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samblackblog · 2 years

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7. Tempest

⎔ MASTERLIST ⎔ REQUESTS ⎔ TWILIGHT ⎔ BOUNDARIES ⎔

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: angst, anger/fighting, kind of smutty but not really, slow burn

A/N: How long has it been? Honestly no clue. Thank you so much for the continued support, even in my absence. I don't want to make excuses for the lack of updates but, this story is far from over and I will be updating more regularly. I'm recently out of hospital after losing all mobility so I'm relearning to use my hands so typing is hard, due to this updates will be slow (although faster compared to the wait between this chapter and the previous!) There are likely to be grammatical errors to due to this. I've tried correcting them all - bare with me.

also couldn't decide on a GIF, send me a better one and I'll replace it but maybe also might give another reward.

I've created a TAGLIST add your name if you wish to get updates

← Chapter 6 ▪️ Chapter 8→

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His answer echoes through every corner of your brain, exciting your heart once again, as you walk hand in hand to the edge of the forest and stare out at the house. The feeling lasted but fleetingly as dread overwhelmed the senses. Paul staying for dinner would mean meeting the parents and you’re not entirely sure you’re mentally prepared for the event. Infact, you’re not sure you ever would be. A squeeze to your hand brings your attention back to the present moment.

“I think I can handle parents” he teases with a second reassuring squeeze of the hand. You stare up at him, confusement present on your features.

“How did you know I was thinking-”

“Call it an educated guess,” he laughs as light twinkles in his eye. “Besides, I wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t prepared for the inevitability of meeting family.”

“At least one of us is prepared” you joke, exhaling deeply. Before another word could be spoken you started towards the house, giving him a small tug on the arm to follow so you couldn’t talk yourself out of it. Quick like a plaster was your mantra as you marched through the quagmire that had developed in the afternoon rain. Only briefly do you brace yourself for the onslaught of questions and then begrudgingly drag your feet up the stairs of the back porch. Relief washes over you at the sight of the empty kitchen as you push through the back door of the house, but it is short-lived as your mother makes an appearance in the archway that connects to the living room.

“Thought I heard someone” she sounds cheery as she moves to give you a hug. She gives a tight squeeze and then takes your face in her hands and looks deep into your eyes “how are you feeling sweetie?” She continues to inspect your face, for any clues as to what's going on in your mind.

“I’m good mum” you take her hands in yours and remove them from your face to give her a sweet smile. She accepts your answer, content that everything seemed well as she busies herself with the kettle on the stove as it starts to whistle. “In fact, I was wondering if perhaps… well, it’s just that…” the words start to stick in your throat as you realise this was the first time you were bringing a guy home. “Is it okay if I have a friend over to eat?”

“Honey, you know it is-”

“We don't even have to eat them.” Frank’s voice takes you by surprise as you turn to see him in the archway, his arms folded as he winks at you.

“Frank!” Your mother scolds, earning a chuckle from him. “Is it Sarah?” Your mother looks up from pouring the boiling kettle water into her mug as she asks the question.

“More likely to be the man who’s loitering outback” once again Frank surprises you as your mother’s face screws up into a questioning stare. You start to open your mouth to question him but Frank once again beats you to it “Who is the young man then?”. He’s got his official tough guy voice on, the one you’ve only heard a handful of times when he’s answered a work call. “Wouldn’t be the same one that brought you home unwell and drugged up from that party?” Your mother’s mouth drops open as you completely ignore Frank’s questioning and rush to the door as a feeling of loneliness spreads through your chest. Paul’s back disappears into the treeline you both had emerged from only minutes ago. The emptiness that engulfs you rips through painfully as it threatens never to be replaced by joy or happiness again. It commands your feet to run, splashing muddy water at your body as you slog through the mire. The shouts of Frank from the porch are nothing but white noise as the panic rises through you, cascading through your body in waves of numbness.

“Don’t go!” you try to shout but it comes out as a croaky whisper. “Don’t go!” you find your voice and start yelling at the top of your lungs as you come to halt in the growing darkness of the forest. “Paul?” you cry out, desperate for his presence to return. The darkness inside is swallowing you whole, not even the rustle of the bushes and the pounding of feet is enough to drag you from its depths and make you run. Instead you watch, numb and unmoving as a beast charges you.

You wake sitting bolt upright. Sweat beading across your forehead and running in rivulets down your temple. Hair sticks to the dampness created by the all to vivid dream. Your eyes scour your room searching for that beast in the morning light that creeps through the drawn curtains. After a few minutes you calm yourself and lay back down in the damp sheets, thinking over the events of the dream. Being in the forest, alone with Paul, the steamy kiss that felt so real you could almost feel it lingering on your lips; the echo of a ghost. You lay for a while trying to fall back asleep but feeling too deeply distracted. In a mood you force yourself up from bed, pulling yesterday’s clothes on which had been discarded in a heap on the floor. You make your way downstairs to grab some breakfast, knowing you should eat but finding the contents of the cupboard totally uninspiring so settle for a coffee. You lean against the kitchen counters sipping the hot brown liquid trying your hardest to fight the urge to get in the car and drive back to the reservation.

“What would you say you idiot?” You muse aloud, trying to convince yourself not to do it. “‘Oh, I’m back because I can’t stop thinking about you and a steamy kiss that never happened.’ no, I can’t…” you laugh at yourself while the memory of how close you’d come to kissing in the cabin pops up in your memory. You start busying yourself by washing up your mother and Frank’s breakfast dishes, looking out the kitchen window at the back yard, noting how unlike a quagmire it currently is and not at all like the dream when your eyes register a shape in the distant treeline. The breath in your lungs catches followed by a sharp inhale. The great beast is a dark grey brown in colour, blending in with the surroundings. You would have completely missed the creature if it wasn’t for the familiar feeling that licked at you and drew attention to its presence. Your view of the outside world is temporarily blocked by the kitchen wall as you move from the window to the door. Disappointment hits hard as you stand in the cold morning air on the porch, looking at nothing but trees.

You jump, startled by the clear ringing of the doorbell as it sounds around the house. With a sense of elation and the sound of drumming feet you race through the house to swing the front door open, hoping it’s him.

“Sarah?” You couldn’t hide the shock and annoyance at your friend being on the other side.

“Could sound a little less displeased!” She jokes barging her way into the house. You shake your head, realising you’d been rude and try to clear all thoughts of Paul away. You can’t help but smile at your friend as she makes herself comfortable in the kitchen, readying two mugs for coffee. The idea of making the drink causes the realisation to hit that Sarah should be at work. “What’s up?” She questions after spotting the look on your face in the window reflection.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” You prop yourself against the door frame awaiting an answer.

“You’re one to talk!” She glares in a half joking way but you detect an undertone of seriousness. “Not that you have a job anymore anyway…” she trails off leaving you straining to hear.

“Sorry?” You squeak out. Sarah busies herself moving the drinks to the kitchen table with an awkwardness as if suddenly uncomfortable in her own skin. Her bum plonks down onto a chair and she forces herself to take a sip of the far too hot liquid, you know she’s burnt herself as her face screws up in pain.

“Look,” she starts trying to piece together what to tell you. “It’s not for me to say” she tries to blow it off which earns her an eyebrow raise from you. “It’s really not my place-”

“Well you made it your place” you snap. “Tell me what happened to my job, please.” Your patience was running thin now. Sarah drums her fingers into the table top before finally speaking.

“The diner is currently closed, so there’s that aspect” she looks up at you from beneath her lashes, resentment etching her features that she was finding hard to hide. The diner being closed answered why Sarah wasn’t at work today.

“I’m sensing there's more to this” you probe while taking the chair opposite.

Sarah responds by ironically rolling her eyes “Well the only difference between our situations is mine’s temporary. Benny sees it as your fault, he’s mad-”

“At what?” You sit forward leaning on the table, eyes wide, wanting to know what your boss thought was your fault. “Why have I lost my job?” You start to shout.

“I totally agree that Benny deserved what he got, he was being a total ass, but Paul should have gone easy-”

You didn’t wait to hear what Paul had done. The gnawing feeling in your gut was all you needed to send you flying through the room, wasting no time in grabbing your shoes and keys. Sarah grabs your shoulder as she turns you to face her. She can see the wildness tearing through your eyes as fury rises. “Confronting him isn’t a good idea, surely what happened to Benny is enough for you to see how dangerous his temper can be-”

“His temper?!” You almost laugh, “Maybe he should be afraid of mine,” you almost snarl “Mine most certainly is match for any mans and if he thinks i’m going to roll over and let him-”

“Geeze okay, I’m coming. You’ll need all the backup you can get.” Sarah pushes aside her feeling of unease and the urge to say I told you so, wishing you’d left Paul alone when she warned you, and follows hot on your heels out the house.

Sarah actually ends up driving as her head is much clearer than yours. You pay little attention to the journey, focusing only on what you’re going to say. The desire to hold your ground floods your veins and drives your instincts, so much so that when the car pulls up in front of the familiar cabin you immediately jump from the vehicle and head towards a track on the opposite side of the clearing. Sarah’s voice calls after you from the driver's side of the car but it goes unheard as you march to the thumping of your heart in your ears. Emily, who had been preoccupied inside the cabin, heard the commotion caused by Sarah and appeared in the entrance way in time to see you trudging off towards where she knew the boys to be. Sarah and Emily share a brief worried glance before rushing to follow.

The sound of your feet slapping against the earth barely registers as you start running. Despite not knowing where you’re headed, you know it’s towards him. Explaining the feeling inside would be almost impossible; it’s deep, magnetic, instinctual. It’s like a moth to a flame, but also so much more than that. You’d have to experience it to know properly. A sweat starts to break out on your forehead or so you think, until the wetness starts feeling heavier and cold and realise it’s the start of rain. Not caring about getting wet, you carry on with your fast pace, putting some distance between you and the girls. Eventually the path you took emerges on the edge of a beach, the transition in terrain striking you as odd. The mud trail just stops and turns to sand, a few grass patches sporadically placed here and there. The sound of crashing waves dulls any other noise there might have been and for a brief moment you feel calm as you step out onto the beach and take a deep breath of sea air. If it wasn’t for the radar inside going off alerting you to his presence closing in, you would happily stay here and enjoy the scene. A familiar gnawing sets in as butterflies swim around your tummy. The ones you get every time he’s nearby, closing your eyes you can almost imagine the warmth of him as he wraps arms around you and the scent that sends heat rushing through your veins. It’s almost powerful enough to sweep aside the anger.

Almost.

You turn your attention to look up at the wide stretch of beach. Far off in the distance you believe you can make out shapes, or is it that feeling which confirms he’s there? One foot at a time you trudge through the sand that grows ever wetter by the second as the skies open even more. What was soft rain starts to pound down and run in rivlets down your face, soaking everything it touches. It drips from the tip of your nose and snakes its way down the neck of your top. Soon shivers set in so you wrap your arms around your torso to conserve heat. After five minutes the shapes in the distances have grown exponentially, you could make out their faces. It helped that they were moving towards you, probably heading to the cabin to seek sanctuary from the deluge. You stop moving since he’s coming towards you, not wanting to waste energy. A strong wind blows in off the sea and whips your hair around your face in a tangle of wet matts. Desperately you try to pull it off your damp skin and become increasingly frustrated. The frustration builds until it pushes you over the edge. It forces you to march up to the group, closing the last few metres. Paul stands in the middle, the smile that had etched his features dispurses as he registers your emotions. In hindsight this next move probably wasn’t the best decision, but you’re cold, soaked and quite frankly, fed up. Planting your feet into the sand you muster all the strength you can before shoving Paul in the chest. To say it catches him off guard is an understatement. It was so unpredictable it actually knocked him back a step or two. If he’d landed flat on his arse you’d have been happier but you think your point got across, loud and clear. To be extra sure, you allow yourself to shove him again, this time though he doesn’t budge. His hands shoot out to grab yours, stabilising your body, stopping any further movement to attack him.

“What the hell were you thinking?” you shouted through gritted chattering teeth, rain flying as your hot breath steams against the cold air. Paul’s breaths come in ragged sharp inhalations as he tries to remain calm. He releases the pressure on your wrists but doesn’t let go. “Let go of me,” you try to wriggle free from his restraints.

“What’s wrong with me?” he questions in response to the outburst, “What’s wrong with you?”. It wasn’t meant to sound harsh and judgemental, he really was concerned about you and whatever had caused this, but you took it the wrong way.

“You have no right, none whatsoever.” You hurl at him without actually knowing the full extent of the events. “Stay away from me.” This time he allows you to pull free from his grip, the force of which sends you stumbling. Quicker than what felt humanly possible he grabs your waist to stop you from falling. “Get off me!” Your voice grates hoarsely through your throat, as you give him one final shove. His silence irritates you, but perhaps it’s for the best. Walking away would be so much easier. Turning away from him sends pangs of guilt and hurt through your chest, as if you were physically tearing yourself apart. The feeling soon dissipates as he breaks silence.

“We’re not done here.” His voice bounces off the air sending waves of electricity over your skin. The hairs on your arm raise in response and the air in your lungs catches. It’s a tone of dominance hinting at a silent command to stay. Immediately you stop in your tracks. You should feel even more irate but the anger has been replaced by intrigue. Butterflies once again swarm your tummy as you bite back the lump in your throat. It’s the biggest betrayal, your heart beating your mind in this tug-of-war. Turning on your heel you catch the briefest of glances between the other guys as if they were sharing a silent conversation. Without giving you or Paul another glance they all carry on, their voices trail off into the distance but can be heard laughing and joking around for sometime. He waits, with the rain battering down on you both, until they’re out of earshot to speak again. You hadn’t noticed until now that he was once again shirtless, the rain running in perfect streams over his carved muscles. Despite the weather, heat rushes to your cheeks flushing them a pale pink colour as all kinds of thoughts sweep over your mind. You have to force yourself to look him in the eye to concentrate on the matter at hand. You see his mouth moving but struggle to hear the words over the sound of the rising winds. Forcefully you whip your head in an attempt to move hair off your face, the pressure of the wind growing stronger as it blasts you in the side. A glance at the sea reveals giant crashing waves pounding into the shoreline and despite being only the middle of the day, the sun hides behind sullen grey clouds, resembling late evening more than anything. You hug yourself as the cold really sets in, your bones feeling painful as they rattle inside.

“Come with me” you hear him this time as he shouts from beside you, his face mere inches from your ear. Having not noticed him move closer, this takes you by surprise. He looks down at you with all traces of anger removed and his features once again soft. He unhooks your hand from your side causing a gasp to release from you at the contact. The heat that radiates from him brings you back to life, you move to cling onto his arm. He wastes no time in leading you off the beach. Instead of heading to the trail that leads to the cabin he takes one that crops up sooner. You enter denser woodland following a less used pathway, neither one of you uttering a word but you’re silently thankful as the tree canopy protects you from the worst of the rain. The wind follows you, creating eerie noises as the trees groan under the pressure. Paul leads the way, his hand still enclosed over yours. You watch his back, the way the muscles contract with use. You can tell from the way his neck is tense that he's clenching, the tension between you undeniable. Thinking it was best to talk before arriving back at the cabin you try to break the silence by speaking his name. Whether it went unheard or deliberately ignored you had no clue. Silently you both march on until the trees grow thinner and a clearing starts to form. Soon you realise it was more than that; a meadow, sodden and now very much boggy, with long grasses scattered here and there. Although the rain was at its thickest, you could just about make out a cabin at the far end. Unlike Emily’s this one was not lit up, making it feel cold and unloved. If it wasn’t for the fact Paul acknowledged your apprehension with a gentle reassuring hand squeeze, you may have run in the opposite direction. Squelching through the mud you soon find yourself looking up at the two story building as it grows closer. From afar it had appeared to be small in size, and despite being smaller than a house, was substantial in comparison to Emily’s. Paul wastes no time in pushing open the front door, which you noted had not been locked. Upon closer inspection you realise the door doesn’t even have a lock. You push the door shut behind you, fighting against the wind but eventually winning, and find yourself in gloom. Instinctively you reach for a lightswitch. Finding one and giving it a flick you discover it doesn’t work.

“The power lines need reconnecting,” his voice breaks through the silence of the house as he appears from a different room carrying an LED Lantern. It casts a small warm glow as he walks around the main room, turning on a few more lanterns which reveal a sparsely furnished lounge-diner. Dust sheets cover the sofas and remnants of kitchen counters cling to the far wall. Sadness fills your heart at the realisation of what you see.

“Do you-” you bite back the lump that rises in your throat. “Do you live here?” you question.

“Sometimes” He shrugs, not wanting to open up. Who can blame him, not even an hour ago you’d hurled insults and physically attacked him. “You must be freezing” he changes subject and gestures for you to follow him through to the other room. Your surprise is evident at how different this room appeared to be. From the massive king sized bed standing in the centre and the chest of drawers, you knew it was a bedroom, but the cleanliness and orderly state didn’t match with the ramshackle, almost derelict appearance of the rest of the cabin. The walls had been freshly plastered and curtains hung from the windows. The bed had been left unmade which indicated he did live here. Another lantern turns on from within another doorway which reveals a large but plain bathroom. You stand dumbfounded in the middle of the room while Paul busies himself. You hear taps turning and the rushing of water before he comes back into view.

“The water’s on and there’s a clean towel…” he trails off.

Not knowing quite what to say and sensing the tension was still hanging thick, you thank him and enter the bathroom. Annoyingly you find there’s no door to the bathroom, but a quick peek showed that Paul was nowhere in sight. Stripping your wet clothes off seemed okay until it came to our trousers, which decided they wanted to cling to you. After wrestling with them for sometime you were finally free. The shower was fitted onto a tiled wall with a drain in the concrete floor, obviously the idea was for a wet room. Gingerly you turned the shower tap and jumped back as cold water hits you. With no sign of the water heating up you pluck up the courage to submerge yourself beneath it, managing to hold back the shriek that desperately tried clawing its way out. At least you could wash off the rain, somehow you always felt like rain was sticky. Soon you were exiting the cold water stream and wrapping a towel around your goosebump covered body. You quickly dried hoping that would warm you, but it didn’t.

Oh.

It dawned on you that your clothes were soaking and wouldn’t easily go back on. Securing the towel tightly around your body you peer into the bedroom again not knowing what to do. Lightning crashes outside, temporarily casting the room in pale blue light and causing you to jump. The shriek you’d kept at bay earlier finally makes an appearance. Thunder rumbles in the distance confirming this storm was far from done. Footsteps entering the room brings your focus back to reality, your eyes travelling to find him.

“You okay?” he eyes you worriedly.

“Lightning caught me by surprise,” your hands hold the towel with a white knuckle grip, afraid it would fall and expose everything. Sensing your awkwardness Paul diverts his gaze.

“I got you some dry clothes, they’ll be big on you but they’ll be warm.” he explains, moving over to the bed where a folded pile waits for you.

“Thank you.” It’s barely audible above the noises from outside but he manages to hear.

“Yeah well, least I could do.” he tells you nonchalantly, as if it meant nothing. He leaves you alone as he heads into the bathroom. Instantly you hear the shower and a blush creeps to your cheeks at how he obviously doesn’t care if you see anything. Not wanting to be indecent you move further into the bedroom and grab the clothes, you sift your way through them finding a long sleeve top, sweater and a pair of his underwear. You feel embarrassed as you slide your legs through the boxer shorts but know it’s better than nothing and are reassured by the thought that they probably look like regular shorts as they’re so big on you. The shower shuts off in the bathroom alerting you that soon you’d have company. Quickly you pull the top over your head followed by the sweater, which honestly was long enough to be a dress - not to mention hide the boxers! Your hair was a matted mess half covering your face, you squeeze as much water out of it using the towel before trying to run your fingers through it not wanting to look like a mess, especially when you sensed the fight from earlier would resume at some point. Feeling as though you looked half decent you sat down on the edge of the bed facing away from the bathroom towards the window. It had grown increasingly dark outside, between that and the rain you couldn’t make out much so resorted to staring at your hands in your lap.

Feet pad across the room behind you followed by the sound of drawers opening. For all you know he could be completely naked but you give in to temptation and glance. Your cheeks flush again as you take in the sight of Paul in nothing but boxers, an identical pair to those you have on. Feeling bad, you avert your eyes but not before he registered your gaze on his back and the change in your mood which floods his senses. As much as he’d kill to entertain the thoughts presently burrowing into your brain, he can’t ignore what happened earlier. Your words had stung. He leans back on the drawers, hands gripping the surface. He studies you for a second, watches as you bring your legs up towards your chest and plant your feet precariously on the bed frame. Protectively your arms wrap around your legs. He knows how vulnerable you feel right now so decides to take a gentle approach.

“Talk to me” he prompts, trying to coax out of you what had happened.

“Or you tell me” you throw back, sounding rather childish. Your chin comes to rest on your knees in defeat. You take a deep breath in, Paul’s scent overwhelms you as it lingers on the clothes, and you decide being angry is exhausting. “Tell me why I lost my job.” You mumble.

“Son of a bitch” you hear him sigh. Turning your head slightly, you see him rub his eyes in frustration. “I can’t believe…” Your eyes bore into him and in response his grip on the furniture tightens. There's a sound of creaking wood, aside from that of the wind on the building, your eyes widen in shock at the realisation. You jump up and find yourself walking towards him with your gaze fixated on his hand. He releases it as you grab his fingers, pulling them towards you for closer inspection.

“What the hell… how?” you look at the wooden drawers and sure enough there’s a split running along the top. Surely his hand would be hurting. “I don’t understand-”

“Your boss needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.” If you were anyone else he’d have snatched his hand away, but he liked the softness of your skin on his. More importantly he liked your concern for him. He hadn’t exactly believed you wanted him to stay away but your words had caused a wound, which did seem to be healing itself in your presence. Despite wanting to know what had happened to your job, you didn't press for information. It appeared Paul was more than willing to share, perhaps it was the calming feeling you were flooding his senses with or the fact that your touch was bringing down his tough exterior, but right now he couldn’t refuse you anything.

“He was going around saying you couldn’t handle your drink, that underage drinking should be punished and some bullshit about you getting off because of your stepfather.” The words start tumbling from his mouth as he becomes distracted with the hand on his. He flips the roles, taking yours in his gigantic palm, tracing circles over the back with his thumb. He won’t look you in the eyes as he continues. “Told him to mind his business, that he had no clue what was going on but he didn’t like that. He never really liked me but especially not after I punched him.”

“You what?” your mouth drops, “No wonder I’m fired!” Your voice rises as you realise this will get back to Frank and it sure as hell will look like it was done on your behalf. A groan escapes your lips.

“He deserved it, that’s all you need to know.”

“All I need to know?” you scoff, “Don’t presume to know what I do or don’t need to know” you try to scold but it comes across too gently.

“Trust me,” he finally looks you in the eye, not once breaking the hand contact. “Don’t make me repeat some of the awful things that the bastard said '' his jaw clenched tightly whilst his eyes dilated, filling you with sadness. He’s hurting just as much as you and although you’re more than capable of handling your own battles, he doesn’t know that. “I feel very protective of you” he says softly, as if reading the thoughts you were having. His eyes are trained on your face, trying to read how you had taken that information but all of a sudden you have the best poker face anyone has ever had. For the first time, Paul couldn’t read the situation and it frustrated him to no end.

You close off the last few inches that had separated you from each other. His grip on your hand tightens as he feels your body against his and the change in your scent, which suddenly gives your intentions away. You reach up on tiptoes in order to level the playing field, if Paul hadn’t been leaning on the drawers he’d be towering above you. Gingerly you bring your face to his, your breath hitching as excitement courses through you. You don’t hesitate too long, afraid the nerves will get the best of you. Quickly you place a chaste kiss upon his lips before retreating. You look up at him before bursting into laughter and bury your head in his chest.

“Sorry, that was meant to be so much more but I… I’ve never… I don’t know… I just wanted that not to be lame and it so was…” you mumble against his chest, trying to hide the embarrassment you feel. The laughter had surprised him, temporarily making him think he’d missed the punchline of a joke, or that perhaps he was the joke. Within seconds it dawned on him and he finally understood. He knew you were different to any of the other girls he’d been with, the biggest of those differences being that you two were destined for each other; his mate, his imprint. The other, less noticeable, difference was in your scent. An undertone that was delicate yet addictive, which had been driving him crazy trying to work out. Finally he understands. It may have gone unspoken but you know he’s worked it out from the way he delicately holds you and pushes the hair from your face to how he lowers his face to the crook of your neck and takes a deep breath in.

“It’s okay,” He whispers reassuringly, “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” The effect of his breath hitting your neck drives you crazy. Tingles traverse your spine and it takes every ounce of control not to let your knees buckle. Your fingers grip his thumb tightly in an attempt to keep you grounded but it doesn’t work. Short rapid breaths leave your mouth as you turn your face to his, causing his heart to thump in his chest as he tries to remain still. He gives in a little, moving just enough to allow him to see into your eyes. Your nose brushes his chin as you move up once more to tip toes, your hand which was free comes to rest on his abdomen for extra support. You become aware that his hand is on your hips to keep you flush to him, so that you can feel his rock hard muscles and the way they move. You only break eye contact briefly as you glance at his lips. You know he’s watching every move intently but this time it doesn’t bother you, doesn’t make you nervous or shy. Instead it boosts you, knowing he wants this just as much by the way you can feel the pound of his heart. You make the connection, your soft lips meeting his with the lightest of touches. It quickly deepens as you grow used to the feeling of Paul against you, leaving you craving more of him. Your mouth moves against his as your hand travels to his neck releasing his thumb, allowing him the use of that hand to steady you as you reach up higher on your toes. The grip on your waist tightens as pressure hits your hip bone which encourages you as it sends electricity raging through the nerves. If it wasn’t for your ribs, your heart may have broken free of your body due to the pace it was currently keeping. A pain enters your lungs as if they were on fire causing you to break the kiss. You suck air in greedily as you remember how vital it was for survival.

“Don’t forget to breathe” he whispers, also breathless. Briefly he touches his forehead to yours as you sink back down onto your feet, fighting the lightheadedness. It doesn’t take long for his face to refind the crook of your neck and place a kiss on your collar bone. Behind his neck your fingers lace into his hair as he places kisses along your jaw before finding your lips once more. You're ready for his assault and welcome it as you suck in his lower lip, instincts taking over completely as your fingers grip tightly in his hair, eliciting a soft moan from him that resonates through you. His hands release themselves from your waist and find the hemline of the jumper on your thigh, his fingers graze over your skin and leave goosebumps in their wake as they travel higher. You move your thighs tighter together upon instinct, as pressure builds, but also as a silent warning for him to leave there well alone. Paul, being a decent guy, had other ideas anyway, his hands roamed further than your thighs and came to reside on your back, the skin on skin contact sending more shivers up your spine and a gasp from your mouth. His mouth once again travels back to the crook of your neck. Here your scent is sweetest and he can feel the beat of your pulse travelling your jugular. He smiles against your skin as he revels in the idea that he caused this effect on you. You hadn’t noticed the slight graze on your skin from stubble earlier but now, as you're left anticipating his next move, you’re aware of everything. His breath is hot and heavy like yours but perhaps better regulated and you can’t help but wonder why he’s smiling, all thoughts are soon banished as he plants a kiss, the graze of stubble making your eyes flutter at the sensation. You whisper his name and in response his hand moves to your waist, letting cold air touch your skin as the movement stirs the jumper. It all adds to the pleasure. You want his hands to travel further up, to feel his touch on your breasts, but he’s holding back. Instead he starts littering more kisses along your neck before sighing.

Oh god. Why’s he sighing? What’s wrong? You start questioning everything, getting inside your own head.

“Why did I give you a jumper?” He lets out a little chuckle as he leaves a kiss by the neckline of the fabric, unable to go any further. You respond with an involuntary whine at the thought of not feeling his mouth continuing it’s decent. Hearing the noise escape your lips stirs something in Paul that makes him grip your hips so tight it makes you gasp, which doesn’t help his control in this moment. He forces himself to go slowly as he once again goes back to that sweet spot, fueled by primal instinct. You’re his and he wants everyone to know it. He places one final gentle kiss before attaching his lips in a suction over your soft skin. To his delight you let out a moan as he continues to suck at the spot. After a minute he gives up his position and leans away from you, taking in your appearance. You're staring up at him with big doey eyes and lips swollen and parted. His hands slide out from the jumper and move to the neckline, pulling the material aside for optimal viewing. A wicked smile dances across his lips before his hands move to find yours and hold them, giving them a squeeze as a blush creeps onto your features.

“You okay?” He asks, bringing one of your hands to his lips and placing a kiss on top. As you come back to reality the events flood back in and you start to over analyse, wondering how stupid you must have sounded moaning or if you did anything incorrectly. “Hey,” he snaps you away from your thoughts “Stop” he whispers and places a kiss on your forehead before asking “Do you overthink everything?” You feel his mouth move into a smile as he teases you.

“Yes” you say through a shaky breath, not yet fully recovered. You swallow to regain yourself “something you’ll have to get used to” you try to match his joky tone but he manages to turn it serious once more.

“I look forward to it.”

---

Taglist:

@britty443 @superheavymetalunicorn @yepimthatperson @punkmccqll @krispypotato @the-chaotic-cow @forkscult @navs-bhat @xxx-wounded-angel-xxx @kytootana @lendeluxe @grcgrace @hallecarey1 @lilbluewave @alwayshave-faith @convolutings @vendylewin @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @yoongitoo

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blackberryghost · 11 months

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Interview Music Tag Game

RULES: Put your playlist on shuffle. For each of the 10 interview questions, select a lyric from the random song that comes up. (Skip if there aren't any lyrics and make sure to drop the name of the song in your interview answer!) <3

(I made this. I'm v proud. I hope it gets circulated ^^)

Let's get started...

First off, how would you describe yourself in one sentence?

No one RSVP'd to the party that I hosted (We Hate Everyone - K.Flay)

2. What kind of [insert zodiac sign] are you?

I tried to burn sage to clear the vibe, But the smoke alarm went off, and my ex-girl cried (Subaru Crosstrek XV - Hobo Johnson)

3. You're visiting your favorite spot, what are you thinking about?

When someone calls me I'm most likely to ignore (Personal Lies - Djo)

4. If your life was a movie, what do you think the first review would say about it?

Who would trade that hum of night? For sunlight (Sunlight - Hozier)

5. Say you get a book deal, what are you titling your memoir?

I Like Men On Their Knees (cult leader - KiNG MALA)

6. What would you say about your best friends?

It turns out the sad kids become the Brad Pitts, Ain't that rich? (My Name Isn't Katherine - K.Flay)

7. Think back to when you had everything all figured out in high school, what was your life motto as a teenager?

Make the wind stop blowing your way (Bend - Dear Reader)

8. Describe your aesthetic now:

You couldn't handle your liquor and you can't seem to handle the truth (Regret Me - Daisy Jones & The Six)

9. What's a lyric that they'll quote in your eulogy?

I never really looked before, But now you take my breath away (More Than a Woman - Bee Gees)

10. And for our final question, say we believe in soulmates, what do you think their first impression of meeting you will be?

And, yes, I did use the gender neutral bathroom, What is your concern with what I've got going on? (they/them - atlas)

Ooh, that's it for time, thank you for being here!

Np tags: @wanderingdonut @deadgayfurrywizardsinthe70s @wordknowntoallmen @chace-vito @squintclover @cannabis-major @mkaugust @mblematic @cryhavocc @fruity-individual @crying-lightningx @1hudsonangel @spindrifters @lesbianmckinnonn @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @greenvlvetcouch @tkanb @nymphaea-auri @plecotusauritus @artbyace @youluckydevil @achilleslikespeas @deermessrs @wo2ash @biblicallyaccuratebunny

#tag games

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grand-theft-carbohydrates · 7 months

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last day at the battle of red cliffs, and i am the coalition's top general in charge of the land assault. it is eerily quiet in the mountains, an easterly wind blows hard and cold. the skies over the river glow pink, like the blooms of a peach orchard in spring, but the sight brings me no joy, for i know it is fire that stains the heavens. tonight the red cliffs are ablaze with burning ships. the rivers run with the blood of brave men. after so many years of bitter fighting, we have finally struck a decisive blow against the Usurper and halted his war of conquest. tonight we emerge victorious from the quagmire, but my heart grows heavy at the cost.

Glaive in hand and sitting astride my steed, I lead five hundred crack troops towards the narrow mountain pass of Huarong Road, racing to cut off the Usurper's escape. the people say he is a vicious monster whose hunger knows no bounds. They are wrong. He is just a man, capable of love and honour--and is all the more dangerous for it. you cannot call a typhoon or earthquake evil, but it does not make it any less destructive.

I had tried to help him, once upon a time, but some men cannot be changed, only stopped. there will be no peace as long as he draws breath. the war must end here. he must end here. We might have been allies once, almost friends, two beans side-by-side in the same pod, but I will put aside our shared history for the sake of duty, bitter though it may be. I have sworn a sacred oath to my Liege Lord and Elder Brother, I will only live and die by his side.

hark! the enemy approaches. i order my men into formation and ride out to meet them. a tiger is most dangerous when it's teeth are broken. i must show no weakness or he will eat my heart.

an old man on a lame horse rides out to meet me.

"I trust you've been well, General, since we've last met," the Usurper croaks, swaying unsteadily on his saddle, and then; "might i trouble you for a drink of water?"

he bares his teeth in a rictus of a smile. while he has never been handsome, he had at least been stately, now exhaustion and desperation have robbed him of even that.

his soldiers fall to their knees at the sight of me, weeping and trembling piteously. I ride through a sea of haggard, mud-covered faces. half the men don't have saddles, most don't have weapons, one is, rather absurdly, clutching a clay cooking pot--none of them look capable of putting up a fight. all look ready to drop dead.

once upon a time, a foolish, kindly man found a snake on the ground, frozen and half-dead...

i give the Usurper my water-gourd. his hands are shaking, so I take it back and unstopper it for him. it is for the sake of expediency. our hands do not touch. i had half-suspected he might have been stalling for time, but the gourd is empty when he hands it back.

"I often dreamed of you, Yunchang--" he hiccups, and then continues in the strong, resonant voice i know so well, his words amplified by the stone walls, "we'd sit under the trees and drink a toast, for old times sake. How the years have flown. it is the greatest tragedy of my life that we are doomed to be on opposite sides of the battlefield, never crossing paths except to exchange blows. Oh, woe, to be dealt such a hand by fate. To be seperated from the man you desire most." To be continued

notes:

ok! so in the middle of cao cao's Yackey Sack Chase Scene he stops and lets his men cook dinner...which implies that at least ONE guy was carrying a fucking pot with him. one of those heavy as shit honest to god terracotta pots. up and down hills while running for his life. i respect NO ONE except Random Wei Soldier and his pot. this man is my spiritual brother.

watch 2010 san guo tv show. that is all.

#i was thinking about guan yu/cao cao again and i think i entered a fugue state and write this in the span of 2 hours.#the power of homoerotic longing gives you powers many consider to be unnatural #san guo #guan yu #cao cao #my writing #it's just occoured to me that i've written so much stuff for cao cao but guan yu's character is always written on the periphery

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clonememesfrikyeah · 1 year

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A list of things Rex has said at some point that he never thought he would be saying:

• Sure, go ahead, stick the thermometer into an electrical socket.

• Don’t feed the droids after midnight please.

• For every cricket you catch and bring to me I’ll give you a quarter. The cafeteria is having a special tonight and they need them for garnish.

• How do none of you know your multiplication tables?

• Divine intuition is not a credible source.

• I am not your blorbo, so stop calling me that.

• Please don’t compare yourself to Yoda again.

• Why are you eating a pack of ribs during training?

• Stop calling Tup your little meow meow

• We’re watching an informative video on separatist movements Hardcase, not an animated show about ponies, so stop asking when Twilight Sparkle is going to show up.

• General Skywalker isn’t a credible source either.

• That’s not a cricket, that’s a rolly polly!

• I don’t care if you’re the “better Jesus”, we are still not going to let you put a shrine in the bathroom vents.

• It doesn’t matter if your wearing “super warm gloves” Denal, touching absolute negative zero will freeze your arm.

• Being a Sagittarius has nothing to do with your ability to properly handle an assault rifle.

• As I said in the announcements today, experimental cheese making in the barracks is banned, especially the chocolate, soda and meat kinds. Any trooper suspected of illegal cheese making will be investigated and if found guilty the punishment will be entertaining Hardcase nonstop for 6 consecutive days.

• I have an idea, let’s stop talking about the biochemical habits of flesh.

• I didn’t care for that warty green lady in the movie with the cyclone and overweight chihuahua. But that being said, Echo you still look like the tin man.

• Do not keep the live crabs just out and about, put them back in the mess hall fridges please.

• For the last time I don’t give a shit about the industrial revolution and it’s consequences, just put deodorant on damn it!

• The gonk droids didn’t eat your paperwork I can see it sticking out of your mouth right there.

• please keep in mind that breaking the laws of thermodynamics is a highly regulated practice.

• Using flares to roast marshmallows with is never a good idea it’s a fire hazard.

• Why does it smell like Fabuloso and crayons in here?

•Ass-paragus.

• Fives, your abomination is ready!

• Wow, watching that guy transform back into a car was just what I needed, stunning, life changing, thanks Hardcase that really made my day.

• THATS WHAT SHE SAID!!!!

• Dice are not the best form on nutrition.

• Put them dogs on a leash and lock them in the kennel or something, just put socks on that aren’t missing the whole toe part Dogma.

• (about Tups zit covered forehead) Mars called they want the surface of their planet back.

•Hoooogs.

• I agree with general skywalkers plan.

• Its rice time.

• Oh shit the goose is back again lock the door!

• I wouldn’t be more surprised if i woke up tomorrow morning with my head sewn to the carpet than I am to see you right now Wolffe.

•Trapezoids are definitely not a part of the limbic system.

• This is why your not allowed to listen to Stripper Magician anymore.

• Your father thought you were so ugly he ran off with the milk man then stopped existing.

• I would send myself off to the ward but im pretty sure im already there with all of you here.

• Don’t put yourself into a quagmire trying to do all those mental gymnastics in your head Hardcase.

• You want to hear a joke? Good. A piece of string is tied into a knot. Oh you thought this was going to be funny? Im a frayed knot.

• Get it? Afraid not, a frayed knot. Get it? Get it?

#captain rex #the 501st #the 501st legion #echo #fives #commander wolffe #hardcase #tup #incorrect clone wars quotes #my post #tcw #the clone wars #the clones #the prequels #Star Wars #arc trooper #clone trooper denal #dogma

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afterthegreatunknown · 3 months

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The Boat Sails By, the Shore Remains

It’s only when Fiona hears the sure sound of the motel door clicking close by Quigley that she acts. She closes the kitchenette’s refrigerator door, water bottle in hand, and stares at Stepfather. He continues to quietly sew up the small patch on his coat.

Fiona then walks over to the close curtain, passing by Fernald. He’s still on the sofa, watching the ending of the 1982 classic film, The Thing. MacReady and Childs are sharing their last drink together, knowing well they don’t trust each other. Both think of each other as the Thing itself, making one last ploy.

She takes a peek out the window, and sees the Quagmires and Hector are hanging around the pool. Duncan and Isadora are carefully sitting by the edge, while Hector and Quigley are sitting on the few chairs provided by the motel itself. The four are doing their best to relax. Fiona is rather envious of them.

Relaxing is something her family can’t do. No one was on speaking terms with one another since yesterday night. Everything about last night was…eventful. Fiona can’t forget how painful everything was when talking to Fernald about Stepfather and the Gorgonian Grotto.

Fiona quickly walked down the pathway that led to the family motel room. She’s glad that when the group checked in, the Quagmires and Hector decided to get their own separate room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fiona! Will you slow down!?”

“I can’t! You just confirmed what I suspected in the Gorgonian Grotto. Stepfather knew the Baudelaires and I could recharge our air supply, because he was there! He was there, with you! I need to—I need to know everything now!”

“Fiona, please! Slow down, and think about the mistake you’re going to make!”

“Mistake?” Fiona couldn’t believe what she’s hearing.

“Yes, mistake,” hissed Fernald into her ear. “As much as I would love to see Stepfather get call out about his role in the fire, now isn’t the time. What if the others hear us yelling through the walls? Just because it’s late at night doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be inconsiderate of them.”

“Why are you worried about the volume of our voices?” Fiona couldn’t help but let loose her anger at Fernald. His sudden hypocritical behavior was grating. “Between you and Stepfather, it’s you who never gave a damn about yelling in all of your fights.”

“Because—hang on. You heard our fights!?”

“Aye! Did you never thought I would have potentially woken up because of your yelling?” Fiona took a deep breath in, and then let it out. “Stepfather at least attempted to keep his voice quiet at the beginning of all the fights, but you never did. Not once.”

“…No. It never—I never thought of any of those things,” faltered Fernald. “And it also never occurred to me that you could remember the fights despite being a toddler at the time.”

Fiona didn’t get a chance to reply back to Fernald on how she could remember, for the door suddenly opened up. Stepfather’s head sticks out, and he looked at his right, and then his left. Upon seeing her and Fernald, Stepfather went outside, and curled the end of his mustache.

“Fiona. Fernald.” Stepfather stared at them with solemn eyes. “I think it’s time we have a family discussion. A long, overdue, family discussion...”

And such pain spiraled over into the family discussion. Family discussions are never an easy walk in the park, but oh boy. So much information was revealed to Fiona by Stepfather —with the occasional input by Fernald— in the span of thirty-three minutes.

In thirty-three minutes, Fiona heard Stepfather explaining how Fernald, back when he was fifteen-year-old, swam into the Gorgonian Grotto. Fernald swam into the grotto because his stature allowed him to fit in. Once he was in, he was ordered to use the back then working pump system to drain the grotto. Why Fernald drained the grotto? To allow outsiders who couldn’t fit in, in. Inside to get access to the once standing research center/rhetorical advice center.

Outsiders, like Stepfather.

In thirty-three minutes, Fiona heard Stepfather talking of volunteers who knew of the Volatile Fungus Deportation project, and how some became very concern. They became concern the research and specimens would fall into the wrong hands. Their concern was that Gregor Anwhistle and his team were going to play with fire, and would be looking into the abyss itself.

One such concern volunteer, was Kit Snicket.

In thirty-three minutes, Fiona heard Stepfather describing how Kit Snicket —a woman Fiona was told many times to be thoughtful and noble— after trying to reason with Gregor and failing, went to one of her closest associates for a favor. A favor that was a last resort. A last resort that had Gregor Anwhistle losing his life, and Anwhistle Aquatic set ablaze.

It was a favor Stepfather did without any hesitation.

In thirty-three minutes, Fiona heard how after the favor was done, those concern volunteers kept quiet. Or rather, attempted to keep quiet. Outsiders got nosy, especially outsiders not part of the organization. Their attempts to keep mum of the Anwhistle Aquatic fire origins blew up when Fernald, fed up after one too many fights, left. Left the Queequeg, his family, everything.

That, is what one call bad timing. A concern volunteer, Jacques Snicket, was assigned to report Fernald’s leaving. But an outsider with the initials ‘G.J.’ was investigating the fire like a true journalist. G.J.’s article had the other concern volunteers deciding on how to handle the matter.

And that, was to make Fernald their scapegoat.

Hearing that all in thirty-three minutes, Fiona was left speechless. The answer she longed for were told. And she hated it. She hated it to where she suddenly needed fresh air.

Fiona stared down at the pool, and kicks the water with her feet. Most people would likely go for a swim to relax, but Fiona always liked to put her feet in the water instead. She took joy in seeing the small splashes flying. But tonight, for who knows how long it’s been, the water did nothing to ease her nerves.

“I’m glad to see you didn’t run off to a different part of the motel,” said a familiar voice. “You never know what danger lurks around.”

Fiona doesn’t bother to look back at Fernald. “Did Stepfather asked you checked up on me? Was he worried I was going to run away like you did all those years ago?”

“No. Stepfather actually tried to stop me. He thought that you needed some personal time alone to comprehend it all.” Fernald kicked the ground. “Have you comprehended it all?”

Fiona kicked the pool water with her left foot. “What do you think, Fernald? I just got drop a bombshell in a little over a half-hour time. Everything that I thought is change once again. To think that Stepfather had no qualms with his actions. No qualms about killing one of his closest associates. No qualms about playing with fire on request.”

Fiona stayed quiet for a bit before speaking again. “He had no qualms about sending his own stepchild into a dark grotto in the first place.”

“Where you got that idea?” Fernald’s tone sounds almost defensive. “It is because he agreed to throw me underneath the bus? Stepfather did had qualms on sending me into the Gorgonian Grotto. In fact, Stepfather never would have sent me inside there in first place if it wasn’t for—”

Fernald suddenly stopped talking.

“For what?” Fiona removed her feet from out of the pool, and spun around on the concrete. She grabs her sneakers, and stood up. Fiona couldn’t help but notice Fernald begun to look slightly pale. “Fernald, why wouldn’t our Stepfather have done that in the first place?”

“…If it wasn’t for the fact my candidacy was heavily push for,” answered Fernald slowly. “Stepfather wanted someone else to go in. He wanted me to stay out of the mess. But I was the one to be chosen in the end.”

“Stepfather wanted you stay with him?” Fiona felt her lower lip quiver, and bit it. She couldn’t help but thought back to that day, before he left. She thought about how she and the Baudelaires prepared for the long, dark, drift. How Stepfather made the odd, silly, and rather insensitive suggestion of the Baudelaires to pull straws. How Stepfather after hearing the Baudelaires said they don’t want to be separated from one another in the journey—

“What about you, Fiona? Aye! You could stay here with me!”

After getting that fresh air, upon returning back, Fiona told Stepfather she needed more time to process everything. Fiona asked him to not speak to her unless she spoke to him first.

As for Fernald, while Fiona didn’t enact a ‘no talking’ rule, she said very few words to him throughout the remainder of the night, and well into the day.

But now, certain on the fact the Quagmires and Hector are occupy, Fiona decides it’s time for another family discussion. Fiona turns around, and went back to the kitchenette. She pulls out the opposite chair in front of Stepfather, and sits down. Fiona hears Fernald turning off the television. Eventually, another chair gets pull out, and is sit on.

The three of them sit there together, quietly. Fiona watches Stepfather carefully setting down the needle and coat onto the table, and places his hands on the table. Fiona watches Fernald looking down at the table, hooks on his lap. Fiona takes a deep breathe in, and then let it out.

“Having more time to process everything,” begins Fiona, “I understand why you and the others were worried about the Medusoid Mycelium. Seeing it firsthand with Sunny Baudelaire was horrible. It was fascinating, but ultimately horrible.”

Fiona pauses. She waits to see if either one will talk. They don’t.

“But just because I understand, it doesn’t mean I agree with what you all did,” continues Fiona. “For instance, I come to understand you wouldn’t hesitate to send someone else in Fernald’s place. And the only reason you allowed Fernald to go in was because he was heavily pushed into the role by someone else.”

Fiona watches Stepfather stare at Fernald, as if he got betrayed. Fernald slowly lifts up his head, and gives Stepfather an almost guilty look that reads, “It just slipped out of my mouth.”

That’s a rather odd expression for them to have, in her opinion.

Fiona thinks it odd, but she doesn’t think on it further. Stepfather then turns back towards her, and blinks a few times. He then closes his eyes as he lowers his head.

“What I did to Fernald back then is something I’m not proud off,” says Stepfather, quietly. “It’s a moment I can’t undo. Aye, it’s one of the three moments in my life I want to erase, but can’t.”

“What are the other two moments?”

Stepfather doesn’t answer. He only reopens his eyes, and gives a stern look at Fernald. Fernald quickly gets out of his chair, walks over to the motel bedroom door, and opens it.

“I know my presence is no longer needed, but bold of you to assume I want to risk getting push into the motel pool by the Quagmires,” says Fernald. “Thank goodness there’s two T.V.s in our suite. We really hit the jackpot with this motel.”

Fernald enters the bedroom, and soon closes the door. After waiting a minute in silence, Fiona hears the faint sound of what is audience laughter playing from the other side of the wall. Ah, so Fernald is making sure he wouldn’t be accidental eavesdropping. That’s nice of him to do.

Fiona and Stepfather stare at one another in silence. And then…

“You and I know what is one of those two moments, Sreypich.” Stepfather places one of his hands out towards her.

Fiona is taken back by what Stepfather says at the end.

When Fiona was younger —she must have been around four years old— Stepfather started the habit of speaking in his native language of Khmer around her. Fiona heard him speak it before at an even younger age, but that was because she was eavesdropping. Stepfather thought he was alone at the time, and thus found it perfectly acceptable to do so.

Over the years, Fiona learned Khmer words via context clues of Stepfather pointing at things, as well as his own translations. Fiona’s weakness is foreign languages, so she’s fine with knowing some words instead of many. For instance, Fiona knows that srey means ‘girl’, while pich means ‘diamond’. Sreypich is a name that roughly means diamond girl.

Fiona does not like being call Sreypich. Sreypich is a nice and lovely name, but Fiona feels the name doesn’t suit her. She doesn’t understand Stepfather’s logic of picking that name.

The way Stepfather stopped calling her Sreypich was terrible though. It was her twelfth birthday, and they went to a local café. An older volunteer who been around since Stepfather was a young boy was also there. The next day, she and Stepfather arrived to headquarters to drop off a package. There, the volunteer shamed Stepfather publicly for it, in front of a crowd. The stares and glares had Stepfather dragging Fiona out as quickly as possible.

Since that day, Stepfather never called her Sreypich. Until now, of course.

“Sreypich,” Stepfather continues, “I’m sorry I failed to stop you —and the Baudelaires— from going in the Gorgonian Grotto. No, I’m sorry that I made you go into the Gorgonian Grotto in the first place. It was a task that shouldn’t been yours in the first place. Aye, no parents should force their child into doing something so dangerous. But some parents unfortunately do, and I’m ashamed to be one of them. Had I just told you of my true feeling of the matter—"

“Things could have been very different,” finishes Fiona. “There are some things that should be said directly instead of being imply.”

Fiona then reaches out towards Stepfather’s outreach hand, and gently pats it. “I do take comfort knowing now that you attempted —very poorly, I should add— to stop me and the Baudelaires. You tried in your own way to prevent the mistake with Fernald from happening again. But just because I take comfort, it doesn’t mean I completely forgiven you. What you did hurt me in ways I still need time to heal from. And I’m unsure when that will happen.”

“That’s fine by me,” answers Stepfather. “I just want you to feel comfortable around me again.”

Fiona then gets out of the chair. “Now that, I already am. And I have nothing more to ask or say to you regarding the Anwhistle Aquatic fire. At least at the moment. If something does come to mind about the fire, will you promise me you’ll be willing to answer it?”

“Of course, Sreypich.”

Fiona nods her head, and walks over to the bedroom door. As she grabs the doorknob, Fiona feels herself smiling. While she still doesn’t feel like diamond girl, it’s good to heard it again.

#asoue #a series of unfortunate events #fanfic #fiona widdershins #captain widdershins #fernald #hook handed man #widdershins family #(woo! i finally got this fic done! i do love writing for this dramatic mess of a family but...)#(do you want to know how many times i had to rewrite the fiona and widdershins conversation? do you?)#(anyway this fic is open ended in a way for a possible next chapter/sequel but don't count on it)

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robinbuckleyshotgf · 2 years

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[🌼] introduction

[🧃] hey! my name is charlie! i’m gonna use my writing skills on the internet so thats why im here! i hope you enjoy my writing!

[🫧] my rules are very important. if you do not obey them, then it will result in me blocking you. please respect my boundaries and rules.

[🌈] rules:

~ dni if you are an nsfw blog

~ i will not write smut with minors. the only exception is if that they are aged up to over 18.

~ if you are requesting a celebrity and they have boundaries, please respect them.

~ i only do x reader. i can do female, male, trans, genderfluid, gender neutral and other genders.

~ if requesting a reader with a different gender, please specify their pronouns.

~ use your imagination!! make it silly! i really dont mind!!

~ dont sexualise me or send me weird messages in my inbox please.

[🌊] fandoms:

IT 2017- Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak, Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough, Beverly Marsh, Finn Wolfhard, Wyatt Oleff, Jaeden Martell, Sophia Lillis

A Series Of Unfortunate Events- Violet Baudelaire, Klaus Baudelaire, Sunny Baudelaire (platonic only), Duncan Quagmire, Isadora Quagmire, Quigley Quagmire, Malina Weissman

Stranger Things- Mike Wheeler, Will Byers, Max Mayfield, Dustin Henderson, Steve Harrington, Robin Buckley, Jane ”Eleven” Hopper, Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Eddie Munson, Joe Keery, Sadie Sink, Noah Schnapp, Millie Bobby Brown, Gaten Materazzo, Maya Hawke

Harry Potter- Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Cedric Diggory, Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, Tom Riddle, Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint, Emma Watson, Tom Felton

Arcane: League Of Legends- Violet (Vi), Jinx (Powder), Caitlyn, Ekko, Mylo, Claggor, Hailee Steinfield

My Hero Academia- Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Shoto Todoroki, Ochaco Uraraka, Ejiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Tsuyu Asui, Mina Ashido, Tenya Iida

Heartstopper- Charlie Spring (Only male), Nick Nelson, Ben Hope, Harry Greene, Darcy Olsson (Only Female), Tara Jones (Only Female), Tao Xu, Tori Spring, Elle Argent, Aled Last

I Am Not Okay With This- Sydney Novak, Stanley Barber, Dina (i dont know what her last name is😭)

Metal Lords- Hunter Sylvester, Kevin Schlieb, Emily Spector, Adrian Greensmith, Isis Hainsworth

The Goldfinch- Boris Pavlikovsky, Theo Decker

[🌸] prompts:

~ Angst

”please stop lying to me.”

”i dont care.”

”please dont cry”

”what makes you think i would want to date you?”

”just shut up for once in your goddamn life!”

”am i going to die?”

“when did you fall out of love with me?”

”are you leaving me?”

” dating you was the worse mistake ive ever made.”

”loving you is a fucking death sentence.”

”i shouldnt love you, but i couldnt help it.”

”always knew that you were too damn selfish.”

”i dont know if i can look you in the eyes after what you’ve done.��

”it’s only 2.am..”

”please dont hide from me.”

”dont take another step in my direction.”

”i wish we met before they convinced you life is war.”

”you are the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

~ Fluff

”let me walk you home, hm?”

”i wanted to say i love you without stuttering. but i failed.”

”ugh i cant reach it!”

”stop being so goddamn cute.”

”you dont need all that candy, do you?”

”call me as soon as you get there.”

”did you just- throw salt at me!?” ”im not fucking possessed!”

”cuddles please!”

”hey love, can you help me out?” ”im gay and i need a few dollars”

”thats not true! my wife is a bitch and i like her very much.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

”you motherfucker! never do that again!”

” i have no idea what you are talking about.”

”what the actual fu-“ ”HEY GET OUT!”

“im only here for the dog.”

~ Smut 🌝

“come over here and make me.”

”kiss me.”

”looks like we are trapped in here for a while..”

”you heard me. take. it. off.”

”keep looking at me like that and we might not make it to bed.”

”if we werent in public right now, i would have my head in between your legs.”

”i want to taste you.”

”dont be shy now, sit on my face.”

”is that my shirt?”

“be quiet.”

”use your words, baby.”

”what if someone hears us?”

”oh fuck yes, just like that.”

“need any help with that?”

“were you just masturbating?” - “what?! no neve-“ ”do you want some help?” - “huh?”

“relax.”

”did you come?”

”shut up slut.”

~ Funny Ones🌚

”im not wearing any underwear, thought you would like to know.”

”YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILST I WAS IN A WORK MEETING!”

”at least we didnt break any laws this time.”

”we are literally fugitives of this state.” - “so no pizza?”

”your pretty.” - “your drunk.”

”excuse you?”

”i might of had a few shots.” - “what they mean by a few is about 20.”

”if you do that again im gonna chuck you out the window- what are you doing?” - “checking how high the drop is to see if its worth it.”

”you ate all my noodles! you’ve lost toilet paper privledges.”

”OI THATS MY HOODIE LOSER!”

”haha thats so funny!” *pulls out gun* ”say it again!”

”DUDE STOP HOGGING THE FUCKING BLANKETS!”

”your bleeding!” - “oh yeah no shit sherlock!”

”for fucks sake- MOVE!”

”hey wouldnt it be funny if we made out right now?”

[⚡️] thank you for reading! have a great day!! :))

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magicandarchery · 4 months

Text

WIP Wednesday, December 27, 2023

Are we sure it's Wednesday? I have no idea what day it is, so I'm going to trust y'all. Anyway, thanks to @anincompletelist @bigassbowlingballhead and @firenati0n for the tags. Here's a bit from hockey fic (and if I've shared this before, no I haven't):

Alex hates that June is right and he hates even more that Nora’s data backs it up. But Alex is also stubborn and June and Nora have been wrong before and it’s just as plausible that Alex is reading far too much into everything. He consciously decides to ignore the niggling feeling in his gut that he’s not reading too much into anything at all. The call with June and Nora ends on the topic of seeing each other at Christmas and Alex swipes up his jersey from the front seat and heads into the hospital lobby. Amy is there, filling wagons with Avalanche colored teddy bears, and the handful of guys that have already gathered are with the team social media coordinator, Emily, as she hands them a stack of photo cards they can give to the kids with their autograph. Alex is in the middle of catching up with the other guys when Henry strolls into the lobby in dark blue slim-fit dress pants and a perfectly crisp white dress shirt, jersey in hand. “Only you would show up to something like this looking like you’re going into a business meeting.” Alex looks Henry up and down when he joins the growing group of players. Henry returns the favor, looking Alex over. “Yes, well, I suppose it’s better than showing up looking like a coffee house frat bro.” Alex glances down at his white sneakers and jeans, white v-neck and denim shirt with the sleeves cuffed at his forearms, and scoffs. “Rude.”

No pressure tags to: @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @wordsofhoneydew @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @getmehighonmagic @eusuntgratie and anyone else that wants to play. And if you've already posted yours, let me know so I can lose my mind over it in my reblog tags.

#wip wednesday #hockey fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #first prince #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox #alex x henry #rwrb #otp: on our own terms

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newtonsheffield · 2 years

Note

“Very bold of you to assume I didn’t lead him under my skirts, mama.”

YASSSS MARY GET IT GIRL

Anonymous asked:

“Very bold of you to assume I didn’t lead him under my skirts, mama.”

Mary Sharma seducing Papa Sharma !? What's that story?

Should we... See a little more how their marriage came to beeeeee? I think we should

Tharman knew he was an idiot. He'd have to be to get himself into this situation and yet every time Mary smiled at him he found himself sinking deeper and deeper into this ridiculous quagmire he found himself in. He could see her now, standing across the room, listening with polite interest as the real Earl of Davenport spoke of... shooting or hunting or some other gentlemanly pursuit.

She caught his eye over the man's shoulder her smile turning into something real and beautiful when she winked at him as the Earl turned away to place his glass on a tray. A tiny promise in her eyes as her lips formed the word later.

"Tharman, what are you doing hiding in the corner?!" The Earl of Bridgwater clapped him on the shoulder, his wife smiling indulgently behind him. "I did not invite you to my party to mope about in the corner. I invited you to dance with girls other than your charming daughter and have good food and drink."

Tharman rolled his eyes, at his employer whom he'd known for so long they were more friends than anything else. "Ravi I hardly think any of the Mamas here would be glad to entertain my asking their daughters to dance. You may have forgotten I'm your secretary, but most people won't."

Ravi rolled his eyes, "And who needs to know? Mr Tharman Sharma can be anyone he pleases tonight!"

And that was the difficult thing he supposed, he knew exactly who he wanted to be. He wanted to be a good father to his daughter, to bring her up with kindness and respect so she knew exactly who she was and knew he would support her with everything he was, always. And he wanted to be someone who Mary's parents would approve of. Someone who she didn't have to hide in the shadows to spend time with. Stolen moments at the back of parties and behind hedges was all they would ever have and she should stop, he shouldn't encourage her in her baffling pursuit of him. He told himself this every day as he dressed. Today, today, he would tell her that they had to stop. She could not keep meeting him in secret and drawing him in with her hand on his waistcoat until his lips fell hopelessly against hers. But every time he saw her he was helpless. Somehow this woman who he had no right to look at never mind lay a hand on, hod reached out and wrapped him tightly around her fist, tugging him around London after her.

"Tharman Sharma, is going home, because he promised the only young lady he cares about that they would have dessert together, I bought her a cake earlier in celebration." Tharman sighed, shrugging at Ravi whose wife had joined him, tucked into his side.

"You're a very sweet father." She said gently.

"He's Boring!" Ravi called after him ignoring his wife's admonishments.

Tharman breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the corridor, finally free of the uncomfortable eyes of society, more than a little relieved.

"Are you leaving so soon?"

He had no idea how she'd managed to step into the courtyard just seconds after him, how she'd slipped away from everyone and found him standing in the light from the fading lamps the embellishments on her gown shining so beautiful it broke his heart. Because this had to end. He knew it had to.

"I made a promise to another young lady that I would be home before she went to bed. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

Mary smiled shaking her head. "Oh, Kate is the one young lady I could never be sorry to lose you to."

He had been careful not to let them met again, not to let Kate get attached to a woman who could never be part of their lives properly. Indeed she was already bringing up That pretty lady far too much and she'd already lost one mother, even if she couldn't remember, he wouldn't break her heart with another. But Mary was a different matter, every time they had met she had asked after his daughter, kindly and curiously, smiling gently when he told her a story of something Kate had done, a soft smile on her face when she said I love children. I always wanted a pair of girls, I would raise them differently than I was. They'd only know love and kindness. And just like everything else it had only made him fall further.

"I'm sorry, I thought it best not to attempt to speak with you, your Mama was watching very carefully, no doubt she recognized me from our first meeting."

Mary shrugged, "She did, in fact she warned me to stay away from you."

It ached in his chest. Disapproval. Disapproval he would never win, not after nearly two months of this, not ever. "Perhaps you should."

She shook her head, "I don't think so." Her smile was truly one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. "Can I see you later?"

He groaned, his chest aching to deny her anything as he shook his head. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

She stepped towards him, her fingers closing around the edges of his coat, pulling him closer with her eyes shining, "Why? You don't think I look pretty tonight?"

"You know how beautiful you are every night. But-"

"Then, I'll see you later." Mary kissed the end of his nose, stepping back before he could protest properly.

"Mary-"

"Mary?!" Lady Sheffield's voice rang towards them from the doorway. "God where is that useless girl?!"

Mary rolled her eyes before she winked back at him disappearing into the night and once again Tharman was left watching her walk away helplessly, his heart clutched firmly in her hand.

The knock at the door came after he'd tucked Kate into bed, his waistcoat still covered in icing from the way Kate's sticky fingers had twisted in it as she tried to convince him why it would be a very good thing were he to buy her a puppy at Christmas. Every time Mary had come here, since she'd bribed a driver to tell her where he lived, he met her visits with equal parts dread and anticipation, every one of them sand through an hour glass, the remainder of their relationship shortening and shortening.

Mary was standing in the doorstep, her cloak covering her face just as it always was against the rain, drizzling outside.

She stepped inside, kissing his cheek lightly as she always did throwing her hood back when she crossed the threshold, stepping into the living room. She'd changed out of her gown from earlier, a riding habit on under her cloak he saw as she removed it, smiling gently up at him

"You look handsome tonight, I didn't have a chance to tell you earlier."

Tharman sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I've cake icing on my waistcoat and a little in my hair. Kate wants a puppy and she was a little ... exuberant in her persuasion."

Mary chuckled, running her fingers through her own hair. "Being a good father is part of what makes you so handsome."

He shook his head a little in disbelief, longing to let himself be close to her, but terrified to do it. "Lady Mary-"

"Oh dear, I'm Lady Mary again, this must be serious."

"It is serious. I- I have been... I have wronged you, these last months. I have encouraged your attentions and while I have... enjoyed the time we have spent together it was wrong to take it from you, and you must you must see that this cannot be what you want it to be."

It hurt him to say it, just as it had the first time when they'd only spoken once before and it was even worse now. Knowing he'd wronged her.

Mary stared back at him from the middle of the room her beautiful brow furrowed "You haven't... taken anything from me."

His jaw ached from clenching it tears already pricking at his eyes. "I have, and if we went any further than we already have I would steal your entire future from you. I would... be unable to not make you my wife and your parents, society would never allow it."

She stared back at him, her jaw set determinedly, "Why is this only your choice?"

"It's not but-"

"Why is who i marry my father's choice? Why can I not give myself to you freely if that is what I wish? Why?"

"Mary, please. I only want what's best for you, I want you to be happy and-"

"You make me happy, Tharman." She'd stepped forward, clutching at his waistcoat. "I could be your wife, and I would love your daughter, you know I would. I would make her feel so loved, I would. You just have to ask me."

He could hardly see her through the tears, "I want all of that, I want you to be my wife, but your father would never allow it and-"

Mary stepped back, her eyes blazing, her hands fumbling for the fastenings of her dress letting it fall to the floor. "Make me your wife then."

Tharman felt all the air leave the room, his voice croaking, "Mary-"

She shook her head, cutting him off with her lips on his desperately, her fingers fumbling over her stays. "I want to be your wife, Tharman. And I'm not going to wait for anyone to tell me I can be. Make me your wife."

He'd told himself it would never get this far, that all it was was stolen kisses and fingers intertwined and her hands in his hair and her lips on his neck. He could never take this from her, he'd told himself he wouldn't, couldn't put herself in the position of having his illegitimate child but he couldn't stop his heart pounding in his chest, every heart beat whispering what he desperately wanted to say. So he said it.

"I love you."

She nodded against him, her smile shining so beautifully in the dim light, "I love you too. Now take your wife to bed, Mr Sharma."

He could hardly breathe as he carried her to his bedroom, his hands shaking as he tugged at the laces of her stays, tears in his eyes as they became one, her gasps and moans making a home in his chest, theirs forever.

Even as they lay together in the after, her bare skin against his he promised things would be different.

"I'm going to make this right. I'll go to your father, and I'll ask for your hand and you won't have to lose your family, your life."

Mary nodded, "I would run away with you tomorrow."

Ravi would protect him. He knew he would but it wasn't what he wanted, not for Kate, not for Mary, not for the children they might have so he let her go. He let her slide from his house before dawn broke promises falling from both their lips and that morning he dressed with intention, pulled himself together and knocked on the front door of Sheffield house.

He could feel Lord Sheffield's confusion rolling off him in waves as Tharman stood before him in his study, anxiety rolling in his stomach.

"You're Bridgwater's secretary are you not?" His tone was crisp and dismissive staring across the table at him.

"Yes my Lord." Tharman nodded.

"I've no work here, man, if Bridgwater's dismissed you. Who told you I would?"

"No-No one sir. I'm not here to see employment I wish- I wish to discuss your daughter."

Lord Sheffield froze, cold fury seeping into his voice, "What knowledge have you of my daughter?"

Tharman's cheeks were burning as he forced himself to look the man in the eye, squaring his shoulders, "I met Lady Mary some months ago by chance and we have... met again since and I... I would like to ask you for her hand in marriage."

Lord Sheffield stared back at him for a long moment, his fingers drumming on the dark wood of his desk for a long moment before he spoke, his voice cold and sharp, needling at him. "And what are your prospects?"

"I- I have a good job and I've enough money to support a wife as well as my daughter and I-"

"Your daughter?"

Tharman nodded, "I have a daughter, Kate, whom I love very much and-"

"You love your daughter? And if a man came to you with no prospects, no money and from nowhere not even a gentleman and asked for her hand what would you do?"

"If he loved her and she loved him then-"

Lord Sheffield practically leapt from his chair, his voice roaring through the room as his fists banged on the desk. "Enough! You think you love my daughter?! You've no right to be in the same room as her much less speak to her. Her marriage is as good as arranged."

He had never felt so small, stuttering and stammering to find the words "I- With respect Lord Sheffield, Lady Mary knows her mind and she wants to be my wife, I-"

Her father froze again, his race turning steadily redder his voice dangerous, "You've dishonoured her, haven't you?"

Tharman paused for a moment too long, he knew he did but he hadn't expected the man's reaction. He let out a roar of fury, making his way around the desk, grabbing tharman roughly by the collar of his coat, dragging him from the room as he struggled helplessly against it.

"Papa!"

oh god, please let her not see this

Mary was standing on the stairs no doubt she'd been waiting for him to emerge, her face stricken as she took him in being dragged through the hall of her home. his heels kicking out wildly.

"Tharman!" She'd made to follow them, darting forwards reaching for him.

"Mary, it's alright, go back upstairs. It's alright."

Lord Sheffield tugged him down the back stairs, his voice echoing so the servants stared after them, "Don't speak to her! Don't even look at her!"

"Papa! Papa please don't!" She was tugging on her father's arm now, tears streaming down her face. "papa please! I love him! He'll be a good husband!"

"Mary, enough I'll deal with you later!"

he threw open the door to the rain pounding in the courtyard outside, tossing Tharman out into it before he grabbed the front of his coat pulling him upright his face just inches from Tharman's own.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Sight. I will be speaking to your employer, you will no doubt lose your position and any standing you had, I hope you explain to your daughter that your actions brought you here while you starve in the street."

"Papa Please." Mary's voice was a tiny little thing, as her father turned back towards her, "I love him, Papa, I love him."

"You love him? Love does not feed children, Mary, it does not provide for you. This man will amount to nothing, he will be just as he is now. Nothing."

He felt it, in that moment, rain soaking into his clothes into his boots, his heart breaking on the street for the hope he'd allowed himself to have.

"It'll be enough, Papa, I know it will."

"Not for my daughter! Not in this house!" He spun back around shoving Tharman further into the rain. "If I ever, see you again, I'll have you clapped in irons now go!"

And the last thing Tharman remembered was Mary begging her father as tears ran down her face.

#this is 2600 words.#it's a full fucking CHAPTER #you might have some bruises #sharma family feels #mary sharma #dilf daddy sharma #mr sharma #kate sharma #molly’s asks and answers

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27-moons · 8 hours

Note

Bestie ngl, I kinda missed hearing Abu Obeida's wonderfull voice

Me too, my love

Full video of speech:

Highlights from Al-Qassam Brigades military spokesman Abu Obeida's speech marking 200 days into Al-Aqsa Flood Battle: RNN

The criminal enemy continues to try to salvage its image, only to further receive shame and disgrace.

200 days have passed and the zionist army is still trapped in the quagmire of Gaza, exploiting its predicament on the ground for more killing and destruction.

The enemy is still trapped in the quagmire of Gaza, and all it will reap is more anger, revenge, shame, and disgrace.

The occupation army failed against our resistance and our people after its image was shattered in front of the world.

We say to Netanyahu: Your death, the end of your occupation, and your downfall are inevitable, and your lamentations before the world will not change your image.

We in Al-Qassam Brigades have documented only a fraction of our heroes' strikes against the enemy.

Our strikes and resistance will continue as long as the aggression of the occupation or its presence persists on any inch of our land.

The world witnessed the might of our fighters and their painful strikes not only in repelling enemy attacks but also during its withdrawal.

Among the lies of the enemy government is attempting to deceive the world into believing that it has eliminated the Al-Qassam Brigades and only the Rafah Brigade remains.

The occupation forces are trying to deceive the world into believing that they have eliminated all factions of the resistance, and this is a big lie.

In 200 days, the enemy could only achieve mass killings, destruction, and murder.

The defeat suffered by the occupation army in 60 minutes couldn't defeat us in 200 days. They search for an imaginary victory everywhere, but wherever they look for it, they find us there shedding their soldiers' blood.

Our strikes against the enemy will continue, adopting renewed tactics as long as they remain present on every inch of our land.

The occupation's claims of linking victory to entering Rafah and destroying what remains of the brigades there are merely attempts to feel a false sense of triumph.

The army that focuses on killing children and women, destroying graves, seeking revenge against the martyrs' bodies, targeting innocent civilians, bombing aid trucks, and assassinating members of international and local humanitarian aid organizations is the mark of an army feeling significant defeat and disappointment, not one confident in its alleged achievements.

We will not relinquish the fundamental rights of our people, foremost among them withdrawal, lifting the siege, and the return of the displaced to their homes.

The occupation is trying to evade all its promises in negotiations and wants to gain more time.

The scenario of Ron Arad may perhaps be the most likely scenario to be repeated with the enemy's prisoners in Gaza. The ball is in the court of those concerned, namely the occupation's public, but time is short, and opportunities are few to release the prisoners.

The so-called military pressure will only push us to stand firm on our positions and preserve the rights of our people without compromise.

To the families of the "israeli" prisoners: We are more truthful than your government.

The blood toll paid by our people will only be met with the snatching of our natural rights and the rights of our resistance.

One of the goals of Al-Aqsa Flood is to unify our peoples and arenas after attempts by the occupation to isolate the Palestinian cause.

We appreciate every military and popular effort that joins Al-Aqsa Flood, and we salute the fronts of fighting in Lebanon, Yemen, and Iraq.

The hysterical reaction [of the zionists] towards resistance actions from various fronts indicates the importance of resistance action.

The foremost front of resistance is the West Bank front, and we salute every inch of our steadfast free bank.

Jordan is from us and we are from it; it is one of the most important Arab arenas in terms of popular and public engagement and it occupies the enemy's mind significantly.

Iran's response in its size and nature, setting new rules and disrupting the calculations of the occupation, and we call on the masses of our nation to escalate their supportive movement for the resistance.

Abu Obeida concluded the speech by calling on the masses of our nation to escalate their supportive movement for the resistance.

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thequeenofthewinter · 6 months

Text

In the Marshes of Morthal

I started this thing a few weeks ago, but never finished it. I am releasing it into the Interwebs now.

AO3 Link

In the misty marshes of lowland Hjaamarch many stories are told—ones of strange magic and others of inexplicable mischief. However, as of late, many more are told of a much more insidious and unsettling nature. Chilling anecdotes have reemerged—ones which grandparents had passed from their grandparents before them in whispers of the wind long thought forgotten.

It is here. It is coming.

At first they had all thought them to be old wives’ tales, stories which were told to small children to scare them into not coming home so late from playing in the marshes. Harmless. Safe. A good bit of fun to scare annoying younger brothers and sisters. But then, it started happening: the disappearances, the strange noises, and finally, the reappearances. Children which had been lost out on the marshes suddenly came back—or at least a part of them.

Everyone had ignored it as best they could at first, passing off the peculiar behavior as a phase or some innocent game that they were playing. However, over the days and weeks to come, the noises quickly became too loud to ignore and soon, Hjaalmarch was plunged into the darkest of nightmares—a twisted, corrupted quagmire of Vaermina’s greatest masterpiece. Only it was not her.

No one and nothing—not Aedra, Daedra, nor anything from this plane to the next could save them from what was to come, as scarlet mushrooms cropped up out of nowhere and chilling vapors left behind the scent of deathbells and nightshade in every room. Only one common factor connected them all together: the children who had been whisked away for three days and three nights.

When any of the children were asked about where they were or what had happened to them, it was the only time they were oddly silent, almost catatonic as they looked with blank eyes and vacant stares upon their parents, caretakers, and eventually the Jarl herself.

“Jarl Idgrod, what are we to do?”

“Could you have not foreseen what was to come?”

“What is happening to our village?”

Questions but no answers appeared as more and more citizens brought their children to the longhouse. And here she had thought vampires were the peak of her problems. Apparently, she was wrong, and the worst part of it all was that for once, her eyes have failed her. Never in all of her 60 years of life has she ever felt so helpless.

Days passed. More children disappeared into the marshes. She had to do something. If she could get no answers from her inner eye, she would get them from eyes which she knew could see, even if they were less reliable.

“If I am not back in 3 days, you will send word to High King Ulfric and put my daughter on the throne as temporary Jarl.”

“But—” Gore tried to protest, but Idgrod continued to secure her cloak around her and grabbed her bag.

“No, buts. This must be done. I am the Jarl, and I will put a stop to this one way or another.

“At least allow me to to come with you or send a few guards.”

“No, Gorm.” Idgrod shook her head and gave him a wane smile. “No one will go with me. I must do this alone.”

The souls of the dead were restless.

As soon as she stepped foot out into the misty marshes, she could sense it everywhere—sweet tendrils of death and decay were on the wind. They filled her nostrils and wrapped around her as if trying to pull her under their spell to lure her out further. It no longer surprised her as to why the children came; they had no choice. Impressionable and innocent, they did not know the dangers of what called to them. Not like she does.

She wandered out a little further. Her feet sunk into the mud. Idgrod trudged on with one less boot anyway. Deeper and deeper she went, each step carefully measured under the loamy earth as she connected herself to the ground, the air, and the spirits who watched her.

They shrieked. She did not flinch. They wailed, and she only narrowed her eyes.

That was when the fog rolled in to take the rest of her sight. Left with only one option, she steeled herself against what was to come.

“I know you are out here, and I know what you seek.”

She waited. No answer.

“You take the children and send back the bodies,” her eyes continued to search, “but the souls do not return. What are you doing with them?”

Cattails rustled in the wind, their ends bowing and bobbing as if in agreement with her observations. Still no answer. Her bony fingers curled upon themselves in frustration.

Idgrod opened her mouth to speak once more, but before she could even so much as utter one syllable something stole her breath.

She turned. Footsteps approached. Her eyes still saw nothing, but she felt the presence.

Cool fingers trailed down her spine as white ribbons twisted around her ankles. Of course, how could she have been so blind. Images of darkness oozed into every surface of her mind as the creature touched her. Despair and dismay. Decay and death. Would there be no way out?

No one knew where the wispmother came from, but there have been theories wrapped in conjecture and speculation. They were the mothers who took their lives after losing their children. Women who ran away from their spouses who beat them. Daughters who became lost in the bog. Any or none of that could be true and it was useless for her to ponder it—not in her current predicament.

“What do you want?”

No answer. The ribbons tightened around her, and mist filled her lungs as it tried to drag her under.

“I will not yield. You cannot take me. The Divines will not allow it.” She closed her eyes and hoped her words were true. The whispers of a prayer could no longer leave her lips, but she still had her mind with which to speak.

Mara preserve her for she only wandered out here for the love of her people. Talos watch over her and lend her his strength. Stendaar have mercy upon her.

Darkness started to creep into the corners of her consciousness, and she drew one last ragged breath before reaching into the bag at her side. If there was one thing she knew, it was that even inside of conjecture and myth, there was also some grain of truth. She only hoped that she chose the right one.

Idgrod’s fingers touched the powder within, and she quickly sent it flying back into the wispmother’s face.

Even if Idgrod could have never guessed what was haunting the marshes of her beloved Hjaalmarch, all the damned have one thing in common—they cannot stand the light.

Many years ago when she was first elected as Jarl of her people, she made it her mission to keep them safe. In that pursuit goal, she tested many combinations of every alchemical ingredient that she could. That was how she discovered this mixture—glowing mushroom dust mixed with the healing properties of nirnroot. No thing undead could resist the concoction.

The apparition screeched, white blue flames erupting over its translucent body. If her life had not just been in danger, she would have mused that the thing was almost beautiful. She burned with such grace, her wrappings unraveling like dancing ribbons on the wind before falling lifelessly to the Jarl’s feet.

It was no more.

Idgrod stared at the spot where the wispmother once was, and then with a heavy sigh, trudged her way back to Morthal until the next threat knocked on her door as she knew it inevitably would.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #idgrod ravencrone #ghost story #winter writes

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agaypanic · 2 years

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okay okay, I love Duncan Quagmire, so can you do something where Duncan and Y/n were close friends before the fire happened. So once the Isadora and Duncan go to prufrock they meet her again and kinda fall in love?

Reunited (Duncan Quagmire X Reader)

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Summary: The two Quagmire triplets and Y/n L/n are reunited at Prufrock Prep after years of separation.

***

“Things won’t change too much. Right?” A young Y/n asked as she lay in the Quagmire’s spacious backyard. Her best friend, young Duncan Quagmire, was lying next to her.

“Of course not.” He said hopefully. “We can write to each other every day. And you can visit during the holidays.” He turned on his side to face Y/n. “There’s a reason why they call it ‘best friends forever,’ Y/n. You’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”

Y/n laughed, tilting her head to see her friend.

“Our forever certainly isn’t the same as other forevers, Duncan. As humans, we have a limit on time.” Duncan simply shrugged.

“All the more reason to cherish it.”

Y/n would be leaving in a few days to go to Prufrock Preparatory School. When she had to break the news to Duncan, they decided to spend her remaining days together.

“I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. But we’ll see each other again.”

***

Things never go as planned. Almost four years later, Y/n L/n hadn’t seen Duncan Quagmire. She only wrote to him, but the letters stopped coming recently. She didn’t know why. She’d stay up occasionally to look through his letters for signs, but there were none.

“Y/n L/n, report to Vice Principal Nero’s office. Now!” A scratchy voice echoed into the halls. It looked like her lunch would have to be cut short, not that she entirely minded. The food wasn’t that great anyway.

As she near the Vice Principal’s office, Y/n could hear his squeaky violin playing. She knocked on the door, glad to cut the playing short. The door opened just a smidge, Nero’s face appearing in the opening.

“Two new students are over there, on the bench. Give them a tour, then take them to the orphan shack.” Nero then slammed the door shut and continued his horrible practice. Y/n turned on her heel and walked to the bench.

“Hello.” The two students looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t place where exactly she had seen them before. “I’m here to give you your tour.” She tried to keep a polite smile on her face. However, she was a bit annoyed that she had to give up her very little free time.

“How do you do?” The girl answered, standing up with who Y/n assumed to be her brother.

“I’m fine. Yourself?”

“Could be better.” The girl shrugged. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Isadora.” Y/n perked up. She had heard that name before. Isadora pointed to the boy. “This is my brother, Duncan.”

“My name’s Y/n.”

“Y/n?” She looked at the boy. Finally seeing his face clearly made her freeze in her place.

“Duncan?” Y/n couldn’t help but stare. After all, it had been years since she’d seen him. He had certainly grown up quite a bit.

Duncan startled her by launching himself at her, wrapping his arms around her. She happily returned the hug, all annoyance leaving her.

“It’s been so long,” Y/n whispered into Duncan’s shoulder.

“Too long.” He added, giving a quick squeeze before finally letting go.

“It’s so good to see you too, Isadora,” Y/n said, giving the girl a hug before looking around. “Where’s Quigley?” It was strange that she couldn’t find him. Usually, before she left for Prufrock Prep, she could hear him before she saw him.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence. Y/n sensed that she had touched a nerve but didn’t know how.

“He perished in a fire.” Duncan was the one to speak. “Along with our parents and our home.”

“Oh my goodness.” In the euphoria of the reunion, Y/n had forgotten that Nero said they would be going to the orphan shack. But she never imagined that, along with losing their parents, the Quagmire trio would have become a duo. “I’m so sorry.”

“So far, seeing you again has been the best thing that’s happened in the last few days.”

“I’m glad to be of service.” The three shared a solemn smile before they all remembered why Y/n was there in the first place. “We should probably start that tour now.”

***

A week had passed since the two Quagmire triplets arrived to Prufrock Prep, and it was the best week they had all experienced in a long time. Yes, Prufrock was boring and not that good of a place to be. But knowing someone (or two someones) made it better.

Sure, the orphan shack wasn’t much. A poorly built structure infested with mold and crabs. But it was livable, and Y/n could come over every day as long as she was back in her dorm before curfew.

“I don’t know how you can focus on anything Mr. Remora says.” Y/n groaned as she picked at the hay bale that she was lying on. She didn’t know how Duncan and Isadora could sleep on them, but it was better than nothing. “As soon as he opens his mouth, I tune out.”

“I focus on what he says because he gives us tests about all of his stories, Y/n. How have you been passing his class?”

She shrugged.

“I just guess. If you guess on multiple choice, you’re bound to get something right.”

Duncan shook his head.

“No more guessing.” He reached over to his book bag and pulled out a notebook. Despite the conditions of this place, it was in pretty much pristine condition. “I’ve taken notes on everything he’s said, and I think we have a test tomorrow. Care to study with me?”

“Sure.” Y/n knew it was better to agree; Duncan could be very persistent. She sat up and shifted over next to him while he opened the book to the most recent entry. They read through it once, quizzed each other on the details that seemed insignificant, and moved to the next story when they answered everything correctly. It had been an hour since they started. Y/n would have to leave in a few minutes if she wanted to get to her dorm before curfew. But she couldn’t bring herself to leave.

“Y/n?” Isadora stood in the doorway, looking at her brother and friend. “What are you doing here? Curfew’s in ten minutes.”

“We were studying,” Duncan stated before shoving his notebook back into his bag. He stood up, holding his hand out to Y/n. “I’ll take you back, Y/n.”

She took his hand and stood up beside him.

“Are you sure? You might not get back here in time.”

“I insist. You shouldn’t be walking alone this late.” They squeezed past Isadora in the doorway and started to leave. “I’ll be back soon!” Duncan called out to his sister.

Even though she wanted to savor all the time she could have with him, Y/n insisted that she and Duncan had a fast pace. They held hands the whole way, though neither of them mentioned it. She turned to him when they got to her door.

“Well, this is me.” Y/n was suddenly aware of the grip she still had on Duncan’s hand, and she let go. “Sorry.” She muttered.

“It’s fine.” He laughed nervously. “I wish I didn’t have to go back, but I probably should.”

“Get back safely, Duncan.” She watched him start to walk away. She took this as her cue to go into her room. But she was stopped. “Oof!” Duncan had turned around and threw his arms around her. “Are you okay, Duncan?”

“I’m just glad to see you again,” Duncan said, pulling back just enough to see her face properly. “Fate’s been kind enough to let me see you. I want to savor it in case fate turns cruel again.”

“I thought your sister was the poet.” They smiled fondly at each other.

“I dabble in it when I’m feeling good.” Duncan tucked a piece of hair behind Y/n’s ear. “But now I’m feeling better than great.”

“I’m glad to be of service. But sadly, I think you need to go back now.” Duncan nodded. He kissed her cheek, lingering for just a moment, before pulling away from her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, indeed.”

#duncan quagmire x reader #duncan quagmire #asoue x reader #asoue #a series of unfortunate events #agaypanic

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