it always used to hiss at him for some reason, he never got on with it, no idea why. Ever since he’s avoided them like the plague”

The conversation she had just had with Shiro played in Y/N’s head as she neared the door to her room. It had been decided that the cat (who still didn‘t have a name), would stay in Y/N’s room, far away from the mice until they could figure out a permanent solution.

Keeping the cat away from the mice would be easy, keeping the cat away from Keith? Not so much. They had tried to get the cat to go with one of the other paladins, but apparently the cat was very attached to Y/N.

“Home sweet home” Y/N announced as she and the cat stepped into her room.

She smiled seeing the food bowl, water bowl, makeshift litter tray and toys that Pidge had managed to get.hold of...somehow.

Y/N set the cat down and watched as the cat sniffed at the food goo in one of the bowls and promptly turned her nose up at it. According to Coran the food goo was suitable food for multiple alien species, including cats. Suitable didn’t mean appetizing apparently.

“Yeah I know girl, but it’s the best I can do right now” Y/N said sympathetically.

It was then that Y/N heard a knock on her door.

“Who is it?” Y/N asked cautiously. She was guessing it wouldn’t be Keith, the others had promised to try and keep him away from the cat for as long as possible.

“It’s Keith, can I come in?” Well apparently the distract Keith plan had gone bust.

Y/N’s stomach dropped, looking around her room quickly she assessed her options.

1. She left her room and took Keith far away from the cat. The problem with that plan was that it left the cat on it’s own and goodness knows what havoc it would wreak, Y/N really didn’t fancy coming back to a room where everything was shredded.

2. She told Keith about the cat. Now that was a slightly more appealing option, however given the way Shiro had described Keith’s aversion to cats on earth Y/N was sure that his reaction to a space cat would be just as bad, if not worse. As much as she hated lying to him, if she told him about the cat he’d likely tell her to get rid of it or he’d avoid the cat like a plague, which meant avoiding Y/N like the plague, which Y/N really didn’t want.

So that left...

3. Hide the cat from Keith...Somehow.

“Y/N are you OK?”

“Err yeah just hang on a sec I’m getting changed”

Y/N had to think quickly, she grabbed the cat and put it under the bed and moved the water and food bowls under there too, along with the toys and a makeshift bed of dirty clothes that had been left on Y/N’s floor (apparently being messy had its upsides).

Luckily it appeared the cat quite liked it’s new den as it settled down on it’s little nest of clothes and seemed content. Y/N breathed a sigh of relief, before heading over to open the door for Keith.

“Hey” She greeted warmly, gesturing for him to come inside.

“Hey” Keith said with a smile as he entered the room.

Good, he doesn’t suspect anything, let’s keep it that way. Y/N thought to herself.

“So, what brings you here?” Y/N asked to fill the empty silence that had descended upon the room.

“Do I need a reason to come and see my girlfriend?” Keith asked with an smirk as he wrapped his arms around Y/N, tugging her closer.

“No...no of course not, I’m not trying to get rid of you or anything I was just curious” Smooth Y/N. Real smooth.

Keith appeared to be thinking the same thing. “Are you sure everything’s OK Y/N?”

“Yeah of course it is, why wouldn’t it be? Now are you going to give me a kiss or did you just come here to ask silly questions?” Y/N asked playfully, tilting her head. Keith smirked again and obliged pressing his lips softly against Y/N’s in an almost chaste way. That was fairly standard though, usually things started off slower and then got more...heated.

And sure enough, it wasn’t long before Keith’s tongue was working it’s way into Y/N’s mouth and her hands were tangled in his hair, Keith switched tactic and began kissing along her jaw and then down her neck where he began nibbling as he went.

As lovely as this impromptu make out session was, Y/N made sure to check over Keith’s shoulder to see if the cat was still under the bed, and she was relieved to see it was, until she noticed something else...

The litter tray! She’d forgotten to hide the litter tray! Y/N yelped slightly in surprise as she realised, causing Keith to stop and look at her with concern.

“Sorry did I hurt you? I can stop”

“No no no, it’s fine, keep going, it was really nice” Y/N encouraged, practically shoving his face back into her neck. Luckily Keith didn’t question it as Y/N searched for a solution.

She had to cover it up with something, some clothes maybe? But all her clothes were currently under the bed...Except the ones she was wearing. But she was only wearing a t shirt, if she was wearing a jacket then maybe she could’ve taken it off, pretending that she was too hot. Then it dawned on her. She didn’t have a jacket, but Keith did.

“Hey Keith, why are you still wearing a jacket? I mean, you’re inside, aren’t you hot? And honestly it just gets in the way” Y/N said struggling to get the jacket from his arms, she succeeded, leaving Keith in just a tight black t-shirt, his lean arm muscles straining against the sleeves, Y/N bit her lip.

Focus Y/N! She mentally chided herself and successfully tossed the jacket over the litter tray.

“You know, if you wanted me to take my clothes of you could have asked” Keith said looking at Y/N with a smirk before pushing her up against a nearby wall with a rough kiss before turning his attention to her ears, sucking and nibbling the lobes. God that felt good.

“How about we move over to the bed, much more comfortable than a wall” Keith proposed, beginning to back away to where he knew the bed was, pulling Y/N with him.

“Yeah that sounds-” It was at that moment she noticed something again over Keith’s shoulder. This time it was the cat, it had come out from under the bed and was instead sat on top of it. “-No, no actually I think I prefer it right here” Y/N quickly insisted, tugging Keith bag to their original position against the wall.

Keith gave her a curious look but didn’t say anything, probably because not all of his blood was heading to his upstairs brain right now. Y/N gave another glance to the bed over Keith’s shoulder and saw, with dread, that the cat and leapt off of it and was making it’s way over to them.

Seriously? Couldn’t she just enjoy a nice make out session with her boyfriend?

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind, the bed sounds like a great idea” Y/N quickly suggested pushing Keith deftly past the cat, onto the bed and pressing her lips against his heatedly before he could question her sudden change of heart.

She checked on the cat regularly over the next couple of minutes and it seemed content to stay put, thank god, and Y/N allowed herself to get lost in Keith’s attention. But when she checked again, the cat was nowhere to be found, she guessed it must have gone back under the bed...She was wrong.

Keith flipped Y/N onto her back but paused before kissing her again. Y/N looked up at him, confused, but Keith wasn’t looking at her, he was staring straight ahead of him.

“Y/N...Where did that cat come from?” Keith asked slowly. Y/N felt her stomach drop as she tilted her head to see where Keith was looking, and, sure enough, the cat had settled itself on the headboard of the bed and was watching them both with interest.

“Um...Wow...That really is a cat huh? Well I have no idea whatsoever where it came from, honestly-”

“Y/N...” Keith interjected, clearly not believing her.

Y/N sighed in defeat, she’d probably better come clean.

“Well it sort of snuck aboard Blue and then we brought it back to the castle, then we realised it couldn’t just wander around because of the mice, so it’d have to stay in someones room for a while, and then it got all attached to me, which was fine, except Shiro told me you hated cats so when you showed up I sort of tried to hide it from you” Y/N took a breath.

“Y/N I’m not sure-“

“Please don’t make me get rid of it Keith, it’s a really nice cat honestly and I really don’t want you to be all grumpy whenever it’s around or-”

Keith silenced Y/N’s pleading with a kiss, before breaking away and looking down at her.

“You are lucky you’re cute” Keith sighed in defeat.

“Does that mean you’ll let it stay?”

“...Yeah I suppose so, doesn’t mean I’ll like it though” Keith said, glaring at the cat.

#keith x reader #keith imagine #voltron x reader #voltron imagine #voltron scenarios #my writing

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whifferdills · 7 years

Note

I did really like you're fic for the multi-bill tardis foot fetish prompt but if you do feel like having another go at it I'd really love a somewhat more filthy and kinky take!

part one of the SHIPFUCKING DOUBLE FEATURE

just jokes it will take me like a Year to write the other shipfucking prompt but. shipfucking! and selfcest. i run a quality blog for good people

Bill/Bill/The TARDIS/Bill, T for The Fuck?, ~900 words, it’s still not filthy or kinky look i tried and i failed but at least i tried

“Great,” Bill announced. “It’s Clone Day again. Is it always the first Tuesday of the month or…?” She dropped her rucksack on the TARDIS floor unceremoniously.

Ten other Bills looked up at her.

“It’s was Thursday last time,” one said.

“We’re not clones, it’s a. Time travel whatsit. A loop. Like in that one movie we watched, the straight-to-Netflix one, with the cute blonde?” said another.

“You’ve got, uh,” started a third. She opened her mouth and pointed at her upper front teeth.

Bill scrubbed at her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Spinach from the spanakopita,” she said, wriggling her tongue against her teeth. “Did I get it?”

“No,” said a fourth, spinning around in her chair, staring up at the ceiling, popping her gum. “But who are you trying to impress here?”

She enjoyed a brief, fuzzy dissociative slide into ‘accepting the weirdness’. Ten other Bills, that was nice. “If we’re recursive, do we all have spinach in our teeth?”

“No one said you were the first. And if you were, there’s a toothpick dispenser underneath the thing that lights up and goes 'bweeoo’,” said the spinny one.

Made sense. Still sucking at her teeth, Bill beelined to the toothpicks.

“We should get shirts,” said a fifth. “Like in Cat in the Hat. Bill One, Bill Two.”

“But who’s one? or two?” said a sixth. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, checking Instagram as a defense mechanism.

“Me,” Bill said. “I don’t remember any of this. So I was first. Right?”

InstaBill rolled her eyes. “Right. Yeah. Because mind-wipes are definitely not a thing.”

She was about to say something insightful or clever, when the floor turned to goo.

“Here we gooooo,” sang spinny-chair, still spinning.

Something translucent blueish was rising up and spilling into her shoes. “This has happened before,” she said blankly. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just not a usual one. For whatever reason, she had no impulse to run for high ground.

“It’s a time loop. It only happens once, but we experience it multiple times.” This from another Bill, slumped and exhausted over the console. Old hat. Time for the goo again. Batten the hatches and man the topsails, or whatever. Round the horn, old boy, what ho.

“It’s a thing,” said InstaBill, as she Instagrammed the situation with the dog filter on.

“Like a thing,” said a further Bill, wriggling her toes in the goo.

“A thing? Like a Thing, thing?” Bill felt the goo go warm and sort of…prehensile, against the arch of her foot. Thank fuck she wasn’t ticklish. “Like a. A sex thing?” she whispered.

“I know what you’re thinking, Thing One,” said another Bill, squelching her socks off.

Bill barely knew what Bill was thinking. “Like we’ve - I’ve - barely even. I mean. Like - ”

“We’ve fingered three girls and eaten out one and anything more complicated is currently, frankly, a bridge too far,” said Bill Ten. She was wearing a Cat in the Hat style shirt, reading “10”. And was naked, also, from the waist down.

“So it just takes ten go-rounds for me to be a slut about it,” Bill said. “Good to know.” She shivered, the goo trailing up and curling around her ankles. Her shoes apparently dissolved, vanished, made elsewhere.

“The Doctor says - ”

“Nope. If this is a sex thing, like. If we are being fondled by his space ship we are not bringing his name into it. Right?” Up along her calves and back down, threading through her toes, massaging her heel.

9 out of 10 Bills agreed. There was a pause, as the floor roiled and rose up. They all sighed, haltingly.

“So if we like - ”

“- Make out - ”

“ - Just a little bit. Is that incest? Masturbation? Super-weird or -”

“ - No it’s - it is weird but on the scale of like - ”

“ - One to Ten How Weird is me making out with me, like, for practice; and is that less weird than foot-fucking an entire spaceship - ”

“ - Which we do enjoy, I mean I enjoy it, I am…enjoying this - ”

“ - So we have like uh. A thing.”

A thing. Bill scrunched her eyes shut and felt the ooze of the ship trailing a line from heel to arch to toes. Gentle, very gentle. Somewhere in the mess, her socks, which were gross and sweaty and was that sexy? She wasn’t sure.

Bill 7 winked at her, and then took off her trousers. Hers, not Bill’s, although also Bill’s, since - fuck it.

She settled down on her haunches, leaned back into the ship. Scrunched her eyes closed. “So who here is gonna raw me because I’ve been single for months and if I can’t fuck myself then what is time travel even for.”

“Education,” said one.

“Experience,” said another.

“The Doctor - ” started a third.

“Do not bring his name up when we are nude and intimately engaged with his time-space capsule,” Bill said. “Please. Have some decorum. He’s like our granddad, right? Just - no.”

The ship hummed happily, and surged against her. The goo wrappping around her legs like ankle bracelets, almost. It’s fine, it’s fine, turn your brain off. Turn it off.

She turned her brain off. Somewhere, Bill #8 was yelling “Yahtzee!”. She’d figure that out eventually. Probably. Next week on My Future Self Has a Weird Sex Thing: “Board Games, Myself, Me, and Sex Things: Like Weird Sex Things Not That There’s Anything Wrong With That But” -

She turned her brain off again, more firmly this time.

#bill potts #dw fanfic #promptapalooza #NOT A PROMPTAPALOOZA PLEASE just house keeping #Anonymous

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