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auspicioustidings · 5 months

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https://www.tumblr.com/auspicioustidings/734619885087375360/i-cannot-write-for-shit-right-now-so-any-little

Hmmmm I’m seeing so many x single mom readers and not sure if this is something you’re even interested in BUT

Simon meeting his pretty new neighbor while she’s moving I and realizes she is either a.) heavily pregnant or b.) has a very young baby so Simon goes “hmmmm mine now :)” and helps her out a little? (Alternatively, if you don’t wanna do Simon for this, then maybe Price?)

(Also if you haven’t read @peachesofteal’s Light On fic, Simon x single mom reader, I implore if you to do so!!! It’s so good)

Peaches Light On fics, and I am being so deadass serious, give me such a flood of serotonin any time I see a new one. Everyone get your butt over there because they are the standard for single mother content as far as I am concerned!

That being said, I've put a bit of a twist on this so it's not really what you requested at all, sorry :') I could not do a similar idea to Peaches because there is nothing I can do to improve perfection!

Tactical Action

Words: 1.1k

CWs: mentions of death

“It's not a shame Price, it's fucking ridiculous.”

Simon Riley was furious looking at the paperwork. It wasn't often that TF141 kept tabs on a promising rookie so when they did he expected nothing but excellence. What he did not expect was a large ‘Early Service Leaver’ stamp over an otherwise exemplary record.

“Their brother died in that warship collision, can't blame them for wanting out.”

“My brother was murdered, I kept fucking going.”

He had met you once when Johnny had dragged him. His Sergeant was both excited and annoyed that someone had gotten the new record for the 3rd selection phase. It made sense to get some feel for you then, if you were as good at escape, evasion and tactical questioning as the test scores suggested then the 141 needed to have you on their radar because the PMCs certainly would.

You were a determined thing, shoulders back and addressing them with just the right amount of respect. Not arrogant, but not a pushover. Soap had been talking about how much he wanted to get his hands on you the whole drive back to base because he was a horny idiot and you were a challenge he found intriguing. Simon had just rolled his eyes and added your record to the small pile in Price's office.

He knew a little of your background. Both parents gone, one sibling in the navy. Well one sibling now KIA. He could have understood taking leave, but to quit entirely? It made him angry, he thought it was a waste of potential. Price could see how it affected him and he sighed.

“Go talk to them then. But do not get yourself reported for harassment and intimidation Simon, if they don't want back in then we make our peace with that.”

That was all the permission he needed. He probably should have taken Soap really, someone who could be comforting and coax you back. But fuck it, you were supposed to be good under pressure so he was going to give you some hard damn advice on not bloody giving up.

–

Exhausted didn't even begin to describe how you felt. This was the hardest thing you had ever done, but you were not going to just give up. You couldn't, not with this tiny thing relying on you.

She had never even got to meet her parents. Your brother died just before the due date in that accident and then his girlfriend had died from complications in childbirth. You had promised her you would look after their baby if anything happened, made an oath that you'd not let her parents anywhere near such an innocent little thing.

So you were on your own with nothing but grief and exhaustion and an ever dwindling death in service payment. They would pay part of your brother's pension out each month at least for the baby, but you were terrified that it wouldn't be enough to give her a life she deserved. She certainly deserved her parents and not her fathers ill equipped sibling, but you could only do your best even with the knowledge it would never be enough.

You flinched when there was a hard knock at the door of your flat, freezing but taking a breath when the baby remained sleeping in your arms. You needed to move at one point you knew, a flat in a bit of a rough area was fine for a soldier (ex-soldier you reminded yourself) but not so much for a baby.

The security you had upgraded as best you could at the moment and you checked the door camera to see Lieutenant Riley. Ghost. You had met him briefly once, but what was a legend like him doing here? Shit. You knew you looked a wreck but it wasn't like you could ignore him so you opened the door, bouncing baby girl gently to keep her sleeping.

Simon's planned tirade died the moment he saw the situation. You had a baby. Oh that changed his tirade significantly. Your marital status had listed single, so he could only assume you had gotten yourself knocked up by some casual hookup. That was unacceptable in a soldier, so bloody stupid.

“Shit” you cursed when she woke up, heading back inside and giving him a nod of invite.

You bounced her and tried to coo at her to go back to sleep. To please God go back to sleep. You never knew what she wanted, it felt like whatever you did was always wrong. And of course then she started wailing and the Lieutenant was in your flat closing the door behind him witnessing your absolute failure to take care of a baby.

“Oh for Christ sake, give her here.”

Simon took the baby and hoisted the little thing up onto his shoulder, rubbing hard at her back.

“When was the last time you fed her?”

“I- well, just before you got here. 10 minutes ago maybe? Just got her to sleep.”

“Did you burp her?”

“Oh. I…” you replied, straining yourself in an attempt not to cry. “No. I forgot.”

While his eyes were sharp on you his hands and voice were gentle and soothing for the baby. He was good at this. Did he have kids? Fuck was everyone just innately good at caring for babies but you?

“Didn't stop to think if you could take care of her before having her?”

“She's not mine. Well I suppose she is. I'm her only living relative, or only decent one at least. I, um… that warship accident from a few months back. My brother died during it and her mum passed during the birth. I'm her legal guardian now. I'm what she has sir, it was the best tactical action given the circumstance” you said, straightening up despite your exhaustion and prolonged terror at being responsible for such an innocent little thing.

Simon cocked his head to the side as the baby on his shoulder burped and gurgled, now trying to get back to sleep. You were still a soldier he saw then, you were fighting back your emotions to give him a report on the situation. He reevaluated after the sitrep and took a moment to find the best course of action.

“Marry me then.”

“Sir?”

“We can get it done tomorrow. Might take a bit of time to get a decent house but we'll stay in my flat until then, better area. Still going to be out on assignment a lot but any death benefit would go to you and the widows pension would set you up for life. I'm what you have rookie, it's the best tactical action.”

“Yes sir.”

#mhairiwrites #cod #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #well at least the implication is a slow burn in which they do fall in love #they just do it all very out of order #baby > marriage > moving in > sleeping together > dating #Soap is gonna be pissed

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esamastation · 6 months

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Shizuroth, part sixteen

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen

Though Shen Yuan had played Final Fantasy VII and Crisis Core way back when, mostly because emulation was easily available and everyone praised them a lot, he'd never really gotten that into it. He'd sort of missed the hype train, and all the hot takes had already been taken, and Advent Children was kinda weird and overall it just didn't grab him.

But he has to admit that Midgar is a really cool setting.

It's dumb, of course, like, on every logistical level. Oh, look, there's thousands of kilometres of free real estate in every direction to build on, but you know what we should do? A massive fuck off blast plate of million billion tons of metal fifty metres of the ground, that's what we'll do, and we'll build a city in top of it too!

Like, why?! In what realm even remotely attached to sanity does that make sense?! Is there something wrong with the ground, is there an issue of sudden mega floods, or something? No, it's just. A thing they did!

Logic and sanity aside, though, it's cool, as a videogame setting, it's very cool. With the rule of cool there's no reason for, you know, reason. It's iconic.

And it's the closest thing to a modern city he's seen in - in a while! And, damn, but the scale of everything in real life is so much bigger than any of the games conveyed.

It's a real city! With real city traffic and bustle and dystopian advertisements everywhere! There's also an ever present haze of pollution that gives all the neon signs a dreamy glow. It's almost pretty.

And it's only powered by the lifeblood of the planet, too. Technically the souls of the dead! Wonderful.

"Please stop gaping at everything like a damned tourist and get in. People are starting to stare."

Sephiroth looks down to the car that had just stopped in front him on the sidewalk. Genesis had told him to get to the front, that he'd meet him there, but…

Genesis has a car. It shouldn't be a surprise, the guy is rich and the city is big, but it is. It's a really nice car too. A fucking oldtimey wine red convertible. It matches Genesis' outfit. How extra can you get?

"... Do I have a car?" Sephiroth asks slowly, rather than point out how ridiculous and in character it is.

"You have a motorcycle you never use," Genesis says, sounding tired. "Get in."

Sephiroth has a motorcycle. Of course he does.

He opens the convertible's side door and is immediately smacked in the face with a mix of nostalgia and incredulity at the old familiar feeling of something so simple as a car door mechanism at his fingertips. The seat is too much in the front for Sephiroth's long legs, but the seat goes back, and that's a familiar feeling too. Kind of.

He always had to pull his seat forward, rather than back.

Swallowing the sudden, long suppressed homesickness for a world he's two transmigrations away from, Sephiroth looks for a seatbelt. There isn't one. Hooray for corporate dystopia.

Genesis joins the four lane traffic in front of the Shinra building with the reckless expertise of a man who drives a lot in the city, and hates it almost as much as he loves his car.

"How far is it?" Sephiroth asks, trying to figure out where to put his hands. It's a really nice car, and it looks polished, inside and out.

He can't believe he's in a car. He can't believe he's in a world with cars again. He also can't believe how badly the games conveyed the scale of Midgar.

"Sector six," Genesis says and glances at him. "You're looking a little green there, are you feeling alright? Don't throw up in my car."

"I'm fine," he's really starting to get sick of saying it. "Stop fussing."

"Who's fussing! I just don't want you to make a mess," Genesis scoffs. "Also you aren't fine. You have amnesia."

Sephiroth snorts and leans his arm on the door, looking away and at the Shinra building.

It's huge, and weird. It sorta bulges out, this lumpy mass of a building with enormous pipes running up to it with a big barrel shape in the middle. It's the biggest building in the city, though - it's the only real skyscraper, towering over all the smaller buildings around it.

After all the metal in the Shinra building, it's weird to see brick and mortar again. Why brick and mortar? What did they run out of steel and concrete building the plate? None of the other buildings go higher than eight levels, too.

"We've covered one thing you remember perfectly. Anything else? You recognized Angeal and me, but how about anything else?" Genesis prods at him. "Hey, are you listening to me?"

Oh, he hates this. At least in Cang Qiong Mountain people were too polite to really pick on him or point out how badly he acted as Shen Qingqiu. They were nice enough to take his bullshit at face value and let it slide. Plus there was propriety to think about - none of his disciples had the standing to really call him out.

Genesis doesn't give a shit about his thin face and actually smacks him on the shoulder, "Hey!"

"What's there to say?" Sephiroth answers, because he has no answers to give. "I wouldn't know what I don't know, would I?"

Genesis sighs, irritated and stalls at the traffic lights. "And I can't tell you what to look up if you don't tell me. You must've figured out something by now."

"I figured I really could've used the day to myself," Sephiroth mutters and watches as a delivery truck advertising pastries runs a red light. "I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know, Genesis."

"Shit," the other SOLDIER says, running a hand through his hair while steering one-handed.

There's a break in the discussion as they go through a checkpoint, where the guards in infantry uniforms just wave Genesis through. The people on the sidewalk stare at Genesis' convertible, and whisper.

Sephiroth looks away, and then blinks at the dump truck not far away from them, also going through the checkpoint.

Weird - somehow he didn't expect Midgar to have public services. Where do they go to empty them? Do they just dump their trash down the plate?"

"So you remember… nothing?" Genesis asks as they leave the checkpoint behind

"I know - some things," Sephiroth says defensively. "But - the details escape me."

"Things like what?"

"I don't know. You, Angeal. This city. The war. Don't ask me for the president's name, but I know there is one," he sighs and leans back, watching an enormous advertisement for LOVELESS pass them by.

He also knows that sometime soon Genesis will get hurt and the wound will never heal, kick-starting the plot of Crisis Core. He has no idea when, though. He isn't even sure how to figure it out - the timeline in these games wasn't exactly clear.

"Does Angeal have a student?" he asks.

"What, like a personal student? Not that I know of," Genesis says and glances at him. "Why?"

"Ah, nothing, never mind. Must've been someone else," Sephiroth says smoothly.

So, Zack Fair, the protagonist of Crisis Core, hasn't appeared yet? Or Angeal hasn't met him. Hopefully that means there's still some time.

Genesis is quiet for a moment and then sighs. "I'll get you some intel. Personnel files for people you should know, reports from missions you've been on. The information packages handed to Thirds should help at least a little too. But Sephiroth, there's a lot about your past you've never shared, if someone asks about it…"

"I'll just say I don't want to talk about it," Sephiroth says, watching another neon lit advertisement fly by. "Thanks, Genesis."

"I expect to be compensated in full for my efforts," Genesis says firmly.

Sephiroth leans his cheek on his knuckles and wonders what Cultivation might do for the deterioration Genesis - and Angeal too - have ahead of them. "I'll do my utmost to pay back my debts."

"You better," Genesis says and turns the car from the main highway to a side road, full of expensive looking store fronts and equally expensive looking cars. "That's it over there. Let me find a place to park and then we can get you a coat that fits."

"Much obliged, Genesis."

#Fanfiction #ffvii #ff7 #svsss #shen qingqiu #shen yuan #sephiroth #genesis rhapsodos

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prophecyofwinter · 1 month

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Across the Sea and to the East

Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: Under your uncle’s usurpation of your brother you have been sent away to hide in Lys under House Rogare. You’ve found new purpose with the Lord of Light but you will be called home soon.

Tags: slight slow burn, actual burning, violence, smut, angst, tags will be added as we go.

Prologue (important to read) | Chapter 2

Chapter 1: The Lady of Light

128 AC | 1 Year Before the Coronation of Aegon II | 155 Years Before Daenerys Targaryen

“My Lady, I have brought you an assortment of Tarts, Fresh Fruit, and I wasn’t sure what you had a taste for this morning so I brought Sweet Red and Blackberry Wine.”

“Tyanna please, we have known each other long enough for you to call me Y/N. Sit with me, I can’t eat all of this on my own”

Tyanna is your closest priestess and closest friend. It’s her job to personally handle your food, grooming, and personal matters. You’d personally chosen her from the prostitutes that were at the temple when you arrived. You’d chosen her for no particular reason other than she was the first one your eyes landed on.

She took a seat across from you and folded her hands neatly on the table, she was waiting for you to fill your plate.

The balcony doors are open and the fresh salty air blew in with the soft breeze. Lys is far too hot and humid for your Northern born body, even after seven years and thin silk clothes.

You can appreciate days like this.

You took slices of Watermelon and Strawberry tarts. You took both wines and poured them together in the same glass. A little bit greedy with expensive wines, mixing them together makes it into something unique.

“In Westeros I never would’ve gotten to taste such things. Winterfell could barely hold meat to the end of winter sometimes.”

“Yet you still wish to go home?”

“Yes, it’s my duty, to my people, to my brother, to-“

“Your lover?”

A small smile pulled at your face and your cheeks got a little rosey, very few people know about Aemond, even less in the temple. You could always tell Tyanna about anything.

You don’t even know what Aemond looks like now, he doesn't know what you look like now. You fantasize if you did meet again he’d recognize you just by laying his eyes on you, he would know.

“He would be a luxury.” You giggled, caressing the golden goblet with your concoction.

She took her own picks of the platter, while more frugal than you, you made sure to leave her the lemon tarts.

When you were with Aemond as children you’d make sure to save all the lemon tarts for him. Even when his mother told him he’d have enough and it would make him sick, you’d give him more. Even when it did make him sick it didn’t deter him. You hoped he still loved them like you remember.

She reaches over the delicately crafted table and puts her hand over yours when she notices your face turn sorrowful.

“You will see him again, I can feel it”

—————————

They rely on you to lead every burning ceremony from when the sun rises to when the sun sets. To thank the sun for rising and to ask the sun to rise again in the morning.

It has become a ritual for you to walk across hot coals barefoot while you light these fires, heat and fire will not hurt if you ask it. R’hllor gives fire permission to burn and shine but you can take it away if you so please.

The sun tickles the horizon, the unimaginable hues of red and yellow making love to combine into a dreamy orange. Most people in Lys would begin to shiver and become cold, but this is your favorite time of day. Nowhere near the temperature of the North but then again, how much do you really remember?

Still standing on hot coal you turn to your priests and followers. The sheer red fabric of your dress flowing in the faint breeze, the sound of screams behind fabric only adding to the atmosphere you’ve curated delicately.

You raise your hands to the sky and repeat.

Lead us from the darkness, O my Lord.

Not all were in belief of your power, some would even take it far enough to attempt to take your life. It would take more than a few heretics to snuff you out.

Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path. R'hllor, you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our loins.

However once you catch a bird you can’t just set them free, not if they try to peck your eyes out.

Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night.

Red Priests walked behind you with torches, standing with perfect posture. Behind you stands two wooden poles and tied to it are two men who tried to snuff out your flame. Your followers say to you.

Lord of Light, defend us. The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect us.

You know it, you can feel the heat warming up your back. They have set the men afire and their screams come… and they go. With a final breath out you say.

R'hllor who gave us breath, we thank you. R'hllor who gave us day, we thank you.

With one breath in and one breath out they respond to you.

We thank you for the sun that warms us. We thank you for the stars that watch us. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches, that keep the savage dark at bay.

___________________

“Sister, I hate to interrupt your Oh-So-Hard mornings but a gift for you arrived at the castle.”

Your ‘brother’ Lysaro tends to visit from time to time, he’s gonna spend House Rogare into the ground one of these days and you won’t save him either. Having a gift in hand is normal, having the Lady of Light in good graces when all the Magisters hate you.

“What have you brought me on this fine morning Brother?” You don’t face him still taking bites of your sweet morning pastries.

“Not from me this time, from your home.”

You snapped around to Lysaro, to see a servant standing next to him with a crate with fur sticking out the top.

“Home? At this time of year?”

You stand faster than you think and when you get closer to the crate you notice something even greater than any gift you’ve ever received. Two yipping pups, one white as snow and the other black as soot.

“Wolves?! Who?-“

“This letter was with them as well.”

You snatch it away from your brother like it’s going to disappear, you don't normally hear from Westeros unless it’s your nameday or a holiday. This is totally out of the ordinary.

‘Two orphaned wolves, raise them well. The Dragons den stirs in conflict. Three wolves will need to return home soon.’

“Get servants to fan these pups during the daytime, it’s too hot for them here.”

“Yes my Lady”

Your throat feels dry, you’ve wanted nothing more than to go home. But. What does this mean? Something must be off with House Targaryen.

“Walk with me brother.”

_________________

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #house of the dragon

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sissylittlefeather · 4 months

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Time for a little brain break! I'll come back to How the Web Was Woven soon!

Lover Doll: A Danny Fisher Story

A/N: I know this is like the least creative name for a Danny Fisher (from King Creole) fic but whatever lol. This is a dirty (and borderline inappropriate oops) little thing I wrote just for the hell of it. Hopefully some of y'all enjoy it. I like to imagine this is where Danny gets his affection for older women 🤭

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI!, inappropriate relationship (BUT EVERYONE IS OF LEGAL AGE), kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, swallowing

Word count: ~2.5k

Unfamiliar with Danny? Here ya go:

You were nervous to start teaching in the beginning, but by your third year you'd settled into your position fairly well. At 25, you finally felt like you had enough years between you and your high school students to make your authority legitimate.

And then they transferred Danny Fisher into your class. Danny had struggled in school, so he hadn't graduated when he was supposed to. That meant he was 19 when he sauntered into your math class and sat at the back. His heavily-lidded eyes and flyaway hair were enough to make you swoon, but you tried to look away.

He ignores you for the most part, until you call him by name to answer a question. You're determined to treat him just like any other student, despite the way your stomach flip flops when you look at him.

"Aw, Miss, I don't-" Just then he glances up and makes eye contact with you. Your cheeks flush and he loses the second half of his sentence. A couple of seconds pass and you realize what's happening.

"Never mind, Danny. Anyone else know the answer?" Class continues like normal until the bell rings at the end. He's in your last class of the day, so you're prepared to drop into your chair once all the kids leave, but he stays behind.

"Miss, you got a second?"

"Sure, Danny. What do you need?" You ask, heart in your throat.

"I didn't know teachers could be so young."

"Oh. Well, yes, I suppose."

"And pretty." You feel the blush rise in your cheeks again.

"Did you have a question?" He seems to be searching for something he can ask.

"Can you help me with those equations from earlier?" He smiles and his dimple catches you completely off guard. Then, he sits down at a desk in the front of the room and opens his math textbook.

"Oh, sure, Danny." Without thinking, you lean over the desk to see which questions he's talking about. When you do, he can see down the front of your dress. He takes a quick peek and then looks away, clearing his throat. You realize what just happened and stand up as quickly as possible. Now it's his turn to blush. He stands up from the desk holding his book in front of his lap, you suspect in an effort to hide himself.

"I have to get to work. We'll have to look at the equations another time." He smiles again and hurries from your room. When the door closes behind him, you can't help but laugh.

******

You continue this way for a month, with him staying after school as often as possible for tutoring. But what starts as a mild flirtation gets stronger and stronger every time.

At one point he accidentally calls you "honey" when he gets frustrated with a question. He instantly apologizes, but you just laugh. Secretly, you love it and wish he would do it again.

You know it's wrong. He's your student. But he's also a grown man and your reaction to him is uncontrollable. You're used to 17-year-old boys who are basically big toddlers. Danny is only two years older than that, but he's worked more hours than you have. Nothing about him feels like a boy.

******

One day, you stand looking out the classroom window while he's at the blackboard. You're feeling particularly sorry for yourself and the situation you're in with him. The attraction is undeniable, but nothing will ever come of it. He notices that you seem sad today, so he puts the chalk down and walks up behind you. He stands close enough for you to feel his breath on your neck. You can tell by the way he stands there that he wants to touch you, to put his arms around your waist or his hands on your hips, but he doesn't. Not yet.

"You alright, Miss y/l/n?" You take a deep breath before answering him. You wish he would touch you.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just..." You turn to face him and he's even closer than you thought. You look up into his face. All he would have to do is lean down a few inches and his lips would be on yours.

"Can I..." His eyes flick down to your mouth. You're just about to tell him yes when he leans in just enough and presses his lips to yours gently. His hands shake a little, but he reaches out and puts them on your hips. He pulls back for a second, checking to make sure you don't want him to stop and then kisses you again, more passionately this time, sliding his hands back behind you and pulling your body in close to his. You break the kiss and pull back away from him.

"Danny, wait. This is wrong."

"Wrong? It doesn't feel wrong?"

"I'm your teacher." You look down at your feet.

"Hey." He tips your chin up with his hand and looks into your eyes. "Listen. You're a woman. I'm a man. This feels right to me. Does it feel right to you?"

"Yes." You nod. "But that doesn't mean it is."

"Y/n... can I call you by your name?" You nod again. "Y/n, you make me feel things I've never felt before. That can't be wrong."

"Oh, yes it can. Surely you know..." Then a thought occurs to you. You look at him with your head cocked to the side. Then, you walk backwards away from him and perch on the edge of your desk.

"Danny, you say I make you feel things you've never felt before. Have you ever been with a woman?" You try to look into his eyes but he avoids you. He looks down and tries to hide the fact that he's blushing.

"No." He answers with a tone of slight annoyance. Then he looks back up into your face. "But that doesn't mean I can't or won't. I want to. I want to be with you."

"Oh, Danny. I'm just not sure that's a good idea. I am your teacher-"

"Then teach me." He wraps himself around you again and kisses you deeply, his tongue sliding into your mouth. "Teach me, please." He whispers when he pulls back from the kiss.

Your eyes flick between his and you want nothing more than to say yes. Your body is screaming at you to kiss him again and rip his clothes off. You know it's wrong, but you're not sure if you care anymore. Can something that feels so right really be wrong?

Finally, you nod and he looks at you eagerly. His hands go to your hips and he pushes against you as he kisses you passionately. He kisses down your neck and reaches behind you to unzip your dress. He pulls the top of your dress down so that you're only in your bra from the waist up. You push his t-shirt up and over his head and off. His chest has the smallest patch of soft hair and you're reminded how young he is. But just when you're about to back out again, he pulls your hips away from the desk and lets your dress fall to the floor at your feet. Now you stand there in nothing but your bra and panties. He takes you in slowly and looks at you hungrily like he might devour you if he could.

You nervously glance at the classroom door. It's closed and you know that by now the building is empty. And then a thought occurs to you.

"Don't you have to be at work soon?"

"No." He responds firmly and dives into a deep kiss, his hands running up and down your body. They tremble slightly, but he hopes you ignore it as he slides them up to hold your breasts. You reach down and feel his hard cock pressing against his jeans. When you touch him, he backs out of the kiss and whimpers a bit.

"Danny, do you know what happens next?" You ask quietly as you stroke him. He grunts and nods.

"Yes, I do."

As if to show you that he does, he slips his fingers, still slightly trembling, under the waistband of your panties and pushes one finger into you. You moan softly as he adds a second finger and pumps them in and out of you slowly.

"Yes, don't stop." You whisper. He nods and keeps working his hand as you close your eyes and continue to stroke him through his pants. After a few more seconds, you use both hands to undo his zipper and push them down his legs. He steps out of them and you look at him in just his underwear with his hand in your panties. He might be 19 and a virgin, but his body is that of a man and it elicits a physical response from you that he can feel with his fingers. He smiles and kisses your shoulder gently.

You reach back and undo your bra, letting it drop to the floor. He stops moving his hand for a second as he takes in your naked breasts. You put your hand back on him and feel his cock twitch. He whimpers again.

"I want to kiss you, but not on your lips."

"Where, then?"

"Everywhere." He looks into your eyes almost pleadingly.

"Then kiss me, Danny." He kisses your mouth once before leaving a trail of hot kisses on your neck down to your chest. He runs his tongue in a circle around one nipple and ghosts his lips across your skin to the other one, pulling it into his mouth gently. But he doesn't stop there. He gets on his knees and kisses down your stomach, pulling his fingers out of you and dragging your panties down your legs. Then, he leans you back against the desk a little and spreads your legs, kissing your center. He leans his forehead against your lower stomach.

"I've never done this before. How do I... what do you...?"

"Just kiss me. With your tongue. Here." You put your finger on your clit and rub it in circles, so he will know what to do. He nods and leans forward again, pressing his mouth to you. He begins to move his tongue over and around your clit and you have to bite your lower lip to keep from crying out.

"Like this?"

"God, yes, don't stop!" He smiles and presses a finger into you again while he licks you. He pumps his finger in and out while he moves his tongue feverishly on your clit. You feel the coil of your orgasm tighten in your belly and he keeps on licking you. The coil snaps and you gasp.

"Yes! Yes! Oh, Danny, yes!" You moan as quietly as you can, while you come hard in his mouth. He feels your walls flutter and pulse around his fingers.

"W-w-was that good?" He looks up at you from his place between your legs and you almost melt.

"Yes!" He smiles and kisses your hip and then stands up, wiping his face with his hand. You push his underwear down and watch his cock bounce free. He closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip when you reach out and palm his dick, sliding his foreskin back.

"You're sure this is what you want, Danny?" His eyes pop open and he looks at you desperately.

"Honey, I've never wanted anything more." He lifts you by the hips and sets you on the desk. You pull his hips in between your legs and line him up with your entrance. He holds you and pushes into you slowly, grunting when he fills you fully. His cock is bigger than you expected and you moan at the sensation of him hitting the most sensitive place inside you. He pulls back and pushes into you again deeply. Then, he picks up the pace a little and starts to slam his hips into you passionately. Your breasts bounce with his rhythm and he leans down and kisses your chest again while he fucks into you.

"Yes, honey, goddamn, that feels good." He puts his hand on the side of your neck and runs his thumb over your lips. His hips pound into yours over and over, his cock sliding in and out of you rhythmically. He looks down at the place where you're connected and groans. The sight of himself moving in and out of you is enough to almost push him over the edge. But you're not finished with him yet.

"Oh, no honey, what're you doing?"

You push him backwards out of you and then around to the chair on the other side of the desk. He falls into the chair and you crawl on top of him, one leg on either side of him, and sink down onto his dick with your hands on his shoulders. "Oh." He moans breathlessly as you begin to bounce on him. His hands go to your breasts, squeezing them gently and teasing your nipples with his thumb and fingers.

"Do you like this, Danny?" You ask, your voice dripping with desire like the sweetest honey. He nods and whimpers, leaning forward to kiss your neck.

"Yes, I love it." He whispers as he nuzzles you just below your ear. You switch to rolling your hips, pushing him deeper and deeper inside you. He puts his hands on your hips while you ride him. "'M bout to come, doll."

You stand up off of him and he whines desperately.

"No..."

But then you get on your knees and put your mouth around his cock and he inhales sharply. You bounce your mouth on him vigorously and then pull all of him into you, letting him hit the back of your throat.

"Oh, fuck, y/n!" He cries out as he comes hard in your mouth and you swallow it down. You lick around the head of his cock one last time and then stand up. He pulls you down into his lap and cups your face in his hand.

"Honey, that was..." You smile and he kisses you softly. He presses his forehead to yours. "Thank you."

You sit there like that naked together for a while before you speak again.

"Danny, we can't tell anyone about this."

"I know. We can do it again sometime, though, right?"

"I don't know. We probably shouldn't have done it this time."

"Shhh." He holds your face again. "Yes, we should've. You mean more to me than just this. I think I'm fallin' for you." You feel the tears gather in your eyes.

"Oh, Danny..."

"I am. So stop sayin' it's wrong." You kiss him again and he holds you tightly. Finally, you stand up and start to gather your clothes, tears falling down your face silently.

"Why're you cryin', doll?" He stands up and you look into his eyes.

"Because I'm falling for you too." He wraps you in his arms again and you cry against his chest. You know that nothing can come from this, but right now, he's yours and you're his.

In this moment, nothing else matters.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist: wasn't sure on some of these, so sorry if I tag you and you didn't want to be tagged!

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @tacozebra051

#elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fic #danny fisher #Danny fisher fic #Danny fisher fanfiction #king creole #elvis presley smut #elvis fanfiction

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voylitscope · 26 days

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CA: TWS 10th Anniversary Ficlets (Day 8)

Daily ficlets for the CA: TWS 10th Anniversary Event @catws-anniversary. With Huge thanks to @sparkagrace and @cable-knit-sweater for running this wonderful event! 💞

Steve thinks his new apartment is haunted. He hasn’t told anyone else anyone about it.

He guesses he maybe should.

But he’s got a whole list of reasons not to. The list starts with how he’s not completely sure he’s just imagining it all —that most of it hasn’t been dreams. It ends with the way he’s afraid that if he’s right —

If he’s right, well, then, he’s afraid talking about it might make it stop. And the last thing Steve wants to do is scare away the occasional presence in his apartment.

It’s too scarce as it is. It’d been barely perceptible at first. Objects in places that weren’t quite right. A shadow there and gone before Steve could blink. The feeling of being watched — so real it made Steve’s skin flush, but without a source he could find when he turned around.

A little more solid, sometimes, in more recent weeks. The sound of his own name in late hours, but with no response when Steve’d tried to answer. A bottle of water and some pills on his nightstand the morning after he’d returned from a mission that’d had left him bruised and exhausted.

(The pain and injuries were gone by the time Steve woke up, but he’d said a thank you out loud before taking a sip of water, anyway.)

Steve’s even gotten a couple full glimpses. A single second of a flash of movement from a figure that hadn’t stopped when Steve called to it. A half second of the most familiar eyes in the world locked on Steve’s but then disappearing before Steve could recover from the shock of it.

All of those moments could have been dreams — could have been entirely in Steve’s head.

He doesn’t know what do, even if they’re not.

(He doesn’t know how to figure out what his ghost wants.)

Until, on Steve’s birthday, his haunting turns into a full-fledged ghost story.

(Unless it’s a dream.)

It’s late, and he’s been home for a while. It’s late enough that it’s probably nearly the 5th now, and Steve’s been meaning to stop drawing, get out of the chair in his living room, and head to bed for at least an hour.

It’s soft musics that finally make him put down his pencil. The song is playing at a low enough volume that, for a second, Steve thinks the sound is coming from the street or a neighbor —

But then he recognizes it. Steve hasn’t heard this song in about 70 years..

Steve’s heart is pounding as tries to run his eyes over every inch of his apartment. .

“Bucky?” His voice comes out in a whisper.

He’s never gotten an answer. There’ve been no conversations during this haunting.

Until now.

“Made you a promise,” Bucky’s voice says. Steve still can’t see him. “Didn’t I?”

“A promise?” Steve echoes, standing up.

Bucky emerges from shadows in Steve’s hall that shouldn’t have been large or dark enough to hide him. He’s wearing a button down shirt and jeans. His hair his pulled back at his neck. He’s somehow looking right at Steve without really meeting his eyes. He looks calm. He looks terrified and skittish. He smiles at Steve and it’s unsure and hesitant and heartbreaking and beautiful.

And Steve feels like he can’t breath.

“Think I told you that if we both made it to your next birthday we’d have to dance. I figured this counted,” Bucky says. Then he frowns and pulls his eyes away. He looks like he might fold right back into the shadows. “Maybe I didn’t.”

“You did,” Steve says. He nods, and he waits for Bucky to look back at his face. Then Steve holds out his hand.

For a few seconds, Steve’s certain that Bucky’s about to disappear or that he’s about to wake up.

But Bucky nods, too, and he puts his flesh hand into Steve’s before taking a few steps toward him. It brings them close together — close enough to dance.

Steve moves slowly. He’s still so sure he’s about to ruin this somehow.

But Bucky stays when Steve wraps an arm around his waist. And Bucky’s arms end up around Steve’s neck. And they both take small, tentative steps that bring them even nearer to each other.

And they together dance to a song Steve hasn’t heard since 1945.

And he can hear Bucky breathing and the beating of Bucky’s heart.

Steve wants to pull Bucky in closer and beg him to stay. He wants to ask him if this real. He wants Bucky to assure him this isn’t a dream or a ghost story at all.

He wants to ask Bucky if he’s okay — where’s been, where he stays, where he goes, what else he remembers — Steve wants to ask him a thousand things.

He wants to kiss him.

Steve’s almost sure that doing any one of those things would ruin this moment — could maybe make Bucky stay away for a long, long time.

So he simply feels the heat of Bucky’s body, and Bucky’s hands on him, and Bucky in his arms, and he dances.

And when he music stops, he says,

“Buck —" and he’s not surprised when Bucky shakes his head.

But he is surprised when he gets one final response.

“Happy birthday, Steve.” Bucky says, hands gone from Steve before Steve can blink, back across the floor and halfway into those shadows before Steve’s taken a couple breathes.

“Thanks for the dance,” Steve calls. He doesn’t get a reply to that, but he hopes Bucky heard it.

He hopes next time, if there is a next time, will be soon. Steve hopes the haunting of his apartment keeps on increasing.

(He hopes he’s not asleep on that chair in his living room right now.)

He’s still not planning to tell anyone about this. Not yet, anyway. Steve wants to keep this one to himself for a while.

(They’d always planned on that birthday dance being a secret, anyway.)

(Ficlets Tumblr-exclusive until all are complete.)

#CATWS10 #SteveBucky #Stucky fic #My Fic #My Writing #This one got a little long on me. But I really wanted the romantic dancing. So.#MCU

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liquidluckandstuff · 10 months

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Drabble? oops

(Witch hunters torture Harry, Voldemort adopts Harry)

(Also this grew legs and i really just wanna write write this now? you know?)

Witch hunters were real.

They've hidden themselves well in the "real world" as they like to call it, though they have a healthy fear of wizards. They have long since abandoned any notion of eradicating the world of witches and wizards and have since focused their efforts to isolated cases.

Young muggle born children with wild magic who's parents think they are possessed, or children who are too disruptive for their parents to handle.

Used to be the hunters had "morals" but now they will take the money where it comes.

Thats how Vernon found them. For a large price, they promised to save his nephew from the corruption of magic. He knew better. Those who were saved by them never returned the same and that is what he was hoping for.

Harry wasn't a child anymore, but that didn't mean they weren't up to the case.

Vernon paid them extra to steal him away in the night. Cuffs with strange markings were locked on his wrists and upper arms that prevented him from accessing most of his magic, so he was helpless against them.

It was simple. They tortured him.

They beat him. Starved him. Locked him in a cell so small he couldn't even sit down. Harry was introduced to shock therapy and every time his magic reacted to defend him on instinct, they would shock him again until he was too tired physically, magically, and mentally to fight back.

They thought they had won, even Harry thought so for a time. Until deep into one of their whipping sessions, Harry started hallucinating Voldemort.

It had to be a hallucination, because he had never seen such a look of shock on the man's face before.

or fear.

The man did nothing to help him, just stared openly as Harry was whipped until blood ran down his back and he was begging for them to stop and asking for forgiveness for being such a burden to his relatives.

They called him their greatest success yet.

Harry went back to his relatives with deep burns from the cuffs on his arms and his cupboard now covered in the same strange markings that had bound his magic. The only magic Harry cast was hiding his new markings.

Living was torture.

Breathing was a chore.

Harry was too terrified to fight back when his relatives demanded more and more from him.

But his instincts never really died, that saving people thing of his.

He saved Dudley by casting magic and now he was in the second bedroom (his aunt was too scared that someone was watching them) clawing at his arms waiting for the punishment.

The order came to rescue him and soon he was standing in front of the ministry pleading his case to deaf ears until Dumbledore came to save him.

Why didn't he save him from the witch hunters?

Harry said nothing. He didn't talk about what really happened to him over the summer. Either they would call him a liar, call him weak for letting a muggle get the best of him, or at worse... they already knew and didn't care.

Then, the strangest thing happened.

Harry got a letter in the mail with nothing but a muggle newspaper clipping of an old reform school being burned to the ground with everyone inside. Harry recognized some of the victims. Why would someone do that?

Who knew what happened to him?

Who would do that for him?

Then, he was informed that his his last remaining relatives all perished in a house fire. Nothing of their bodies or home was left. Harry didn't even have to attend a funeral for them since there was no one liked them enough to organize one, and there was nothing to bury.

Harry knew who did it of course, but couldn't figure out why.

The question came of who would take care of the boy-who-lived.

The Weasleys eagerly put forth their name and so did the Malfoys hoping to impress their master.

But a third option appeared. A strangely familiar man , Thomas Gaunt, had proved his magical power, a long distance connection to the Potters, and enough money for the two of them to live modestly.

Of Course, Harry instantly knew it was Voldemort.

Harry was asked his opinion. "I love the Weasleys, and would like nothing more than to go live with them. I always begged to spend the summers with them, but have been denied due to my safety. And i'm giving that same reason now. They are not equipped to protect me for an entire summer. i would only be putting their family at risk. I know you don't believe Voldemort is back minister, but I do. Which is also why I refuse to go with the Malfoy's. I choose Thomas Gaunt."

The Weasleys were upset, clearly thinking Harry was put under some spell. But Harry, somewhat spitefully, reminded them that they had refused to take him in even when he begged again and again. They had a family to look after. To love and protect. And Harry was alone in the world.

Thomas Gaunt, Voldemort, took him away to a little house that surprised Harry with how comfortable it looked.

Before Harry even put his bags down, before he even began to delude himself that he wasn't about to die by Voldemort's hand, the dark lord took Harry's arms to look at his new scars.

He led him into the kitchen where he treated his wounds, and put new wrappings over them. Then, to Harry's shock, he removed glamour on his own arms and showed harry his matching scars.

"Never again." Was all he said.

_________

Voldemort said he had no expectations for him. Which stung a little. Harry had done so much to be so much so someone would want to take care of him. until it was too late, and now he was here with Voldemort.

But then, Voldemort corrected himself. He had no expectations of Harry, other than to take care of himself and do well in school. He ensured Harry completed his homework and it was done right.

He even taught Harry how to duel. Not in front of jeering death Eaters, but one on one and with patience. Harry flourished instantly and Voldemort even taught him more defensive spells.

Harry was waiting for the other shoe to drop so to speak.

Why was he being treated with kindness? he didn't know what to do with it when he didn't have to put on a brave face to practically beg for someone to love and take care of him.

He knew Voldemort didn't or couldn't love, nor did he care about him. So why?

Their relationship was... something. They didn't argue, Harry found it easy to do as he was told since Voldemort never made him do anything unreasonable.

Then, it was time to go to school.

Thomas Gaunt saw him off at platform 9 3/4 and Harry had never felt so awkward in his life. What was he supposed to do here?

He saw the Weasleys and the Order across the train station with both worried and relieved looks on their faces.

Thomas pulled him aside and said "I don't expect you to not preach about Voldemort's return, but I do expect you to keep my identity a secret is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And I expect you to keep your grades up. It's your O.W.L year after all..."

"Yes, Sir."

"And you will write to me every week."

"Sir?"

"We will keep up this pretense... and I want to make sure you are safe. I have never trusted the ministry and I do less so now."

"Oh.... " Harry looked over and the order seemed to be getting impatient.

"and Harry... Have fun."

"Oh." Harry said with surprised and found himself smiling softly.

Suddenly, he didn't want to go to Howarts. He wanted to go back to their little home where he was safe and comfortable and it was a little awkward, but he had no expectations or worries of the real world.

Maybe that was Voldemort's plan all along.

"If you would indulge me... " Thomas smirked, his eyes looking over to the impatient order. "While i would love to kill most of them, I wouldn't mind settling for pissing them off a little." He opened his arms slightly and Harry found himself find a piece of himself he didn't knew he was missing.

Everyone else got to hug their parents goodbye before they set off for school, and now he finally got to do the same.

Harry hugged him tightly. He buried his face in his shoulder and he had never felt more complete in his life.

"Have a good term. You are welcome to come home for the holidays if you wish."

Home.

He had a home. He had a family? At least someone who cared about him. About just Harry.

Even if it was pretend, it was better than he had ever experienced in his life.

As he pulled away and walked toward his friends, he held his head high and had a happy smile on his face. He couldn't wait to go home.

#Harry Potter #Voldemort #Drabble #Fanfiction #liquidluckandstuff #Harrymort #Tomarrymort #tomarry #Probably going to just be a Voldemort adopts Harry story

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wantonwinnie · 4 months

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I want to make so many posts about Jedi Survivor (HEAVY spoilers ahead btw) but one of my first thoughts is what a cruel twist of fate the title for the game is.

I mean, by the end of the story of all the current or former Jedi who are major characters (Cal, Bode, Cere, Eno Cordova, Dagan Gera), only Cal survives. Jedi Survivor (singular) in the most literal sense. And each die in their own tragic way.

Eno gets killed just because Bode wanted to be an asshole (there was no reason for Bode under the circumstances to kill Eno when he could've left with the compass) and needed Tanalorr for what ultimately amount to selfish albeit understandable reasons. I don't know what it means but it's especially tragic because there's no time to even think about Eno's death. His death is meaningless. It just happens and not even to Bode's particular benefit. It's a perfectly terrible conclusion for the Jedi Master of the older age, for someone who was able to escape the needless death from a clone trooper's blaster but ended up getting betrayed by a trusted ally anyway.

Cere's death was heroically tragic and quintessentially Jedi. She tried to take down Skyguy and gave herself up to buy time for everyone else to escape. She could've ran but didn't. And this time facing Vader, she didn't use the dark side at all. She was able to put her dark past behind her despite facing a part of it again. There isn't much else to say; it's a dreadful end to someone beloved by Cal as his mentor and beloved by me too.

Bode's end is heartbreaking, almost inevitable, and ominous. He betrayed everyone for what he rationally believed was a worthy cause. He thought that he was doing everything necessary to save his daughter, his one true love left in the world. But in the end he sacrificed what could have been an opportunity for so many others to seek shelter to only give shelter to one person. And his daughter did not at all appear to be on board with his plan. Bode was given chance after chance by Cal to stop, to surrender, but he kept going. He probably told himself he was in too deep, that there was no other option, blinded by attachment. Despite being a former Jedi, he became attached to the point where he killed one Jedi in cold blood and was ready to kill another, all so he could keep Tanalorr for his own family. Cal could've taken his direction; kept Tanalorr all to his own family, sacrificing an opportunity for others in need. But Cal knew that others needed as safest a haven that could be mustered, and Bode was only looking out for himself, so much so that he proactively worked for the Empire.

Dagan's death shows another window in Cal's potential path. Dagan was always obsessed with achieving Tanalorr, blinded by its majesty even after 200 years in bacta. He never stopped to reevaluate, after the Nihil invasion, after Sanatari pleaded with him, after waking up in a new era. He never stopped, always kept going, never thinking, never taking a breath. And that would have ultimately led to Dagan accruing power for its own sake, not for the sake of helping refugees or even really concerned with stopping the Empire. Cal fortunately was self-aware enough to realize that he couldn't afford to be that obsessed with fighting the Empire via Tanalorr to see the bigger picture of who needed help and how. And Cal spent the past 5 years and much of the game never having a chance to stop and think. His contemplation allows him to see that Tanalorr needs to be for refugees, not just as a base of operations.

Like Bode, Dagan is a fallen Jedi seeking Tanalorr, but unlike Bode, Dagan is obsessed with it in the abstract, in concept only. He was stuck in the past (literally so stuck he spent 200 years in a tank!) while The High Republic Jedi moved on to the present. The Order of old recognized that places are meaningful but only to the extent they help people, and if it would put more people in harm's way to stay somewhere, they shouldn't stay. That simple! But Dagan got lost in Tanalorr's potential as an end in itself, and simultaneously forgot its purpose. Extrapolating the lesson, Dagan represents what happens when Jedi get attached to the Force as a source of power for its own sake, instead of it as a means for good.

#there's a lot more to say but that's all I got right now #wow so many people died #great game #jedi survivor #jedi survivor spoilers #star wars

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mikhailwrites · 2 months

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Soaring Ever Higher 4 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

Previous chapter | This Chapter on AO3 | Next chapter

And so, Ghost finally has a chance to make good on his promise... with some interest...

Be advised that this chapter is pretty spicy so if you mind or are a minor, I trust you'll stop reading at # symbol :)

The bar is nice and surprisingly classy, considering the city is on the smaller side. The music isn’t too loud or obnoxious; the overall noise is also bearable. Ghost lets himself enjoy it.

“What can I get you, lads?” the bartender flashes them a broad smile, not even batting an eye at Ghost’s scarred face, which is to his credit.

Trigger also doesn’t seem to mind. Once Ghost took the balaclava off, the bloke did pause on his face, but there was nothing to suggest what he thought of the map of scars. After a few seconds, he nodded and smiled as he held the door open for Ghost.

“Bourbon for me,” Ghost points at the bottle of Woodford Reserve on the shelf. The bartender nods and looks expectantly at Trigger, who seems to be scanning the shelves for something specific.

John shakes his head in mock disbelief. “And here I thought you were a cultured man,” then he turns back to the bartender, “Do you have Lagavulin 16?”

The bartender thinks for a second. “I think so, but let me check; we keep the better stuff in the back.”

Ghost chuckles. “What can I say? I’m drinking Yank stuff with a bloke flying a Yank plane. If you were a patriot, you’d be flying Typhoon like the rest of the base.”

“Somebody knows their jets,” Trigger whistles. “But last time I checked, Typhoon ain’t Scottish-made.”

Their exchange is interrupted by the return of the bartender with two glasses. Ghost says he’ll be paying for both. The price doesn’t really surprise him. “Are you getting the good stuff at my expense?” The money is no issue. He’s just interested in the reaction.

“Why, of course,” Trigger smirks, “it’s not every day I get a free drink.” He raises his glass, “Slàinte mhath.”

“Cheers,” Ghost answers the toast with his glass, sipping the bourbon, sighing in content as it slips down his throat, warming him inside out. “You think I believe you? With the free drinks? Or do you want me to feel special?”

“Right down to the business, aren’t you?” the corners of his mouth twitch. “The thing is, I don’t leave the base often. Don’t have much business outside.”

“And for pleasure?” Ghost watches him intently, noticing a minuscule twitch in John’s left hand, the way his tongue darts to wet his lips. He’s either nervous or pretends to be. Both options are intriguing, if for slightly different reasons.

“That’s complicated,” he lowers his gaze. Now that’s a good tell that he’s just pretending and luring Ghost, tickling the hunter in him by playing a helpless prey.

“It’s really not. When you boil it down, it’s always about pushing, shoving, and exchanging bodily fluids. Nothing complicated about that,” Ghost presses, shifting a little closer and putting his hand on John’s knee.

“Yer not a wooing and romance kind of lad, are ye?” Trigger takes his glass and drinks a bit more of his whisky. The smell of smoke, disinfectant and burnt tyres tickles Ghost’s nose. Christ, he could never stomach peated scotch, but the scent becomes John. It may very well be how he smells when he climbs out of his plane after a mission.

“Is that a problem?” Ghost asks with fake concern, tasting the bourbon once more.

“Didnae say that,” Trigger shakes his head, resting his hand atop Ghost’s. That’s the only permission Simon needs.

He leans closer as he speaks quietly, right into John’s ear. “I want to bend you over the counter and shag you like there’s no tomorrow."

“Damn, not even a second drink? You think I’m that cheap?” Trigger grins, and it’s all teeth and intent.

“Not cheap. I think you know what you want and usually get it. Am I close?” Ghost leans even closer. If he tried a little, his lips could brush the trimmed beard. He notices a pleasant whiff of cologne as well.

“Close enough,” Trigger admits, wiggling a little in a movement intimately familiar to anyone ever sported a stiffer in public space.

“Base or hotel?” Ghost asks, momentarily turning his attention back to the drink. There’s still about half of it left.

John understands and promptly finishes his glass before answering. “Hotel, but we need to do some shopping first.”

“Obviously,” Ghost agrees, tipping the glass back and setting it on the counter.

The moment the door of the small hotel room closes behind them, they’re on each other. John’s fingers tangle in Simon’s blonde hair where it’s long enough on top of his head, nails scraping the scalp. Simon’s lips smash against John’s; tongue, teeth, doesn’t matter. First, Simon presses John against the wall. Then the other man, despite being shorter, retaliates and shoves Ghost back, pinning him to the opposing wall and wedging his knee between Simon’s legs and up until Ghost grunts in both impatience and anticipation.

Trigger’s hands leave Simon’s head and immediately sneak under his tee, feeling him up, kneading at the hard plains of muscles.

“Fuck I love how you’re built,” John gasps between harsh breaths, tucking the tee up, uncovering inch after inch of scarred, pale flesh.

Simon grabs him by the mohawk and forces him to expose his neck. With no hesitation, he licks it with a long, broad and wet stroke before sinking his teeth in. John yelps above him, digging his fingernails into Ghost’s sides with enough strength for it to hurt.

Trigger’s pelvis also moves in a fluid, steady motion, hard-on on hard-on. It’s wild and heavenly, free of any and all troubles. Just like Ghost said back in the bar, when it comes down to it, sex is a rather uncomplicated endeavour.

Somehow, they manage to get mostly undressed and on the actual bed. Simon lies on his back with John braced above him, only heading in the opposite direction. They suck each other’s cock in a perfectly balanced ratio of giving and taking. Well, it’s a little more taking on John’s part once he finds out he can actually fuck Simon’s throat and does so with relentless vigour. Simon, however, uses the situation to his advantage, blindly grabs a bottle of lube and, without John noticing, squeezes some on his fingers before he presses them against his hole. Two at first, and he’s about as gentle about it as Trigger’s cockhead is to his throat.

John gasps and groans at the intrusion, but Ghost sucking him feels too good for him to withdraw. He takes those fingers just like he takes Simon’s prick, at least what he can actually fit into his mouth.

Soon enough, the stretch starts to feel good, and he moves back further to have more. He’s close and feels the orgasm building between his prick and his balls. He lets the cock fall from his mouth to slobber nearly unintelligible “’M close.”

Simon grabs his ass and helps him thrust deeper. He’ll have an even raspier voice for days; he knows it, yet doesn’t care. His airways are momentarily blocked, but he expected it. John grunts and then changes the rhythm to senseless rutting as he nears his peak. Simon adds another two fingers and wedges them in by force, knowing the pleasure and the tension of impending orgasm will numb the pain, morphing it into something else entirely.

John cries out, his voice breaking, and he thrusts one last time as he comes down Ghost’s throat in powerful pulses.

Simon barely lets him have a few seconds before manhandling him, throwing him off of himself and onto the mattress face-down. Once more, he reaches for the lube, slicks his prick and slides into John’s now pliant and lubed-up hole. John moans, hypersensitive and surprised, but he doesn’t move.

“Fuck yes,” Simon growls as he starts thrusting. Fast and deep, he’s way past caring. Bracing himself on John’s shoulder blades, he enjoys the hard body beneath all the more as he knows the other man could stand his ground easily. He could fight Ghost if he wanted to, and even though he wouldn’t probably win, it would be a good fight. And he shags him like that, too. With none of the gentleness and all of the respect.

John grunts and huffs beneath him, the discomfort clear in his voice, but eventually, he starts jerking his hips to meet Simon’s thrusts. His back glistens with sweat, scars starkly pale on the tanned skin. Ghost leans down and tastes the salt and musk—breathes Trigger in as he regains his focus and slows the thrusts to savour this.

Simon drags his fingers through the mohawk, grabbing a fistful of hair barely long enough to get a hold of. He lifts John’s head from the bed and motivates him with a firm tug to look over his shoulder. John’s face is flushed, his lips slick with saliva, his eyes searing despite their colour.

“That all ye’ve got, Si?” Trigger taunts, smirking. His brow furrows, and his mouth forms a pretty “O” when Ghost answers the challenge with a backstab of the pleasurable kind.

Simon can feel the tension inside him rising. The fast, punishing pace he’s set does nothing to stave it off, and he doesn’t even try to fight it. His breath is ragged and Simon groans every time he bottom out. So close…

And then it’s here, rolling over him, dragging him under as his whole body locks for a moment before the muscles seize and his heartbeat thunders in his ears. Simon collapses on top of John. It’s bloody uncomfortable, all hard muscles and hot, sweaty skin, but he barely even registers any of it.

In about ten seconds, his brain reboots, yet he still doesn’t move. Instead, he nuzzles against short hair and the mohawk. Trigger sighs; it sounds content and peaceful, so Simon continues rubbing his stubbly cheek against the trimmed hair.

“Yer a good weighted blanket, Simon,” the Scot says quietly, but there’s mirth in his voice—an almost fond edge.

Ghost hums. He wouldn’t mind staying like this longer, but the discomfort is only worsening. Eventually, Simon rolls off of John, but seeing as the other man didn’t complain so far, he grabs him and squeezes him in a firm hug. He basks in the closeness as he buries his face in the nape of John’s neck.

“Not that I’m complaining, but I haven’t pegged you for a cuddler… ‘s nice surprise,” Trigger speaks again, squeezing Simon’s hands where they hold onto him and presses even further into him.

They drift off like that, because shower can wait, and they wouldn’t be in the military if they couldn’t stand being occasionally gross and disgusting.

I have way too many screenshots, here, have some Eurofighter Typhoon.

#I so enjoy their dynamic #Johnny playing coy is mood #Simon Riley - the weighted blanket #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ace combat #ace combat 7

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shoyoist · 1 year

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thoughts on pottery date with hanma

it's such a domestic thing to him that he's a little put off by the suggestion at first. you're on the back of his bike, watching him smoke and racking your brain for something cute you could do with this man that wasn't illegal or bound to get you in trouble — and then it hits you!

you've taken a pottery class before, and it'd been fun. so when you remember that the art college nearby is having an open day, you make a decision. “so, shuji...”

when you give him the idea, he laughs at first. “you want me to walk in ‘n spin a lil flower pot with you? a vase? what, is this your way of tellin’ me i should be getting my pretty doll some flowers next time, hm?”

and then he realizes you're serious.

imagine him sitting awkwardly on one of the little stools by the wheel, watching you shape a blob of clay with the tools you'd been handed, content with just watching you bec each group that came in was given just a single wheel.

he's so cute 😭 with his knees to his chest because his legs are so long and he's sitting so low, not knowing what to do with his hands while he waits for your creation to take shape. he's so out of his element </3

everyone's quiet and playing nice at their own corners and shuji has never stepped foot into a college building in his life before, he just doesn't know how to act. he's quiet enough that you check up on him every now and then, wondering if this was really a good idea—

“shuji, baby, you alright?” “shuji, are you having fun?” to which he responds with a simple nod or tells you “dollface i hafta be doing somethin’ before i can say if it's fun or not.”

some of the others milling around the other wheels in the room have so many tattoos, and so many people have dyed hair and wild haircuts that he doesn't look out of place exactly, but his aura still has people glancing over at the two of you. not that he minds.

he watches you patiently, because hey, if you're okay with walking into underground fight clubs with him and watching him fight, and letting him into your house at 1am to patch up his bruises and injuries, he should be a good boyfriend and enjoy whatever you want him to do with you, too. and when you finally finish with your near-perfect bowl and let him try out the wheel and ribs himself, he ends up having more fun than he thought he would<3

hanma has big palms and long, deft fingers and so even though he's never done this before in his life, he gets the hang of it pretty quick. but he's still never done this before.

his brows furrow together with focus as he runs the sponge on the inside of his spinning clay and gently touches the sides of it with the ribs. he gets clay on his chin, on his shirt and it's all over his hands in a muddy mess 😭 ++ the work comes out little better than a wonky blob.

there's time for a clean up and a little tea break while the class waits for their things to dry, and hanma notices the much bigger, more complicated models people have made and feels sheepish as he stares at his blob. he feels better when you tug at his sleeve and giggle about it though, because even if you're making fun of him at least you're having a good time<3

“what's it supposed to be?” you ask, and he runs a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed as he admits in a gruff voice, “a flower vase. for you... don't fuckin’ laugh, baby.”

“for me?” you pout sweetly, and he rolls his eyes, snipping at your nose with two fingers and cracking a grin when you dodge with a yelp. and on the way home, with your bowl and his blob flower vase carefully wrapped in newspaper and stored in your bag, he tells you that he did have fun.

“we could... do more of that if y’like.” he blushes despite himself when you hug him from behind, half of your laughter lost in the wind as he swerves his motorcycle to take a right. he glances into the mirror, heart fluttering just a bit when he sees your smile. he's glad you can't see his face right now. he feels the heat on his cheeks well enough.

“never fuckin’ mind.” he drawls, teasing. “i'm never doin’ that again then. zero outta ten, dollface.”

“no!” you protest, grabbing his shirt and pinching his side a little, and fuck it fucking tickles, he almost crashes you both into a passing tree — and he tells you so.

“might as well die if you're never gonna make an ugly ass flower vase with me again,” you huff, moving your hands onto his shoulders instead. and he smiles, knows you feel his smile when you reach over to pull his cheek.

he really did enjoy it, so much more than he thought he would. and he knew you'd be displaying his ugly ass flower vase on the sill of your living room window anyway.

maybe next time he comes over, he really will get you some flowers — for you to put into it and look at them, and think of him whenever he's not around<3

#‶ ೫ ₊ love letter.#‶ ೫ ₊ me agápi — anonymous.#HAHA this got soo long nonnie i hope you like it!#i'll tag it as a real work because it is fr #hanma fluff #hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #sob sob doing cute domestic things w shuji <333 #i looove him your honour i doo

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jostystyles · 1 year

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hi, can you do “i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know.” for tyson

a/n: this is so much longer than a blurb. i'm not even sorry. also, this is my shitty attempt at smut. apologies in advance for how bad it is. please do not read if you aren't 18+ !

The bar was crowded, but not too much that you couldn't move. The Handsome Gambler was one of his favorite spots so far. It reminded him of a place you'd find out west, with sort of a country vibe. Nightlife in Minnesota was everything he was told it would be, and even more so that he got to spend the summer with his buddies. He got to connect with friends new and old, one of those being (Y/N). They'd met back in North Dakota as freshman, and stayed friends ever since. She lived in Minnesota for work now.

Tyson wasn't physically attracted to (Y/N) at first. He cherished her friendship above everything. Sure, she was cute, but wasn't really like the girls he usually went for. But once she came home from studying abroad, that changed everything. She was no longer the shy, quiet, insecure girl who he became best friends with.

She was fucking hot. He felt guilty for seeing her the way he did sometimes, and how often he thought of her alone in his bed at night. But he was head over heels for her, both in the romantic sense and the lustful one. He knew something had shifted between them this summer, and the sexual tension was such a tightly wound coil, it was bound to snap at any second.

He hoped tonight would be the night. From the moment she walked in the bar with some of their friends, he was ready to drop to his knees right then and there.

(Y/N) was wearing a light blue satin dress, if you could even call it that for how much it covered. It hugged her curves in all the right places, showing off her thick hips and putting her breasts on display perfectly. Tyson had a ton of respect for women, more so than the average man he liked to think. But tonight, all that went out the window. The only emotion he was feeling was pure lust.

He hoped he could get a moment alone with her, but before he knew it they were both at least 2 drinks deep. Not enough to be drunk, but just enough of a buzz. He wandered up to the bar for another, and felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he was met with his favorite set of (Y/E/C).

"Hi." She spoke, a sly smile appear across her face.

"Hey, (Y/N). Come to get another drink too? 'S on me. Whad'ya want?"

"Vodka Red Bull. And I also just wanted to get away from Liv. She won't stop trying to set me up with her dumb neighbor."

Tyson hummed, feeling jealous even though he knew he had no right to be. "I'm glad we're alone now. I can finally tell you how good you look. That dress sure was made for you." He flirted, reaching out to squeeze her hip.

(Y/N) smiled, reaching for her drink the bartender just placed. Leaning closer to him, she spoke, "Thanks, Tys. Also, I'm not wearing any underwear. Just thought you'd like to know." With that, she took a sip of her drink and sauntered away.

Tyson stood bewildered for a second, thinking. Did she really just say that to him? Was she being serious? He looked up, meeting her eyes across the room. He felt his cock harden as she made glances toward the bathroom at the back of the bar. Time moved in a blur, and before he knew it she was standing in front of him. Grabbing her hands, he slowly backed her up against the wall before they were face to face, his lips hovering above hers.

"Was I too forward?" She teased, a slight smirk on her face.

Tyson scoffed, using his free hand to grab hers that was settled on his thigh, moving it to his crotch. "No, I think you were forward enough."

"Going to do something about it then, Josty?"

Slamming his lips onto hers, he grabbed her leg and hiked it up around his waist. This wasn't exactly how he pictured their first kiss, but no going back now. (Y/N) let out a high pitched moan and Tyson felt his cock growing harder each second. She was spread open enough that he could feel her wetness on his jeans, and that was almost enough to send him over the edge.

Breaking the kiss, he swung the door to the bathroom open before picking her up swiftly and setting her down on the counter. He didn't bench 250 at the gym for nothing. Locking the door, he moved back between her legs.

"You sure about this?" He said.

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh. "Never been more sure about anything. I've only been dropping hints for like, 4 years."

"You're telling me we could've done this 4 years ago?"

"Shut the hell up and eat me out, Tyson." She said, smiling as she pushed his shoulders down.

"Don't have to tell me twice." He uttered, dropping to his knees. She placed one of her legs on his shoulder, pushing him towards her sex.

Tyson pressed a few soft kisses to her inner thigh, before making his first move. He licked a stripe up her folds, before landing on her clit. He circled his tongue around it a few times before sucking it lightly, then a bit more harsh the second time. (Y/N)'s hand was wrapped in his mop of curls, the other one gripping her breast. Her breathing was heavy, and her head was thrown back against the mirror. She let out a squeaky moan, her mouth wide open in pleasure.

Tyson continued his actions, this time pumping one, two fingers inside her. This caused (Y/N) to wiggle slightly, tugging a bit harder on his hair. Tyson rutted his hips toward nothing, moaning into her cunt.

"Fucking Christ, you're good at this, I'm so close." (Y/N) practically cried.

As if to bring her closer to her orgasm, tyson glanced up at her through his eyelashes, his free hand finding hers and giving it a squeeze. Making kitten licks to her clit and curling his fingers inside her, he could feel her walls start to pulse.

"Oh my god, fuck. I'm gonna cum. Fuck, Tys." (Y/N) wailed, feeling the coil in her belly start to snap. She moved to bring Tyson's head off her pussy, but he relented. She came harder than she'd ever before, from any previous partner or toy. A string of curses fell from her lips as Tyson rode it out with her. He licked up every last drop of her sweet juices, before pulling off with a squelch.

His hand still holding hers, he used his free one to wipe his face, licking his fingers that once rested inside her. (Y/N) sat, her back to the wall, breathing heavily and coming down from her high. She shook her head with a smile at his slutty actions, doing that while not breaking eye contact.

"Was that good?" Tyson spoke.

(Y/N) sat up. "Was that good? You literally just gave me the best head of my life and you're asking me that?"

Tyson blushed with a smile. "Just an honest question, babe."

(Y/N) leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. The kiss was sweet, and she knew there were feelings behind it for both of them.

"How's that for an honest answer, huh? Ok. My turn to return the favor."

As she pushed off the counter and started to drop to her knees, and fiddle wit his belt buckle, Tyson was sure he was seeing heaven tonight.

#asks #anon #not sorry for the outer range reference #tyson tuesday #tyson jost smut #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost blurb #nhl smut #nhl imagine

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ourshadowstallerthanoursoul · 4 months

Text

Getting the led out - interview to JPJ

(by Gail Worley, Ink19 - April 26, 2002 - x)

This has to be THE interview. It's Jonesy's best interview I've found so far, so READ IT. You won't regret a single second spent reading it, I promise you.

I saw the interview you did with Jim DeRogatis at South By Southwest in 2000. In that interview you said – perhaps jokingly – that one of the reasons it took you so long to make your first solo album is that you don’t sing. 'The Thunderthief' has your first recorded vocals ever. Was singing on a record with no previous experience a scary thing for you?

Yes. I mean, I had to make sure I could sing well enough to put [the performance] on record, so it wasn’t totally scary, you know what I mean? I sort of crept up on it [laughs]. The scary thing was actually doing it live on stage the first night, in Nashville (when Jones opened for King Crimson on their last tour). That was scary. What I wanted to do was do three songs from 'Thunderthief'. We started with 'Leafy Meadows' and then I did 'Hoediddle' and then I did 'Freedom Song' – which is scary enough. However, I suddenly thought, "I can’t just sing one song" (two of these three songs are instrumentals). So I thought, I need another vocal [laughs]. I didn’t want to do anything else off 'The Thunderthief', so I, in my bravura, decided to sing 'That’s The Way'. Singing a Zeppelin song was even scarier, I can tell you.

I bet.

What I used to do on the tour before, I played an instrumental version of 'Going To California' on the mandolin, and I used to team [those two songs]. I would start with 'That’s The Way' – because I played those mandolin parts on the original record. [Hums the tune] Then I said, "You didn’t think I was going to sing, did you?" [Laughs] But this time I did it and I sang it, so people who went to both concerts thought it was some kind of a trick [laughs]. But it went down alright. Nobody killed me for it, ‘cause I can’t possibly sing it like Robert Plant. I don’t have that voice. But I did it in this other way, and it worked, but the first night I was terrified. Remembering words is the hard part. I put the lyrics on a music stand, so I couldn’t fuck it up. But I’m learning, I’m getting better.

How has working with a guy like Robert Fripp influenced your own writing and playing?

Well, I haven’t actually worked with him that much. The biggest connection is being on his label. [Long pause] I mean, when Zeppelin first started in 1969, and people would say, "What sort of band is it?" I used to say "progressive rock", because in those days it meant rock that progressed [laughs]. You know, it was a very literal term; "Well, you know, we’re trying to advance the form of it, and this is what we’re doing to make it go somewhere." But of course, that title came to have all sorts of different meanings. When it started to mean 'classic', that’s when I stopped saying it was progressive rock. But then we’d say it’s 'blues rock', because people love to label things. I didn’t really hear an awful lot of King Crimson [music], to be honest. But being on his label is great, mainly because of the fact that you get, obviously, total artistic freedom. There are no contracts, either. He really hates the music industry with a passion, and he’s not afraid of telling everybody [laughs] at every available opportunity, which is great. And the artist maintains the copyrights to all their material, so I just agree with him on that whole side, and I really like the way he approaches music, and musicians. He’s so passionate about everything and has a definite way that he wants to do it. It’s inspiring to know that people can say, "This is the way I want to do it!" and off he goes! He’s always kind of been around in the background, but the first time Fripp got my attention was when Brain Eno called me and asked if I knew a piano player who could do some avant garde piano. He asked if I knew anybody who could do some spacey sort of piano, and I couldn’t really think of anybody. I asked him to describe what he wanted and then I said, "Well, I can do that" [laughs]. Alright then, so I said, "What’s the track?" and he said, "Fripp’s doing a solo on it, and I want you to do the counterpart." So I went along, and it was just this rhythm track, and I played this sort of spacey piano. The next time I heard it, Fripp had put his guitar solo on afterwards, so there’s this sort of alien spacey piano and suddenly this guitar comes in like [makes sounds of cars crashing], and I was like, "Fuck! I wish I’d known he was doing that! Jesus Christ!" Like "Who is this guy?" [laughs] Then, when I met him, he was like [imitating Robert Fripp’s gentlemanly nature] "Oh, Hello John. How are you?" I’m thinking, "Now, this isn’t the same guy who was like [makes car crash noises] on that record?" But it was. And that’s what he did on "Leafy Meadows". He walked in and he puttered about and set his pedals up and had tea and cake and then he went, "Whaaaahh!!!!" [Laughs] I really like that. It’s quite a paradox. That’s what I like about Diamanda [Galas] as well. When you meet her she’s terribly nice and sweet. And then you see her sing and [makes exaggerated face of terror].

I had to smile when I saw that Nick Beggs plays the Chapman stick on the album, because I remember him as the bassist for Kajagoogoo. How do you go about finding the various players who are involved with your solo projects?

Well, on 'Zooma' I had Pete Thomas on drums and Trey Gunn on stick. I wanted a stick player because they think differently. They’re often bass players as well, and they just approach it differently. Plus, from a very practical point of view, in a trio, it’s great, because I’m a bass player and a keyboard player and I play quite a lot of lap steel in my show. If I’m doing bass, then [the stick player] can play all the lead parts. If I go to the keyboards, he can then switch to bass in mid-song, if necessary. So, it’s very practical and it means I haven’t got someone standing there with a guitar, who feels like, "Well I should be playing something, because I’m standing here" [laughs]. There’s loads of space in a trio – which is what was nice about Led Zeppelin, because when Robert wasn’t singing we were a trio. There’s loads of space and you can go anywhere you like. So, Trey Gunn was on that album and originally I had asked him to come out with me on the road, because the idea, of course, with 'Zooma' was to get out and play it. He was going to [come out with us], but then King Crimson had resurfaced and he said his first loyalty was to go with them. Then I asked Robert [Fripp] if he knew of another Chapman stick player, and he said [adopting Fripp’s accent], "Well you won't believe it, but Nick Beggs is a really good player." I went, "Nick Beggs from Kajagoogoo? ‘Too Shy’?" And he goes, "Yeah, try him out." So I did. Then I went through a few drummers and eventually Nick said, well, "Terl Bryant is a really good drummer." So he came on board and he was great, and their attitudes are just awesome. It’s a happy family, they call me 'Pater' [laughs]. But it really is just like a family on the road, it’s really sweet. And they’re just full-on, enthusiastic, 100% committed, and it’s great.

Will you be taking 'Thunderthief' on the road now that your tour opening for Crimson has passed?

Well, yes. We’re trying to get some dates together at the moment, to do 'The Thunderthief'. But the thing is, I’d like to headline again, because then I can do my long show with the keyboards and things. But I may have to open for somebody else, again, because we really need to play to more people. It’s just maddening. I mean, we can sell out Irving Plaza [mid-size venue in NYC], but there comes a point where that’s the biggest one we can sell out, because nobody knows us. Everybody comes to the show and goes away going [adopts American accent], "That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen! It was fantastic!" and then they tell their friends and we get people going, "Wow, I wished I’d known he was playing there." We really just need to play to more people.

Here’s a quote from a review of 'The Thunderthief': "Since his days as a top sessioneer, his abilities as an arranger and multi-instrumentalist have equipped him to add musical finesse to any genre." That’s a pretty nice compliment. Is that part of the reason you’ve been attracted to such genre diverse projects? You know, from Cinderella to The Butthole Surfers?

[Laughing] Cinderella…

Oh come on, I love Cinderella.

Yeah, they were alright. The drummer owns a bus company now. Yeah, it’s all the same to me. As long as it’s good [music] I don’t care what it is. I mean, I’ve done classical composition and string quartets and [sighs] I don’t really care what it is. If somebody asks me to do something and I don’t know how to do it, I’ll find out.

In a criticism of the song 'Angry Angry', one reviewer said that you were "Always too accomplished to achieve something so off the cuff." I guess you’d call that a back-handed compliment.

Yeah, he didn’t get it. The Brits don’t like 'Angry Angry'. For a start, they understand the accent [I sing that song in], which they hate, ‘cause it’s "music hall", basically, is what it is – like a vaudeville accent. And they don’t like it because I think they think I’m taking the piss out of punk, which I’m not. I don’t do parody at all. It’s actually terribly prosaic, how it all happened, but music is just like that for me, basically. 'Angry Angry' is at the speed it is because I heard Adam Bomb (Pink Gibson from NY based rock band, Get Animal, who plays guitar on this song) play at the Borderline in London and I immediately heard what I wanted him to do [on the record]. I went back into the studio and put a riff down, which was on bass, mandolin, and drum machine which was [sings hyper-speed riff from song], at that speed. I got it to play for three minutes, just that riff, and then I wrote the song and thought, "Now, what do I do with it?" It was at that tempo and had that intensity and the phrase 'Angry Angry' just came to me, so I wrote the lyrics from there. And I had to do it in that voice because it sounds stupid any other way [laughs]. But the Brits hate it. They think I’m trying to be something that I’m not.

Oh, those Brits are so serious about everything.

Well, you haven’t met the Germans. They’ll go right into anything and find all the symbolism and the lot.

'Ice Fishing at Night' is a really beautiful song with some dark lyrics. What inspired you to write that song?

Well, I didn’t write the lyrics. They came with 'The Thunderthief'.

What does that mean?

What happened was, halfway through what was basically going to be an instrumental album, but was also a continuation from 'Zooma', I decided it’d be really nice to have voices [laughs]. As I’ve said before, I didn’t want to get a guest vocalist in, for a couple of reasons actually. One is that I know that I’d forget what I was doing and work on producing them, whoever the vocalist was. I would immediately turn into a producer and it would go somewhere else. The other reason is that, being a bass player, I don’t actually have a distinctive sound. I mean, some people will listen to a record and go, "Oh yeah, that’s a John Paul Jones record", but if you just heard one song in isolation, [you couldn’t tell]. Like, if you’re Santana, that record he did, every time he hits that guitar you know that’s Santana. It’s what he does. He doesn’t do anything else except for that sound. I don’t have that, because of the instruments I play. I thought, guest vocalists will only dilute that and just diffuse it even more. I decided, "I’m going to try and sing myself." Then I thought, "well, I’ve got nothing to sing." Then I was thinking that I don’t want to become a singer and a songwriter all at the same time. One thing at a time, you know? So, I knew Peter Blegvad, he’s a singer/songwriter, and a cartoonist as well – he did the album cover. He’s got a weird way of looking at things; just a strange, twisted sort of dark view. I thought he’d be the ideal person to write some lyrics. I asked him, "Have you got any lyrics that you haven’t got music to? Any lyrics just laying around?" He had about four songs that he gave me and I picked up 'The Thunderthief' and 'Ice Fishing at Night' and set them to music, and basically, just experimented with singing to see whether I liked what I did. I thought I could work with these songs and I could sing enough to do what I wanted to do. I don’t have a great technique or a great voice, but as long as I could convince myself that it sounded alright, then it would be OK… which is how I do everything [laughs]. You know, I’m not a great technician on any instrument, but as long as I can convince myself that it sounds real, then I’ll do it. I sang those two songs and then I thought, "well I can’t just sing two songs" [laughs]… I think like this all the time… it’s boring really. "You can’t just have two songs… how about trying to do some more?" Now that I know I can sing, I’ll try and write some lyrics and see how easy that is. So, I learned another trick. I discovered, like many people I’m sure have, that with the onset of the computer, I enjoyed writing emails. And since I enjoyed composing emails, I thought, "I wonder if it works for writing lyrics?" [Laughs] I tired writing some lyrics on the computer and – sure enough – I wrote three songs in an hour… one of which was 'Angry Angry'. I thought, "this is fun!" I could finally master the song form on the next album, ‘cause there’s no rules, you see? It’s great!

You make it up as you go along.

Absolutely, you get away with it yet again. [Laughing] I’ve had a lot of encouragement, but at the beginning of 'Zoom'a I thought, "They’re all going to go, 'it’s boring!'"

You’ve influenced so any modern rock bassists, from Tom Hamilton and John Deacon of Queen to Krist Novoselic and Flea. It’s almost like, if you drew it all as a Family Tree, you’d be the father of rock bass playing. What’s that like?

Well, it’s just that they haven’t bothered to look further than me. I mean, I’m just lower down the food chain than somebody else is. It just depends on how far you want to go back, really. It’s very nice, it’s very flattering… but I’m imparting stuff that I probably learned from James Jamison and [Donald] 'Duck' Dunn and Charles Mingus. But it’s very nice [to hear that I’ve influenced somebody]. I met some guy in New Orleans on the last tour and he says, "You probably don’t remember me but I came to see you with my Dad when I was 12 years old. You really influenced me and you got me playing the bass and you told me I should practice." He was, like, in his twenties now. I asked him if he was still playing and he said yes, he was the principal bass for the New Orleans Philharmonic Symphony [laughs]. Right! Nice to meet you!

How did it happen that 'Rock & Roll' is now the theme music for a Cadillac commercial?

Ah! Because they asked us if they could use it [laughs]. Cadillac’s kind of a romantic thing – for Englishmen, especially. You think, "Pink Cadillac", and it was Elvis’s car, and it’s a Limo and it just has this aura. I don’t know whether it’s the same in America; probably not, because you have them over here all the time – you’ve lived with them [laughs]. I can see a Cadillac now, and it’s BIG, with big fins and whitewall tires. But they asked us if they could use the song, and they didn’t get it for nothing. And why not?

Do all three of you – you and Jimmy and Robert – all have to make a decision like that? It’s not like Page did it when you weren’t looking?

No, all three of us make those decisions.

Well, on one had, you can think, "Classic car, classic song", but it does kind of bother me that I hear The Who’s 'Bargain' now and instantly think of a car commercial.

Well, yeah… I haven’t actually seen the commercial yet.

Before Led Zeppelin ever came into being, you had a successful career as a session musician and arranger. How much of Zeppelin’s unique sound is owed to your work on the arrangements?

Eh… some. But then it’s equally the way Bonham approached the drums and it really was a group effort. Even if the original idea wasn’t a group effort, the final thing was a group effort. It really was, more than any band I was involved in. It was never like the songwriter ruled the band. Robert wrote the lyrics last, usually.

But there wasn’t any other band that sounded like Led Zeppelin, and there never has been since. That’s kind of a big deal when you think about it. Especially now, in this day of everybody sounding like everyone else.

That’s because people in bands these days always listen to the same music. They all start a band because they all like U2 or they all like Pearl Jam. Consequently, their field of reference is very narrow. Our field of reference was huge. Page and I were very hard working session musicians, and when you walk into a session it can be absolutely anything. Country and western, to Champion Jack Dupree, to Englebert Humperdink, to a big band session. You walk through that door and you don’t know; it could really be anything [laughs]. You name it, I’ve done it. I played weddings, I’ve played Bar Mitzvahs, I’ve done Irish weddings, Jewish weddings, Greek weddings, Italian weddings. I can play it all. Musicians these days, they don’t seem to do that anymore, and bring it all into the mix. Bonzo used to like soul music and knew the words to every Chi-Lites record, ever [laughs]. He was the biggest Smokey Robinson fan, he was into Motown, he loved The Beatles and James Brown. I was into all that soul music, jazz, and classical. Robert was really into blues and all the rock stuff and doo-wop. Page had all these other interests. It was just a huge range of influences, you could go here or there or this way or that. And that’s what I do now, with this music.

What was the dynamic like between you and John Bonham as a rock rhythm section?

Well, we weren’t like a lot of rock rhythm sections, we swung like a bastard! [laughs] Groove was extremely important in Zeppelin and it wasn’t in a lot of those bands [that were popular at the same time]. It was extremely important, which is what, to me, made the band [so great]. We used to have a lot of women at our concerts – and I loved having women at our concerts because they’d dance. [Laughing] It’s great, because the guys stand there with their arms folded and the girls are dancing. Zeppelin was great because it was music you could dance to, and you can’t say that about too many rock bands.

How did your work with Diamanda Galas on her record 'The Sporting Life' and its subsequent tour, end up affecting your own career?

Oh, wow, she’s my favorite piano player. She’s just very inspiring as an artist, she’s very passionate, very committed, always knows what she wants to do. I have several other things to thank her for; she got me playing steel guitar again, which I hadn’t done for years. She saw it in the studio and said "What’s that?" And I said, "Steel guitar", "I want to hear it." So we put it on one of her songs and we did two songs with it in her shows. It was good because it gave me some sort of "high voice" as well as being in the back playing bass. And I thought, "this is a way I can work, this is a way I can actually do a solo show without being a bass player and having other people take over all the fun stuff."

Didn’t she also inspire you to start playing live again?

Yes, she did. I mean… somebody actually said, I think this was a German interview, [the journalist] said that he thought that these records – this is interesting – that 'The Thunderthief' was the third record in a trilogy, starting with Diamanda’s record. And in fact, he’s right in that way, because that was the first time I’d tried using that sort of riff, drums and voice. A lot of people didn’t like it, but to me it was blindingly obvious. I couldn’t see why nobody had thought of it before, especially with her voice, because she has all that range and passion. Plus, her lyrics are great! These homicidal love songs are wonderful [laughs]. She came along with, "Hide the knives, baby’s insane!" [laughs]. 'Skotoseme', that first track [on 'The Sporting Life'], she did it in one take. Me and the engineer were shaking at the end of it, and she just went [adopting a woman’s voice] "Is that OK? I’m going to get myself some coffee" [laughing]. When someone suggested we work together, I could hear it all in my head. I just went [snaps fingers], "I know what we’re going to do as well." I sent her these riffs, to New York, and she sent back some ideas. Then she just turned up and stayed for two months, and we made the record. It was just brilliant. I thought, "This is great! We can do what we like again." I was just so inspired. Then she also told me – cause she’s collaborated with everybody as well – that she’d said in interviews, when they’d say, "Well, why don’t you collaborate anymore?" She’d say, "Well, I’ve put effort into everybody else’s music. If I’m going to put that much effort into music, it’s going to be my own." And I went, "Yeah!" [laughs].

She kinda scares me, to tell you the truth.

She scares us all! That’s the fun part. But she’s so committed to her music. She’s just having fun. She was great on stage one time, [laughs] there was that perfect moment in this theater in Chicago, she was there at the front of the stage and – you know how everybody shouts out song titles? – a little voice comes up in this slight lull between songs and goes "Song Remains the Same!" And she just looked at him and she goes [makes malevolent face], "No, it doesn’t, motherfucker." [Laughing] You could see the crowd part.

As a way of wrapping this up, I surely don’t have to tell you this, but thinking about how Led Zeppelin always gets the nod as the greatest hard rock or metal band of all time – on VH1 shows or magazine polls, or radio countdowns or whatever – do you think the endurance and greatness of the Led Zeppelin legend has much to do with the fact that you guys called it quits after John Bonham died, while you were still a hot item?

[Pauses] I suppose with hindsight, maybe that did have something to do with it. I mean, there was no point in carrying on, it would be a different band, because no John Bonham, no Led Zeppelin, it’s as simple as that. He was so integral, to have gotten someone else would have made it more of a tribute band, if you were playing Led Zeppelin songs, because anyone else would have to be in his shadow all the time. However, he died at a time when there was like a new lease on life, a new awakening in Zeppelin. Punk had severely embarrassed us [laughs]. We’d stripped down and just went, [shrugs] "Oh, OK, right. This is over, off we go again." It was a very hopeful time, despite the darkness of having lost John. That was terrible. So, yes, [had he not died] we would have gone on and… who knows what would have happened.

#john paul jones #jonesy #led zeppelin #robert plant #planty #jimmy page #pagey #john bonham #bonzo #60s #70s #70s rock #70s music #rock music #ourshadowstallerthanoursoul

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simpsations · 11 months

Text

Water Flow

_____________________________

GN reader x Mandarin Merman

Art doesn't belong to me

Credit goes to :Guzbourine on Deviantart

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You can't do it, no matter how rich your boss is, or how much he was paying you, you refuse to dive into open water

It was supposed to be the most relaxing boat ride to an island off the coast. The water was beautiful, everything was absolutely fine until those words came out his mouth, "Grab your gear kid! and get ready to jump! this is a good place to start the shoot", not even looking up from his tiny monitor, the motor of the boat even seems to quiet down when he speaks.

"Excuse.... me" You say confused by all means, although you didn't get any but a flick of that man's hand in return, your body somewhat moved on its own as an assistant held diving gear for you to put on.

Once you had on your gear, a full scuba diving fit along with your waterproof camera with extra lenses, the assistant guided you towards the open door of the jet, that is how only a few fet above the water. It seemed to be going in circles to try to stay in the area that your boss said was good.

"We need you to take pictures for the Reef Coral corporation, they want to show the land species all the new updates to their little kingdom, they want humans to understand the ocean as much as they do outer space" your boss said, it wasn't hard to understand, there were a few merfolk that worked in your branch, they always had something to say about how humans waisted their time and money trying to go to space while they don't even know what lurks in their waters.

It was a simple job, just take pictures of the wildlife and the cities mainly the ones that have airways for human tourist. The merfolk have been trying to show the human species the wonders of the ocean and yet they are only interested in the things that are neverending.

What you didn't expect was to have to physically go and swim around to take the photos, the lab that is sponsored by your job even made something called 'Spider eel drones', some weird waterproof robot that looks like a moray eel and has multiple camera eyes all over it's body. It's job was to take pictures in high density waters, your boss had told you.

So, with a sigh, you grab the emergency inflatable raft, making sure it was strapped to your gear and hoped out of the aircraft. You did sign a contract after all, this job will pay you a lot and you will continue to earn money for it the more it sells, this is a great opportunity for you.

The water was cold, you couldn't physically feel it on most of your body, but it was still there. The water was clear and the sea floor was covered in life, coral rose from the ground and brought color to the area. You could see a tube it seemed to be travelling towards a large beautiful Coral City that had a glass dome located in the center of the town.

Why they didn't just let you travel through the tube to the city, you don't know why, but you made your way to the beautiful area. Flashes of beautiful reds, blues and pinks in the coral made wonderful photos when taken, like the reef was photogenic.

_______________________

The merfolk of the city were kind but curious, some slightly couscous of the stranger in their waters. Though they saw that you were no harm and left you be.

After about ten minutes of taking pictures of the beautiful city, you notice that there are a few fish swimming around and grouping together to form colorful schools. You aim your camera to them making sure your flash was off, not wanting to stun the poor creatures, and took multiple pictures of the animals in their natural habitat.

You figured I'd be nice to keep taking pictures of the fish in the area, so you swam around the city looking for more.

Coming up to a beautiful red coral structure It was slightly larger than most of them, you cout see a beautifully colored tailfin, deciding that even if you can't see the full fish it is still beautiful enough to photograph, you aim your camera to the tail and snap a picture.

The sound of the camera seemed to alert the fish as it's tail disappeared behind the coral. Sadly you couldn't get more pictures of it. You look at the picture you just took of it and sighed softly.

"It's quite ride to take pictures of someone without their permission." You jumped at the sound of someone's voice, turning around you see a beautiful man with lovely blue hair that faded into orange, looking further down you took notice that his tail matched the one in the photo you took.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I thought you were on of the stray fishes swimming around, no offense..." You say, your voice slightly changed by the mask, your nerves flare believing that you angered one of the merfolk that lived in these waters.

"None taken, I'd gladly be your model" The mer teased, he swam a bit lower on the coral to a circle shapes hole and sat inside as if ready to pose for the pictures, "Is this a good angle?" He says, tilting his head off to the side, holding his head up high and closing his eyes.

He looked absolutely breathtaking, although you can't necessarily say that, seeing as though you just met him.

"Uh, sure" you respond and swim down to a reasonable level and take a picture, then changing the angle for another.

He seemed to like having the camera on him even when swimming to a new spot he made sure to do it majestically as to let you get in a few more pictures.

________________________

The day was filled with beautiful pictures taken until you ran out of film, then talking and swimming until your legs started to hurt.

"Say, I never asked you what your name was, I'm (Y/N)" You said, now on your bright red inflated raft, waiting for your boss to come pick you up.

"Oh, my name is Metao, your name is beautiful, just like you" is words made you flustered slightly, with a chuckle you thank Metao.

Before the conversation could continue the sound of a speedboat's roaring engine could be heard, only a few minutes later a sleek black speedboat with gold ascents pulls up beside your raft, your boss in the driver's seat.

"Common kid, you can talk to your boyfriend some other time!" The joyous old man said causing a blush to creep up on both you and Metao's faces.

With you now seated and strapped in, you waved to Mateo as your boss turns the boat around and drives back to shore.

____________

Bonus:

"He's not my boyfriend." You say as you sit in the car on the way back to the office.

"Whatever you say kid" Your boss laughed, he pats your back.

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ystrike1 · 1 year

Text

After God - By Eno Sumi (9/10)

I'm back with another controversial pick. Being loved by a God isn't sunshine and rainbows in most stories. Gods don't love like us, and this particular story revolves around that lack of understanding. The Gods in this setting fear love and attachment. It weakens them, and it reveals how endless power can make you childish.

Waka is a teenage girl with the eyes of a God. She lives in an apocalyptic era, decades after the first Gods fell to Earth. A World War is on the horizon, because these Gods don't like humans. They poison fertile land, and they turn the living into salt water. They want to keep humanity far away from them.

Alula is a "reincarnated God" inside the stolen body of a girl named Waka. That God is obsessed with a human girl who recently died. Waka thinks the Gods killed her beloved best friend, but she (Alula) is most likely the God who did the deed.

Waka and Alula are not the same. Alula is confident, powerful, and fascinated with the blood of her beloved "best friend", Shion. Waka is a normal teenager, who desperately tried to comfort her best friend when she was being abused at home. Alula's relationship with that unfortunate best friend was beyond toxic.

Alula's best friend and favorite human desired death. She wanted to see a beautiful God before her death. It's very likely that Alula revealed her true form, and Waka just has no idea.

Her story gets put on hold though, while we establish this apocalyptic world, and how grim it is.

Both of these bodies are a Snake God. Hebigami is his real name, but he responds to Minami and Obikawa. He responds to these names depending on who he is speaking to. He is in love with Minami's wife, and Obikawa's best friend is named Tokinaga. He feels attached to the woman Minami loves because he ate Minami, and hence became him.

It is dangerous for Gods to eat humans, because it makes them unstable and emotional.

Hebigami intended to kill the humans, but his Obikawa form became friends with Tokinaga. That weakened him and eventually led to him eating a human who was deeply in love.

He stole the body of Minami with the intent to use it to sneak in and kill more...but instead...

He learns what "attraction" is and he falls in love. He still feels this attraction in his other forms. He can't kill Yoriko as well. Not even if he tries. When he thinks about killing her well...he thinks about her and his desire to kill fizzles out. He's still mostly free of empathy. There are only "special" exceptions, and the two humans he favors don't exactly get treated luxuriously.

They go through hell.

He kidnaps Yoriko and he chains her up, like a classic yandere. Previously he hated Yoriko and Minami, because they dared to steal parts of his original snake body to experiment with. Now, Minami is him sometimes and he has a wife. He also...enjoys it? His personality isn't like Minami's. He just loves what Minami loved when he was alive, and Minami's cells are part of him.

That's why the Gods usually turn humans into salt water.

It's to prevent emotional infections.

Eating a human is awful for a Gods overall health and purity.

Yoriko adored her husband. She knows his cells are alive, so she vows to get him back, out of the snakes belly. Technology has mingled with unnatural things during the apocalypse.

It could be possible.

Hebigami is abnormally excited when he falls in love. He enjoys it, even though he doesn't know what it is. He doesn't even know what a wife is. These Gods have no clue how procreation works.

They just...are, and that makes their emotions very intense. He poisons her, and he gives her an antidote every morning, so she can't escape from him.

Hebigami decides to protect a certain slot of human territory after he "gets married". Another God explains that he's a lost cause, infected by human emotion. He's still powerful though. Hebigami becomes humanities first real weapon against the other Gods, after 30 years of struggling.

Yoriko figures out that the Gods are like children when it comes to emotion. They don't smell or taste or emote like humans do, so having a human form is overstimulating for them.

Hebigami wants to share his feelings. Yoriko visits her child's grave. She lost them during the long apocalyptic wave.

Hebigami eats the bones that are left, because he wants Yoriko to like him more.

He also wants her child's remains to be preserved forever, because she loves it.

Even though its dead.

Hebigami didn't eat someone that liked hanging out with Tokinaga. He just genuinely likes his best friend. He eventually agrees to be a weapon and teacher for humanity.

He did think about eating Tokinaga, but he would miss Tokinaga.

This is only a hint at the future. We don't know how many gods are currently living in human bodies. Some look monstrous, because they aren't infected by emotions. The purest are trying to make the entire Earth barren, to get rid of the human disease.

If not sure if anyone will win this war.

Too much is already lost.

All that is left is human experimentation, and Gods that steal bodies to feel closer to you.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #gore #guro #After God

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 25 days

Text

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 15)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.8 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - suggestive dialogue, mild angst, flirting, ship's first real kiss, smoking

Summary: The mission is over, and Price and Rory have time alone together at camp

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

*This is the chapter where the ship finally really and truly kicks off. It does have a fade to black ending as the next chapter is entirely smut and not really necessary for story purposes so if you want to skip the next chapter it's an option*

November 2, 2017 21:18 - Al-Hasakah, Syria

With the outpost removed and the intel in Laswell’s hands, a makeshift campsite had been set up on the outskirts overlooking the desert. A small fire burning for warmth while the stars shone above in the midnight blue sky – tranquil, despite there being a warzone still raging miles away. Sitting in the sand, Rory ate her ration pack of lamb stew as she watched Price pace back and forth several feet away, confirming plans on his phone for the next steps now that the mission was coming to a close, zoning out to the sway of his hips as he walked.

Slipping his phone into the pocket of his tac pants, he moved back to sit near the fire and start in on his own dinner. Her eyes fell away from him and instead turned to the flames that flickered in front of her as he settled in the sand beside her.

“Nik'll be here in the mornin’, has to refuel and tune up before he can head out.”

She hummed, poking her spork around in the gray plastic pouch of her ORP. “I'm sure that wasn't a suggestion from the good Captain at all, was it?” Her eyes flicked up to look at him, a teasing little smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth, the flames of the fire of their camp illuminating the amber flecks in her eyes.

“You think it's my intent to keep you all to myself, Sergeant? Just what are you trying to imply?” The predatory edge to his eyes and tone were near explicit.

“Do you think I'm daft, John?”

He shook his head and laughed, tearing open the heated packet of steak and vegetables. “Oh no, quite the opposite. I think you're too smart for your own good. I think if you had enough time, you could read me like a book.”

He wasn’t far off in his estimate, with the training she had as an interrogator she likely could. However, she would also be having to combat a hardened veteran with sixteen years of experience under his belt and who was trained to resist interrogation methods of all kinds. He had already proven to have a look in his eyes that was impenetrable at most times. For all she knew, it would be a stalemate.

“Given enough practice I probably could.”

“No probably about it, sweetheart. I also get the feeling that if it came down to it you could beat me in any argument – as long as I don't pull rank.” He looked up from the contents of his packet and she was once again met by that stare she had caught in her scope - that hungry, feral one.

“That's a given. I'm a barrister's daughter, after all. If I hadn't gone the military route my father was sure I'd make a good one and follow in his footsteps.”

“Why didn't you?”

She scoffed. “Life.”

“Meaning?”

There was a side to John that she had been given just a taste of, the one who used whatever tools he could get his hands on to reach his objective, and in this case, the little alarm bell in the back of her head went off. How much of that was her own trust issues she couldn’t be sure, but giving him too much knowledge about her did put her a little on edge even if he only intended to keep her safe – everything was a weapon to Captain Price.

“What? You want my life story?” Her eyes narrowed, challenging him just enough. “Is this our first date?” she asked, lifting the MRE packet. “Really splurged on dinner.”

He chuckled at her sarcastic comment and lit a cigar. “Go on,” he said softly, his voice a hoarse murmur on the wind.

“You really want to know?”

“I do.”

She rolled her eyes and put the MRE packet down grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoke into the night with a long stream of breath. “It's rather convoluted, but – in short form – after my mother’s death, I had to leave Canada, leave the life I'd known behind and move to England to live with my father. I was fourteen – angry, grieving – and I was plunked in the house of a man who I only really knew through conversations over the phone and the few summer trips I had across the pond. He wasn't exactly ready for the challenge of raising a hormonal teenage girl… we were both thrown in the deep end of the pool together, quite frankly.” She shook her head at the insanity of the situation she had lived through. “Poor sod getting lumped with me.” She laughed and took another drag of her cigarette, leaving a pregnant pause in her story. “Needless to say, I acted out, rebelled. Skipped school, let my grades fail – I barely graduated. Didn't leave me with many options, so I chose the military.”

“Didn’t do too bad f’ yourself though, did ya?”

“I suppose, other than hefty amounts of trauma,” she snickered at her own comment.

“Can’t be all bad.”

“No, no I suppose not. Joining the army did have its perks, this is true.”

“Got to meet me twice because of it.”

A loud burst of laughter came out of her. “Ah, yes, the highlight of my ten-year career. Not receiving the King’s Medal for Bravery as a corporal – spending time with John Price.”

He smiled around the cigar in his mouth, the lines around his eyes creasing softly. “You were awarded a medal as a corporal ?”

“Yeah…”

His brows lifted, giving a little nod, clearly impressed by her history. “Not too many people receive one of those.”

“No, not too many at all,” she said with a quiet sort of pride.

Humming appreciatively, smoke blew from his nostrils. “You still owe me that number of confirmed kills, darlin’.”

“I did promise you that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Thirty three high profile targets. Other soldiers and snipers?” She paused to hum and haw over the numbers. “Lost count around the mid seventies, and that was two years ago.”

“ Jesus ,” he breathed, giving a low groan. “Fucking hell, Rory.” Taking another drag of his cigar as if it were post coitus.

She giggled at his reaction, the obvious tone of arousal at her competency not lost on her. “Careful, John. Don't want to be popping a stiffy.”

His piercing gaze flicked up to settle on her and her teasing grin, a wolfish curl to the side of his mouth slowly growing. “Can't have that, can we? Wouldn't be proper of an officer.”

“Certainly not. Especially not while we're out here, alone , in the dark, with nothing but a pup tent to share.”

Brow lifted, a cocky self-assured smirk grew on his face. “Who knows what might happen.”

Rory licked her lips and tutted her tongue, still pretending as though she wasn't interested, or rather, playing hard to get. She had to admit she had been enjoying this chase of theirs and Price had certainly been persistent as had been promised – ever the hunter, and her the beast waiting for that right moment to strike. “How ever will we fill the time?”

“I can think of a few things,” he purred.

“I bet you can.”

“Mission’s nearly over, darlin’. Don’t need to worry about being a distraction for me anymore, yeah?”

Leaning towards him, she lowered her voice until it was smooth and sultry. “And you think I’m just going to give in like that?”

“Still want me to try and persuade you, eh?”

“I’m still trying to figure out just what it is about me you actually want?” Her warm hazel eyes lifted to take in those unreadable gray-blue ones that looked back at her. Pushing the challenge just a little bit further, prodding him towards showing her just a little of his own vulnerability.

“I want you for all sorts of reasons.” He gave nothing away.

Her brow cocked, wanting more detail. “Is that so?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever been so interested in another woman before.” His voice grew huskier the longer the discussion went on, body leaning closer to her.

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

“And what makes me so different?”

“ Everything ,” he said in a deep growl. “You’re a bloody challenge, first and foremost – and you were certainly right about me liking that.”

She paused, letting the closeness between them settle before pushing further, deeper into dangerous territory. Her eyes narrowed, lingering on his features, reading him. “ If I were to let you have me as your girl, would I be just another accolade to your name, John?”

Smirking, he pulled back slightly, understanding where the game was heading between them. “There’s no denyin’ the fact that any man would consider havin’ you as their girl an honor. However , if you’re askin’ if I’d see you as just another notch in the belt, then you’ve got me all wrong, darlin’.”

“So you see me as someone worth going for the long haul with?”

“You bet your arse.”

Chuckling quietly at his expected response, she kept digging. “And you really do just want to take care of me?”

“Always.” His face became serious. All playful, flirtatious intent wiped clean from it. On this he was absolute. The final decision was made up in his mind and he would not be dissuaded. That point was no game for him.

Her smile faded as reality hit once more. Nothing could be that simple, not for them, not with the rules and regulations of the military. “I wish it was that easy.”

“It doesn't have to be as bloody hard as you’re makin’ it.”

“It does.” She scoffed, “We can’t just bury our heads in the sand over this, pretend that we aren’t breaking rules here – because we are. You have so much more to lose over this than I do.” Sighing, her voice was barely an audible whisper above the night wind. “I don’t want to be something you live to regret.”

His brow furrowed, mouth flinching as he clenched his jaw. “Never gonna happen, love. Never . Fell f’you like a goddamn idiot.”

Rory giggled, covering her mouth as jovial bursts of laughter coming in fits and starts carried across the desert at night.

“It’s not funny,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling at her reaction to his confession.

Dragging her hand down her face, she tried to hide the embarrassment they both seemed to be feeling and gazed at him. “I’m sorry,” saying it as genuinely as she could between the little bubbles of laughter that still crept up out of her.

“You’re a filthy liar.” Shaking his head, his smirk was still plastered to his face.

Looking at one another, the firelight flickered across from them, warming their skin as much as the laughter and their close proximity was. Silence fell. Their eyes locked. Heart racing in her chest, Rory’s lips seemed to part instinctively as her breath caught in her throat, not realizing she was even holding it.

John’s gaze roamed down to her mouth, freezing there as she watched his tongue drag across his lips. Throat bobbing with a heavy swallow, his pupils dilated making his steely eyes darker than the night sky above. Biting the inside of his lower lip, he stared at her hungrily. It was clear he was debating his next move. Jaw tensing, the tendons flexing, his hand lifted to scratch at the underside of it as his brow furrowed.

Nocturnal animals squawked, screamed and chattered out in the darkness that surrounded them. They were completely alone out here. No witnesses, no mission. Just them .

Moving closer, he leaned a little further towards her, the distance between them disappearing quickly until she was moments away from being wrapped around him. The tips of their noses brushed against the other’s, his breath fanning on her lips, the cigar smoke heavy on her nostrils. The heady, bitter scent of tobacco made her bite her lip. Her eyes firmly locked on his, she tried to perceive what his next move was before he did.

Brushing the hair back that the wind blew into her face, his fingers traveled through her waves as his hand came to rest on the curve of her jaw, thumb stroking at her cheekbone thoughtfully. No words needed to be spoken, enough already had. Just like in a fight, they seemed to know what the next move needed to be before it was even said. Synchronicity .

Mouth meeting hers, his grip firm, the kiss was passionate and deep. Weeks’ worth of need boiled down into one moment. All that arguing, the bickering, the back and forth, it all had to have been for something and he seemed to be making damn sure that it did as his lips claimed hers. Pulling her in tighter towards him, his hand shifted to lock up into a fistful of her hair at the back of her head. His other arm wrapped around her back, pulling her right up against him as his fingers found themselves sliding underneath the hem of her shirt, caressing the small of her back. Rough, calloused skin on his warm palm rubbed against her, fighting off the chill in the breeze as the temperature decreased the deeper the night became.

Breaking the kiss for air, John pressed his forehead to hers, his breath short and heavy. “I want this, Ror. Want you. Us ,” his voice thick with a deep need. “This feels right. You know it does.”

“John –” she said his name breathlessly.

“No, sweetheart. No more reasons not to, yeah?”

She still wasn’t entirely convinced. In the moment it was easy to forget the real world, to stop herself from seeing sense, but her mind continued to race through every scenario, every possible fantasy and nightmare that could come out of this decision.

“John…” She brought her hand to his temple stroking her fingers through his hair ruffled by the wind with his boonie hat removed. “I’m really not the easiest person to love, I wasn’t lying about that. Had to learn not to let people in. My job’s been about lying and secrets for years.”

And from the fear of being hurt, of being left behind once more.

“Yeah, so’s mine. You know that.” His hand came to rest under her chin, keeping her eyes on his. “Don’t you think that’s what makes us right for each other, my girl? No lies, no bullshit, no pretendin’ to be somethin’ we aren’t. Good, bad, or ugly. Just me and you.”

“You could have a woman who could give you a normal life,” she said quietly.

“Normal’s boring, love.”

“You’re going to have a retort for everything I say, aren’t you?” Her brow lifted as her mouth curled into a half grin.

“Maybe. Yeah.” His smirk fading to become serious once more. “But I mean it, I wouldn’t know how to handle some bloody white picket fence life. And even then I’d be havin’ to lie to whoever she was f’ the rest of my life ‘bout the things I’ve done. Don’t have to do that with you. Might be nice to get to be honest f’ once.”

Rory shook her head and huffed out a laugh. “Just as smooth as you were five years ago,” she teased.

“I can be charmin’ when I choose to be.”

She hummed, “That’s becoming very apparent.”

“You’re too perfect to let slip through my fingers, Rory,” he purred.

“I’m anything but perfect,” she whispered softly.

His thumb drifted across her lower lip, pulling at her pout and staring straight into her eyes. “You, my darlin’ girl, are exactly what I need.”

There was no denying the magnetic pull that had always been there between them, and with their mouths so close together it was only getting stronger. She could tell herself to pull away, to repel him, to push him back and carry on, focusing on her career as she always had, leaving her to a lonely world she had come to know so well. Saving herself the pain of loss and distance by never allowing anything good to come from letting anyone in. She found herself unable to do that anymore – not with him. He had been nothing but honest when he said being with him just felt right.

She wondered if her mother and father ever felt this way, living a life of apparent joy before they too parted and became another statistic.

Shaking her head clear of those thoughts, she closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss him once more, her lips pressed to his, soft and slow. Tongue sweeping against her pout, he prodded at the part of her lips until she rewarded him with access to her mouth. Climbing into his lap, she grabbed at the shoulder straps of his tac vest, deepening the kiss as her legs came to straddle his muscular thighs. Wrapping her body around his broad expanse, she was protected by him, held in his arms – the way it had always been.

Exactly the way she wanted him.

#call of duty #fan fiction #john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #fic: all along the watchtower #chapter 15

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shuxiii · 1 year

Text

Everyday pt.3

Hanni Pham x reader pt1, pt2, pt3, pt4, pt5, pt6, pt7, pt8, pt9, pt10, pt11, pt12, pt13

a/n feeling generous today so double update!!! still, credits are all given to the real author ''every day'' by David Levithan

Day 5996

All I get is tomorrow.

As I fell asleep, I had a glint of an idea. But as I wake up, I realize the glint has no light left in it.

Today I’m a boy. Yang Jungwon. Soccer player, but not a star soccer player. Clean room, but not compulsively so. Videogame console in his room. Ready to wake up. Parents asleep.

He lives in a town that’s about a four-hour drive from where Hanni lives.

This is nowhere near close enough.

It’s an uneventful day, as most are. The only suspense comes from whether I can access things fast enough.

Soccer practice is the hardest part. The coach keeps calling out names, and I have to access it like crazy to figure out who everyone is. It’s not Jungwon’s best day at practice, but he doesn’t embarrass himself.

I know how to play most sports, but I’ve also learned my limits. I found this out the hard way when I was eleven. I woke up in the body of some kid who was in the middle of a ski trip. I thought that, hey, skiing had always looked fun. So I figured I’d try. Learn it as I went. How hard could it be?

The kid had already graduated from the bunny slopes, and I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a bunny slope. I thought skiing was like sledding—one hill fits all.

I broke the kid’s leg in three places.

The pain was pretty bad. And I honestly wondered if, when I woke up the next morning, I would still feel the pain of the broken leg, even though I was in a new body. But instead of the pain, I felt something just as bad—the fierce, living weight of terrifying guilt. Just as if I’d rammed him with a car, I was consumed by the knowledge that a stranger was lying in a hospital bed because of me.

And if he’d died … I wondered if I would have died, too. There is no way for me to know. All I know is that, in a way, it doesn’t matter. Whether I die or just wake up the next morning as if nothing happened, the fact of the death will destroy me.

So I’m careful. Soccer, baseball, field hockey, football, softball, basketball, swimming, track—all of those are fine. But I’ve also woken up in the body of an ice hockey player, a fencer, an equestrian, and once, recently, a gymnast.

I’ve sat all those out.

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s video games. It’s a universal presence, like TV or the Internet. No matter where I am, I usually have access to these things, and video games especially help me calm my mind.

After soccer practice, Jungwon’s friends come over to play World of Warcraft. We talk about school and talk about girls (except for his friends Sunoo and Jake, who talk about boys). This, I’ve discovered, is the best way to waste time, because it isn’t really wasted—surrounded by friends, talking crap and sometimes talking for real, with snacks around and something on a screen.

I might even be enjoying myself if I could only unmoor myself from the place I want to be.

Day 5997

It’s almost eerie how well the next day works out.

I wake up early—six in the morning.

I wake up as a girl.

A girl with a car. And a license.

In a town only an hour away from Hanni’s.

I apologize to Ahn Yujin as I drive away from her house, a half hour after waking up. What I’m doing is, no doubt, a strange form of kidnapping.

I strongly suspect that Ahn Yujin wouldn’t mind. Getting dressed this morning, the options were black, black, or…black. Not in a goth sense—none of the black came in the form of lace gloves—but more in a rock ’n’ roll sense. The mix in her car stereo puts Janis Joplin and Brian Eno side by side, and somehow it works.

I can’t rely on Yujin’s memory here—we’re going somewhere she’s never been. So I did some Google mapping right after my shower, typed in the address of Hanni’s school, and watched it pop up in front of me. That simple. I printed it out, then cleared the history.

I have become very good at clearing histories.

I know I shouldn’t be doing this. I know I’m poking a wound, not healing it. I know there’s no way to have a future with Hanni.

All I’m doing is extending the past by a day.

Normal people don’t have to decide what’s worth remembering. You are given a hierarchy, recurring characters, the help of repetition, of anticipation, the firm hold of a long history. But I have to decide the importance of each and every memory. I only remember a handful of people, and in order to do that, I have to hold tight, because the only repetition available—the only way I am going to see them again—is if I conjure them in my mind.

I choose what to remember, and I am choosing Hanni. Again and again, I am choosing her, I am conjuring her, because to let go for an instant will allow her to disappear.

The same song that we heard in Minji’s car comes on—And if I only could, I’d make a deal with God.…

I feel the universe is telling me something. And it doesn’t even matter if it’s true or not. What matters is that I feel it, and believe it.

The enormity rises within me.

The universe nods along to the songs.

I try to hold on to as few mundane, everyday memories as possible. Facts and figures, sure. Books I’ve read or information I need to know. The rules of soccer, for instance. The plot of Romeo and Juliet. The phone number to call if there’s an emergency. I remember those.

But what about the thousands of everyday memories, the thousands of everyday reminders, that every person accumulates? The place you keep your house keys. Your mother’s birthday. The name of your first pet. The name of your current pet. Your locker combination. The location of the silverware drawer. The channel number for MTV. Your best friend’s last name.

These are the things I have no need for. And, over time, my mind has rewired itself, so all this information falls away as soon as the next morning comes.

Which is why it’s remarkable—but not surprising—that I remember exactly where Hanni’s locker is.

I have my cover story ready: If anyone asks, I am checking out the school because my parents might be moving to town.

I don’t remember if there are assigned parking spaces, so just in case, I park far from the school. Then I simply walk in. I am just another random girl in the halls—the freshmen will think I’m a senior, and the seniors will think I’m a freshman. I have Yujin’s schoolbag with me—black with anime details, filled with books that won’t really apply here. I look like I have a destination. And I do.

If the universe wants this to happen, she will be there at her locker.

I tell myself this, and there she is. Right there in front of me.

Sometimes memory tricks you. Sometimes beauty is best when it’s distant. But even from here, thirty feet away, I know that the reality of her is going to match my memory.

Twenty feet away.

Even in the crowded hallway, there is something in her that radiates out to me.

Ten.

She is carrying herself through the day, and it’s not an easy task.

Five.

I can stand right here and she has no idea who I am. I can stand right here and watch her. I can see that the sadness has returned. And it’s not a beautiful sadness—beautiful sadness is a myth. Sadness turns our features to clay, not porcelain. She is dragging.

“Hey,” I say, my voice thin, a stranger here.

At first she doesn’t understand that I’m talking to her. Then it registers.

“Hey,” she says back.

Most people, I’ve noticed, are instinctively harsh to strangers. They expect every approach to be an attack, every question to be an interruption. But not Hanni. She doesn’t have any idea who I am, but she’s not going to hold that against me. She’s not going to assume the worst.

“Don’t worry—you don’t know me,” I quickly say. “It’s just—it’s my first day here. I’m checking the school out. And I really like your skirt and your bag. So I thought, you know, I’d say hello. Because, to be honest, I am completely alone right now.”

Again, some people would be scared by this. But not Hanni. She offers her hand, introduces herself as we shake, and asks me why there isn’t someone showing me around.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Well, why don’t I take you to the office? I’m sure they can figure something out.”

I panic. “No!” I blurt out. Then I try to cover for myself, and prolong my time with her. “It’s just … I’m not here officially. Actually, my parents don’t even know I’m doing this. They just told me we’re moving here, and I … I wanted to see it and decide whether I should be freaking out or not.”

Hanni nods. “That makes sense. So you’re cutting school in order to check the school out?”

“Exactly.”

“What year are you?”

“A junior.”

“So am I. Let’s see if we can pull this off. Do you want to come around with me today?”

“I’d love that.”

I know she’s just being nice. Irrationally, I also want there to be some kind of recognition. I want her to be able to see behind this body, to see me inside here, to know that it’s the same person she spent an afternoon with on the beach.

I follow her. Along the way, she introduces me to a few of her friends, and I am relieved to meet each one, relieved to know that she has more people in her life than Minji. The way she includes me, the way she takes this total stranger and makes her feel a part of this world, makes me care about her even more. It’s one thing to be love-worthy when you are interacting with your girlfriend; it’s quite another when you act the same way with a girl you don’t know. I no longer think she’s just being nice. She’s being kind. Which is much more a sign of character than mere niceness. Kindness connects to who you are, while niceness connects to how you want to be seen.

Minji makes her first appearance between the second and third period. We pass her in the hall; she barely acknowledges Hanni and completely ignores me. She doesn’t stop walking, just nods at her. She’s hurt—I can tell—but she doesn’t say anything about it to me.

By the time we get to math class, the fourth period, the day has turned into an exquisite form of torture. I am right there next to her, but I can’t do a thing. As the teacher reduces us to theorems, I must remain silent. I write her a note, as an excuse to touch her shoulder, to pass her some words. But they are inconsequential. They are the words of a guest.

bsp; I want to know if I changed her. I want to know if that day changed her, if only for a day.

I want her to see me, even though I know she can’t.

She joins us at lunch.

As strange as it is to see Hanni again, and to have her measure so well against my memory, it is even stranger to be sitting across from the jerk whose body I inhabited just three days ago. Mirror images do no justice to this sensation. She is more attractive than I thought, but also uglier. Her features are attractive, but what she does with them is not. She wears the superior scowl of someone who can barely hide her feelings of inferiority. Her eyes are full of scattershot anger, She posture one of defensive bravado.

I must have rendered her unrecognizable.

Hanni explains to her who I am, and where I come from. She makes it clear that she couldn’t care less. She tells her she left her wallet at home, so she goes and buys her food. When she gets back to the table with it, she says thanks, and I’m almost disappointed that she does. Because I’m sure that a single thank-you will go a long way in her mind.

I want to know about three days ago, about what she remembers.

“How far is it to the ocean?” I ask Hanni.

“It’s so funny you should say that,” she tells me. “We were just there the other day. It took about an hour or so.”

I am looking at her, looking again for some recognition. But she just keeps eating.

“Did you have a good time?” I ask her.

Hanni answers. “It was amazing.”

Still no response from her.

I try again. “Did you drive?”

She looks at me like I’m asking really stupid questions, which I suppose I am.

“Yes, I drove” is all she’ll give me.

“We had such a great time,” Hanni goes on. And it’s making her happy—the memory is making her happy. Which only makes me sadder.

I should not have come here. I should not have tried this. I should just go.

But I can’t. I am with her. I try to pretend that this is what matters.

I play along.

I don’t want to love her. I don’t want to be in love.

People take love’s continuity for granted, just as they take their body’s continuity for granted. They don’t realize that the best thing about love is its regular presence. Once you can establish that, it’s an added foundation to your life. But if you cannot have that regular presence, you only have the one foundation to support you, always.

She is sitting right next to me. I want to run my finger along her arm. I want to kiss her neck. I want to whisper the truth in her ear.

But instead I watch as she conjugates verbs. I listen as the air is filled with a foreign language, spoken in haphazard bursts. I try to sketch her in my notebook, but I am not an artist, and all that comes out are the wrong shapes, the wrong lines. I cannot hold on to anything that’s her.

The final bell rings. She asks me where I’ve parked, and I know that this is it, this is the end. She is writing her email address on a piece of paper for me. This is goodbye. For all I know, Ahn Yujin’s parents have called the police. For all I know, there’s a manhunt going on, an hour away. It is cruel of me, but I don’t care. I want Hanni to ask me to go to a movie, to invite me over to her house, to suggest we drive to the beach. But then Minji appears. Impatient. I don’t know what they are going to do, but I have a bad feeling. She wouldn’t be so insistent if making out weren’t involved.

“Walk me to my car?” I ask.

She looks at Minji for permission.

“I’ll get my car,” she says.

We have a parking lot’s length of time left with each other. I know I need something from her, but I’m not sure what.

“Tell me something nobody else knows about you,” I say.

She looks at me strangely. “What?”

“It’s something I always ask people—tell me something about you that nobody else knows. It doesn’t have to be major. Just something.”

Now that she gets it, I can tell she likes the challenge of the question, and I like her even more for liking it.

“Okay,” she says. “When I was ten, I tried to pierce my own ear with a sewing needle. I got it halfway through, and then I passed out. Nobody was home, so nobody found me. I just woke up, with this needle halfway in my ear, drops of blood all over my shirt. I pulled the needle out, cleaned up, and never tried it again. It wasn’t until I was fourteen that I went to the mall with my mom and got my ears pierced for real. She had no idea. How about you?”

There are so many lives to choose from, although I don’t remember most of them.

I also don’t remember whether Ahn Yujin has pierced ears or not, so it won’t be an ear-piercing memory.

“I stole Judy Blume’s Forever from my sister when I was eight,” I say. “I figured if it was by the author of Superfudge, it had to be good. Well, I soon realized why she kept it under her bed. I’m not sure I understood it all, but I thought it was unfair that the boy would name his, um, organ, and the girl wouldn’t name hers. So I decided to give mine a name.”

Hanni is laughing. “What was its name?”

“Helena. I introduced everyone to her at dinner that night. It went over really well.”

We’re at my car. Hanni doesn’t know it’s my car, but it’s the farthest car, so it’s not like we can keep walking.

“It was great to meet you,” she says. “Hopefully, I’ll see you around next year.”

“Yeah,” I say, “it was great to meet you, too.”

I thank her about five different ways. Then Minji drives over and honks.

Our time is up.

Ahn Yujin’s parents haven’t called the police. They haven’t even gotten home yet. I check the house phone’s voicemail, but the school hasn’t called.

It’s the one lucky thing that’s happened all day.

Day 5998

Something is wrong the minute I wake up the next morning. Something chemical.

It’s barely even morning. This body has slept until noon. Because this body was up late, getting high. And now it wants to be high again. Right away.

I’ve been in the body of a pothead before. I’ve woken up still drunk from the night before. But this is worse. Much worse.

There will be no school for me today. There will be no parents waking me up. I am on my own, in a dirty room, sprawled on a dirty mattress with a blanket that looks like it was stolen from a child. I can hear other people yelling in other rooms of the house.

There comes a time when the body takes over the life. There comes a time when the body’s urges, the body’s needs, dictate the life. You have no idea you are giving the body the key. But you hand it over. And then it’s in control. You mess with the wiring and the wiring takes charge.

I have only had glimpses of this before. Now I really feel it. I can feel my mind immediately combating the body. But it’s not easy. I cannot sense pleasure. I have to cling to the memory of it. I have to cling to the knowledge that I am only here for one day, and I have to make it through.

I try to go back to sleep, but the body won’t let me. The body is awake now, and it knows what it wants.

I know what I have to do, even though I don’t really know what’s going on. Even though I have not been in this situation before, I have been in situations before where it’s been me against the body. I have been ill, seriously ill, and the only thing to do is to power through the day. At first I thought there was something I could do within a single day that could make everything better. But very soon I learned my own limitations. Bodies cannot be changed in a day, especially not when the real mind isn’t in charge.

I don’t want to leave the room. If I leave the room, anything and anyone can happen. Desperately, I look around for something to help me through. There is a decrepit bookshelf, and on it is a selection of old paperbacks. These will save me, I decide. I open up an old thriller and focus on the first line. Darkness had descended on Manassas, Virginia.

…

The body does not want to read. The body is alive with electric barbed wire. The body is telling me there is only one way to fix this, only one way to end the pain, only one way to feel better. The body will kill me if I don’t listen to it. The body is screaming. The body demands its own form of logic.

I read the next sentence.

I lock the door.

I read the third sentence.

The body fights back. My hand shakes. My vision blurs.

I am not sure I have the strength to resist this.

I have to convince myself that Hanni is on the other side. I have to convince myself that this isn’t a pointless life, even though the body is telling me it is.

The body has obliterated its memories in order to hone its argument. There isn’t much for me to access. I must rely on my own memories, the ones that are separate from this.

I must remain separate from this.

I read the next sentence, then the next sentence. I don’t even care about the story. I am moving from word to word, fighting the body from word to word.

It’s not working. The body makes me feel like it wants to defecate and vomit. First in the usual way. Then I feel I want to defecate through my mouth and vomit through the other end. Everything is being mangled. I want to claw at the walls. I want to scream. I want to punch myself repeatedly.

I have to imagine my mind as something physical, something that can control the body. I have to picture my mind holding the body down.

I read another sentence.

Then another.

There is pounding on the door. I scream that I’m reading.

They leave me alone.

I don’t have what they want in this room.

They have what I want outside this room.

I must not leave this room.

I must not let the body out of this room.

I imagine her walking the hallways. I imagine her sitting next to me. I imagine her eyes meeting mine.

Then I imagine her getting in her car, and I stop.

The body is infecting me. I am getting angry. Angry that I am here. Angry that this is my life. Angry that so many things are impossible.

Angry at myself.

Don’t you want it to stop? the body asks.

I must push myself as far away from the body as I can.

Even as I’m in it.

I have to go to the bathroom. I really have to go to the bathroom.

Finally, I pee in a soda bottle. It splashes all over.

But it’s better than leaving this room.

If I leave the room, I will not be able to stop the body from getting what it wants.

I am ninety pages into the book. I can’t remember any of it.

Word by word.

The fight is exhausting the body.

I am winning.

It is a mistake to think of the body as a vessel. It is as active as any mind, as any soul. And the more you give yourself to it, the harder your life will be. I have been in the bodies of starvers and purgers, gluttons and addicts. They all think their actions make their lives more desirable. But the body always defeats them in the end.

I just need to make sure the defeat doesn’t take while I’m inside.

I make it to sundown. Two hundred sixty-five pages gone. I am shivering under the filthy blanket. I don’t know if it’s the temperature in the room or if it’s me.

Almost there, I tell myself.

There is only one way out of this, the body tells me.

At this point, I don’t know if it means drugs or death.

The body might not even care, at this point.

Finally, the body wants to sleep.

I let it.

#Hanni x reader #Hanni Pham #Pham Hanni #Hanni Pham x reader #newjeans #newjeans fanfic #hanni pham #new jeans #nwjns #NewJeans Imagines #Newjeans imagine #Newjean Fanfic #NewJeans Fanfic #newjeans fic #newjeans imagine #Newjeans x reader

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