#(except for the occasional spillage) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amerrierworld · 1 year

Text

Keep Me Close (pt 1?)

Summary: You have resolved nearly all the problems in the village except one. And she’s unhappy with both you and Alcina.

Characters: Alcina x you, the Lords, the entire village!

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: None (yet) but might have some NSFW soon. Some angsty stuff coming up. A bit AU/out of character, you might find it a little absurd but I just want them to have a happy ending okay ;-;

Alcina couldn’t believe you had managed to convince her to throw such a massive party. Somehow, your attempts at making peace with the village and expanding her wine production to more than just humans had paid off.

Everything was going wonderfully. Until Mother Miranda had shown up.

The ballroom had been lavishly decorated with candles and drapery. Each of the Lords had shown up dressed to the nines with a little entourage, and Alcina let you handpick staff and villagers to invite that you knew and trusted; friends, acquaintances, you named it, and they were there.

Karl had accused Alcina of becoming soft with a human at her side. Alcina had smiled and blew a plume of cigarette smoke in his face, neither agreeing nor denying him.

The truth was, she was much happier this way. You brought joy and delight to the castle. With the weather steadily warming at this time of year, you had even taken it upon yourself to take the daughters outside to blow off steam when they were restless and begging to kill some poor soul at work in the kitchens.

At one point, they had managed to adopt a young Vârcolac wandering through the woods. You had no idea how, but the beastly canine was now their personal pet, as obedient as a lapdog and as murderous as the lycans.

Sure, maiming and death still occurred occasionally, but hey, you weren’t a miracle-worker. Trespassers were still killed on sight, traitors and disobedience were awarded with limb-chopping or decapitation depending on the Lady’s mood, but you were quite proud to say that the Castle was much more welcoming, and more importantly, clean.

You had revitalized Castle Dimitrescu, and had rejuvenated some of the humanity in the Dimitrescu family itself. Gosh, what an accomplishment. Though it didn’t happen overnight. There was enough blood spillage, shouting, skillful avoidance and trickery to last you a lifetime. But after all that, and after a wonderful new deal with the Duke to provide top-quality livestock for fresh blood and meat in the Castle, you felt you deserved a nice celebration. The farmers had agreed to tend to the Castle’s new livestock in exchange for peace. There was enough to feed everyone what they needed, and in return their families and friends were protected. Now, eating human was an occasional delicacy for Alcina and her daughters, and Alcina felt she enjoyed that a lot more than barbaric slaughter and tearing limbs without care. It felt like a luxury and a treat, though a little twisted.

The night you had convinced Alcina of your ways was when Dani, restless and out for blood, had held you with her blade at your throat, screaming obscenities and demanding her mother let her cut your throat so that you would stop meddling in their affairs. She called you a whore for sleeping with Alcina yet going behind their backs to change their way of life. Alcina nearly let her daughter kill you, thinking what’s one more? when three of the maids had burst from the kitchens and cellars, yanking Dani off of you. One lost a hand, another lost her head. Alcina stared in wonder as the women crowded you and declared they’d protect you, because none had shown such care to them in all their time at the Castle, despite being allowed to live.

It had made Alcina long for love and loyalty again. Ruling with fear only got your so far, and she questioned if her morals were worth thinking about again. And what’s worse, you didn’t want the power over the staff that you had given yourself. You simply wanted things to be quiet and peaceful and good.

And then on the next day, when you made amends with Dani despite her threatening to kill you again by offering a fresh dish of raw meat and blood, Alcina realized she had been falling in love with you all along.

Now, Alcina watched you from her throne-like seat, leisurely laid back with a fresh cigarette and a newly fitted cream dress adorned with subtle crystals, reminiscent of her jazz performances when she’d be decked out in sequins and dazzling pearls. She had a fur boa draped over her arms, and exuded the power of a rich matriarch.

Alcina had never seen the grand ballroom like this in all her years under Miranda’s service. As a younger woman before the Cadou, yes, there were many lavish feasts like this. But since the world took a dark turn in this small part of Romania, there had not been this much laughter in a room for decades.

You were swinging from one dancing partner to another. The Duke had provided a lovely band to perform and you took every opportunity to dance with their music. Your shoes were tucked by Alcina’s seat after you complained about your toes hurting. Alcina had smiled and slipped them off for you, kissed your hand, and sent you on your way to the dance floor. You were dancing with the baker now, who had learned to make blood-infused bread specifically for the Castle, and mastered new pastry skills for your sweet tooth alone.

“Oh Mother, this feast is hard to resist,” Daniela groaned pathetically by her mother’s side, pushing her raw lamb around on her plate. “I remember a time when all these people would have been appetizers, dinner, dessert, and then some!”

“Calm now, Dani,” Alcina scolded lightly. “You’ve been doing so well. What is it now, four weeks?”

“Almost five,” she pouted. “Can’t I have a cheat day?”

“If you do, Y/N might be cross with you.”

“Not even one of the mean ones?”

Alcina scanned the crowd. Everyone was in good spirits and seemingly well-behaved. There was one guest however, that Alcina didn’t like. He was too much of a flirt and far too cocky for his own good. He had tried to charm you on the way in, much to your dismay and to the amusement and jealousy of Alcina. He was properly drunk, hanging by one of the tables with another glass in hand, and not even trying to hide the fact that he was eyeing a few of the maids passing by with plates and glasses, who seemed most uncomfortable.

“Hmmm,” Alcina thoughtfully blew out a smoke ring. “Maybe that one. But don’t make a scene, Dani. And don’t make it obvious.”

Daniela giggled devilishly and poofed away in a herd of flies.

“Must you encourage her so, Mother?” Bela sighed from her seat at the table. Out of the three, she had been the most strong-willed, coming up with new enticing ways to eat raw meat and blood to keep their appetite up. Daniela, however, always had more of a taste for the hunt than the actual meal at the end, and that was even harder to resist.

“We both know a cranky Daniela is much worse than a satisfied one,” Alcina hummed, sipping her glass of wine.

“Perhaps she just needs a lover,” Cassandra interjected. “That should leave her satisfied enough.”

“And who do you suggest is mad enough to put up with our sister?” Bela scoffed, chucking a piece of veggie at Cassie’s face. She burst into a cloud of flies to avoid the impact, and the meagre carrot rolled around under the table. It was just for decoration anyway.

The Lords each had a seat amongst the Dimitrescus. Donna had Angie perched on her lap, who was tittering away with nonsense and annoyance. The most intriguing guest was a curious masked individual that had come in quietly next to Donna. They appeared genderless, though being clothed in robes of deep, dark blue, and not speaking a word made it hard to decipher what kind of person Donna brought in by her side. Still, Alcina was pleased to see her sister had finally found a partner of some sorts.

Karl had brought another monstrosity of an experiment that was much more behaved than the last one. It resembled something between a large dog and a small horse, and made no noise. You had made sure the half-mechanical creature was well looked after. Freshly oiled, and freshly fed.

Sal, poor, lonely Sal, seemed much more in his spirits than usual. You had convinced him to take ownership of his own life, and find something to do besides pining over Miranda’s affections. With your care and attention, you had discovered how much of a romantic Salvatore Moreau actually was. He needed things to romanticize his life. So, to add onto your list of crazy, silly ideas, you helped him find a skincare routine, gifted him a modified typewriter that he could use with ease, and a pile of water-friendly toys to splash around with.

Alcina had been flabbergasted at the sight of a happy, laughing Sal emerging from his water-filled home. He told them how he had finished another one of his short stories, and the exercise of chasing weights at the bottom of his lake had made him much more content. You had laughed and clapped excitedly for him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Alcina sighed that evening as you crawled into bed with her. “You have more positive hope in your pinky than I do in my whole body. What on earth possessed you to give Sal a moisturizer?”

“Hey, those waters aren’t the best for your skin you know,” you tutted. “Sometimes a little self-care goes a long way. Turns our a lot of his moping has to do with those sores and humps -- they’re apparently very painful. Aren't you glad he’s not whining for Miranda and begging for someone to love him now?”

Needless to say, they all loved you. And they were all thriving because of you.

That is why no one has told Miranda about you.

Alcina knew Miranda would find out about the party and that she had not been invited. She’d be in for a scolding of a lifetime, probably a bit of torture, but she knew she could handle Miranda on her own. That wouldn’t be the problem. This way, Miranda’s anger would only be pointed at her, and not you. Heaven forbid the priestess ever found out what hold you had over Alcina. You wouldn’t survive a second in her presence. She begged whatever gods or demons existed that Miranda would never find out about you.

Alcina felt another deep sense of dread fill her, and suddenly had the urge to drag your to her side and keep you close. Perhaps the party was too large. Perhaps not this many people should have come. Perhaps--

As if on cue, you appeared by her side. Face shining with a glowing layer of sweat from dancing, you took her cup of wine and took a deep swig -- the taste of blood no longer disgusted you. Alcina felt her worries melt away and smiled happily.

“Hello, darling,” she said softly, leaning down to greet you with a deep kiss. You giggled as she teasingly nipped at your bottom lip. “What happened to your dance with the baker?”

“Oh, he stubbed his toe. He needed to sit out for a second,” you pointed to where the baker was sitting at a table, who was rubbing his feet with a grimace on his face.

Alcina chuckled deeply. “No one can keep up with you, can they?”

“Well, one person can,” you replied. “But she’s refusing to dance with me!” You tugged at the boa and she scooped you up to set you in her lap, back pressed against her chest as you surveyed the masses.

“Darling, I hardly have the grace of a dancer anymore. I would knock over at least five dancers in the process. You don’t want to dance with me.”

“What if they all sat down and it was just us?”

“Then I would mess up out of sheer panic,” Alcina grinned. “What if I stubbed your toes? Crushed them? I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

“Ugh, fine.” You turned your head up to look at her. “But you better make it up to me tonight.”

Alcina gave you a chaste kiss and then trailed her lips down your cheek to your neck, as a strong, possessive hand curled around your middle. “It’s a deal. You may live to regret that statement.”

“I doubt it,” you hummed softly, squirming as warmth filled your body at her lips caressing your skin. “Maybe we should just go to bed now.”

“And leave all the festivities?” She tutted. “Your guests will be disappointed.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t been thinking about it all night. You always do,” you huffed, your hand grasping Alcina’s. “I’ve been thinking about it too, you know.”

Her hand clutched you more tightly, and a low growl came from her throat just behind you. “Don’t tempt me, dear. I might strip you now and take you right here until you pass out. Wouldn’t that be a sight for them all?”

The end of her sentence had dissolved into a low, hungry whisper. Possessive, demanding Alcina was always your favourite. You grinned, lifting her hand from your form and kissing along the knuckles.

“Patience, my love. Before you know it, the night will be over.”

Suddenly, Daniela appeared in front of them, fresh blood dripping from her scythe and mouth, probably from the drunkard that Alcina had pointed out. You were about to scold her for going against her new diet, but her wide, panicked eyes caught both yours and Alcina’s attention first. The night was definitely over now.

“It’s Miranda,” Dani’s shaky voice was unmistakable. “She’s at the door.”

#merry writes #amerrierworld #alcina dimitrescu #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #Lady Dimitrescu #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil fanfic #reader insert #i'm going back to my roots #alcina fics

139 notes · View notes

doctorbleed · 4 months

Text

My constant companion and best little man, Pecker (named by mom after the 1998 John Waters film Pecker, she didn't get the offensive implications lol) nicknamed "Pepper."

The rest of the post is gonna be a downer. If you aren't in the mood for that, just enjoy the absolutely adorable dog pictures and keep scrolling.

Today, my dog passed away in his home very suddenly, in his sleep. He had been fighting a long battle with heart disease and due to his age and genetic factors the condition spread too quickly and too strongly to be effectively treated. My father took care of him for his final days, as our boy was constantly loved, hugged, protected and nurtured by family who loved him.

He was a happy, playful boy. Full of life and always moving around, even near the end he was getting up and walking a few times, lifting his head up and occasionally wagging his tail. He lived to the ripe old age of 15.

Some fast facts about him:

Pecker:

Got the name "Tick-Tick" because of the sound his nails would make everywhere he'd walk

Also got the nickname "Kramer" because he liked to kick open my door

We liked to call him "Pepper" in front of company, and "Peckerwood" which we later found out isn't actually another word for "woodpecker" but something more offensive. Oof! But he made it funny. We liked to call him "Peck-Peck-Peckerwood!" when he trotted into a room.

He never hurt a living creature in his life or caused anyone pain. Except some guy named Anthony, the only person he ever bit lol. Crazy lil guy.

One time I went walking him a little girl saw him and petted him. Then, a bunch of kids came running from around the corner to love up on him and pet him because they were so excited.

Walking him, a couple times a little kid would pet him and say hi to him. One time while strutting around and drinking something, he proclaimed "I know that dog!"

One time I put a lolipop in front of his face expecting him to lick it, and he bit it instead.

As a puppy, he liked to "accidentally" knock over pop cans and drink the spillage.

He was the first pup to be picked out of the litter, and the runt.

He loved snow, probably because of his big fur coat.

Despite being a tiny little mop, he had a furious bark. One time two cops came to our door and the dog barked so loud they walked off the porch. Later they asked my dad "what kind of monster dog do you have in there?" and he poked his little head out, and they were SO annoyed and embarrassed.

Was about 3 feet long and roughly 2 feet tall.

One time when he was a puppy I watched him whimper in fear about a jump he was about to make: jumping off a couch onto big fluffy pillow. We called it a "crash pad."

When he first came home my sister was a sobbing mess after getting dumped. He came up to her her and licked her nose and she stopped crying instantly.

One time I stayed over a friend's house and came home in the middle of the night, I petted him, and he turned and nodded at me like it was nothing. Then he, in a half-awake state, realized what was going on and rocked himself excitedly awake to greet me.

RIP Pecker. You had a funny name but you were the best dog I could ever ask for. You will be missed <3.

"For though I be absent in the flesh, yet am I with you in the spirit, joying and beholding your order, and the stedfastness of your faith in Christ." - Colossians 2:5

#CW animal death #CW Animals #Pecker #My Dog #Dog #Dogs #Pet posts #Grieving #CW Grief #cw death #John Waters #John Waters' Pecker

8 notes · View notes

mwpbnp0 · 8 months

Text

The Versatility and Durability of Stainless Steel Pipes

In the world of construction, plumbing, and industrial applications, one material stands out for its exceptional properties and reliability: stainless steel. Stainless steel pipe have become the backbone of modern infrastructure due to their unparalleled versatility, durability, and resistance to corrosion. As an alloy of iron, carbon, and chromium, stainless steel pipes offer a wide range of benefits that make them an essential choice for various industries.

The Composition and Characteristics of Stainless Steel Pipes

Stainless steel pipes are crafted from an alloy primarily composed of iron, carbon, and chromium, along with other elements like nickel, molybdenum, and manganese. The key component that sets stainless steel apart from traditional steel is its chromium content, which forms a passive oxide layer on the surface. This layer is responsible for its remarkable corrosion resistance, even in challenging environments.

Corrosion Resistance: A Prime Advantage

One of the most significant advantages of stainless steel pipes is their unparalleled resistance to corrosion. Unlike traditional steel pipes that succumb to rust and deterioration over time, stainless steel pipes remain intact, making them ideal for applications involving water, chemicals, and exposure to harsh weather conditions. This unique feature significantly extends the lifespan of stainless steel pipes, leading to reduced maintenance costs and enhanced safety.

Versatility in Applications

Stainless steel pipes find utility across a broad spectrum of industries, owing to their exceptional versatility. In the construction sector, they are used for structural support, architectural detailing, and water distribution systems. Their corrosion-resistant nature makes them indispensable in plumbing, as they ensure the purity of water in residential, commercial, and industrial setups.

In the energy sector, stainless steel pipes are crucial for transporting various fluids and gases, including oil and natural gas. Their resistance to high pressures and temperatures ensures the safe and efficient delivery of resources. Moreover, they are a preferred choice for manufacturing equipment in the food and beverage industry, where hygiene and cleanliness are paramount.

Durability and Longevity

Stainless steel pipes are renowned for their durability, making them a long-term investment for any project. Their resistance to corrosion, abrasion, and impact means they can withstand years of wear and tear without compromising their structural integrity. This longevity minimizes the need for frequent replacements, thereby contributing to sustainable construction practices and reducing the overall environmental impact.

Aesthetics and Maintenance

Apart from their functional benefits, stainless steel pipes also offer aesthetic advantages. Their sleek, polished appearance lends a modern and sophisticated look to structures, making them a popular choice in architectural designs. The low maintenance requirements of stainless steel pipes add to their appeal. Unlike materials that demand regular attention and upkeep, stainless steel pipes only need occasional cleaning to maintain their shine and performance.

Environmental Considerations

Stainless steel pipes align with the growing emphasis on environmentally friendly materials. Their durability and recyclability reduce the consumption of resources and energy associated with frequent replacements. Furthermore, the corrosion resistance of stainless steel pipes prevents leaks and spillages, contributing to the prevention of environmental contamination.

FOR MORE INFO :-

Prime Rectangle Pipe

0 notes

gallbladdersurgerys · 2 years

Text

Is Gallbladder surgery safe to perform?

Your gallbladder is one organ that fills a vital role; however, it stays low contrasted with other massive organs. The primary time we consider the gallbladder is that it should be removed precisely! Effects of gallbladder surgery: Gallbladder surgery Singapore can be a typical activity these days, yet the incidental effects of this infection are significantly more destructive to your well-being. Your primary physician will presumably specify the typical symptoms of gallbladder surgery, including diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, and gastrointestinal issues. In under two years, your body generally adjusts to the missing organ. Nonetheless, longitudinal investigations show that most doctors don't examine their patients. Recent studies have shown that individuals who have had their gallbladder removed are bound to bowel and colon cancers. So, If you intend to live longer years, you might need to consider regular gallstone removal. Is gallbladder surgery the most well-known activity? Consistently, in excess, people get their gallbladder removed because of gallstone intricacies! Consistently, 2 billion is spent on gallbladder infections. Sadly, a vast number of individuals experience the ill effects of intricacies that occasionally follow gallbladder surgery. Gallbladder Removal Singapore expands the gamble of colon disease, and it frequently prompts higher blood cholesterol levels in people. Assuming it is left untreated, high blood cholesterol can be lethal. Gallbladder surgery here and there has intricacies of bile spillage, which can prompt stomach torment. Investigations of patients with gallbladder surgery have announced that 40% of patients have a couple of entanglements, for example, stomach inconvenience because of excessive gas or torment. One of the most genuine inconveniences of gallbladder surgery is harm to the bile pipe. The injury is usually brought about by restricted vision during gallbladder surgery, and the surgery can cost up to $17,000 + surgery and clinic costs. What is the recovery rate after gallbladder surgery? • After the surgery, your gallbladder can never again store bile as in the past. All things being equal, the liver keeps on creating bile and just deliveries it into the body at a consistent rate. • Constipation is a significant issue for some individuals after surgery. • There are two kinds of surgery: open and laparoscopic. Traditional surgery might require 6-7 months to recuperate, while laparoscopic surgery might require a couple of days. • Assuming you have opened a surgery, your specialist should make a few entry points in the abdomen wall, which will take more time to recuperate. Consequently, try not to stretch or do any activity that influences this body piece. It isn't easy and can open the lines, which requires exceptional clinical consideration. • A few patients had gas issues after surgery. This is because of the remaining aggregation of carbon dioxide in the body. Conclusion: Gallbladder surgery is generally the most effective way to return you once again to your entire well-being. The recovery time will rely upon the sort of surgery you have gone through. Whenever the principal long periods are finished, the more significant part of the issues referenced will vanish.

0 notes

genshinlover101 · 2 years

Note

Hiii!! Hope your doing well! Can I request for Ganyu, Jean, Yanfei, and Eula with an S/O who calls them "wife" out of the blue leaving the girls flustered, but what they don't know is S/O will also propose on the spot lmao- take your time author and no pressure!!

Calling her Wife as a Joke, and then Proposing to Her

Characters: Ganyu, Jean, Yanfei, Eula x gn!reader

warnings: none

A/n: It’s been so long since I’ve written for Yanfei ^.^ I hope I still have a good grasp on her character

• Ganyu was so soft and shy, it made you want to squeeze her forever like a little stuffed animal. Except she could probably kill you with just her right thumb. You could spend your entire life with her and still see her as wifey material.

• When you called Ganyu your wife, she never imagined anyone would ever address her with such a title even for decades. She’d want to run and tell Cloud Retainer, Keqing, even Xiao immediately, someone to seek advice.

Ganyu and you rested atop the grassy mountain you both frequently went to clear your heads, a place that only you two knew. All you could hear was the soft sound of the winds and birds calling. It was often silent between you two, but occasionally Ganyu would talk up a storm.

“Do you still love me?” Ganyu asked out of the blue, making you choke on your own spit. What would possess her to ask such a question? Of course, you loved the qilin. It didn’t hit you that she was a normal girl who had insecurities like every other human. She looked at you with sad eyes.

“Of course, I love you Ganyu,” you reaffirmed. The question catching you so off guard you accidentally let the cat out of the bag. “You’re like my wife,” you said rubbing the hair on her head. Ganyu’s eyes widened, wife? nobody had ever called her wife. Scenarios of being your wife phasing in and out of her head at the speed of light. Having someone to come home to every day, to share her whole-grain meals with, take her afternoon naps with.

“W-wife?” she reiterated. Your eyes followed her as you got on one knee.

Clearing your throat, “Ganyu, will you marry me?” you asked her honestly.

Her eyes were so dizzy. Even though she fantasized about it so lustfully it was just a scenario in her head, she never imagined it would happen so quickly. She wanted to run, go somewhere to get advice, a second opinion. But her heart led her, “I accept your contract,” she said unknowingly of how to properly accept human traditions. Her hands held close to her head with a queasy smile.

• Jean was strong-willed and exactly what you needed in a woman. She was as sturdy as a pillar and an idol in Mondstadt that everyone could admire. All mothers wanted their sons and daughters alike to marry her.

• When you called Jean your wife she’d pretend she didn’t hear it, but she was frozen in place, making it very obvious that she did. She was so busy with her knightly work that she never imagined she could be anybody's wife, she was never raised with such fantasies.

Jean allowed you to join her on her short tea break, you were supposed to have a big dinner date tonight with her at this fancy steak house nearby. It’s where you’d pop the big question, as per code, she didn’t suspect a thing. That was until you had to jump the gun. A stream of tea dripped down your chin as you upturned your cup too high, causing a small spillage on your chin.

Jean noticing, took her handkerchief that she carried around at all times. Wiping your chin and lips before moving to the moisture absorbed in your lap. “Jeeze, you can be so clumsy sometimes, you’re just like Barbara when we were younger. She always has me clean up after her,” she commented trying to make light of your mistake.

Barbara? Did she viewed you like a younger sibling? the thought flashed through your head. “Haha- except you’re gonna be my wife right?” you joked around out of impulse. Mentally slapping yourself, sometimes you said things with no thought of holding back. Her wiping ceased as she froze up. She had never given any thought to be your wife, but the idea was rather nice. She had always been good with children, and having a family of her own was highly advised if she wanted to be more reputable. What better candidate than you?

“Wife- haha, you’re funny,” she said trying to switch the topic. As much as she adored the idea it was probably just a passing thought. However, your panic pressured you to ask the question now.

“No Jean, I’m serious. Will you marry me?” You asked.

She dropped the handkerchief on the floor in shock, it was just a thought she had told herself. Reality was a different story, a blush spreading throughout her face. “Such an abrupt question,” she coughed into her hand as she grabbed her napkin, regaining her composure. “I suppose, take care of me well.” you had never seen such a flustered side of your girlfriend.

• Yanfei wasn’t very well known in Liyue, she was however well-spoken and incredibly intelligent, not to mention an adepti. You’d need Madame Ping’s approval however, and none could impress her for the decades she’s looked over Yanfei.

• Marriage cases whether it was wedding two people together or the divorce was stressful for a legal advisor. So when you called Yanfei wife, she would be like ‘excuse me?’ Of course, it would leave her fantasizing about the scenario until you proposed.

Yanfei was running around all over Liyue all day to settle some disputes, she frequently said that a legal advisor’s job never rests even for the holidays. Today though, she’d have to give it a rest for your sake. She sat down as her knee fidgeted rapidly as she thought about all the cases that needed her assistance at this very moment.

You grabbed her hand to calm her down from across the table. “Yanfei if you’re going to be my wife one day you’ll need to learn to give yourself a break every now and then,” you urged her. Upon hearing your urges her leg stopped shaking as rapidly. Wife? was all she could hear reverberating throughout her brain, completely disregarding the message you were trying to send her.

“Excuse me? W-wife?” she howled at you, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair as she sat up in her seat out of disbelief. She was way too anxious and hyper off of two cups of coffee to remain calm. She had never thought of having a spouse, someone like herself who lives forever in what seemed like peace and harmony never had to rush such a thought. Her hand brushed against her chin in deep thought as you stared at her amused.

“You said wife right?” she tried to reaffirm herself after hearing no response from you.

“Mhm, Yanfei will you sign a contract with me of marriage?” you asked her with a massive grin.

Even though you had called her wife, the question was a different story. Her jaw-dropping, so much already in her lap. She had to recompose herself, breathing in and out before placing her hands back in her lap and sitting up straight “like a lady” just as Madame Ping had enforced. She had only ever signed a contract with her father, thinking long and hard she nodded with a puff. “Please take care of me, I’ll be in your good hands okay?” she asked with an assertive face.

• Eula was surely pretty and strong-willed, but because of her last name, many overlooked her potential, instead of seeing Jean or Lisa as better suited. That’s what made you special however, you full-heartedly accepted Eula for Eula.

• When you called Eula your wife, she thought it too good to be true. Of course, she wanted to wed someone, but not until she achieved her true potential of redeeming social status in Mondstadt. She’d actually be quite offended that you’d joke around like that.

Eula stood upright as she finished the last bite of her dinner properly, minimally wiping her mouth with the cloth napkin. Although she left the scene of aristocracy a long time ago, she still maintained the etiquette and habits that were drilled into her brain. You sat across from her, watching her with hearts in your eyes, today was the day. You’d propose to your lovely girlfriend.

She tucked a hair behind her ear, averting her eyes uncomfortably from your stare that burned a hole through her head. “What’re you staring at dunce,” she insulted you. Her speech habits might’ve been harsh but by now you’ve gotten used to the verbal rejection. You’d simply hit her with your own quips.

“I’m staring at my lovely wife,” you retorted. Her head turned to the side, she hmphed. Until it clicked with her.... wife? Did you just call her wife? Her eyes shot open, she couldn’t be anybody’s wife. You’d have to be insane to willingly marry into the Lawrence family without some sort of ransom or bribe.

“Watch your mouth- I’m not your wife,” she said harshly.

“So if I asked you right now if you’ll marry me...” you got on your knee beside her. “Would you say no?” revealing the giant diamond in the ring case.

Her face twisted in fear, even if you were crazy enough to marry into her family... was she herself ready for marriage? All these questions flying around her head, but all of them pointed to one solution. You- you’d be there for her every day, you’d eat all her baking, you’d take her out to dinner dates every week. You were perfect in her eyes. “Fine...” she folded her arms, “If you betray me however I will not hesitate to strike you down where you stand.”

#ganyu x reader #jean x reader #yanfei x reader #eula x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #ganyu #jean gunnhildr #yanfei #eula lawrence

552 notes · View notes

chateautae · 2 years

Note

I was watching a movie and the guy got hit on by a woman, she went so far to suck his fingers and he was too stunned to move and once he was aware what was going on he immediately went home. But he didn’t tell his wife, I think some men don’t bother bother to care that it’s a big deal since they didn’t advance. It got me thinking though.. would mid!tae immediately tell yn or would he just push it aside as some inconvenience in his day. I have a big feeling he would tell but I’m only wondering, if he did tell.. how would yn react? sorry if this is odd but mid has been added to the trajectory of my brain when I see certain things that remind me of them 😺

Omg anon… why do I feel like I know what film this is? This sounds so familiar? But you’re right, some men just give so little fucks that sometimes they don’t tell their significant other simply because it meant nothing to them. But as for mid!tae, he’s certainly not rude enough to completely reject a woman. I think he may keep wifey oc in the dark at first, simply because he’s afraid of her reaction, but end up telling her most likely out of sheer guilt.

Here’s how I imagine the exchange playing out between wifey oc and mid!tae. Ahem, *cracks knuckles, starts smashing keyboard*

warnings: nsfw/18+ content at the end!

Taehyung’s felt antsy since the second he came home.

Here he is, leg bouncing incessantly as he watches you carelessly shimmy around in one of his Balenciaga button-ups to Earth, Wind & Fire’s ‘September’. You occasionally pass on your imaginary mic to Taehyung, who softly denies you to rather watch you instead. He feels compelled to hug you from behind, smother you in kisses, maybe even let his hands wander your palace of a body as you cook for him, but he refuses himself the opportunity.

With a skillet in hand, and without a clue of his turmoil, you concoct a cheesy reduction for the carbonara you’ll soon share for dinner; Taehyung’s favourite.

That bruises his heart, though, because here is his perfectly faithful wife whipping up his favourite meal for him, while earlier today, Taehyung had another woman’s mouth wrapped around his fingers.

It’s not like he wanted it, hell, Taehyung ripped his fingers out of her scheming mouth and scowled at the random broad so menacingly, she scurried away out of sheer fear. But the heft of what was done weighed Taehyung down for the entirety of his evening. The woman’s sultry hands and lips, her cunning eyes, her seductive movements—he couldn’t fathom knowing any other woman except you tried to tempt him.

It even made him a little sick.

Guilt overrided his system the second he saw his wedding band glint underneath the bar’s lighting, and he couldn’t believe something of this degree had occurred, instantly vacating the premises.

When he trudged through the front door and was greeted by your warm eyes and hug, Taehyung at first, didn’t hug back. He believed himself unworthy of it—undeserving of you. But when he saw your sad eyes and pout, your soft, smaller hands caressing the nape of his neck and inquiring what’s wrong, Taehyung shoved his face into your neck. He embraced you with all his might, and you were cocooned tightly in his arms like a precious treasure.

So as Taehyung pushes around his pasta now upon the dinner table, taking nervous sips of his water, hands clammy, his lips suddenly fall open to disturb the comforting silence.

“Another woman sucked my fingers today.”

Shocked by his own spillage of the beans, Taehyung’s wide eyed observe you closely. He watches as your face contorts with confusion across from him.

“Another woman… what?”

Taehyung sighs, his sullen eyes falling to his now cold pasta. “I-I’m sorry, Princess. I should’ve told you the second I came home.”

“What do you mean, Tae?”

“I mean I… you know how I went out for drinks with the guys after work?”

You slowly nodded, having placed your utensils down to attentively listen. “Yes, baby.”

“Well.. um,” your husband nervously shifts on his end of the dinner table, eyes flitting everywhere other than at you. It was such an unusual sight, though funnily endearing.

Was he truly this nervous to tell you something?

“Well, I got hit on. More than once, actually, and I always tell you about that stuff.” He rigidly rubs the back of his neck, swallowing. “But one woman took it far enough she actually ended up sucking my fingers.”

Your lips purse with disapproval, eyebrows furrowed. “A women flirted with you hard enough that she ended up sucking your fingers?”

Taehyung becomes uncharacteristically timid, nodding. “Yes. I swear I didn’t tell you at first because I thought you would get mad, and I didn’t want to make you stress when we’re… you know… still trying to conceive.”

Taehyung sincerely pledges, mindful that any mental strain right now could affect your cycle—an issue you both couldn’t afford right now.

He watches your expression brood for a bit. You peer at the table and at your dinner aimlessly, your gears shifting. Suddenly, you break out into a little chuckle, even snickering. “You really thought I’d get mad about that, Tae?”

Taehyung’s taken aback, lips falling open. “Wait, you’re not mad?”

“I mean, did you like it when your fingers were in her mouth? Did you let it happen for a long time?”

“No way,” Taehyung instantly denies, your husband looking appalled. “I would never, I denied her within seconds and came straight home. I wanted to see you immediately.”

“Exactly. And you didn’t initiate it, right?”

“Absolutely not.”

You giggle. “Then you’re good, babe. I’m not pissed.”

Taehyung releases a deep breath, his hand over his heart. “Jesus Christ, I thought you’d be going bat shit crazy right now. I’m surprised you’re not angry.”

“Oh trust me, I’m pissed at the woman for doing it. Which hand did she stick in her mouth?”

“My left.” Taehyung lifts said hand to show you.

“So she should’ve seen your ring, then, knew you were married and still went ahead. Also, considering your reputation, there’s really no soul in Korea that doesn’t know about us, or about you having a wife. So the next time you go to this bar, you’re taking me with you so I can knock whoever this bitch is out. You know I have a mean right hook.”

Taehyung breaks out into infectious laughter with his fist over his smile, busting a gut with you. “My God, Princess, you really are the best, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’ve rubbed off on me, sailor.” You bounce your brows and send him a kittenish, bright smile.

And Taehyung’s reminded for the forty-thousandth time that he married the right woman indeed.

“But anyway, finish your dinner quickly.” You suddenly demand.

Taehyung arches a brow. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m riding you until you fucking forget about her mouth around you tonight.”

Your husband’s eyes glimmer with excitement. “Are you jealous, Princess? Trying to mark me as yours?”

You scoff, folding your arms. “Of course I am, asshole. Hurry up and eat before I skip dinner and end up eating you.”

Taehyung hides his laugh behind a hand, bouncing his brows. “I wouldn’t mind. In fact, I’m not exactly hungry for food, either.” Your husband suddenly rises from his seat, large hands planted on your dinner table as he eyes you, his voice dripping with sin.

“I’m hungry for whatever’s between your legs.”

Gushing, you swallow intensely, masking your horniness with nonchalance. Arms still folded, you tip your chin with pride. “Come here, then. It won’t eat itself, will it?”

Chuckling, Taehyung shakes his head, rounding the dinner table before settling into his knees in front of you and casting your thighs over his shoulders.

His gaze never left yours as he gifted you pleasure like never before… more than once.

#fic: maybe i do #ask sammy #anon #inbox #taehyung fanfic

46 notes · View notes

kimmclagan · 4 years

Photo

Interview with Topper Headon, February 1980.

Turn off your mind, lie back on the couch and relax. We're going to have an association test. What do you think of when I say the Clash? Running battles with the grey forces of government? Three cord supercharged thrashes vilifying unemployment and public housing vegetation? Seething hordes of punks dancing themselves into a frenzy? Wrong. Times have changed. Punk is now locked as firmly into the past as hippies were in the sixties. Safety pins and bondage trousers are as passe as headbands and peace signs. The bands that characterized an era have disappeared. The Sex Pistols destroyed themselves, the Damned are a self-parody, which leaves the Clash. After an impressive first album and a fair second effort, their third a double recaptures the drive and energy of the first. The Clash have esestablished them-selves as the most talented band to emerge from the much vaunted new wave.

Their lastest album, London Calling, displays considerable evolution since early days of the band. The songs are more reflective and melodic. Songwriters Joe Strummer and Mick Jones contribute heavily but to a large extent the dexterity and adaptbility of drummer Topper Headon has enabled the Clash to develop their musicality. Topper is, perhaps, the most accomplished musician of the four-man band. His early training with a variety of different music forms from traditional jazz to soul, has provided a firm foundation for Strummer and Jones. Topper provides the matrix from which the rest of the band work. Topper believes the Clash have survived because they have staying power, because they haven't been afraid of changing and because they weren't hesitant to branch out when they grew tired of playing frenetic chords. "We've remained true to what we originally believed in," declares Topper. " We still enjoy playing our own songs. We're not going through any set patterns. The basic idea has been to remain true to what we believe in and not allow ourselves to be dictated to by the industry and become CBS puppets." They've done a deft job of staying ahead of big business machines. "We refuse to do Top of the Pops for example, even when the single came in at 29. CBS started to put pressure on us to do it. They tell us we won't have a hit single, and we say, so what? Who needs it? We wanted our double album to go out for £5 when everybody else's albums go out for a lot more. We had to fight battles to get a cheap record out. Obviously that's not in record company interests. They told us it was impossible. Maybe that's why we've stayed together; we keep setting ourselves impossible tasks. It gives us drive. Even on tour, the Clash are determined to keep prices down which certainly affects the bands take home pay. But money isn't what they want most. "What we want is for the kids to be able to see us," Topper says. Their attitude to irrates businessmen. "If anybody does something like sneak a video of us on television, we'd split up. And CBS know we mean business. We owe them so much money they can't afford for that to happen." The Clash are a refreshing contrast to the kind of bands that do anything to get their name on the dotted line. From the beginning it's been a complete turnaround from the usual state of affairs that exist between band and record company. The companies have been chasing the Clash. Topper joined the Clash between their first and second albums. Previously he was playing with a soul band that regularly toured Germany and British airforce bases. Regularly earning £50 weekly, Headon took a cut in pay to work with the Clash. "I knew at once that it was the gig I'd been looking for. Everything came quite naturally. By the time Topper joined the Clash, he was beginning to think he'd never pass an audition. Not many bands were signed before the British punk explosion. "They'd form a band for somebody from out-of-work musicians who had been thrown out of other bands. They knew the ropes, so they wouldn't kick up a fuss because they knew they were dispensable. Every time I went along for an audition, I was constantly beaten by drummers who had played for name bands and had 'experience'. It just went on and on like that." Topper had been playing drums since he was 13. Drumming was a habit he picked up when he had a broken leg which halted a promising football career. His dad spotted a second-hand kit in the local paper and bought it. By 14 Headon was regularly playing with a traditional jazz band. "For some reason bands were always short of drummers..." As far as tutoring, Topper never got past the introduction in the books. Paradiddles and triple paradiddles were as far as he got. Eventually Headon bought a Premier kit: "At that time it was the cheapest pro kit you could get. You could go into any music store and get one. Everyone stocked spares and fittings. That was one of the reasons why I bought a Premier. I'm still sold on silver kits because they look great under the lights." A few days before his first tour with the Clash he took possession of a silver Pearl kit, which he still uses. After a bit of chopping and changing of toms, he's wound up with a 24" x 17" bass drum, 14" x 10" top tom tom, 16" x 10" and 18" x 10" floor toms, and a Ludwig Black Beauty snare drum. All the cymbals are Zildjian - two pairs of 15" Heavy Rock hi hats, a 16" crash, an 18" crash, a 21" Rock ride, a 19" Rock crash, and a 20" Rock crash, plus a little Zildjian splash cymbal attachted to the top of the bass drum which he claims is driving the rest of the band mad. All the stands are Premier Lokfast Trilok stands. "I go for a real solid kit," claims Topper, "that's why I chose Pearl and Premier. They're really solid and serviceable, no frills on them. You get a good feeling when you sit behind them because they're so workmanlike. You think, 'Great, I ain't gonna knock these over.' I use rubber mats to secure the kit on the riser." "Although I have the kit basically the same most of the time, I do like to change it around occasionally. If I started to use wooden blocks on the riser then I'd be stuck with one position, and that can be limiting." When it became evident that the Clash were here to stay, Topper got the chance of a new kit, which he tried but didn't rate as much. However, he did take Pearl up on the offer of a recover and recon. He expects to have his present kit for at least another five or six years, providing it dosen't get dropped or broken. Another complaint from Topper is lack of service and spares outside London: "We've got a flight case which is like a miniature drum shop, it carries everything down to cymbal felts and spare lugs for the bass drum. We always take it with us on the road and keep it stocked up. "I begin a tour with everything I conceivably need, and gradually I get rid of things I don't need, so the kit gets smaller as the tour goes on. Once the hi hat busted, the spring went right inside, and it was impossible to fix up. It was a Saturday night when we discovered it, and we had a show on Sunday. Luckily, we were able to borrow a high hat stand from the support band." Topper is a man dedicated to acoustic drums. He regards synthisized drums as irrelevant: "They were alright for two weeks, then the novelty wore off. Personally I'm exploring different areas, like percussion. I even use finger cymbals on one track of London Calling. But thats the way to go - into acoustic percussion. There's so much scope there that I don't know why synthisized drums were invented in the first place." Miking up for a gig is a lot similar to miking up for the studio. Topper uses two overhead cymbal mikes, and two mikes for the double hi hat set up he uses. The toms are all miked from the top, and the snare drum is miked from beneath. He keeps both heads on and never keeps anything inside the shells. Topper uses very little damping live. What damping there is, is usually on the bass drum, and always external. All damping is with gaffer tape. Topper prefers AKG mikes, but on tour they vary depending on which PA hire company is being used. "I can go into the studio and get a good drum sound in an hour," continues Topper. Listen to the latest LP London Calling and you'll hear what he means. "The first time I went into the studio I was pretty green but I learnt from it. For London Calling I went straight in and knew exactly what to do. Everybody goes into the studio much more relaxed now. I use AKG mikes and everything is miked from the top except for the snare. Again I use double heads to get the boom sound, and I use room mikes to pick up the spillage, to make it sound more live without going over the top. The set up is exactly the same as I have live, really, except I don't use a bit of damping." The biggest problem with putting out the new album were recording costs. The Clash figure that the longer they spent in the studio, the more it would cost, the more money CBS would have to put up, and consequently they'd have a greater hold over the band. The Clash even put up some of the money themselves. Eventually they had the tape and told CBS: "You can have it if you meet our conditions." Topper admits that there are some mistakes on the album, and more than a few drum errors. That's the price to pay for the energy captured on the vinyl. London Calling was recorded in a month, with Guy Stevens producing. That's how it's going to be in the future, Topper maintains. The second album, Give Em Enough Rope, was not as successful as either the first or the third records, and Topper blames producer Sandy Pearlman for this. "He made it quite dull," Topper says. "He was a dull person to work with. We wanted a producer, CBS gave us a list of producers and his name was on the top. We listened to stuff he'd done with heavy metal bands, and we thought it was rubbish, but it was the production we were interested in. We wanted to get a good sound, and one complaint against the first album was that it sounded too thin. So we wanted some production that would stand up to time. So we got Pearlman. But he took so long to do it, with his perfectionism, that the prevalent feeling in the studio by the time he'd finished was boredom. When I think about recording that album I cringe." Problems don't end in the recording studio for the Clash. For a good few years now they've had constant trouble with local councils who insist on banning their gigs for fear of trouble. The whole surge of reaction against punk bands from "The Establishment" began with the infamous Sex Pistols. The daily newspapers portrayed the Clash as wreckers of society. "We're still getting that sort of prejudice," explains Topper. "We've had 16 gigs booked at various Mecca places, and then about 12 pulled out. You have to completely re-route the tour." The Hammersmith Palais cancelled a concert there because they said there were too many mirrors in the place to safely allow Clash fans in. "But our fans don't smash things anymore. They do if they're told what to do, like sit down in this seat and be a good boy. That's why out of all the gigs on our British tour only have two seats in them." Harassment from local villages takes other forms. The obligatory visit from the fire inspector often results in strict demands being laid down: "He says take that backdrop down, so we take the backdrop down, and he says erect more crash barriers, so we put up more crash barriers, he says this stage has to be rebuilt here, and you need more security. We just laugh at him and do anything he wants. Nothing can stop us playing. But they make life difficult." As time progresses, however, the Clash are becoming more acceptable, though not more respectable, Topper hopes. He makes the point that the Clash have to pay for all the damage that's caused, so why should they promote vandalism? Surprisingly, Topper found that the audiences in America weren't so much different to the British fans. The punk thing is really only just beginning to happen across the pond: "They're still into safety pins," declares Topper. "It's the same as the White Riot tour here, when there were about 300 or 400 fans dancing down the front with the rest there out of curiosity. But we sold out 25 of our 28 gigs there, and that was in 3,000 and 4,000 seater auditoriums. The States is so big. LA was just a load of old hippies lazing around getting stoned in the sun. I liked Chicago best, with all the blues clubs. But we should do well over there because the USA has all the same problems as Britain except they're magnified. They have all the slums and the poverty and more of a racial problem too." Highlighting social problems is one of the bands strong points. They should have plenty to write about in America. The Clash are political, and very definitely anti-National Front. Topper's favourite drummers come from America, such as Harvey Mason and Steve Gadd. His favourite British drummer is Terry Williams, who plays for Rockpile. Musically, his tastes are strictly black; James Brown, Otis Redding and lots of reggae, particularly the Mighty Diamonds. America looks tripe for the Clash. They've toured there twice and soon they should start to take off now that punk has spread. The Americans have been fairly slow catching on to what the 76' British New Wave was all about - perhaps they've been too wealthy for too long. With a new recession biting home, maybe the Clash will take on new relevance to downtrodden, unemployed kids in America. Topper himself represents a new establishment of musicians in Britain that once would have been unthinkable. Two years ago the Clash were vilified as not being "real" musicians. Their drive, talent and staying power has proved the cynics wrong. In general, the Clash have proved themselves to be dedicated professonials with firm ideals at heart. In particular, Topper Headon spearheads the drumming new wave with a forceful and accomplished style that can't be dismissed.

#topper headon #the clash #article #*mine

13 notes · View notes

hillbillied · 4 years

Note

i found your post about andy and eddie's kinks from a couple of years ago and i was just wondering do you have any updated thoughts?

firstly, thank you anon!! I love writing these two!!

secondly fuck, I left this ask in the ‘box for a while because, double fuck, I couldn’t think of any kinks I hadn’t included in the OG post!! I am very sorry for the delay!

(I had to read through them to check, still crispy if I do say so... let’s see what else we can get in there. god I could go on a whole bunch more about the ones from the OG post lmao my fave losers in love having great sex!)

The Secret Kinks of Andrew Haldane and his Lieutenant, Edward Jones (pt.II)

(highly nsfw, 18+ only)

I’m gonna rag on Andy’s exhibitionism kink a little louder than before because it’s so embarrassing. going to the cinema is a chore because Andy doesn’t have the patience for long movies and he really can’t get behind anything that’s not a really fucking hilarious comedy or a truly gripping drama. anything even a little lacklustre (most of what’s on in the 50s) has his gaze wondering elsewhere

the amount of times Eddie has been enjoying his movie experience (he loves movies, btw, he didn’t get to go to many as a kid – think Gunny-level attention in the scene where the marines are watching For Whom the Bell Tolls) and suddenly a hand is brushing his knee. he can’t help but roll his eyes because Andy, good lord, can’t you enjoy the plot for five-fucking-minutes?

luckily for Andy, he’s got a semi-indulgent boyfriend or at least a condoning one; either Eddie will lift his longs legs and put them over Andy’s lap, teasing him with the weight whilst simultaneously giving him some cover to enjoy himself (in no relation to the movie) – or, if he’s feeling generous and equally turned on, he’ll give his stupid fucking would-be husband a hand so he can go back to his popcorn. Eddie’s got skilled fingers and only makes eye contact with his flustered, heavy-breathing boyfriend in scathing glances to show his “disapproval”

car sex is as normal to the two of them as breathing. it started fairly uncreative and vanilla, just screwing in the one long seat of Hillbilly’s pickup. it’s a little on the tight side but Eddie’s more flexible than many would believe. Andy loves having two hands just under his knees, pushing his thighs up against his chest so he can fuck him nice and deep. it has Eddie’s toes curling and his teeth gritted and colourful curses dripping out the cracked window (no AC means a real sweaty cab)

that, or Hillbilly will be riding Andy passenger side. he likes smoking in his car and he likes riding Ack Ack’s cock, so this is a win-win scenario. the leverage from the seat means he can light up while rolling his hips, humming around the cigarette. it’s an erotic sight for sure; Andy has to cover his eyes with his hand while laughing out a breathless “shit, Eddie…”

romantic evenings include soft kisses and mutual handjobs in the truck bed, after giving up on star gazing. less romantic evenings include parking somewhere discreet (or… not, because Andy’s exhibitionism is a nightmare and the 60s were pretty wild) to get them both out on the road. there’s sweaty handprints on the hood where Andy has Eddie bent over it, pinned between his chest and hot metal. it’s some of the hardest, roughest sex they have, and Andy usually uses Eddie’s t-shirt for leverage, something to twist into an psudo-harness to pull him back against his dick. Hillbilly likes to growl out threats – “you stain m’ car, Andy, I’ll fuckin’ kill you” – but it’s all a ruse to cover how there’s sweat dripping from his curls and how his pants for air are turning into moans and how he’s the one staining the tire where he’s cum, hard enough to have him flat out over the hood and gasping

this is all while the car is parked, of course. Andy loves giving Eddie head while he’s driving. it’s lucky Hillbilly’s had to drive bigger, scarier machines than a Ford, honestly. his disapproval (fake, every time) is portrayed where he grabs Andy’s hair and forces his cock down his throat. “Cop car” he’ll say, “gotta stay down”. he’s a lying sack of shit but it’s worth the sin to glance down at Andy when he lets him pull back, spittle running from his tongue and his coughing turning to a gasp then a moan in quick succession. it’s really difficult for Eddie not to grin super wide and push Andy’s head back down for more

(side note: Andy’s a service top so he gives great head, none of this fake dom shit. they each say the other gives it better because they are both weak for one another and stupidly in love)

gags become a thing after a while. Andy is an expert at introducing/asking about bedroom ideas without being condescending and he knows he has to decipher Eddie’s interest without it sounding like he wants him to shut the fuck up. (he does not, he loves everything that comes out of Hillbilly’s mouth, from stone-cold threat to lazy joke to breathless groan)

but a thing they do become. (it starts with Andy shoving a couple of fingers in Eddie’s mouth to “keep quiet”, an old familiar trick from the war, and it snowballs from there) so the next time Andy’s bent over Eddie, facing him and maybe got his hands pinned above his head, and Eddie decides to let off a quip, Ack Ack stops. slows his motions and pretends to think, then reaches for his master plan. the first time, it’s just fabric, shoved into Hillbilly’s mouth. his pink cheeks (from semi-annoyance or embarrassment, not sure) and deep frown and almost-offended stare are fucking priceless

(Andy buys a proper gag, one Eddie can bite down on. one he can grab the back of and pull Hillbilly’s head back with so he can kiss his neck, tell him how fucking hot his moans are when they’re all he can make)

collars slip in there somewhere. they’re not sure where that came from but there’s a suspicion it may have come from the wholesome conversation about adopting a dog (which they both want to do they’re just terrified of going to pick one and falling in love with more and then what are they gonna do?? have fifty dogs?? but I digress)

Andy’s not one to be embarrassed of his sex purchases but he was definitely scratching his neck when he bought it. luckily, his boyfriend can read him like a goddamn book. the man likes being in control, sure, dominating the room in his own masterful way, definitely – that doesn’t change the look of complete adoration that takes Andy’s features when Eddie buckles the collar around his neck

it fits well with Andy’s orgasm denial kink. he doesn’t do it to Eddie much (he’s got enough kinky shit he can do to him) but Hillbilly definitely does it to him. it’s a treat to test Andy’s self-restraint and not with any bondage. Eddie’s a very patient man, used to unfulfilling sex prior to Ack Ack, so he’s got all the time in the world. he loves making Andy wait, teasing him with a grip around the base of his cock. he gets a cock ring for him later, when his tight grip isn’t cutting it anymore

there’s nothing better than watching Andy’s thighs tremble, sat on his own hands on a chair, desperately keeping his cool while Hillbilly carefully lowers himself onto his cock (Eddie uses that collar to get him to look him in the eye)

they usually can’t be bothered with food play (“Food is f’ eatin’, Andrew, not wastin’.”) but there’s occasional things. Andy has a tendency to take Eddie’s fingers in his mouth and lick them clean, whether from an accidental or purposely spillage. he doesn’t really care what’s on them so long as it’s edible and he can watch Hillbilly’s lip curl watching him

Eddie’s definitely done a “spillage” of his own once or twice. except his are obvious, just how he likes them; he’ll straight up pour a splash of beer on his dick and invite Andy to come lap it up. his house, his rules and all. Andy always obliges

Eddie gives a great spit ‘n shine to boots, Andy’s found. he loves demanding Eddie get on his knees and do the daily duties he learned as a marine, making sure his captain’s uniform is in order. (slightly funny if Ack Ack’s not wearing anything but his boots while saying it, but he can live with that) having Hillbilly look up at him – “Like this, Skipper?” - as he runs his tongue across the leather is more than worth it

Eddie likes tearing open clothes, though he feels really, really bad about it. it’s obvious it turns him on because Andy loses a lot of shirt buttons over the years. (they sew them back on together, which is nice, gotta know how to mend and make do. Eddie actually knows a lot about cross stitch and Andy adores learning from him)

one time Andy’s waving his ass Eddie’s way, has been for a whole morning whilst they were gardening, potting flowers, weeding the lawn, working, Andy, we’re busy – so it’s just been a build up of hard-ons and no time to deal with them. and they’re wearing old clothes for the task, threadbare jeans. (that used to be Eddies, even the ones on Andy’s ass) so when Hillbilly finally presses up against Andy, bites his ear, and grabs his pants with both hands - he just pulls. they tear open and Andy feels Eddie shudder against him (shortly before he feels Hillbilly’s cock pushing inside him but that’s just a massive bonus)

Andy’s an indulgent boyfriend so he buys underwear and pants on the cheap and waves them Eddie’s way. the “rippables” as he calls them. made to be ripped, end of. no hard feelings, good riddance to them

I said they were too lazy for bondage because they can just pin each other and I stand by it; it remains a special thing. one of the ‘hardcore’ things, like the belt and gun play. mainly because, while they can actually pin each other down quite effectively with limited wiggle room, there’s still the ability to y’know, headbutt each other. because they’re also both trained in how to flip a guy that grabs you. fatally, if need be

so tying Eddie up (Andy’s always been down to be tied up, blindfolded, etc. by Eddie because he trusts literally one man in the whole world and it’s Edward Jones) is a big thing. because Eddie has had to fuck people up who tried to fight him and his brute strength is what’s gotten him through (finding something capable of realistically holding him is also a struggle in sexual hilarity because fuck, it’s gotta be thick rope or actual police handcuffs)

when Andy asks him about it (and presents the short length of rope he went for because he couldn’t find handcuffs yet) Eddie immediately says yes. because he trusts Andy completely. but he also says not tonight and not every night and not any time he can see it coming. if he works himself up about it, he’ll embarrass himself

when it does happen (Andy’s can read him right back, he knows when), Eddie ends up with his hands tied behind his back. he jokes about Ack Ack’s poor navy knotwork and gets a laugh back. then Andy slow bends him over the bed. that’s all Eddie thought he’d do, which isn’t a bother, long legs are still able to roll away. until Andy kneels down below him, caressing his thigh lovingly, and nudges his legs open. Eddie ends up standing bent over on the mattress with each ankle tied to a leg of their heavy bed frame

it’s a lot but Andy takes his time, kisses his way up from Eddie’s calf all the way to the back of his neck, keeping a hand pressed to his inner thigh. the tremble there is aroused and overwhelmed all in one. the first time, Ack Ack just enjoys giving his boyfriend a nice, slow handjob, supporting himself over Hillbilly so he can feel his weight. it’s amazing to have Eddie coming apart under him, whispering for more until he gets a shaking orgasm, biting the sheets to try and cover how loud he whimpers (it’s too much for Andy, too, and he cums just from rubbing between Eddie’s thighs)

Andy’s trademark aftercare is as excellent as ever and they sit together with some tea on the bed, listen to the radio, Eddie leaning against his chest with two loving arms around him. he asks if next time Ack Ack will fuck him and naturally, Andy just says “if you want me to” while kissing his temple. Hillbilly wipes his face and asks “please”

#andyeddie #the pacific #very not saif 4 wurk but i cant tag it that because tumblr algorithy

11 notes · View notes

no-url · 4 years

Text

Fools and Dreamers

Fandom: Of Mice and Men (the glorious Steinbeck novel we were all forced to read for GCSE)

Pairing: Slim x Reader

Words: 1289

Author’s note: So, i’m back. This quarantine is really giving me the time to write so here’s a piece about everyone’s favourite prince of the ranch. Enjoy :)

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

Living on the road isn’t easy. The constant moving around, never staying in one place for more than a month, that is my reality. We live hand to mouth, always wondering where the next meal will come from. Hell, I can’t even afford a new, clean work apron. A life of comings and goings that come like an onslaught. There is always, however, one constant: Slim.

Though we are known as the loneliest people in the world, we have each other, our little mismatched family. Of course, it’s sometimes difficult, especially with those who don’t understand this little setup, but hey that’s the bitch of living; I do what I must to survive. While the boys carry straw in the fields, I cook, clean and help in the boss’ house until it’s time to move on to another field, another house. I work and earn my keep alongside the men and though I don’t get to see them while they work most the day, except occasionally through the window, I eat every meal and spend my free evenings with my boys before I have to go back to the house. And as much as I love them all, I look forward to spending time with one of them in particular.

After a long day of cleaning windows and preparing chicken casserole, to say I’m exhausted would be the understatement of the century and I’m ready to spend a nice evening playing poker with a side dish of whisky as I exit that hell hole I call my current workplace. But as I approach the rickety bunk house, I spot a familiar figure sitting alone on one of the old rocking chairs, recognisable by the worn-out Stetson hat crowning his head. I pick up the speed, as fast as my mules allow me, ecstatic to finally be able to relax and leave the day behind.

Out on the porch, Slim gazes around the fields surrounding their temporary ‘home’, lost in thought and unaware of his surroundings. He’s been working all day and has chosen to switch out card games with the men for some quiet reflection as he watched the sunset. I don’t blame him. A man with the weight of the world on his shoulders deserves to forget about it once in a while.

I try to walk quietly down the length of the porch so as not to disrupt the peace, and I nearly reached the door, but the old wood deceived me as one step causes it to moan out in pain. I winced as Slim’s head spun around, breaking his thought process.

“I’m sorry” I say dumbly.

“It’s ok.” A warm smile graces his handsome face as he gestures me over to him.

I always liked Slim best. It was him who found me hungry and penniless on the streets of some lousy nameless town and him who let me join him and his band of men. It wasn’t easy getting past the mix of sexist comments and hungry stares, and it’d be foolish for me to say I wasn’t expecting it, but Slim was always kind to me; protected me; treated me like a person first. Eventually, after weeks of trying to prove myself, they finally accepted me into their ranks as an equal (though I think it might have been the fact that survival cooking is one of my specialties). But I never broke that bond with Slim, the one formed during our lowest moments, the one based on nothing but respect and understanding for one another.

I walk over to him swiftly, crouching beside the chair, his face lit up by the pale sunlight. From far away, he may look like another hard-headed ranch worker, but one close look can uncover emotions so personal and yet well-known by many. His smile is always warm and inviting, the kind that has seen many a frowned face pointed in its direction. His stormy blue eyes, at the bottom of which lay years of loss and disappointment, are illuminated, glistening in the falling sun, framed by the wrinkled skin around them, sunburnt and old before its time. His brow is always so weighed down with worry, yet now the harsh ridges lay like soft crevices against the smoothness of his forehead. He was content.

“How was your day?”

“Same as always” Slim replies, his smile faltering so softly you’d miss it in a blink. Water pools in his eyes as he yawns and gestures me up. I stand up for a second, before nestling myself on his lap and against his chest. As he puts his arms around me to make himself more comfortable, I feel every toned muscle shift slightly beneath his shirt. The years of lifting hay bales definitely left their mark. Slim turns his head in the direction of the sun, basking in its fleeting warmth, as I lay my head on his. “How was yours?”

“Same as always,” I mimic his tone, “Hard. But, hey what’s the alternative?”

A pause. A moment of silence. Thoughtful silence.

“It’s not fair.” The peace is broken by Slim’s voice, barely a whisper but very audible in the silence.

I lift my head to look at him. His face is hardened, eyes peppered with an unreadable sadness. My heart pangs with pain seeing him like this. “What’s not fair?”

He looks up at me. “This is not the life I promised you,” he says softly as he looks down, his calloused hand gripping my thigh that bit harder. “When I took you with us, I told you we were going to work for a while and then we’ll get an apartment in the big city. Our own little place. With a dog.” We both smile at the thought of us in a house chasing around a dog. A big one, we decided long ago. A small smile graces Slim’s lips before it falls into a more sorrowful one. “I promised you all this and yet we’re still taking on these piece of shit jobs, me in the fields and you cooking and cleaning for these pompous assholes, when you should living the high life with some rich man who loves you and you don’t have to work a day in your life,” he takes my hand, “You deserve better than this.”

So that’s what’s been eating him up: he doesn’t think this is good enough. I smile gently as I use one hand to tilt his chin up so that our eyes meet, his still slightly dampened by his spillage of thoughts. I brush a stray strand of chestnut hair out of his face before speaking. “The world’s not fair, Slim. But this, this I wouldn’t trade for the world.” His expression turns to mild confusion. “I’ve learned so much more travelling with you than I ever would in some big city house as a trophy wife. I’ve met so many great people, so many friends, you.” A pause. “A hovel could be my palace as long as I’m with you.”

Slim stays silent but his eyes give away everything I need to know, a feeling of relief washing over them. He places a million words upon my forehead in the form of a delicate kiss, before I lay my head on his shoulder.

And so, we are sitting there, two fools with dreams bigger than them, witnessing the burning sky turn darker by the minute. And we sit there not as lonely people, not as societal outcasts, not as workers for the highest bidder. No, we sit there as a man with a million worries and as a woman with a million dreams.

Watching the world around us melt away, as sleep takes its toll.

#omam #of mice and men #slim #prince of the ranch #john steinbeck #slim x reader

21 notes · View notes

selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 5 years

Text

It’s Nice (Carter Hart Imagine)

This was written AND edited in a hypomanic blur so like. I’m pretty sure there are real words involved, but I make no promises.

Rating: T

Pairing: Carter Hart/Reader

Words: 3429

Warnings: food, pet(s), talk of children

Requested: yes / no

Summary: Just an average evening with Carter, except not really average at all.

The meal plan the nutritionist had made is indisputably for a professional athlete, with the number of calories and sheer mass of protein it calls for. It had taken some trial and error, but you’d figured out a way to adjust it to fit your own needs in a way that didn’t mean twice the cooking. You’re probably the only reason Carter even kind of sticks to it, because he’s inclined to make whatever’s easiest (or just order out, if he’s especially tired), so having you around to cook for the two of you keeps him more or less on track.

Right now, you’re finishing up dinner. All you have to do is let the chicken simmer and occasionally spoon some sauce onto it from the pan to make sure it doesn’t dry out. Most of your attention is focused on the other pan, where you’re just cooking some chicken to use over the next few days, to save time and make sure it doesn’t spoil. Dinner had been a bit of a mess tonight, honestly. You’d used the last lemon yesterday, so it was lucky you had a (questionably old) bottle of lemon juice in the fridge to replace it. The recipe called for half-and-half, which you never have in the house, so you’d just substituted milk and used the meal plan to justify it. You’d forgotten the tongs were all in the dishwasher, so now you’re doing your best to flip and handle the chicken with a spoon. And to top it off, you’re cat-sitting for your friend, and Harri hasn’t given you one moment of rest since you first brought out the meat. You’ve spent the better part of 45 minutes pushing her away from the raw-- and then cooked-- chicken breasts every five seconds.

“Ma’am,” you scold, pushing her away yet again, “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to stop.” You have no idea where the habit of calling pets “sir” and “ma’am” came from, but you’ve done it for quite a while. It usually makes people laugh when they hear it, so it’s not a habit you’re trying to break. Finally, you deem the last batch of chicken done, so you push Harri back again, grabbing the skillet by the handle and moving it closer to the plate on the counter to hopefully minimize spillage.

“Holy fuck!” you don’t-quite-shout, literally jumping a bit in surprise. You would swing around to confront the person who’d grabbed you from behind, but they’re holding fast. Carter is holding fast. He’s pretty much the only person who can sneak up on you, despite being objectively large for a human. When you first started dating, he would laugh when he managed to surprise you; now he just smiles into your neck and gently sways the two of you side-to-side. Leaving the spoon in the pan, you use your now-free hand to smack one of his forearms.

“Maybe don’t sneak up on me when I have a hot pan in my hands, next time,” you say, trying to sound annoyed and definitely not succeeding. Yes, he should absolutely be more mindful of danger when he surprises you, but also consider: he’s adorable and you love him.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, genuine at first, before you can feel his smile turn to a smirk against your skin and hear his voice gain a mischievous edge, “Guess I’ll have you make it up to you somehow.” You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. You kick backward at his ankle.

“Let me finish dinner, you menace,” you say, craning your neck so you can kiss him hello despite your words. Once he’s gotten his kiss he backs off, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter. You would’ve gotten reprimanded for that when you were a kid, but this is your apartment, both of yours, so you can sit on the counter all you want. Take that, mom.

“How was your day?” he asks. You start telling him a bit about it, just a summary, saving the details for the dinner table. It’s odd being certain that he’s actually listening, actually cares about what you have to say. It’s nice.

The pre-cooked chicken covered and safely tucked in the fridge, you separate tonight’s food onto two plates, his significantly more full than yours. He hops off the counter and takes his plate, walking around the counter with you. You sit across from each other at the small wooden table, eating as you talk about your days in more detail. It’s not quite pre-season yet, still the tail-end of conditioning camp. That means he has more time to spend with you, but less to do during the day, which translates to less to talk about at dinner. Luckily, you’ve gotten pretty good at keeping the conversation going; asking both leading and specific questions to get more information out of him. You don’t really need to know any of it, but you like listening to him talk and knowing what’s going on in his life. Plus, taking an interest in his life always makes him happy.

Once you’ve both finished eating, he takes your plate with his own and brings them to the sink. It doesn’t bother you that you’re the chef of the relationship, because he carries his weight around the house in other ways. You cook, he does the dishes, you do the laundry, he cleans the bathroom and floors, and so on. There’s a balance here that you haven’t experienced before. It’s nice.

It’s your turn to sit on the counter, continuing to chat while he rinses the dishes and loads them into the dishwasher, gathering the pots and pans from cooking and doing the same with them. With that taken care of, you hop off the counter and walk with him into the living room. You settle down on the couch, feet up on the ottoman, and he situates himself so he can lean into your side with his too-long legs taking up the third cushion. You’ve been bingeing a new series on Hulu, so you click your way through the requisite settings until you can press play on the correct episode.

Usually, you tend to be a bit restless. Sitting through an entire episode of a show used to be an impossible task, and you’d get up every five minutes to clean something or set something up or fix something. But with Carter snuggled up into you, hand on your outstretched thigh, breathing steady, sitting still for an hour seems like nothing. You’d sit still ‘til the end of eternity so long as Carter was close.

Plus the part where Harri is curled up on your shins, which doesn’t seem comfortable (but she’s a cat so who knows), and you’re pretty sure its a federal offense to disturb a sleeping animal.

You watch two episodes, mindful of your self-imposed bedtime. The two of you make comments throughout, half of it critiquing certain aspects of the plot or composition, the other half just going “WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK?” and commenting on how hot Karl Urban is. You’ve never had a relationship, intimate or otherwise, where you didn’t have to hold in your thoughts and reactions. It’s nice.

The second episode ends on a bit of a cliffhanger, but you join forces to talk yourselves out of watching another. The next will probably end on a cliffhanger too, ‘cause that’s how they keep you watching, so there’s really no point in watching any more right now. If you give in, you’ll most likely end up staying up way too late watching “just one more” and regretting it in the morning. Eventually, you resolutely turn the TV off and shove Carter off you. He whines and groans but heaves himself off the couch to follow you toward the bedroom.

You brush your teeth before washing and moisturizing your face. Unfortunately you don’t have a double vanity, so most of the time is spent hip-checking each other out of the way and playfully trash talking around toothbrushes and Carter accidentally spitting toothpaste on your hand. Which isn’t unfortunate at all, really, because it’s lighthearted and domestic and fun. Plus, the limited space means he has to stay close by your side, radiating heat better than any furnace and casually brushing against you here and there. Or at least he has an excuse to. So he’ll bump your hips together to push you out of the way, even though he doesn’t really need the sink at the moment, a foamy grin on his face; then casually brush your shoulders together ten seconds later, smile gone gentle and fond. When you two had first started dating, every touch would feel thrillingly electric; now it just feels warm and safe. You’d take more than some spitty toothpaste to the hand for this.

“We’re supposed to be calming down, not getting riled up,” you scold him as you continue to harass each other, but you’re smiling too much to really sound peeved. Carter puts one hand on your waist-- thumb stretching upward enough to be suggestive-- and cups your jaw with the other, and you just cleaned that, come on.

“Oh, I’ll rile you up,” he purrs, shuffling further into your space and stroking his thumb along your ribcage. His tone makes something twist in your stomach, his usually light eyes dark and his gaze heavy when you meet it. Maybe dating the most gorgeous man in the world has some downsides. Like him seducing you in the bathroom when you literally just washed up.

“You’re such a fuck boy,” you force out, reaching up to playfully push him away by the face.

“Hey!” he objects, though he does step back and remove his hands, “I’m a himbo, if anything!” No matter how much you regret teaching him that word, it’s still funny as fuck to hear, and you break out laughing. He laughs with you for a minute, and you’re basically doubled over with it as he weakly attempts to assert that “it’s not funny, I’m serious” around giggles. Once you can finally breathe again and have wiped the tears from your eyes, he steps back into your space to press a kiss to your lips, lingering for a few breathless moments. Finally, he exhales, minty-fresh air fanning over your lips. You let out the breath you were holding too, lips tingling, temptation building as you open your eyes and take in the look of raw want on his face.

Just as you’re about to succumb to the pull in your stomach, he moves away. Tease. Well, not really, ‘cause you had rebuffed his advances already, so he was really just respecting your boundaries. But he didn’t have to be so goddamn sexy all the time, okay? Hell, when you first met, you’d thought he was just an adorable little sweetheart, not anticipating how he could apparently flip a switch to become the most alluring (beguiling, tempting, bewitching, captivating…) man you’d ever encountered. So of course, 99% of his charm was being cute and lovable; except when he had you (at least mostly) alone and turned into a fucking incubus. Or maybe you’re a little biased, what with being in love with him, and all. Anyway.

Back in the bedroom proper, you change into your usual sleepwear, taking a bit longer than you would when you lived alone with how much time you’re spending blatantly staring at Carter. Hey, he’s your boyfriend, you’re allowed to appreciate him, okay? And you’re totally allowed to stare at his ass in those tight boxer-briefs as he leads the way through to the living room. Dating privileges.

It’s routine now, to go make a cup of tea before returning and curling up in your chair to continue reading your latest book. Meanwhile, Carter stretches out on the couch with his phone and laptop, checking out whatever videos or memos the team and staff have suggested (or “suggested”) and skimming any new stats. Everyone says you shouldn’t look at any type of screen before bed, but it never seems to keep him from falling asleep, so you don’t bother him about it.

You’d almost forgotten about Harri until she jumps into your lap, curling up in a position that can’t be comfortable, purring despite it. She purrs like a motorboat, vibrating against your legs and making enough noise to distract you from reading. Luckily for her, it’s cute rather than annoying. You scratch behind her ears and down her spine, in response to which she somehow manages to purr even louder. When you look up, Carter has shifted so he can watch you, a small smile on his face.

“What?” you ask, catching his contagious smile. He just smiles wider.

“We should get a pet,” he says. It’s kind of a big deal.

Living together is one thing; you can always move out if things go south, no harm no foul. But bringing a living being into the situation is a serious commitment, and you both knew it. Saying you should get a pet together is saying he sees a future with you, and is sure enough about it that he’s willing to bet another life on it.

“So I can take care of it and you get to be the cool dad who gives it treats whenever you’re home?” you ask, mostly rhetorically. He knows you’re okay with being the primary caretaker, you knew that would be the case going into this relationship, and you don’t begrudge him the limitations of his job. The question has always been whether he could handle being away from a pet as often as he has to. If he could handle not having a straight month home outside the summer, coming home from a game exhausted and still needing to be an involved pet parent, potentially missing milestones, not being there for first steps or words or-- okay, maybe getting a pet is really just a way of preparing for a child. Maybe the two of you have discussed that a pet would be the next step, and this is him saying he’s ready for a trial run, and though you’ve always been the one who’s ready to commit, you’re maybe a little more nervous than you’ve let on.

“Y/N,” he says, shifting again so he’s sitting upright facing you, looking you dead in the eye, “I’m ready to be the best dad I can. If you’re not ready-- for a pet-- that’s okay.” He’s so sincere, brows furrowed and mouth turned in a half-smile, “We can wait, if that’s what you need. I’ll wait as long as you need.” You’re not sure how to respond to such consideration, not sure how to process the fact that you’re not afraid when he stands and walks toward you, that you feel safe even as he looms above you because it’s Carter and you know he’d never hurt you. Not like “know”, where you try to convince yourself he wouldn’t but can’t quite get there, but actually know, 100%, that he wouldn’t. And not only that he wouldn’t hurt you, but that he’ll actually protect you, and care for you, and keep you safe. That you’re not on your own anymore. It’s nice.

“But,” he says, carefully kneeling in front of your chair and giving Harri a pet before continuing, “I’m ready when you are.” Okay. That’s. This is. Okay.

Maybe you’re not ready. But maybe you’ll never be ready. Maybe no one is ever ready to get a pet or have kids or commit wholly to another person. But maybe you just have to do it. It’s never the right time, but if there’s no perfect moment, that means it’s always the perfect moment. You can make it the right time. You want to.

“Dog or cat?” you ask, letting a smile break out on your face in tandem with his. He kneels up and leans over Harri to kiss you, slow and sweet but still distinctly excited. You’re really going to do this.

You debate the merits of Cat vs. Dog for a bit, before returning to your respective reading. Around 10:30, you return your book to the table and nudge Harri off of you, ruffling Carter’s hair as you pass by into the kitchen to get a glass of water. On your way back through to the bedroom, you haul him off the couch despite his protests and pull him along to bed. One of the unsung benefits of dating a millionaire athlete? He insisted on a bed that might actually be made of magic and fairy tears. Something far out of your solo price range.

The both of you plug in your phones and double-check your alarms for tomorrow morning, checking any last messages and shooting out any final responses. You climb into bed first, lying on your back just a smidge right from the middle. Carter follows, crawling under the covers to curl up against your left side. His head is a solid weight on your chest and he whines when you reach over to cut off the lamp on the bedside table. If he doesn’t want to be jostled, he should learn to wait before cuddling.

You settle back into place, running your fingers through his hair to placate him. He just burrows in even closer, plastering your bodies together with a leg slung over your hip and arm around your waist. His hair is soft against your skin, smooth as it passes through your fingers. When you scratch his scalp a bit, he hums in contentment. Despite being so big, he always makes himself small here, like he spends so much time having to be a wall that he simply crumbles when he’s around you.

After an indeterminate amount of time, he wiggles against you, nudging his head against your hand. It had stilled against his scalp a while ago, but now you resume scratching and stroking. His pleased hum warms you through and through, making something in your chest swell happily. After what can be no more than thirty seconds, he follows the hum with an indignant noise that you’re not quite sure how to explain, but definitely understand. You sigh.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, taking another deep breath. He always loves when you do this; god only knows why. It always makes you feel vaguely embarrassed but mostly appreciated, and you’re not sure why you always put up this token resistance, but that’s the way it goes. Honestly, it’s probably out of simple habit at this point. Maybe a little bit because you were raised to be a tad too humble, and this feels show-off-ish, despite being a performance for an audience of one.

Another intent inhale, and you start to sing. Carter never cares what you sing, he just likes to hear your voice as he falls asleep sometimes. Occasionally, he’ll have a request, if he’s gotten obsessed with a new song. Once in a while, usually after a tough loss or a hard day, he’ll ask you to sing something comforting (usually a few somethings comforting, since it tends to be more difficult for him to fall asleep those days). Tonight he just wants to hear you, to know you’re there with him, to know you love him enough to sing contrary to your reservations just because it makes him happy. Tonight, you want him to know how you love him so much more than that, so much more than you can express in word or deed, to know that you’re ready when he is.

Gin Wigmore isn’t exactly known for love songs, but she really hit it out of the park with Don’t Stop, as far as you’re concerned. You’re doing a softer rendition, not bothering to attempt her signature rasp, letting the words almost run together rather than cutting them harshly like her. It’s more a serenade than anything, something rounded and smooth to help the both of you sleep. You could do this forever, you think; spend every evening of the rest of your life with Carter, eating and talking and bumping hips at the sink and falling asleep surrounded by the warmth of his body. You want to do this forever. To be the one he comes home to and for that to be a good thing. As his breathing evens out to the sound of your voice and his fingertips go lax against your ribcage, you’re starting to think you just might get it.

#carter hart imagine #nhl imagines #RI #andis coping mechanism #chart

185 notes · View notes

miladrealestate02 · 3 years

Text

Re-funneling and Preference to Copper Material

Miladrealestate is the top platform where menlo park ca homes for sale. We provide houses, condos, land, and foreclosure properties. Visit our website for more information.

Frequently you lease or purchase another convenience while you are uninformed of the pipes status or the vast majority really don't accept it as a significant viewpoint to take a gander at prior to purchasing or leasing a spot. These are the very reasons why individuals face various pipes issues after wards. These issues emerge with old homes or workplaces especially.

Lines are one of the serious issues that are whined about. On the off chance that you are searching for reasonable Menlo Park plumbing administrations, Quick Plumbing is your kin. They have specialists to manage channeling of the whole house or office. Their group will assess the whole region, give you a report, a financial plan and afterward they will begin working around the region. Their guarantee is to convey the best outcomes at all measure of time. They never charge over the top and love their work. Re-channeling is basic in the event that you have moved into another house, on the off chance that you face spillages, on the off chance that you see the indications of breaks or when your home is getting old. It is appropriately said that anticipation is superior to fix. In this way, what have you been hanging tight for, call them right now for investigation.

Indeed, even you are not confronting an issue with pipes; it is consistently a smart thought to have them examined before the circumstance deteriorates. Snappy pipes has the most exceptional instrument to give you the specific state of the lines. Regardless of whether you haven't moved to another spot, the bygone one in every case should be inspected occasionally.

Menlo Park plumbing is definitely not an exceptionally troublesome errand on the off chance that you have specific individuals at your administration. There are numerous indications of spillage that can be effortlessly distinguished and griped about. In the event that you see them around any piece of the house, harms can deteriorate in the event that you don't call an expert organization right away. Brisk Plumbing reacts to demands quick and gives you the best outcomes prior to thing can't be rescued by any stretch of the imagination.

They have insight in managing various types of premises and re-funneling them expertly. In the event that you likewise need the best administrations in the business, call them at this moment. They will educate you concerning the things that you ought to do before the specialists show up so the issue doesn't influence you or your relatives in any capacity.

Copper is the best material for long haul results from pipes. Peruse the input and get certain about the organization completely prior to ringing them.

Looking for the best menlo park real estate agents? Miladrealestate will be the best option for you to choose as we provide homes, condos, land, and foreclosure properties at reasonable rates. For further details, visit our website.

Source of URL: - https://sites.google.com/view/miladrealestate011/home

For more info:- house for sale in Menlo Park ca

real estate listings Menlo Park

1 note · View note

absintheum · 3 years

Text

double combo meal - kookii + rhyzaa

The smell of vanilla has been lingering in the kitchen of you hive for as long as you can remember. You had built a routine centered around keeping it that way, replenishing the grubwax in the melting pot three times every night, supplying the oil as necessary to keep it strong enough to mask the odour of the city without making you sick. It reminded you of rot, of stale saltwater, of all the things that ended with the spillage of blood. In one word, it reeked of what you should have been biologically wired to not pay any attention to, or seek out, with the exception that whatever genes had combined in your DNA, may have decided to do so with the sole scope to wire you like this on purpose, out of petty spite.

You had almost forgotten how it felt, but the back of your mind had turned it into the troll babadook, knocking from the basement door of your thinkpan, and just like troll Babadook, you had to learn to live with it, with specially made paint and various perfumes that wouldn’t let go of the fabrics of your wardrobe and the occasional elixirberry jelly lip moisturizer.

The city wasn’t the worst thing to plague your nose, however. As you grew older and closer to your ninth sweep of age, you had almost mastered the art of not letting yourself get sick from it anymore. You knew where to avoid setting foot in and where to pass, until you could map safe path after safe path.

The hardest part of the week was church day. The day in which you had to willingly walk to a place that you’d begged your lusus to let you skip attendance in your wrigglerhood. It never worked, but you knew better than to let other churchgoers see your displeased expression.

It wasn’t the incense nor the wicked elixir that did it for you. It was what they covered that felt like being punched in the gut, like covering spoiled meat in fake sugar and setting it on fire, before covering it with more fake sugar. It was the acrid smell of idolatry. The metallic one of the splatters that wouldn’t stop reeking, no matter how dry or old they were. The sour one of the bloodthirst that plagued those who had stopped sleeping in their cocoons’ slime, whose minds were beginning to wear under the nightmares. The sickly sweetness of the pixie stix that mixed in, to literally sugarcoat the reality of each and every terrible act that took place there.

Then there was a pungently acidic one, of disbelief and skepticism. It came from you. The worst one that you’d learnt to memorise. You were aware. You could see beyond what was fed to you in clowntechism, you could feel there was more to the reason your caste was always so heavily influenced by the cult built around the Mirthful Messiahs. You knew,stubborn in your conviction, but couldn’t say a word.

Church had become your still tragedy in three acts, the first one opened with the entrance, It was the click of your heels as you walked to the altar that ticked like seconds on a clock, timing the moment in which you knew you had to breathe with your mouth that signaled the beginning of the second. The handfuls of fairy dust thrown signaled the intermissions, in which you could breathe normally. The communion was the climax of the third act, before the closing of the third.

A violent, bloody climax, in which the frenzy of “whoop whoop” and discordant honks would rise as the offering met its fate. Sometimes, you had made the mistake of standing too close and the blood had sprayed on you, drenching you in the very thing you despise. It was akin to walking out of the hive with a new outfit, only to have it ruined by a shower of mud from the side of the road from a scuttlebuggy driven by someone who handled the thing like they had stolen it.

It was infuriating, but best to swallow the croackbeast, lest you end up there in the next ceremony. You have too much to do to die so soon. There was comfort in knowing the script, however. You could count the second backwards, making the right movements, honks and expressions when needed before leaving for another week. Improv, however, you handled badly.

It was rare, but the occasional overzealousness of the moment would lead the slime-starved churchgoers into a frenzy that would end with a few smashed skulls and disembodied limbs. Such a scenario could be avoided if you were either a speedy runner, or strong enough to fight back before running to safety and letting the rest handle it, or strong enough to actually take down the opponent.

While usually you’d run, today you had been too slow.

You weren’t sure if you had been hit before or after you’d tripped on a torn limb and fell on the body that was missing it. It was still oozing blood in a shade that was a little too close to your own, it had stuck to the white of your hair and you were already dreading the following seconds. In the second it took you to regain consciousness of your surroundings, you were already being shadowed by a figure whom seemed to have been the firestarter of the chaos. In that moment, as your already cold blood froze in your veins, an old survival instinct awoke and sprung into action. May the Messiahs you doubted in so much forgive you, but you can’t blame a clown for wanting to live.

The minds of fellow clowns were already resistant to their fellows’ psychic control, but clowns who wouldn’t rest in sopor had thinning mind walls. Using one’s chucklevoodoos would be easy on them, but there was a small chance that the intruder would carry on a trace of their crazed fellow’s zealousness into their own mind. It was rare, but something to take into account, unless you were moments away from confirming or debunking completely your theories on the clown faith.

Your eyes flash and you break into the wet paper of your assalitor’s skull with little effort. The smell you dread so much grows stronger, the psychic link makes pinching your nose useless. At the limit of your patience and frustration, you hit a mental button to release psychic energy and spare yourself another hit, paying it back to your attacker. You hear their cheekbone cracking under their fist, over and over, in a gruesomely comical scene of “stop hitting yourself”. It feels like it lasts hours until you feel the link getting weaker and weaker, until it breaks. Whether the guy has just lost consciousness or embarked on a one way ticket to the Carnival, you don’t know for sure, nor want to know. Right now, all you know is nausea.

You struggle back to your feet, the blood that stained your face, hair and clothes makes it hard for you to breathe without inhaling what plagues you. A look confirms the emptiness of the church, save for a few others who, like you, hadn’t been lucky or fast enough.

The sugary and metallic scents made your stomach turn in queasiness. You dreaded coming home and staining the floor, but you were in absolute need for a shower, clean clothes and a fresh layer of paint.

The way home felt almost eternal.

You sat in the ablution trap, setting the water on as hot as it would get and scrubbing away at every patch of encrusted blood from yourself, hoping that if you could completely erase them from your skin, it would be as if it had never happened. You came to find that you’d be disappointed from looking at what seemed like the early stage of bruises where you had fallen and were hit. The light purple under your skin ached to the touch. It took you three cycles of washing to deem yourself clean enough and free of the scent of frenzy, and by the end of it, the tip of your digits were starting to wrinkle from the moisture.

Ignoring your lusus’ knocks at the door of your respiteblock, you set alight the melting pot and watched the fruit-scented grubwax melt dissolve. You decided to ignore everything and slip in the comfort of plush and soft blankets of your makeshift cocoon, leaving outside only your head and your hands to hold your palmhusk, deciding to reply to the unanswered and unread text messages in a second moment and opting instead to watch mindlessly whatever the algorithm of grubtube had deemed worthy of your entertainment.

You couldn’t be bothered to check how long you have stayed there. You can hardly be bothered to answer a high-priority text from your matesprit. You’d informed here that today was a church day and you’d never want her worried. It wasn’t as if you’d risked getting a free skull crashing just this morning. Still, you knew that not answering was going to just result in more pressing texts, so you decided to take the male moobeast by the horns.

saccharinePierrot [SP] is juggling hearts to forensicCasefiler [FC]

SP: -x-0hello -x-0there my -x-0reddest red heart SP: -x-0what is the -x-0subject -x-0of today’s lovingly -x-0crafted -x-0conversation of which i -x-0am already -x-0aware of FC: are y0-0u alright? FC: y0-0u haven’t said a w0-0rd since service was supp0-0sed t0-0 start, and i deduce it is 0-0ver and has been f0-0r s0-0me time n0-0w FC: i d0-0 n0-0t kn0-0w h0-0w t0-0 be m0-0re e><plicit than this FC: i was w0-0rried ab0-0ut y0-0 SP: -x-0why -x-0yes, -x-0i am fully -x-0operational and -x-0functional and -x-0in great -x-0spirit, very -x-0very glad -x-0to be -x-0so FC: d0-0 y0-0u need t0-0 talk? SP: -x-0yes

The thought of lying through your teeth did cross your mind, but it was an unwise choice. Your matesprit, Rhyzaa, had been trained in the legislacerative arts of forensic examination and minored in detecting lies of people who were way better at lying than you. You were like a transparent piece of polymeric product in her specs. You supposed it wouldn’t hurt, it would almost be like a real feels jam, in person and all.

FC: i’ll get in a pile, 0-0ne sec

Damn, she was good. You snapped a quick picture while doing a sideways peace sign. You wouldn’t miss a chance to do some comedy and captioned it with a “ -x-0you -x-0know a clown -x-0too -x-0well “

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

You stare at the screen, unsure of what to respond to the newly received snapshot. If they were already cocooning, it sure wasn’t because they were taking their sleep schedule into account. You kept a plush cocoon just for these occasions, all you had to do was just to kick back, take off your specs and postpone a nail appointment. Maybe it would be a good idea to book a double one, as a self-care date. In the giant wall of post-its that lived in your mind, the nail appointment reminder appeared.

FC: all piled up, whenever y0-0u are ready

Your matesprit doesn’t waste a second and starts typing away, for quite a few minutes. In fact, you’ve considered getting up to grab some water, but decided against it. You don’t have the heart to be late to a bad day talk. You did spend the better of a few minutes reading through the messy texts, trying to piece together the happenings of your partner’s morning. An especially rough day, indeed.

FC: w0-0w, y0-0u managed t0-0 take d0-0wn that dude all by y0-0urself?? FC: that’s quite a feat! SP:-x-0your -x-0awe is -x-0understandable, -x-0my -x-0dearest. -x-0but -x-0yours truly -x-0feels that they -x-0have -x-0reached the -x-0bottom of the -x-0waterwell SP: -x-0what a turn of -x-0events, a -x-0clown who -x-0despised -x-0their -x-0predispositional mirthful -x-0destiny is the -x-0same clown -x-0to grow -x-0weary at the -x-0thought of -x-0clowning SP: -x-0hark, -x-0the writers -x-0are -x-0already banging -x-0at the -x-0door! -x-0offering -x-0life and -x-0limb for -x-0the -x-0rights to the -x-0story FC: you are the last h0-0rned walking creature t0-0 turn 0-0ut t0-0 be a sell0-0ut FC: but FC: y0-0u are als0-0 the 0-0nly h0-0rned walking creature t0-0 be able t0-0 rec0-0gnise the reality of y0-0ur acti0-0ns and see them as y0-0urs truly, rather than s0-0me0-0ne’s divine wish 0-0r will FC: n0-0thing can compare t0-0 that FC: and y0-0u know that you w0-0uld never let yourself be turned int0-0 wh0-0 let their screws get l0-00-0se FC: have y0-0urself a slime mask, y0-0u deserve it

You really hope you are saying the right words. You have read several papers about similar situations: it used to be, apparently, a common practice for some sub-sectors of the clown church, to advise practitioners to deprive themselves of the sopor slime’s soothing effects. The property damage fees are something that a past heiress decided was something she didn’t want to have anything to hear about and outright attempted to ban the practice.

You were actually writing your thesis on a similar topic, but as your thesis’ title would take longer to type than it has to have a proper conversation with someone, you would rather not mention it by specific name.

A purple text bubble flashes briefly before displaying a kissy clown emoji, followed by a simple text.

SP: -x-0you always know -x-0what say to -x-0validate me, and -x-0that is -x-0deeply -x-0appreciated SP: -x-0but, -x-0moving onto more -x-0pleasant -x-0views SP: -x-0how is the -x-0most -x-0successful -x-0soon-to-be -x-0exam committee -x-0member on -x-0this lovely day?

You pause for a moment. Do you want to subject your red quadrant to an in-detail explanation of your classes and homework, or should you make an introductory powerknifepoint? You decide to spare the juridic details, but nonetheless, leave them with a reasonable explanation of your scholarly activities. It’s a great thing that they love your ramblings, you could go on as long as you have breath, but your schedule doesn’t allow for that.

SP: -x-0wonderful, while i may not -x-0be -x-0well -x-0versed in your -x-0field SP: -x-0i do -x-0love to -x-0see it-x-0grow and -x-0flourish SP: -x-0you’ll -x-0do -x-0great, -x-0i’m -x-0sure

You and Kookii were lucky to have each other, especially coming from relationships that enjoyed crumbling like a stale.. heh.. cookie.. in a glass of moobeast juice. They had that pitch affair with that jade they wouldn’t talk about, and you didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. Your moirail disappeared into thin air. You knew she didn’t die, asyou received the occasional letter, hidden below the hive’s entrance mat and knew that calligraphy far too well and cast doubts aside. You even went so far to violate protocol and ask one of your colleagues to supervise and determine whether this was a forcefully pretty handwriting or less. You were relieved to know that it didn’t show signs of the writer being stressed, but it kept gnawing at you from the inside.

No matter how hard and where any lead brought you, eventually you were back at square one. Nobody around you could tell you anything useful or relevant and your options had ran dry. Then came Kookii. They seemed to be able to take away that gnawing feeling, that knot in your stomach that wouldn’t otherwise untie itself. You missed her so much, but eventually, you figured that you couldn’t let it consume your entire being. So you stopped looking. You could only hope she was ok. There was so much you wanted to tell her, but all you could do was wait and see if fate, the universe or whoever was pulling at the strings, decided to take pity on you and allow you to see her again, one last time, before departing to outer space. As it ws a matter of fact, you were glad you had this clown in your life. They were an oddity that you’d have never guessed could be real, but you were also delighted to find that their oddity was almost exceptional. You two just started clicking and chirping and never stopped for the better half of the sweep, and didn’t have any plans to stop. Your plans were mostly composed of your busy schedule that always had room for your perigreal nails appointment and weekly date night. You had always done your field work right, that allowed you to pick a career path that would lead you to a high rank among the other legislacerators, if you played your cards right.

This was a game of troll poker played with different uno cards editions for everyone, but you knew the rules very well. And nobody played troll uno-poker like you could while still being troll osha compliant, dashing and with perfect nails.

You wanted to do great things, even if your self-awareness manifested itself in the knowledge that the path ahead wasn’t going to be either a cakewalk, nor a choice that depended on you entirely, despite what the propaganda taught you. You wouldn’t buy it, but you, too, knew better than to run your mouth without thinking. The legal business is cutthroat and it wasn’t uncommon to hear of the passing of others who shared your ideas, but not your common sense. That meant that the common goal among a good part of the less imperialistic of your colleagues was going to be harder to achieve. It was dreadful, to think that you’d be left completely alone by the time of your ordeals.

It was dreadful, but it was still not time to fixate on those. You’d have time to dread later, all you wanted to do now was to make a good memory of your time with your favourite clown.

FC: y0-0u’re the best <3 FC: are y0-0u feeling better?

You replied simply and smiled at Kookii’s positive answer. It made you feel fuzzy inside, in an almost childish fashion. You absolutely loved it and wouldn’t give up these moments for all the success on the planet and off planet. Your flush partner’s texts kept coming, this time lightening the mood with a string of gifs picturing juvenile purrbeasts and hopbeasts being the cutest little things to ever exist. Just your favourite way to destress and feel good about the current state of things, accompanied by their cheerful sprechgesang. It was a little slice of paradise that made the rest worth.

You were thinking about putting the cherry on top and getting yourself a slime mask as well, when you heard your doorbug chirp. You put your sweetheart on hold for the moment it took you to get out of the pile and dash to the door, opening it with hope in your eyes. You died a little bit when you couldn’t catch a glimpse of anyone nearby, but picked up the letter deposited on your greeting mat nonetheless.

There was something in your heart that screamed at you to open it.

#nanowrimo #ddp's fantroll corner #the office meme of parkour expresses how i felt

2 notes · View notes

herondaleholly31 · 5 years

Text

“Watch it Fred.” Ben Hardy!Roger Taylor X Reader

Side note:It should be illegal to look that good I’m SORRY

Overview: You go to A party at Freddie Mercury’s house with your boyfriend Roger, and things gets heated in more ways than one.

AN: Iya lovesss! I wanted to write an imagine based of this scene in BR as it was one of my favorites, although that might have been because Ben Hardy being protective is everything I needed in my life. I hope you guys enjoy!

Like and Reblog!

Word count;1400(ish)

It was a party like you’d never seen before. The house, normally so clean and empty except for Cats and Freddie’s piano, was now full of exotically dressed people that you’d never seen before. Women with sparkles adorned on their bare chests and heads, men wearing brightly colored top hats and Stage makeup, their eyes popping with excitement. The place was already a mess of streamers, empty glasses and spillages of colors that made you instinctively avoid them. As you walked in, a waiter offered you a drink. It tasted strong and expensive, but you downed it not wanting to seem rude. The sound was so dense against your ears you didn’t hear anyone talking to you until someone spoke low in your ear “fancy exploring?”

Roger Taylor’s White jacket and shoulder length blonde hair seemed to shine in the low lighting of the hundreds of fairy lights. His blue irises had darkened with attraction as he pulled you close. His cologne was intoxicating and gorgeous; it made you weak at the knees. You leaned into him, playing with his collar “and why would we do that?”

“So, we could finish what we started earlier,” His voice graveled slightly as he lent down and brushed his lips over the soft spot on your neck where the hickey he left earlier was covered by makeup. A chill of euphoria shot over your skin. He smiled knowingly. For a moment the pair of you forgot that you were stood in the lobby filled with hundreds of people, all of whom recognized the drummer. His finger pads stroked down your back as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You desperately wanted the pair of you to go into a dark corner so you could explore each other, and judging by Rogers heightened breathing he was thinking the same.

“Roger you’ve been here for five minutes, can you PLEASE refrain from ripping Y/N clothes off until we say Hi to Freddie?”

Brian, Deaky and their wives were all watching with varying expressions of embarrassment, humor and annoyance. You laughed; Roger uttered a whine of frustration.

“C’mon” you untangled yourself and held out your hand “let’s go find Freddie.”

“But- “

“We’ll finish this later.”

“You promise?” Roger smiled.

You winked “I promise.” Biting his lip Roger took your hand and followed you. Your group of six squeezed through the swelling crowd as you went from room to room. You were followed by yells of recognition, screams of excitement and calls of devotion to the band mates of Queen. A lot of girls particularly screamed for Roger. As always, he was polite and laughed off their drunken advances, but when he could he would smile at you reassuringly and never he never let go of your hand.

Eventually you reached what Freddie liked to call his “entertainment room” where beautifully stitched sofas and marble counter-topped coffee tables huddled around in a circle in the center of the room. These were covered with haphazard trays of finger foods and abandoned half drank glasses of champagne. The carelessness of wealth seemed odd in a room where so many times you’d spent time with your friends, playing cards and cuddling Freddie’s cats. It was alien, and totally unlike Freddie, and the look on Rogers face matched the same look of surprise.

Standing on the largest table In the center of the room was the host, Freddie Mercury. He was dressed, naturally, as a Queen. A bejeweled crown sat on his messy curls, his chest bare underneath the matching velvet jacket also adorned with jewels and Patches. When he saw you, his face broke into his iconic wide smile.

“Look who’s late now Darlings!” He jumped down and embraced his fellow band mates, kissing the wives on the cheek and then coming up to you last. “I can see that Mary helped you with your outfit choice,” he smiled at your off the shoulder red body con dress and black belt that synced your waist in “you look ravishing.”

“Thank you, Fred!” You smiled, kissing him on the cheek. He passed you another drink and offered you an open seat. You went to sit, but Roger gently pulled you onto his lap; shuffling his legs so you rested comfortably against his chest. Your temples gently knocked his shoulder as you cuddled into him.

“What’s with the party Fred?” Roger asked.

Freddie shrugged “I wanted to cause a mess, something as wild and eccentric as me.”

“Well you’ve achieved that,” Deaky said as he watched a man walking on his hands juggle empty champagne bottles with his feet to wild cheers from the audience.

“Fabulous isn’t it?”

“If you say so.” Brian laughed. Just then Paul appeared, smiling with his flashy grin. No one smiled back. You felt Rogers chest rise more as he bristled with annoyance. You rubbed the side of his leg trying to keep him calm, but to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid you didn’t get up to move to greet Paul like Freddie did.

“Everyone enjoying the party?” Paul’s Irish Lilt slurred slightly as he filled up Freddie’s glass. Roger offered his glass to be filled, but Paul didn’t fill it. Instead he moved so he was closer to Freddie, his eyes shining with glee.

“You’re starting to look like each other” Brian pointed to the matching mustaches.

“What’s wrong with that Brian?” Paul asked, but his gaze had hardened. Unperturbed, Brian’s tone had a slight bite

“You’re supposed to be in a rock band Freddie.”

Freddie ignored him. He was too busy listening to the music blasting from the other room.

“Come on! Let’s dance.”

“I don’t dance” Brian said. The conversation muddled in a chorus of story-telling of Brian’s dancing, but you noticed that Roger wasn’t speaking. You lent closer to him so your conversation couldn’t be over heard “you alright love?”

“He’s really pissing me off,” Roger scowled. You didn’t need to ask who he was.

“Take my drink,” you offered your glass “I’m not feeling it right now.”

“You okay?” Rogers eyes flashed with worry “we can leave if you want.”

You shook your head “I just don’t like being around Paul too much that’s all. You know I think he’s a creep.”

It was instinctive for Roger to tighten his hold on you, wanting you to feel safer.He played with the hem of your dress, “Want to go do that exploring instead?”

You giggled “is that all you’re thinking off?”

“It doesn’t help that you’re sat on me,” Roger winked “all I can think about is you.”

The conversation was starting to get louder, so now was the time to sneak away. Wriggling to stand you grabbed Rogers hand once more and pulled him up.

“We’re gonna go actually” Roger called as he went to drag you away, but Freddie blocked him.

“Roger don’t be dull-if you were anymore dull you’d be Deaky.”

“What you complaining at?” Roger frowned “You’ve got your little pet.” He shot a dark look at Paul, who’d slid over to listen in. There was something about him that caused you to grip onto Rogers hand harder, and this caused Roger to hate him even more.

There was a shift in Freddie’s jubilant facade. He now looked hurt, almost irritated. “I have, and he’s loyal. Loyalty is so important,” he turned to look at you “wouldn’t you say Y/N?”

“Careful Fred,” Roger Warned. His tone didn’t change, but his free hand had curled into a fist. He’d also pulled you in a bit closer, shielding you with his body from Paul, who wasn’t attempting to hide the joy in his face as he watched the two friends fight. You tugged Rogers hand and he pushed past Freddie, still keeping you close. You were able to thank Freddie for the party before they were lost in the crowd, and so you just concentrated on the mess of blonde hair that guided you up the stairs to the top floor landing. As you’d climbed up the stairs the groups of people had dwindled until it was just the occasional couple kissing on the stairs or someone snoring loudly in a drunken mess.

Roger pulled you so the two of you were in shadow, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry Fred said that” he said. “It’s the drugs. He doesn’t mean it.”

“I know,” you nodded. You both stood there, breathing in a second and allowing your ears to get used to lack of noise pressure.

“Your makeup’s smudged,” Roger smiled, gently swiping a thumb back over on the patch on your neck. The bruise blossomed on your skin. Once again Rogers eyes darkened. He leaned in and locked his lips with yours, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Roger hummed softly against your lips as he pressed every inch of his body against yours. You leaned Into him, your hair tangling with his as you two become more and more out of control. When he breaks the kiss Rogers hands were shaking with desire as he cupped your face. “I think there’s a room over there.”

You raised your eyebrows “aren’t you wanting to go home to do it?”

“I can’t wait that long,” he sighed, and he started to gently push until your back was to the door. You fiddled for the Door knob and cried with soft delight when it opened. Not even looking to see if it was empty. you pulled Roger into the darkness, enjoying the way his lips felt against your neck as you picked up where you left it off.

#ben hardy #ben #ben hardy imagine #hardy #imagine #roger #roger taylor #queen band #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rapsody movie #taylor x reader #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x oc #oc #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor x you #fluff

389 notes · View notes

joyfulwizardbirdwithinbyron-blog · 4 years

Text

Tips For A Perfectly Organized Makeup

Cosmetics is significant for your day by day use just as for uncommon occasions. For straightforward entry of the cosmetics, you ought to consistently keep it efficient and in an area that is anything but difficult to see. A few people have a lot of cosmetics however due to their method of keeping, they end up failing to use every last bit of it. At the point when you keep your assortment composed, you are going to discover what you are searching for at whatever point you need or need it. Coming up next are the 5 stages to an ideal sorted out assortment of cosmetics.

Cosmetics Storage Area Should Give Priority to Your Daily Wear

While putting away your cosmetics, you should require some serious energy, locate an enormous zone that you can spread all your cosmetics and afterward experience it to figure out what you wear on a regular schedule and what you don't. Cosmetics that you utilize each day ought to be put away at a nearby and effectively open spot contrasted with that utilized uniquely for extraordinary occasions. Assemble the cosmetics into heaps as indicated by the recurrence of their utilization.

Cosmetics Storage Piles

While making cosmetics stockpiling heaps, you can, for example, have a heap for everyday wear that comprises of the cosmetics with the fundamental hues that coordinate practically any clothing you put on with the organizing lipstick. Try to keep it basic. You could likewise have a heap of the cosmetics you use for healthy skin. This will incorporate things, for example, lotions, sunscreens, cosmetics removers, serums, and skin inflammation medicines. Q-tips and cotton balls can likewise be incorporated among the healthy skin items. Cosmetics evacuation might be fundamental on everyday schedule particularly in the event that you travel a lot, you are a games individual or you simply don't care for being shrouded in cosmetics throughout the day. To spare cosmetics extra room, buy a bundle of pre-saturated cleaning garments to assist you with cosmetics expulsion.

Another cosmetics stockpiling heap you can make for simple entry is the one that contains cosmetics that you just use for exceptional occasions. This assortment will incorporate the cosmetics that you purchased to coordinate just exceptional sorts of outfits, sensational hues, bogus eyelashes, wild hues like those utilized for Halloween, gleam powder that you can wear when going to clubs and whatever other cosmetics that you wear rarely. You may likewise make a heap for occasional cosmetics. On the off chance that you are the sort of individual that tans, your skin tone is probably going to fluctuate from season to season. You can in this manner have diverse establishments just as powder shades to use during mid-year. Darker summer shades of cosmetics may likewise be significant in the event that you tan during summers.

Anything That Is Old, Broken or Causes Irritation Should Not Take Up Makeup Storage Space

When testing your cosmetics for capacity, in the event that you run over one that is excessively old, make certain to arrange it with the goal that it won't occupy more room. Old cosmetics may chip off or gather microscopic organisms that will make your assortment chaotic. You along these lines need to know to what extent each cosmetics should be kept before it is arranged. Items, for example, fluid eyeliners and mascara should be arranged following three months. Eye creams, eye establishments, eye bases, cream eye shadows, and some other cream or gel-based thing that is intended to be utilized on eyes ought not to be utilized following a half year. A few items might be utilized in any event, for a year and over, so you will simply be wary about the expiry dates and arrange cosmetics that you won't use any longer to make more space.

Get Makeup Storage Bags or Kits from a Local Beauty Store

Cosmetics stockpiling sacks will assist you with storing your cosmetics in a composed and effectively available way. A decent cosmetics sack will be the one that can have the option to store all that you have. The sacks differ in the manner they are structured yet the majority of them normally have an inside divider that can be cleaned off just like a zip that can be shut to stay away from spillage. They additionally have a knitted or cushioned outside that offers additional assurance. An option in contrast to the cosmetics stockpiling sacks will be little fishing supply bags that are bit bigger, less expensive and furthermore very incredible with regards to sorting out a wide scope of cosmetics. The fishing supply containers are particularly brilliant for cosmetics implied for unique occasions since you can without much of a stretch see what is accessible. On the off chance that you don't frequently heft your cosmetics around or you, for the most part, apply it when you are at home, a bushel or cabinet will likewise be appropriate for putting away your day by day cosmetics.

1 note · View note