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bluebayousblog · 2 years

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SWEET TALK

(JOHN B. ROUTLEDGE ONE-SHOT)

This is not a full on story but if you want more I’ll be happy to add on upon request

Plot: in which John B meets a girl at a bonfire after his breakup with Sarah

Setting: S2; bonfire scene

Visuals:

Gwyneth was at a bonfire that was being thrown by some kids at her school, one that she’d came to with her friends but hadn’t seen in a while. The girl didn’t care though, she didn’t mind being by herself where she could observe everyone and sip her drink.

A curse left her lips as she swatted yet another mosquito off of her soft, brown skin. The humid air of the outer banks inhabited all kinds of mosquitoes that loved the vanilla scent she was obsessed with spritzing all over her body. She would take a million bug bites over smelling like absolutely nothing.

Her head was down as she examined the red skin on her thigh obviously not quick enough to avoid actually getting bitten this time. What she didn’t expect was to be sent flying towards the ground as if she weighed nothing, a small squeal leaving her mouth.

“Shit, I am so sorry.” A deep yet familiar voice rushed out.

Gwyn looked up to see none other than John B. Routledge with his hand extended towards her with a sorrowful look on his face. “You’re good I suppose.”

Accepting his hand, another gasp left her as he pulled her up just as easily as he’d knocked her over. This guy had a grip on him, the same grip he’d been accused of killing Sheriff Peterkin with not too long ago, but now he seemed to be a free man.

His little friend group seemed to have a lot of strange things going on that they always managed to get away with but I doubt John B, the golden boy, killed a fucking cop.

“I swear that was an accident.” He promised with urgency still in his voice, like he was trying to avoid upsetting her at all costs.

A tiny laugh left her lips at his nervous demeanor, could he not act normal around people that weren’t in his inner circle.

“Hm, well I would hope you didn’t intentionally tackle me like a full on line backer.” Gwyn joked trying to lighten the mood, successfully prompting a chuckle out of him. “Where were you in such a hurry to that you’re knocking helpless girls over like bowling pins, John B?”

“I’m actually avoiding someone who invited me here, Gwyn.” He taunted, the nerves he once had completely vanishing.

She quirked her eyebrow, slightly surprised at the use of her name from the troublesome boy. “You know my name?”

The two of them went to different schools with Gwyneth being a kook and John B a pogue. Her family didn’t make being in the higher part of society their entire personality but she also found solace where she was having a small friend group at her school.

She wasn’t an uptight priss that thought she was better than anyone, she could befriend a pogue, it just seemed like they weren’t too keen on befriending someone like her.

Which she couldn’t fault them for, the kook reputation proceeded her.

“Of course I do, JJ thinks you’re the hottest girl walking the island.” The boy informed despite his eyes continuously dropping down to glance at her body that was covered in a tight little knit dress that stopped about mid thigh.

When she caught his gaze again he didn’t falter from being caught in the act of checking the girl out, a shameless look on his features as if he was silently saying ‘can you blame me?’

“Really? What else does JJ think about me?” She asks with a suggestive tone, his eyebrows raising telling her he caught on to what exactly she was getting at.

A wave of heat washed over her as he took a step towards her figure, definitely in her personal space but not touching her at all.

“He thinks the way your body looks in anything you wear should be a fucking hazard to the whole town.” He said with a low voice at an obvious attempt to sound sexy, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t send a couple shivers down her spine.

“-Don’t let me forget how he goes on about your scent, and how every time you walk by you have the power to cause a trail of men to follow in suit.” A short laugh leaving his lips.

She watched him as he leaned into her with his eyes closed, not sure if she should be weirded out that he was in fact smelling her neck, this had been the first time they’d actually spoken to each other after all.

“Do I smell like all your favorite things?” She whispers in his ear that was now adjacent to her mouth. The hum he let out vibrated her entire body, almost making her forget what she was about to say, “Anything like Sarah, John B?”

“Oh, you’re funny for that one.” He said as he pulled away but not taking any steps back to create some distance. He ran a hand through his sun kissed hair causing his barely buttoned shirt to open up even more than it already was putting his abs on display.

The boy always looked like he’d stepped out of a sauna, his skin illuminating in the light from the fire across the way from us. “You thought I would let you sweet talk me while having a girlfriend?”

“We’re broken up, Gwyn, I’m sure it’s hot gossip at Kook Academy.” He rolled his eyes. She wasn’t sure if the disgust in his tone was directed at her or how superficial the academy is.

She chose to ignore it, figuring he was still a little sensitive from his breakup, any guy would be devastated at losing the kook princess, Sarah Cameron.

“Yeah, broken up for like two seconds.” She smirked.

Getting sick of standing there and staring at each-other, she decided to lay back against the car they were standing in front of, gazing up at the stars. “The North Star is shining brighter than usual tonight don’t you think?”

Gwyn was met with silence as she looked over to see John B gazing up at the sky with an indistinguishable look on his face, something obviously on his mind.

“Oh shit, don’t tell me that’s like you and Sarah’s star or something.” She partially joked but all amusement fell from her features as she looked over to see he was already gazing at her.

“Yeah, it was our star, now let’s stop talking about her, I’m talking to you right now.” He practically begged.

The shift in his voice at the last part making her body tingle again despite her trying to run him off. While he was definitely still trying to reel her in while still obviously being hung up on his freshly made ex-girlfriend.

“I just don’t want to get involved in any mess is all, the wound is just too fresh.” She sighs.

“So if I were to be honest with you and tell you I didn’t think it’s the end of me and her, you would reject any advances because you don’t want to get strung along, you want something sustainable with me, Gwyn?” He’d managed to flip the script on me within a second, a stupid smirk now on his face.

“No! I just don’t want to get in the way if you plan to get back together with her in a few days, fuck sustainability.” I scoff, having no idea where this was coming from. Why did all males think women had attachment issues and couldn’t fuck and dump just as easily as they did, “You two are too attractive of an couple not be crawling back to each other by next week, it’s simple science.”

To her surprise the smirk on his face grew at her words, still not deterring him whatsoever, “So you think I’m cute then?”

“-that’s the besides the point, John B.” She groaned, finding it difficult to stop the smile that was forming on her lips.

He moved from his spot beside the girl, now standing in front of her body. She didn’t like the feeling of him towering over her while she relaxed on the warm metal of the car so she propped herself up on her elbows.

“Nah, I think it’s important we establish that right now, I already told you what JJ thinks about you,” he teased, referring to him eyeing me up and masking his apparent attraction for me through his best friend, “and the only way you could get in the way was if Sarah was any where on my radar, and she isn’t the girl that’s got me feining at the moment.

“Oh, for real?”

“For real.” He answers, his legs now touching her glowing brown ones.

She hooked one of her fingers in the waist band to the board shorts he was wearing not really invading any territory and looked up at him through her lashes, “So if we were to kiss you wouldn’t run away feeling all guilty and dirty?”

“No, Gwyn, you had me sniffing you like a dog a few minutes ago for God’s sake and I’m still here.” He groaned seeming to get more impatient with the girl.

She was just fucking with him at this point, and he was catching on to it rather fast, “You having some weird scent fetish and kissing me is two completely different things, John b.”

Just as he was catching on to her games, she could read into his too, not at all shaken when his two hands dropped down beside her head, caging her beneath him, and she couldn’t bring herself to say she hated being in this position.

“I guess we’re going to have to find out, yeah?” He mumbled, leaning further into her body, their lower halves brushing the other.

His face was just a few inches above hers as he tore his eyes away from her’s to glance at her plump lips, Gwyn wetting them with her tongue off instinct. He looked back up at her silently asking for permission, “Yeah, I guess you’re right, JB.”

A moan immediately left her throat as he conjoined their lips together, John b also letting out a deep groan at the feeling of her soft pink lips against his.

Gwyn broke the kiss, pushing him off to drag them on the other side of the car since they weren’t too far from the bonfire, not that she planned on getting drunk and nasty outside with a boy she’d just met.

His lips attached themselves to her neck, trailing light kisses down her collarbone as his back hit the window, “Shit, I think I’ve got more then a scent fetish when it comes to you, Gwyn.”

His words went straight to her vagina as he whispered against her skin, not being able to take his lips off of her. “Stop trying to butter me up.”

She released a high pitched moan as she grabbed his face to pull him from her shoulder, her skin sliding from between his teeth, making her writh from the feel of it. The two stared at each other in silence, Gwyn grinding against him liking the way he struggled to not let his eyes roll to the back of his head as he looked down at her.

The boy dove down to kiss her again at the feeling of her rolling her hips against his yet again, torturing him beyond lengths while barely doing anything to him. She melted into him even more as he ran his hands up her arms to meet her hands that were resting on the sides of his face, squeezing her small ones.

A hum left her lips as she guided their hands down the sides of her body, John B pulling her even tighter against his body if that was possible. A grunt passed through his lips when she removed her hands once his had gotten to her ass, Gwyn swore she felt his dick grow against her at the feel of it.

“Are you an ass guy, John B?” She asked against his lips, his mouth falling open when he squeezed the thick flesh, wasting no time to knead it, “It’s a little more than what you’re used to, can you handle it?”

The thing growing between his legs that was pressing against her thigh spoke for itself, “Fuck, yes.” He dragged out, smacking her ass in the process.

That had her clenching in areas she hadn’t planned on stimulating tonight when she agreed to attend this party with her friends, but she wasn’t as far gone as John B, he probably didn’t even know where he was anymore.

“I’m sure you could, and maybe I would’ve let you find out if you didn’t tackle me to the ground earlier.” She says, placing her hands on his chest and pulling their mouths apart.

“You being serious, Gwyn?” He groaned, but thankfully didn’t look too pissed off. He didn’t seem like the type to force a girl into doing something she didn’t want to, otherwise she wouldn’t have let him kiss her.

“I mean yeah, we just met, what do you take me for?” I give him a toothy grin.

Her eyes struggled not to flicker to his bulge between them as his hands remained on her ass, just holding her against him. “You’re such a tease, but I think you know that already, huh?”

“John B, is that you back there?” A deep voice made us jump.

Our heads snapping to the origin to see Pope staring at our position with wide eyes, John B finally dropping his hands from the girls backside and clearing his throat as she moved away from him, “Yeah, what’s up man?”

“Um, Sarah is looking for you, her and JJ have been searching everywhere, I see you’ve been occupied though.“ shock obvious in his voice.

His friends probably had just gotten used to him being with Sarah for all this time, and now here he was with yet another kook, this guy obviously had a type.

“Dude, there you are, we thought some kook kidnapped your ass.” JJ’s voice catching our attention as he walked over with a beer in his hand and Sarah trailing behind.

He was definitely with a kook, but he was here voluntarily no matter how many time she’d tried to send him away. “Nah, JJ, Pope and I have just been over here talking with Gwyn.”

Sarah gave me a friendly smile as I gave her a small wave—I hadn’t seen her at school since everything went down with her dad—but I guess she was here to distract herself, and here I was macking on her ex-boyfriend.

And, she didn’t need to know that, partially relieved at how easily John B had lied about what he’d been doing over here and roping his poor friend into it as well.

“What’s up, Gwyn?” JJ greeted, the stars in his eyes confirming what John B had said earlier about him thinking I was hot shit was in fact true.

I could feel John B shifting beside me, that problem between his legs not being relieved whatsoever.

“I’m good JJ, your friend was just telling about your little crush.” I smirk, the said friend awkwardly clearing his throat at my words.

“That’s kind of fucked up John B, but hey I got no shame baby.” He shrugged, taking another swig of his beer, making me smile, JJ was the most likeable person to ever exist.

I gave John B one final glance before moving away from the car, hoping he’d gotten that hard-on he was sporting taken care of, the look in his eyes told me I’d landed myself right in the middle of the wake of a disastrous hurricane.

“You want to walk with me to get one of those?” I asked, gesturing towards the bottle in JJ’s hand, wanting to get away from this awkward situation.

Thank God , Kiara wasn’t over here, she definitely would’ve sensed something was up. Sarah obviously had a few drinks under her belt so she hadn’t questioned us at all.

“You drink beer? Now that’s hot.” JJ smirked before dragging me away, taking me away from the storm I’d just help create.

At least for now.

#obx jj maybank #john b routledge #john b x fem!reader #outer banks #sarah cameron #rage #rafe outer banks #pope outer banks #kiara carrera #fanfic #oneshot #john b outer banks #chase stokes #obx fandom #obx fic #obx smut

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puruh · 10 months

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⤳ @dullweapons, asked: ‹ you're not going to leave me here, are you, purah ? ( ray about to be researched / experimented on cause he looking a little too good for 100+ ) ›

"Oh, don't give me that look, darling," she pleads, though her laissez-faire demeanor hardly matches the tone. Perhaps it is by nature that she is keen to suspend her own bodily autonomy for the sake of invention, and being so open to such an idea she expects everyone has the same pragmatic understanding. Study, experimentation, all the strange acts that one takes – even those acts which go against one's instincts, one's sense of self preservation – these sacrifices & momentary discomforts beget progress, after all! To play lab rat might be unsavory in theory, she supposes; that's why she prefers the term guinea pig. Much less sinister. A kinder visual. An easier pitch, certainly.

"No one's leaving anyone. Don't think so little of me, I was being earnest when I asked Dawn to bring you here, and I am, above all, a woman of my word. [ 'above all' is a bit of an exaggeration, as discovery tends to trump ethics in most circumstances in purah's mind, but po-tay-to, po-tah-to. ] And, in fact, on the contrary, I have a good deal of questions I hope you'll be a dear and answer for me." She speaks cheerfully as she plops down just beside him, cautious to pick the stool to his left, holding a slate in hand as she begins scrawling notes. "And don't pretend to be asleep to get out of it. I know all the tricks you could dream up. – Would you be upset if I took a skin sample?" A small scalpel appears sseemingly out of thin air as she asks, crossing her legs and leaning towards him with the instrument in anticipation.

#dullweapons #'when i asked dawn' smash cut to purah giggling and twirling her hair #she has good intentions :) pinky swear ... hehe #let me know if any of this needs to be adjusted of course!#thank u for sending this in i'm excited to plot these two out >:-)

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

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Smooth as the nine realms

loki laufeyson x reader / masterlist

summary; the midguardian lifestyle is strange, but there is an aspect of it that loki is definitely not accustomed to, and he’s conflicted about whether he likes it or not / warnings; smut, talk about pubic hair, or lack of, oral sex (female receiving)

kicking off your leggings, you abolished them to the other side of the room, straddling loki as he abandoned his book, caring not that the pair of you were in the middle of the common room, nor the fact that he had lost his page. it had been a few months since loki had been forced to join the avengers on their next quest, thor had practically dragged him towards the bifrost.

but now, he didn’t mind earth so much. sometimes it could be quiet, that was when all members of the team were away on missions, and thor allowed him to be by himself. this though, the way you, an average, world protecting midguardian straddled him, after stripping out of your top and bra, in the middle of a public sector of the domain, was something that he sure as valhalla had no mind about.

in fact, he rather enjoyed the way that your hands roughed down the points of his shoulders, and trailed down his biceps, that were underrated, especially in comparison to his brother’s. the two of you had been playing a game since he attacked the planet, it was a chase of cat and mouse.

at first, he had envisioned you to be the mouse, but you no longer seemed meek and small any longer. instead, you were the feline that was cosying herself upon the perch of his royal lap, descending her grounding hips over the throne of his pelvis.

“what is it trickster, cat got your tongue?” you seemed rather confident with the way that his eyes remained glue to your mound, he realised that must have been quite a complimentary action for a mortal man to show to his partner.

to be truthful, it felt as though all speech was parched from his mouth, he had knowingly waited for this instance where you would deliberately rut yourself against him; like heimdall, he had a vision of the future delved in the reverse side of his eyes, though, his reaction was the most unexpected thing that he could had intended to paraphrase.

he trailed his hand over your mound, through the fabric of underwear, watching mercilessly as you bucked into his hand. midguardians were something else, they weren’t as sensual as others he had been with concerning their sexuality, in fact, as it appeared, some were desperate.

you were rutting in his grip, though he applied a stern hold unto them, forcing you to stop your ravenous movements, and pose stilly for the god beneath you. he gently, which was a surprise to you with how tender and kind his eyes had become, laid you down on the couch that stark has paid a pretty penny for, exchanging your positions so that you were the one under his demeanour.

“do something.” you eagerly insisted, lacing your mortal fingers through his midnight locks, tugging gently at his dark roots. a glassy encasement covered his eyes as he stared up at you, it was a mess to place the expression that was carried within them, gods were difficult, that much was clear. though, you weren’t seeking anything particularly intimate with the company of one, this had been inevitable though.

it had been like a kettle brewing, screeching like an applause when the pair of you had finally gotten to the point of no return. this was it, there were no divine interventions or avenging interruptions to discard this moment, instead you and loki were thrown this coin toss, given your desires in the aura of a wish fountain.

“humans.” his voice prowled, making bumps appear on your skin, as he blew a swift succession of cold air across your stomach, it sending a blizzard of coolness up the paving of your chest, making your nipples undeniably hard, their stiff peaks that beaded under his breath were almost painful as they stood obediently to attention. “always so demanding, why can’t your kind beg for a change, i know that would appease my hunger?”

“oh loki, please.” your tone was severely monotone, and caused the mischievous lord to roll his gemstone eyes, rendering their spheric pupils to glare in amusedly at you, though, he tugged your panties down, the sight leaving him breathless. he was enraptured with the sight, perplexed by it as his emerald eyes stared up at you for an explanation. though, you were not sure what he was expecting from you.

his throat dry, as for once, he was not able to comprehend the situation. his silver tongue had gotten lost, obstructed as he grew distracted by the visual that he was receiving. it was a cunt, he knew that much, but there was someone uniquely different about it, he’d assume it was scalped if her were to make verbal predictions. “what is this?”

“my attempts at deflating your ego. i am not going to beg for you to do something to me, i can easily find someone else.” you rested your head back, digging the crown of it further into the end of the couch, as you parted your legs a little further to resend an invitation for him to proceed.

“not that...” loki revealed, paving his icy hands up the roads of your thighs, letting his forefinger brush over your pubic mound, it was like the bifrost, a smooth pathing to a transportation of depth, one that he wished to investigate, though he was still stricken by the eventing shock that pulsed within his golden veins. he had always been a curious child, and he remained to be as keen to know all now, at centuries upon centuries old.

“have you never seen a vagina before?” you huffed, wanting him to do nothing more than devour your cunt, stabbing you with his vigilant tongue so that he could curl crude and priceless sounds out of your mouth. if anyone knew that you were about to participate in intercourse with the destructive, slippery handed body, they would surely judge you.

but they didn’t, and even if that were not the case, you wouldn’t care. your mind was far too preoccupied with the growing inclination to jump the god’s elegantly crafted bones, bury for now you, remained still, allowing him to assert his comfort within the situation. “what’s wrong?” this time, he answered you, looking almost like a dear kitten that was plodding through the bustling streets, seeking out attention from a kind citizen, having hopes to be taken to a home, and fed well.

“why-,” he cleared his throat, he never came across as this nervous to anyone, it was as though he feared what you may think of him if he were to speak his mind. “why don’t you have hair- here?” he stroked the pad of his thumb over the flat and bare crest, finding it to be one of the most peculiar things regarding humans that he had ever witnessed.

“because i shave.” it was a simple answer, whilst all while being not as direct as the god was hoping for. “it’s kinda a thing down here, some people let it grow out, others don’t. it’s whatever picks their fancy, and a lot of people, like me, shave so intimate partners don’t get grossed out. some guys are dicks and hate everything that is natural.”

“well i’d still be reaped with great, reprised regret, if i were to reform the idea of giving you satisfaction if you were to have a natural slate sheathing around your sweet cunt.” he inhaled, making your muscles wither with succumbed arousal. the god could smell your distinct scent of attraction towards him, and he was visually compelled by the aroma that invaded his senses.

loki, without warning, placed his palm over your clean shaven mound, holding you down as his tongue worked against your tender flesh, stroking it as though he bore a hand of intricacy, sketching out every detail of your skin, plucking the outer labia into the hatch of his often deceiving mouth. he had to admit, in his mind of course, he liked the access that he was granted by this strange human lifestyle.

the idea of pubic hair was one of parts of a woman’s body that usually fuelled the immortal man, however if you didn’t want to bear its follicles on your skin, then that was to it choice. he wouldn’t judge you for it, although he happened to judge midguardians on everything. you were different from the others though, despite sometimes bickering, and making stabbing jokes towards one another, he rather enjoyed your presence.

with you nearby, he finally felt seen. he was not only the immortal that had prided himself with almost crushing an entire mortal city, no. you saw through that, understanding that he was definitely not in his own mindset, he had been controlled. it was never in his plans to venture to midguard, even if it was to cause a ruckus. but now with you, he never wanted to leave.

despite your optimal obligations regarding the team, and villains much like himself, he felt accepted. thor too appreciated him, but that was far different, there had always been a means of competition between the brother, with you, that regard was not present. he could be himself, and appreciate your side silhouette, and demand the agents that passed by with wandering eyes with threats if they did not continue walking.

now that he thought about that, as he engorged on the taste of your cunt, sliding a prying finger through the door of your entrance, fumbling your clit with his bewitched thumb, he realised something. a great surprise to himself. he indeed cared about you, but far more than he had ever anticipated to. his fingers slowed as he became mesmerised with every small noise that projected from your mouth, wanting to drag this instance out for as long as possible.

not only did his self realisation show him that he found some calm in your lasting presence, but he had feelings. usually he blocked off such things, but the heavenly expression that illustrated itself upon your face had him inwardly swooning. he felt you comb your fingers through his locks, and he hummed. he wanted this moment to last forever, in it, he was not a god, nor an infamous trickster.

he was just a man swarming with irregular emotions towards a woman, a being of optimistic resort; if things were as simple, or if he understood as well, he’d ask to take you for dinner. but he didn’t know where to start with that, not only did he have a lack of wisdom when it came to human restaurants, but he had no clue as to how you would respond. he didn’t even think that you saw him as a suitor, he was simply a deliverer of teasing and now pleasure.

“fuck loki.” the mortal swear sounded like a spell, making his body overbear itself with a proud sensation as he pushed you over the edge, removing his fingers only for you to bring them to your own mouth and clean them off. “holy shit, that was so good. maybe i should have started with gods years ago.”

inherently the mischief source growled, his mind instantly going over to the idea of you choosing his brother; everyone did, they had a strong preference. from his family to his old friends, they all liked thor more, and that was how his resentment towards his brother had originally stemmed. he felt like an outcast, and from that reminded alone, conjoined with your interest towards his brother, he felt his eyes grow glassy.

“go to him. i’m sure thor would appreciate your partnership.” yes, he was acting like a sulking toddler, and it had your brow bone raising as you took in his words. it was his clap back response, and you grasped him, stopping him from leaning the room. you felt slightly vulnerable, being in the nude after such a small lash, but you knew something was bothering loki, and it was clear to what that was.

“i do not want your brother loki, nor any other god.” your voice bit back a strain to its tone, as you stared at the man, standing in your birthday suit before him. your hands splayed on his chest, feeling his heart through his attire viscosity beating. “there is no need to be jealous, it feels like we’ve playing this game for so long, and i intend for it to be over. i will be the first to admit it, i want you, all of you. from the dark corners to the hopeful light in your eyes.”

loki was astounded, nobody had ever been so straight forward with him. despite being the god of mischief, the half of the time it was him whom was the victim of lies. “you don’t mean that.” his hands lightly traced every dip in your hips as he searched your expression for certainty. “nobody wants me, i am the monster that had tales spread to fear the children of my people of a night. there is nowhere i belong, nor anybody whom i belong with.”

“that may be your mindset, or the one that you are speaking, but you are lying to yourself. i do want you loki odinson, please accept that.” he gulped, nobody had ever had he guts to tell him how it was, and here you were, simply speaking your mind before him. it was an admirable feature, something that he deemed to be a favourable quality. “now i think i’m gonna get dressed and head to my room, i am feeling a bit cold. come find me when you feel like admitting the truth to yourself, i’ll be waiting.”

as you went to turn, loki grasped your elbow, hushing your questions with his mouth, as he clutched your cheeks, passionately endorsing you in a meaningful kiss. he walked you backwards, until the pair of you once again fell onto the furniture. “you don’t have to wait y/n, because i do not want to.” he ushered pecks down your neck, as you grew warm from the disappearance of his usual cockiness, it being replaced with true confidence, that served as a show for no one, and instead was his own admittance to all.

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villainousshakespeare · 3 years

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Bobby’s Playdate Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

The pandemic is keeping Tom idling in London by himself. One positive is that wearing the mask helps him avoid recognition, allowing him to wander in the park with his dog, Bobby. On one of their walks, Bobby becomes smitten with a dog named Lulu and Tom is equally enchanted by her human. Can the Hiddleston men manage to find a way to see the lovely ladies again?

Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Chapter 2 of4

Rated M - Pandemic, Fluff, Quarantine, Masks, Adorable Puppies, Meet Cute, Fourth and Final Part Will Contain Smut

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere, from-hel-i-with-love, @sweetsigyn, @fictiondoesitbetter, @ms-cellanies @evieplease @viviennes-tears @turniptitaness @cynic-spirit @spooky1980 @ghostypau @viviennes-tears @lady-loki-ren @loki-laufeyson965 @ohhhhmarkiloosecontrol @ghostypau @queeftheif @mousee555 @isimpforeveryonee @preferredrealty

He was being a right arse, and what was worse he knew it.

Tom grimaced as he stirred his bolognaise sauce. So, she knew who he was, and had all along – what did that really change? Why did it make him so uncomfortable that she hadn’t said anything? After all, he had known as well and he certainly hadn’t brought it up. Was he upset that she had known and hadn’t fawned all over him? Could he really be that shallow? He had liked that she was just herself, allowing him to be himself as well. What was it then that was bothering him?

The timer rang for the pasta and he reached over to grab the oven mitt that usually hung by his stove and grimaced. Of course, he had put it away in the closet because it had a big, red Avengers logo on it. All of that running around he had done, stressing out Bobby and working up a sweat, and it had all been entirely pointless. He felt like the biggest idiot of all time.

Which was the problem, of course. Tom was used to being multiple steps ahead of everyone. He wasn’t conceited about it, well, not exactly, but he was quite often the smartest person in the room. He credited his teachers and a topnotch education, as well as his family of course, more than his own keen powers of observation. He had simply been taught from a young age how to think. It was an invaluable tool as an actor. It also meant that he was often left waiting for others to catch up. He was not, decidedly not, used to being the one feeling foolish for being wrong.

Yup. He was a complete and total arse.

Here he had a beautiful woman in his home, when he had begun to despair of such a thing ever being allowed again, much less happening. She was smart, charming, funny, and kind enough to realize that being a celebrity must be exhausting and discussing it could get tedious. And how had he repaid her for her consideration? By running out of the room and leaving her doubtless wondering at his manners, if not his sanity.

Tom dipped a spoon in and tasted the sauce. This had better be the best meal he had ever made if he wanted to make up for the mess he had made of things so far!

“Everything okay in here?” Leia’s voice asked from the kitchen doorway as Tom was using a tea towel to carry the pasta pot to the strainer in the sink.

“Aside from you spending the evening with a complete prat, everything is fine,” he said with a self-depreciating laugh.

“You know, there are things called oven mitts,” she grinned at him. “Maybe we should go online and order you some.”

“I have them,” he sighed. “I put them away for tonight.”

“So you could experiment with first degree burns? Is that research for a role or something?”

“They were… branded.”

“Like a cow?” she blinked at him.

“No… like Marvel. Avengers branded. So, I hid them.”

“Tom,” Leia was obviously trying to hide a grin that tugged at the edges of her mouth, “did you hide all your movie memorabilia before I came over? Is that why your house looks like the display room from an upscale furniture store rather than a lived-in home?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, face turning red as he looked back at the stove.

“That must have been a lot of work. How long did it take you?”

“Most of the day. What are you doing?” he asked at the strange contortions her face was making.

“Trying to visualize the reverse scavenger hunt. Hold on…” she scrunched up her nose and he could see her picturing his lunacy in her mind. “Okay, that was fun!”

“Glad I could amuse you,” he grumbled.

“As every good host would be!” she grinned at him. “And then Lulu went and ruined it by digging up the Loki toy. Well, leave it to the Trickster God to upset the best laid plans. But really, is it such a big deal that I know?”

Tom closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She really was being sweet about the whole fiasco of his running into the house. Perhaps, if he could regain some of his own composure, it didn’t have to be the biggest fumble in the history of first dates. He just had to take a cue from her and try to find the situation amusing rather than humiliating.

“It is not,” he said at last. “Thank you for taking it all so well. Now, dinner is almost ready, I just need to put it on the plates.”

“My I use the loo then?” she asked.

“Of course. Second door on your right.”

“Thanks. I’ll meet you back outside. Oh, and be careful – Lulu may look innocent, but she will steal any food off your plate if you turn your back on her!”

“Wonderful, then she and Bobby will have even more to bond over,” he remarked, rolling his eyes.

“Between the two of them we’ll be lucky if there’s any food left for us.”

“Good thing I made extra then.”

“Oh, before I go – there are still hand towels in the bathroom, right? They didn’t get squirreled away for having horns on them or something?”

“No, the hand towels are purely Only Lovers Left Alive, and I assumed that was enough of a deep dive to keep any but the most ardent fan in the dark.”

“You’d be surprised, people love a good vampire flick!” she teased, as she headed off down the hall.

Tom took another steadying breath. So, she not only knew of him from the Avengers franchise, and from the London stage, but she had seen at least one of his indie films as well. Which meant, he suddenly realized, that she had seen more of him than he had realized. Squirming a bit, he plated the food and carried it outside. He would be sure not to bring up high rise, he decided. He had heard rumors about people pausing the playback on a certain scene, and he preferred to stay in the dark about her exposure to that.

By the time Leia joined him out at the table, Tom had managed to calm down a bit. He would have needed to tell her about his job eventually any way; at least now he could enjoy the rest of the evening without the fear of her reaction hanging over his head. The food had served up nicely, and he poured a friendly serving of wine into each of their glasses. Bobby and Lulu were already sniffing around at his feet, hoping for clumsy hands to drop offerings to their greedy mouths.

“Back off you two hellions,” he told them good naturedly. “Haven’t you already done enough damage tonight to the possibility of my getting a second date?”

***

Leia froze in the doorway, eyes going large. Had she heard that right? Had Tom just used the word date to describe the evening?

She had hoped it was a date, of course. She had even called it one to herself and her dog as she was getting ready. Still, she had not quite been able to convince herself that it was anything more than what he had sold it as – a playdate opportunity for their canine companions. After all, a handsome, charming, world famous movie star such as him could date anyone. Why would he want to be with her when the entire glamourous world was his for the taking?

Looking down, she realized that her hands were shaking. His befuddlement at the discovery of his identity had been charmingly adorable, and it had the wonderful side affect of allowing her to feel less awkward herself to see him so out to sea. It gave her back a modicum of power. That was gone now with one word from him that she was not even meant to hear.

“Oh, hi!” he smiled, seeing her in the door and standing up like the perfect gentleman he was despite their outside, casual location. “Dinner’s served.”

“It smells divine,” she told him, and rolled her eyes inwardly at the gushing word.

“Well, I am a God you know,” he smirked, and then blushed and looked embarrassed.

What was happening? They had been so comfortable outside in the park! Just two regular adults enjoying each other’s company and the relatively fresh air of suburban London. Now though, now that she knew he meant it as a date, and he knew she knew he was an actor it was all awkward.

“So, do you have any mischief in mind for tonight?” she asked.

“I suppose that depends on how the night goes,” he gave her a devastating wink.

Wait, was he flirting with her now? Ack! She didn’t know what to think, but her body certainly responded to that comment. Wanting a distraction, she shoved a forkful of pasta in her mouth and let out an involuntary moan of pleasure at the delicious taste.

“Is it okay?” he asked, despite her clear approval of his efforts.

“It’s amazing!” she told him, as soon as her mouth was empty. “Jesus Tom, on top of everything else you can cook too?”

“Eh heh heh heh,” he laughed, obviously delighted. “I’m afraid I am full of flaws, but I will do my best to hide them from you for as long as possible. I’m glad you like it.”

“You’ll have to give me the recipe!” she demanded, taking a long drink of the wine that paired perfectly with it.

“Ah no. If I do that, what incentive will there be for you to come back?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” she looked up at him over her wine glass. “After all, Lulu is having such a good time, she would never forgive me if I deprived her of more free time with Bobby.”

“Right. Yes. Lulu and Bobby.”

“It’s why we’re here, after all,” she shrugged, not knowing why she was pushing it so hard.

“Oh, I almost forgot!”

Tom shot out of his chair, startling the dogs who both started yipping in irritation. He jogged into the house, and a moment later came out with a beat’s pill speaker in hand. Placing it on the table, he fiddled with it until music straight out of a café in Venice started crooning out of it.

“The perfect final touch!” he said proudly.

“I can almost see the canal in the distance!” she told him with a laugh.

“I would pole you out, but I’m afraid my boat is not handy.”

He suddenly blushed again, and Leia had a quick flash of where his mind had gone. They both turned crimson and occupied themselves with the food for a few minutes in charged silence.

Leia could feel the tension sparking between them, but she had no idea how to act upon it. She could not think of any time in her past where she had been in a similar situation. How could she have been, when she had never met a man in her life like the one sitting across from her.

The song switched to a slower song, still Italian, and she noticed that Tom was tapping his fork against his plate in rhythm with it. He noticed her gaze and chuckled, eyes twinkling.

“You should see me with spoons,” he told her.

A moment later, he was on his feet again (really, he seemed incapable of sitting still tonight) and placing his napkin on his chair. Holding out one hand to her he raised his eyebrows in question.

“May I have this dance?”

As Leia hesitated, he face fell. Stepping back, Tom put his hands behind his back and dropped his head apologetically.

“I am so sorry,” he rushed to say. “I completely forgot. Of course, we are in the middle of a pandemic. The last thing we should be doing is dancing. Hands touching, standing close together. I am so, so sorry.”

“Tom, Tom!” Leia interrupted his contrition. “Stop apologizing! If I was concerned about catching the virus from you, I wouldn’t be eating the food you cooked! We both got tested, remember?”

“Are you sure, because you didn’t look –“

“I was worried about crushing your feet,” she admitted, stepping towards him. “I am not exactly what you would call graceful.”

“Well, I am hardly Baryshnikov,” he demurred. “But if you’ll allow me…”

He offered his hand again, and this time Leia took it. It was the first time they had touched, and she almost jumped at the spark that passed from his fingers to hers. His grip was firm, and he drew her in so that she was held firm against his chest. His other arm came around to rest his hand on her lower back, and she had to remind herself to breath as she was held in his embrace.

“Look at me,” he said as she obeyed instantly. In part it was because it was what she wanted to do, but it was also a reaction to the note of command in his voice. Even though it was soft, there was a note in it that was to be obeyed. “Good girl.”

As he led her around the little yard in what she realized was a waltz, Leia felt her last bit of restraint melting away. She wanted this man desperately and there was no denying it. His hips moving against her, his hand burning a hole through her dress, his low singing along with the song, it all had her ready to drop to her knees and beg him to take her.

“I love dancing,” he said, stating the obvious. “Especially with the right partner.”

“Sorry you’re missing that,” she tried for humor.

“Quite the contrary,” he didn’t rise to the bait, looking her straight in the eye and keeping his voice serious. “I can think of no one else I would rather be dancing with. You must know that you are all that has made the last month bearable. I look forward to our afternoon walks more than I can say.”

“Me too,” she whispered, tongue swiping over her lips. She saw his eyes flicker to them and then return to hers slightly darker.

Her breath caught and she was certain that he was going to kiss her when a loud crashing noise brought them both up short. Spinning around, they saw Tom’s plate laying on the ground, Lulu and Bobby shamelessly sharing the spoils of their raid like a modern day Lady and Tramp.

“Bobby! Bad dog!” Tom barked, advancing on them.

“Oh, Lulu! You naughty girl!” Leia scolded at the same time.

As Tom advanced on them, the dogs took off in the direction of the tree, trailing sauce in their wake. Tom stomped after them, eyes narrowed while Leia picked up the plate and mopped up some of the mess with his napkin.

“Bobby, stay!” Tom snapped, snapping his fingers.

Bobby dropped to his haunches with a whimper while Lulu headed back towards Leia and the remaining food.

“You too, sit girl!”

He snapped again and Leia, on sheer instinct, set the plate down with a clatter and sat on the chair, hands folding in her lap and eyes looking up towards him, Lulu sitting at her feet.

Tom’s face, facing her, went completely still for one long moment. Leia could feel a nervous energy rise in her stomach until a slow, Cheshire cat smile spread across his face. The dogs forgotten, he looked at her with a sparking intensity that made her weak as he crossed to where she sat.

“Well,” he drawled, “isn’t that interesting.”

#Tom Hiddelston #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston fanfiction #Tom Hiddleston/OFC #bobby hiddleston #Bobby is the best wingman!#pandemic #quarantine #dating during covid #falling in love #fluff #mild angst #flirting #Tom is ridiculous #puppy love #Bobby's Playdate #romance #bolognaise #dancing

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tiesandtea · 3 years

Link

Simon Gilbert

Simon Says

We interviewed Simon Gilbert, Suede’s drummer, whose book So Young: Suede 1991-1993 is a journal and photographic document of the band’s early years that will be published October 8th. So Young has foreword by journalist Stuart Maconie and a vibrant, lively text by Simon himself, documenting his move from Stratford-on-Avon, his hometown, to London, the audition with Suede, life in the van, the early success years and the many amusing things that come with it. It is one of those rare books that make an outsider feel like they were there, in the van. Or in absurd mansions in L.A. belonging to industry types. Or was it record producer(s)?…

The conversation extended to Coming Up, Suede’s third album that turned 25 this year and drumming. Simon’s witty, often, one-liners contrast with my more elaborate questions, proving an interesting insight into our way of writing/replying.

by Raquel Pinheiro

So Young: Suede 1991-1993

What made you want to realease So Young?

I was searching through my archives when researching for the insatiable ones movies and found lots of old negatives and my diaries. They had to be seen.

When and why did you start your Suede archives?

As you can see from the book, it stared from the very first audition day.

From the concept idea to publishing how long did it took you to put So Young together?

30 years … I’ve always wanted to make a book since I was first in a band.

What was your selection process for which items – diary entries, photos, etc.- would be part of the book?

I wanted to form a story visually with a few bits of info thrown in here and there, also most of the photos tie in with pages from the diaries.

Which methods, storage, preservation, maintenance, if at all, do you employ to keep the various materials in your archives in good shape?

Boxes in an attic … one thing about getting the book out is that I don’t have to worry about the photos getting lost forever. It’s out there in a book!

Other than medium what differences existed between selecting material for The Insatiable Ones documentary and for So Young?

Video and photos … photos don’t translate well on a TV screen.

Do you prefer still or motion pictures and why?

I prefer photos … they capture a particular moment in time … as video does, but there’s a unique atmosphere with a photo.

So Young’s cover photo has a very Caravaggio and ballet feeling to it. Its chiaroscuro also contrasts with the images inside. Why did you choose it for the cover?

It was a striking shot and I wanted the book to be black and dark …it fitted perfectly.

How many of the photos on So Young were taken by you?

Probably about 3/4 my 3 school friends who were there with me at the beginning Iain, Kathy and Phillip took a load of us onstage, backstage, after the gig, etc., photos I couldn’t take myself.

So Young can be placed alongside books like Henry Rollins’ Get in The Van and Michael Azerrad’s Our Band Could Be Your Life, that not only chronicle and show the less glamorous, more mundane side of being in a band, but also totally immerse the reader so deep in it that we are there, feeling and going through the same things. Was your selection of materials meant to convey that “band being your(our) life” sensation?

Yes, exactly that. I was fascinated by photos of bands, not on the front cover of a magazine or on TV. The other bits of being in a band are far more interesting.

In the foreword, Stuart Maconie mentions the brevity of your diary entries which, as someone who keeps diaries, I immediately noticed. Do you prefer to tell and record a story and events with images?

I haven’t kept a diary since the end of 1993 … looking back on them they can be a bit cringeful … So, yes, I prefer images.

Contrasting with the diary entries brevity your text that accompanies So Young is lively, witty, detailed and a good description of the struggles of a coming of age, heading towards success, band. Do you think the text and images reveal too much into what it really is like being in a band, destroying the myth a bit?

I think the myth of being in a band is long gone … Reality is the new myth…

In So Young you write that when you first heard Never Mind The Bollocks by The Sex Pistols music was to be your “future dream”. How has the dream been so far?

Still dreaming … lose your dreams and you will lose your mind … like Jagger said.

Is there a reason why So Young only runs from 1991 to 1993?

Yes, I bought a video camera in 1993. It was so much easier filming everything rather than take a photo, wait 3 weeks to get it developed and find out it was blurred.

So Young has a limited deluxe numbered and signed edition already sold out. The non deluxe edition also seems to be heading the same way. How important is it for you to keep a close relationship with the fans?

So important. I love interacting with the fans and is so easy these days … I had to write replies by hand and post them out in 1993…

Playing Live Again & Coming Up

Before Suede’s concert at Qstock Festival in Oulu, Finland on 31.07.2021 you wrote on your social media “cant fucking wait dosnt come close!!!!!” and Mat [Osman, Suede’s bassist] on his “An honest-to-goodness rehearsal for an honest-to-goodness show. Finally”. How did it feel like going back to play live?

It was great. Heathrow was empty which was amazing. A bit strange to play for the first time after 2 years …., but great to get out again.

Coming Up was released 25 years ago. How does the record sound and seems to you now compared with by then?

I haven’t listened to it for a long time actually … love playing that album live … some great drumming.

Before the release of Coming Up fans and the press were wondering if Suede would be able to pull it off. What was your reaction when you first heard the new songs and realize the album was going in quite a different direction than Dog Man Star?

Far too long ago to remember.

Coming Up become a classic album. It even has its own Classical Albums documentary. Could you see the album becoming a classic by then?

I think so yes .. there was always something to me very special about that album.

Is it different to play Coming Up songs after Suede’s return? Is there a special approach to concerts in which a single album is played?

No … didn’t even need to listen to the songs before we first rehearsed … They’re lodged in my brain.

Which is your Coming Up era favourite song as a listener and which one do you prefer as a drummer?

The Chemistry Between Us.

Will the Coming Up shows consist only of the album or will B-sides be played as well?

Definitely some B-sides and some other stuff too.

Simon & Drumming

If you weren’t a drummer how would your version of “being the bloke singing at the front” be like?

Damned awful … I auditioned as a singer once, before I started drumming … It was awful!

In his book Stephen Morris says that all it takes to be a drummer is a flat surface and know how to count. Do you agree?

No.

Then, what makes a good drummer?

Being in the right band.

Topper Headon of the Clash is one of your role models. Who are the others?

He is, yes … fantastic drummer.

Charlie Watts is the other great …and Rat Scabies … superb.

She opens with drums so does Introducing the band. Your drumming gives the band a distinctive sound. How integral to Suede’s sound are the drums?

Well, what can I say … VERY!

Do you prefer songs that are driven by the drums or songs in which the drums are more in the background?

Bit of both actually … I love in your face stuff like She, Filmstar …, but ikewise, playing softer stuff is very satisfying too.

You’re not a songwriter. How much freedom and input do you have regarding drum parts?

If the songs needs it, I’ll change it.

Do you prefer blankets, towels or a pillow inside the bass drum?

Pillows.

Do you use gaffer tape when recording? If so, just on the snare drum or also on the toms? What about live?

Lots of the stuff … gaffer tape has been my friend both live and in the studio for 30 years.

What is the depth of your standard snare drum and why?

Just got a lovely 7-inch Bog wood snare from Repercussion Drums … sounds amazing. It is a 5000 year old Bog wood snare.

Standard, mallets, rods or brushes?

Standard. I hate mallets and rods are always breaking after one song. Brushes are the worst …no control.

How many drum kits have you owned? Of those, which is your favourite?

5 … my fave is my DW purple.

How long to you manage without playing? Do you play air drums?

7 years 2003 – 2010 … and never.

Can you still assemble and tune your drum kit?

Assemble, yes …tune no …have never been any good at that.

You dislike digital/electronic drum kits, but used one during the pandemic. Did you become more found of them?

Still hate them … unfortunately, they are a necessary evil.

When you first joined Suede you replaced a drum machine. Would it be fair to say you didn’t mind taking its job?

Fuck him!

Brett [Anderson, Suede’s singer] as described the new album as “nasty, brutish and short”. How does that translates drums wise?

Very nasty brutish and short.

When researching for the interview I come across the statement below on a forum: “If you’re in a band and you’re thinking about how to go about this, get every player to come up with their own track list & have a listening party. I’ve done this, not only is it great fun, it’s also massively insightful when it comes to finding out what actually is going on inside the drummer’s head!”. What actually is going on inside the drummer’s head?

Where’s my fucking lighter!

And what is going on inside the drummer as a documentarist head? How does Simon, the drummer, differs from Simon, the keen observer of his own band, bandmates, fans, himself, etc.?

There is no difference … I’m Simon here there and everywhere…

What would the 16 years old Simon who come to London think of current Simon? What advice would you give to your younger self?

Don’t smoke so much you fool!

#simon gilbert #suede #so young book

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tazmuir · 5 years

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Hello! I loved Gideon the Ninth so much!! and would like to draw fan art, would you mind sharing any helpful summaries of what each character looks like? or must us fans hunt through the book for every offhand line of description? (not that I'm not planning on rereading it anyway)

I have let myself drift back onto Tumblr after two weeks, am deeply affrighted and excited at the idea that anyone has drawn my kids (I had an AMA on Reddit and as said there, my editor every so often hollered into my inbox about amazing shit people were doing, but I was too busy complaining back to him that my face had gone numb and that I no longer slept, but instead the darkness of the grave claimed me for four to five hours each night). Thank you so much to anyone who has already done this. Many people on my team have yelled and yelled.

Back early on in the piece I made a document for him about what characters looked like in terms of basic ideas/outlines for copyediting, covers and sense purposes, and I’ve dug out that document and slapped it up here for general delectation. As a note: I imagine specific things when it comes to my characters (I am a Kiwi: I write Kiwis In Space as a default) but as I have nothing but joy in my heart for how anyone would want to draw these characters, feel free to glance over this, then toss it out the window. It would bring tears of beauty to my eyes if anyone was like “Yes, but when I was reading I imagined Naberius Tern as a huge monitor lizard,” because absolutely yes, Naberius Tern was just a huge monitor lizard, godspeed.

I had only described below the specific cavalier-necromancer pairs, so that’s what you’ll find below, sorry if anyone wanted Teacher.

SECOND HOUSE

The only ones who seemed even vaguely compos mentis were the Second House: as it turned out, they had been the ones to call Teacher to the access hatch, and now they sat ramrod-straight and resplendent in their Second-styled Cohort uniforms, all scarlet and white. They both affected the same tightly-braided hairstyle and the same amount of extremely gilt braid, and also the same serious-business expression, and they could be told apart by one having a rapier and one quite a lot of pips at her collar.

Captain Judith Deuteros and Lieutenant Marta Dyas are alike in posture, bearing and extremely crisp military uniform (think a cross between US Navy whites and the Regency navy). Unlike every single other necromancer on the cast, Judith never wears necromancer robes, but is dressed in the exact same way as Marta. Judith is somewhat less completely scrawny than other necromancers on the cast, though she should be less built than Marta is; Judith is imposing, solemn-faced and reflective, Marta is more keen-eyed and restless. I imagined both as Tongan.

THIRD HOUSE

[Coronabeth] was tall and regal, with some radiant, butterfly quality – her shirt was haphazardly tucked into her trousers, which were haphazardly tucked into her boots, but she was all topaz and shine and lustre. All necromancers affected robes in the same way cavaliers affected swords, but she hadn’t tucked her arms into hers, and it was a gauzy, gold-shot, transparent thing floating out around her like wings. There were about five rings on each hand and her earrings would’ve put chandeliers to shame, but she had an air of wild and innocent overdecoration, of having put on the prettiest things in her jewellery box and then forgetting to take them off. Her buttery hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat, and she kept tangling a curl of it in one finger and artlessly letting it go.

The second twin was like someone had taken the first to pieces and put her back again without any genius. She wore a robe of the same cloth and colour, but wore it like a very beautiful shroud on a mummy. The cavalier had lots of hair, an aquiline face, and a self-satisfied little jacket.

Coronabeth is massive, taller even than Palamedes, larger-than-life – statuesque, very bright gold hair, golden/bright skin, violet eyes. Ianthe is the same height but gangly and washed out. Skin colour defined heavily in Corona’s case as golden/olive-hued brown/tanned; Ianthe similar, but less radiant/more pallid whatever the case. Both have long hair: Corona’s should be big and bouncy, Ianthe’s flat/sleek.Naberius is shorter than both, brown-haired (brown can be light, medium or dark, it’s not defined) and blue-brown hazel eyes. Also has lots of hair, cut short, but sense of pompadour/waves. I imagined all three as Pakeha/white.FOURTH HOUSEBoth Isaac and Jeannemary are around fourteen and have pretty much the same body shape still: Jeannemary is semi-muscular and has lots of corners, Isaac is skinnier. Both are natural brunettes, though Isaac has bleached hair (orange, fauxhawk) and Jeannemary is described as having curly hair. Both have multiple ear piercings and eyeliner and the visual is somewhat Glassons storecard punk. Both have dark brown eyes. Jeannemary has a somewhat dusty, fierce, monochromatic appearance (brown hair, brown skin), and I imagine her as Māori. Isaac I imagined as NZ Chinese.FIFTH HOUSEMagnus Quinn is a man in his middling to late thirties, with short, curly hair: he is a frank-faced, nice-looking guy of medium build with a face inclined to wholesome smiles. His outfits should be absolutely exceptionally well-tailored and not very flashy. Imagined him as Samoan. His wife Abigail is perpetually neat, wears round spectacles and has long, glossy dark brown hair – she is the least described of a cast not very specifically described. Much like Magnus, she should always be beautifully and tastefully dressed, though in her case she would affect trousers as well as a robe. Imagined her as Pakeha/white.

SIXTH HOUSECrouching in front of the hatch was a rangy, underfed young man: he was wrapped in a grey cloak and the light glinted on the spectacles slipping down his nose. Standing next to him holding a big wedge of broken sculpture and the flashlight was a tall, equally grey-wrappered figure with a scabbard outlined at her hip. She had hair of an indeterminate darkness, cut blunt at her chin.Up close, he was gaunt and ordinary-looking, except for the eyes. His spectacles were set with lenses so thick they could make spaceflight grade, and through these his eyes were a perfectly lambent grey: unflecked, unmurked, even and clear. He had the eyes of a very beautiful person, and the head of someone with resting bitch face.

Palamedes is seriously underfed with a bony, thin face and glasses: medium brown hair cut short and with no particular thought for aesthetics, dresses just in greys, eyes particularly lovely clear grey. Camilla has very dark cold-brown hair – chin-length, straight and with a fringe – dark eyes. She’s compact and has lots of lean muscle, and I imagine her of being Middle Eastern extraction, though due to Sixth House parameters both will be fairly mixed. They’re actually second cousins, so there ought to be a faint resemblance.

SEVENTH HOUSE[Dulcinea] was a slender young thing whose mouth was a brilliant red with blood: her dress was a frivolous concoction of seafoam green frills, and the blood on it seemed more somber against such a backdrop. Her skin seemed transparent – horribly transparent, with the veins at her hands and the sides of her temples a visible cluster of mauve branches and stems. Her eyes fluttered open: they were huge and blue, with velvety brown lashes.

Dulcinea is a girlish woman who looks extremely fragile and sickly, like a neurasthenic Victorian maiden. Eyes should be extremely blue. Hair is light brown in long curls; skin is pale. Pretty in a frivolous, invalid way. Gives the impression of being slight. Outfits should be gauzy and nightgownish. Imagined her as Pakeha/white.

The man who’d put the sword to her neck was uncomfortably buff. He had upsetting biceps. He looked like a collection of lemons in a sack. He didn’t look healthy; he was a dour, bulky young person, whose skin had something of the strange, translucent tinge that the girl’s had. He was waxen-looking in the sunlight […] He was dressed richly, but with clothes that looked as though they’d seen practical wear: a long cape of greyish-green, and a belted kilt and boots. There was a long, shining length of etched chain rolled up and over his arm, and a big one-handed sword hung at his hip.

Protesilaus is massive, buff, and also sort of sickly and indistinct-looking in his colouring – he is described as being made up mainly of muddy, ashen browns. Think Greek warrior, but with no vibrant colouring. Biggest on cast, even bigger than Colum Ash. Imagined him as mixed Pasifika.

EIGHTH HOUSEIt was a pair who were both boys – well – a boy and a man; one was a wan, knife-faced kid dressed in antiseptic whites and useless chainmail you could cut with a fork, it was so delicate. [Silas] was draped in it even down to a kilt, which was strange: necromancers didn’t normally wear that kind of armour, and he was definitely the necromancer. He had necromancer build. […] He gave the impression of being absolutely no fun at all. He was prim and ascetic-looking, and his companion – who was older, a fair bit older than Gideon herself – had the air of the perpetually disgruntled. He was rather more robust, nuggety, and dressed in chippy bleached leathers that looked as though they’d seen genuine use. One finger on his left hand was just a gross-looking stump, which she admired.

Silas is in his teens, has shoulder-length white hair in a braid and dark eyes. He has extremely pale skin, and coupled with the white robes and silver chainmail (all of which somewhat swamp him – he’s sort of slender and purse-mouthed) gives the impression of being arrestingly white all over. Pointy chin, oval face, disapproving expression, a little insubstantial. Colum, his older, larger nephew is much taller, broader and in his early thirties. He has medium brown hair in a short back’n’sides crop, dark eyes, and appears jaundiced in skin tone – he’s very weatherbeaten and tan-skinned, scarred, and though he’s dressed in the same colours he tends to contrast heavily with them and his leather armour is also beaten-up. He looks tatty and ill-used, expression is apathetic or forbidding; Silas always looks perfectly clean, crisp and white. Facially there should be a similarity. They’re both Pakeha, with Silas being significantly the palest person on-cast.

NINTH HOUSEThe light fell on [Harrow’s] painted grey face and black-daubed chin, and her short-cropped, dead-crow-coloured hair. […] She had such a peculiarly pointed little face, high-browed and tippy everywhere, and a slanted and vicious mouth.

Harrow is a scrawny teenage girl with black hair cut short (as befits someone in a monastery) and truly black eyes: she never appears except in black and white skull facepaint. She has a pointed, rather triangular face, not very long, a triangular heart rather than a triangular diamond or oval. She wears black robes and long-sleeved, long-trousered clothes – all black – with no skin showing: the main decoration on this is bones. She wears a corset of rib bones and could have any other bone decoration, which has been written of in the book as bone bangles and multiple bone stud piercings in the ears. She’s more femme-androgynous than outright butch; in Book 1 she’s a bit birdlike and free of specific masc or femme gender markers in terms of outfit or build. I imagined her as being mixed Māori.Gideon is true butch: tall of height – at least, taller than Harrow – extremely, shreddedly fit with the muscular arms of a swordswoman or boxer. She should have a strong-jawed, boyishly pretty face with a big douchebag grin. Cropped hair same as Harrow, except that hers as an oblate is more of an in-your-face mop (could be partly-shaved except that implies more care than Gideon possesses) and is intensely, vividly red. I envision her as mixed Māori, darker-skinned than Harrow. She also wears skull facepaint, though hers tends to be much less careful and baroque than Harrow’s. She often affects a pair of black aviator sunglasses. She wears the same black cloak as Harrow, without any decoration, and a plain black shirt and trousers underneath. Her eyes are an extremely vivid amber with more of a yellow/golden tint than a russet one.

#wild spoiler nobody cared about: camilla and palamedes are second cousins #am I allowed to go look at the art now or will I fall about and die of joy #gideon the ninth #appearances etc #I have not come back to the Internet because my inbox was full and I was afraid. Thank you everyone who has read my book.#Naberius Tern is a monitor lizard in a wig. I'm not good at this #reply #otonin

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deathisanartmetzli · 3 years

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Cabin in the Woods || Eilidh & Metzli

TIMING: Current, at night

PARTIES: @BRAINDEACL @DEATHISANARTMETZLI

SUMMARY: Metzli goes on the hunt for some vampires, and Macleod joins in on the fun.

CONTAINS: Domestic abuse, Emotional Abuse, Gore

Despite Metzli’s best efforts to quash any sense of anxiety that built up like a mountain on their chest, the pressure only seemed to build. After the pleasurable moments of distraction, laying in the dirt, surrounded by nature, they wished they could go back to that. Laying there with Eilidh was easy, it felt like it was a grace to not linger like a tragedy in slow motion, or a heartbreak set on pause. They walked next to Eilidh, tracking the scent of the vampires. It started so faint, and within an hour, it had thickened and spread around.

Eloy would inevitably find Metzli, even if they took out the vampires they were attempting to find. They were just prolonging the ending they already played in their head on repeat. Like a video cassette they kept rewinding of a movie that had not even been made yet. But they persisted, and used the martial arts approach to protecting their world. Fear and anger were their self defense as they disregarded the cost of going against their once master. No running, just going forward to protect. Because nothing was more precious. It was priceless. It was their home.

“The scent is overwhelming all around. They must scavenge and frequent this whole area. How do you feel about splitting up? The scent is pretty evenly coated and has been for the last few hundred paces.” Metzli explained and looked towards Eilidh, who was only a foot away. “What do you think?”

The trees watched them transgress in their territory. Gaze always, usually, a comfort for as long as Eilidh could remember. And they had felt as such, only moments prior. In those pleasant pauses. But now their presence felt scrutinizing. Tainted by the tense energy in air, radiating off Metzli. Bouncing off that bark, ricocheting down on Eilidh. She watched them with a hidden caution. Their high nerves concealed with a stoned expression. But every box got its leaks. She saw those tremors in hands, those strained breaths in chest. Soldier set to war. Without a choice but to move forward into certain peril. Eilidh had that choice, but she matched those dreaded steps. Hers tensed with anger and a hunger to rip and shred. Send those sources of anxiety to floor in tattered bits—reduced to confetti. And to sprinkles down her throat.

Eilidh saw those nose twitches. At first light but sent to frenzy as unseen predators grew closer. Her own stayed still—unaware of any approaching danger. Her mouth twitched instead, turned to grin. “Like I said. You go right. I go left.” Eyes went to that chosen destination. Only darkness met them, but mind filled in the blanks. Placed those hidden enemies in sights. Sent her hand a twitch in anticipation. Her chest rumbling in hunger. Her attentions went back to Metzli for a moment. Enough to spare a parting kiss. And to press her hand on their chest. To that concealed gift—necklace with a black pendant. A bit off her thigh providing color. Used as both beacon and reminder. That she’ll always be close, even now, when she turned and raced off into the woods. Before the darkness took her, she shouted behind. “Don’t let ‘em kill you! I’ll be pissed!”

It felt strange to receive a tender kiss from someone who used so much force, so much passion. Eilidh had given them a gift, one they were told to keep on in case of any danger. James, the ghost bound to her, who seemed antsy when they presented red eyes and fangs, he would be their walkie talkie of sorts. A piece of her attached to them so he could aid them in their search. “No promises!” Metzli responded just as loudly, and with as much light energy as they could muster. Eilidh faded into the trees, and they watched for a few moments before they turned around and continued down their chosen path. Blood and death overflowed from every tree, meaning that the clan members had been around long enough to hunt several times. That didn’t sit right with them in the slightest.

“So how long have you been, uh, dead? I think I’m going on 110 years or so. Kinda lost track.” Metzli asked awkwardly, not knowing how to talk to someone who they didn’t know and seemed to get nervous at any signs of their vampirism.

James watched Eilidh disappear. Despite the lack of visual, he knew where she journeyed. Not a feeling or a thought. But something even deeper. Like he was a passenger in her mind. His attentions shifted and felt that knowing grow quiet but not disappear. Eyes went to one more tangible, to the one called Metzli. He knew nothing but stories. But the way Eilidh described them, the way her eyes lit up. It was in the way when she found others with that ‘touch of the wild’ as she so called it. And it made him on edge. While he lacked any sort of flesh and blood the vampire could attack, he tensed. For his body remembered, despite his true one having rotted to nothing long ago. And he tried to bury this concern, like that old body. But Metzli would not let the thought of death escape him. There was a following silence as he gawked at them. “Um. That’s not really a conversational topic I start with…” His arms crossed against his chest, as if that incorporeal barrier could do anything.

Face grew dark and tense as leaves and twigs crunched, marking every step they took. There was no avoiding it, but it made them flinch every time. Giving away their position would prove fatal, but the area was chosen for that reason. Keen hearing was not only their ally, but their enemy too. Metzli trudged on for about twenty minutes, following tracks and carcasses that grew in number. Meaning, they were getting closer. Their phone vibrated with notifications, and they removed it from their pocket to see a few messages. Feet continued to move while they were distracted by the screen and James’ incoming answer. “Sorry. I’m not good at conversation starters. I figured it was fine, you know? Death, and me being a vampire. I mean, vampires are vicious, but you like Milo and he attacked our friend Bex the other day. But like she’s fine and—” They gave an update until their peripherals caught sight of an anomaly. A cabin. “Que suerte...”

James wanted to leave. Not that Eilidh was particularly better in regard to source of his anxieties. But she was a monster he knew well—knew how to talk to. And had grown to care for, despite his better judgement. And he had grown to care for Milo as well with a hope he could escape that nature. Young and new with the thought of humanity still fresh on his mind. But the news broke that illusion. Not immediately, only a crack at first. Denial trying to keep the wall up. Mind went blank. Then it was all too much. “What… what? No. He- No he didn’t.” He stammered, something of a laugh on his lips though he felt no amusement. Mouth couldn’t form words just as mind couldn’t form thoughts. Sailboat lost to a raging sea. Trying to steer clear, but he was close to drowning. Before he could be swept under, before that wall could break—he vanished.

Eyes were transfixed by the cabin, by the sheer amount of death permeating from within. Even with blurred sight from distraction, they could see James on the other side of their peripherals, he was saying something but they couldn’t make out what. There had to be at least six vampires within the residence, and that took precedence over his sudden disappearance. While their fingers hovered over the screen of their phone, something knocked them down. Someone.

Phone flew several feet away, but that wasn’t important now. A whistle of alarm reverberated against the trees, and Metzli pulled out a stake from their side and plunged it into the vampire, killing him and cutting the whistle short. It was too late though, and they could hear a door break open. Gaze locked onto four vampires sprinting from the cabin straight for them. Matching their vigor, Metzli booked it towards one and plunged the stake into her chest. Another one down. Only five more to go. The three that were left leapt for them, trying to overwhelm them. It worked, but by some miracle, the stake plunged into yet another chest, leaving only two to land punch after punch on them.

Two more vampires stepped out from the cabin, and Metzli was forced to watch as a familiar face got dangerously close to theirs. Fighting back was futile while their head was being held up by their hair and their arms were locked behind them. “Hola Metzli. Hace mucho tiempo.” Tremors overtook their body as they stared right into the vampire’s eyes. The vampire who was their partner when it came to protecting Eloy. “Chinga tu pinche madre, Anselmo.” They spat through gritted teeth, right before a bone crunching punch to the face.

Blip! Blink of an eye, James was back. Face still contorted as mind could not see past that unresolved conversation. That wall gaining new cracks—close to shattering. “Was that just a, um, weird joke or something because I didn’t think it was funny and I’d really like it if you- Oh!” More eyes than expected were watching him. He stared with just his two. Then vanished again.

Another punch landed onto their face, and Anselmo laughed. “Did you really think you could run away? Did you really think Master Eloy would let you go?” Metzli locked eyes with the vampire and spat at him. Black blood spattered over his face and rage filled his eyes. “Fuck you, and fuck Eloy!” Metzli retaliated, lunging forward and breaking the grasp that held their hair. Forehead met nose and Anselmo screamed in agitation. Using the moment of distraction, they grabbed the stake from the ground and took out yet another vampire. Three left to go. But just as the point rushed around to make impact with the other, Anselmo’s hand wrapped around Metzli’s, giving him the chance to throw them on the ground.

Their face hurt, and the pain spread throughout their body as he pinned them down and attacked their throat. Red eyes locked only momentarily right before teeth sank in, threatening to dig deeper. Deeper and deeper, Anselmo attempted to sever the attachment their head held onto their body. Metzli was going to break their promise. The fear of that grew as their strength depleted, unable to make their arms do anything. They had taken too much damage, they needed blood.

The scent of death was potent. But there was one who did not match. A flat note in the choir. And growing louder. Closer. Threatening to ruin the whole show. But the show only faltered for a moment, something of a reprieve found in their brief consideration. Barely a murmur was uttered—something deeper transpired between the vampires. An understanding was found in that veiled conference, quick and efficient to not distract from the main course. Not a moment wasted, Anselmo simply waved a vampire off before following that motion down into a strike upon Metzli. The chosen protector, or chosen sacrifice depending on the point-of-view, followed that clashing note. Foxhound on the fox. But this fox knew how to bite back. And when he found the source of distraction, woman with the chattering teeth, he came to understand just how hard.

Eilidh threw the stake in her hand. It whistled through the air, ending in a meaty thud. Coming to a quick stop inside the vampire’s chest. He had only a second to stare at her in confusion before crumpling. Dead. Stride merely slowing, Eilidh fished out the stake from his remains. Then regained her former speed, as inhuman as the glint in her eyes. Feet beat fast but light on the ground. If she was devoid of that telling scent she may have been able to ambush. But they would be waiting for her, she was sure of it. She had known even before the encounter in the woods. But time and experience had revealed tricks against that pesky disadvantage.

As that foreign scent became church bells, all those bloodthirsty eyes turned to meet it. Something humanoid, something familiar, was the expectation. A known enemy they had all replayed in their minds killing with a familiarity. What stood at the treeline had the shape of a human. Kind of. If the outline had been filled with static. The touch of mundanity made where it differed all the more jarring. All parties stood still. Until a single “¡¿Que demonios es eso?!” broke them out that trance. One vampire ran to meet the thing in the woods. But his pace was weighed with hesitation: could this thing even be killed? Eilidh rumbled with a metallic shriek—undecided form convulsing in beat. And when her arm struck out to stake this one’s chest, it looked more tree than limb. He fell as fast as the one in the woods. Returned to the Earth.

Anselmo laughed as weak arms could not grip, could not gather enough leverage to shove him off. Photos were taken unbeknownst to them, and sent off. Evidence of their struggle. Metzli grew worried that they wouldn’t be able to manage. People have hope because they cannot see death standing behind them. But not Metzli. Their eyes had been ingrained on death’s visage, losing all hope in the process. Never fearing death because it was the one thing they could count on. But White Crest had given them everything they needed to want to look away from those hollow eyes. And as reality settled in, darkness consumed their sight. A muffled and distant voice growled. Eilidh’s scent filled their nose. Metzli began to imagine what hope would feel like. And wish that they had never looked death in the eyes. That way, they could be blissfully unaware. So they didn’t have to feel, for the very first time, the fear of dying.

The punching and biting ceased as Anselmo and two other vampires Metzli didn’t notice before, looked towards Eilidh. What they believed to be Eilidh. A sharp pain caused them to groan, and even through hazy vision, they could see two knives inside of their torso. Anselmo rose off of them and leered at the crazed undead creature before him. His body was rigid, unsure what to make of the foul thing before him. This was the break Metzli needed. Looking down at the knives, they attempted to raise their arms, which were feeling like they weighed tons. And then, one of the knives came into focus. It was their old knife. The one Eloy made for them. The one they used to fight with.

Anger surfaced onto Metzli’s face and a newfound resolve formed in their chest. Fighting against the hunger and pain, they removed the knives jutting out of them, and rose to their stumbling feet, tackling Anselmo to the ground. Fangs and knife pierced skin. A foul taste filled their mouth, but they didn’t care. All that mattered were the screams of pain and the knife that plunged into Anselmo over and over again until he knocked them back, looming over them to once again gain the upper hand.

Another quickly took her opponent's place, but this vampire was faster than that amalgamated arm. Ensnaring Eilidh in her grip. Hands grappled hands, grappled bodies. Her stake tumbled to the grass in the fervorous skirmish. A third noticed the vulnerability, and made quick to exploit. Rushing into the fray, two against one. But it was actually two against two. The second was enveloped in a strange feeling. A foreign pressure. A lingering cold. Enough to preoccupy for mere seconds, but each counted in a fight. Eilidh shifted her weight, brought that first opponent—still trapped in each other’s holds—closer to chattering teeth. And they did as nature intended. Bit and tear. Severing any connection her nose had to her face. It too tumbling into the grass. Overwhelmed with pain, enough constitution was lost to let Eilidh get closer. And those bloodied teeth found her neck. And bit equally as hard. With mouth at work, Eilidh’s hand was free to slip up skirt. Gripping tight a silver dagger. Blade met the vampire’s neck on opposite side, until her incisors and metal joined in the middle.

With a twitch, Eilidh severed the last remaining tendons connecting neck to torso. The head rolled off with ease, joining its nose on the ground. James’ trick had gone stale and the third vampire was ready to try his chances. Eyes free from the glaze of distraction, completely locked on her. But her own was placed elsewhere, far away. To the confrontation between Metzli and that stranger. She didn’t like how Metzli looked. She didn’t like how this man looked at them. Not one fucking bit. A snarl burned in her throat, but it sounded like chainsaws to any near. The vampire closest tried to be a substitute for her broiling anger. He pounced at her, but she simply shoved him into the dirt. Hardly a thought to make sure he wasn’t following when she rushed to the distant altercation. Before the stranger was able to fully turn, confront that approaching death, she leapt onto his exposed back. Arms looping around his shoulders—stifling any movement. He bucked and shrieked like a wild stallion, but she had encountered worse. Those arms only grew tighter. Teeth tried to find that neck, but it jerked out of hold. Accidentally meeting an ear instead. Incisors latched on anyway, ripping off the flesh and cartilage. The shrieking grew louder. Her own primal sounds filled that air, in lieu of words. Mind having no room to translate. But there was still an intention in each grunt. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

Wide eyes stared as Anselmo could no longer move. Eilidh’s firm and powerful grasp held him in place and he wailed in agony as a piece of him was torn away. “M-Macleod...I—” Metzli shook uncontrollably. Understanding washed over their face, but they couldn’t move, couldn’t force their body to lunge forward with the knife in their hand. A slippery grip tightened around it, beckoning them to do it. To kill their partner of thirty years. The very partner who had sworn to protect their abuser with them. No more. Those days were over and a new one was on the horizon. Finding the motivation, they rose to their feet, only swaying slightly.

“Todo lo que nos enseño Eloy fue malo. Y ahora, voy cambiar a todo.” The knife plunged into the center of Anselmo’s chest and he gasped with the widest eyes. His eyes met with Metzli’s for a split moment before he crumbled into nothing. As pieces of him fell, so too did Metzli. A hand reached out for Eilidh, but contact was never made. Their body gave way to the crushing pain, forcing them to the ground. Neck revealed the damage, the death they almost met. Black liquid stained their skin.

In spite of the overwhelming agony, a weight was lifted, and a piece of them felt free. “Thanks Mac—” Their hand reached out but fell to the ground as spots of black coated everything in sight. “Need blood.” Metzli’s voice was hoarse, throat dry from the urgent need of sustenance. Their body went rigid, as still as a statue while their body began to render itself into a comatose state of preservation.

They crumbled into her arms, and Eilidh instinctively covered that battered body with her own. Eyes surveying the suspicious quiet. She knew there were others. The one she had shoved no longer lay in the dirt. But he seemed to lay no where, absent entirely. Somewhere. Anywhere. Who knew how many were like that, in an unknown somewhere. Waiting to come back. Or waiting for her to find them. Have them join the others in that growing pile of ash. She lacked any innate warning signals—relying on average ears and eyes. And they both revealed nothing, except a peace she did not trust. And this unknowing would be fine—mysteries a commonality in her life—if she did not have two tasks at hand. Protecting and feeding. To hunt would leave Metzli exposed; to guard would leave them to starve. And either would benefit from knowing where the fuck anyone was. So, divide and conquer.

Eilidh called to James, meaning to do so in words but only squawks came out. He understood regardless—even a simple look would’ve sufficed. In his own look, there was a creeping tension. Formed deeper lines and tighter jaw the closer he got to Metzli. In another state of mind, she would have the thought to wonder. To decipher those subtle flinches and squirming. To find what hid in each wrinkle, each twitch—a practice she was good enough to be tenured. But that was too much thinking and not enough doing. He was where she needed him to be and that’s all that registered. With that confirmation, she returned to the woods. Leaving James with Metzli and a strange sense of déjà vu.

Minutes passed before Eilidh’s return. Sporting a fresh layer of crimson on her hands and face. The body she carried too covered in fresh blood. Though it only met their paws, head no longer present. Torn away by ravaging bites. Enough to appease her hunger, to allow herself to do away with the kill. Though a part did want to hesitate, to consume the coyote in entirety. But seeing Metzli again, remembering in clarity their state. It appealed to something deep inside her. It told the hesitation to fuck off. She dropped the corpse near Metzli without a second thought. Remembering how to speak, she uttered a single word. “Eat.”

Obediently and with some difficulty, Metzli navigated their body to the coyote, consumed by the ravenous need to eat. When the blood hit their tongue, a feral fervor took control and fangs pierced the corpse, draining it quickly. It tasted better than usual, and they supposed starvation would do that to just about anything. At this state, Metzli would even drink from a werewolf.

No longer able to get another drop, fangs retracted and their body was upright once again. Now on auto-pilot, Metzli took steps that teetered to one side, but they remained standing. “There might be others. We—I—” Eyes tightened shut, trying to relieve any residual dizziness. “Hunt for food. Then hunt for stragglers.” Voice was vacant of their personality, laser-focused on finishing the job thoroughly.

“Thank you, Macleod,” A mutter, but not too low so that it went unheard. Grass depressed underneath their feet as they reached Eilidh to leave a bloody kiss on her cheek. “I will find a way to repay you. For now, let's search together. No splitting up. Not this time.” Crimson eyes locked with Eilidh’s briefly before turning and limping softly in their chosen direction, waiting for her to follow and finally put an end to the encounter.

#wickedswriting #eilidh and metzli #chatzy #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #gore tw

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brassandblue · 4 months

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Arthur. Personification of England. Sailor. Soldier. Witch. Gardener. Killer. Fool.

I love him.

#.// hope perches in the soul (ooc)#.// air so keen & strange (visuals)#.// ruled the waves (arthur)

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creativitynchaos · 4 years

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Unexpected Call

A sudden call from MC sends the demons into an array of emotions and dirty thoughts, although it would appear something is not quite right.

Warning: some cursing, suggestive written noises, implied naughty business and all that stuff.

LUCIFER

The Avatar of Pride had found himself sat in the Demon Kings castle at a meeting with Diavolo. They were discussing the success of the exchange program and any possible events to organise through its duration. As the two had taken a break, Diavolo had excused himself for a moment. Needing to speak to Barbatos about something privately. Lucifer had been left alone in the large office, quietly sipping his tea. He was looking forward to finishing his work and making his way back home. Just as a certain human began to wander through his mind, the buzzing of his D.D.D had brought him back to reality. Taking the device out of his pocket, he glanced at the caller ID. "MC?" He murmured to himself, confused yet curious as to why they would be calling him at such a time. Glancing at the door, he listened for a moment but heard nothing. Deciding he had enough time, he answered the call, bringing the device to his ear. "Yes?" He questioned, in a calm, uninterested voice. There was a moment of silence for a moment, making the demon raise an eyebrow." MC?" He asked, wondering if someone was simply pulling a prank on him. He was about to pull the phone away when a sound made him freeze. "Oooh..." A voice, no doubt MC's, began to moan on the other side. Letting out small gaps and needy groans every once in a while." Ah! Oooh!" They called out, making the demon choke on air. His mind was racing, as more suggestive moans sounded through the speaker straight into his ear. Daydreams followed after as the demon began to imagine MC in many different scenarios, as they moaned, each any every one of them ending with him getting his hand on the human and making them moan louder. "Aaah! L... Lucifer!" They suddenly moaned out his name, making him shift in his spot, cheeks flushed and legs crossed together. "MC..." The demon said but got no response. The human let out a few more lewd groans before hanging up, leaving the demon frustrated, confused and very aroused. The door clicked open, making Lucifer out his phone away. He attempted to compose himself as Diavolo made his way back to his desk. "I believe we have discussed everything. I shall be on my..." He began to speak as he shifted to get up, only to be interrupted. "I'm afraid an issue with one of the planned events had just come up." Diavolo spoke, either not noticing or kindly not commenting on the other strange behaviour." We will need to make a few changes in the schedule." Lucifer sighed but settled back down. He will have to get all of this out of the way as fast as it's possible, however, focusing proved to be rather difficult for the rest of the evening.

MAMMON

The Avatar of Greed whined and complained as he walked behind Lucifer. He had gotten in trouble yet again. The first born had decided o make him stay at RAD after class and force Mammon to help him with his load of paper work. It seemed like a fitting punishment for the second born. The two had sat in the student council room, attempting to deal with the giant stack of papers. The black haired demon stood up after a while. He warned his younger brother to not even think about escaping before he had left in order to retrieve something. Mammon had pulled out his D.D.D the moment the door clicked shut. He was vigorously typing out a rant addressed to MC, when their caller ID popped up on his screen. The sudden call had surprised the demon so much he almost dropped the device. "Yeah?" He answers the phone after recovering from the initial surprise, for a moment there was no response."Yo, you there, MC?" He asked, confused at the silence from the other side. He waited a few moment longer, and jumped in surprise at the sudden noise. "Aaaaah!" A breathy moan sounded from the other side, the lewd sound making his face flush immediately." Ooh... mhmm!" The moans continued, as Mammon sat there unable to move. His mind began to wander, imagining what the human is doing at the moment. He shifted in his seat, his pants suddenly feeling a little tight as he began to wander what would possibly happen if he were with them. He could practically feel the softness of their skin in his hands as he visualised many different scenarios with MC starring in all of them. "Ah! Ah! Oh yes! Mammon!!" MC called out on the other side of the line. The moment his name fell out of their lips had turned the demon into a blushing mess, as he covered his face with his free hand. The desperate way the human had called out his name was enough to make his knees go weak, even if he was sitting down. "H-h-hey...!" He called out, wanting answers but it was no good. MC had let out one final high pitched, needy moan and hung up. Mammon abruptly stood up, fully prepared to run back home like an absolute maniac, only one thing on his mind. He had to see MC, he needed to feel them close or he'd go insane. "Where do you think you're going?" A deep voice had startled him unexpectedly, just as he began to step away from the desk. His brilliant blue eyes widened as he turned towards Lucifer who had returned and was stood in the doorway with a frown on his face. "You are no going anywhere until that stack of papers if neatly filled and checked by me." The first born scoffed, slamming more papers in front of Mammon before he returned to his seat much to the others despair as he begrudgingly sat back down. It would seem his fantasies will have to wait.

LEVIATHAN

The Avatar of Envy bounced excitedly on his feet, orange eyes wide and sparkling as he stood at the front of a line, before a merchandise store. Today was the day a very rare figurine of Ruri-chan gets released. The demon had been camping out by the store since yesterday evening. He had been awaiting this day for the past two months, and there is nothing that could ruing his good mood and excitement. Taking out his D.D.D he glanced at the time, only over an hour left until the store opens. The thought made him even more giddy as he decided to write another quick update in the group chat. He had barely sent the message when his D.D.D began to ring, his eyes went wide as MC's name and face popped up on the screen. The call surprised Levi, as the human tended to prefer text over calling, but he accepted the call, curious as to what they could want. "Heya!" He greeted enthusiastically only to be met with silence." MC...?" He questioned in confusion, unsure why they would call him, only to remain silent. He had opened his mind to speak again, only to close it abruptly, eyes going wide. "Mmmhmm! Ah!" A sudden moan rang out from the speaker. The suddenness of the noise, surprised Levi but it was the needy, suggestive sound that almost made him throw the device across the room. He barely manage to stop the impulse, gripping the D.D.D tighter instead as the noises continued. Levi gulped nervously, the blush on his cheeks becoming darker with every moan heard through the phone. His imagination filled his mind with many different visuals of MC and what exactly is making them let out such provocative noises. "Oooh! Fuuuck Levi!!" The human suddenly called out. His name slipping from their lips made Leviathan freeze completely, his mind short circuiting for a moment. He shifted in his spot, aware of the fact there were others around him, adjusting his outfit as casually as possible in hope of hiding his growing excitement, his pants becoming slightly less comfortable. His mind racing as he began picturing MC on top of him, the needy and desperate sound of his own name being called echoing in his mind, enchanting him like a tempting spell. "M-m-mc..." He mumbled, face hot and keen going weak, the human let out one final dirty groan before hanging up, leaving the demon to his own imagination. Shifting in his spot, at the front of the line Levi glanced around making sure no one had noticed anything. Still flustered the demon glanced at the time. He still had over 50 torturous minutes till the shop had opened. Levi could only hope the time would pass quickly, desperately wanting to get his figurine and get back home, and hopefully hear MC's moans again.

SATAN

The Avatar of Wrath was sitting in a library, accompanied by a friend. The two had been researching a rare magical tome which Satan wanted to add to his collection. The two had borrowed one of the smaller rooms, ensuring they would not be interrupted. Satan let out a sigh as he leaned back in his chair and stretched. He had been researching for over three hours and his back began to hurt from leaning over the table fro so long. His friend ventured out of the room, offering to get them some coffee. The room was completely silent, as Satan flipped through a book, all alone in the small room, when his D.D.D began to buzz. Putting down the book, the demon grabbed the device out of his pocket, curiously glancing over the screen. A photo of MC in cat ears had popped out on the screen along with their name, making him smile. He accepted the call, pressing the D.D.D against his ear, the idea of chatting to them seemed like a great way to spend his break. "Hello, MC." Satan spoke casually, a small smile playing on his lips. There was no response for a moment, making him raise an eyebrow." MC?" "Mmmm… mhhm! Aaah!" A loud, indecent moan sounded through the speaker, making Satan tense up in surprised, his green eyes going wide at the noise." Oooh…. Ooh…. Mmhmmm!" They continued to mewl, needy and desperate. The demon cleared his throat, attempting to remain composed as he listened to MC's voice, their gasps and groans painting him a vibrant picture of… certain acivities and thigns he could do in order to make them moan even louder. Satan shifted in his seat, not daring to say a word, simply enjoying the seductive sound of MC, it sounded as if they were really enjoying themselves too. "Ooooh…. Mhhmmm! Satan! Satan!" The human suddenly called out, in a desperate, high pitched voice, laced with need. The sound of his own name being called in such a improper manner had left the demon more flustered than he would like. His was face red and warm now, as he tugged at the collar of his shirt, feeling very warm. Satan crossed his legs, glancing towards the door, worried his friend might find him in the compromising situation. He cleared his throat again, hoping his voice won't give away how affected he was. "Did you need me for something, MC?" He asked in a teasing manner, although he knew the coarseness of his voice will be audible to them. The only response to the question was an increase in the moan, as they became more rigid, calling out his name a few more times. Satan grabed onto the edge of the table, trying to stop himself from doing something reckless, the wooden object creaking pathetically under his strength. With one finall gasp, the call ended leaving Satan to his own racing thoughts. The door swung open after a moment, Satan's friend returning with two takeaway cups of coffee. They glanced at the demon in question, noticing his slightly strained form, but decided not to pry. Satan sighed deeply, leaning towards the table and opening the book. He had a feeling the research might take longer than expected.

ASMODEUS

The Avatar of Lust was out and about on town today. He had done some spontaneous clothes shopping and was currently sat in a nail saloon, waiting for his turn to get his nails done. He found himself happily chatting with the receptionist, keeping up with the latest gossip and such. A simple walk to town had turned into a full fledged self-care day. Sitting back down on a chair, Asmo began to play on his D.D.D, trying to kill time. He sent a message to the House of Lamentation chat, complaining about having to wait. He began to scroll through the Devilgram, or rather, admiring his own photos when the device began to ring. The demon let out a soft giggle as MC's photo and name appeared on the screen. Happily he answered the call, ready for a nice, quality chat with the human. "Hello, darling!" He exclaimed into the phone, always excited to hear MC's voice. "Hello?" He asked again, confused at the lack of response from the human. "Mhhm…ah!" A deep, seductive moan came from the speaker, making Asmo's eyes widen in surprise for a moment. His heartbeat began to quicken as he eagerly listened to the heavenly sounds. "Oooh! Ohh! Ah!" MC continued to gasp and moan, their voice needy and tempting, allowing Asmo to visualise exactly what they're doing to make themselves sound like this. He shifted on the chair, crossing his legs, a smile playing on his lips and a flush dusting his cheeks as he continued to listen. He kept an eyes out on hsi surroundings, making sure no one had caught on. "Fuck! Oh, fuck, Asmo!!" The demon bit his lip, trying to contain his excitement at the pleading voice gasping his name in a desperate manner. Images of all the amazing things Asmodeus could do to the human to make them sing for him in this exact manner flooded his mind. He couldn't decide what he would want to do with them first, however, the longer he listened to the indecent sound coming from the human, the more he was sure he HAD to get his hand on them soon. "Oh my, having so much fun without me?" Asmo teased in a hushed voice, hearing more gasps and groans in response. The demon considered simply cancelling his appointment and getting right back home, to see his beloved human, when the call had been ended. He pouted slightly, disappointed that he was no longer able to hear MC's lovely voice. He stood up, ready march back home and hear them in person when someone called his name. It would appear his turn to get his nails done had come, with a heavy sigh Asmo followed after the nail artist. His darling MC would have to wait a tad longer for him to get his hand on them.

BEELZEBUB

The Avatar of Gluttony was at practice with his team. They had an important match coming up and spent almost everyday training hard to ensure they were prepared for everything. This left Beelzebub with little time to spend with MC which he definitely wasn't pleased about, but he couldn't just skip practice. He sat down on the bench, sweaty and out of breath, grabbing onto his water bottle. It was finally break time. He let out a big satisfied sigh as he pondered what could his human be doing at the moment. As if on cue, a few moment later his D.D.D began to ring, the picture of himself and MC popping up on the screen along with their name. A happy smile formed on the demons face, as he excitedly picked up the device, looking forward to hearing from them. Moving a bit further away from the team, Beel finally picked up. "Hello." He spoke up, his voice light and happy, after a moment, however, his brow knit together as there was no response. "MC?" He asked again, unsure if the human had even intended to call him in the first place. He was about to give up and end the call when something made his entire body tense up. "Fuuck! Ah!" An indecent sound gasp was heard from the speaker, MC's breathy gasps and moans making the demon confused for a moment. The more groans and gasps he heard, the more Beel began to understand what he was hearing. His purple eyes went wide, a flush dusting his cheeks as he gripped the D.D.D in his hand, almost crashing it into pieces. " Oooh yes! Aaah…" MC continued to gasp in bliss, their voice sending tingles all over Beel's body, as he began to wonder what they were doing exactly, and if he could maybe join them when he's back. Beelzebub could already imagine how it would feel to have the humans in his arms and how much louder they'd be with his help. He had to turn away from his team, in fear they'd notice something strange from his behaviour or expression, he was also glad he was wearing loose shorts. "Ooooh! Beel! Fuck yes! Beel!" MC managed to choke out between their gasps and moans. The demon had to close his eyes for a moment, the sound of his name being called in such a desperate voice, made his whole body warm up with excitement. It took every ounce of self control he had to not storm out of the gym and rush straight into his humans side. "MC…" Beel groaned, his breathing heavy and his face hot. MC didn' let him finish, letting out a few more seductive moans before ending the call. Beelzebub took a deep calming breath, trying to compose himself. A teammate called out to him, reminding him break was coming to an end. The team would find that their star player seemed extra motivated after reviving the mysterious phone call.

BELPHEGOR

The Avatar of Sloth let out a yawn as he and Beelzebub walked through the shopping district. Lucifer had asked him to accompany the other twin whilst he went food shopping. It was a pretty common occurrence. The two decided to stop at a food stall, letting Beel have some food before they went back home. Belphegor settled down on a bench as Beel got in line. It would seem their shopping trip will be much longer than expected. The demon let out another yawn, as he snuggled into his pillow. With a sigh Belphie settled in his spot, ready to take a nap when suddenly his D.D.D began to ring. With another yawn the demon grabbed the device and glanced at the screen. "MC?" He hummed to himself as he accepted the call, pondering what the human could need." Hellooo..." He mumbled a greeting as he stifled another yawn. For a moment there was no response, making him frown in confusion. "Mmmhmm!" The sound of a low and improper moan suddenly rang in Belphegor's ear, making him jolt into a fully awake state. His purple eyes were wide for a moment as MC continued to gasp and mewl through the speaker. The demon felt his lips curl into a smirk as he listened to the sounds. "Are you trying to tell me something?" He questioned with a smug grin as he shifted his position on the bench, glancing over at Beel who was currently ordering his food, this gave him a few more moment to enjoy what he was hearing all alone. "Oooh! Ah!" The human continued to gasp, painting a vivid visual for Belphegor, as he imagined every detail of the human and their current activity. It was something which he enjoyed imagining often enough, and the lewd sounds were only fueling his imagination with fresh ideas. "Oooh! Belphie! Ah! B-belhpie!!" MC gasped, his name falling from their lips suddenly, making the demon freeze in surprise. Belphegor felt his face getting warmer, the sound of his own name sending his imagination down a spiral of scenarios and images of not only MC as they continued to vocalise their good time, but of himself getting involved as well. "Oooh, Belphie…" MC mewled one last time before the call ended, leaving the demon sat on the bench with nothing but his own racing mind, and a pillow to cover his lap with. Belphegor sigh as he shifted in the spot, looking over at his twin, who was currently stuffing his ace with food. A pained groan escaped him as he came to realise he will not be going home anytime soon, there is still shopping to be done after all.

MEANWHILE IN THE HOUSE OF LAMENTATION

MC found themselves sprawled on the floor of their room, staring up at the ceiling with a frown on their face. They had spent the entire day trying to figure out one thing…

Where did they leave their D.D.D??

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me beelzebub #obey me mammon #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor

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ramsayboltonsmuse · 4 years

Text

Imagine Ramsay Bolton and The Joker (Heath Ledger) fighting over you....PART 2

Summary: I’m bringing Ledger!Joker to Westeros! My two favorite villains in a smutty little multi-part imagine that ends in them fighting over The Reader.

You are Cersei Lannister’s oldest daughter and have been betrothed to Ramsay Bolton, a match devised by your grandfather Tywin Lannister to secure the alliance between The Boltons (who are now The Wardens of the North) and the Capital.

What happens when you throw in a chance encounter with J in the woods? Lots of violence, angst, fluff and smut that’s what!

Links to other parts: Part 1, Part 3

Ao3 link

You were having a nightmare. You knew it too, knew that you were in a dream, but you couldn’t wake yourself up. Instead, you were forced to experience the horror, frozen while completely conscious and made to endure the mentally induced physical pain and fear in terrible waves.

You were strapped to the cross deep in The Dreadfort dungeons, a hooded man standing before your naked body and making incision after incision, causing warm wet rivulets of blood to drip down your skinny frame. You couldn’t see his face.

You felt the temperature of the blood as if it were really real, and the precise sting of the sharp blade each time it cut into your skin. You didn’t scream though, steeling yourself against the onslaught of pain as he nicked your arms, thighs and chest with the knife.

The man didn’t make any sound, but you could tell from his body language that he was frustrated at your lack of reaction. The next incision he made was to your little finger, and it was far deeper than the ones before. You managed not to cry out, until suddenly he grasped the skin and started peeling it away from the muscle causing you to emit a blood curdling scream.

As your voice hit notes you didn’t know were possible, he was suddenly leaning into your neck and you could hear his voice cool and clear resounding in your ears and vibrating through your entire body. The voice was unmistakably Ramsay’s.

“I told you, you were mine.”

Panting and soaked in a cold sweat, you woke up in near complete darkness to the sound of your own voice still screaming. Frantically, you swept your eyes around your surroundings and made a move to sit up before realizing that your hands were completely bound.

With difficulty, you managed to shift from lying down into a sitting position as your eyes combed through the blackness around you, making out the dark shadows of four walls and a roof above. You were clearly in a small hut of some sort, though you couldn’t remember how you got here.

Trying to steady your breathing, your heart still beating out of your chest from the dream, you continued your visual sweep, squinting as you tried to make out shapes in the darkness. You realized you were sitting on a small mattress thrown directly on top of a hard dirt floor.

It began slowly coming back to you.

J hadn’t hauled you off more than 100 feet before reality hit you full force and you started kicking and screaming bloody murder for him to put you down. You still had no idea why your defensive forces had just given out upon initially meeting this strange man. You chalked it up to shock. You certainly had never had an interaction with anyone like J, especially not a commoner.

When you hadn’t obeyed his command of ‘zip it dollface’, he had dropped you to the ground and landed a decisive blow to your head that knocked you unconscious immediately. Apparently, he had carried you off to wherever this shack was.

Suddenly, as if forming themselves out the darkness itself, you saw two obsidian eyes staring intently at you. You felt your heart rate pick up again. The eyes seemed blacker than the darkness itself.

As your vision adjusted, a silhouette around those two eyes started to take shape of a man sitting upright and leaning against the wall directly opposite you, his head tilted back and observing you with a keen interest. You swallowed.

“Hello?” Your voice came out huffed and frightened.

“Hello.” The voice that answered you was menacingly deep and absolutely terrifying. It sounded like what you imagined a black dragon would sound like if it spoke, or a fire demon from somewhere deep deep beneath the ground.

You heard the sound of flint hitting rock and braced your eyes for light. When the fire appeared, it was inside a small lantern that immediately illuminated the room in a warm glow, casting long dark shadows on the walls and lighting up the somehow equally handsome and terrifying face staring at you. You yelped.

“It’s, uh, only me doll.” His voice shifted to take on a gravely, almost nasal, edge. It shocked you how easily it could change.

J stood and walked the few feet over to the mattress, carrying the lantern with him and setting it down in the center of the room. He proceeded to sit down on the edge of the mattress, causing you to pull your legs into your chest in an attempt to create more distance between you and your captor.

He didn’t seem to notice, staring intently into the lantern which illuminated his black eyes as they caught the reflection of the licking flames. In a split second, he snapped his gaze onto you.

“Had a bad dream-ah?” J considered you with his dark eyes.

“Tell me,” His hand shot out and he was upon you, closing the space between your two bodies in a matter of a second and causing you to cry out in surprise. He grabbed your chin turning your head side to side and regarding your expression as a devious smile spread across his face.

“What do a, uh, princess’s nightmares look like?” He let out a sharp laugh in your face and stood up, apparently no longer interested in you. It bothered you that he went from focusing on you as if you were seemingly the only thing in the universe to ignoring you completely.

You got the sense J got bored easily. And you refused to be considered boring. Your voice came out quiet but steady.

“I dreamt I was being flayed living.”

J turned on his heel and swung his body back down to crouch beside you, pushing his hair back with his hand, his voice low.

“Well, uh, sweetheart-ah, that’s not very original. You know, with your, uh, engagement to Lord Flay-ah.”

You looked him coolly in the eyes. Here it was again. This strange confidence. A sudden desire to push the confines of your current predicament, to do something risky. You had no actual idea who this man was, but you couldn’t deny that being around him made you want to do something rebellious. Be something rebellious.

If you were smart, you would be quiet and play along with his rules. If you were smart, you would wait patiently for Ramsay to show up and kill him, likely in some horrific way. If you were smart… But J didn’t make you want to be smart. He made you want to be something else entirely.

“Being flayed isn’t what scared me.” Your voice came out confident. “It’s that I liked it.”

J leaned back from you, regarding you almost clinically, his eyes devouring every part of your body and facial expressions. He seemed to be calculating something very carefully, looking for discrepancies.

“Hmmm.” He hummed.

****

Ramsay was furious.

He was standing around the table in the Great Hall with Roose and 10 of the Bolton guard, gathered to discuss the next course of action. The icy fire in his eyes alone could have skinned something alive.

Someone had taken what was his. The question was, who had the audacity to steal from him.

When you hadn’t returned that evening, he immediately suspected outside interference, knowing there was absolutely no chance you would have left The Dreadfort of your own accord.

He was that certain of his power over you.

And he was right. You wouldn’t have. Ramsay had you lock and key under his control, building his complete dominance over you with every little interaction. You knew you belonged to him. And yet, unbeknownst to him, you were currently under the influence of a very different kind of power.

Equally strong, the powers of lawful evil and chaotic evil were pulling at your core.

“You let her go into the woods alone.” Roose’s cold voice sliced through the air.

Ramsay met his eyes.

“No one would dare touch her.”

Roose moved closer to stand in front of Ramsay. The room was silent as he spoke.

“You’re over-confident about your position.” He paused. “To many of the men outside these walls, you’re still just a bastard.”

Ramsay’s hands clenched into fists, but he said nothing in response. Roose regarded him cooly, reading what was in his eyes. “You want to release the hounds.”

Ramsay straightened up. “My hounds will find her, Father, and the fool who took her. I’ll bring him back and make an example of him for all the North to see.”

Roose looked him over, considering.

“No.” Vivid anger flashed in Ramsay’s eyes as Roose spoke. “I can see now how foolish I was to give you the Lannister girl. I clearly should have taken the opportunity myself, seeing how you’ve squandered it so senselessly.”

Ramsay’s fists clenched tighter.

“I’ll go after her myself. And when we return, I’m going to reconsider your position. Perhaps a change of engagement is in order.”

It happened in the span of a second.

Ramsay drove the blade of his dagger deep into Roose’s chest. The Bolton guard standing around the table made to step forward and aid their dying Lord, but one look at Ramsay’s eyes had them frozen in place.

“No, Father, that simply won’t do.” Ramsay gripped Roose’s shoulder as he twisted the blade deeper. “I have grand plans for House Bolton. For my house.” Ramsay withdrew the blade, Roose immediately falling to the ground, bleeding out.

“You murdered Lord Bolton!” Regaining his confidence, one of the guards ran at Ramsay, only to be met with a dagger straight through his eye, crumpling to the ground.

Ramsay stepped back, spreading his arms wide, a dagger in each.

“Does anyone else have anything to say?” Some of the guards looked at Ramsay with a burning hatred, but their expressions began to change rather quickly as they made out the shapes of Skinner, Damon, Grunt and Allyn approaching the center of the room from out of the shadows.

“Nice of you to make an appearance boys!” Ramsay’s signature sadistic grin spread wickedly across his face as The Bastard’s Boys surrounded the guards.

Damon, a tall broad shouldered brunette famous for his love of whipping things, and Ramsay’s right hand man, stepped to stand beside him. He crossed his muscular arms and looked at the guards.“Men, show some respect. This is Lord Bolton now.” Damon grinned.

The Bastards Boys plunged their knives into the few guards who still looked shaken over Roose’s death, killing any who would even think of opposing the new Lord Bolton.

The remaining five guards latched their eyes onto Ramsay, who stood at the head of the table now, looking every inch like a dark and terrible god. One guard stepped forward and spoke.

“What would you command Lord Bolton?”

Ramsay smirked, his bright blue eyes lighting up maliciously.

“Release the hounds.”

NEXT PART: Part 3

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atc74 · 4 years

Text

A Whole New Experience

Square(s) Filled: Grace Kink for @heavenandhellbingo and @spnkinkbingo

Warnings: Grace assisted blow job, blow job narration (you’ll see), vaginal fingering, angel grace as a sex toy, implied voyeurism, implied threesome, lots of bad language, Sam Fucking Winchester the legend

Summary: After Cas and the reader are hit by a witches spell, they are forced into the other’s body. Wouldn’t you take it for a test run?

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Cas x Reader (sort of)

Word Count: 1575

Written for: @heavenandhellbingo, @spnkinkbingo

Beta’d by: @amanda-teaches who wanted me to add the following disclaimer: Amanda apologizes for any errors she might have missed when she was so distracted by the smut.

A/N: Sequel to A Whole New World (catch up now), that I wasn’t going to write, since I have struggled in the past writing Castiel, but pushing myself to be a better writer means I gotta just do it. Graphics made by me, photos found on google. There will be two more parts to this. Fair warning...they get filthier.

Like Sam or Cas’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

Y/N, still in Cas’s body, waited until she heard the rumble of Baby’s engine fade before turning to Cas. “Tell me everything I need to know about using your grace!”

Cas’s eyes, more accurately, her own eyes lit up. “It’s quite simple really. It’s all about focus. And, I’ve seen you with the lore and on a hunt, Y/N, you are incredibly focused. This will be no different.”

Y/N shed the remainder of the suit and strolled toward her and Sam’s empty bed and laid down, her back resting against the headboard, getting comfortable. Her eyes travelled down the well chiseled vessel Cas usually occupied. Just the thought of what she was attempting made her dick twitch. It throbbed and bobbed hopefully, filling at the thoughts running through her mind.

“Cas, I thought you said you’ve never had an orgasm? How do you know this will work and why haven’t you ever tried it on yourself?” She looked over at him, his eyes trained on her, his hardening cock.

“I’ve never experienced the primal urges that drive humanity. I’ve never felt a need for any of that. Until I met you and the Winchesters. I now better understand emotion and humor, needs and wants. Until this morning, I’ve never considered my own sexual curiosity,” he replied solemnly. “I’ll walk you through it, Y/N. When I am healing you or Dean, I don’t just hold my hand over your broken body, I focus all of my energy, my grace, into the parts of you that need healing.”

Y/N nodded her acknowledgement and closed her eyes, letting his words, but her voice, lead her. It probably was better this way, it’s almost like she’s narrating, hearing the words in her own voice.

“Envision in your mind, Y/N, exactly what you want. Imagine, if you will, you’re with Sam. Remember how you pleasure him with your mouth. Imagine my grace is your mouth, your lips, your tongue, your hands. Feel your tongue as it snakes out of your mouth, tasting you. Imagine your soft hands as they grip the velvety smooth skin.”

Y/N followed Cas’s instructions and a warmth flooded her body. It wasn’t entirely unlike the feeling of arousal when she thinks about Sam. The picture of her on her knees between Sam’s was a hazy blue. A soft moan left her lips as she focused on what she wanted.

“Run the tongue of grace around the head, before taking it between your lips,” Cas commanded.

Y/N felt the warmth of the grace as it wrapped around the head of her vessel’s cock. An involuntary moan left her lips but she craved more. She willed the grace to do what she wanted, her hips bucking up into thin air, into the grace as it sucked at her cock.

“That’s it. How does that feel, Y/N?” Cas asked.

“Oh my god. It feels so good,” Y/N keened, the sound strange with such a deep, masculine edge to it. In her mind, it was still Cas’s voice and she felt herself grow harder, hotter, imaging pulling those sounds from him once he was back in this magnificent vessel. “I need more.”

“You have the control, Y/N,” Cas told her. “Take it. Bend it to your will. Suck my cock, Y/N.”

“Oh, Cas!” she cried out as the grace followed her command, the pressure increasing to mind-blowing heights. “Oh god! I’m not gonna last!”

“Go faster, Y/N. Harder that’s it. Make the grace your little cock slut,” Cas moaned.

Y/N opened her eyes when she felt an entirely new sensation as tendrils of grace scraped across her chest, capturing each nipple, yet continuing to manipulate her cock. She looked up and Cas was three fingers deep in his pussy, pumping in time with her hips as she fucked up into the grace wrapped around her.

The image was enough to hurtle her over the edge. “Cas, I’m gonna come!” Y/N screamed, her hips bucking, body thrashing as the pleasure ripped through her, forcing rope after rope of hot come across her heaving chest.

Through hooded lids and fuzzy vision, Y/N watched as Cas continued to finger himself, and she gathered the mental strength to push the grace across to the other bed and aid in Cas’s chase of his own orgasm.

“That’s it, Cas. Just let go,” she crooned, using the grace to lap at the tiny bundle of nerves, while thrusting it in alongside Cas’s digits. She increased the pressure and speed, propelling him to his own end. “Come for me, Cas.”

The angel screamed for her as his body seized, shaking with the tremors as the orgasm worked through his cells.

Y/N rose from the bed to clean the stickiness from her chest, then returned to the bed looking at Cas blissed out in her body. So that’s what she looks like after Sam fucks her. Impressively hot. “You need to pee, Cas.”

“I assure you, I do not urinate, Y/N,” Cas attested.

“No, you, Angel of the Lord, do not. Me and my body, yes. And, I don’t care for a urinary tract infection, so go,” Y/N ordered, pointing at the bathroom. While Cas did as requested, she got dressed, wondering when Sam and Dean would be back. “Oh, and wipe front to back, please!”

“What?” Cas called out. “Oh...I get it. Okay!”

Just as Y/N was pulling up the suit trousers, the door burst open, revealing a disheveled Sam. Still shirtless, she regarded her boyfriend. His face was flushed and his chest heavy with his breaths.

“Sam, what’s wrong? Did you find a counterspell?” she asked.

“No, but it should wear off in a day or so,” Sam breathed out. “We ransacked the entire place, but couldn’t find anything. Sorry, babe.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad. I just gave myself a blowjob with Cas’s grace. That was pretty spectacular,” Y/N smiled at the memory, her cock reawakening, apparently needing little to no refractory period. “Where’s Dean?”

“Got his own room, said this is a little too weird and kinky, even for him,” Sam chuckled.

“So, you gonna let me fuck you with this body?” Y/N strode across the room, meeting Sam chest to chest.

“What? No!” Sam shrieked, backing away from her advances.

“Y/N, thank you for the orgasm,” Cas deadpanned, exiting the bathroom nude, his body on full display, still slightly flushed.

“Wait..what the fuck did you guys do while we were gone? Did you fuck him?” Sam gasped, looking at Y/N and pointing at Cas.

“What? No!” Y/N replied instantly, laughing. “I just used my grace, his grace, whatever. There was no actual touching.”

“Good, let’s keep it tha-” Sam started.

“Unless, you’d let me. Fuck him, I mean,” Y/N looked up at Sam with bright blue eyes and a natural pout.

“I’d be very interested in that,” Cas nodded enthusiastically, still buck naked.

“No!” Sam protested, giving Cas his bitch face.

“Think about it, Sam. It’s still my body, which you love,” Y/N reasoned.

“I do fucking love your body, Y/N. It’s amazing.” Sam licked his lips.

“And, you’ve shared with Dean before. Hell, we’ve shared with Dean before,” she winked, able to nearly look him in the eye in Cas’s taller body. “This is Cas. Your best friend, an angel of the Lord, that has never been good and fucked. In thousands of years on this planet, observing the human species, watching us go at it like rabbits and he has never, ever, been properly fucked. And for his first experience to be good and fucked by Sam Fucking Winchester himself? Mmmm, he’ll have material in his spank bank for another two or three millenia. So will we.”

Sam’s thoughts were churning a mile a minute. Cas was his best friend, other than his brother. There was no one in the world Sam trusted more than Dean, Y/N, and Cas. Sure, they had invited Dean into their bedroom before, but that was Y/N. He reasoned that this would be for her as well. And for Cas. He couldn’t deny the arousal that sparked to life inside his belly at the thought of Y/N, in Cas’s body, manhandling Cas in her body like a pro. Combined with the power of angel grace, this could potentially be better than it had been with Dean.

Y/N watched her boyfriend have his internal debate. She knew the thoughts that were running through his head, as well as the images. Sam was incredibly visual, and she glimpsed it just before he opened his mouth. He had made his decision.

“Cas, get on the bed,” Sam commanded. Cas eagerly rushed to the bed he had been using before, tits bouncing as he landed in the middle, a feminine giggle escaping his lips.

“Sam likes to be in charge, Cas, so just listen to what he says and I’ll help you, okay? You’re gonna love this. We’re gonna make you feel so good, baby,” Y/N cooed as she undid her pants and let them drop to the floor at her feet, cock already bobbing for attention.

“First thing I want you to do, Cas,” Sam paused, shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirts over his head. “Is suck her dick while I watch.”

Part three - An Enlightening Experience

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @seenashwrite @manawhaat @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield @emoryhemsworth

The Sam Sin-dicate / Jared’s Menagerie: @supernatural-jackles @fandom-princess-forevermore

Cas’s Cravers / Misha’s Minions: @wildefiction

#heavenandhellbingo #spnkinkbingo #sam winchester #castiel fanfiction #cas x reader #sam x reader #castiel smut #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic

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d-criss-news · 4 years

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There’s no business like show business, especially Ryan Murphy’s version of events in Hollywood.

On the ambitious seven-episode series he cocreated with Ian Brennan (The Politician), Murphy marries the glamour of 1940s Los Angeles with its seedier side, as established stars like Vivien Leigh (Katie McGuinness) rub elbows with fictional up-and-comers, including aspiring actor Jack Castello (David Corenswet, below, with Patti LuPone), who’ll do anything to get a foot in the door.

The visually stunning series imagines a world where the industry’s antiquated rules — such as casting minorities only in supporting roles — were bent, and changed the world in the process.

“There’s a lot of fun to be had with that,” explains Darren Criss, who plays new director Raymond Ainsley. He breaks ground by casting his girlfriend, African American actress Camille Washington (Laura Harrier), in a lead role for his major studio film. “Dreams come true, but at what cost?” teases Criss, also an executive producer on the series.

As with most of Murphy’s projects (American Horror Story, etc.), Hollywood features an impressive ensemble, including LuPone as the wife of a studio exec played by Rob Reiner, Jim Parsons as a smarmy agent and Queen Latifah as Oscar-winning actress Hattie McDaniel.

Here, Criss clues us in on more.

There’s a great mix of real Hollywood lore with fictional characters and situations in the show. What did you make of that?

Darren Criss: It is sort of a Hollywood-ization of Hollywood itself, or the Ryan Murphy version of that fantasy. I hope people watching it go in taking it with a grain of salt that this isn’t sort of a grand expose of the time, or some sort of factual recounting. I think that it will become very clear from the tone that things happen [in the show] that, clearly, didn’t happen, otherwise you would’ve heard about it. It becomes pretty clear that this is, again, Hollywood getting the Hollywood treatment.

The show is also about being an outsider and we see a lot of characters working their way into Hollywood. How is Raymond an outsider?

He sees himself as an outsider, which is usually ground zero for anybody feeling isolated but in Raymond’s case, he has a bit of a chip on his shoulder for being of half-Asian descent, which I think is just something that Ryan has always been interested in, especially being white passing. When we first started talking about the Versace series, he took a keen interest in me being half-Filipino and not looking like it. And that was kind of a big part of Andrew [Cunanan’s] own makeup as a person and as a genetic person as well.

[In Hollywood], Raymond has made himself to feel like there’s a part of him that is responsible for helping those that don’t have this free pass and he wants to be able to use his art form as a means of being a social justice warrior, and looking out for other people who didn’t have the same strange leg-up in a way.

Like a lot of the characters in the show, is Raymond going to have to step over some of his moral lines to get what he wants or to follow those dreams?

Raymond is prepared to do what he must. But in the same vein, what’s really charming to watch about young ambition is that young people can get in over their head when they want something. They want something so bad that they’ll say yes to anything, and then suddenly they wake up, and they realize, “Oh, my God, what have I gotten myself into?”

And watching somebody as level-headed, seemingly, as Raymond, means that he makes decisions that now he has to take responsibility for. And that happens throughout the series, where it’s a charming journey to go on, because any young person can attest to always wanting something, and then realizing, “Oh, wait, I have to do what in order to get that?”

And tell me about wearing those fabulous clothes, because I was very envious of the suits, and the ties, just all of that. How was it for you?

I don’t know when the last time you wore a high-waisted pant was but if you ever want to walk like a gentleman in the 1940s, you hike up those pants, you tuck in that shirt, and you will hold your cigarette differently, and you will talk like Cary Grant. It just happens to you. So a lot of the famously impeccable work of the Ryan Murphy television design team really elevated, I think, everybody in the way that they carry themselves in the way that they perform, because it’s just an instant time machine. So that was just so fun. I felt right at home.

With so many Broadway musical vets in the show, yourself included, safe to say there was some singing when the cameras stopped filming?

100 percent. It was constant. It was absolutely constant. If we’re going to use Patti as an example, there was a late night after the George Cukor party [in the show], where everyone’s driving back in the van, and everyone’s really tired because it was a really long day. And Joe Mantello, bless his heart, went, “Patti LuPone, sing us a song.” And then she just sang “What’s New Buenos Aires” [from Evita] just for us in the van. And it was incredible. And then Patti also — shameless plug to my piano bar [Tramp Stamp Granny’s] in L.A. but the cast all came out, and Patti sang “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina,” bless her heart.

So whether it was at my bar, on set, or at my house, a lot of music abounded constantly. It’s a very musical cast. And, yeah, never tempt me with a musical good time. I will always find an excuse to play a song, or sing with somebody if they are up for it as well.

That was honestly one of my favorite parts of the show, was the really nice combination, by the way, because you have sort of the young Turks as Patti would say, the young gang, and we’re sort of taking a cue from the upperclassmen. The wisdom of the true veterans and the enthusiasm of the young Turks was a really great cocktail that bred a lot of hope and excitement. I think the show really hopes to achieve for an audience this sense of constant hope and excitement, which is really the backbone of what Hollywood’s supposed to be.

Hollywood, Series Premiere, Friday, May 1, Netflix

#darren criss #tv insider #hollywood #press #april 2020

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wheelersdealer · 5 years

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Just a Swirl

Request: Can I get an nsfw headcanon (if you want it to be) where you’re Robin’s sister but you’ve been close with Steve since middle school and you’re dating him, so you stop by Scoops Ahoy regularly to see both of them. Steve goes on break and the both of you head to the back and you end up making out or giving him a blowjob while Robin’s working up front? - @steve-is-a-damn-good-babysitter.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Buckley!Reader A/n: I hope you get just as disturbed as Steve by the euphemisms. Enjoy!

Robin has an eye for impending interactions. She can sense a giddy girl and what made her so giddy from a mile away without any other indication in sight. And when the news would come out mid-class in a boisterous (hilarious, though embarrassing) display she could only bite her lip and huff, knowing she knew the whole time.

Try as you may…you cannot escape your sister’s keen understanding.

Sure, you may ‘skip’ into Scoops Ahoy every so often to keep both of them company during their break. And you may shoot the same sly smirk both her and Steve's way every so often, never letting favoritism or relations keep you from keeping it real…

But she knows.

From the moment you come in with your hair simply tucked behind your ears, and your eyes set a bit too intentionally on hers to keep a very obvious balance to the attention you give both of them…she knows.

“Just on time! I’m on break,” Steve says, clapping his hands. “Wanna join me?” He does a little dance backward into the break-room. Robin looks down at the counter and chuckles to herself. The poor lad’s completely oblivious.

“Sure!” You say, so, so innocently. Robin wiggles her brows into some corner where she’s sure there has to be a camera watching for the real lives of Scoops Ahoy employees.

Now, you do not entire the backroom with the surefire knowledge that you are going to do to Steve…what you are going to do, but it has been on the back of your mind. He's been tense lately, waiting for his Henderson kid to come home and waiting for Erica and her friends to contaminate all the sample spoons, and waiting for the next round of “How Will You Save the World This Time!”

You usually spend his break just talking, letting him vent, letting him share his whacky entrepreneurial ideas, him begging for you to give him the juicy deets about your old classmates since you still mingle in that category.

But when most of that fun stuff happens, you two are sitting and enjoying a small bowl of ice cream that he prepares minutes before he goes on break.

He didn't make the ice cream this time, and instead, he's standing and leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Jackpot…or maybe some other victorious term.

“So! Go on, tell me about your day!” You chirp.

Steve’s so reminded of how cursed his day was he doesn’t notice you drop to your knees and smile up at him. It’s an innocent smile like you’re genuinely curious. Well, you are, but you also have your hands around the rim of his pants and if he had been noticing that, he’d label your smile as more sensual than sweet.

“Oh gosh,” he sputters, “where do I start? Okay um, well—“ his hair bounces along with his head, which shows just how hard he’s trying to juggle which story gave him the biggest headache.

“OH! I got it,” he snaps his fingers, “I got it. We have this group of gross little preppy teenagers, alright? If you thought Erica and her friends coming in every day for samples was bad, well guess what. This is some national chain and one of the kid’s cousin or brother or something works at another location where he read in the freaking workers manual how technically as many samples can be given as they ask, as long as they buy the ice cream afterward if they go above asking for three samples. But the thing is — how the hell am I supposed to know if they’re going to buy the ice cream afterward! It’s not like I can rip their money from their pockets and throw a freaking…” he scoffs and crosses his arms, “cone of U.S. S. Butterscotch at them and call it a da—AAAYYYYY o-KAY!”

He only got the gist and understood the strange breathability of his privates when you ran your tongue on the underside of it. And his first response is to make that noise (to your annoyance and to a curious and mildly disturbed perk in Robin’s ears) and try to push your hands away, but that process just resulted in him gripping himself and making him more shocked and flustered.

You chuckle and roll your eyes at him.

He’s stuck, cheeks full of the air he can’t get out of his mouth.

After breathlessly sputtering an incoherent question, he spasms and seems to ‘reset’ his comprehension. “WHAT—“ then he thinks of Robin and with a stretch in his groin he whispers to you, “What are you doing?!”

You pout, hopping a bit while still sitting on your calves. “C’mon Steve,” you rub his arm, “I’m helping you out. This job stresses you out, just let loose a little.”

“This job does not—“ He nervously looks to the wall. Just behind it is Robin. He groans and fumbles again, pushing your hands away from his junk and struggling to pull his bottoms back on. “Does not stress me out. Sometimes it’s just that people are douchebags and my dad said retail sucks and is for suckers and okay maybe—maybe I think about that sometimes and how, who knows, I could be at college right now. But it’s not-it’s not….” He takes a breath. “Okay after saving the universe from an inter-dimensional monster once or twice, trust me Y/n…this isn’t stressful.”

You twist your lips and look off to the side while you think about that. Yes, that was stress….but more of the post-traumatic kind, not the “I need a quick cheer up and I’ll be fine” kind.

So you roll your eyes and just look at Steve. It’s this look he thinks is kind of condescending but also like you’re silently judging him. Like you know what's best for him like you’re just worried for him (God, he tremors thinking back to all of those types of conversations), all the soft and sorrowful looks, basically.

It’s not that he doesn’t want it…he’s just iffy about getting it like…right now.

He runs his hand through his hair (pictures of his hand there while his other is in your hair runs through his mind and he closes his eyes tight) and takes a breath.

You smile at the obvious internal struggle.

“C’mon Steve…” you sit on your knees, clawing softly at his stupid little shorts. “Just a swirl? Not just for you, but for me?”

He dares to open his eyes.

Damn you Y/n Buckley for the way you stick your tongue out and for making him feel like the absolute KING he only figured existed in bad 70s porn movies.

He looks to the wall again. And right in the middle are the sliding doors. If Robin so dares to crack it open just a bit, or god-forbid the wood is something like balsa and not nearly as secure as it makes you believe, he's out of here for voyeurism or synonymous with the guy that made suspicious noises in the back room of Scoops Ahoy before coming right back out.

His head bounces around. You think it’s a nod but it also looks like a shake. And he says something but it's all soft and wispy and you squint, slowly sitting back down on your calves and waiting for him to snap out of his shy schtick. While adorable, c’mon and hurry up here, you’re just trying to suck his dick.

“Steve?” You question.

“Yes! Fine! Just—“ he throws his hand to the wall. You understand the stakes. “M-Make it quick?”

This is one of his fantasies but he never imagined the potential consequences of a fantasy like this.

You wiggle your brows and Steve gets comfortable against the wall. He’s totally down. He just doesn’t want to get fired, or again, come out mid-moan in an effort to prove his girlfriend wasn’t going to town, only to find himself among two parents and their kids damn-well old enough to understand what’s going on.

You start to suck him off, starting around the head as usual and going agonizingly slow and rolling your tongue over his head. You know he said this was a quick one and it will be a quickie but you’re not about to jeopardize the flow of pleasure by skipping out on transitions.

Your lips are plump and in the yellowing light of the Scoops Ahoy backroom, they’re shiny too. You’re glowing, really, looking straight out of one of those movies. You hold yourself up by pressing your hands to his thighs. He thinks it's cute but the pressure around the whole area and the visuals (so very overwhelming) makes Steve bump his head back against the wall. It’s such a short part of the experience but he’s already hard as a rock and while his hips aren’t urging to jut up and hit the roof of your mouth or blow a load, the anticipation of wanting you to hurry up and let him blow a load is prominent in the back of his mind…which makes it all that harder for him to not blow a load.

You grip at the base of his shaft as you keep going, speeding up and even putting in the effort to roll your neck up so he can get a really good point of view shot with each stroke you give him. To get this going along faster, there are sounds. He can hear them, the squelches of saliva on your lips and in your cheeks. And gosh he loves them, but he doesn’t like this mall's less-than-thick walls.

Somewhere in his mind, he thinks that making it harder for sounds to come from your throat will be a natural sound-proofing.

He’s wrong and now he's pushing on your head and you’re deep-throating him, still swirling your tongue over him like you would have even if he wasn't completely sheathed in you. He thought he was as deep as you can go, but when you make the effort it's when he can feel the curve of your throat and the way it feels so, so good.

He has his teeth in his lips and fist to his mouth trying to keep quiet. And he works on getting his body to stop spasming his head and hips back into the wall. It makes a thud he’s positive Robin can hear, and it incites him to whimper curses at himself into his palm which isn’t fleshy enough for you to be deaf to it at least.

You give him a bit of a break, pulling him out (there’s that slurp, slow and satisfying), giving a smile, then going again at a regular pace, moving your head forward and back, forward and back. He pokes into your cheek and you allow it, working your tongue up his shaft. You let him lead again (slightly) and he bobs your head for you, giving you intervals where you can and can’t breathe on his account. You gag but you enjoy how your mouth burns with the friction.

Steve tangles his hand in your hair and just lets you do what you’re doing (guiding minimally). Now he knows if anybody’s going to get you caught, it’s him.

Well, apparently him realizing that was a fuckin' joke.

Cause, why God, Steve hears Robin walking around up front. There was no reason for her to be walking around (he wondered if there was even space), she was just pacing and ugh she was probably waiting for you to get it done with.

With a quick “Shit!” Steve hisses, he pulls himself out of your mouth (a shiver goes up his spine at how slick it is) then goes ahead and fists his cock. He puts his head against the wall again while still trying to crane his neck and look at you. There you are on your knees with your mouth open and tongue stuck out. Steve closes his eyes for a moment before letting out a stream of cum onto your tongue and a series of soft moans from his mouth.

He finds himself both fascinated for getting away with this and also disgusted.

But the thrill of completion gets an extra kick to it thanks to those circumstances.

He wonders if you two aught to go again so you can get something out of it. But you seem perfectly content, swallowing all of it and smirking at Harrington’s exhausted self and hopping to your feet. You pull his briefs and shorts up for him, holding onto his waist and giving him a quick kiss.

You give very little space between his lips. He starts to chuckle, cause he really just did that. And just as you lean in for another kiss (it would be more passionate this time, he thought, more satisfying), you whisper, “Wash your hands,” still with a sensual tone, and give him another peck.

Skipping out of the backroom you give Robin an innocent smile. Her tongue is to her cheek and when Harrington finally stumbles out in the middle of violently drying his hands with a paper towel, she raises her brows.

And Steve deflates knowing she's never gonna live this down.

(Message me if you would like to be tagged whenever I post a Steve imagine!)

@stevieharrrr @songforhema @broadwayandnetflix @billyhargrovescigarette @bckysloki @christinawxxx @timeladygallifrey @gwenebear @chloe742 @wtf-multifandom @theyoutubedork @marvelismylifffe @novaaddictx @steveharrigntons @chubbybunny111 @wigofokoye

#Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington imagine #Steve Harrington imagines #Steve Harrington smut #Stranger Things imagine

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concussed-to-pieces · 4 years

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Stay Safe Playlist

YouTube Playlist for Stay Safe Found Here

(Alternatively, if the link doesn't work: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLtGKUohVH5zUp6uaQkDTx7T8VNCVjrccq )

I present the soundtrack/score/playlist for Stay Safe! While I was writing, I had the idea to ‘score’ it like it was a visual media byproduct. Music is incredibly helpful for me when I need to visualize different things or instill certain emotions.

Beneath the cut you will find a full breakdown of the individual songs chapter by chapter, as well as the YouTube links to each of them! There will be spoilers for all chapters of Stay Safe, of course.

Enjoy!

Part One: Should Have Known Better

Intro--Carpenter Brut

So here we have our introductory piece! Something to channel a little danger, a little suspicion, that sense of unease from waking up bleary-eyed in a new place. Throughout it weaves the old school sci-fi motif to set our scene, with heavy synth use and electronic instruments.

Launch--Daniel L.K. Caldwell

We lean heavily on the electronic once more, evoking a sense of weightlessness as we head through hyperspace to the dulcet tones of deep synth, querying brass and lonely, wordless vocalizations. Our protagonist finds themselves managing the care of a strange child in a new environment. They are weary and sore but their charge is an easy burden to bear, all things considered. When they eventually bed down for some well-deserved rest, they find they can sleep peacefully.

...x…

Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Star-Stealing Girl--Chrono Cross Original Soundtrack

This piece is inquisitive and lilting, and fits well with Sorgan. Through it you can hear soft, high vocalizations like a child's singing. The village radiates safety and comfort, invoking an aching sense of nostalgia for things that our protagonist may have once had.

The Countess Cathleen/The Women of Sidhe--Riverdance

Near and dear to the heart, this piece is twofold. We carry on the gentle, idyllic motif of the previous piece with some crooning pipes, but of course our group is in this village for a very specific reason. The second half of this track morphs into something determined, made of sterner stuff than its gauzy counterparts. This perfectly accompanies the implied training montage of the villagers and our protagonist under the watchful tutelage of a shock trooper and a Mandalorian.

...x…

Part Three: Vibroblade Mettle

Facing Fears--Ivan Torrent

At last, we come to our big fight! We start out soft, our protagonist calming the children in the hut before they themselves are attacked. There's the uptick in tempo, the shift of music where they grit their teeth down harmonized by beautiful vocalizations. The whole piece has a certain panicky cadence until around the halfway mark, where it briefly flattens out before building back up to a triumphant crescendo. Our protagonist will let nothing and no one past them.

Good Night--Undertale Soundtrack

Thoroughly exhausted and incapacitated by the fighting, our protagonist drops where they stand. They are safe, and they sleep like a rock in the comfort of that knowledge. This piece is short and soothing, perfect to loop over and over again to lull you into slumber.

The Rage Of The Shadow Warriors--Star Wars: Republic Commando Soundtrack

The children are taught a very important song and dance by the Mandalorian, which they then perform in front of their parents.

...x…

Part Four: Reaching Out

Cosmos--Hazy

This piece is contemplative, soft piano with ethereal, twinkling electronic notes. There is an airy quality to it that lends itself to reflection. We find our protagonist sitting sulky and disgruntled on Tattooine. At first, their resentment is sharp and crisp, but as one day turns into two, they begin to worry and their resentment thaws gently.

Sixty Seconds To What?--Ennio Morricone

Our gunslinging attack! We prelude with light chimes, instilling a false sense of security as Calican dandles the child on his knee. Then, the guitar picks up when our protagonist discovers the truth behind Toro's motives. Organ and horn blast to highlight Calican's villainous gloating and sneering at the Mandalorian, contrasting sharply with the light chimes once again to close the piece out as Calican falls.

America Online--The Midnight

The song that gave this chapter its title! This track invokes a sense of longing, with its worn-out cassette sound and quiet electronic pipe trills. Through it all weaves the tentative, heavily-filtered vocals with the query that our protagonist will soon find on the tip of their tongue.

...x…

Part Five: Dark Past

Lighting The Fuse--The Magnificent Seven Soundtrack

Our protagonist finds themselves in a tense spot, surrounded by unfamiliar ne'er-do-wells. There is unease in the air; we are at the slow build to an inevitable explosion. Grudging alliances are forged, undoubtedly for the sole purpose of gleefully breaking them.

Animal In Me--Solence

Our protagonist is separated from the Mandalorian once again and there is no way to truly know what transpired in the prison beneath their feet. However, his mental and physical state when he returns suggests that something unsavory has occurred. Our protagonist, for all of their good intentions, knows precious little about the armored man's grisly past.

Dream A Little Dream Of Me (Instrumental)--Yiruma

The Mandalorian, delirious, asks our protagonist to sing him the lullaby they sing for the child. They oblige, assisting him in obtaining peaceful rest.

...x…

Part Six: Go Alone

Bat Out Of Hell--Meat Loaf

Something lighthearted and fun! Meat Loaf songs are always a joy to belt out when you think no one else is listening, and this one is no exception. Our protagonist is unwittingly observed by the armored man, another nail driven in the coffin of eventual reveal.

The Savage Divide--Fallout 76 Soundtrack

We come to our protagonist moping around. They mourn being left behind once more, but they understand the reasoning behind it. This piece is wistful, with keening strings that lead nowhere but are lovely in their looping futility.

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Part Seven: Like A Ghost

Is This Love--Whitesnake

The song that started it all! If this was a movie in the eighties, you can bet this would be the song playing during our important scene. The scene where the stoic Mandalorian finally bears his heart to our protagonist. It's a song that seems like it should be delighted, but it sounds more like heartache. Love is no simple thing, as we will soon find out.

Stay--Smash Into Pieces

The song that gave this chapter its name! Pleading agony given vocals. The Mandalorian doesn't know what to say and that appears to be his downfall as our protagonist leaves him to ruminate on his behavior.

Adieu--The Seatbelts

Our protagonist scolds themselves roundly for their doe-eyed optimism with this gentle jazz piece in the background. Whisper-soft vocals chiding over idyllic ideas of love, not so much sad as disappointed. The piece is steeped in callous awareness, though shrouded in piano and delicate guitar.

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Part Eight: Savior At High Noon

Let It Never Be--Terrane

Our protagonist departs the Razor Crest alone and begins their walk back to the town. Soft, hazy vocals paint a picture of defeated, mechanical steps, emotions pushed to the side in favor of putting distance between our protagonist and the subject of their affections.

I'll Never See Him Again--Pocahontas Soundtrack

A throwback! Our protagonist finally makes it to the town and is ultimately struck by the crushing realization that they will no doubt never see the Mandalorian again. In a fit of exhausted grief and perhaps a touch of self pity, they cry themselves out. This piece never fails to elicit an emotional response, with the tender, pained violin playing that familiar theme.

Holdout--Two Steps From Hell

Our high noon showdown! We start strong, drums hammering like thunder as our protagonist all but throws themselves into the fray. The rattle of cymbals mimics the cacophony of beskar, loaning the scene a sense of despairing grandeur.

You Saved Me--Piotr Wojtowicz

Our protagonist, unmoved by intelligence or self-preservation, storms the proverbial beaches to aid the mortally wounded Mandalorian. Visual media would make this miles more glamorous, with gratuitous slow motion and competent lighting. We start out soft, but there's nothing quite like the breath-taking hitch of gentle piano that swells to female vocalization and fierce drum beats!

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Part Nine: Swan Song

Mandalorian Funeral Chant--Star Wars: Republic Commando Soundtrack

The Mandalorian sings IG-11 off, paying tribute to the reformed droid in the only way that he knows how.

Sacrifice--Transformers: The Last Knight Soundtrack

It's time for agony! We have a somber piece, strings circling round and round to a build as our protagonist slowly loses consciousness. There is an urgency and fear here, as well as weary resignation. Our protagonist is so, so tired.

Melancholy--Alex Kosenko

The long walk home. The two weeks in the bacta tank. The uncertainty of our protagonist's fate, and how heavily it weighs on the Mandalorian who now finds himself alone again. This piece is lonely, it's sadness and longing all in one. A contemplative doldrum.

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Interlude: How He Sees The World

Star Wars: The Mandalorian Suite--Samuel Kim

This composer is exceptionally talented! They've taken the score for this series and woven in motifs from the original scores, giving the whole piece a beautifully layered depth. A suite track for the retread installment, where we view the entire tale through the visor of the Mandalorian.

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Part Ten: Shereshoy

One Summer's Day--Joe Hisaishi

Our protagonist wakes in the Nevarro medbay, disoriented from their time in the bacta. The piano shines here, with searching orchestrations occasionally gaining center stage. There is a feeling of loss, of nostalgia and most importantly, a sense that things need to be put to rights.

So Small--Thomas Bergersen

The reunion! This track starts off quiet, gentle. Apprehensive and yet, cautiously hopeful. Our protagonist has found their way back to the Mandalorian and, as the music swells in that oh-so-familiar old romantic motif, all is forgiven. The strings build in tandem with the brass and choir, triumphantly declaring everything that is affection and reconciliation before tapering off. However, if we wanted to go for something a bit more eighties...

The Outfield (The Midnight Remix)--The Night Game

The alternate/bonus track for their reunion! This remix has boosted synth and extra canned drums, lending itself better to the sci-fi vibes. Another crooning, eighties-style power ballad to have everything fade to black right before we get that salacious X rating, and the proverbial credits begin to roll.

Dream A Little Dream Of Me--Jacklyn Lovey

Finally, a vocal rendition of Dream A Little Dream Of Me. A modern cover with a gentler tone overall, and the perfect way to round this score out.

The curtain closes on our tale, and I would like to thank you all for reading, listening and enjoying! Stay safe, my friends!

#playlist #the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #stay safe playlist #because I love music #so so much #enjoy!

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