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simpforrooster · 5 months

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actually, it’s captain.

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x f!reader

summary: request for @kpopgirlbtssvt. rooster’s girl is hit on by Top Gun students.

t/w: touch her, you d i e trope. cursing. mentions of alcohol.

Rooster leans against the bar, laughing at something Penny tells him. His jeans hang low on his hips, and he’s wearing the Hawaiian shirt you bought him for his birthday.

Rooster’s hand slaps the bar as he continues to howl. Penny and Mav exchange a look. Maverick murmurs something to Penny. Your guess would be “it wasn’t that funny.”

You throw back the rest of your drink. As your glass returns to the table, a group of men circle you, all clad in khaki. Must be new Top Gun recruits.

“What’s a pretty little gal like you sittin’ here alone for?” one of them asks you, his accent very similar to Hangman’s.

“Mind if we join ya?” the second asks. Before you can reply, two of the slide in across from you, while the one who spoke first sits next to you. His burly arm comes up around your shoulder. You stiffen under him, feeling small.

And not in the way you feel with Rooster. He makes you feel small, protected, but also empowered. This guy has a hold on you like he’s claiming you. Telling every other guy in the bar he plans on taking you home.

“This here’s Crane and Sorry,” he points to the two in front of you. “And you can call me Pleasure. As in, it’s a pleasure to meet you. As in, the way all ladies feel after a night with me.” He winks. He actually winks.

Your brain is so shocked, you can’t form words. You should take this guy’s arm and bend it behind your back, the way your dad taught you. You should give him on of your grade-a verbal lashings.

But you don’t. The sheer audacity of this man has you frozen.

You try to make eye contact with Rooster, but Pleasure’s frame blocks your view.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster’s voice makes a relieved breath come from your mouth. His tone of voice would make anyone run for the hills, but it leaves you full of wanting.

Pleasure chuckles, meeting Rooster’s gaze. “Actually, it’s Lieutenant.”

Crane and Sorry exchange an amused look. Rooster’s face is set in a hard line. He reaches for Pleasure’s bicep, ripping him from the booth.

“I said to get your hands off my girlfriend, asshole.” Rooster is a whole head taller than the aviator that just had himself draped on you.

“Shouldn’t leave your girl all alone, dick.” Pleasure tells him, bowing up. Rooster’s mouth pulls up on the left, giving him one of his infamous cocky smirks. Second only to Hangman’s.

“Actually, it’s Captain. And I hope to God you’re in one of my classes. Lieutenant.”

At this, you see Pleasure audibly gulp, knowing he’s fucked up. Rooster still has a death grip on his arm.

“Come on, man. Make my day,” the words come out laced with venom.

Before things can get out of hand, you hop out of the booth and high tail it to Penny. Quickly giving her a synopsis, she rings the bell, signaling these guys need to be thrown out. Hangman, Omaha, and Coyote each grab one of the guys and drag them to the exit.

Rooster joins you at the bar, taking your face in his hands. Those brown eyes roam over you, searching.

Your hands come up to cradle his face, “Roos, I’m fine.”

“When I saw him draped over you, I saw red. Nobody touches my girl.” He leans down to place a kiss against your temple. Rooster’s words have your toes curling in your shoes. You’ve never seen this side of him.

You lower your hands to his shoulders, threading one of them in his curly hair that’s definitely longer than Military regulation.

“You’re the only one I want touching me,” you murmur in his ear, your face flushing.

“Yeah?” he murmurs back.

Not trusting your voice to not come out completely needy, you nod.

“Come on, guys. Quit being disgusting,” Maverick says to the two of you, feigning gagging.

Penny pops his hand over the bar, eliciting a laugh from him.

Rooster ignores him, placing a deep kiss onto your mouth.

“Take me home, baby,” you say, taking in those brown eyes.

“I don’t know, pretty girl, I don’t think I can get further than the Bronco,” he winks.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x y/n #rooster x reader #rooster fluff #rooster imagine #rooster x oc #rooster fanfic #rooster top gun #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x reader #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw

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ellieswrldd · 1 month

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whiskey neat

pairing: cowgirl!ellie williams x f!reader

summary: ellie's a gunslinging outlaw who seems to have taken a liking to you, the pretty saloon girl.

content warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, thigh riding, train robbery, set during the 1800s, slightly awkward ellie, reader's 1st time with a woman

a/n: this is my thank u for 800 followers!! pic creds to riverexwren on pinterest 💗

“The necklace, hand it over,”

Your hands trembled with fear as you touched the locket strung around your neck. A shiny revolver was pointed at your nose and left you speechless.

Train robberies weren’t as common as they used to be, the law had grown stronger and outlaws were quickly becoming something of the past. At least that’s what the newspapers said.

Either the papers were wrong or you were just plain unlucky as you sat in the middle of a train robbery.

“I said hand it over,” The man holding the gun demanded, his eyes squinting as he inched the gun closer.

“Leave it, man, head to the front and help break those safes open, we don’t have time for your shit.” Your eyes darted past the barrel of the gun and landed on another masked assailant.

Auburn hair was tucked under a black cowboy hat, a scar running through one of her brows, striking green eyes, and a black bandana that covered the rest of her face. The man rolled his eyes and pushed past the woman, allowing you to find your breath. The woman’s eyes seemed to linger on your face before her brows furrowed and she looked back at the other passengers.

“Everybody stay seated, we’re just gonna take what we need and then we’ll be on our way, got it?” She stated loudly. Her hand rested comfortably on the handle of her gun as she spoke.

The following hour passed in a blur, you sat nervously in your seat as the woman kept watch. After a while, a few men returned and gave the woman a nod, bags of money in their hands.

“We’ve got the stuff, let’s get the hell outta here,” the man from earlier said. The woman looked back at him and nodded. She glanced back in your direction once more before leaving the train with her gang.

Just as soon as they had ridden off, the lawmen arrived. The train was up and running again and the officers went around interviewing the passengers as the train started toward the city. Everyone was rather shaken up but it seemed like there were few casualties, the only deaths being that of a few guards.

The rest of the day you were stuck in a haze, shaken by the robbery. People asked about the details but you simply shook your head and waved them away, it was clear you wanted to forget the whole ordeal.

Weeks passed slowly, spring turned into summer, and you eventually moved on from the train incident. Nothing ever came of it, the assailants were never identified and nobody was able to offer up any useful intel about the robbery so you simply continued on with your life.

You worked as a saloon girl at the local bar which wasn’t the best gig, but it certainly paid well. The busy atmosphere kept you entertained during the night and you were typically free during the days.

Dressed in a vibrant blue gown you sauntered around the bar, refilling drinks and sweet-talking some of the men, nothing you weren’t used to. As you made your rounds, you caught sight of someone who piqued your interest. She sat by herself at a small round table near the corner of the room.

Other than the saloon gals, women didn’t frequent the joint often so you always felt curious when you spotted a female patron. Something about this lady in particular seemed familiar despite the fact you couldn’t recall ever meeting someone like her. With that short, reddish hair she’d be hard to miss for certain, so why was she so familiar?

“You look like you could use a refill,” You smiled at her as you approached, a hand on your hip. She looked up at you and pulled her cigarette from her lips. After exhaling the smoke away from you, the girl sat up a little straighter and shrugged.

“Guess I could, or maybe I could just use some company.” Her voice was a bit raspy but it sounded like sweet honey to your ears. She passed you her empty glass and took another drag from her cigarette. “Whiskey, neat,”

You giggled and took the glass. You stepped away to refill the glass before returning to her table. She cracked a charming smile and nodded toward the seat beside her as she took the glass from your hands.

“Why have I never met you before? Passing through town?” You asked as you slid into the chair next to her. The girl tapped her fingers on her glass cup.

“Something like that. I’m not from ‘round here.” She took a drag from her cigarette and made sure to blow the smoke away from your direction.

“You seem awfully familiar, are you sure we’ve never crossed paths?”

“I doubt it,” She paused for a moment before speaking again. “I think I’d remember a pretty face like yours,”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks and you smiled. “Flattery won’t get you free drinks, miss…?” You trailed off, waiting for her to finish your sentence.

“Williams, but you can call me Ellie.”

The conversation between you two flowed easily, even with Ellie’s flirtatious banter. As it neared midnight you noticed the people begin to return home, of course, a few drunkards still milling about inside.

“I better go,” You said quietly, glancing at the door. Ellie bit her cheek and nodded. She threw back the remaining alcohol she had in her cup and stood up.

“Let me walk you home, it’s not safe for a pretty lady to walk home alone.” You laughed and rolled your eyes when you saw her outstretched hand.

“I assure you I am no lady,” You took her hand and stood up. Ellie chuckled and shook her head.

“Lead the way,”

You didn’t live too far from the saloon and for once you wished the walk was longer. Maybe it was stupid of you to get involved with someone who clearly didn’t plan on sticking around for long, but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

“I like that necklace of yours, it’s real nice,” Ellie commented, her eyes gazing at the locket, then falling a bit lower to the low cut of your bodice.

Politely, you thanked her and continued speaking, but something inside of you was stuck on her comment.

It was then that you finally realized exactly who she was and why you remembered her. The intriguing gunslinger who couldn’t keep her eyes off you while her partners robbed a train was the very same woman walking you home.

As you stopped in front of your door, you turned to Ellie.

“Ellie, I need to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me.”

The other girl looked confused but nodded.

“It was you on that train, wasn’t it?”

She stared at you silently for a second, her mouth slightly agape, it was as if she was trying to think of the right response.

“Be honest with me please,” You sighed. “I know we just met, but I like you and I like your company, and I want to know who I’m talkin’ to. I’m surely not pure, I’ve done bad things too, I swear I would never tell—” You rambled on before Ellie interrupted you.

“Yes, that was me.” Her voice was a raspy mumble, and her eyes were focused on her dusty boots.

“Okay,” The words escaped you as a whisper and suddenly you realized how nervous you felt. The nerves could be partially attributed to the fact you had confirmed your suspicions, but you knew they were because of something more.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, I hope you know that—”

“Do you want to come inside?”

Ellie bit her lip and nodded, a small smile forming on her face. She followed you inside while she tried her best to conceal the stupid smile that was pulling at her cheeks. You watched as she slipped her heavy jacket off and hung it on the coat hanger, and you inhaled when you saw the shine of her revolver tucked into her pants.

“You’re lookin’ at my gun,” She stated and followed your gaze. “I can put it away or something if it scares you,”

You simply shook your head and ran your hands down the front of your skirt. “I’m not scared,”

“Okay then,”

The tension between the two of you seemed to fill the entire room and you couldn’t seem to look Ellie in the eyes.

“Maybe I ought to go,” Ellie murmured. It was evident that neither of you wanted that, the way she was inching closer to you certainly confirmed that.

“Maybe you ought to stay,” You looked up and finally made eye contact with her. “You make me so…” You trailed off quietly as you looked down at her lips and registered how close she was.

“So what?” Her hand reached out and gently brushed against your wrist.

“…Nervous,” You breathed. It seemed like your lips were only mere inches apart.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,”

Ellie ran her fingers up your bare arm slowly before gently cupping your cheek.

“Don’t toy with me,” You mutter and Ellie laughed softly. She pulled you in and kissed you softly, her lips molding against yours.

The kiss was everything you needed. It was passionate and messy and perfect. You had never done anything like this with another woman before and it scared you, but Ellie’s lips moved so sweetly that it made you forget all of your worries.

It wasn’t long until the kiss turned from sweet to fiery with Ellie’s tongue sliding against your own and her hands traveling down your back. A soft moan escaped your lips when Ellie squeezed your hips gently.

“God, you’re so— you make me—” Ellie breathed heavily and buried her face in your exposed neck, her lips moving hungrily against your skin. Your hands traveled to her hair as she sucked and nipped at your neck.

“Ellie,” You panted her name and tugged her hair gently until she pulled away.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” She muttered, brows furrowed.

“No! No, I loved that, I just— I’ve never done this before, not with a woman I mean,” Her hands remained on your hips as you spoke.

“I-I’ll help you, I don’t mind,” Ellie’s cheeks turned pink and she pulled you close again. “Should we go to your bedroom..?” She asked.

You nodded and intertwined your fingers with hers before leading her to your room. It wasn’t much but it was homey, charming even.

Ellie wasted no time to kiss you again, this time her hands moved presumptuously across your body. From sliding across your torso and chest to squeezing your ass through the delicate fabrics of your dress, Ellie’s movements only grew bolder with your responses.

Slowly, Ellie tugged the skirt of your dress up, revealing your skin inch by inch.

“Take it off me,” You whispered. And so she did, untying your corset like her life depended on it and carefully lifting the dress above your head, so as not to stretch anything. Then, finally, you stood before her completely bare.

“You are so beautiful,” She said, her eyes glued to the curves and shape of your body. You reached out and unbuttoned her shirt slowly but surely. Ellie’s breathing seemed to deepen as you moved lower, the curves of her small breasts now visible as you undid the last few buttons. Then, you took her gun from her waistband and set it on your nightstand for safekeeping.

Your hands found their way to the button of her pants next, shakily undoing them as she watched you intently. She kicked her pants off along with her undergarments and was completely nude.

“Show me what to do,” You met her eyes and waited for her to guide you. Her hands found yours and grabbed your wrists, moving your hands to her breasts.

“Touch me here,” She instructed. Ellie took in a sharp breath when you rolled her nipples between your fingers, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Th-that's good, yeah,”

“What else?”

She bit her lip and took one of your hands, moving it to cup her cunt.

“You feel that? How wet I am?” You nodded quickly. “It’s because of you, because of how bad I want you,”

“M-Me too,” You stammered, suddenly aware of the wet heat in between your legs.

“Lay down, I’ll take care of you,” Ellie smiled and stood over you as you lay on your bed. Crawling on top of you, Ellie kissed you sweetly a few times before she moved lower and latched her mouth onto your nipple. Her tongue swirled around your stiff nipples, drawing out needy whining from you.

Her fingers began to slowly rub your puffy clit in lazy circles while she kept your legs spread. She wanted nothing more than to fuck you in every way possible, rough and fast, but she knew you needed something slow right now, something caring and gentle to get you started.

Ellie kissed and licked and suckled across your tits, a trail of hickeys and saliva all over your chest.

“Ellie,” You whined and squirmed beneath her. She was moving so slowly and it was nice, but you were so needy and you couldn’t take the teasing.

“I know, just– hold on,” She pulled away and moved to sit against the headboard of the bed. “Come here,” Ellie reached her hand out to you. You sat up and crawled over to her, sitting in her lap as she pulled you on top of her.

Ellie spread her legs out and cleared her throat. “Sit on my thigh,” You followed her instruction and straddled her thigh, one of your thighs on each side. “Yeah, just like that,” In this position, you could feel the heat of her skin against your entire pussy.

“What do I do?” You murmur, glancing down and back up at her.

“Put your hands here,” She placed your hands on her shoulders. “And just rock back and forth, slowly,” She inhaled deeply as you did what she said and you started grinding yourself against her thigh. Ellie’s hands found their way to your thighs and she squeezed your soft skin.

Low moans and whimpers came from your wet lips while you rubbed yourself against her. As you moved back and forth, you had begun to push your knee against Ellie’s clit just enough for her to feel a delicious friction.

“N-Now you can speed up, you’re doing so well,” She panted and gazed at you with half-lidded eyes. Her hands slid up from your thighs to your hips where she helped roll your hips a bit faster and harder against her thigh. Ellie had also begun to grind her clit against your knee, moaning your name as she too chased the pleasure.

By now her thigh was covered in your juices, shining in the moonlight that poured through your windows. Ellie listened as your moans grew higher and louder, and took that as a sign that you were nearing your climax.

Everything was sloppy and messy, but it was the best feeling you’d ever experienced. Your two bodies moving together sensually, both of you craving and chasing orgasm, your skin on hers.

Soon enough, both you and Ellie were crying out and shaking while you were overcome with pleasure. You fell limp against her and her arms encircled you.

The room was silent with the only sounds being you and Ellie’s breathing.

“That was—” You sighed.

“Yeah,” Ellie laughed softly and rubbed your back. “You did good,”

“You think so?” You ran a finger along her collarbone.

“I know so,” She gave you a smile. “You ought to get some rest, it’s late,” Ellie kissed your cheek.

“Only if you promise not to run off?”

“Okay, I promise,” She whispered. You pulled the bedsheets over your bodies and settled down for the night.

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed. You frowned and turned to the other side of the bed. Ellie stood by your window, a cigarette in hand as she blew the smoke through the opened window.

“Good morning,” She said when she turned her head to look at you.

As you looked at her your head raced with wild dreams and ideas, things you wish you could say and do, but you simply smiled at her and watched Ellie take another drag of her cigarette.

You would never be allowed to be with Ellie publicly, homosexuality was a sin in the eyes of society. Not to mention, Ellie Williams was an outlaw.

What you had done with her was wrong, so so wrong, and yet you couldn’t help but yearn for more.

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ivystoryweaver · 4 months

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Fairytale of New York

Summary: A tired, pathetic puppy wanders into your diner on Christmas Eve. Things...escalate.

Pairing: Llewyn Davis from Inside Llewyn Davis x f!reader who wants what she wants

Word Count: 2.2k

Content: nsfw, mdni, language, mentions of past mistreatment, talk of contraception, gun but no violence, oral -f and m rec., not beta'd

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

Bone-weary.

Your grandmother used to say it.

The man in front of you looked deep-in-his-bones, forlornly, kicked-puppy exhausted.

Which was a feat in and of itself, seeing how you were surrounded this evening by hungry, homeless people, and he was definitely the most handsome one by far.

Chocolate curls tumbled effortlessly across his forehead. His dark beard was kempt - not the fuzzy, matted mess of the men around him.

At first glance, you wondered if he was here to order a regular meal or volunteer. He almost looked put-together enough.

But he sighed - a bone-weary, defeated, groaning sigh.

"Cold night," you commented, noticing how he struggled to create even the tiniest spark of warmth from his corduroy blazer and wool scarf. He seemed to try and make himself smaller, as if willing the too-thin layers of fabric to truly envelop him.

"No shit," he fired back, clenching his fingerless glove around the handle of his guitar case. Noticing your look of slight amusement, he sighed, tiredly. "Sorry. Long night. Wondering if I could get some coffee?"

"Sure thing," you nodded past him to an empty two-top, offering him a warm smile.

Your boss Sal was a hard ass with a heart of gold. On Christmas Eve, anyone could eat free from ten to midnight at this fine dining establishment where you earned your measly paycheck.

You were living the dream - serving diner tables. But Sal was good to you and the other guys and gals you called coworkers - granting holiday bonuses and sometimes, you could swear he beefed up your tips at the end of the night. Just a couple dollars here or there, but it helped.

You returned to the pathetic puppy of a man with a fresh, hot cup of coffee. "Want something to eat? Everything's on the house tonight."

One eyebrow shot up curiously. "Free? You're serious."

"It's Christmas Eve," you said mysteriously, wiggling your fingers as if casting a spell. "Sal's got a soft spot for people who need a hot meal and got nowhere to go."

Kicked Puppy nodded, his eyes momentarily flickering up and down your body.

"So, what'll it be, handsome? You want something to warm you up besides that coffee? Or do you have a pressing holiday engagement?"

Narrowing his tired, dark eyes, he looked like he was trying to come up with a clever reply, but ultimately let out a defeated, bitter-ish chuckle. "Got friends, but...every one of them's pissed at me. On my own tonight."

He shrugged helplessly. "I guess I'm kind of an asshole sometimes."

Wagging your finger, you went along with him, playfully. "I could tell that about you, right when you walked in. I took one look and thought, 'that guy is definitely an asshole. Probably shouldn't serve him.'"

He almost chuckled, but it was a weak laugh at best.

"Bowl of chili sound good? Or...I have chicken noodle, or a hamburger. Not much left in the kitchen," you offered.

A few minutes later, Mr. Handsome Kicked Puppy sipped his bowl of chili while you finished up with your other customers. A few of the homeless guys liked to flirt with you, but they were pretty harmless.

Everyone knew not to cross Sal and his employees anyway.

You noticed Kicked Puppy's gaze fixed on you, so you made your way back over and checked to see if he needed a refill.

"I'm good," he waved you off, but something made you linger. Probably the fact that he was kind of beautiful.

"You a singer?" You prodded, nodding to his guitar case.

He made a face - seemed to be a sore spot for him, but concurred. "Sang across the street tonight. You ever been?"

Peering out the window, you read the club's neon sign. "No, but I always wanted to. What kind of music?"

"The only kind," he shrugged.

You motioned to the spot across from him. "Mind if I sit a minute? Feet are killing me. Promise I won't ask you to sing."

He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest, eyeing you curiously. "Oh, you won't?"

"'Course not," you smiled, waving your hand dismissively. "Everyone knows musicians hate that. It's like...your living. You can't just sing for free."

His eyebrows shot up as he leaned in. "You're mocking me..."

"No," you laughed. "I'm serious. It would be like someone asking me to serve drinks at a party without paying me." You motioned around you. "Not much of a career but I should still get paid for it."

"Thank you." He gestured animatedly. "My...friends - some of the people who usually let me crash - always try to parade me out at dinner parties, like an attraction. Fucking annoying."

He paused for a moment. "Almost feel like I owe them sometimes, you know... Can't do it, though."

"You have your pride," you sympathetically reasoned. "That's fair enough."

You stood, reaching to collect his dirty dishes. "So, who's couch is it tonight if everyone's pissed at you?"

Running a gloved hand over his beard, he shook his head and shrugged. "What time do you close?"

"Midnight."

He slowly nodded.

"What's your name, singer?"

"Llewyn."

You smiled softly and introduced yourself. "You don't have anywhere to go after midnight, do you?"

He shook his head as his gaze dropped.

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

12:24 A.M. - Christmas

"Can't believe you're letting a strange man sleep in your apartment," the handsome bone-weary puppy voiced as you turned the key in your deadbolt.

"You're not a stranger anymore, Llewyn," you replied, trying to find just the right way to wiggle your key... "Got it! Damn thing sticks all the time."

Shouldering your way inside, you tossed your bag on the tiniest kitchen bar in existence, motioning for him to come on in.

"Like I told you - it's not much. You might be warmer sleeping in a car, but the love seat will keep you off this frigid, hard floor. And the water's warm, since we're over the diner. Sal's my landlord too. He keeps everything running nice enough. Cheap ass on heat though."

"No, I really appreciate it," he gratefully returned, “especially on Christmas. You sure I'm not interrupting anything?"

"No..." You let out a wistful sigh. "No, I don't have anyone." You smirked at him playfully. "But I do own a revolver if you're having any weird ideas."

"Holy shit," he whistled. "Glad you take care of yourself, I guess."

Llewyn reveled in your attention and care over the next half hour. You made a batch of hot cocoa while he took the warmest shower he'd had in weeks. You turned on a Christmas record and found a couple of thick blankets for him to sleep (or attempt to sleep) cramped up on the love seat.

"Thank you for this," he quietly voiced, sipping his cocoa, his eyes drooping with exhaustion. "Don't deserve it. If you knew me, you'd push me right back out that door."

"Maybe," you shrugged, sipping your own warm beverage as you curled up in the only chair in the place. "But it's Christmas. Even assholes and loners need a break sometimes."

He regarded you with interest, his eyes raking over your form for the millionth time. "That what you are? A loner?"

You hid behind the ceramic of your mug for a moment of reprieve. "Have to be. What else is there for a woman who doesn't want a marriage and kids?"

You shuddered, remembering how many times your ex had sabotaged your efforts at contraception...and how violent he'd become when he found out you were actively trying to not get pregnant.

Hence the waitress job, freezing apartment...and the revolver.

"You don't want kids?" He asked, clearing his throat. Maybe you were somehow...perfect.

"I really don't. You’d think women would have a few more options now that it’s the ‘60s. So I got my revolver to make sure my ex stays away. He’s a bigger asshole than the two of us," you answered, transparently. Noticing how his dark eyes widened at your candor, you laughed.

"Scared yet?"

"No," he chuckled. "But I guess that answers the question of whether or not we're gonna fuck."

Smirking, you took one more sip of cocoa before pushing off your chair to kneel down in front of him. Your eyes met his challengingly as you spread your palms over his thighs, pushing them up to his hips.

"That why you're an asshole?" You challenged, reaching for the zipper of his trousers. "Can't be bothered to wear a condom?"

"Can't afford that shit," he fired back, enjoying the view down your t-shirt.

"Definitely an asshole," you shake your head, dragging his zipper down and tracing your fingertips over the outline of his hardening length with your fingertips.

"My pussy's off limits unless you want my revolver shoved up your ass," you inform, leaning over to suck on his leaking tip through the fabric of his underwear. "But fuck it. It's Christmas. You can come in my mouth."

"Fucking hell," he groaned at your forwardness, shifting his hips to give you easier access to pull his cock free.

"Oh shit, you're big," you marveled, running the tip of your tongue over your lips in anticipation. Wrapping your hands around him, you turned your eyes up to his. "Merry Christmas. Don't say I never gave you anything."

You licked a stripe up the underside of his shaft before placing him on your flat tongue. Your eyes flickered back up to his tauntingly as you slowly wrapped your lips around him and swirled your tongue.

"Jes....oh fuck," he moaned, gripping the arm of the tiny couch.

Bobbing your head up and down a few times, you pushed yourself past the point of comfort and swallowed his tip. Your mouth stretched to take him, and the challenge of it made you instantly wet.

“Holy f-fuck,” he responded eagerly, “just like that.” You let him fuck your mouth, free hand gripping your jaw as his hips found a rhythm thrusting and gagging you.

Something about how pathetic this man was - how eager and responsive to your touch - it was doing it for you. You hadn’t done anything this spontaneous in a long time, but it felt good. And you certainly didn’t mind a heavy, hot cock in your mouth.

A few heavy thrusts and gags later and he coated your throat with his spend, letting out a near embarrassing whine as he came.

You let him soften before pulling off him and licking your lips clean. “Bet you’ll sleep well now.” You winked.

“Holy shit,” he gasped, shaking his head as you stood and started to shed your clothes. Remembering you were pretty clear about not fucking without a condom, he slowly stood, stuffing his soft cock back into his pants. “What are you…”

“I have a twin bed, but you’ll fit better than on that thing.” You nodded to the love seat, now standing in front of him completely nude. “But to sleep with me, you’re gonna need to return the favor. I’m fucking soaked.”

Minutes later, this rather beautiful, bearded man knelt between your legs in bed, his prominent nose nudging tauntingly at your puffy clit. His plush mouth sampled your pussy lips, as if he was making out with your cunt.

“F-fuck yes,” you groaned as he fucked his tongue into your hole, sucking and slurping at your juices.

Your fingers slid into the softest curls, twisting them around your fingers as you rocked your pelvis up to meet his soft beard.

The he started humming. And not just a humming sound but a fucking tune. After several delicious, deep thrusts of his tongue, he pulled out, making you whine at the loss of stimulation.

His hum gently morphed into a few lyrics as his eyes gazed up at you, equal parts cocky and pussy drunk - your slick coating his beard and lips.

‘Hang me, oh hang me…I’ll be dead and gone…’

He slid two fingers into your slick, warm hole, curling them with the dexterity of an instrumentalist. Then lowered his smirking mouth back down to trace circles around your clit with his tongue. Kept right on humming.

Laying his tongue flat, he laved your sensitive bundle of nerves with a few rough licks before wrapping those sexy lips around it and sucking.

He added a third finger - you were plenty wet enough for it and the slight stretch made your back arch off your twin bed. Fingers curling, lips sucking, and that insistent hum sent you right over the edge into earth-shattering bliss. Your body seized in mind-altering pleasure and then went completely white as you rode out the best orgasm you’d had in years.

He worked you through it before blatantly licking you clean and climbing his way up your body to cage you in. The look on his face told you he was definitely satisfied with himself, but the hot flesh of his cock prodding at your thigh meant he didn’t want this to be over.

"Is that my revolver or are you ready for more?" You teased, reaching to wrap you fingers around his cock. "Don't think I have any condoms big enough for all this."

He groaned, hips shifting into your grip. "Maybe we could just - "

"I'll will shoot you. Go the fuck to sleep, Llewyn."

And that's how an exhausted, pathetic puppy of a man, with soulful brown eyes, and the voice of an angel, ended up in your twin bed on Christmas Eve.

✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧ ˚ · .✧

1k/Holiday Celebration Main Post

1000 Follower/Holiday Celebration Masterlist

Miscellaneous Characters Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Follow @ivystoryupdates and turn on notifications to never miss an update

#1000 followers #oscar isaac fic #holiday fic #holiday celebration #oscar isaac characters #celebration #1000 follower celebration #christmas fic #llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #inside llewyn davis

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carionto · 7 months

Note

I like to think the humans ambassador hides black powder weapons around their office instead of Lazer guns or plasma, just walks about with 2 hidden flintlock pistols

You sir or madam or otherwise have given me the biggest grin with that idea, thank you.

(me from after having written it out) I did not know where this idea would take me, stream of consciousness writing will do that.

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

Every delegate of every integrated species aboard a Coalition governing station in their respective segment of the Galaxy receives full accommodations in the form of an isolated embassy structure.

One day, as per a Human custom, the main delegate - Ambassador Glenn York, invited several other delegates on a tour of his embassy. With some hesitation from a few due to their prey-like ancestry and associated cultural background, but ultimately won over by the Human's eager friendliness, they embarked on this little cultural exchange.

It was a little difficult to move about, as each embassy is adapted to suit the environmental preferences of the respective species, and Humans live on a high gravity and dense atmosphere world, so much so in fact, some of the less physically suitable delegates had to put on an exoskeleton, while many others required a breathing apparatus to thin out the poisonous air.

Once we were underway, Glenn showed us that the Humans were diligent in their work - acquiring information from and learning about all the various species within the Coalition, establishing communication lines with the respective counterparts in the disparately varied local government structures, and most importantly continually updating the translation modules.

In addition, we admired their art they had installed along the barren walls. Most, Glenn explained, was done by the delegates and their staff themselves during free time, and it ranged from tiny contraptions painstakingly assembled within a minuscule glass container (we did not realize they could hone their dexterity to such a precise degree!) to large murals covering an entire wall with the most vivid color and shape combinations one could imagine; from the very clear and obvious to impossibly abstract! Though the music they had to turn down - the vibrations of the thick atmosphere were beginning to overload the dampening systems and one of the delegates almost passed out.

Near the end of the tour, Glenn invited us into his office to show off what his "hobby" is:

"The boys and gals I work with are all talented people, but none of them appreciate the kind of craftsmanship I prefer. It's kind of a ancient art form, you see, high maintenance too, very delicate."

He pulls out a pair of ancient looking projectile weapons, at least judging by the shape, but none of us can quite grasp, aside from the trigger, how it operates. We are all silent as he pours some sort of fine grain from a small bag into the upturned tube then drops a small metal ball and proceeds to jam it further in with a cloth and stick.

"I handcrafted these myself. Sure, I could get a printer to do it and it'd be perfect, but perfection just ain't right when it comes to work of the soul, amirite? I find it therapeutic, to mold the shape, heat the iron, cast the shape, smooth the edges, straighten the barrel, carve the grip, roll the bullets, grind the powder... just..."

He lets out a long sigh of relief? satisfaction? euphoria? as he gazes with great affection at the pair of devices in his hands. We feel the urge to end the tour. Like. Right now. But Glenn insists on a demonstration. We hesitantly follow him to a largely empty room below where he sets up a couple of small wooden block on a pedestal. As he points one of the devices and is about to pull the trigger, he stops, looks back at us and says:

"Almost forgot, you'll want to take a few more steps back and turn your dampeners to max."

Heeding his advice, we do so, and after he appears satisfied with our... safety?... he returns his gaze to the wooden block and pulls the trigger.

[cacophony]

We awaken after a short while, the sturdier of our fellow delegates say the rest of us were out for just a few moments, but the ringing reverberation of the shockwave through the Human atmosphere still resonates throughout our bodies. Glenn, worry in his eyes, is apologizing profusely:

"Oh I am so sorry, I didn't think you'd still react so poorly. Is anyone hurt? I even put in less gunpowder than normal, but I guess that's still too potent. I--I'll file an official apology and compensate for any damages I may have caused to any of you. I will take full responsibility for this incident. Please do not think poorly of us as a whole due to the willfulness of one individual, it was never my intention to inflict any injury on anyone."

---Later---

After a thorough medical examination, it was determined that only a few delegates suffered a minor case of shock, which was alleviated rapidly at their respective medical stations. Ambassador Glenn York was reprimanded and sent back to Earth, a replacement will arrive shortly. The one permanent remnant of the incident is the wooden block that was struck by Glenn's pistol - now put on a small display in one of the inner rooms of the Human embassy. The bullet still embedded half-way and the splinters it shot out arranged in a chaotic manner, befitting an explosion, down in front.

#humanity fuck yeah #humans are space orcs #humans are deathworlders #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #carionto #story

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chick-with-wifi · 9 months

Text

Meta: Root's message for Shaw

In 4x05, Root says, "if the worst comes to pass, if you could give Shaw a message?" when she believes she will die in the fight against Martine. Although we don't hear the exact wording of this message, the context and Finch's reply of "I think she already knows", tell us it is a declaration of love.

Then in 5x13 when the Machine is fading, She tells Shaw, "There's something I think Root had wanted to say to you. You always thought there was something wrong with you because you don't feel things the way other people do. But she always felt that was what made you beautiful. She wanted you to know that if you were a shape, you were a straight line. An arrow."

During their time together, Root's flirting consists of exaggerated innuendo to push Shaw's buttons ("I'll do yours if you do mine" in 3x23, "I love it when you play doctor" in 3x17), and in return Shaw pushes Root's buttons by aggressively pretending she doesn't care about Root ("I missed you like I'd miss an intestinal parasite" in 3x20, "I wouldn't want anything to happen…to the dog" in 4x10). Root never disrupts the delicate balance of this dance, never asks Shaw for more than she's willing to give or demands any confirmation of her feelings, beyond light teasing such as "and is that why you came to see me?" in 4x07.

But in the event of her death, she wants Shaw to know the true extent of her feelings. Given that she always intended it to be this way, this means the message isn't for her benefit - it's for Shaw's. She wants Shaw to know beyond a shadow of doubt that Root loved and understood her for exactly who she is, and has no expectations for what her grieving process should look like. She doesn't want Shaw to ever feel like she isn't enough.

A variation of this also appears in 4x11. In one of the Machine's simulations, Root calls Shaw while knowing she doesn't have long left and it is the only time we see her push for any sort of confirmation about their relationship. She says, "Why are you so afraid to talk about your feelings? [...] We're perfect for each other. You're gonna figure that out someday." and is elated with Shaw's reply that "maybe someday [...] we can talk about it."

Since the Machine is able to accurately predict Her assets and knows Root's final request well enough to carry it out in 5x13, She knows this is the one situation where Root would push the issue enough to make it clear that she loves Shaw and that she would be thrilled with any degree of confirmation Shaw chooses to give.

Their conversation in the real timeline begins in exactly the same way, with Root in a dire situation calling Shaw to say, "Hey, sweetie. You busy?". Shaw replies, "A little. Skip the verbal foreplay, Root. Why are you calling?" and Root says, "Can't a couple of gals take a little break from work to catch up?". However, at this point Shaw arrives in the stock exchange and the team's chance of survival increases considerably.

The rest of their conversation plays out similarly, but is toned down. Root says, "We're so good at this together. You're gonna realize that someday." Where the simulation began with Root asking a direct question about Shaw's feelings, this is an open statement that doesn't put any pressure on Shaw to respond.

Shaw replies, "Root, no offense. You're hot, you're good with a gun. Those are two qualities I greatly admire. But you and me together would be like a four-alarm fire in an oil refinery." Just like how Root in the simulation was happy with Shaw's response, she cheerily replies, "Sounds cozy." Since at this moment her life is no longer in immediate danger, she doesn't feel the need to say anything further.

#Poi #Person of interest #Root #Poi root #Sameen shaw #Root x shaw #Poi meta #Shoot meta #My meta

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dragonagitator · 2 months

Text

House MD fans: You wake up in the PPTH ER in summer 2004. What you doing?

Scenario parameters:

All your memories of the show and the past 20 years are intact.

You are stuck there/then and cannot return to our universe/year.

You have nothing but the hospital gown on your back.

Questions:

So, what do you do?

How much would you tell House?

How would you get him to believe you?

Who else would you tell?

How much would you tell them?

Inspiration:

The author self-insert isekai fanfic "Intervention" by VivatRex (aka @acrownforaking). They've been writing it for the past 11+ years and are still updating. It's already nearly 300k words long despite only being up to the events of S02E15. I AM IN AWE.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this scenario ever since I read that fanfic a month ago. I'd love to discuss it with other House MD fans and hear what you would do.

(Apologies to the mutuals for the abrupt blog topic change. A new brainrot has taken hold.)

My short answer:

My long answers are below the cut.

So, what do you do?

My primary objective would be to enlist House in averting the pandemic.

My reasoning: If anyone can nip it in the bud before it gets out of Wuhan, I figure that a world-renowned genius doctor who is an infectious diseases specialist, speaks Mandarin, and now has a 15-year head start would have the best chance.

Difficulty level: Babysitting a narcissistic manchild with the self-preservation instincts of a toddler until the year 2020 so that he makes it there then alive, out of prison, and with his sanity, medical license, and professional reputation intact. To quote Quantum Leap, "Ohhhhhh boooooooy."

Strategy: I'm in the "I could fix him, but whatever's wrong with him is way funnier" camp, so I wouldn't try to change him (that always backfires anyway). Instead, I'd try to change his circumstances:

A stable romantic relationship would help, so I'd seduce him if I can (I'm not his type but a gal's gotta shoot her shot), try to get him together with Dominika earlier if I can't, and tell him how horribly his relationship with Cuddy ended so he knows better than to even start it.

Avert the shooting. Moriaty was a patient so his info is in the PPTH files. I AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS. Or for a less murdery approach, try to get him arrested in April 2006 for violating New Jersey's strict gun laws.

Warn House about Tritter so he can switch patients with another clinic doctor.

Warn House to never get on a bus with Amber.

Tell Kutner I'm from the future and he's the only one who can prevent something horrible from happening (he's a Trekkie so he'll want to believe), then unfurl my big timeline poster and point at the "Kutner suicide early 2009" stickynote and ask him "so what's up with that, dude?"

Tell Wilson everything I can remember about his cancer -- he's an oncologist and thus can work backwards from there to figure out when to start checking for it so he can cut the tumor out while it's still just a tiny baby.

I would take a harm reduction approach to House's drug use, e.g., suggest that he try microdosing psilocybin and extend his liver's lifespan by substituting cannabis for some of his Vicodin and alcohol consumption.

Methods: Even though he doesn't have one for most of the show, House mentions a few times that he's entitled to hire an assistant, and I happen to be excellent at administrative work.

I think he'd be willing to hire me because working as his executive assistant / department secretary would position me to recognize patients as they come in so that I can discreetly pass along anything I remember, e.g., the kindergarten teacher has pork worms in her brain, ask the scientist in Antarctica to show you her feet, etc.

Meanwhile, I could lurk around the hospital preventing miscellaneous shit, e.g., get the gift shop volunteer from S01E04 to go home sick, ensure that the gunman from S05E09 is promptly admitted, diagnosed, and treated before he snaps and takes hostages, etc.

Possible sidequests:

Use my foreknowlege to get rich by milking online poker bonuses until the passage of the UIGEA in 2006, use my poker money to start flipping houses until 2007, get in on the "Big Short" in 2008, and set a Google Alert for "Bitcoin" so I can start mining/buying it from day one. Unfortunately, I haven't paid enough attention to individual stocks to play the market other than knowing that Amazon would be a good long-term buy & hold.

Use my riches to change the outcome of the 2016 election and try to steer the development of the internet and society in general in a slightly less stupid direction.

Send Pete Carroll a letter postdated just before the 2013 Superbowl telling him the outcome, then suggest for the final play of the 2014 Superbowl that the Seahawks try handing the ball off to Marshawn Lynch instead of throwing it because that throw will be intercepted. PRIORITIES.

How much would you tell House? How would you get him to believe you?

Your story about being from the future of an alternate universe in which House and everyone he knows are characters on a fictional TV show is already too batshit crazy to believe even without his kneejerk "everybody lies" skepticism. How would you differentiate yourself from all the patients who pull crazy stunts to try to get him to take their case?

My answer: For the "from the future" part, I'm hoping there's some sort of test that House could run to confirm that I was indeed vaccinated with a mRNA vaccine against the COVID-19/SARS-COV-2 virus. Given that neither of those things existed in 2004, that would be physical evidence that I'm not from around here now.

If producing physical evidence isn't possible, then I know that Vegetative State Guy from S03E15 is already a patient at PPTH because he'd been there for 10 years, so I'd find him and tell House about his son. I could also tell House enough about the cases from the first few episodes that I'm pretty sure he'd believe me by Christmas. I want in on Chinese food with Wilson.

I would wait until House accepted the "from the future" part before broaching the "fictional TV show" issue. Until then, "I watched a TV show about your life and cases" is a 100% true statement and it's not my fault if he assumes that show was a documentary. :)

Once he believed me, I'd tell him everything.

Who else would you tell? How much would you tell them?

There are people out there who would literally kill for your knowledge of the future, so going public or being too open about it seems highly risky.

My answer: I'd tell House, Wilson, and Chase right away. Kutner but not before Jan 2009. Maybe eventually Cuddy and the rest of the Diagnostics team if keeping my foreknowledge of the future from them proves too difficult.

House is the only one who gets to know everything. Everyone else is on a "need to know" basis.

I might also bring Bill Arnello (the brother/lawyer of the mob informant in S01E15 "Mob Rules") into the circle of trust because he could be a very useful resource for some of my sidequests, e.g., changing the outcome of the 2016 election far far far in advance and in the most direct way possible. (Hi, Secret Service! This is a purely hypothetical discussion about time travel and not at all indicative of any real criminal intent, pls do not pay me a visit, kthxbai.)

I think the only people I would tell the "fictional TV show" part to would be House, Wilson, and Chase, because there are things I need to warn them about that definitely wouldn't have been in a documentary. Like Chase needs to know that killing Diballa is 100% the right thing to do but he seriously needs to work on his OpSec. Everyone else gets the implied documentary lie of omission.

If I get caught knowing too much by random patients, I'll just claim to be psychic. Way more people believe in that than would believe in time travel.

What would you do?

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leefl00f · 2 months

Text

Disassembly Drone concept in the ES AU (pt 2!)

By Leefloof

Thought of this while I was at church since I couldn’t think up of what to draw. Now you’ll know the horrors of what the DDs have to go through (✧ᴗ✧)

Warning(s): mentions and implications of loss and violence

✧˖°.˗ˏˋ Overallˎˊ˗˖°.✧

There are at least 3 ranks within the DD units

Star, Skull, and Medic

DDs are ranked depending on their nature, personality, and test results

Those that pass get a stamp/tattoo on their forearm and armband

“⭐️,☠️, or ➕ (They didn’t have a red one but oh well)”

Those that completely fail will be demolished and scrapped for parts

There is no way to climb up the ranks if a DD is a medic unless humans moved them to soldier rank under any reasonable circumstances

✧˖°.˗ˏˋ Star rankˎˊ˗˖°.✧

The leader/commander of their squads as well as assistants to their assigned human generals

While Star ranked Disassembly Drones command their squad mates, they also strategize and plan ahead during territory takeovers/raids and battles

There is only one transition in the DD rank system, and that is Soldier —> Star (However it is rare for a soldier to rank up, they must prove themselves to their leaders that they are capable of being star ranked)

Star ranks also put their squad mates before themselves during trying times or when things go awry

J proved herself that she was capable of being a star rank when her old leader was killed off and lead the others to safety (give this gal some respect)

Star ranks also take a limited recommended books and play chess with one another for downtime back at base camps (This is their only break)

✧˖°.˗ˏˋ Skull rankˎˊ˗˖°.✧ (sorry I didn’t have time to throughly think this out-)

The muscle of the team

As the name suggests, Skull or soldier ranks are one of the brutalist out of the three

Soldier Disassembly Drones are also called “Angels of Death” due to how many workers they’ve killed (including the destruction they cause along the way)

Some don’t use their weapons at all, they would use their teeth and claws, but at least they’re getting the job done

Soldier drones can also be great scouts to survey the area and can detect traps earlier on

V is one of the strongest of them all as she was able to lift and carry ten injured DDs to the medic

Skull ranks also love to play fight with one another as well as their leaders if they allow it

✧˖°.˗ˏˋ Medic rankˎˊ˗˖°.✧

The medic of the team, also known as the “soft DDs”

Most medic DDs tend to stay at base camps to tend towards returning squads. However, there are times where they must travel out to reach teams that are unable to come back

In doing so, medic DDs use white and red lights on their wings to signal others that help is on the way (medic DDs are the only ones that can switch their lights from yellow to white and red)

Though doing so could attract danger since worker drone soldiers tend to shoot medics down majority of the time using EMP guns or using a device that can generate electricity (thunderbolting them basically)

When traveling toward teams that need aid, they have two medical kits located in their back hatches (both bio and mechanical), this causes them to fly more slower and make them bigger targets

If a medic DD is downed by WDs, they would try to get the kits for their own, however the back hatch cannot be forced open. Therefore they pin the already damaged DD down, and hit their back until the hatch is open, beating them to death (Though most medics are killed off immediately after getting downed)

N was shot at least twice but was still able to get to the S.O.S signal just in time! What a champ! :D

Because of this, soldiers are required to acquaint medics when on a mission

Medics are also known fort their kind and almost non-hostile nature (they only attack when attacked first)

Majority of their weapons are medial tools (limited weapon choice)

Medic DDs have softer paw pads to sooth those on pain (they act like heating/cooling pads)

Medic rank is also considered the “lowest rank” to some humans and even DDs despite them being the most vital rank

Medic DDs are more prone to having depression and/or anxiety due to the guilt they have after failing to save patients and how traumatic their jobs are, so humans assigned them journals to write about their feelings

N already used up four…

that’s about it! Until next time :3c

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atrueneutral · 3 days

Text

May - June - July ( Fallout TV Show - Lucy x The Ghoul)

Part I of II. Spoilers for the show! AO3 Link

---

Sex.

It was nice - the few times she’d had it.

It started with messing around with her cousin, which in the initial days included shy fumbling, apologies, and a lot of trial and error. Lucy was grateful for those experiences (as awkward as they were), for she always intended to use what she learned to make her wedding night unforgettable for her husband - whoever that turned out to be.

Who her husband ‘turned out to be’ was a no-good raider.

Who was now dead.

Drowned in a barrel of pickle juice.

All that aside - the sex was nice! Lucy didn’t at all feel any awkwardness in jumping his bones, and her husband, Monty, was very eager to get the show on the road (in more ways than one, now that she thought about it). His penis had been an average length with a decent width, but, most importantly, Monty knew how to use it.

So well in fact that, in the heat of riding on top of him, she’d fleetingly wondered how often he experimented with a cousin in Vault 32.

Anyways, with the combination of her hand and the wonderful usage of her good-for-nothing husband’s penis, Lucy orgasmed three times. Each orgasm had been toe-curling and back arching with waves of pleasure that coursed through her body, and each celebrated her spouse by having the name ‘Monty’ leave her lips. At the end of it, for Monty’s release, he’d pulled out of her and ejaculated onto her stomach with closed eyes and her name nowhere to be heard.

Hardly romantic for the consummation of their marriage, but it was fine! Overall, a very satisfying endeavor for husband and wife both that left them sweating in their shared bed, silently contemplating their life together. Lucy thought of little else outside of a wholesome future that involved raising children, scheduled meal plans, making her husband happy, and more sex.

Meanwhile, her husband thought of little else outside of how to kill her and the rest of Vault 33.

It’s fine; her husband got his comeuppance, was rightfully dead and was nothing but a rotting corpse partially smelling of pickle juice.

What wasn’t fine was the wholesome future she’d envisioned; there would be no raising children in the vault because Lucy wasn’t in the Vault any longer (and she had no idea when or if she would return); there was hardly a meal to be found in the wasteland; her happiness was shot at the reveal of who her father was and is, what he’d done and -

Deep breaths.

“You good back there?”

“Yep! Fine and good!” Lucy replied, giving the back of her associate a cheery smile as they traipsed through the desecrated remains of an outlet mall. At the Ghoul’s discretion, one of the stores was to be their campsite for the evening, and it would be swell if whatever-store-chosen was already emptied of people; Lucy wasn’t in the greatest mental state for a firefight, and she wished to not spend another night covered in blood and guts.

Being a glass half-full kinda gal, at least she still had her blood and guts - thanks to the Ghoul’s perception, his exceptional gun-slinging skills and his ability to save her butt as she continued to acclimate to the violent and unpredictable world she was now a part of.

On paper, there was a lot to not like about the Ghoul; he avoided telling her his real name, he was prickly at the best of times and insulting at the worst of times, conversation tended to lead to debates, and he never offered anything in the way of personal information - even after she unloaded her entire life’s story upon him. To be fair, he didn’t ask to hear it, she just… felt like talking, and there was a lot of dead air to fill as they trailed after her “stuck-pig” of a father.

But, though he was a cold, hard wheeler and dealer, Lucy liked the Ghoul. She found him alluring - handsome, even. It didn’t matter that his skin was taut and burned to disfigurement by radiation - or that his nose was missing and his teeth yellowed. The remnants of a handsome man were there, and the remnants of a good man were there, too - somewhere hidden in the depths of his eyes.

She was sure of it.

Which made her feel better about wanting to jump his bones.

Lucy would be the first to admit that she was sexually frustrated, but it wasn’t as if she was to the point of throwing herself at everyone who was anyone (which would be a very stupid thing to do out in the Wasteland). The last time she’d felt this amount of pent up horniness was with Maximus in Vault 4, and that hadn’t gone well. Maximus’s bewilderment at her proposition wasn’t unsurprising (she did kind of unexpectedly throw it out there), but his inexperience and lack of knowledge in the sexual side of the birds and the bees became blatantly apparent by time he recited the myths he’d heard.

Especially that myth about a man’s orgasm.

The Ghoul had experience in a plethora of departments - more importantly, the department she was looking for, or so she presumed. She wouldn’t risk ridicule by asking if he knew that the head of a penis wouldn’t explode upon ejaculation; the man had a family at one point (which included procreation), and he likely partook in a handful of sexual liaisons within his two hundred years of still-standing (assuming his penis remained intact - a question she would never dare ask, no matter how bold she was feeling).

She supposed her interest sparked one of the few times he’d said her name. He’d said it in admonishment, chiding her for trying to hold onto the ethics instilled in her by her Vault - the ethics that kept her from sneaking behind an armed raider and cutting his throat. To make a poor point, the Ghoul ended up shooting him in the back instead, leading to a firefight that led to him confidently taking out four raiders without breaking a sweat (if ghouls even sweat) and led to her needing a stimpak after an encounter with a woman on Psycho.

“Could have been done the easy way, Lucy.”

Said in that slow drawl of his and said whilst staring down at her from within the cast shadow of his wide brim hat, the chill he elicited down her spine wasn’t the bad kind. Lucy played the sound and image of him on repeat as she laid in her bedroll in the following nights; she could imagine him over her, threatening to teach her another lesson of the Wasteland with the same knife he wanted her to use against the unsuspecting man he’d blown to bits. Every night, the fantasy progressed into the Ghoul drawing the knife down her vault suit, slicing through the dirtied undershirt underneath, cutting open her bra to reveal her breasts… her name on his lips…

And every night Lucy’s arousal reminded her of how badly she wanted sex.

“Look alive, Vaultie,” the Ghoul said from over his shoulder. His shotgun was locked and loaded in his hands as he stalked towards the blown out glass door of a two storied department store. “We’ll clear out this here store and hold up for the night.”

“Roger that!” Lucy replied, getting her pistol ready. “Dogmeat and I are right behind you!”

It was a win in her book that no one needed to be shot, or stabbed, or blown apart with grenades; both levels were devoid of any activity aside from their own careful clearing of sections, aisles, and backrooms.

The place was a mess - as was natural when anything and everything (aka the entire world) was a mess. The aesthetic of ruin persisted wherever they went. Looting had long purged any remotely useful item from the shelves, and what was left for the pickings were broken toys, upended furniture pieces, other random household goods, and clothing that was mostly nothing but scraps of fabric that barely held onto their hangers.

It was determined by the Ghoul that they would station themselves on the upper level with a strategic view of the escalators and stairwell entrance. A minute later, and the Ghoul was halfway down the unmoving steps of the escalator, hollering the command that Lucy set up their makeshift camp - he’d be back after a bit of exploring the other stores and, if need be, clear them out of any lingering occupants alongside Dogmeat.

Having been left to her own her own devices, Lucy began by dumping her pack and clearing a decent sized space for her bedroll, and she was thoughtful enough to set up a makeshift bedroll for the Ghoul that was made from remnants of a few comforters she’d seen in aisle 42. She next neatly laid out their rations for the evening: some banana yucca fruit that looked… okay to eat, some mystery jerky she wanted to leave a mystery, and a tin of absolutely-irradiated Cram.

Her stomach became queasy the longer she looked at the offerings, and, hoping to distract herself from thinking about perfectly normal Jell-O salad, Lucy decided on embarking on a more thorough exploration of the department store.

She started with the nearest section; a showcase of the latest and greatest home appliance models of the time. Introducing her to the department was a life sized advertisement depicting a wooden cutout of a housewife who elegantly showed off an equally wooden, ‘clean’ button up shirt - having just removed it from the bent, rusted dryer she stood beside. The woman’s smile might have been white-toothed and embellished with a radiant sparkle - were everything above her shoulders not hacked off to leave splintered ends.

As Lucy leisurely strolled down the aisles, it became a game to pretend she was shopping for a new washer and dryer. She mentally checkmarked what she liked and disliked about each model (price included), and at the end of the section, she eventually had an entire list of theoretical appliances she’d go home and excitedly tell her non-existent (and not-smelling-of-pickles) husband about.

The following sections weren’t as fun to peruse; items not made of enamel and steel weren’t nearly as indestructible, therefore Lucy quickly lost interest in scrutinizing scrap. Thankfully, a new interest unfurled in wanting to learn more about the lives of those who came before - what belongings had they left behind, and what stories could she piece together?

Forcing a spring in her step (it’s better to be optimistic), she headed down to the first level and beelined for the break room she last examined with a pistol at the ready.

It was, luckily, still empty.

She walked over to the radio and switched it on - only to switch it back off when nothing but white noise came through. She opened the cabinets to find nothing of note, and she eyeballed the Nuka-Cola vending machines that, of course, had nothing in them but broken glass.

Nothing.

Lucy sighed - unsure of what it was she was hoping to find.

A broken door in the corner revealed a staff locker room meant for the storage of personal items, and she breezed in with the intent of opening every locker she could.

Nothing…

Of the ten lockers, nine held nothing, but the tenth and final locker seemed promising - only because it was locked.

Feeling excitement, Lucy reached into a leather pouch attached to her belt for her trusty screwdriver and bobby pin. She crouched down beside the locker, carefully inserted the pin into the keyhole, and began to meticulously pick the lock - a skill she was developing a penchant for.

A minute of concentration later, the combination lock clicked open. A proud smile split her face as Lucy put away her toolset, and she held her breath in foolish anticipation for the revelation of what was hidden inside the locker.

Probably nothing, but her finger pulled up on the latch and pulled the door open to reveal-

Her mouth parted in astonishment.

It was precisely the kind of treasure she was hoping to find.

It was perfect!

Of course, it wasn’t entirely perfect; the calendar was a little worse for wear, but the color remained rich despite time and the pin-up suggestively posing on the page for the month of October was beautiful in her black and orange themed bikini, dark lips, and exaggerated expression. The witch hat she wore was tilted on a head of curls, and she sat atop a large grinning pumpkin looking very alluring and very cheeky.

Lucy slid the calendar away from the magnet that held it to the door, and she eagerly flipped through each page from January to December. Every woman was delightfully dressed themed to the month, and she was enchanted by their beauty, spunk, and sexiness.

During her third flip through, and by the month of May (perhaps her favorite of the pin-ups), an idea began to take root in her head - a profoundly crazy idea that could very well lead to her being as headless as the wooden woman on display in ‘Appliances’.

An idea that she, Lucy MacLean, would seduce the Ghoul with a little help from May, June, and July.

#fallout #fallout show #fallout tv show #lucy x the ghoul #lucy x cooper howard #vaultghou #vaultghoul #cooper howard x lucy maclean

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kneelingshadowsalome · 7 months

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look I know that the Poly!AU is mainly for König to live his warriors harem fantasy but I adore the childhood friends sapphic yearning side of it (sorry if this isn't what you're interested in, I'm just a fem leaning bi who loves a slowburn that ends in an explosion lmao) so here are some random thoughtsTM.

imagine if Engel was being bullied and Bestie stepped in to help her out, hissing at them not to bother the poor girl (earning her the nickname Kitty). and Kitty also being into knives and guns having grew up in a hunting family and having the same morbid curiosities as Engel, cue late night sleep overs reading stephen king and R. L. James.

I love imagining Kitty as being even shorter than Engel (Engel is 5"5 and Kitty is 5"1 in my head). and having hella soft features like freckles, curly red hair, round face, etc. (König freaking out internally because where did his Engel find a Cherub?!) which makes her the more feisty one in social situations a lot more fun because hey someone needs to tell the waiter they ordered no pickles.

also I'm so weak for Engel having to translate southern phrases and words to König because she grew up with her. or if Kitty came back from a family get together and is extra southern they both have some question marks floating around their heads.

Kitty braiding Engel's hair and putting lil flowers in it, telling her how funny it is that her bf calls her angel because "I always said you were as pretty as one". Engel always twirling one of her curls around her finger.

also Kitty being a biter, loves leaving lil bite marks as a love language. doesn't matter on who or where , shoulder, face, boobs, neck, ass, its all getting bit.

DUDE I am so invested in this little bisexual southern gremlin it's not even funny 😭 I'm sorry for leaving an essay about what is essentially an NPC but I heard the word southern bestfriend and went feral a bit.

I've kept this ask safe inside my inbox and read it like it's the Bible for a few days because it's SOGOOOD (I want to kiss and squish you anon you're a genius 💋)

I wonder if Engel first developed a liking to knives and weapons while staying in her house, these two gals didn't have pillow fights they drank hot cocoa and stayed up late, Kitty reading IT and Misery to Engel... (Engel listening to her every word, mesmerized by the stories, wide-eyed and heart beating so so fast, when it's time to go to bed she's feeling too scared and Kitty has to calm her down and repeat it's only a book it's not real you silly little thing 🩷)

I also love how both König and southern bestie kind of just adore reader/Engel so much?! Braiding her hair and putting the flowers König brought home in there too??? She's so loved and taken care of, and of course in return, treats them with her specialty: salty caramel muffins and chocolate cookies and frosted cupcakes (König always eats at least half of them and isn't even that sorry 😠)

+ a moment of silence for König, having to go to work with Kitty's bite marks on his ass and neck & Engel's lipstick peppered on his cheeks ❤️

Southern gremlin sounds such a cool and adorable little menace! (I need her in my life 😭)

#answered #poly au #they're SO CUTE I can't aahhhhh

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ctrl-alt-em · 7 months

Text

In the Throat

It was nearing evening when the posse stumbled into the saloon. They were already tired from their train ride and needed to rest up for the ride tomorrow as they hunted their latest bounty, a traveling snake oil salesman that peddled more poisons than placebos.

The town was a decent size for one that existed solely for the railroad. The saloon was busy. A saloon gal walked around offering drinks, the pianist played a popular tune, and a pair of ladies of the night hung around in the far back corner. A couple of railway workers sat at the bar. A large group of cowboys fresh from the road took up several tables off to the side.

Silas took it all in as he headed straight for the barkeep. “Evenin’, I’m gonna need two rooms for the night.” He gestured behind him, “One for the ladies and another for the old man, boy, and I.”

The bartender set down the glass he was cleaning, “Sure thing, sir, it’ll be two dollars for each room. Are you just staying for tonight?”

“That’s right, we’ll be heading out first thing in the morning,” answered Silas. He leaned on the bar as the bartender grabbed two keys from the board behind him. Silas handed the man the bills and took the keys with a nod. “Much obliged.”

Silas returned to the group who had taken up a table not far from the bar and tossed Garnet the other key. “We’re all set. How about some drinks?”

As Silas sat down, one of the cowboys behind him stood up on his chair.

“To Rex Randall!” yelled the young man, holding his drink high.

The rest of the group raised their glasses. “To Rex Randall!”

Garnet leaned towards her posse, “Did he just say what I think he said?”

Edie nodded, “I think he did.”

Delacy looked between the women with wide eyes.

Silas furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s the matter with that?”

Nate waved over one of the young men as he was walking away from the bar with a tray covered with glasses of whiskey. “Pardon me, did he say Rex Randall?”

“‘Course!” The young man had clearly already had a few drinks. He held out the serving tray. “And tonight we drink to him. Here, take a drink, all of you, even you kid.” He handed a glass to Edie and Garnet with a wink. Silas, Nate, and Delacy took their own. Delacy grimaced.

“Well, you gentlemen sure do know how to treat a lady,” laughed Edie politely.

Silas raised his drink and took a swig. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.

The young man in a tan shirt and bold belt buckle leaned forward. “You do know who Rex Randall is, right?”

“I-“ began Delacy. Edie grabbed his shoulder quickly.

“Of course. He’s a famous star,” said Edie with a saccharine smile. “I do so enjoy his performances.”

Silas nodded, “I’ve listened to his shows for ages.” He turned to face his posse, “I’ve always wanted to meet Rex Randall. I heard his radio show almost daily back at my old sheriff’s office.”

Edie gave him an awkward smile. “I didn’t realize you were such a fan, Silas.”

“Well listen to this.” The man leaned down further. “Rex Randall was killed in a duel.”

“What? No!” said Silas, shocked.

“I can’t believe it either,” said Garnet tightly, looking pointedly at Delacy.

“Yeah! He went to this- this shithole town and he was gonna kill this bastard, whatever the fuck his name was, that gets off on killing folk.” The man stumbled a bit. He held onto the back of Edie’s chair to keep himself standing. “The man was fucked up. There was a tour- tourn- uh, a contest. People killed each other just to have a chance to kill him.”

“And Rex was killed dueling this man?” asked Silas, enthralled by the story. From the corner of his eye, he saw Garnet and Edie exchange looks. Nate whispered something to Delacy.

“No, he actually gets killed by some kid! He walks into town with his grandpa and aunt or whatever and enters the contest. Then the kid just walks up and whips out his gun and shoots Rex dead!” The man stepped backwards and tossed his arms up for emphasis. The remaining whiskey glasses on the plate were knocked over. A puddle of whiskey was at his feet.

“Goddammit,” he muttered at the mess. The cowboy turned away from the posse and headed back to the bar.

Silas watched the cowboy stumble away. Something seemed off.

“So,” Silas took another sip and gestured toward the rest of his group with the glass, “Any of you know anything about that?”

“About what?” Asked Delacy a little too quickly.

Silas gave the boy a stern look. “About a kid shooting Rex Randall?”

Delacy looks at Garnet, Nate, and Edie before looking back at Silas. In a quiet voice, he said, “Nate and I entered a quick draw contest in Dead Man’s Worth to kill Bellows. I faced Rex in the first round.” Delacy leaned towards Silas and whispered proudly, “I shot him in the throat.”

Silas dragged his hand over his face and groaned. “At least it was justified this time.” Silas leaned on his elbows, “Delacy, don’t go repeating that. This crowd’s not gonna be happy if someone overhears you.”

Delacy nodded. “Got it, Silas.”

Silas tossed back another mouthful of whiskey. The crowd began singing a mourning song in memory of Rex.

“I think it might be time for us all to call it a night,” said Garnet, nodding towards the crowd. The other four agreed and made their way to the upstairs lodging.

In the guys’ room, Silas and Delacy each took one of the twin beds. Nate was more than willing to lay on the floor. He, being technically a corpse, didn’t get back pain.

Silas was almost asleep when Delacy whispered, “Silas?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“Are you mad at me?”

Silas cracked open an eye, “What for?”

He heard Delacy fidget in his bed. “For, you know, killing Rex Randall.”

Silas sat up a little and leaned on his left arm, facing Delacy despite the darkness.

“It was you or him, right?”

“Huh?”

“The duel,” Silas specified, “Rex was shooting to kill, wasn’t he?”

Delacy nodded, “Yeah.”

“Then you did what you needed to do. Randall knew what he signed up for when he entered the contest. Only one of you was walking away and, I will say, I’m glad it was you.”

Delacy was quiet for a moment. “You mean that, Silas?”

“I do, Delacy. You’re a mighty fine marksman with your heart in the right place, usually. You can be a pain and you should think more before you act, but I’m glad to have you around. Randall, as much as I liked his shows, was just some celebrity. ‘Sides, just think of how devastated Nate would be if he survived and you didn’t.”

“I don’t even want to imagine it,” came Nate’s gravelly voice from the floor next to him.

Silas jumped a little. “God, I forgot you don’t sleep anymore.”

Delacy muffled his laugh. Silas smiled.

“So no, I’m not mad at you.” He laid back down. “Night, Delacy.”

“Good night, Silas.”

#oxventure deadlands #oxventure #delacy oxventure #silas flint #edie valentine #garnet monroe #nate janssen #‘what ever happened to Rex Randall?’#my fic #oxventure fic

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midnight-raven · 10 months

Text

Spider-Madrigals and their Canon Events

Spider-Gal/Mirabel

For Mirabel, her canon event was Pedro Madrigal.

In this universe, Pedro had lived to see his children grow, and watch as his family grew bigger. Overtime, everyone could see how close Pedro was with his youngest granddaughter. Abuelo Pedro had been Mirabels best friend, he was always there for her when she needed someone or felt too insecure in their family.

One night, Mirabel ran out of the house after an argument with Abuela; after wandering the city, Mirabel ended up inside a small diner, where Abuelo Pedro found her. The two had a nice talk, including the responsibility speech, as Pedro convinced Mirabel to return home. But just as the two were leaving, an armed robber entered the diner. Mirabel's senses barely had time to go off when Abuelo Pedro pushed her away and a bullet rang through the air. After the funeral, Mirabel accepted her responsibility as the one and only Spider-Gal.

The Webslinger/Camilo

For Camilo, it was his Theater Teacher.

Mr. Crenshaw was a beloved music teacher who ran the community theater in the city, he inspired many young kids and adults to pursue the musical arts, Camilo was one of his star students.

One night, Camilo and Mr. Crenshaw had been the last ones to leave the community theater, as Camilo began walking home he heard shouting, and turned to see a carjacker aiming a gun towards Mr. Crenshaw. The teacher spotted the teen and shouted for him to run before the carjacker saw him. Camilo froze in terror, but his powers protected him by turning him invisible before he was spotted. Unfortunately, he couldn’t save Mr. Crenshaw, and his killer escaped into the night. Since then, Camilo became determined to keep his family and his city safe.

Spider-Lady/Isabela

For Isa, it was her parents.

When Isabela was barely six-years-old, her parents were called out of town on business. They promised they’d be back soon, and entrusted Isa to taking care of her sisters, but they never made it home.

Years later, when Isabela was on a field trip to a local science facility, she recognized a scientist there who worked with her parents before their deaths. Following him to a secret room filled with genetically-engineered spiders, and a secret file labled Madrigal. Before Isa could read the file, a spider had bitten her and an alarm went off. With the powers she had gained from that day, Isa was determined to discover the truth behind her parents death. But it was her younest sister Mirabel who inspired Isa to take a different approach, to use her powers and be a hero.

Spider-Woman/Luisa

For Luisa, it was her best friend.

Lydia Darrow had been Luisa’s best friend for years, they were both hard-workers that felt the need to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. Together, the two supported each other, and even made the soccer team together.

Luisa and Lydia had been together for their school's Homecoming Parade, with their team when they were attacked by The Vulture, who managed to track down Luisa/Spider-Woman. Suiting up, Spider-Woman tried to keep The Vulture from hurting anyone, but to her surprise, Lydia had rallied the team members to guide the civilians from harm's way. While Luisa dealt with the villain. However, in the midst of the chaos, Lydia was crushed by falling debris while saving someone. Luisa was unable to save her friend in time, and her sacrifice motivated Luisa to protect the city.

The Scarlet Spider/Dolores

For Dolores, it was Captain Guzman (Mariano’s Father)

Dolores and Mariano had known each other since they were kids because both their Grandmothers had been lifelong friends. Dolores had a crush on Mariano since her youth but never considered confessing to him.

Years later, Mariano had developed a crush on The Scarlet Spider after she had saved him from the Green Goblin. Even despite his fathers feelings towards the vigilante. In the final confrontation against Green Goblin, both Mariano and his father discovered Dolores’ identity, and Captain Guzman was killed by Green Goblin. Even though Mariano never blamed Dolores for his fathers death, Dolores carried the guilt with her for many years.

Spider-Man/Bruno Madrigal

Bruno’s canon event was his father… and Mirabel.

When Bruno, Pepa, and Julieta were five-years-old, their father Pedro had left one night to go to the store, but a robber had prevented him from returning home to his wife and children.

Growing up, Bruno felt diffrent from his peers and his sisters but everything changed after he was bitten by a radioactive spider. And on the news, he heard the police were on the hunt for a criminal with a super suit, the same man that had killed his father. Thus begining his jounney to becoming Spider-Man.

Years later, after proving his friend, Hector innocent of murder, and being a dedicated Tio to his nieces and nephews, Bruno found himself in battle against a new villain, one that tried to leverage the fight by kidnapping his youngest niece, Mirabel. In the midst of the fight, Mirabel was thrown off a high tower… and Bruno couldn’t catch her in time.

#Encanto #Encanto AU #Angst #Adventures of the Spider-Madrigals #Spider-Mirabel: Across the Spider-Verse #Mirabel Madrigal #Camilo Madrigal #Isabela Madrigal #Luisa Madrigal #Dolores Madrigal #Bruno Madrigal #Alma Madrigal #Pedro Madrigal #Mariano Guzman #OC Characters

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herbs-and-poultices · 6 months

Text

Once in a while I get the terrible urge to share that my taste in music is even weirder than my taste in fiction. (What's a random American gal with no English/Scottish/Irish heritage doing listening mostly to songs like these? Blame my parents for raising me on murder ballads and ceilidh tunes.) So here is:

A Vaguely Whumptober-Themed Anthology of Folk Songs from the British Isles / Transatlantic Tradition: Part 1

1) "But now this room is spinning while I'm just trying to fill in all the gaps" / Swooning: Plains of Waterloo

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

How to make sure your girl still loves you, according to folklore: tell her you're dead and see if she faints

2) "I'll call out your name, but you won't call back" / Delirium: Battle of Waterloo

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Jeannie, oh Jeannie, I am surely done Stricken doon in battle at the mooth o' Boney's guns Jeannie, oh Jeannie, aye sae dear tae me Let me hold you in my mind afore I dee

3) "Like crying out in empty rooms, with no one there except the moon": Anderson's Coast

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A tale of tragedy upon tragedy during the Transportations

We stole a vessel and all her gear And where are you, my Annie? And from Van Dieman's we north did steer 'Till Bass Strait's wild waves wrecked us here Oh Annie dear, don't wait for meI fear I shall not return to theeThere's not to do but endure my fate, And watch the moon, the lonely moon, light the breakers on wild Bass Strait

4) "I see the danger, it's written there": Sir Patrick Spens

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A shipwreck song

The king he wrote a broad letter and he sealed it with his hand And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, walking out on the strand: "To Norway, to Norway, to Norway o'er the foam With all my lords and finery, to bring my new bride home" The first line that Sir Patrick read, he gave a weary sigh The next line that Sir Patrick read, the salt tear blinds his eye Oh who is it, oh who is it, who told the king of me To set us out this time of year to sail across the sea...

5) "You better hope I don't get up this time" : El Fusilado

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Stretching the music genre and the prompt a bit here, but this is a great cover by a band that does a lot of traditional folk, and I feel like surviving a firing squad is 1) folk-song worthy and 2) enough to make anyone think twice about messing with you

6) "Do or die, you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart": Tam Lin

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

One of the better-known English ballads. The intrepid heroine goes someplace she shouldn't, meets an elfin knight, falls in love with him, learns that he his a changeling held captive by the fae, and braves the wrath of the Faerie Queen to save her love from becoming the faeries' Halloween sacrifice

7) "Can you hear me?": Springhill Mining Disaster

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X (cw: real event still within living memory)

Listen for the shouts of the dark-faced miners Listen through the rubble for the rescue teams Three hundred tons of coal and slag Hope imprisoned in a three-foot seam

8) "I have a soul, but I'm not a soldier" / All for nothing: Green Fields of France

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Well the sorrow, the suffering, the glory, the pain The killing and dying, were all done in vain For, young Willie McBride, it's all happened again And again, and again, and again, and again

9) Mistaken Identity: Bonnie Banks of Fordie

Listen to my favorite recording here: X (cw: suicide mentioned)

An old ballad that gets darker the more you think about it

Gae tell tae me your brither's name My brither's name it's Babylon... Oh sister, what hae I done tae thee Hae I done this dreadful thing tae thee...

10) Stranded: The Golden Vanity

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

A tale of a tragic hero and a cruel ship's captain

Quickly he swam back, to the cheering of the crew But the captain did not heed him, for his promise he did rue And he scorned his poor entreatings when loudly he did sue And he left him in the Lowland Sea

11) No One Will Find You: Twa Corbies

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

There's mony a ane for him maks mane But nane sall ken whaur he is gane O'er his white banes when they are bare The wind sall blaw forevermair

12) "I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?" / I'm up, I'm up: Off to Sea Once More

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Whaling was not a fun time

Some times we're catching whales, me lads, some times we're catching none With a twenty-foot oar stuck in your paw, from four o'clock in the morn And as the shades of night roll on and you rest on your weary oar, It was then that I wished that I was dead and could go to sea no more

13) "I don't feel so good": Lord Randall

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X X

One of the better-known English ballads. A tale of deadly betrayal: A young man returning home at the end of the day thinks he just inordinately tired. A more careful accounting of the day's events reveals the terrible truth. Versions vary as to who did the deed, but the young lord's fate is always the same.

14) Just Hold On: Skye Boat Song

Listen to my favorite recordings here: X X

Some of you may recognize the tune. The traditional lyrics memorialize the aftermath of the Jacobite defeat at Culloden

Burned are their homes, exile and death scatter the loyal men Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath, Charlie will come again

15) Makeshift Bandages: Twa Brithers

Listen to my favorite recording here: X

Now you'll take off your white Holland shirt An' teer it frae gore* tae gore An' you will bind my deadly wounds That they might bleed no more So he's ta'en off his white Holland shirt An' he's torn it frae gore tae gore An' though he's bound his deadly wounds Ah, they bled ten times more *seam

#whump playlist #about me

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demogordon · 2 years

Text

Catnap

Pairing: Steve Harrington/GN Reader

Wordcount: 1.3k

Summary: reader’s cat is the devil. Steve is sure of it. and it’s not because he’s jealous or anything.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: language, very brief allusion to sexual activity, implied AFAB!Reader

----

It’s the biggest, ugliest mangy lump of fur that Steve has ever seen in his entire life. Your cat looks almost like a person except it has squinty and suspicious yellow eyes and crusty matted fur that it won’t let you brush. It’s mean too, attacks Steve’s ankles after he comes home after long shifts at Family Video, biting and scratching and making so much goddamn noise. Steve gives it a treat so it will leave him alone and he can wait for you to get home. It howls in the middle of the night at the door of your shared bedroom. It follows him into the bathroom and stares at him while he uses the toilet. It lays its fluffy belly across his nose and mouth when he tries to sleep. And worst of all, it has a monopoly over you.

You love that ugly thing, with its huge paws, tattered ears, and missing whiskers. You rescued it off the street a year and a half or so ago, a little bit before Steve came into the picture and the stupid cat loves you so much. It follows you everywhere you go, right on your heels and wrapping itself in knots around your legs. When you sit next to Steve on the couch and tuck up under his arm, the cat finds its way there in a matter of minutes, worming in to take over your lap and to bite at Steve’s fingers. When he’s spooning you in the middle of the night, it chews on Steve’s ear. It wails when he kisses you and pulls you in tight. You’ll shut it out sometimes when you know Steve wants a nice and uninterrupted intimate moment with you but most of the time, the cat is there. Watching.

Steve hadn’t really thought about the cat when he’d asked you to move with him and Robin. They’d been toying with the idea of moving in together for almost a year when Robin graduated. Over the course of the next month, they spent most of their time at Family Video actively ignoring customers and planning out the logistics of moving and renting. One afternoon in the middle of June, Robin paused in the middle of shelving movies.

“Hey, Harrington!”

“What?” Steve asked, not looking up from his pile of returns he was sorting through.

Back to the Future. Pretty in Pink. Halloween II. Top Gun. Footloose. Clue. Risky Business. He was hoping to find something interesting to bring over to yours and have a nice movie night in but that plan was unraveling at the seams.

“I think you should ask your gal pal to move in with us.”

“Hm? Why?”

“Because I also enjoy their company. I don’t need to tell you the main benefit, right? Extended unsupervised couple time.” She’d winked at him hard with a huge fake openmouthed grin. Steve threw a VHS tape at her. It didn’t even come close to hitting her, landing with a clatter on the floor between them.

He still asked you, though, nervously shuffling his feet around and avoiding eye contact as he stumbled through the question. You’d waited patiently and then immediately accepted, your smile eating your face whole. The offer of living with your two best friends, one of whom you were dating, was one you just couldn’t refuse.

In all honesty, Steve hadn’t disliked the cat until he had to live with it. He makes sure you can’t tell though because he knows it would devastate you. He puts up with everything, the bites and the screeching and the scratches and the cold eyed stare because the cat makes you happy. Steve wants to like the cat. He really does. But it’s a mean animal and it hates him and makes its distaste extremely known.

It’s a Friday night. You’ll already be home when Steve and Robin get there and he’s practically shaking with nervous excitement at the prospect of seeing you. Robin casually locks the Family Video storefront as if she enjoys prolonging his torture, double checking and then triple checking the lock. Steve scowls at her, trying to light her on fire with his mind. She casts him a withering look over her shoulder.

“Deep breaths, Romeo. They live with us. You’ll be okay.” She rolls her eyes and thumps him on the back as she walks around him to the passenger side of his car. He huffs indignantly before sliding into his car, making sure to shut his door extra hard. Robin rolls her eyes before reaching for the stereo. Steve lets her choose their music. He always does.

They walk into the apartment and the lights are down low. The TV plays something mindless at a low volume. You’re curled into a sleepy puddle on the couch, making soft breathy sounds. And there it is, the cat sitting like a sphinx, flat on its tummy, huge front legs extended straight, in the dip between your hips and your waist, eyes locked on Steve, owlish and unblinking. His immediate response is to sulk. He’s been looking forward to cuddling with you all day but your stupid goddamn cat is staking claim to you and your attention yet again. He furrows his eyebrows and then he hears Robin explode with peals of laughter.

She hunches over, hands on her knees, tears of mirth threatening to spill over her lash line. “Oh, Stevie. Are you seriously jealous of a cat?” Steve suddenly feels like an idiot. It’s an animal and it’s important to you, and he casts his gaze to the floor in sudden searing red hot shame.

“Have you ever even petted him?” Robin asks, accusation in her voice. Steve has never really interacted with cats. His family had a crusty little Pomeranian growing up that bit the fuck out of him when he tried to pet it so it had never even occurred to him to reach out and stroke through your cat’s clumpy fur. Robin jerks her head at the cat and Steve tiptoes over, trying not to wake you when you look so peaceful. He extends his hand and the cat glowers at him suspiciously, but cranes its neck and touches its damp nose to his hand. Before Steve loses his nerve, he brushes his fingers over the side of its face and its scarred ear.

Immediately, a loud, crunchy sound like a distant motorcycle in dire need of a mechanic begins, emerging from the cat’s chest. It rubs its face against the side of Steve’s hand and Steve pets it again. He has a sudden guilty realization that the cat probably never hated him, he just didn’t know how to give it the attention it wanted. It pokes a pink tongue out from between its lips and runs it along Steve’s skin. He yelps at the unexpected scratchy texture, which wakes you up. Robin retreats to her room, still in hysterics.

“Steve?” You mumble, sitting up, the cat adjusting and crawling into your lap. “What’s up, baby?”

Steve climbs onto the couch next to you and cups your face in his hands before pulling you in for a deep but chaste kiss. “Nothing, just got home. Are you sleepy?” You stretch a little bit before leaning against his shoulder.

“Always.” The cat makes a soft sound before getting up and stepping slowly off of your lap and onto Steve’s. It digs its claws into the meat of his thighs to stabilize itself and Steve fights not to wince. You side eye the pair of them but don’t say anything, like you’re worried they’ll stop as soon as you acknowledge it. “You wanna do something? I think we still have a couple movies.”

You fall asleep against his shoulder four minutes and eight seconds into the movie. Steve pets the cat lying in his lap and it rumbles purrs out in reply.

“You’re really not so bad, are you?” Steve tells it. It slow blinks in response.

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