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#based on the speckled band
hell-heron · 1 year
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Obviously it's all in Doylist (heh) service of the plot in truth, but I must say I like how much... passivity/learned helplessness/indifference regarding their living surroundings on the part of the twins is essential to the story, accepting a bunch of random modifications to their rooms that they never inquire about what exactly they are for, the doorbell having been put in place years ago and never being used by either woman. Rings very true to effects of abusive situations the way it's so frustratingly obvious something is suspicious to the reader but it can't be to them, why would it be to them when vague control on their own lives in general was never an option
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cappurrccino · 11 months
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someone stop me before i buy like 4 or 5 books in welsh
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skyriderwednesday · 9 months
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Still liable to changes, but I have at last placed every single story into my chronology! I have also made some changes to the order of stories placed previously, based either on new information or their vibes. Comments and feedback are much appreciated.
The ‘Gloria Scott’ - Summer 1875 [1] (Framing: Winter 1882-3?)
The maths as stated don’t work, as 1855 + 30 = 1885, and these events can’t occur after A Study In Scarlet. 1875 would have to be Holmes’s second year of college. 
The Musgrave Ritual - Spring 1879 (Framing: Winter 1882-3?)
It is stated to have been four years since Holmes last saw Musgrave. Holmes mentions telling Watson about the events of ‘Gloria Scott’. Watson must be living at 221b at the time, as his intro describes Holmes’s extremely messy habits in terms of lodging with him.
A Study In Scarlet - January to March 1881
Watson states the date he discovered Holmes’s profession explicitly as the 4th of March, which was several weeks after they moved in together. I find it likely that it was at most mid-January when they met, and that Watson spent February observing Holmes’s habits and trying to figure him out.
The Resident Patient - October 1881
Watson describes these events as being ‘towards the end of the first year during which Holmes and I shared chambers’, and then specifies that it was October.
The Valley Of Fear - January 1882 [2]
It is stated to be ‘in the late eighties’, but Holmes appears to still be getting used to Watson’s sense of humour, which he claims is ‘developing’, which points to it being earlier while Watson is still recovering from his illness. Any later and Holmes would already be very familiar with his closest companion’s personality. It cannot be any earlier than 1882 however, since January 1881 is taken up by the events of A Study In Scarlet.
The Speckled Band - April 1883
The Yellow Face - Summer 1883
The Beryl Coronet - February 1884
The Copper Beeches - Early Spring 1884
Charles Augustus Milverton - Winter 1884
I get the feeling this is an earlier case, as Watson’s attitude is oddly naïve when it comes to morality and the ability of the law to handle Milverton. I cannot see him behaving like this/holding these beliefs if he has already experienced Moriarty with Holmes for instance. He is also very jumpy while he and Holmes are performing their burglary.
The Hound Of The Baskervilles - October 1885 [3]
Mortimer’s stick is dated 1884, and Holmes notes this was five years ago (making it 1889), but Watson neither appears to be married nor in medical practice, and since this story was explicitly written as to have occurred before Holmes’s ‘death’, this precludes it being set after 1888.  
The Greek Interpreter - Summer 1886?
The Reigate Squires - April 1887
The Sign Of Four - July 1887 [4]
It is stated to be July (later mistakenly stated as September) 1888, but this contradicts both SCAN (March 1888) and FIVE (September 1887). There also appears to be a pearl missing as Mary describes their delivery. 
The Cardboard Box - August 1887
Holmes mentions both A Study In Scarlet and The Sign Of Four by name -- which implies that Watson is a very speedy writer, as this would be only a few weeks later. However, this may be taken as self promotion on Watson’s part.
The Noble Bachelor - Autumn 1887
This story is dated to 1887 via Lord St. Simon’s age, but Watson is soon to be married -- which is not possible if he has not yet met his fiancée. Dating SIGN to July 1887 fixes this discrepancy. 
A Scandal In Bohemia - March 1888
Watson explicitly dates the start of this case to the 20th of March 1888, and states that he hasn’t seen Holmes for several months after his marriage (which would be in the late autumn to winter of 1887)
The Stockbroker’s Clerk - June 1888
Watson states that he acquired his practice ‘shortly after’ his marriage, and that he was too busy to visit Holmes at Baker Street for three months. Counting most of March as the first month (per SCAN), that takes us to the June he states, which is the first time Holmes has visited Watson at his practice. 
The Naval Treaty - July 1888
[The Second Stain - July 1888**]
I take it that the story of this name is heavily if not entirely fictionalised. This is when the real events that inspired it occurred.
The Crooked Man - Summer (August?) 1888
The Five Orange Pips - September 1888 [5]
It is stated to be September 1887, but even if SIGN occurred in July of that year, Watson and Mary have not married yet for him to be ‘staying at Baker Street’ while she is away visiting her (dead) mother.
The Boscombe Valley Mystery - Spring 1889
The Man With The Twisted Lip - June 1889
I place this after BOSC, as Holmes takes it as a given that Watson’s wife will not object to him sending a note and running off on a case in the middle of the night. (I suspect he’s wrong and will be due a bollocking after breakfast)
The Engineer’s Thumb - Summer 1889
The Dying Detective - November 1889
Watson describes this as happening in his ‘second year of marriage’, which, 1888 being his first, works out as 1889.
A Case Of Identity - September 1890
Holmes comments in REDH that the case of Mary Sutherland occurred ‘the other day’. 
The Red-Headed League - October 1890
The Blue Carbuncle - December 1890
Watson states it to be ‘the second morning after Christmas’, making it the 27th. When discussing cases that didn’t involve a crime, Holmes cites the events of SCAN, IDEN, and TWIS. This also lines up with the publication order, BLUE being the seventh short story, and Watson states that of the ‘last six cases’ he has written up, three of them were legally free of crime (morally however…)
The Final Problem - April to May 1891
Holmes has apparently been working in France since ‘the winter of 1890’ when he suddenly shows up in Watson’s consulting room on the 24th of April. His ‘death’ occurs on the 4th of May. 
The Empty House - March 1894
The Norwood Builder - Summer 1894
Stated to take place ‘several months’ after Holmes’s return. Watson has moved back to Baker Street and sold his practice. 
Silver Blaze - Late Summer 1894 
(I would like to set Silver Blaze to be after NORW, since I think Holmes and Watson deserve a fun case after that one. I believe it to be post-hiatus since Watson is evidently resident in Baker Street and does not appear to be in practice at this time.)
The Golden Pince-Nez - November 1894
The Red Circle - Winter 1894
Watson is living at Baker Street, and Holmes refers to his medical practice in the past tense. 
The Solitary Cyclist - April 1895
The Three Students - 1895
Black Peter - July 1895
The Bruce-Partington Plans - November 1895
The Veiled Lodger - Early 1896
The Shoscombe Old Place - 1896
The Missing Three-Quarter - February 1896-7?
Described as occurring ‘seven or eight years ago’ from the time of writing, presumably 1904. 
The Devil’s Foot - March 1897
The Abbey Grange - Winter 1897
Wisteria Lodge - March 1898 [6]
It is stated to be March 1892, but this is impossible as Holmes is presumed dead at that time. It also can’t be March ‘91 as Holmes is too busy at that time, and referencing REDH eliminates March ‘90 or any year earlier. Further, Holmes complains of boredom due to a lack of cases, which eliminates 1894 due to a very high number of cases in that year (he also would only have been back about two weeks at that point). Holmes is also busy in March ‘95, ‘96, and ‘97. It is not until 1898 that there may be time to be bored by March.
The Six Napoleons - Late May/Early June 1898
It must be the end of May or the start of June, as Beppo was arrested and sentenced to a year in prison in late May of the previous year. (I’d like to set this one near DANC, since Holmes deserves the praise. 
The Dancing Men - July 1898
Mr Cubitt says that he met his wife while in London ‘for the jubilee last year’, and that Elsie received a letter from America ‘about a month ago, at the end of June’. 
The Sussex Vampire - November 1898
I date this story to after 1897, as that is the year vampires rose significantly in the public consciousness.
The Retired Colourman - Summer 1899
Amberley married his wife in 1897, and Holmes comments that the events that have resulted in their contact with him have occurred ‘within two years’.
The Priory School - May 1901?
Years listed with regard to Lord Holdernesse date the story post 1900, and wording makes it seem that that is not the present year.
The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax - Spring/Summer 1901?
The Problem Of Thor Bridge - October 1901
The Three Garridebs - June 1902
The Illustrious Client - September 1902
The Blanched Soldier - January 1903
Holmes claims that Watson has ‘deserted [him] for a wife’. 
The Mazarin Stone - Summer 1903
Watson is visiting Baker Street, and comments that nothing has changed in his absence, which infers this to occur after his second marriage. He also comments that a dummy of Holmes has been ‘used before’, referencing the events of EMPT. 
The Three Gables - 1903?
Watson has not seen Holmes ‘in some days’.
The Creeping Man - September 1903
As originally published, the date is stated as September 1902, but when collected in Case-Book, this changes to 1903. I place it in 1903 as Watson is not living at Baker Street at this time, having been summoned by a note from Holmes.
The Lion’s Mane - July 1907
Holmes is retired
His Last Bow: The War Service Of Sherlock Holmes - August 1914
Holmes has been undercover for the past two years.
Additionally:
This chronology was started in direct opposition to and due to frustration with Baring-Gould's chronology. Any comments or suggestions based on it will be disregarded.
It is my aim with this chronology to take into account all stated dates, and take them as correct except for where they blatantly contradict others. (e.g. SIGN being dated to either July or September 1888, when FIVE references Watson's wife in September 1887 and SCAN refers to his marriage in March 1888; Wisteria Lodge being dated to March 1892 when Holmes is 'dead' at this time)
It is also my intention that Watson is only married twice, the first time to Mary Morstan in late 1887 and the second to an unknown Mrs Watson in early 1903 (being strictly canonical, my own headcanons of him retiring to Sussex with Holmes aside)
I estimate that Holmes was born January 6th 1857, making him 18 at the time of GLOR and 24 at the time of STUD. Also by this estimate he would be 57 at the time of His Last Bow.
I estimate that Watson was born 23rd May 1853, making him 27 at the time of STUD. This would make him 61 at the time of His Last Bow.
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i-draws-dinosaurs · 2 years
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New dinosaur alert! Presenting Mbiresaurus raathi
Image ID: A digital illustration of the early sauropodomorph dinosaur Mbiresaurus. It is a slender, two-legged dinosaur with a long neck and tail and a body covered in fluffy feathers. The feathers are brown with lighter speckles that turn into stripes on the tail. The head and neck are wrinkled and featherless except for a few long feathers that hang from the base of the neck. The head and neck are coloured with patches of black and white, and an orange lower jaw. The Mbiresaurus is posed in a rough three-quarter view, facing to the right and away from the viewer. The neck is upright and alert, the mouth is slightly open, one foot is raised off the ground and the tail is curved around in front of its legs. End ID.
A newly-described species from Zimbabwe, Mbiresaurus is now the oldest named dinosaur species from Africa! It’s an early sauropodomorph, related to dinosaurs like Eoraptor and Buriolestes, and was probably an omnivore.
Mbiresaurus comes from a new fossil site in Zimbabwe, which contains a whole lot of other species that have yet to be described, including a herrerasaurid, which I’ve represented in this size diagram with Staurikosaurus.
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Image ID: A size chart showing Mbiresaurus and the early carnivorous dinosaur Staurikosaurus next to a light grey silhouette of a person. The Mbiresaurus’ head is level with the person’s upper thigh, and the Staurikosaurus’ head comes to approximately waist height. End ID.
The formation also includes a number of synapsid species, a rhynchosaur, and an aetosaur, a group of armoured herbivorous crocodile relatives that had never been found in southern Africa before! When combined together into Pangaea, the location of the fossil site matches the latitude of other Late Triassic early dinosaur sites, suggesting that dinosaurs and other Late Triassic species initially migrated across a similar climatic band that would eventually become South America and southern Africa.
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bubbledtee · 2 years
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A Break ~ Part 1
Based off of THIS interview.
Pairing: Kirk Hammett x fem!reader, Dave Mustaine x fem!reader
Words: 3.6k
Warnings: extremely incorrect timeline, mentions of Lars being an asshole, mentions of Kirk being a shitty boyfriend, mentions of cheating, mentions of sex, mentions drugs and alcohol, smoking cigarettes, crying, Dave being a complete softie for reader, i think that's all, lmk if i missed any!
A/N: ok, the timeline on this shit is inconsistent (obvi), and this is also kind of shitty, but it was just easier to have kirk and dave be in the band at the same time. lars and james are basically just procrastinating kicking dave out, so that's why they have both kirk and dave there lol. this is going to have at least one more part, and that part will contain smut ^-^
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It wasn’t your choice, coming to this party. If you could even call it that. You just wanted to spend the night with Kirk for once, to have a relaxed evening where there was nothing there to distract you from one another, no one to get between you. But, of course, that just couldn’t happen, could it? He couldn’t just spare you one night without being clung to this new band, ‘Metallica’.
You took a long drag from your cigarette, staring up at the moon and its surrounding speckles of light. The cratered rock was full as could be, the reflective light gleaming in the sky brightly. You couldn’t remember the last time the moon was so beautiful and bright. It made you wonder when the last time you really decided to observe the beauty around you.
Your mind was elsewhere as you continued to smoke, your knees tucked tightly against your chest. “Fuck, it’s cold.” you shivered, rubbing the trail of goosebumps up your arm in attempts to warm up. You really should’ve grabbed your jacket.
The sound of a zippo flicking open jerks you from your own thoughts, your neck twisting quickly to face the noise. Some part of you wished it was Kirk coming to apologize to you, to tell you that he was the dick, but you knew that wasn’t happening.
You sigh in relief when the flame of the lighter illuminates the identity of the rando behind you, his large hand cupped around the flame as he lights his cigarette.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Dave.” you exhale, turning back to face forward, “You scared the shit out of me,”
The redhead chuckles drunkenly. You could smell the cheap beer and weed on his flannel from here.
“Sorry,” he smirks before taking a drag. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was the faint hum of She by Misfits bounding from the shitty speakers in the home behind you. Dave exhales before motioning to the seat beside you, “Mind if I sit?”
You carelessly motion back, signaling a ‘Whatever’ as you suck back the last of the smoke before stubbing it out on the ground below you, “As long as you won’t call me a selfish bitch, too.” you breathe, quoting a very, very drunk Lars after you had asked Kirk if you could simply go home.
“Never,” was all Dave said before taking a long sip from his beer and sinking down into the lawn chair beside you. His silence confused you a bit. From what you’ve known of Dave, he’s an aggressive, talkative drunk, always fighting with someone or doing something crazy. But right now he was neither, seemingly just needing a break from everyone, too.
There was a break of silence as you just sat together, enjoying the damp aroma and particularly bright light of the night individually. Over the past weeks you’d known Dave, you’d gotten on well with him. Cliff, too.
But there was something special about Dave.
Maybe it was that notorious grin of his whenever he told a funny story.
Or maybe it was the way he cared about his bandmates, how he’d do anything for them even if they wouldn’t do the same.
Or how he listened to you when you told a story, not interrupting you like James or Lars would.
How he’d listen when Kirk wouldn’t.
“You don’t deserve that,” Dave mutters suddenly, taking a short drag of his cigarette.
Your neck swivels towards him, cheeks reddening at the somewhat bold words.
“Sorry?” you ask dumbly.
Dave turns his head to look back at you, the moonlight casting perfectly against his profile. “You heard me,” he slurs slightly before turning his head away from you again, staring into the pale light above. “No real man would stand for his friends acting like that towards his girlfriend. Not if he cared about her, at least.”
A pain struck through your heart at the guitarist’s brutally honest words. Of course Kirk cared about you, at least he did before he got caught up in this whole musician thing. You bit your lip as you slowly turned to face forward again, too, your head slowly dropping to rest on your folded knees.
Dave continued, “Those guys in there, James, Cliff, Lars, they’re my brothers. Other than them, I’ve only got my mom.” he sighed, running his long fingers through his thick mane of hair, “I mean, I’d do anything for them, y’know? More than they’d probably do for me, honestly.” Dave huffed out a pained laugh before sipping his beer once more, crushing the can beneath his foot when the golden brown liquid was all gone.
“But I’d never, ever let any one of them talk to my girl like that.” Dave hissed, almost angry, “That would’ve been my breaking point.” he added, bringing his cigarette to his face and pausing his motion right before inserting the stick between his lips, murmuring, “Should’ve been Kirk’s, too.”
It felt like you were being stabbed in the chest repetitively as Dave went on. Sure, he was right, Kirk wasn’t being a good boyfriend as of late, and it really was pissing you off, but why did Dave have to be so upfront about it? What did he get out of giving you relationship advice?
You push air from your cheeks in attempts to hold back the tears that had been there all night, but it was impossible. Kirk didn’t care anymore. He was all about the band, not seeming to care how you felt any longer. 
When he was in Exodus, Kirk would’ve followed you right outside when you stormed out, begging for your forgiveness and berating whatever “friend” had called you a bitch. But it wasn’t like that anymore. Metallica changed him.
The first tear trailed down your cheek as you clenched your eyes shut, hoping – praying – that this was just some sort of cruel nightmare. That you were going to wake up beside a loving, caring Kirk once again.
But you didn’t.
You pressed your burning eyes against your denim clad knees, the tears unable to be held back any longer. A light gasp for air turned Dave’s attention towards you, his eyebrows furrowing in pure concern.
“Y/N?” he questions softly, immediately dropping his cigarette to rub a hand up and down your back in an attempt to comfort you. His voice was soft and caring; very out of character for him. “Oh, don’t cry.”
Despite Dave’s gentle plea, you broke. The wails you’d been holding back for god knows how long were finally coughed up, salty tears staining your cheeks with dark eyeliner and mascara. Your head rose as you gasped for air, hiccuping up incoherent words that Dave couldn’t even start to decipher.
Dave gave you a pitiful, guilty look. He did this to you. It wasn’t his intention to make you upset, but it happened. God, he really should just keep his fucking mouth closed sometimes.
“Come here,” Dave whispered, pulling you up from your chair and back down into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you against him. His large frame warmed your much smaller one as you pressed your face against his broad chest, muffling your loud, breathless sobs. “I’m sorry, pretty.” he murmured against your ear, the pet name just slipping out on instinct before he pressed his lips against the top of your head. He smoothed a hand up and down your back, holding you tightly against himself. “It’s gonna be okay,”
Dave frowned at just how cold and sad you felt against him. He just wanted to make everything perfect for you, to make everything that’s bad in your life go away. He wanted to hold you like this forever, and to keep you safe and happy for as long as he could, safer and happier than Kirk ever could.
Ever since Lars and James hired Kirk, Dave was starting to get treated worse as the days went on. All of their attention was turned to this guitarist who, in Dave’s mind, really did not need to be there. They had a lead guitarist and rhythm guitarist and were fine as a four-piece. What did they need this random dude for all of a sudden? It wasn’t like he was filling an empty position, either.
However, when he realized that you came along with Kirk, things seemed to be just a bit better. You were smart, you were funny, extremely artistic, and absolutely beautiful. Whenever he could, he was sneaking a glance at you when you weren’t looking. Maybe from across the room during one of these stupid parties when someone made you giggle, or maybe during the band’s practice when you were sat in your own chair in the corner, drawing in that curious notebook of yours that no one but you was allowed to see. Not even Kirk.
So, when he began to notice how Kirk was treating you as the month went past, his resentment against him only grew. Most of the time, he’d stay out of it, just boring holes into the back of Kirk’s head after he’s, once again, sent you storming away for something he or one of the other guys have said. But on occasion, he’d follow you, ready to comfort you. Just like he had tonight.
Dave could feel your warm tears soaking through his shirt, and if it’d been anyone else, he probably would have shoved them off of himself in fears of ruining the shirt. But for you, he didn’t care. All he wanted was you being comfortable, and if that meant ruining his Aerosmith shirt, so be it.
Tears stream down your face when you pull away slightly, gasping to get words out, “It’s just- He wasn’t like this when he was in Exodus! And I don’t know if I did something, or- or-”
Dave shushed your teary rambles and shook his head, “You didn’t do anything, Y/N. It’s not your fault,” he assured you, resting his chin atop your head, “Kirk’s just an idiot,”
The sound of your sobs died down after that, your muscles relaxing as you let your body fully press against Dave’s. He was so warm, and so big, too. The way his long arms engulfed you against his chest made you feel so small, like his body could swallow yours whole and keep you warm inside and out. Like he could warm that empty cavity you felt within your chest right then.
After a moment, you noticed the volume of the music coming from inside dying down a bit, only faint notes breaking through the air occasionally. You wondered what time it was, and whether Kirk and the rest of the boys had decided to crash for the night, or if they were still up drinking whatever shitty liquor they had left.
“I dunno what I’m gonna do,” you sigh, subconsciously snuggling into Dave, just trying your hardest to warm up as you thought.
Obviously, you weren’t happy in your relationship with Kirk, but that could be fixed, right? Maybe, if you told him how you were feeling, he would take a step back and realize that he wasn’t being the boyfriend he should be, and that he should take you more into consideration. Or maybe, he just wouldn’t care. Maybe, he wouldn’t realize your worth at all and would just break up with you. Maybe, he just didn’t care anymore.
Your thoughts felt like punches as they banged around inside your head, questioning your entire relationship. You needed a break, that you knew.
You bit your lip, holding back more tears that threatened to pour from your eyes. “I don’t have a car, I don’t have much money, I don’t have anywhere to stay-”
“Sure you do,” Dave drunkenly chimed, his lips tugged into a smirk, “I have a couch,”
You sniffle and look up at him, “Yeah, but I really don’t wanna be a bother.”
“Pfft-” the redhead sputters, shaking his head dismissively, “The last thing you’d be is a bother, Y/N. I’m not a very busy guy.” He assures, “Plus, it’d be kind of nice to have someone other than the dog to talk to. She's a good listener, but she's shit at giving advice.”
You giggle and pull away from Dave, sitting yourself up on his knees. You peak over your shoulder at him, a cheeky grin plastered across your tear-stained face, “So that’s why you make such shitty decisions!”
Dave pushes your shoulder lightly with a scoff, “Says you,” he rebuts, watching intently as you slowly rise to your feet. The jeans you wore showed your shape off perfectly, hugging you in all the right places, and Dave cursed himself for letting his eyes linger for as long as they did.
“Whatever,” you laugh as you run your fingers through your hair, attempting to look at least halfway decent before having to face Kirk for the last time tonight. All you had to do was go into that god forsaken living room, maybe give Kirk a short explanation or just leave a simple note as to where you were going, grab your jacket, and then leave with Dave. It was as simple as that.
“Here, turn around.” Dave instructed, though before you had a chance to react, he was gently pulling you around by your elbow. “Let me get some of this shit off your face,” he mumbled as he took your cheek into his hand, cocking your head up towards him.
God, he’s tall. You thought to yourself, a smile playing at your lips as he furrowed his brows and attempted to rub the stains off with the pad of his thumb. After a bit of struggle, the redhead ran his thumb along his tongue before bringing it back up to your face, continuing to rub the black blotches from your cheeks. The pungent scent of the beer and marijuana ridden saliva hardly bothered you, your mind too busy secretly swooning over the six-foot redhead before you.
“There,” he smiled proudly, giving your cheeks one final rub with the sleeve of his flannel. You gazed up at him for a moment longer than you would have liked, your eyes flickering from his beautiful greenish-brown eyes to his plump lips as your mind wandered into uncharted territory.
How could someone be such a soft, caring person one moment, and then a gruff brute the next? It almost felt like an honor, being exposed to such a sweet, soft side of Dave like this. Especially when he was drunk. Of course, he wasn’t as drunk as usual, but still, it was such a difference that you were sure barely anyone ever got to see.
You took one last glance at his pretty mouth before finally looking away, your head turned to the side. You knew you shouldn’t feel like this about him, especially with what you were going through right then, but you just could never help yourself. It’d been that way the entire month and a half you’d known him, too.
If you watched them practice, your eyes were on Dave the entire time, watching those long, thick fingers of his work up and down his guitar. Maybe Kirk played better, but Dave always looked better. At first, you felt bad about it. Bad about how you’d “accidentally” fantasize about Dave instead of Kirk in your daydreams. Bad about how you couldn’t help but wonder what that light happy trail of his led to whenever he wore one of those cropped shirts. Bad about how you started to have to think about Dave during sex with Kirk, the feeling of it otherwise loveless and rough.
But you realized that Kirk deserved it.
Because maybe, just maybe, if he knew about those thoughts of yours, he’d realize the mistakes he made. Maybe he’d be reminded of what you were worth.
“Thanks,” you mumble, giving Dave a quick, flustered smile before turning around and slowly starting to head into the house, Dave following shortly behind you. He moves up beside you, placing a warm hand on the small of your back. You barely notice the vague touch, his essence very gentle and light against your own as you walk towards the sliding glass door of the kitchen. His presence made you feel much more comfortable walking back into the house. You knew that if any of the guys sent you some mumbly insult, Dave was there to defend you, with words or a fist.
You pull the door’s handle and step through the opening, the strong scent of weed immediately lingering to your nostrils as your body is finally engulfed in warm air. The sound of Lars’s obnoxious Danish accent hit your ears as well, immediately churning a feeling of nausea in your stomach.
Dave must’ve noticed your hesitation as he bent down and mumbled in your ear, not wanting to alert the hostile Dane with his voice, “It’ll be okay, he’s all bark, no bite. You know that,”
You blushed as you looked back at the redhead, “Y-Yeah, I know.” you stutter before gingerly stepping towards the living room, preparing yourself for a messy confrontation.
As you step into the living room, Lars’s drunken rant dies down, all eyes slowly turning to you when you make your way over to the couch. Everyone watched quietly as you picked up your coat and pulled it on before looking up at a very stoned Kirk, “Are you spending the night here?” you ask, very mild mannered while you hook the zipper on the leather coat.
Kirk looks over at Lars for approval, gaining a quick nod. He looks back at you, his gaze suspicious, “Yeah, we can stay. Why?” he asks dumbly, watching you zip your jacket closed.
You stick your hands in your pockets and look up, poking your tongue against your cheek as you quickly question your decisions one last time. You need a break. No exceptions.
“You can stay, Kirk. I’m staying at Dave’s place tonight-”
“What?!” Kirk practically shouts, making everyone else in the room jump before glancing between you and Dave, all thinking the same thing. All thinking that you were a cheating whore.
“I said, I’m staying at Dave’s place tonight. I’ll call you in the morning, and we can figure shit out, but right now, I just need a break.” you sounded exhausted, and you felt it too. You were so ready to take a shower and put on fresh, clean clothes that didn’t smell like sweat and weed, and just sleep for hours.
Kirk gave you an exasperated look before you turned tail and walked up right beside Dave, “Baby, let’s talk about this-”
“No, Kirk. We can talk in the morning when you’re sober,” your voice was stern as you began to walk out, Dave trailing closely behind you almost protectively, as if someone was going to lunge at you at any given moment. Which, honestly, felt possible with the way Lars glared at you, his eyes chanting every demeaning name in the book. But he knew better than to verbalize any of it, being practically half the size of Dave.
Kirk followed after you, pleading helplessly for you to turn back and give him yet another chance, but somehow, you stood your ground. You had no clue how, but you did. Maybe it was the fact you had someone on your side, someone right there to defend you and put that wall up between you and everyone else.
As you stepped through the front door, you took one last glance back at Kirk. He looked sad, but most of all angry. You were surprised he hadn’t attempted to attack Dave in an attempt to get your attention, but he must’ve been wise enough to know that the redhead was too big and strong  for him to take on. The look you shared with him only lasted a moment, though, as Dave slammed the door shut in Kirk’s face, the sound echoing throughout the midnight air.
You were both silent for a bit as you followed Dave along the sidewalk, beginning the trek to his apartment. Seemingly thousands of emotions ran through your entire body, some good, some bad. It felt as though you had a mixture of excitement and dread pulling your stomach in all different directions while adrenaline coursed through your veins, making your legs feel like a ball of rubber bands.
You sigh and look up at Dave, “How far is the walk?” you ask softly, subconsciously drifting closer to his side as you walk.
“Like ten minutes,” he answers, “Why?”
You shrug, looking back down at the sidewalk as you mumble, “‘Cause I’m cold,”
Dave thinks for a moment, looking down at you in contemplation before quickly hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. The feeling of his much larger body pushed flush against your own makes you blush, heating you from the inside out as your belly flutters nervously.
He smiles down at your crimson cheeks, “Is that better?”
You nod slowly, not quite sure how to feel about the affection. In your head, it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel right to be so up close and personal with your possibly-ex-boyfriend’s bandmate, practically cuddling like you were a couple.
But to your body, it felt perfect.
You spoke up after a moment, ignoring your internal battle, “Way better,”
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skinnyazn · 22 days
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Like Tears in the Rain
Pairing: Commander Shepard x Liara T'Soni Chapters: 1/1 Notes: @parttimeprophet asked "Ohhhh how about tearful kisses with Liara T'Soni x Femshep 👀🫶🏻? Writing, pls!" for kiss challenge!, Now you get the most heart wrenching bullshit, I may or may not have made myself cry at the end, it's fine I'm fine, excuse any tense issues I never write in present tense so this was a struggle,
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AO3 | MASTERLIST
Shepard is a born soldier, fighting with bared teeth and pure grit through every calamity in her life, so this ache that sits deep inside her bones is a familiar feeling. It’s made its home from the years of abuse on the battlefield, across different planets and star systems, but it wears on her the longer she marches through the torn streets of London. Wave after wave, casualty after casualty—the physical aspect is nearly as heavy as the mental. One mistake and it all ends: the Reapers win and humanity, as well as every other sentient species in the galaxy, annihilated. And that simply isn't an option. Not for Shepard. So she does the only thing she knows how to do: fight to survive. It’s an endless reserve of horrors as her crew fight through the crumbling city. Even the Cerberus cybernetics in her body can’t combat the tiredness she feels when they finally reach the Forward Operating Base. 
There’s no time for rest as Shepard inhales deeply, breathing the ash-laden air into her lungs, as she walks around the rubble to rally the band of soldiers. She looks at the faces of the men and women who served alongside her over the years, who trusted her—followed her through hell and back. They look older now. Kaidan has grey speckles throughout his temples and Garrus, a few more scars. Anderson just looks tired, and Shepard wishes things could have gone differently for the admiral. She makes it across a bridge to a makeshift medbay where Liara is already tending to the wounded, doing what she can to help the dying with her omni-tool. She still has the gore from the team’s early assault on her armor and Shepard wants to wipe it all away.
“How are the casualties?” she asks instead, walking toward the asari.
Liara doesn’t look up from her tool. “We lost people. Some of the wounded here won’t make it,” and it comes out calmly.
Shepard studies her lover. She hasn’t aged a day since their first meeting in that Prothean dig-site, yet the years took their toll in other ways. The once innocent and shy asari was now hardened by loss—most of all by Shepard’s.
“How are you holding up, Liara?” Shepard asks softly, moving closer.
“This is it, isn’t it,” Liara finally looks up at her commander, but her glacial blue eyes are distant. 
“Yeah,” Shepard breathes, “this is it.” 
The asari looks away, at the wounded—at the carnage around them in the brief moment of calm. 
“I don’t know what to say. I just know I’ll have a clever line five minutes from now,” she chuckles, but it comes out flat. Shepard reaches for her hand.
She stares calmly into her commander’s eyes. “I do have one thing for you, Shepard. A gift. It’ll only take a moment, if you want it.”
“Of course I do.”
Liara smiles and it makes Shepard’s heart yearn. She moves toward her lover, closing her eyes and resting her forehead against the asari’s.
And suddenly there is a weightless serenity. All the heaviness and pain from the battlefield, gone. When Shepard opens her eyes, she’s in a peaceful oblivion, surrounded by stars. Liara’s delicate hands fit perfectly in Shepard’s.
And they don’t need to speak because they can feel each other’s emotions. All the nuances and subtleties that can’t be conveyed with words. The comfort. The calm. The abundance of love. A glowing light rises over an artificial horizon, but Shepard is too lost in Liara’s eyes to notice its color. And when they kiss, it reminds Shepard why she’s in the fight: to give all the lovers a chance like they got. Liara moves her hands over her stomach and Shepard feels a wave of emotions. To give life a chance.
I wish we had more time, she thinks, but when her eyes open, she’s back in London.
Liara looks at her solemnly. “Thank you, Shepard, for everything. I love you.”
Shepard’s hands linger on the asari’s waist, thumbs brushing over her stomach. She’s too scared to say it out lout so she settles for, “I’ll be fighting for us.”
“I know,” Liara smiles, and this time it reaches her eyes. “Now let’s do what needs to be done.”
Shepard nods, taking in her lover one last time before the final push—her particular shade of blue, the kindness in her eyes, the softness of her body. She presses her forehead against the asari once more before she turns and makes her way through the stretchers to gather her crew.
And the minutes feel like hours as Hammer Team make their final assault through No Man’s Land. The swarm of husks and mutilated creatures is overwhelming. Soldiers fall all around, but Shepard and her team push forward. London looks unrecognizable as they navigate toward the massive Conduit Beam in the middle of the city.
“Incoming Banshees!” Liara cries out, readying a warp attack. 
“These bastards don’t give up,” Shepard grunts, feeling the weight of her Viper as she takes another headshot. 
“Brute at your five, Shepard!” Garrus shouts this time. 
“Then handle it! Where the hell is Wrex and the rest of the Krogans?”
“We’re busy cleaning up the mess you left,” Wrex’s voice booms through the static of the comms.
“It’s just like old times,” Garrus quips, but Shepard tunes him out as the claws of a banshee narrowly miss impaling her. She stabs the thing with her omni-tool and the shriek it emits is deafening.
“Shepard, take down that Destroyer!” It’s Anderson’s voice that breaks through the comms now, and Shepard spares a second to glance up a the massive Reaper that just touched down.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…”
“There should be Thanix Missiles controls in one of the tanks. Aim and fire!” the admiral shouts.
“Tuchanka 2.0,” Shepard mutters under her breath as she continues firing at the swarm of ground enemies. The deep boom of the Destroyer shakes the whole ground as its red beam carves through the city.
“We don’t have time! I’ll cover you,” Garrus yells, nearing the commander.
Shepard dashes toward the shuttle, booting up the missiles. Everything slows as she waits for the Reaper’s cannon to open; her whole body vibrates from the adrenaline. A glow of red and she presses fire. It’s a direct hit—until they swerve away at the last second.
“What the hell was that?!” she shouts, as she takes shot at a marauder in stasis. Liara has regrouped next to her as well.
“Damnit. The conduit beam must be interfering with the missiles’ guidance,” Anderson gripes. 
“EDI? Do you read me?” Shepard barks through her comms.
“Yes, Commander,” and it’s odd hearing the AI sound so strained.
“Any suggestions?” Another shot to a husk.
“I may be able to use the Normandy to enhance the missiles’ targeting capabilities.”
“Do it.”
“I’ll need you to open a link to the operating systems.”
Shepard punches at the control system while Garrus and Liara continue firing at the enemies that keep coming. 
“Missile guidance enhanced! But the Destroyer is still out of range. It needs to be as close as possible, Commander.”
Shepard unloads into another banshee. “How the hell do we get it closer—”
“Shepard!” Anderson interrupts through her earpiece. “Harbinger is releasing everything he’s got. Hammer Team is making its way toward you. Just hold on.”
“Another wave?!” Liara sounds exasperated as her flare of biotics rips through a husk. Shepard can tell it's taking a toll on the biotic.
“We HOLD!”
And wave after wave comes. Banshees, cannibals, marauders—it’s an endless stream of near death calls. The ash from the burning surroundings stick to Shepard's sweat drenched skin and tighten her throat.
“Look,” Garrus rasps between shots, “the Destroyer is closing in.”
Shepard glances at the horizon and the massive machine is nearly on top of them now. 
“Commander, it is within range!” EDI shouts over the comms.
“Firing!”
Another two Thanix missiles fire as the beam of the Destroyer weaves its way toward Shepard. This time they stick.
“A direct hit!”
“Hit them with everything you’ve got!” Shepard barks into the comms. An array of bullets and missiles in the city rain down on the Destroyer, exploding the being and littering the surroundings with corpse. A cloud of dust hits the crew.
“Destroyer terminated.” The AI sounds marginally calmer now.
“Nice work, EDI,” Shepard coughs, and she hears footsteps marching behind her.
“Shepard, over here!” It’s Anderson, and the commander feels a wave of relief that he finally caught up to them. She makes her way toward the older man. “We’re not out of the woods yet. Hackett just reported that several Sovereign-class reapers—including Harbinger—have broken off and are headed here.”
“Harbinger…”
“It’s a long shot but it’ll give Hackett enough time to get to the Citadel. But we still need someone on the ground to get to the beam and open the doors for him.”
“We still don’t know what we’ll find onboard the Citadel…” Garrus says bleakly.
“Then that’s our job: find out what we’re up against.” Shepard looks at the turian—at all of the remaining soldiers. “We’ve made it this far. There’s no turning back now. This is what we’ve been fighting for. Victory or death.” They nod.
“Alright,” Anderson said, “saddle up.”
Inside the shuttle there’s an odd sense of peace, in spite of the occasional rocking from explosions around them. There’re no windows and Shepard exhales at the bliss of being able to sit, to rest—if only for a moment. She looks over at her crew. Liara stares fixedly ahead, exhausted, and she reaches for her hand. The asari smiles faintly, squeezing back. Garrus has a shoulder wound and blood splattered all over him. Shepard hopes most if it isn’t his. He gives her a nod, telling her he’s ready to follow her to the end. Anderson sits in front of the commander, looking more than his age. She bitterly wishes he had a chance for a tranquil retirement among the stars.
“I’m proud of you, Shepard,” Anderson speaks, and it takes her by surprise. “We’re in the home stretch now.”
“No one I’d rather do this with.”
“We’re with you ’til the end,” Garrus chimes in, and his dual-tone voice sounds so tired. Liara just squeezes her hand harder.
But the smile is quickly wiped from Shepard’s face as the shuttle crashes to a halt.
“Well it was nice while it lasted,” she says, before opening the shuttle doors. “Ready?”
Outside is carnage, and the road to the Conduit is crumbled from the impact of the beam. They’re so close, but now it’s by foot now.
“It’s Harbinger!” Liara shouts over the chaos, as Shepard spots the colossal being landing. It's at least five times bigger than the Destroyer they just took down. 
“We make a run for it! NOW!” she yells, taking off as the Reaper’s beam cuts through shuttles and soldiers alike. Shepard can only focus on the conduit beam as she navigates the debris, dodging exploding tanks and falling rubble. She watches Harbinger’s laser vaporizes the ground next to her, flipping over a vehicle. It lands right in the path of her team.
“Liara!” Shepard shouts, going back for the Asari and dragging her to cover. Garrus slams his body against the flipped tank as well.
“Normandy, do you copy?! I need an evac right now!” She looks down at Liara, who’s starting to bleed on her.
“We’re taking on heavy losses up here, Commander,” Joker yells through the comms, but moments later the Normandy pulls in. Shepard feels a surge of pride knowing only Joker could pull off a maneuver like that.
“C’mon,” Shepard groans, lifting Liara over her shoulder and running back to Normandy. Other soldiers filter off the ship for ground reinforcement. The earth shakes each time Harbinger’s beam cuts through it.
“Here, take her,” Shepard grunts, handing Liara over to Garrus. 
“Shepard!” Liara moans, reaching out as blood trails down her side.
“You gotta get out of here!”
Garrus tries to pull her onto the ship but the asari pushes back.
“I’m alright, Shepard.”
“Don’t argue with me, Liara!”
“You’re not leaving me behind!” she cries. And all Shepard can see is the shy, helpless scientist she first met on Therum.
“No matter what happens,” Shepard steps toward the asari, “you mean everything to me, Liara.” 
Tears stream down the asari’s face now as her commander kisses her with the hopelessness of a dead woman walking. Garrus looks away.
“It’ll always be you,” and she wipes away the tears and blood splattered across her azure cheeks.
“Shepard I…”
But behind them, the high-pitch whirling of Harbinger’s charging cannon shrills.
“GO!” Shepard yells, looking at Liara for a final time before sprinting away from the ship. 
“I love you!” she hears her lover sob as the loading door closes and the Normandy pulls away, but her focus is on the beam now. She weaves through Harbinger’s lasers until things go white. ____
Time is distorted. She remembers the beam. She remembers the corpses. Somewhere in there, Anderson.
“You did good, kid. You did good.”
And she remembers smiling, feeling proud. But it didn’t last. She took the dog tags and put them over her neck. And she remembers the stillness of watching the chaos in space from inside the Conduit—the muted explosions and fleets of ships outside made her feel like she was underwater. She wonders if Hackett made it.
Then there’s The Child—the one she kept seeing on Earth and in her dreams—and it’s telling her she has to make a choice. She studies the thing, this illusion of a boy, and hopes that Liara made it. She wonder’s what she’ll name their daughter; she wishes she could watch her grow.
And when Shepard walks up to the catalyst, she’s not afraid this time. It’s not like the suffocating, cold, loneliness of space over Alchera. Now, she’s over her home. Earth. With everyone she’s ever loved down there. She holds the other set of dog tags in her hands.
“We did it, Anderson. We did it.” And she fires into the catalyst.
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chic-a-gigot · 4 months
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Le Petit écho de la mode, no. 48, vol. 18, 29 novembre 1896, Paris. 1. (1.) Capote Mercédès à 7 fr. 45. — (2.) Col en castor à 53 fr. 95; Manchon assorti à 12 fr. 95. — (3.) Eventail à 4 fr. 95 et Capote Antonia pour théâtre à 5 fr. 85. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney
No. 1. (1) Capote Mercédès à 7 fr. 45. — La forme très gracieuse est en velours avec fond doré. Devant antennes en plumes de paon. Cache-peigne de roses de velours dont la nuance est au choix entre: rose, rubis, crème, paille, thé, mauve et violet. Le velours est dans les teintes suivantes: noir, tabac, rouge, émeraude, vert foncé, ciel, rose, marine, crème, vert Nil, héliotrope, violet et rubis. Le fond est doré ou en jais.
No. 1. (1) Mercedes capote at 7.45 fr. — The very graceful shape is in velvet with a golden background. Front peacock feather antennae. Velvet rose comb cover with a choice of shade: pink, ruby, cream, straw, tea, mauve and violet. The velvet is in the following shades: black, tobacco, red, emerald, dark green, sky, pink, navy, cream, Nile green, heliotrope, violet and ruby. The background is gold or jet.
(2) Col haute nouveauté en castor Colombie loutre très foncé, entouré d’une large bande en mouflon gris clair moucheté noir. Dos forme pèlerine légèrement ondulée se termine en pointe devant. Col Médicis, pouvant se rabattre à volonté, en castor doublé à l’intérieur en mouflon. Hauteur devant à partir du pied du col 0m40 et dos 0m30. Prix 53 fr. 95. Manchon assorti en castor 12 fr. 95. Pour le col envoyer le tour de cou.
(2) New high collar in very dark Colombian otter beaver, surrounded by a wide band in light gray mouflon with black speckles. Slightly wavy pilgrim-shaped back ends in a point at the front. Medici collar, which can be folded down as desired, in beaver lined inside in mouflon. Height in front from the base of the collar 0.4 m and back 0.3 m. Price 53.95 fr. Matching beaver sleeve 12.95 fr. For the collar send the choker.
No. 2. Capote Antonia pour théâtre et cérémonie â 5 fr. 85. — La forme gracieuse et distinguée est en velours; avec fond doré. Devant draperie de velours retenue par deux coulants eu perles. Sur le côté piquet de plumes frisées. Derrière nœud formé par deS coques de velours assorti. Les plumes et les coulants sont noirs ou blancs. Le fond est doré ou en jais. Nuances du velours au choix: ciel, rose, émeraude, vert foncé, tabac, loutre, saphir, turquoise, grenat, or, marine, mauve, violet, héliotrope, rubis, mousse, noir et crème. Corsage garni de mousseline de soie, de forme blouse, froncé devant, dos uni. Manche garnie dentelle. Matèriaux: 5 mètres soie, 2m50 plissé mousseline de soie.
No. 2. Antonia capote for theater and ceremony â 5.85 fr. — The graceful and distinguished form is in velvet; with golden background. Front velvet drapery held by two pearl slides. Curled feathers on the side. Behind bow formed by matching velvet shells. The feathers and runners are black or white. The background is gold or jet. Velvet shades to choose from: sky, pink, emerald, dark green, tobacco, otter, sapphire, turquoise, garnet, gold, navy, mauve, violet, heliotrope, ruby, moss, black and cream. Bodice trimmed with silk chiffon, blouse shape, gathered front, plain back. Lace trimmed sleeve. Materials: 5 meters silk, 2.5 m pleated silk chiffon.
Eventail Louis XV à 4 fr. 95. — Monture os ou laquée avec incrustation or et satin orné de peinture fine. Hauteur totale de l’éventail: 0m24. Nuances au choix: Rose, ciel, crème, blanc, rouge et nil.
Louis XV fan at 4.95 fr. — Bone or lacquered frame with gold and satin inlay decorated with fine painting. Total height of the fan: 0.24 m. Shades to choose from: Pink, sky, cream, white, red and nil.
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cy-cyborg-draws · 4 months
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Pets in Sauvias: Velociraptors
When you don't have animals like wolves to domesticate into dogs, who becomes man's best friend? Well Velociraptors of course!
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In my pathfinder 2e setting, Sauvias, Velociraptors (or "velos" for short) were domesticated a few thousand years ago to serve as both companions and working animals. They have been bread to aid their people with a number of tasks, from hunting in packs and helping farmers direct their hadrosaurus herds, to pulling devices known as basket-sleds, a type of carrage-like device used by the smaller people of Sauvias to navigate through the dense jungles in the centre of the continent.
Wild velos are typically between 30-40cm tall with sandy brown coats, but through domestication, dozens of different breeds have been created that range in both colour and size, with the biggest reaching a little over 60cm tall.
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And of course, the people of sauvias have found a number of ways to show that their feathery friends are a part of the family. Some choose a classic leather collar or ankle band. Others choose decorative fabrics adorned with their family crests and patterns to tie around their necks like a bandana or waists.
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Others use intricately designed harnesses with the family crest engraved into the clip and decorative beads, and those who live in regions with dangerous aerial threats often put capes with eye-like markings and armour on their pet velos in a hope to deter predators.
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Mechanics
Of course, Velociraptors already exsist in the base Pathfinder 2e game, and the velos of Sauvias use the same stat-blocks as them, with smaller breads of velo using the weak variant stats and larger breeds typically using the elite stat variant. Players can also have a Velo as an animal companion using the existing Dromaeosaur stats.
Image Descriptions:
[ID 1: An image of a feathered velociraptor with a sandy-brown coat, pale brown underbelly and a darker brown stripe running down it's back. Above it is the Sauvias Logo and in the background is a height chart, showing this velociraptor is about 35cm tall. /End ID 1] [ID 2: 6 images of Velociraptors in the same pose as the original on a brown background. The top left dinosaur is the one from the first image, labelled "wyld", to it's left is a raptor with light brown fur and dark white and brown spots, labelled "Spotted". Below those two are more brightly coloured velociraptors. The one on the left is a rusty red with a yellow stripe starting at it's eyes and running down it's body, all the way to it's tail, labelled "Drakari Red". The one on the right is mossy green in colour with yellow-ish green speckles on it's back labelled "Herali Green". The final row shows two black velociraptors, the one on the left is entirely black, labelled "Night-feather", while the one on the right has white spots on it's snout, around it's eyes and down it's back, labelled "dotted". /end ID 2] [ID 3: An image of two more velociraptors facing one another. The one one the left is black with a leather collar around it's neck and on it's right back leg. On the left is the pale velociraptor with spots, wearing a light-blue bandanna and a large piece of fabric held to the raptor's waist with a leather belt. /end ID 3] [ID 4: two more Velociraptors facing eachother, wearing accessories. The one on the left is the green velociraptor and is wearing a leather harness adorned with gold and turquoise beads. The one on the right is the original brown velociraptor wearing grey, stone-like plated armour over it's neck and a turquoise cape shaped like moth wings with false-eyes on them. /end ID 4]
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ostewell · 2 years
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[Image ID: A digital drawing of Tangotek on a horse, excitedley talking to a villager. He is in a large valley between two mountains in front of a small house. Speech bubbles are leading from his face to the middle of the image, with images of Zedaph, a villager, a piston, a Decked Out card, an emerald, and a ravager visible. He is smiling and gesturing with his free hand, and kicking his feet. His horse is all black with brown tack, and a red blanket under the saddle. Tango is a pale skinned man with all red eyes and red eyeshadow, pointed ears, and black painted nails. His hair is speckled golden blonde and white. He wears a grey vest with a red shirt underneath and grey arm bands, red pants, and grey boots with patches and red laces. The patches show the Boomers logo and “S9.” The villager is a finch-based avian, with a brown cloak and wings. The background shows rolling hills dotted with flowers, shorn sheep, trees, and a far-off spruce forest, with snow-capped mountains visible in the far off distance. End ID]
OOO i can post this now!!!! my piece for the @hermitzine! :] based off the valley tango showed off in episode 2!
i am SO happy with how this came out!!! big thanks to @unnecessaryredstone (hope the tag works, you didn’t show up in the list alas) for helping with the background <3 it looks SO much better than the original :]
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moralesispunk · 2 years
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Surprise Guest (Marcus Pike x Wife! Reader)
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Summary: The vows have been said, the first kiss as husband and wife shared, and now Marcus has one last surprise for you on your wedding day
Word Count: 4.2k
Warnings: established relationship, kissing, smut, oral (m/f receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, a few ass slaps (this is Marcus)
Notes: so this does follow on from It’s a Nice Day for a White Wedding but you don’t need to have read that first! also there is mention of Marcus telling reader about his earring in college and again it is based on this thought but you don’t have to have read that first - it was just a fun little addition!
*****
The whole day has been wonderful; as you sip your champagne and look out across the collection of close family and friends who flew across the Atlantic to spend the day with you both you can’t help the smile that takes over your face, even if one of the most important people - your new husband and the groom - is nowhere to be found.
After waking up side by side, you and Marcus going your separate ways only long enough to get ready, you were back together and attached at the hip ever since being announced as the new Mr and Mrs Pike. The whole day had been a blur until now - there were tears as you shared vows, tender touches with your first kiss as husband and wife, good food and drink and plenty of photos taken of you together with the guests - but you had been aware of Marcus’s presence by your side the whole time.
He had held your hand when you turned to face the guests, hands clasped and raised above your head as your guests cheered and threw confetti over you and you walked back down the aisle. His hand had been on the bottom of your back as you navigated your way around the champagne reception shaking hands and accepting congratulations. That same hand had made its way down to your leg, resting on the silky material you wore as you ate dinner in the center of the one long table filled with guests, before reaching for yours and spinning you into his arms as you made your way to the dancefloor - holding one hand against his chest and his other resting on your back as you danced along to the wedding band and he whispered in your ear.
It had made it all the stranger that as you stood at the edge of the dancefloor now, with another glass of champagne in your hand, you couldn’t find your new husband anywhere. You searched over the crowd that was dancing along to the band for those beautiful dark curls with speckled grays and a well-fitted tux, the bright smile that hadn’t left his face since you woke up together this morning, but when you came up short again you went in search of him.
Your Maid of Honor, your lifelong best friend since the first day of school - Lucy, had danced over to you and you bent down enough to shout over the music.
“Have you seen Marcus?”
She shook her head, reaching for the glass and taking a sip with an apologetic smile as she caught her breath from dancing with one of Marcus’s cousins - you had noticed them earlier, raising your eyebrow in her direction with a smirk as she shyly shrugged you off.
You looked over the crowd once more but when you noticed that the rest of the groomsmen were also out of sight you guessed they had gone for a quiet drink inside.
The song that was playing came to an end and a scattering of applause and cheers followed as you took your glass back from Lucy, your fingers tapping along the side of it as the singer approached the mic.
“We’re going to take a short break but in the meantime, can I ask all of you to please put your hands together-”
“What’s going on?” Lucy whispered in your ear but you just shrugged, turning to face the stage.
“- For a very special, one off performance, by ‘Burning Art’.”
You could feel Lucy turning to you, a wide smile on her own face as you threw your head back with a laugh and placed your glass down on the nearest table before dragging her towards the front of the stage.
‘Burning Art’ was an - aptly named - band that Marcus had been a member of during college, the guitarist and singer friends from his Art History degree and the drummer being his brother, Steven.
You had seen photos of him from his band days, the one that most often came to mind taken while he was playing at a college bar - his eyes closed and bottom lip between his teeth as he held the bass out in front of him. His hair was slightly longer and not sporting the few grays that were now there; he even had the earring he had told you about one night when you couldn't sleep and the story did nothing but spur on your tired giggles. There was a video out there, the sound quality poor but the video enough to give you a glimmer of your now husband bobbing along to the heavy music. You always teased him, lovingly, about it and on your bachelorette night your bridesmaids had t-shirts made to look like groupies of ‘Burning Art’. 
By the time you were at the front the band were stepping onto the stage. Marcus walked to the right, his tux jacket and bow-tie gone and his shirt sleeves rolled up as he found his place on the platform the wedding band had been on only a moment before.  He raised his hand in a wave, a chorus of cheers coming in response from the wedding party who had all found their way to the dancefloor as his best men - Luke, Charlie and his brother Steven - all stepped up and took their places while Marcus nervously fixed the strap attached to the bass that was now hanging over his shoulders. 
Marcus winked down at you, his head turning towards Steven as he introduced the band - an extra loud applause for Marcus as the groom - and you placed your hands at the side of your mouth and cheered him on. 
Not a moment later their music started, heavy rock flooding out from the speaker as the dancefloor was filled with guests who all danced along. You couldn’t take your eyes off of Marcus, your hand holding your dress up enough to jump and dance about as he kept his eyes on you, winking ever so often before leaning into the mic to sing along. It was everything you had ever dreamt of and more - the perfect surprise. You and Lucy spun each other around, heads bobbing to songs you had never heard before but felt very Marcus. 
It often surprised people when they found out Marcus had been in a band, especially if he was wearing his work suit with the FBI: Art Crimes badge on show when he told them, but it hadn't surprised you. There was always a glimmer of something beneath his 9-5 persona; of his driving to work playlist made up of alt-rock and the old punk band posters that were scattered between movie posters from black and white romances. 
They played three songs, Marcus growing more confident with each one. You wondered how long they had planned this, how they had even had time to practice with most of them living in different states now, but they all played and sang like they were still in their early twenties rather than forties. 
Marcus was the most reserved out of them all - a smile plastered across his face when he wasn’t concentrating and his head bobbing along to the music as his hands moved along the bass.
And oh God why hadn’t you looked at his hands until now. His fingers were working along the neck of the bass and his forearms flexing with each move, a heat suddenly crawling up your neck when you finally looked into his eyes and that bastard smirked at you. He knew exactly what he was doing; his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip before bringing it between his teeth, his sleeves rolled up like he knew sent you wild, his eyes crinkling at the corners where he was fighting back a full blown smile.
How early was too early to make an escape from your own wedding?
The last song came to an end and you cheered louder than anyone else, finding your way to the side of the stage where Marcus jumped down and headed straight for you. His smirk growing shy before you reached your hand out and he took it in his own.
“Didn’t know I was getting married to a rock star,” you teased and he pulled you against him, a kiss shared as he spoke against your lips with a smile. 
“Turns out your new husband is full of surprises.”
Your head tilted back with a laugh and Marcus smiled down at you, his arm wrapped around your waist as the wedding band took to the stage again.
“How did you plan all this?”
“I have my ways…” Marcus smiled, a sparkle in his eyes, “you always talk about how you wished you could see us, just once, so what better excuse than today.”
“I love you,” you shook your head, standing higher on your toes to press a kiss against his lips as the band began to play again.
“May I have this dance, Mrs Pike?” He asked. 
“This dance, and every other for the rest of our lives,” you slipped your hand into his and began to walk onto the dance floor. 
*****
Your giggles echoed around the hall as Marcus bent down, swiping an arm under the backs of your knees as the other held around your back, lifting you from the floor and carrying you against his chest.
“It’s tradition!’ He laughed and you shook your head, hooking your arms around his neck.
“We didn’t really follow a lot of traditions Marcus,” you rolled your eyes, the pleasant ache from between your thighs evidence enough of spending the night before together.
“Give me this one then, hm?”
You just smiled back at him, a wide grin taking over most of his face as he looked at you. By the time you reached your room you slipped your hand into his tux jacket that he had thrown back on. It was a bit of a struggle, Marcus lifting you higher as you tried to unlock and open the door, but eventually you managed it and Marcus kicked it to open it wider, the door hitting against the doorstop with a bang. 
“Whoops,” he laughed, turning on his side and walking you both into his room.
You thought it was just for show, carrying you over the threshold to drop you once you were in, but he carried you straight through the sitting room and into the bedroom, only placing you back down when you reached the bottom of the bed.
Without your shoes off you were back tilting your head up to look at him, his hands already moving to take off his tux jacket and throw it over the back of a chair.
“You are so beautiful, you know that?” He smiled, shaking his head as he cupped your cheeks in his hands and bent down to kiss you.
“You might have said that once or twice,” you whispered back, Marcus smiling against your lips as you teased him.
“Well I,” he kissed you once more, “plan to tell you that plenty more.”
He turned you around, moving the hair away from your neck as he kissed down your soft skin, from behind the ear down to your shoulder before nudging the strap of your dress over a little to kiss even more.
“But as beautiful as you look in this dress,” he whispered and you shivered as his breath ghosted the back of your neck, goosebumps now covering your arms, “can I see you out of it now?”
You nodded, moving his hand that had settled on your waist to the buttons on the back of your dress. He continued to kiss along your neck and shoulder as he worked to undo the buttons, occasionally dragging his teeth along your skin and chuckling when you gasped or licking along your ear and reveling in how you would quietly moan and lean back against him.
Once enough of the buttons were undone for him to be able to slip the dress down a groan came from the back of his throat as each inch of skin was revealed to him. When the dress finally pooled around your feet he held your hand and you took a step away from him, turning to face him as he took his bottom lip between his teeth and let his eyes drag down your body that was now only covered in a lace bodice. 
His hands were already working open his shirt as he stalked around the dress towards you, an eyebrow raising as you took one step back. He took another step forward, smirking as you stepped back again, the shirt soon thrown on the floor and his hands gripping the back of your thigh as he pressed you against the wall.
He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he rocked his cock that was straining against his suit trousers against your center and your eyes fluttered closed. He did this a few times, your breath growing heavy and echoing around the room as he kissed back and forth along your chest that was starting to spill out of the lace bodice.
When you eventually opened your eyes Marcus pulled back, his eyes - despite being pools of black by now - were holding a little more sparkle than usual as he lifted you from the wall and carried you over to the bed where he lay you between the pillows. As soon as he knelt between your legs you sat up, your hands fumbling with his belt and button as he tilted his head and looked down at you, his fingers stroking back and forth across your jaw until you finally pulled him out and wrapped your hands around his cock. He threw his head back, his stomach muscles tensing and shaking as you shuffled around so you were kneeling forward before him, one hand steadying your weight as the other remained wrapped around his cock and you arched your back that bit more on your hands and knees before him.
Marcus let out a breathy chuckle that soon turned moan as soon as your lips wrapped around the tip, your tongue peeking out to lick up the precum that was already there as his palm began to rub up and down your back, working open the metal clasps until your bodice fell away beneath you. 
“Just like that, honey, fuck- just like that,” he gasped.
You were now only in your white lace panties as you took Marcus further into your mouth, his hands touching you everywhere as you did so.
He let his large palm run down the middle of your back before sliding it around your side and twisting and pulling on your nipple until you were gasping around his cock. He wrapped his arm around your bicep and slid it down to your forearm, easing the ache from awkwardly holding your weight up. He finally slapped his hand across your ass and his cock slipped deeper into your mouth causing you to moan around him and he swore under his breath.
“Fuck, honey, come here,” he tugged on your elbow and pulled you off of him, waiting until you were knelt before him before he took your face in his hands.
Your mascara had started to run and your lips were wet and hanging open as you tried to catch your breath. His mouth pressed hungrily against yours, pushing your body back until your head was laid on the pillows and he had kicked his trousers and boxers off.
His tongue licked into your mouth, tasting himself on you, and his hips rocked down against you - only the thin lace acting as a barrier between you. Your legs had wrapped around his waist again, lifting from the mattress ever so slightly as you tried to grind back down against him chasing that friction you needed.
“I know, I know,” he kissed down your jaw, shuffling his weight down your body.
He kissed everywhere, back and forth along your chest before taking one of your nipples into his mouth after teasing it relentlessly while circling his tongue around it. He flicked his tongue back and forth, his hand that wasn’t holding his weight up coming to play with the other as you arched your back off the bed and he could feel how wet you were as you rocked against his stomach.
“Marcus, please,” you whined and he let your nipple fall from his mouth.
Your eyes were still squeezed shut, a small crease between your brows as your fingers curled into the pillows by your head.
“Please… what?” He asked, now no longer touching you.
His breath fanned across your chest with each word, making your nipples hard and you tried to drag his hand back to it but he shook his head with a smile.
“Please… what?” He repeated. “Words, baby.”
“Marcus, please,” you whined opening your eyes and looking back at him, “I want you to fuck me.”
He groaned at your words, his head dipping down to nip at the skin below your breast and you gasped.
“And I want to taste my pretty wife,” he kissed down your stomach, “are you going to let me do that?”
You nodded, your head shuffling against the pillows, but when he raised an eyebrow up at you, you spoke again
“Yes.”
Your eyes settled between his thighs as he knelt up, his cock resting proudly against his stomach, and when he finally tore his eyes away from you as he dragged the lace down your legs he smiled.
“See something you like?”
He tilted his head with a smirk, his hand coming to wrap around his cock as he pumped it a few times in his fist and your hips rocked against nothing as you sought any kind of friction to remove some of the need that weighed heavy in the pit of your stomach. Your tongue poked out to wet your bottom lip and he closed his eyes, enjoying himself for a moment longer, before letting go as his cock pressed back against his stomach and he opened his eyes.
“Soon, honey,” he lay back between your thighs and pressed a kiss against the crease, “soon.”
You could only see his eyes but with the way they were almost closed and crinkled at the side you knew he was beaming up at you, a wink sent your way before his eyes flicked down. 
He teased you relentlessly, kissing back and forth between your thighs and up to your stomach all the while missing the place you needed him the most. He hadn’t even touched you there yet and you were already dripping, the bed sheets below you already wet when Marcus finally touched you, running a finger up your slit as he moaned your name.
“You’re so wet, honey,” he groaned, sitting back a little to watch as he pushed one finger in, and then another, his digits sliding in with ease. “Fuck-”
He cut himself off, his eyes closing and mouth wrapping around your clit. Your back arched off the bed, a low groan coming from the back of your throat when he finally gave you what you needed. It was too much and not enough all at once, his fingers curling deep inside you and his tongue flicking back and forth as his shoulders held your legs open for him.
You could have been embarrassed of how quickly you came - of how loud you screamed his name and gripped the sheets by your head - had it not been for how quickly Marcus surged up your body; his fingers still buried deep inside and pulling the last of your orgasm from you as your body shook and his mouth slanted over yours.
You could taste yourself on him, his chin that was coated in your slick spreading the mess against yours, and your hand slid between your bodies to wrap around his cock as he removed his fingers from you.
“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus,” you sighed and he nodded, his forehead resting against your temple as he brushed your hand off his cock and lined himself up.
He pushed into you in one, slow thrust; his head turning and catching your mouth with his as he swallowed each gasp and moan as he rocked into you.
Your hands ran up his back, dragging your nails along his strong back as you felt it flex beneath your touch each time he rocked his hips into yours. His forearm came to settle by your head and you broke from the kiss, turning and wrapping your hand around his wrist and kissing the skin there as he buried his face against your neck.
These forearms - what attracted your attention every time he rolled his sleeves up after a long day of work or when he had you sitting up on the kitchen counter and you watched every flex as he pumped his fingers in and out of you - you kissed along them until he pulled back, his fingers tangling with yours as he wrapped your leg higher around his waist with his other hand.
“Look at you,” he sighed.
His hand let go of your thigh, coming down to smack your ass twice before he gripped it hard, pulling you against each thrust.
“My pretty. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. Wife,” he punctuated each word with a thrust and by the end your eyes were rolling to the back of your head, your nails digging into his biceps.
“Yes!” You gasped on a particularly hard thrust. “Fuck, yours, Marcus, yours.”
He moved his weight from his hand to his elbow, his mouth brushing against yours when he spoke again.
“Touch yourself, honey, make yourself come around your husband’s cock.”
You slipped your hand between your bodies that were now both covered in a sheen of sweat and you began to draw circles against your clit that you knew would send you over the edge.
“There you go,” Marcus groaned, “can already feel you squeezing my cock. You're going to come again aren’t you?”
You could only nod against him, his forehead resting against yours as you both looked down at where your bodies met.
“I’m so close,” you gasped and he nodded, his hips hitting against yours with enough force to move you higher and higher on the bed.
“Let go, honey. Let me feel you,” he said, dragging his eyes away from where he was thrusting inside you to meet your eyes.
It didn’t take long, that coil that had wound tight once more snapping and you forced yourself to keep your eyes open. Your mouth fell open in a silent scream and Marcus did the same, his face inching closer and closer with the crease between his brow growing deeper until a whine left the back of his throat, his eyes closing as his hips slowed and grew harder as he spilled inside you.
Your hand came to hold his cheek, lifting your head from the pillow enough to press your lips against his and swallow his moans. You kissed hungirly until he stilled, his arms aching from how he held himself above you but his kisses grew gentle and slow as he softened inside you. Eventually he slipped out, his body rolling to the side as he pulled you against him.
You were both breathing heavily, your head resting on his chest as you could feel his heart hammer against his chest the same way yours was doing.
“Is this your new thing then?” You asked and he looked down, raising an eyebrow at you. “Calling me your pretty wife during sex?”
A flush covered his cheeks and he swatted playfully at your ass.
“Not just during sex, I plan to be calling you that every chance I get,” he leant down and kissed you, “my wife.”
“Mmm,” you hummed contently against his mouth, “I like that sound of that.”
Your head fell back to rest against his shoulder and he began to stroke up and down your back.
“I love you, so much honey,” he sighed, kissing your temple.
You sat up and rested your chin on his chest, staring up and his dazed smile with your own.
“I love you,” you kissed the closest skin you could find, “my husband.”
Marcus breathed a laugh, reaching for your hand where the ring lay as he stroked back and forth along the gold band.
“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” he said, shaking his head with a smile before closing his eyes and lifting your hand enough to kiss where the band lay.
“I do,” you sat up and swung your leg over him, your hands reaching for his own as you lifted it to your mouth and pressed your lips on top of the ring. “You’re a good man, for one. You make me smile. Make me laugh. You’re kind. You’re incredibly handsome - it’s actually quite distracting.” He laughed. “You make me feel loved. You make me feel special. I’m a better person when I’m with you…”
You trailed off as you took in his expression, a soft smile and watery eyes as he sat up and wrapped his arms around your waist.
“I love you, Mrs Pike.”
“I love you, Mr Pike,” you kissed the tip of his nose and he scrunched it up.
“Are you tired?” He asked and you shook your head. “Good, because I plan on filling up that ridiculously large bathtub,” he kissed your shoulder, “opening one of the many bottles of champagne,” he kissed your neck, “making you come at least twice in the bath,” he kissed just below your ear, “before bringing you back to bed.” He finally kissed your lips and when he spoke his own brushed against yours with each word. “How does that sound?”
“Like perfection,” you smiled, holding his face in your hands as you kissed him once more.
And that is exactly what Marcus did, making good on every last promise before you fell asleep with his arms wrapped around you - gold band resting against gold band.
*****
tags
@phoenixhalliwell @asta-lily @hb8301 @princess76179 @sarahjkl82-blog @spideysimpossiblegirl @blackmarketmummy @bison-writes  @queridopascal @sfr99 @rosiefridayrogersunday @tintinn16 @pilothusband @voteforpedro09  @dihra-vesa @frankiecatfish @wild-at-heart-kept-in-cage @transias @peoniarose @pjkimrn @fangirl-316 @niki-xie @potted–ivy @phandoz @janebby @athalien @xocalliexo @amneris21 @lavenderluna10 @iamskyereads @spacenerdpascal @mswarriorbabe80 @dumplinshee @jitterbugs927 @gracie7209 @lovesbiggerthanpride @lowlights @notabotiswear @alexxavicry @harriedandharassed @bport76 @fangirl-316 @1andthesame @pedrostories @nyfeeer @hb8301 @agingerindenial @adriiibell @darnitdraco @nolanell @buckybarneshairpullingkink @quicksilvermad @kirsteng42 @mandos-riduur-reading @dins-cyare​ 
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blueiskewl · 1 year
Photo
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Jennifer Lee Shale, speckled olive base, haloed granite bands
Stoneware Height: 19cm. 7½in. Executed in May 1983.
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hazelnut-u-out · 1 year
Text
Ring of Fire - 2
sorry for the delay on this chapter lol. i have a drinking problem :3
anyway...
Synopsis:
Rick and Birdperson attempt to confront a Federation member of interest.
What could go wrong?
... Right?
-1580 words
(i should probably add a tw for blood)
-------
“You-You ever done this before?” Rick whispered over the boisterous music and tittering crowds that swarmed everything in the desert town, his back flush with the aged wooden exterior of the side of the Zorpantheon Rattle that led out into an empty back alley.
Rick scratched at the red bandanna covering the lower half of his face as the heat of his words warmed the fabric against his stubble, the muted sound similar to someone rubbing sandpaper along lumber.
Birdperson was hunched low to the ground to his right, peering around a stack of three dingy crates that sat near the grimy back exit of the bar.
Over top of their usual attire, the two men donned dark serapes. Rick’s more draped off of his willowy frame when in comparison to BP’s, whose worn garment matched both the shade of his ebony hat and the requisite set by his measurements. He kept his wings tucked closely to his broad shoulders, the plume at the ends playing along the gravel next to his russet boots and extending outward from the slits Rick had cut into the material of his clothing to allow his friend free range of movement.
“Staked out a Federation outpost during the Festival of the Blessed?” Birdperson quipped, an aura of agitation seeping from his tone. “Nope. This has got to be a first.”
He shot a glare over his shoulder towards Rick, narrowing his eyes and placing one calloused finger over where his mouth would be beneath his own bandanna, the black fabric speckled with red sand, in a ‘shushing’ motion.
Rick rolled his eyes, shrugging in feigned disinterest, but put one hand beneath his shawl to anxiously pick at the frayed thread that held the buttons along his blue shirt in place. Fire still lapped at his lower back from the night before, and he smiled a bit to himself despite the pain.
“I can barely hear you beneath that th-“
“Hush!” his companion hissed under his breath. He careened his chin outward and beckoned with his left hand for Rick to join him on the ground, moving one wing closer to his body to allow the other man a decent vantage point.
Rick obeyed, his tan armitas gently shuffling the stones beneath his knee. He placed one hand atop BP’s hefty shoulder as they peered around the crates.
Rick couldn’t help but notice the heat that ran between their bodies- his front pressed against the downy plumage of his partner’s wings- and it did little to tamp down the torrent of nervousness swarming his belly.
From their position on the ground, Rick watched as the door swung outward with a screech on flimsy hinges. Even more music, this tune jouncy and reminiscent of a swing-like piano piece, flooded the alleyway as it mingled with the gruff voices emanating from within.
Birdperson extended a finger in a slow gesture towards the door, as if too quick a movement would immediately reveal where they lay in wait.
“That’s him,” Birdperson whispered as a tall Gromflomite- decked in white and black speckled armitas, an intricately embroidered emerald button-front, and a chestnut cattlman- stumbled out of the bar with a raucous laugh.
Alone.
Despite the unsteady clack of his smokey pointed toes upon the gravel and the whiskey infused drool dripping freely from his twitching mandibles, an idiot could decipher his wealth.
Golden accents glistened along his hat band in the afternoon sun, matching the glint of his spurs, as the door swung shut with the telltale smack of wood against itself. Two guns- presumably laser-based - rested in their respective holsters on each of his hips, and his extravagant belt buckle made a jingling sound against the metal tassels hanging from his red vest as he clumsily fumbled with his pants.
The Gromflomite’s whistles slithered along the desert air, the hiss of urine coating stone joining the dissonance as BP drew his own gun from beneath his serape.
“Remember, Sanchez. We need him alive.”
It was another breath before he made his move, jumping out from behind the crates and- in two swift strides- placed one arm around the bug’s neck and the barrel of his gun against the glassy exoskeleton of his temple.
Rick watched as the alien went as stiff as his intoxicated body would allow, calmly tucking himself back into his slacks as his stream fizzled out.
Rick followed his counterpart’s actions with only a half-second’s hesitation- his mind still lingering somewhere between the fleeting warmth of his friend’s shoulder on his fingertips and the soft scratch of feathers along his cheek. His lithe hand closed around his gun, removing it from its holster in a fluid movement, similar to how one would expect a hero to draw his blade from its sheath. He heard his own spurs crackle to life with his maneuver.
Rick’s stance was domineering, dominating the alley with his hips forward and his shoulders leaned back. His eyes were narrowed and his gun lay lethal in his grip.
He watched as Birdperson turned around roughly, dragging the Gromflomite unceremoniously to his front to face Rick.
Rick watched an odd expression of realization flash along the glossy red of the insect’s eyes as he met Rick’s stare, the bandanna suddenly feeling like one too many layers to breathe through.
“Not very bright, are we, boys?” the alien drawled sweetly, something sickly and rotten hanging from the tacky syllables.
BP’s stare met his own, fatal and heavy.
“Take his belt off,” he said coolly.
Rick nodded, swallowing around a leaden tongue as he closed the distance between himself and the pair. Dropping to his knees, he shot a calculating glance upwards before reaching his free hand up and stripping the belt away with ease. The smell of urine and stale liquor wafted from the movement and Rick suppressed a gag.
Is that how he smelled all the time?
No wonder only two Warekins out of dozens had taken him up on the offer.
“Oh, I like where this is going,” the Gromflomite murmured, pushing his hips forward a bit. “I might not even tell.”
Rick cringed- pushing himself up, stepping back, and tossing the belt to the side.
“I don’t care for bug dick,” he spat. “I like ‘em saltier.”
“What a shame,” the invertebrate replied, his tone losing any sort of facetious pleasantry he’d sewn along its edges as the other man released him and walked backward slowly- his muscular arm extended in a taut line. “I coulda been sweet.”
BP found purchase a few paces to Rick’s left, almost tucking the smaller of the two behind his wingspan as it fanned out, blocking the rays of the setting sun from creeping over the edge of the tin roofs and casting a deep shade over the alcove.
The men stood as twin pillars of stoic aim- one winged and burly, the other wilting bone and sinew- as the atmosphere’s churning seemed to chill in the range of their weighty stares.
“Tell me where they are,” Birdperson demanded, his timbre disturbingly unmoved.
“Remind me who we’re speakin’ of, would ya?” The Gromflomite moved his hands behind his back and swayed, as if mimicking how he thought innocence might present itself in more humanoid species.
“The others.”
Rick could tell that both men were well aware of the ‘others’ in question-
The ones who had eviscerated his companion’s people.
Something in Rick’s stomach went flat, and he knew something was off. Something about their enemy’s stance…
“Pers, I-“
“Where. Are. They.” BP punctuated each word with a step towards the insect- three distinct paces- pinning him against the wall.
It wasn’t a question, the ‘click’ of his thumb cocking his gun beneath the alien’s chin all that was needed to solidify it as a command.
They needn’t a mountain or slabs of stone to know who spoke for the divine in that moment.
It was as if time slowed when the bug moved, the gleam of a metal barrel catching the light between the two for only a brief moment as one wiry arm flew from behind his hardened abdomen.
Rick didn’t have time to think before his friend was thrown back with the force of the impact, crimson seeping along the back of the white feathers of his left wing.
His cry pierced through the thick cloud of idle noise as he collapsed to the ground, dropping his weapon and splaying his hand along the feathered appendage.
Rick couldn’t breathe- or didn’t take the time to.
It was hard to tell where the blood was coming from, all of his companion seemed to bathe in it, and it took less than a blink for Rick to tackle the Gromflomite to the ground- the bug’s cattleman skittering off and landing at the creeping edge of the scarlet puddle.
It was Rick’s turn to use his staff to determine the word of God, and he pushed the insect’s clattering mandibles into the sandy grit beneath him callously with his pistol.
Rick drove his knee down into the alien’s back as it flailed and twitched, clawing fruitlessly at the ground and stirring up little swirls of dust.
“Any last words?” Rick murmured coldly, leaning down to breathe along the writhing neck below him, and the insect froze.
“Rick!” BP spluttered, trying to crawl his way over to the scuffle in front of him, but crumpling over in another wail of pain. “Alive!”
“Say ‘hi’ to your daughter for me,” the bug spat.
“Please…” Rick thought he might have heard his counterpart sigh breathily- desperately.
Rick pulled the trigger.
Birdperson's eyes were wide, his lids quivering as he let himself collapse fully to the gore-painted ground.
"You... You killed him."
Something inside of Rick broke.
What had he done?
-----
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woefulwordsmith · 7 months
Text
Rough Shift
A/N: Hi Tumblr, I forgot I had this blog for the 16th time and then randomly remembered for the 17th time
Sniper TF2 Smut
Gender Neutral Reader
Oral sex only (reader giving)
Sniper is touch-starved and both of you are extremely over-worked
Read on AO3
        "Hey, babe!" I announce as I enter our bedroom. Mick flinches and sits up, pulling his shirt down and his pants back up. I backpedal, a little surprised. "Oh, am I interrupting?"
        "Thought you'd be back later," he huffs. His face is red, and he fails to look at me. A smirk crawls on my face. 
        "I wanted to surprise you, and I guess I did." He still doesn't look at me, his body twisted awkwardly to cover up. When I climb onto the bed, he backs away nervously. We haven't gone that far yet, mostly just Miss Pauling ruining the mood when she calls one of us into work. Might as well make the most of our time while we have it. Mick's erection is apparent when I draw near. "Loosen up a little," I urge. "It's been a day, hasn't it?"
        He scoffs. "I froze my arse off for six hours in a fuckin' tree to get a bloody shot." 
        "I figured..." My shirt swiftly comes off, my belt unbuckled and my pants zipper down. "You need help warming up?" His confidence seems to boost upon witnessing my haste. Mick grabs my neck and pushes me down onto the bed. I moan as he makes out with me and grinds against me. His hand is on my chest, a finger circling around my nipple. My tongue is in his mouth with one hand in his hair and the other on the band of his boxers. I pull on his bottom lip as we separate. The bed creaks as I roll us both over. "Take a load off, m'kay?" 
        He's as excited as I am when I pull his pants off and drop them off on the floor. Hot and bothered, he shifts when I brush my hand against his skin. The tip is wet with pre-cum that drips down as a minor lubricant. The head of his penis is revealed when I stroke downward. I don't waste time, pooling spit in my mouth before taking him in. He sighs and puts his hand on the back of my head, fingers in my hair. I gag when I take him all the way in initially, coming back up and licking from base to tip. My tongue swirls the tip, warm heaving wafting steam onto his skin.
        Mick groans, giving a weak chuckle. "Oh, Luv..." I become obnoxious, sucking loudly as I take more of him on. When I look up, his hand covers his eyes. Fingers curl when I vacuum the air from my mouth on his tip once again. "Fuck..."
        "You enjoying yourself?" He nods silently, still not looking at me. "I didn't hear you, Mick. Are you?" The friction from my hand makes his cock twitch. He whispers. I speed up. "One more time?"
        "Yes, crickey," he whines. "Don't fuckin' stop." Hearing him beg is everything. It's not everyday he's so vulnerable and trusting with me, and something about him stuttering and stumbling over his words I can't explain. Temperatures rise when he moans my name, pleading that I suck harder. His back arches when I groan. Grabbing his thighs, I push them up and lock my hands in the folds of his knees. Vibrations fill his body, and I think he's on the verge. A hand finds itself on the back of my head, and I'm pushed down onto his body. 
        Warmth spreads across my tongue and touches the back of my throat. Mick sighs and unravels, whimpering intermittently between rasps. I pull off of him slowly and pop my lips at the tip. Spitting the semen back onto his cock, I jerk him off slowly and lean over him. "How're ya doing, big guy?" He twitches as more cum speckles his stomach from my gentle stimulation. I place my lips on his for a moment and straighten out his hair with my other hand. "I'm assuming pretty good?"
        "Thank you, Luv," he breathlessly chuckles. I lay down next to him and kiss his jaw and nip on his collarbone. "Fuck, you're bloody good." 
        "Aw, thanks, babe," I smile. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." I straddle his lap as we sit up. "We... We have the time..." 
        The landline on the nightstand rings, and I sigh as I drop my head over his shoulder. Or not. He scooches us over. "Sorry," he apologizes before answering. I continue to kiss his neck and gently grind on his lap as he talks. What the conversation is about is irrelevant, I could not care less. He seethes frustration after setting the phone down on the receiver. "Work." 
        "What else?" I gripe, pouting. "The one time we finally go the mile and you have to leave?"
        "It'll be quick. I'll make sure of it." I get off of him and sit on the edge of the bed as he collects his clothes. "It's nearby, so I'll be back 'ome in a bit." He grabs my chin and places his tip on my lips. "Better clean up before I go." I open my mouth, both of his hands on my head, and gagging as he fucks me in the mouth. He pulls out so suddenly, smug in the face.
        "Wait--" 
        "Keep the bed warm, ey?" He redresses and slings his rifle over his shoulder. When Mick looks back at me from the door, he points to the corner of his lip. "You've got something."
        I wipe the spit from the side of my mouth. "If you're not back by two, I'm going to bed and not waking up for you." 
        He scoffs. "You will, and you know you will." 
        "Don't test it."
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skyriderwednesday · 9 months
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UPDATE: THIS IS NO LONGER THE FINAL VERSION. ACCORDINGLY I HAVE TURNED THE REBLOGS OF THIS POST OFF, IT REMAINS ONLY AS VERSION REFERENCE.
Okay, so HOPEFULLY I've made my final major changes to my chronology? Comments and feedback are much appreciated, see the notes at the bottom. Titles in italics have been moved/updated since last time.
The ‘Gloria Scott’ - Summer 1875 [1] (Framing: Winter 1882-3?)
The maths as stated don’t work, as 1855 + 30 = 1885, and these events can’t occur after A Study In Scarlet. 1875 would have to be Holmes’s second year of college. 
The Musgrave Ritual - Spring 1879 (Framing: Winter 1882-3?)
It is stated to have been four years since Holmes last saw Musgrave. Holmes mentions telling Watson about the events of ‘Gloria Scott’. Watson must be living at 221b at the time, as his intro describes Holmes’s extremely messy habits in terms of lodging with him.
A Study In Scarlet - January to March 1881
Watson states the date he discovered Holmes’s profession explicitly as the 4th of March, which was several weeks after they moved in together. I find it likely that it was at most mid-January when they met, and that Watson spent February observing Holmes’s habits and trying to figure him out.
The Resident Patient - October 1881
Watson describes these events as being ‘towards the end of the first year during which Holmes and I shared chambers’, and then specifies that it was October.
The Valley Of Fear - January 1882 [2]
It is stated to be ‘in the late eighties’, but Holmes appears to still be getting used to Watson’s sense of humour, which he claims is ‘developing’, which points to it being earlier while Watson is still recovering from his illness. Any later and Holmes would already be very familiar with his closest companion’s personality.
The Yellow Face - Early Spring 1882
(I base this placement on character dynamics.)
The Speckled Band - April 1883
It is directly stated to be early April 1883.
The Beryl Coronet - February 1884
Watson is living at Baker St. It is stated to be February.
The Copper Beeches - Early Spring 1884
Watson is living at Baker St and appears to be unmarried. I will take it that references to SCAN, IDEN, TWIS, NOBL, and BLUE are self-promotion on Watson’s part due to publication order.
Charles Augustus Milverton - Winter 1884
I get the feeling this is an earlier case, as Watson’s attitude is oddly naïve when it comes to morality and the ability of the law to handle Milverton. I cannot see him behaving like this/holding these beliefs if he has already experienced Moriarty with Holmes for instance. He is also very jumpy while he and Holmes are performing their burglary.
The Hound Of The Baskervilles - October 1885 [3]
Mortimer’s stick is dated 1884, and Holmes notes this was five years ago (making it 1889), but Watson neither appears to be married nor in medical practice, and since this story was explicitly written as to have occurred before Holmes’s ‘death’, this precludes it being set after 1888. 
The Greek Interpreter - Summer 1886?
I feel like these events are happening a decent number of years after Holmes and Watson met each other, as Watson refers to his relationship with Holmes as a ‘long and intimate acquaintance’, during which up to this point Holmes had ‘never’ referred to his family.
The Reigate Squires - April 1887
It is directly stated to be April 1887.
The Sign Of Four - July 1887 [4]
It is stated to be July (later mistakenly stated as September) 1888, but this contradicts both SCAN (March 1888) and FIVE (September 1887). There may also be a pearl missing as Mary describes their delivery?
The Cardboard Box - August 1887
Holmes mentions both A Study In Scarlet and The Sign Of Four by name -- which implies that Watson is a very speedy writer, as this would be only a few weeks later. However, this may be taken as self promotion on Watson’s part.
The Noble Bachelor - Autumn 1887
This story is dated to 1887 via Lord St. Simon’s age, and also by Watson calling the events a ‘four year old drama’ at the time he is writing (presumably 1891), but Watson is soon to be married -- which is not possible if he has not yet met his fiancée. Dating SIGN to July 1887 fixes this discrepancy.
A Scandal In Bohemia - March 1888
Watson explicitly dates the start of this case to the 20th of March 1888, and states that he hasn’t seen Holmes for several months after his marriage (which would be in the late autumn to winter of 1887 - possibly extending into Jan/Feb 1888)
The Stockbroker’s Clerk - June 1888
Watson states that he acquired his practice ‘shortly after’ his marriage, and that he was too busy to visit Holmes at Baker Street for three months. Counting most of March as the first month (per SCAN), that takes us to the June he states, which is the first time Holmes has visited Watson at his practice. 
The Naval Treaty - July 1888
Watson describes these events as occurring in ‘the July which immediately succeeded’ his marriage, which is the July of 1888.
[The Second Stain - July 1888**]
Due to it heavily contradicting the events referenced as ‘The Adventure of the Second Stain’ in NAVA, I take it that the story of this name is heavily if not entirely fictionalised. This is when the real events that inspired it occurred.
The Crooked Man - August 1888
Watson states that these events began ‘one summer night, a few months after’ his marriage, which would make it 1888. It cannot be July, since Watson states in NAVA that the July following his marriage featured ‘three cases of interest’, and I doubt Holmes would be showing up at Watson’s home near midnight so early in their re-established partnership for it to be June, so I suggest it to be August.
The Five Orange Pips - September 1888 [5]
It is stated to be September 1887, but even if SIGN occurred in July of that year, Watson and Mary have not married yet for him to be ‘staying at Baker Street’ while she is away visiting her (dead) mother.
The Boscombe Valley Mystery - Spring 1889
The Man With The Twisted Lip - June 1889
I place this after BOSC, as Holmes takes it as a given that Watson’s wife will not object to him sending a note and running off on a case in the middle of the night. (I suspect he’s wrong and will be due a bollocking after breakfast)
The Engineer’s Thumb - Summer 1889
The Dying Detective - November 1889
Watson describes this as happening in his ‘second year of marriage’, which, 1888 being his first, works out as 1889.
A Case Of Identity - September 1890
Holmes comments in REDH that the case of Mary Sutherland occurred ‘the other day’. Assuming he isn’t the type to use ‘the other day’ to mean several months ago, etc, this would put it within the last few weeks. 
The Red-Headed League - October 1890
It is directly stated to be October 9th 1890
The Blue Carbuncle - December 1890
Watson states it to be ‘the second morning after Christmas’, making it the 27th of December. When discussing cases that didn’t involve a crime, Holmes cites the events of SCAN, IDEN, and TWIS. This also lines up with the publication order, BLUE being the seventh short story, and Watson states that of the ‘last six cases’ he has written up, three of them were legally free of crime (morally however…)
The Final Problem - April to May 1891
Holmes has apparently been working in France since ‘the winter of 1890’ when he suddenly shows up in Watson’s consulting room on the 24th of April. His ‘death’ occurs on the 4th of May.
The Empty House - April 1894
The date Ronald Adair was murdered is stated to have been March 30th 1894. Taking into account the time required for the inquest - which has just concluded- I estimate it to be the first week of April, which lines up with Watson's description of it being an 'April evening'. Additionally, March 30th 1894 was a Friday, which would likely have delayed the start of the inquest to Monday, April 2nd.
The Norwood Builder - Summer 1894
Stated to take place ‘several months’ after Holmes’s return. Watson has moved back to Baker Street and sold his practice.
Silver Blaze - Late Summer 1894 
(I would like to set Silver Blaze to be after NORW, since I think Holmes and Watson deserve a fun case after that one. I believe it to be post-hiatus since Watson is evidently resident in Baker Street and does not appear to be in practice at this time.)
The Golden Pince-Nez - November 1894
It is directly stated to be November 1894.
The Red Circle - Winter 1894
Watson is living at Baker Street, and Holmes refers to his medical practice in the past tense. Though there are no other suggestions as to the time period, I feel safe putting it in 1894 as the year is said to have been particularly busy. (Taking up three volumes of Watson’s yearbooks!)
The Solitary Cyclist - April 1895
It is directly stated to be April 23rd 1895.
The Three Students - May 1895?
It is directly stated to be 1895, though Watson declines to give any more information than that. I suppose it to be around May, since the case involves university exams.
Black Peter - July 1895
It is directly stated to be ‘the first week of July’ 1895.
The Bruce-Partington Plans - November 1895
It is directly stated to be ‘the third week of November, in the year 1895’.
The Veiled Lodger - Early 1896
It is directly stated to be ‘early in 1896’
The Shoscombe Old Place - Autumn 1896?
(I hover this story nebulously here due to a lack of stories in 1896.)
The Missing Three-Quarter - February 1896-7
Described as occurring ‘seven or eight years ago’ from the time of writing, presumably 1904. (I don’t see the point of ascribing it to one or the other currently, as it doesn’t make much difference to the order of surrounding stories.)
The Devil’s Foot - March 1897
It is directly stated to be March 1897
The Abbey Grange - Winter 1897
It is directly stated to be ‘towards the end of the winter of’ 1897.
Wisteria Lodge - March 1898 [6]
It is stated to be March 1892, but this is impossible as Holmes is presumed dead at that time. It also can’t be March ‘91 as Holmes is too busy at that time, and referencing REDH eliminates March ‘90 or any year earlier. Further, Holmes complains of boredom due to a lack of cases, which eliminates 1894 due to a very high number of cases in that year (he also won’t be back for a few weeks yet). Holmes is also busy in March ‘95, ‘96, and ‘97. It is not until 1898 that there may be time for him to be bored by March.
The Six Napoleons - Late May/Early June 1898
It must be the end of May or the start of June, as Beppo was arrested and sentenced to a year in prison in late May of the previous year. (I’d like to set this one near DANC, since Holmes deserves the praise.)
The Dancing Men - July 1898
Mr Cubitt says that he met his wife while in London ‘for the jubilee last year’, which would be Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, and that Elsie received a letter from America ‘about a month ago, at the end of June’, making it July.
The Sussex Vampire - November 1898
I date this story to after 1897, as that is the year vampires rose significantly in the public consciousness.
The Retired Colourman - Summer 1899
Amberley married his wife in 1897, and Holmes comments that the events that have resulted in their contact with him have occurred ‘within two years’.
The Priory School - May 1901?
Years listed with regard to Lord Holdernesse date the story post 1900, and wording makes it seem that that is not the present year.
The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax - Spring/Summer 1901?
The Problem Of Thor Bridge - October 1901
The Three Garridebs - June 1902
It is directly stated to be June 1902
The Illustrious Client - September 1902
It is directly stated to be September 1902. Watson has moved out of Baker Street, and is living in Queen Anne Street.
The Blanched Soldier - January 1903
It is directly stated to be January 1903. Holmes claims that Watson has ‘deserted [him] for a wife’.
The Mazarin Stone - Summer 1903
Watson is visiting Baker Street, and comments that nothing has changed in his absence, which infers this to occur after his second marriage. He also comments that a dummy of Holmes has been ‘used before’, referencing the events of EMPT. 
The Three Gables - 1903?
Watson has not seen Holmes ‘in some days’. It appears that he is visiting Baker Street at the time.
The Creeping Man - September 1903
As originally published, the date is stated as September 1902, but when collected in Case-Book, this changes to 1903. I place it in 1903 as otherwise it would be extremely occurring extremely close to ILLU.
The Lion’s Mane - July 1907
It is directly stated to be ‘towards the end of July 1907’. Holmes is retired.
His Last Bow: The War Service Of Sherlock Holmes - August 1914
It is directly stated to be August 2nd 1914. Holmes has been undercover for the past two years. He is described as a ‘man of sixty’, but I’ll take that as artistic license since sixty is a reasonable estimate for someone in their late 50’s.
Notes:
This chronology was started in direct opposition to and due to frustration with Baring-Gould's chronology. Any comments or suggestions based on it will be disregarded.
For convenience's sake, I largely disregard publication dates except for when they provide vital context for when a story occurred. Unless stated otherwise, it will be assumed that Watson is writing the stories roughly in real time. This also saves me the headache of trying to account for Holmes referencing stories that Watson wrote while he was 'dead' (i.e. basically everything between SCAN and EMPT)
It is my aim with this chronology to take into account all stated dates, and take them as correct except for where they blatantly contradict others. (e.g. SIGN being dated to either July or September 1888, when FIVE references Watson's wife in September 1887 and SCAN refers to his marriage in March 1888; Wisteria Lodge being dated to March 1892 when Holmes is 'dead' at this time)
It is also my intention that Watson is only married twice, the first time to Mary Morstan in late 1887 and the second to an unknown Mrs Watson in late 1902/early 1903 (being strictly canonical, my own headcanons of him retiring to Sussex with Holmes aside)
I estimate that Holmes was born January 6th 1857, making him 18 at the time of GLOR and 24 at the time of STUD. Also by this estimate he would be 57 at the time of His Last Bow.
I estimate that Watson was born 23rd May 1853, making him 27 at the time of STUD. This would make him 61 at the time of His Last Bow.
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ghoulelegy · 6 months
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Ghost Kinktober Day 1 - High Sex / Tentacles Monsterfucking
Based around the prompt list by @kroas-adtam
Divider by @gothdaddyissues
Pairing: Water!Dewdrop / Aether
Features: Tentacle Sex, Bath sex
Words: 700
Read it under the cut or on AO3 (If you prefer that)
NSFW UNDER THE CUT
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"Oh Darling, don't worry."
Aether and Dewdrop joined the band at around the same time, and the two immediately became close friends. But it became quite obvious that the two eventually caught feelings for each other. Which is why it wasn't a surprise when Dewdrop dragged him to his room. What was a surprise was when Dew asked Aether if he'd like to bathe with him.
"I like where this is going, Dew." Aether purred softly, his voice sounding like the smell of incense.
"Is this okay?" Dew knelt down next to his bath, where a naked Aether sat. He put his taloned thumb against Aether's left cheek, gently tracing a slow, caressing path along his cheekbone, where a sprinkling of speckled freckles adorned his skin like stardust.
"Love, you know I can never say no." Aether's voice was filled with nothing but affection, his gaze locking onto Dewdrop with unwavering intensity.
With a look of contentment, Dewdrop turned on the faucet, which started to fill the bathtub with the warmth of crystal-clear water. Aether couldn't help but notice the way the webbing on Dew's fingers sprung to action the second he touched the water it allowed him to manipulate the flow and temperature of it.
With careful ease, he pulled Aether's face towards his and pressed his lips onto the quintessence ghoul. He felt his chilly skin against Aether's mellow warm cheeks, his hand against the nape of his neck. Not before he himself stripped off his clothes before jumping into the bath, his cock slamming against the water.
"Oh sweet, do you trust me" Dew's voice was plagued with a sultry desire "How much do you trust me?" He felt the quintessential ghoul's eyes gaze into his which were filled to the brim with longing and anticipation. The way Dew spoke sent shivers down his spine, his heart started palpitating with desire.
"Do you trust me enough to do this?" Dew dipped his hands in the fluid and when he brought his appendages back out they were replaced with now sinuous tentacles, glistening with a sheen of translucent and delicate goo. Each tentacle bore a subtle iridescence, which was reflected on the water.
"Dew. What the fuck?!" was Aether's flabbergasted laugh.
"Oh, a weird trick I was practising. It's nice being a water ghoul sometimes" Dew chuckles. "You didn't answer my question."
"Yes?" Was Aether's dumbstruck answer.
"You don't seem sure."
"I am sure! I'm just - surprised. Holy satan's balls, what the fuck. You have no idea how much I want this, Dew. Can-Can I? Touch it?"
"Yeah go ahead."
Of course, Aether never expected a fucking water ghoul to have the ability to pull this off. His already wrinkled fingers danced on the gummy-like texture of the tentacle, examining each sucker with delicate precaution.
"I want to eat it," Aether said with a toothy grin.
"Don't, you whore"
Dew pushed his face against that of Aether's, gliding his tentacles on Aether's fuzzy chest, the suckers slithering down his groin, before tightening themselves against Aether's shaft. kissing him again. He felt the other ghoul's breathing quickening against his ears, his muscles tightening and trembling, as the water ghoul pressed his lips against the other one once more.
"S-satan's balls, Dew" Aether moaned "I-"
"Go on, whore" Dew's sensual words glided across the bath, filling Aether's mind with a lovesick haze, before pressing his lips against him again. Aether felt a pang against his chest as Dew brought the other tentacle against his cheeks, the rough texture of the suction cups offering a respite of refreshing chill against the heat of the bathtub, instinctively tightening his grip on the shaft. Aether continued to jitter in the water.
"I'm so close. Holy shit" Aether's moans echoed throughout the bathroom "Dew—It feels *so so good*" He sewed his eyes shut, his face contorted as he instinctively thrust his pelvis back and forth. The tentacles on his dick pulsated back and forth, his thrusting rhythmic with the throbbing of the limb. This - how the fuck is this even possible.
"Dew please - I can't" he continued to groan "not in the water"
"Don't worry darling, we'll clean it up later" Dewdrop winks.
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strangerays · 1 year
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novel introduction: Nothing in Particular and Everything
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[image ID: A girl in a yellow rain jacket stands over a cliff face with her arms outstretched. Blue waves twist below. Greenery hangs over the cliffs.]
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[text ID under the cut!]
started: February 2021
stage: 3rd draft
pov: first person, past tense
tags: #nip: inspo, #nothing in particular and everything
Ask to be +/- from the tag list if that is something you would like!
@words-after-midnight​ @thesorcerersapprentice
[text ID: There is a cliff at the edge of Point Blink where kids twist into the air and throw dust to the vortexing waves; they shoot past eroded caves filled with old bird nests that fly up like slots in a mausoleum. A lighthouse with a jammed bell leers over the expanse of heat lightning reflections. Metal gargles against stone in storm weather, warning us all of childish dares. I was a lighthouse: lived in by sailors, travelers, and strangers; pale stone tall and strong against a maelstrom of salt and rock. Moon shells speckled my base, crushed or buried. Clouds passed over the moon, and I opened my eye to cast sickly yellow light over the waves as they smoothed the footprints of my friends, and of Dad, and of me. Point Blink has stood for decades, but I will stand alone for many more, flickering against all the stars, waiting for those I love to return to harbor.]
Synopsis -
Ever since her best friend left Point Blink, Ray hasn’t felt the same. Now that Lonan is away at college, her friend group feels more distant than ever. Ray struggles to hold them together.
Photography is Ray’s passion. Memories with her friends have helped her create cover her bedroom walls. It’s her senior year, as well as the last school photography club trip she’ll ever be a part of. When Ray is paired with new girl Jude - who is determined to find her own way in Point Blink - they stumble on an abandoned fire tower in the forest. As the girls explore its mysterious contents, an act of arson threatens their lives.
Over the course of the winter, the girls spend afternoons in a dark room and build a profile for the arsonist – as well as a strong friendship. But as they delve deeper into Point Blink’s history, secrets surface within Ray too. Her mental health starts to decline, as well as her obsession with resolving her friendships. If she is ever to resolve the world she loves, she must care for herself.
Excerpts - 
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[text ID: I was a firm believer that the best art is created when the artist is lonely, angry, or depressed. The summer my best friend caught his train out of Point Blink, I was surprised to find that I became none of these things. We buried a time capsule beneath Sugarfell’s soaring pines and painted his bedroom walls a calm cerulean. We snuck out of house at nighttime to swim and went on a road trip to see our favorite band in concert. All my most colorful memories in Point Blink were unplanned in the beginning.]
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[text ID: As it is, Lonan has always been a year older and a grade ahead of me. As I entered my senior year of high school, he entered his freshman year of college. It felt like we were miles apart. It felt like he was going to disappear.      Together, we stared across the pink beach. A piper toothed the drowned shore for beetles. Primordial fire reeds combed rays of golden sun to fine sparkles. Lonan never left the shore, just blinked slowly while pockets of young horseshoe crabs chased each other into a swirl of murky blue. I could never resist the water. Often I spread my arms wide, walked barefoot along the rock wall trailing away from the beach into the water. Lonan only watched me from the sand – smaller and smaller and smaller. Now I tried to focus on the melodic thrill of the waves, but a cold headache was starting in my forehead. Sometimes I think that if I didn’t put so much effort into my friendships, I might not be so angry all the time.]
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[text ID:  I knew Lonan would never give up, because he was a rebel and I was quiet. He was my focal point. Point Blink a gauge built on magenta sea glass – and I had a third eye, primal in the growing.]
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[text ID: The truth was this: time was fiction to me. When I lifted my camera up, saw the world as more beautiful than it was, made it mine for just a moment in time – the trees richer, the waves more childlike in their frothing – none of it stayed the same. When birds called my name over the burst of a wave onto the cliffs. When storms send shadows to dance across the bluff faces. My most purple imagination couldn’t convince me everything was going to be okay – my best friend was gone. All of these falling pieces of my world were stark reminders that Lonan Herrings was gone for what seemed like an indefinite time. Because once people find what they want, they never stop chasing it.I tried to hold a moment forever, but time isn’t fiction – it’s an hourglass. Lately, my life had felt more like a rusted compass with a broken face.]
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[text ID:  Where the familiar world of oaks met the dusty clearing, a graffitied entrance sign barely hid a girl. Had it not been for the bright blue hat she wore with the number twelve stitched on front, I might have missed her altogether. She closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the sun. Her lips curved to a satisfied grin as the sun highlighted her round cheeks a smooth sienna. She seemed truly content and stayed that way – forgot about the rest of us, even me.]
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[text ID: I suppose – in many ways – I didn’t talk to anyone about Lonan. Not about school, either. About my friends, about the headaches I kept getting every night, about how I’d lost my appetite completely last week.            
“My best friend and I used to come down here a lot.”
Jude’s smile was small. “When was the last time.”
“He’s away for college right now.”            
Her smile fell. “Oh. That’s why you didn’t want me to tag along with you.”            
I swallowed.           
“That’s why you wanted to come down here on your own, isn’t it?”           
Her arm brushed mine and it was so warm. It reminded me of the safe feeling I got whenever Florian hugged me.            
A breeze trickled through the trees we’d come from and cascaded faint sparkles across the water, feathered the waves away from the shore. Briefly, the gray clouds pulled apart the fog, and pale sunlight touched Jude’s cheeks, drawing a smile from her lips. It seemed that, even in the darkest moments, she managed to find something to love. It made me jealous.            
Her eyes were closed. “At least you can still watch the sun rise.”]
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[text ID: Point Blink was like a sponge – it inhaled and exhaled water. Soaked up all rain and laughter, cursing and screaming. Rotting at the core. Sometimes I imagined Sugarfell might drink up all of that water, fold over itself like a map, and all those memories would surface from the ground with new bodies. Hands, the sort that I dreamed of appearing from underneath my bed. The hands of something that is supposed to be forgotten. Point Blink rarely exhaled. It just held its breath. Jude wasn’t afraid of Point Blink. She wasn’t afraid to live in a place where the people slogged from shore to shore, sunburned and bored. She wasn’t afraid to be alone in a place where the other kids grew up without her. She wasn’t afraid to sing as she walked up the beach and into the trees.
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[text ID: “Are you crying?” he asked. 
I hugged myself tight. “No.”            
Lonan wasn’t totally convinced, because he tilted his head and stared at me with his green-blue eyes for a long time. “You were about to.”
Lonan leaned into my shoulder. For a moment, I thought he might have been crying since he was the sort of person who cried whenever other people cried. Sometimes I think he is the rarest type of person in the world. I wished I could feel everything the way he did.
But he wasn’t crying – he was just resting against me. He was never going to be taller than me, so his head fit onto my shoulder perfectly. He could stay there for all of eternity if he wanted to.
And suddenly, all that darkness and thick air didn’t hang so heavy over me.]
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[text ID: Lonan came to me all at once: we were dissolved into black. I tried running to the opposite side of the fire tower, but then there was no ground beneath me. We must not have been that far up, because it didn’t take long for the rest of the tower to collapse beneath us. There was something soft underneath me – my bag or Jude’s arm. I could not see the sky – then light exploded from the veil we were trapped in. Jude’s hand found mine. She was shouting. I couldn’t tell what she was saying. I dragged myself through the grass, now pasty with smoke, infiltrating my throat, my eyes, my head – everything. It softened the world, made it easier to forget, but no easier to breathe. Jude screamed – a sound I never should have heard – and it brought hot tears to my eyes. Distantly, someone else screamed. It might have been me, but I wasn’t sure. Sirens wailed somewhere. We never heard many of them in Point Blink. I smelled of salt and smoke. What a fool I’d been to believe it possible I could carry on without my best friends, and what a fool Jude had been to think she could replace them.]
If you’re all the way down here, thanks for reading! I sometimes post snippets from the book as I write under the tag #nothing in particular and everything
:)
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