#i am incapable of being nice when talking about apple

[ms-demeanor]

Since some people might want a Mac, I'll offer a Mac equivalent of your laptop guide from the perspective of a Mac/Linux person.

Even the cheapest Macs cost more than Windows laptops, but part of that is Apple not making anything for the low end of the tech spectrum. There is no equivalent Mac to an Intel i3 with 4 gigabytes of RAM. This makes it a lot easier to find the laptop you need.

That said, it is possible to buy the wrong Mac for you, and the wrong Mac for you is the 13-inch MacBook Pro with the Touch Bar. Get literally anything else. If it has an M2 chip in it, it's the most recent model and will serve you well for several years. Any new MacBook Air is a good pick.

(You could wait for new Macs with M3, but I wouldn't bother. If you are reading these guides the M3 isn't going to do anything you need done that a M2 couldn't.)

Macs now have integrated storage and memory, so you should be aware that whatever internal storage and RAM you get, you'll be stuck with. But if you would be willing to get a 256 gig SSD in a Windows laptop, the Mac laptop with 256 gigs of storage will be just as good, and if you'd be willing to get 8 gigs of RAM in a Windows laptop the Mac will perform slightly better with the same amount of memory.

Buy a small external hard drive and hook it up so Time Machine can make daily backups of your laptop. Turn on iCloud Drive so your documents are available anywhere you can use a web browser. And get AppleCare because it will almost certainly be a waste of money but wooooooow will you be glad it's there if you need it.

I get that you are trying to help and I am not trying to be mean to you specifically, but people shouldn't buy apple computers. That's why I didn't provide specs for them. Apple is a company that is absolutely terrible to its customers and its customers deserve better than what apple is willing to offer.

Apple charges $800 to upgrade the onboard storage from a 256GB SSD to a 2TB SSD.

A 2TB SSD costs between $75-100.

I maintain that any company that would charge you more than half the cost of a new device to install a $100 part on day one is a company making the wrong computer for you.

The point of being willing to tolerate a 256GB SSD or 8GB RAM in a Windows laptop is that you're deferring some of the cost to save money at the time of purchase so that you can spend a little bit in three years instead of having to replace the entire computer. Because, you see, many people cannot afford to pay $1000 for a computer and need to buy a computer that costs $650 and will add $200 worth of hardware at a later date.

My minimum specs recommendations for a mac would be to configure one with the max possible RAM and SSD, look at the cost, and choose to go buy three i7 windows laptops with the same storage and RAM for less than the sticker price of the macs.

So let's say you want to get a 14" Macbook pro with the lowest-level processor. That's $2000. Now let's bump that from 16GB RAM and a 512GB SSD to 32GB and 2TB. That gets you to $3000. (The SSD is $200 less than on the lower model, and they'll let you put in an 8TB SSD for $1800 on this model; that's not available on the 13" because apple's product development team is entirely staffed by assholes who think you deserve a shitty computer if you can't afford to pay the cost of two 1991 Jeep Cherokee Laredos for a single laptop).

For $3000 you can get 3 Lenovo Workstation laptops with i7 processors, 32GB RAM, and a 2TB SSD.

And look, for just $200 more I could go up to 48GB RAM and get a 4TB SSD - it costs $600 to upgrade the 14" mac from a 2TB SSD to a 4TB SSD so you could still get three laptops with more ram and the same amount of storage for the cost of one macbook.

I get that some people need to use Final Cut and Logic Pro, but hoo boy they sure are charging you through the nose to use products that have become industry standard. The words "capture" and "monopoly" come to mind even though they don't quite apply here.

"Hostile" does, though, especially since Mac users end up locked into the ecosystem through software and cloud services and become uncertain how to leave it behind if they ever decide that a computer should cost less than a month's rent on a shitty studio apartment in LA.

There's a very good reason I didn't give mac advice and that's because my mac advice is "DON'T."

#sorry i swear i know you're being nice #i am incapable of being nice when talking about apple #i was a total apple fangirl until the unibody #which is the domino that started all the other companies pulling shit like soldered RAM #they said 'fuck you - users shouldn't service their own computers' and I say 'fuck apple - users shouldn't use macs' #and that has been my stance on the matter since 2012 #which was the last time i bought a macbook because i knew i'd never buy a computer that would fight me to change my own battery

[lightbarebunnies]

Hello! I saw that you have opened up requests and are willing to do match-ups! Could I possibly have one, please?

I'm 5'9'' and a little on the heavier side (she/her) with shoulder length, curly red hair and gray/blue eyes.

As for my hobbies, I love to draw and paint (charcoal is one of my favorite mediums) and I absolutely love creating fantasy world maps (I'm currently working on one for my Capstone creative writing final). I love writing and am in the process of writing my first book (what the map is for). I love gardening and I have a very large veggie and herb selection (My apple and peach trees are supposed to fruit next year and I'm super excited!). Foraging is something that I love. I love playing rhythm games, TTRP's ( I often play as a rogue), and video games. My favorite food would be Soba, my favorite drink would be Vanilla milk tea. Music wise, some of my favorite bands include Icon for Hire, Ghost Town, Good with Grenades, Skillet, and Breaking Benjamin.

Personality wise, I'm incredibly shy at first but when you get to know me, I can be more outgoing, I'll just need to recharge the social battery afterwards. I want to be helpful but there are times that I'm not really sure how. In high school, I was the mom friend. Anything you needed, it was most likely in the backpack. Snacks, water, lotion, a spoon (I carried a set of silverware all the time cause you never know), pain meds, hygiene products. A swiss army bag, is what my teachers called it. I have very high anxiety and can get overwhelmed very easily if I'm not careful.

My love language (giving) would be acts of service and quality time. Receiving would be physical touch and quality time.

I'm sorry if this is a lot, I wasn't sure what to put here so I just did a bit of everything! Take your time and remember to take care of yourself!

Oohh, this was a fun! It's my first time writing one of these - I might've gotten a little carried away though. If you aren't interested in my thought/decision making process, skip to the bottom!

Alright. So, I (as an autistic person) have a special interest in typology. While I'm not an expert by any means, it's just a really enjoyable way for me to analyse things - will be using some of the terms in my explanation. You don't need to know anything about enneagrams really, they're just an easy way for me to use talking points :3

Alright, initially, I decided to just think of anyone I think would have something in common with you. The list of your potential matches were

Natsume (Major Gamer, a fan of fantasy and thus creative writing, a pretty talented gardener)

Madara (Same favorite food! He is also in Kaori, which is a tea appreciation circle.)

Rei (LOVES gardens, but not so much gardening itself. Would definitely keep you company while you worked, provided there's shade. Perhaps he's introduced to you through his tea-loving brother?)

Eichi (He too is a writer, an enjoyer of gardens, and tea!)

Niki (I can imagine a nice dynamic between the two of you, he'd go crazy for your fresh produce, but you'd likely need to keep him from eating all of it.)

Ritsu (Tea fan, and a member of CRAFTMONSTER. I think he'd really benefit from your prepared-ness, as well!)

Midori (Gardener!)

Yuzuru (He is an artist!)

With that in mind, I did a little bit of just general thinking. At that point your top choices were Rei and Madara, but I wanted to delve a bit deeper.

Once I did that, I looked through each character's enneagrams to get a general idea what their basic fear and desires are. Yuzuru - 1 (Fears imbalance and being corrupted, desires balance and integrity.) Rei - 2 (Fears being unloved or unlovable, desires to be appreciated.) Eichi - 3 (Fears being considered worthless, desired to be needed) Natsume - 5 (Fears incapability or being unable to help oneself, desires understanding of the world around them) Midori - 6 (Fears being alone or lacking support, desires guidance) Madara - 7 (Fears being trapped, desires a feeling of contentedness) Niki, Ritsu - 9 (Fears loss and social rifts, desires peace of ones social circle)

I'm not the best at typing people currently, but from what you described I can see you having type 2 or 6 influences, likely as 6w5 or a 3w2.

Then I considered what you would bring to a relationship, your love languages both giving and receiving, and how they fit into everything. You're a carer. You care, you think of every possibility and prepare for anything. You then provide that to those you love so that they also have anything they may need. In my opinion - Rei, and Madara are the two that need to just have someone to be their person, the ones who sticks around even after they break down and stop being 'useful' or 'appealing'. One of the key differences between those two is that Madara is more extroverted and Rei is more introverted.

With all of that in mind… I'd match you with Rei!

You and Rei would have a Morticia and Gomez Addams type of romance. He adores you, you're absolutely enamored with him, and no one would ever question your relationship.

Rei usually brings an umbrella with him as he watches you tend to your garden, chatting with you about practically anything - if it's with you, it's bound to be entertaining. He's deeply interested in your creative writing, and likely would pick up TTRPGS to play them alongside you. He's a bit of a social chameleon, able to match your energy regardless of what level.

You offer him a place to belong, a home he can always return to. His clinginess can come and go, especially if he's in need of your attention, which comes from his lonely childhood. I think after some time he'd be far more comfortable and trusting of your bond... but he's still the type to always want to have a hand on you when you're in public. Resting it on the small of your back, holding your hand, his arm around your shoulder - it doesn't matter, he just wants to feel you there.

He tends to your needs, doing his best to ease your anxieties and reassuring you that things will be okay, and that he isn't going anywhere. When times are tough, and you feel totally overwhelmed, Rei would pull you close (likely to cuddle on a couch more often than his coffin) and just hold you. He wants you to feel him, his hand combing through your curls, to be reminded that in this moment you're here, with him, in the present. He'll ask you to share what it is that's on your mind, listening attentively as you lay in his arms. While not completely fearless himself, Rei is more than happy to battle your demons.

#.hyacinth answers #shytastemakerthing #.hyacinth matchmakes #ensemble stars #enstars #i wont tag character results to not spoil the surprise though #enstars x reader #ensemble stars x reader

[coyotevallie]

i feel like most of ur recent hc requests have been ships so im gonna switch it up with a character!!!! up and adam hcs would be nice,,,,,if you cant come up w many bc theres so little out about him rn elijah volkov hcs would also b great !!!!!

OOOOOO THIS IS FUN I LIKE INTERPRETING ON A VERY INFREQUENT CHARA . funnily i can come up with WAY more adam hcs bc i am not very much an elijah fan..... so i will not need the backup >:)

i think he has one of those pens that like . magically writes with ur blood when you use it yknow the type its what he uses for his notes in therapy sessions . he scribbles with it a lot in VERY FANCY HANDWRITING . he likes giving it to people cheerily and telling them to give it a try and then giggles when they go OWCH from the feeling of their blood being drained

i think he eats fruit a lot . the apple is obviously symbolic but he just broadly enjoys fruit as a whole its his primary snack besides trail mix and he EXCLUSIVELY eats it in the sloppiest ways possible . he is incapable of eating an orange without the juice dribbling down his chin

he strikes me as VERY VERY FIDGETY hes very energetic hes CONSTANTLY moving he cant hold still . even when hes not really Moving hes drumming his leg and shaking his tambourine and clicking his tongue and the pattern on his suit jacket is somehow Shifting and shit like that . he also talks very LOUD i see him as taking up Space

he hunts animals in the woods for fun . he just goes out there and starts hunting for rats and shit running on all fours like a wild animal he just goes BITE!!!!!! he does not need to do this to live he doesnt even really like the taste much he just does it for the fun of it all . sometimes he also goes and antagonizes like bears and shit so he can run away and feel like hes being hunted down as prey for the ADRENALINE of it all . he finds this delightful and sees it as very normal very therapeutic behavior

#my little adam interpretation #a silly little guy /evil /hateful /malicious #up and adam #camp here and there

[limetameta]

For the october-themed writeblr ask: 🍎 apple!

🍎 apple: let’s talk about friendship in your wip. do you have any favorite friend/platonic dynamics? any friendships gone sour?

i'd like to talk about the friendship of Maes Hughes and Solf J. Kimblee. I love those two. They're buddies. Maes saved Solf's life in Ishval. Solf feels slightly indebted towards him. Like, it's not equivalent exchange until they're even steven, you know?

Though Solf isn't really good friends with Maes. He's much better friends with Gracia than he is with Maes. Now in Metallic Crimson, because I wrote that before I realised how funny it'd be to have Kimblee and Gracia as besties - in early MC we mainly see Maes and Kimblee interacting due to their close proximity on the job. And they're definitely friends. Maes invites KImblee over. Kimblee always comes over. He plays with Elicia. But any meaningful conversations between these two? No, not really. It's always either work related, Maes' family related, or trying to dig up Kimblee's backstory for Roy's sake.

So, the more Ishval became further and further away the less Solf sees Maes as Maes rather than Gracia's husband and his CO. Like, they're still friends. Definitely. But are they really good friends?

Maes doesn't keep Kimblee at arm's length, and he certainly treats him like a human being more than your average soldier - but my god isn't that just the bare minimum?

''I'm friends with Kimblee even though he's a bit terrifying because of his bloodlust in Ishval, wow, I'm such a good friend! But- ha ha - oh wow - you know - not 100% on that whole if he'll hurt my kid or not front :D but that's not on me - if you knew Kimblee, you'd be the same way!'' - Maes Hughes on a regular basis wanting to be given a Gold Star in Friendship class.

In MC before Kimblee gets his ass handed to him by Scar, he was talking to Riza, visibly upset about the whole Nina situation as well as the Elrics bailing on their duty. But the main thing he was actually upset about is how people (mainly Maes) think he's just a human weapon who would carelessly escalate situations - how people still continue to perceive him as a ticking bomb and not an individual capable of reason and restraint (he even thinks to himself - i am all restraint - and the man is, if he weren't he'd have succumbed to the urge to blow them all up ages ago). Maes was worried about Elicia's safety, true, and that's very nice of him - but if Kimblee really was your friend you wouldn't be afraid that he'd do something to your kid. That he'd teach her alchemy and that she'd be able to hurt herself.

And the only reason why he blows up on Riza about this is because a) i've been writing this man as chronically sleep deprived on account of his ptsd so he can't keep up the facade anymore in this stage b) it's Riza and Riza's not Central City so Kimblee was hoping she'd understand him better

But let's get back to Maes.

Maes has a dose of fear when it comes to his view of Kimblee. Because he saw him in Ishval and he'll always associate Ishval first with Kimblee. Gracia won't. Gracia met PH stone-less Kimblee and befriended this very crushed man. Roy and Maes don't know anything real about Kimblee. They see Kimblee as this mystery to demystify and they even base most of their interactions with Kimblee around trying to figure out his mysterious backstory. Roy doesn't think Kimblee can even care about others (his surprise about Kimblee liking his own cat well enough to get emotionally invested in it, let alone his ability to form relationships with others genuinely - it could also be a way for Roy to further help himself understand that no- no, Riza Hawkeye would never be with Kimblee because Kimblee's incapable of forming a relationship with her so I'm in the clear there - she'd never go for him, not rly, she isn't blind just LOOK at the way he acts and the things he says)

Alex Armstrong believes humanity is wasted on Kimblee. This was put into context with Alphonse's state of humanity being put into question, how can someone as kind as Alphonse be regarded as not human because he doesn't have a body, whereas someone like Kimblee could be seen as human. Alex Armstrong remains with the belief that Kimblee shouldn't be human because of the way he acts. That he's a weapon in human form and nothing else.

Maes believes the same, actually, but his way of thinking and showing this is so much more subtler. Perhaps he doesn't even notice he's doing it, but when you mention things, when you act on things like this and they gradually build up into a mountain ready to topple down on Kimblee, he's bound to notice. Kimblee's not stupid, not at all. He's just got a very, very long fuse.

Maes never asks after Kimblee for the sake of asking and wanting to know things about him. He doesn't know much of anything about him, really. Definitely not anything that he wouldn't quickly tell Mustang about because they're both invested in this dehumanising little game of theirs where they're trying to dissect Kimblee like a book about his background and why does he act like that - like why does he just say stuff like that? what's actually wrong with him??

Kimblee's not from Central City. He's said so on multiple occasions, and yet he's expected to just understand everything about Central City because the setting demands it. Because he's regarded differently if he's from the outside. It's exhausting keeping up a front like that constantly. And Maes doesn't really interact with anyone other than Central City people or soldiers in Central who know how to act accordingly. Edward's a kid, he doesn't count - Maes is tolerant of that. But Kimblee doesn't talk about his background or his food or his culture with Maes, because Maes would just brush past that. Kimblee talks much more openly with everyone out of Central City, with a notable exception here being Gracia. But that's a whole other thing. Gracia's not really a great representation of Central attitude. Because she runs away from that life much more and tries to be better than her parents and her surroundings.

Everything Kimblee says and shares is regarded as a lie or a fib he did for a bit of comedy. Or as a misdirection to throw someone off or for shock factor because nobody knows Kimblee well enough to be able to tell whether or not he's even telling the truth.

Kimblee's been established in MC as a liar when it comes to talking about his mental health on account of his not wanting to be dishcarged from the military and the homunculi making sure he never gets discharged because he's useful to them. So he can't talk to a medical professional about his shell shock, even though he clearly has it. He can't talk to the veterans because his perception of that time differs immensely from theirs and Kimblee's going to become ostracised yet again by speaking about it. He can't talk about it with civillians because they won't understand AT ALL. But he's got a very big need to talk about it. He's the one that always starts the conversation because he's deprived of a chance to speak through it and get over what happened. Very traumatic for him, too, even though he caused a lot of destruction and was visibly having fun in Ishval. Post Isvhal, post-returned ph stone Kimblee is struggling hard.

Maes is out of Ishval. He doesn't want to talk about it and he definitely doesn't even want to understand Kimblee's perspective on the matter, because to him this is a finished matter.

In the dr marcoh chapter of mc, i think chap 7? not sure honestly it could be 6 - Alphonse says: I think Kimblee just wants to be understood. Not agreed with, not disagreed with, not called wrong or right - just understood. Just listened to. That's why Kimblee likes Alphonse so much, because Alphonse figured this out. Edward still thinks Kimblee wants to be debated constantly until it's proven that he's right and Edward's wrong. That's why they butt heads to often. Edward's like you're gonna agree with me or you're gonna die. He doesn't listen to Kimblee really. Neither does Maes.

Maes definitely listens to Kimblee when Kimblee talks and maybe 20% of that even goes inside his head, but the 80% just doesn't. Because at the end of the day Maes would have acted on instinct and saved Kimblee or any other soldier in uniform regardless of who they were.

Oh definitely Maes knows Kimblee loves the opera, but he doesn't know why. Maes would definitely go out with Kimblee, but that's also on a basis of wanting to not disrespect Kimblee because Kimblee's helped him out a bunch of times. Not particularly because he understands Kimblee or really wants to do it. He'll enjoy himself with Kimblee and he does like Kimblee, but if knowledge is a basis on friendship, Maes is incredibly starved of that knowledge.

And Kimblee's aware of that. But he's also aware that Maes so firmly believes that he's really good friends with Kimblee. And yet if asked anything about him, he won't be able to tell you anything.

Honestly, at this point, Kimblee's not even sure Maes knows what the J. stands for in Solf J. Kimblee. And isn't that just very insulting?

#metallic crimson #ask #finally got around to this one i was so busy and this deserved attention and care

[tontonhokage]

Ashes in my Wake: Chapter 2, Questions

[Links to all chapters here]

The next day, when Essek goes downstairs to meet Nott and Caleb, he finds them already two trosts deep into their breakfast and looking like they’d only just managed to kiss their pillows and not actually sleep on them.

He sits across from them and tries a careful, “Good morning?”

Caleb grunts out his ‘good morning’ while Nott actually seems to be attempting something pleasant, “Good morning, Mr. Thaine. How are you doing?”

“A bit better than you by the looks of it. Did something happen yesterday?” Essek asks, and they’re both silent for a moment.

“Zombies,” Caleb finally says, “at the circus.”

Veth nods vigorously, “At first it was just one, but then it killed someone and infected her too! And we think it was that little girl’s fault. She had such a nice voice…”

“She did,” Caleb muses, “ but we don’t know that she caused it. In any case, we got rid of them.”

“The zombies,” Veth clarifies, “and it wasn’t just us. All those other weirdos you met down here yesterday helped. But then they arrested Beau and all the people from the circus. But all of them got out, but none of us can leave town because we’re still under investigation.”

Caleb begins rubbing at his temples, “So now we get to look forward to sitting here and stressing until the Starosta figures this whole mess out.”

Their skills in storytelling are abysmal and Essek thinks he’s missing a lot of crucial details, but he decides not to press because frankly it looks like Caleb had been thinking about it far too much. Instead of that, Essek takes out his spellbook and places it on the table in front of him.

“How about you think about something else for a little while then? Nott tells me that I wouldn’t be turned away for trying to give you a few pointers?” Essek smiles.

Caleb looks suspicious, “In exchange for what?”

Essek shrugs, “Some company for the morning? A distraction from my work? I can put it in writing that I’m not going to try and charge you for this if you like.”

Caleb’s distrust doesn't seem to subside at all as he asks, “And what kind of work is it that you do, Dezran?”

Now there’s a dangerous question. Essek can’t save the world alone, he knows that…so it would logically follow that if he needs the Nein’s help he’s going to have to tell them what he’s doing. They are however, not the warriors that he remembers if they’re incapable of escaping the ire of a po-dunk Empire town’s Starosta. For light’s sake, without Caduceus they’re not even the team that he remembers. And on top of that, he’d technically only met them yesterday. Every bone in his body screams at him to trust them, to not repeat his mistakes and to lay all his secrets bare before them, but he can’t. He can’t drop something so big on them after having scarcely talked to them once. It will take time.

So Essek opts for being cryptic instead and gives Caleb a condescending smile, “Something far above your paygrade I’m sure.”

Caleb regards Essek for a long time. His distrust doesn't seem to be quelled, but he concedes, "Alright, in that case what would you have me learn today?"

Essek considers the question for a moment, then says, “How about we try for something simple. A cantrip. No paper required.”

“Can we get a demonstration?” Veth demands with wide eyes and excited fidgety fingers.

Essek pauses, “It's…rather painful for any creature you cast it on. Though I suppose it would work on some produce? You’ll have to test the full results the next time you encounter…circus zombies was it?”

Caleb snorts, nods, then rolls an apple he’d been gnawing on over to Essek, “So what does it do exactly?”

Essek casts Sapping Sting on the apple as it rolls, and then holds the fruit up for their examination. The just pristine red apple’s skin now shows some browning and bruises that hadn’t been there before.

“It steals a bit of time from any creature you target. Not much, but enough to sting.” Essek knows he’s being manipulative with his choice of cantrip, but he also knows that Caleb (among other members of the Nein) is distrustful by nature. He’ll flaunt a little chronurgy in his face of it at least captures Caleb's interest. Also…he rather enjoys impressing Caleb. It seems to work as he watches the weary set of Caleb’s shoulders subtly straighten and the man’s eyes become alert and interested and oh doesn't having this man's attention feel lovely.

“It's only a little thing,” Essek continues, tossing Caleb the apple, “but the more you practice the more time you can sap.”

Veth scurries over to press into Caleb’s side and the two of them poke and prod at the apple’s newly bruised and tender flesh with interest. She seems almost as interested as Caleb and asks Essek somewhat shyly, “Would you teach me this one too, Mr. Thaine?”

Essek smiles at her and over a plate of hash, he explains to them the theory behind this particular cantrip, shows them just where and how to focus their magic and guides them through the motions of it. He orders a few more apples for the two of them to practice on and by the time Fjord and Molly come down the stairs and wander over to their table, there’s at least a dozen bruising little fruits rolling around between their plates. 

Molly grabs one of the abused apples as he takes a seat across from Essek, takes a bite and offers a, “Good morning,” through his mouthful to Caleb and Veth. He swallows then turns to Essek and says, “And good morning to you, sir who walked away before I could even properly introduce myself yesterday. I’m Mollymauk.” Molly takes another bite and offers his hand out for Essek to shake.

“Is it safe for him to eat that?” Veth asks and Molly freezes mid-chew, his eyes going wide.

Essek chuckles, then shakes Molly’s stiff hand, “Yes it's perfectly safe, you’re fine Mollymauk. My name is Dezran and I apologize for my behavior yesterday. You caught me in a bad mood.”

Molly relaxes, nods and continues eating. Fjord gives him a disgusted look, “What, you’re not even gonna ask what they did to those?

He hums, “Do I want to know?”

Essek shrugs, “Just a bit of harmless magic.”

"Speaking of magic, I was just asking Caleb last night if he knew anything about the Soltrice Academy. Me and Jester were thinking of making our way up that way," Fjord grimaces, “well, once we resolve this whole thing with the circus. Did you hear…?”

Essek waves a hand, “Caleb and Nott were kind enough to fill me in. I’m glad to see you looking well after your ordeal.”

Fjord nods, “Thank you. But yeah, I’m trying to find out as much about the Academy as I can before we get there. You don’t happen to know anything about it, being a wizard and all?”

Essek’s eyes slide over to Caleb and he finds the man already studying him, waiting on his response. He is of course aware of Caleb’s history at that institution even if it is severely lacking in context having been mostly learned through brusque comments and innuendo rather than any proper explanation. 

“And what did you tell him? I’d rather not repeat anything he’s already heard.” Essek asks, putting on a face of faintly tickled curiosity rather than the nervousness he actually feels. It will be a delicate subject for him to navigate.

“Not much, just that it's hard to get into,” Caleb shrugs, “ I don’t know much more than that.”

A lie then. Essek nods then turns to Fjord, “Alright, then what is it that you want to know? What are you hoping to accomplish by going there?”

“Well,” Fjord begins, “you weren’t there at the circus to see, but I don’t just swing around this sword here. I can do a bit of magic which is kind of a recent development for me. I was just…hoping to find out more about it really. Where it comes from and how to use it.”

“Oh, well in that case my advice is to stay away from the Academy. Far away from it.” Essek says with firmness and surety.

Fjord looks surprised, “Really? Why?”

“In truth, I would have given you that same advice in almost any circumstances, but particularly the way you describe your magic, ‘a development’. I gather you didn’t learn it then? Not from a master or a book? Not through rote and study?”

Fjord shakes his head and Essek continues, “Yes, then Soltrice from my understanding will not turn you away necessarily, but any magics outside the practice of wizardry are not their, ah…specialty. So I would advise you to seek your answers and your guidance elsewhere.”

“But they are good at teaching wizard magic?” Veth asks and Essek does not like that gleam in her eye.

“I said it was their specialty, but I would not say they were good at it. Good implies, “ Essek struggles with his words for a moment, “…something that they lack. Effective I would rather say.”

“Now what does that mean?” Molly asks curiously.

“It means that the Cerberus Assembly is a group run by a flock of unbridled and selfish little gannets who while away the hours jerking each other off, fucking each other over and inserting their political ambition into as many of this forsaken empire’s institutions as possible. And they have seen fit to to dig their claws into the education of every mind at the Soltrice Academy, the Halls of Erudition and every gormless Berk and Betsy who can find the time between hours of slaving away in the name of Dwendal to attend a crown-funded class or two.” Essek spits, feeling shame alongside his fury as every accusation he made of them was meant just as much for himself and his own performance as Shadowhand. The people of the Dynasty had deserved far better than his ambitions and his scheming. Essek has to close his eyes and start taking deep breaths to calm down.

“What the hell did you guys say to Thain to get him worked up this early?” Beau complains as she and Jester approach and help themselves to the seats on either side of Essek.

“Was he worked up just then? I thought that was his default.” Molly mocks over the rim of a water glass he’s currently sipping from.

Essek does regret his rudeness with Molly the previous day, but he decides to be petty anyways and subtly flicks his fingers at Molly’s glass. The tiefling overcompensates for the glass’s suddenly and very magically diminished weight and flings the contents of the cup into his own face. He sputters.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” Beau says, eyeing Molly distastefully.

Jester seems to be the only one to have noticed Essek’s spell and she offers him a sly grin. He winks at her and Jester’s responding giggle is enough to soothe the intense emotions that had just roiled through him.

“I was only asking about the Soltrice Academy. I had no idea things were so…political here in the Empire.” Fjord says, apparently deciding to ignore Molly’s antics.

“No more than anywhere else. I might just be slightly more invested than your average person.” Essek sighs.

“Were you a student then? Of the Academy?” Caleb asks. His tone is casual but his stare is fierce.

“No, actually I was taught by my mother, then by hired tutors when my curiosity outgrew her patience.” Essek explains.

“That’s a fair bit of animosity you’ve got for an institution you’ve never even attended.” Molly points out as he drags his tunic up to dry his face.

Essek pauses, choosing his words carefully, “...I had a friend who learned his trade at the Soltrice Academy. I’ve heard about what goes on behind those walls…and I may or may not have had dealings in the past with members of the Assembly that have informed my ah…critical opinion of them. Do whatever you will with what I’ve told you, Fjord. What you want may very well be in that Academy, I only ask that you bear in mind the forces at play in this country when you make your decision. And that’s all I’m willing to say about it for the moment.”

“Well in that case, now that we’re all here: we need a plan.” Fjord says, switching subjects easily.

Essek simply listens, packing away his spellbook as they plot. Their conversation fills in a lot of the gaps that Caleb and Nott's story had left, notably explaining Yasha's absence as one of those mysterious flights that she was prone to. Essek is amused though not surprised to hear them plotting to take the justice of Trostenwald into their own hands. They're a lot more timid about their plans than he's ever seen them be, but he supposes they're only just becoming the friends he knew despite how achingly familiar they all seem.

He only interjects when he sees  Molly pull out wigs and makeup, apparently hoping a little facepaint will be enough for them to slip past their guards.

"How about," Essek offers, wiggling his fingers meaningfully, "I give you all a bit of help with your disguises and you can save yourselves the energy and the paint, hm?"

"Oh, me and Fjord can already do that for ourselves. We’re sneaky like that.” Jester says

“Would it tempt you to know that the disguise I cast on you will last eight hours and withstand most lower-level wards?” he offers

Fjord whistles, “Eight hours? Well shoot, alright. I’ll take it if you’re offering.”

Essek turns to Veth, “What about you, Nott? It might ease your way to appear a bit less… green.” 

Fjord frowns, “Hey.”

“Ah,” Says Essek apologetically, “no offense.”

He eventually manages to sweet talk everyone into having Seeming cast on them. Even Caleb who insists that it is unnecessary (he isn’t under house arrest after all) aquiesses when he’s reminded that observing new magics is key to his improvement. They all find themselves in the privacy of Fjord and Molly’s room for the casting. Essek takes a minute to consider their disguises before he casts.

For Jester, Essek gives the guise of a half-elven woman sporting some ethereal pastoral-chic garments and long flowing midnight-black hair. She immediately begins posing in from of a mirror.

Beau, he turns into a human man: older, darker and balder than herself and she is predictably delighted by this.

Fjord becomes human as well: an old pale man with a bulbous nose, big ears and a hunch. He nods at his disguise in approval.

Essek felt a little petty when he’d picked out Molly’s disguise and he thinks he really needs to stop doing this. Molly isn’t Lucian, so there’s no reason to keep poking at him at every given opportunity. Despite understanding the error of his ways, Essek still gets some satisfaction when Molly observes his new disguise and moans out, “Oh, now look at what you’ve done to me you terror. Dezran, how could you?!”

He’d kept Molly a tiefling, though he’d opted for a much more common crimson for his skin and blond for his hair. He had also given him a ghastly choppy bowl cut that sat awkwardly around his horns and a painfully bland outfit which managed to be both unflattering and terribly out of fashion.

Veth…had been trickier. He wanted her to feel a bit more like her old self but it wasn’t as though he could just slap a face he shouldn’t know on her and expect her not to ask questions. So he makes her look Veth…adjacent. She’s a gnome for one, not a halfling. Her skin is kept within the same range as her old self, maybe two or three shades off. He maintains her old roundness and maybe her eyes are exactly the same shape that he remembers, but everything else is different. The nose is too narrow, the lips too thin, eyebrows too arched, hair too light, the eyes too blue. He even makes her look six or seven years younger. 

Essek subtly watches her out of the corner of his eye after he casts the spell as she stares silently at herself in the mirror, her face unreadable. She sniffles and he turns away, leaving her what meager privacy he can to turn to Caleb.

“You hardly did anything.” the man grouses and Essek shrugs.

“You said you weren’t forbidden from leaving so I was only giving you a bit of a touch-up.” Essek explains.

True to their words, Caleb truthfully doesn't look all that different. All that changed was that his skin was cleared of any grime, his hair appears combed and tidy, his beard oiled and a little fuller. Essek had swapped out Caleb’s clothes, but not anything dramatic. The illusion’s garments all have the same cut as Caleb’s filthy ones, they only appear clean, pressed and of a good deal higher quality.

“Ooooh Caleb, you look so handsome!” Jester coos and latches herself to his arm. Her nose wrinkles, “Ugh, you’re still pretty stinky though.”

The preen and bitch and settle into their disguises for a few minutes before Fjord starts herding everyone towards the door, eager to begin their investigation. In the hallway, Essek bids them goodbye and he’s met with a disappointed look from Veth.

“You’re not coming with us, Mr. Thaine?” she asks.

Essek cocks his head to the side, “Why would I? I’ve got no name to clear.”

“We’d appreciate any help you can give, any at all.” Fjord urges.

“Then consider those disguises of yours my contribution to the cause.”Essek says, then grins, “ You owe me one.”

Fjord chuckles, “Alright, fair enough. Let's go.” and all but Beau begin to make their way back downstairs. She’s staring at him. He stares back.

“So,” she says conversationally once the rest are out of earshot, “you’ve had dealings with the Cerberus Assembly before? You must be kind of a bigshot. What brings someone like you down to little old Trostenwald?”

“Nothing particularly. I was walking, I needed a bed and saw a town so I went to it.” He says which is actually completely honest, though its clear Beau isn’t buying it by the way her illusory beard bristles.

“Alright, it's cool. Keep your secrets.” she punches his shoulder, “I’ll see you later, man.” then turns to join the rest of the Nein.

Essek gets back to work.

***

“Do you guys think Dezran is involved in this?” Beau asks after a few hours of investigation turns up nothing and they’re all loitering by the docks trying to come up with ideas.

Jester gives her a funny look, which Beau doesn't think looks as cute in that elf disguise, “Why would you think that?”

“So you all heard him this morning right? He said he’s had dealings with the Cerberus Assembly before, so that must mean he’s something important. And he’s sitting here in the middle of no-fucking-where Trostenwald. And when I asked him what he was doing here he basically said he just wandered in, and that can’t be true. It's totally suspicious. Plus, he’s like a super powerful wizard so he’s probably capable of…zombie-fication.” Beau explains.

Caleb frowns, “When I asked him what he did for work, he told me it was, ‘far above my paygrade’ and didn't elaborate.”

“Why would some Empire big-shot want to sabotage a circus though?” Fjord asks.

“I don’t know, but he clearly doesn't like me,” Molly says from his perch on a fence post, “and he was asking Yasha some awfully sensitive questions yesterday, so you can’t say for sure he hasn’t got something against carnies.”

“He apologized for being rude yesterday though, he said he was just in a bad mood.” Veth points out.

“But right after that he played that little trick where he made Molly pour water on himself.” Jester laughs.

“Oh I knew that was him, that little scut!” Molly cries.

“I just thought you were being an idiot.” Beau says flatly, “But anyways, there’s something else. When I was having that conversation with him where I asked him why he was here, I punched him in the shoulder and my fingers passed through his sleeve a little. Like it was an illusion.”

The incensed cries and looks of concern are just about what Beau expects, but then she sees Nott staring very thoughtfully at her illusory hands, brow furrowed.

“Okay, so he’s hiding something. So what?” Nott says and she points a finger at Molly, “I want to know why you have freaky bloody icy sword powers, but it's not like it's any of my business. I bet you all want to know why a goblin is running around with a human in big people’s settlements where everyone wants to kill her, but that’s none of your business either! So what if Dezran is wearing an illusion? Maybe he has a good reason for it. And he wasn’t even at the circus last night anyways, he stayed behind remember?”

“He could have been wearing a disguise, we already know he can cast pretty good ones,” Beau challenges and spreads her arms out to display her manly bearded self.

Veth presses her lips together, “I think he’s a nice guy.”

“Nice? Look at what he turned me into!” Molly cries, gesturing to his clothes.

“Last time I checked, being a little cheeky with someone wasn’t enough to make a man guilty!” Nott snaps.

“Nobody is saying he’s guilty,” Fjord steps in and holds up his hands diplomatically, “we’re just exploring our options here, Nott. We can look into Dezran with an open mind.”

Nott glowers at her feet and Caleb places a hand on her shoulder, “Hey, let’s go take a breather, huh?”

Beau watches as Caleb leads Nott away with pursed lips

***

Essek finally comes to a decision: he needs to find Caduceus before he does anything else. Essek knows that the Nein traveled with Molly for some time before he’d been killed, but doesn't know when. Which is an issue because Molly can’t die, that’s just leaving the door wide open for Lucian to take charge of his old body, become the Nonagon again and no. Molly has to live. But as much as seeing them eases the ache in his chest, Essek cannot waste time tooling around backwoods Empire towns acting like Molly’s bodyguard while the Nein figure out which end of the sword to stab with so to speak.

There are things that need doing in Eisselcross, there’s a halfling man and his son in Felderwin that need relocating, there’s a war that needs preventing among a whole host of other things. None of which can be seen to while Essek is connected to Molly at the hip. Hence: Caduceus. It's a hope not a certainty, but having an extra cleric travel with them (one who Essek will be sure to pile high with diamonds) should do the trick of keeping the tiefling alive and void of Lucien in his absence.

He had not, however, ever had the pleasure of visiting The Blooming Grove so there’s a good chance he’s going to have to do at least part of the journey on foot and that is not a pleasant thought.

#critical role fanfiction #critical role fanfic #essek thelyss #4k words #matt gave essek a vaguely central european accent #but here when he got worked up i had him barking like a yorkie this is my design

[littlefreya]

Good Girl

gif credit amancanfly

Synopsis: Henry is at the gym testing the new Glute Drive while his longing wife drops by to visit and decides to play a little wicked game of teasing. 

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings: Explicit, this is basically ALL smut. Slight SubMale / DomFem then a lot of DomMale / SubFem, dry humping, cock teasing, dangerous driving, fingering, dirty talk, daddy kink, slight size kink (I am all the kinks today), unprotected sex and bodily fluids!

A/N: Okay so this fic was born out of the UNHOLY union between this thread and the video of Henry going “good boy” at Kal. Many thanks to my darling @agniavateira​ for helping me proofread this!

Title: Good Girl

There he is, my bear of a man. His sculpted, wide body plastered to some medieval-looking torture device. Strong, large arms hang onto the handles, muscles flexing. Slick with sweet sweat, he thrusts his hips up and down while grunting with effort.

Who the hell came up with this air-fucking machine?

I walk through the deserted mirrored room, my black painted nails scratching the glass as I draw closer toward Henry. Gyms tend to be freezing, and I’m not properly dressed for a workout session with my mini plaid skirt and a dark grey t-shirt. But his arduous gasps fill the chilled space enough to make things a little warmer. 

“What are you doing here, little one?” Henry finally asks, pausing his thrusts for a moment as he spots my cattish moves toward him.

I observe silently as I inch closer. he has his waist strapped to a bench, heavy weights of 80kg are on each side of his body while he lifts upward and presses his behind back down. A sheer layer of sweat covers him entirely, his skin glistening in the fluorescent’s light. His favourite blue top is soaked.

“I came home from the studio and my hubby wasn’t there.” I pout, standing right at the edge of the bench where his feet are pressed for support.

He pouts back at me, genuine care on his face. My darling bear might have the endurance of a large predator, but his heart is all strawberry marshmallow when it comes to his lady. He hates to spend time apart. Whenever our schedules collide it’s all about Face-timing and sending nudes. 

Honestly? I care less than he does about this shit ever getting leaked. I even keep some steamy under-the-cover selfies so I’ll have something to work with when either of us is away.

But what I hate the most, is having him here yet he’s absent. The Pre-production shenanigans have him preparing for his next role, which usually means working himself at the gym to the point of collapsing, just so he could look like some demi-god. Honestly, I wouldn’t mind him having a little body fat. That’s why I bake him pizza every weekend. What his gym coach doesn’t know, can’t hurt him.  

“I’ll be done in 10 minutes, darling.” he answers and continues to slowly push down and up again, releasing a pained grunt and clenching his teeth. “Just…  two… more… sets.”

“I don’t want to wait.” I alert him, circling the machine carefully to not get in his way. I appreciate the hard work and stamina, but I am quite tired of having the downside of the deal. Every day for the last 2 weeks I received an exhausted Cavill with aching, strained muscles. The most action I got was massaging his muscles in the bathtub which might sound romantic if not for him snoring 3 minutes in.   

“Ten minutes,” he mentions again. He’s out of breath as he ascends and then lowers once more, the weights pressuring his body down while the bands create a resistance. 

No way in hell someone came up with this device and didn’t think this is a sex thing. I see my bear thrusting his hips upward like this and only one thing goes through my mind. 

Oh, how I need to be on top of this mountain of a man.

I cannot help myself, nor can I hide the malicious grin forming on my mouth. I lift my leg carefully, hovering it in the air above him. I cage him between my straddled legs whilst giving him my best dominatrix glare. Henry raises his eyes to meet mine, looking dumbfounded. 

“What are you doing, darling? You’ll hurt yourself.”

Oh, sweet summer child. 

I sway my hips in a slow dance, with the thrust of his body and his heavy breaths as the music I’m dancing to. The arousal in his eyes is evident within seconds. His lips part away slowly, his beautiful blue eyes begin to cloud, and his adam’s apple slides upward in his throat as he swallows.

“At home.”

“Here.” I ignore his request lowering myself slowly and carefully to squat over his groin. He’s not hard, yet.

Henry releases a deep loud grunt. Usually, I am weightless for him, but right now I’m adding to already 160kg of weights. Well, he is the type of guy who likes to push his limits and I am the type of girl who likes to test boundaries. 

“Don’t,” Henry protests, another grunt escaping his lips. I stretch myself, my ass pressing back, my groin rubbing against the tender muscle that begins hardening between my legs. I can feel the rush of blood, making him throb and grow vast between my legs.

“Don’t do what?” I press my teeth against the lushness of my lower lip viciously, beginning to grind against the hardness in slow circular motions. “Don’t you have two more sets?”

He clenches his teeth, his hands tightening around the handles so harshly his knuckles whiten. With great effort he lifts up, succumbing to my wickedness. His erected cock is concealed underneath his clothes, yet I press and dance onto it, making blissful moans as the friction has me singing that sweet familiar tune.

When he pulls down I dive with him, feeling the exhale of his body and the dancing twitch of muscles. I greatly anticipate the next push upward, my hands reaching to squeeze my breasts together. My panties are now soaked with moisture as I press and rub, bringing myself closer.

When he lifts again, his thrust is a wee bit faster. He’s either getting used to my weight on his groin, or the adrenaline of the beast that I’ve been teasing allows him to push higher. He angles his hips into mine, serving my need, and gives me the friction I demand. His eyes meet mine and pure darkness devours me within them. 

I am in so much fucking trouble, but it’s so worth it. 

“Oh Henry, you’re making me so wet.” 

I moan his name, rubbing myself on his cock at a demanding speed while he lifts up and down. My clit tingles, swollen against his enormous bulge as that familiar wave begins to spread. He’s so hard, so painfully swollen, and so incapable of getting any release while I ride him into a powerful orgasm.

I clutch his thighs, desperate gasps spiralling out my mouth as the pleasure continues to hit my core. My nails dig deep into the hardened flesh but I can’t be bothered.

“Oh god…” I throw my head backwards, trying to adjust my breath while my legs are shaking around his wide waist. There’s still a throbbing hardness against my burning core, the angry drumming of blood pulsating against my opening. 

I’m tempted to take my phone and capture his looks in my camera. But I’m in too much trouble as it is. Henry is drenched in sweat, upset in ways I’ve never seen in my life. He's done with his workout for today,  no doubt about that.

“Are you done?” he asks me with a frown. 

I lick my lips and lift myself up, knees nearly giving up as my legs are still numb from the intensity of pleasure. I let out a provoking giggle, putting my finger between my teeth, knowing he likes that gesture. This is my favourite battle, control. He enjoys superiority with his physical power, but every now and then I sweep the rug beneath his feet. And though he loves it when I am his good girl, sprawling and letting him take what he wants, when I am bad, the beast is willing to split my ass in half.

Guess I won this round. 

Henry unbuckles the harness from his waist as I step back. He takes the towel from the bench and wipes his face. My eyes fixate on the still hard swelling in his nether area. I could offer to take care of it for him, but I am not feeling this generous right now. Better keep his stamina for home, so I can actually get me a proper shag in a nice, clean bed with a nice, clean husband that doesn’t smell like an entire rugby team.

“Go wait in the reception.” he demands, his tone anything but sweet right now. 

“Don’t take too long.” I demand in return as I turn around, flipping back my hair and letting it slide down my ass. I can hear his frustrated groan behind me, just before I leave the room. It makes me lose myself in a burst of chuckles. 

~*~

Henry meets me downstairs, a serious expression on his face. His gaze doesn’t meet mine, letting me know that unlike myself, he is vastly unamused. He takes my wrist in his big hand and leads me outside while smiling to bid bored receptionist goodbye. 

I am forced to follow his large strides. Being a tall man, every step of his is equal to three small ones of mine. Even though it seems like his “problem” subsided, he’s not exactly interested in waiting.

He’d always be tender in his behaviour towards me, a respectful gentleman who knows how to treat women. Sure, he can rearrange a guy’s skull, but he never raised his voice at me. He’d take a walk outside the house and then return to so we can have a talk like adults. 

But this is not a fight. This is but our favourite little war. Ongoing from the day we met.

I notice that we are not going to the car. Instead, he leads me to a narrow, dark space between two buildings. I can smell the damp sidewalk, the scent of earlier rain filling my nose. This spot is anything but romantic or erotic, with street cats screeching at the back and the sounds of trash cans being hit as they bounce on top of the lids.

Finally, he towers above me. His hand lets go of mine and hold it open in front of me with a demanding look in his eyes.

“Take off your panties.” 

I let out a bemused laugh, dry and short as I am uncertain of his odd demand. But he holds out his hand at the stern request, motioning for me to do as I’m told. 

“Here?!” I ask, looking around to see if there is anyone who might be a voyeur on our little engagement. The last thing I need is our agents scolding us again for photos of us being inappropriate in public places. Gretchen swears we make these mess on purpose. We kinda do, because we can’t keep away from one another.

“You want another one of your fancy pairs turned into rubbish?” he threatens.

I comply, breathing out like a brat and leaning down to take off my underwear for him. I place it in his hand and move back against the wall, anticipating his next move. I guess “Cavill and wife caught doing cardio after the gym!” could be a funny headline, better than the one at the hotel at the Academy Awards.

Henry folds the small material in his hand, holding it in his fist as if it’s something he can actually squeeze, before shoving it into his pocket. He grabs something else in exchange. I hear the chink of his car keys, dangling between his fingers as he offers them to me.

“You drive.”

There are no explanations, nor can I make anything of his behaviour. My man is willed with the control of his emotions. To outburst is to be weak, I am keen on that, my own terrible flaw. It only pisses me off more to see him keeping himself so relaxed while I am always the one who sees fire. 

I follow his order, walking after him silently as he leads me to where he parked the car. Having no underwear beneath my short skirt is anything but convenient right now, especially when I have to enter the vehicle and crouch down. 

I try fixing my skirt to cover myself, feeling the leather of the seat beneath my ass and other regions while Henry begins messing with the music player. I can see the small smirk at the corner of his lip, it’s evident that he’s having himself a good time knowing how uncomfortable I am at this very moment.

I roll my eyes at him and try closing my knees together as much as I can while stepping my foot on the gas.

He puts on Queens of the Stone Age and takes the passenger seat back, remembering he needs more legroom than I usually require. His head turns to face me, his lips sucked into his mouth in a cunning gesture.

“Had yourself a good time?” 

His hand reaches toward my knee, grazing at the bone with featherlike movements. It tickles, I am forced to move my knee from him involuntarily, but he keeps it in place, resting his entire large hand on my kneecap.

“I’m driving…” I warn him, keeping my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road.  

I can tell he is smirking wickedly, his eyes staring at the road ahead of us carefully and then back at me. His fingers make their way up my thigh, snakelike on my bare skin. His palm is large and warm, pressing onto my inner thigh while his thumb draws invisible circles on my skin.

“Henry…” I warn again, feeling cool air blowing against my lips as he forces my legs to part wider for him. “You’ll get us killed!”

“Then focus on the road.” he commands, licking his lips. His fingers meet my wetness in a touch so tender it’s almost a phantasm, yet still there, undoubtedly making me swallow a sigh and squirm slightly in my seat. It’s as if he is testing the water first, a slight brush before plunging in and damn if he doesn’t push into me with his fingers, pressing three of his large digits to massage my heat. 

“Fuck!” 

I am fighting to keep my eyes open, my hands clutching at the steering wheel while my left foot kicks at the floor. 

“Maybe we should stop.” I suggest, nearly pleading. 

“Keep driving, we’re almost home.” he answers, sounding relaxed. The amused grin has vanished from his face, replaced with the severeness of pride and triumph.

He strokes my cunt between his fingers in a tight grip, his fingers running up and down, playing with my wetness, smearing it across his hand before plunging two of his knuckles inside me as we stop at a red light. I am very much aware that other drivers might see us, so does he, but he seems to care very little if anyone spots him pleasing his wife. 

“Aww…” he mocks me, hearing the helpless cry that pushes out of my throat. “You shouldn’t have been such a bad little girl.” he teases some more, his fingers now plunging in and out with excitement. I allow myself to grind at the surface of his palm to achieve more friction at the base of my clit so maybe we can finish this quickly before the light is green.

But he’s the one in charge of my satisfaction now. He holds his hand further, so I will have none of it and keeps the stimulation only at the rim of my cunt, his fingers circling my entrance. 

“Too bad you had to tease me like that.” he murmurs in his low voice, his fingers slowly withdrawing and only his thumb grants my clit with a small tender brush.

 “Now you’ll have to wait, and be a good girl for daddy.”     

I let out another cry, arching toward the wheel and biting on my lips. It's not out of pleasure, but out of torturous frustration as he withdraws completely. I give him a quick, infuriated stare, seeing how he sucks his fingers victoriously, enjoying every single drop of his sweet win.

Feeling slick between my thighs, I press slightly harder on the gas pedal, trying to get us home faster. Henry pumps the volume of the music player higher.

Watch you come from above

I'm so needy for love, I'm desperate,

Greedy in slavery I sneak around from behind I got a one track mind We got a skin on skin thing baby I want to lick you too much I hear you comin ooh aaaah baby 

~*~

The moment we enter the house I lock the door and try to make my move but he has his hand on my throat in less than a second, squeezing not too tight, but tight enough to make a point. His blue eyes scan my face, his soft tongue slithering across the freckle of his lower lip with arousal. 

“Get on your knees, little one. You’re not off the hook yet.” 

I gasp at his fierceness, weak against his charisma and beauty. I stroke his face, still sticky with sweat from earlier, my fingers are gently smoothing against the stubbles on his high cheekbones and at the dimple of his chin. 

“Please, daddy, just fuck me already,” I bargain. 

“I’m wet and ready for you.”

“On your knees.” he repeats himself, his lips twitching to a small grin as he sees my defeat. His hand slightly releases my neck, his fingers pet my chin and jaw and finally entangle in my hair as I fall to my knees slowly, levelling myself at the height of his groin. His hand strokes my head lovingly, pressing my chin against his growing arousal as I look up to him with fake innocence.  

“Are you gonna be good now?” he asks, his fingers twirling around my long hair lovingly. 

“Yes, daddy.” I nod, waiting to have his cock in me, in any part of me. I want to touch myself so badly, my pussy throbs with desperate eagerness to be stuffed by his huge cock. . 

“I want to see you crawl on fours and wait for me in the living room, babygirl.” he growls at me while discarding his blue top on the wooden floor, exposing his thick hairy chest. 

“I want to look at your cunt as you move for me before I’ll destroy it. You’ve been such a nasty girl today.” 

I shiver at his words, a shrill of air kicks out of my lungs at once. My toughness is down to non-existing. I let him have it, I let him have it all. I crawl on my knees and palms like a cat in heat, my ass exposed for him. My cunt drips with primal desire to be conquered by this menacing alpha. I stop for a moment and then look behind me. I see him kicking off his shoes, his sweats slipping down his thick thighs along with his briefs before he continues to follow me, holding his erection in his hand, massaging the base of his cock while looking at me to open wide for him.

I reach the furry white IKEA carpet in our living room and wait for him, still on all fours. His heavy footsteps make the wood creak beneath his weight which alerts me that he’s close. The heat of his body is near. I feel the aura of his body as he falls down to his knees carefully behind me. 

His hands smooth against the curve of my ass, appreciating my shape to the point of worshipping my flesh. He takes the time to study again what he knows better than I do, trailing up to lift my skirt until it’s hiked around my belly. He then pushes my shirt, prompting me to take it off. Not an easy task to perform on all four limbs.

For one lingering moment, his hands roam across my body, massaging my muscles, pinching my nipples between his fingers. I moan beneath his large hands as he coaxes me into being his little plaything, succumbing to his will. Possessive fingers grip my shoulder and in a sudden movement, I’m pressed with my back down while Henry pushes my legs apart with his knees. 

“I just love to look at your face when I fuck you, babygirl.” he explains, his hands pulling my legs violently against his hips to position me as he desires. That way, we can both enjoy the show of his cock slipping in and out of my slit.

I squirm beneath him, my hands reaching for his chest to stroke at the thick dark hair and hardened pecs. “Please, fuck me.” I beg to the point of whining as I look at his sturdy cock, admiring every vein and ridge that decorates his impressive size. Henry takes himself and begins to tease my entrance, making teasing groaning voices while I plea so weakly. 

But that’s only to prepare me for his brutal invasion. He lets out a loud husky shout as he pushes in, penetrating me with such vulgarness, it takes the air out of my lungs. I am split in half, feeling how my body stretches immediately to bind itself to him. 

My narrow slit tries to remain resilient while Henry keeps himself nested between my lush folds, a groan of pure pleasure vibrates through his glorious chest before he takes my jaw in his great hand and makes me look at him to see the sin in his eyes.

“Good girl…”  he calls out in his deep low voice, pulling himself out slowly and then slamming back inside me in with a slippery wet slap. I gasp, my entire body shuddering in his veiny arms. 

“Good girl.” He speaks again, letting the words roll and linger on his tongue.

His rhythm is somewhere between torturous to divine. When he pulls away he does it ever so slowly, watching with perverse fascination his own cock as it slides out my narrow entrance just before he slams back in. Henry promised that he will destroy me; he never breaks a promise. I already feel how my muscles are thrown into a paradox, trying to resist him yet have him deeper and deeper with each one of his amazing thrusts.  

“Look at how you take me,” he calls in a guttural voice, urging me to look at our union. “You have such a tight succulent cunt, baby.” 

It feels almost too sinful to stare, my entire existence shivers at the sight. His big beautiful cock enters me, slick with my juices as he increases the pace. I’m petite but with him inside I’m forced to expand, my body stealing his shape, embracing him with devotion, wanting him to be like this forever.

His wide thighs are placed right beneath my legs, his right hand silks its way down my hip and grips me roughly as he pounds me in increasing speed. With one hand still on my jaw, he presses his fingers to my mouth where I suck and bite at him. He always wants me to look at him, loves it when I’m hopeless beneath him when my mouth cries for him while he stuffs me with his cock, over and over again. 

I squirm to meet his pelvis. He fucks me so raw that no actual words come out of my mouth but the mewls of a small, helpless animal instead. Being hunted for sport rather than eating. I grind my clit against his pubic bone to elicit more delightful friction, getting me closer and closer. But I’m stealing control and he’ll have none of that right now. 

He shoves us down, pinning my hands against each side of my head while his groin is holding me down to the surface in complete captivity. I am hurting for a mere moment as he shoves too forcefully. His apology is a deep passionate kiss which he is forced to break as we both gasp for air with every merciless push of his loins into mine. 

“Fuck babygirl!” He leans his forehead against mine, a feral gaze in his eyes. I lock my legs around his waist, my body losing every grip it ever had on control as the warmth begins to throb at the base of my cunt, spreading from my womb towards every nerve until I feel nothing but love flowing through my body.

I pant in awe, my voice adding to his deep growls and husky gasps which only become louder as his orgasm looms closer with the tightness of my cunt around his swelling cock. It sucks him harder, demanding his release, milking him of his offering until he shudders through me and yells out my name. 

The gush of warmth that spills inside me is my second favorite thing in the world. I moan with sweet delight as his cream coats me inside.

“I love you so much.” he whispers, holding me in his protective embrace as if to apologize for fucking me so hard.

I’d imagine that after such a long time together he’d already figure it out that I’m the one provoking it.

“What’s the name of that device again?.. the one I was…”

“Glute drive.”

“Glute drive, yeah, we’ll do that again soon…” I suggest, nibbling at his ear playfully while he remains on top of me.

~*~

Song lyrics are by Queens of the Stone Age - Skin on Skin

#Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #Henry Cavill x OFC #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader

[merakiaes]

Best Friends Headcannon - Geralt Of Rivia

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x reader (platonic)

Requested: By @by-the-primes​

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: This is my first time ever writing a headcannon and it turned out more of a one-shot hahaha xD I went a bit overboard and I’m not used to this kind of post at all so sorry if it sucks. 

Wordcount: 3430

Summary: Headcannons of being best friends with Geralt. 

You had first met Geralt of Rivia when you were merely twenty-four years of age. 

Seeing as you were human and didn’t age the same way he did, you were quite a bit younger, even though he didn’t look to be a year older than thirty. 

You were of noble blood and with your parents’ consent, you had headed out into the world to “find yourself”, but in reality, you just didn’t want to be stuck at home in tight, frilly dresses listening to your mother go on about potential suitors all day, every day.

So with only a bag containing some clothes, gold and other things needed to survive, you headed out on your own. 

Having been locked up pretty much your entire life had made you quite the bratty smartass. You didn’t have a filter and rarely knew when to stop talking back to people, which was the first thing Geralt got to learn about you upon first meeting you.  

Long story short, he had to save your ass in a tavern when you had picked a fight with the wrong person, severely having underestimated the amount of backup your new enemy had. 

At this point, you had only been on your own for approximately a week and still had plenty of gold left, and offered to pay for his dinner and room as a thank you. 

He accepted, but stared at you weirdly the entire time, sitting quietly until you told him to get on with it and speak his mind.

“Do you not know who I am?” “White hair, amber eyes, Witcher pendant hanging around your inhumanly muscular neck, yeah I think I have an idea. I just don’t care. Heroes and villains, we're all somewhere in between.”

You parted ways the same night as he stayed behind to care for a monster-problem, and you headed on to the next town. 

It was already the next day that you met again. 

He had come to the town you had landed yourself in and left into town for some business, and come back to the stables to find you petting and talking to Roach, feeding him apples from your bag. 

“Hm, you again.”  “Nice to see you, too, Witcher.”

You traveled to your next destination together, and Geralt quickly realized that you were in no way a noble lady, despite being raised so. 

You were a big eater and completely terrible at singing. Your personality was gruff and grumpy, but at the same time, you never seemed to drop the sarcasm. Your humour was crude, your language vulgar, and your temper was a ticking bomb. 

The latter forced Geralt to have to step in and prevent you from digging your own grave on more than one occasion. 

“Be nice.” “I am.” “You threatened them with a knife.” “But did I stab them?”

He acted out of logic, and you acted out of your emotions. 

“Learn how to sit back and observe. Not everything needs a reaction.” “That’s easy for someone who is incapable of feeling to say.”

You set camp together later that night, Geralt leaving you in charge of the campsite while he planned to go fetch some firewood.

“What if something creeps up on me?” “Trust your gut.” “I have anxiety. My gut is always telling me to abort mission.” “How have you survived on your own so far?” “Well, I’ve only been on my own for a week as of yet.” “Hm.”

You would think he would be the one snoring but he laid as quiet as a mouse throughout the night. 

Instead, you turned out to be the one with the sinus problem, your snoring keeping him awake and leaving him aggravated to the point where he wanted to smother himself with a pillow the next morning. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” “No.” “I believe the proper response is good morning.” “No.” “Yes, but-“ “No.”

You went on with your morning, and he handed you the map to which you were quick to shake your head. 

“No, no, no. You do not want me navigating. I’ll accidentally navigate us off a cliff.” “Then we die. Now shut up and turn the map in the right direction.” “Alright, alright, I got it. I know where we’re going.”

Fast forward an hour and you’re standing at the edge of a mountain, looking out over the landscape of a town you had never before seen or intended to go to.

“I thought you said you knew where you were going.” “Yeah, I lied. But in my defense, I did tell you not to put me in charge of navigating.” “That you did.”

You were forced to turn around and go back to camp, and start the journey all over again. 

But you didn’t reach it, instead being captured by a couple of elves along the way. 

Despite barely knowing you, Geralt was instantly protective of you. 

“I’m trying my best to be polite but if you move that knife a centimeter closer to her I will tear you apart.”

Unbeknownst to him, as he was taking punches behind you and trying to talk himself out of your difficult situation, you were taking your flexible wrists to advantage, being able to snap them on command, allowing you to get out of cuffs. 

To say that he was terrified when he caught sight of your limp, deformed hands was an understatement. Luckily, however, it was enough to stun your captors and allow Geralt to knock them out. 

You found Roach right where you had left him before you had been taken, and continued heading to your original destination. 

After making it to the right town this time, you parted ways, but once again destiny brought you together the next morning and from then on you just kinda stuck together. 

Being a Witcher was work enough, but now he also had to take on the responsibility of keeping you safe. Something that proved very hard when he was the one wanting to kill you most of the times. 

You just never shut up, it was infuriating. 

But it did work in his favor sometimes, too. More often than not, you would do all the talking for him whenever he was approached about a monster-problem so that he wouldn’t have to. 

In most cases your vocabulary was cut down to “piss off”, “we don’t care” or “leave”, but on the rare occasion, you would switch it up with a “come to mama” if they flashed a bag of cold in front of your eyes, followed by a shameless order in the likes of “Geralt, go do your thing.” 

When he would only stare at you in annoyance for selling him off, usually in the middle of his meals as most people approached you in the taverns you stayed at, you would only add “please” because you knew it would vex him further. 

But still, he would get up with a gruff rumble of his chest and stomp off to do his job.

You frequently started calling him Sunshine, the irony of it just being so good. 

He found the nickname irritating. As he did almost everything else you did. 

You were a very restless person, almost always tapping your foot or bouncing your leg whenever you sat down. 

“Stop that.” “The fact that you’re telling me to stop makes it so much more enjoyable.”

It got so annoying after a while he had to start putting his feet on top of yours underneath the table whenever you sat down in a tavern, or else he wouldn’t be able to eat in peace. 

It became a tradition for you that he ordered chicken and you ordered pork whenever you would stop to eat, and then you would give each other half of your food so that you each got a little bit of both. 

Much to his dismay, you also always switched his ale out for water if it was still light out, telling him it was unacceptable to start drinking before dark. 

How you always managed to succeed with it he didn’t know, because his eyes would purposely follow the tavern worker the entire way from your table to the bar to see to it that nothing happened on the journey. 

And still, he always received a boring mug of water. 

Before he met you he could travel for days, only sleeping in the woods. 

But you had a bad immune system, so now that you were moving together you could never move for too long at a time if the weather got bad. You needed to sleep under a proper roof in rain and storms to avoid you getting sick. 

After a while, the clothes you had brought with you from home weren’t usable anymore and had to be replaced. 

The only thing left from your original pack now was the blanket you had slept with every night for your entire life and four heavy books that you read over and over again. 

When in danger and having to get away quickly, Geralt had insisted countless of times just to leave it behind, to which you had insisted to go get it even if it meant putting your life in danger. 

After a while, he just got used to it and picked up the habit of reminding you of your bag every time you were starting to move somewhere else. 

When traveling, you would force him to stop by a lake or stream once every day to let you clean up. 

You might have left the safety of your home to travel the world but you still wanted to look decent. You had grown up noble, looking your best every day. 

You hated being filthy. 

And you hated messes, too. 

You might have constantly been on the move, not staying in one place for too long, but because of the way you were brought up you still despised messes. 

You usually stayed in the same room whenever you would seek refuge in a town for the night, and always scolded him and forced him to clean up his shit if he threw it on the floor. 

When you got the time to stay a bit longer and didn’t have any danger hot on your trails, however, you took separate rooms so that he could occupy himself with a no-strings-attached shag. 

Every morning after, you would casually burst into his room and wake him up, not caring in the slightest that he was naked with a woman, sometimes several, in bed. 

“Suit up, whore. We’re leaving,” You would say, to which the whores would always gasp and exclaim something along the lines of: “I beg your pardon?” while trying to cover up their bare chests, and failing miserably. 

Geralt would only grumble, wave them off and push himself up in bed. 

“She’s talking to me.”

You constantly insulted each other and talked shit about the other behind their back. 

“Maybe if you weren’t such a troublesome fobbing, clay-brained hugger-mugger, we could get some things done.”

But the insults didn’t stop with him.

“No one asked for your opinion you abominable shit gobbling.”

“Get out of my way you sorry excuse for a mammering, tickle-brained lewdster.”

“I fail to understand how you’ve become such a reprehensible fuck waffle.”

Those were only few of many insults you threw around at strangers every day, and although Geralt was amused by your big, unladylike mouth, it was worrying. 

“You’re one insult away from starting a war.” “How fun.” “You say that now, but you can barely even hold your own in a weaponless brawl.” “Can too!”

But you couldn’t. So he taught you how to wield a sword.

Already during your first sparring session, he accidentally stabbed you in the side, and your automatic response to feeling the steel bury itself into your flesh was a mere “rude” before passing out on the spot form the pain. 

But after that, you caught on quickly. And you started growing up quicker, too, taking after him and his antics. 

Soon enough, you had gone from mocking his constant humming and grumbling, to humming in sync with him. 

You always helped each other with tasks if needed, whether it be saddling Roach, setting up camp or gathering your stuff around the tavern rooms you would stay in every once in a while. 

You just worked well together, and didn’t need words to do so. 

You grew out of your overly spastic nature, but you still lacked a filter every time you opened your mouth so even years after first meeting, you would get into trouble. 

And if someone chose to fight one of you, they chose to fight both of you. 

Geralt always tried to avoid conflict and battle, but if someone as much as looked at you the wrong way, they better run. 

He was obviously the more rational one, trying to keep you out of trouble, to which you always seem to have a talent of stirring shit up even more.

“I had a thought…” “No. Don’t make that face.”

But he always came along anyway, and it most often ended up with a stab wound or two because you talked back to the wrong person. 

And you never got away without a scolding. 

“Get off the horse so I can explain in painstaking detail how much of a dumbass you are.” “Do I have a choice?” “No.”

There was no shame or shyness between you. 

You did things in the other’s presence that might have been considered romantic or intimate in the eyes of a spectator, but it was completely platonic. 

When the time was scarce, you sometimes had to bathe together, back to back, to get it done as quick as possible. 

You would shave his face and he would wordlessly put your hair up whenever he noticed it annoying you. 

The habit had started when you had injured your arm and was unable to do so yourself and just stuck with him after that. 

He couldn’t braid for shit, but he did do a decent bun. 

You always tied your laces too loosely, so he often had to redo them to prevent you from tripping over your feet. 

You would wear his shirts whenever you waited for yours to dry after a wash. 

You would fall asleep with your head on his shoulder. 

You would share beds and food. Rub each other’s shoulders to rid of the soreness after a beating or a fight. 

You made fun of each other always, and you found it particularly fun whenever he lost or took major damage in battle. 

“Nice blackeye, Sunshine.” “Shut your mouth.”

But still, you would always be there in his time of need to patch him up, and try to talk him into being more careful - exactly like he had been forced to do your reckless ass all those years ago. 

“Look, I’m glad you’ve saved everyone and all that but it’s time someone told you to take care of you.” “I’m fine. “No, you’re not, and furthermore, if you don’t take care of yourself, think of all the people who need you in the future who won't have you. Think of Ciri.”

It was funny, how you had been the one to be driven by emotions to a start, unable to control your anger and putting yourself in harm’s way, and now it was usually the other way around. 

You took care of him when it came to patching him up, and he took care of you in every other way. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” “Take my cloak.” “I’ll get the firewood, sit down.” “You can have my half.” “Watch your step.”

Those were only a few of the ways he told you he cared for you, along with “I hate you.”

“I hate you” became your way to say “I love you”, and you said it several times throughout the day. 

Even this long into your friendship, and countless of poems and songs later, people still got shocked when seeing you walk side by side down the streets. 

Geralt was powerful, had a serious face. You did not want to get on his bad side, let’s just leave it there.

But you. You were cute, had a kind face and a contagious laugh. You were kind, despite your big mouth and usually vulgar attitude. 

Still, he always warned people to never hurt you or else, but everyone always assumes he said this as a warning of what he would do to them, even though he was, in reality, warning them about you. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “Why? What’s she gonna do? Woo me to death?” “Underestimate her. That will be fun.” 

Then they would approach you and find out you’re actually badass as shit, getting beaten to a bloody pulp. 

And all Geralt would say as he stepped over their body on the floor was: “I warned you.”

Six years into your friendship, you were a lot more mature than you had been at twenty-four, now thirty. But you were still a little shit, enjoying your companion’s displeasure. 

While Geralt would always open doors for you, you would always purposely slam them shut in his face, just to give him that extra work. 

You would slap him on the chest and say “language” every time he said “fuck” and then proceed to call him a cunt only minutes later.

You were an annoying piece of shit, but he got his revenge every blue moon. 

Men who were attracted to you would usually approach him first and ask for his blessing and advice, knowing you were of noble blood and pretty much impossible to impress. 

He would always play along, urge them on, encouraging them and telling them everything you didn’t like, and then stand by and await the show.

You weren’t dumb, always saw them speaking and always spotted the amused smirk on your partner’s face as he sent the men your way. 

So you followed his example and played along, standing by and listening to their pathetic attempts silently, pretending to be interested. 

Always thinking they had you hooked, they would touch you inappropriately and smirk. 

“Shall we?”

And to this, you would simply smile, before headbutting them to the floor and stepping over them. 

“Not even in your dreams.”

Walking back over to a snickering Geralt, you simply passed him, glaring into empty space. 

“I hate you.” “I know you do.”

One day Geralt left for some monster-killing-business, while you stayed behind in the town you had been in the past few nights with a broken arm. 

It was the first time in years that you split up, but you weren’t very worried. 

More so than anything, you were annoyed, when he came back with a chatterbox bard trailing behind. 

“Where are you from?” “Here and there.” “What do you do?” “This and that.” “You ever…?” “Now and then.” “Boy, you are just full of information, aren’t you?” “Or maybe your questions are just too boring to be worth an answer.” “I have NEVER been so insulted!” “You don’t listen much, do you?”

Finally, after so many years of it being only the two of you, karma had caught up to you. 

You were now forced to experience first hand what it was like being followed by someone who couldn’t stop running their mouth. 

“Come here.” “Why?” “Just come here.” “No, you’re going to hit me.” “She probably will.” “You guys realize how incredibly codependent you are, right?” “I fail to see your point, measel.” “Do you ever run out of insults?” “Only time will tell.” “She’s just a female version of you, isn’t she?” “She used to be a female version of you.” “That’s seriously hard to believe.”

It wasn’t long after that that you met Yennefer of Vengerberg. 

You didn’t like her, at all. But you learned to tolerate her for the sake of Geralt, trusting his judgment. 

But that didn’t stop you from keeping a watchful eye on her. 

Jaskier teased you endlessly for it, claiming you were jealous and in love with him, yourself. But it was nothing like that. 

You didn’t want romance. You wanted meaning and purpose and adventure and you found it all in him – a soulmate in the form of a best friend. 

Legends and rumors claimed Witchers weren’t capable of feeling human emotions but after being on the move with him for so long, you knew there was absolutely no truth to those claims. 

And if she hurt him, you would kill her yourself.

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #geralt imagine #geralt oneshot #geralt fanfic #the witcher #the witcher imagine #the witcher x reader #witcher #jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier imagine #dandelion jaskier #yennefer #yennefer of vengerberg

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 1 [NSFW/18+]

Chapter 2 ->

Summary:  You can’t stand Frederick Chilton, but after he’s tortured and left scarred by a former patient, you are afflicted by an irrepressible desire to get him in bed.

This has been posted on AO3 for awhile, but I thought I’d post the chapters here! (Took the liberty of fleshing out the short smut a wee bit.)

2,380 words

Dr. Frederick Chilton was arrogant and unpleasant.

Everyone thought so, but most would dance around their hostility toward him with subtle digs couched in polite conversation. Not you. You weren’t shy about saying it to his face.

As he exited the courtroom doors, Dr. Chilton saw you waiting in the hall to ambush him, and braced himself for another soapbox diatribe. 

Such a shame, he thought. He recalled how he had tried to make a good impression when you first met, but all his charm kept backfiring, and now you patently despised him. His failure to curry favor was nothing out of the ordinary, but unfortunately, he still had to deal with you. You were one of Crawford’s lackeys, and had made yourself inescapable since Will Graham’s arrest.

“You conniving, idiotic, condescending weasel!” you exploded upon the man with an expensive suit and gaudy cane. “How could you get on the stand and make that bullshit testimony? You don’t know anything about Will!” You withheld the fuck-you’s that time, out of professional courtesy.

He brushed you off and continued walking briskly down the hall, cane tapping on the polished floor, but you followed and walked alongside him.

“Do I need a restraining order against you?” Dr. Chilton said, bored.

You crossed your arms. “Oh, hah-hah.”

“What is it, then?” he sighed, slowing down. Trying to outpace you was more trouble than it was worth, thanks to the pinching of scar tissue in every stride. “I am extremely busy.”

“‘The confused man Will Graham presents to the world could not commit those crimes, because that man is a fiction,’” you quoted his testimony.

“Correct. Is that all?”

“Did you ever consider it’s because he didn’t commit those crimes? You know, being the only one who thinks Will is a psychopath doesn’t make you a genius, it makes you an idiot. Or do you know that, but you’ve just been pining have him locked up so you can study him?”

“Incredible. Mr. Graham has found a truly gullible fool to place under his thumb. I have never met anyone so susceptible to his manipulations. Have you ever been tested for personality disorders?” He regarded you like you were a lab rat with a lot of audacity to be squeaking at him (though to be fair, that was how he looked at almost everybody).

You burned to keep arguing, but he walked down the courthouse steps and got into an obtrusively fancy classic car. Your heart was racing. You weren’t finished with him.

  *****

You seemed to be the only sane person aware that the sweet, empathetic, dog-loving Will Graham was obviously being framed, and did your best to visit him as often as possible at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Unfortunately, that meant dealing with its chief of staff.

Every time you visited Will, you ended up clashing with that pompous buffoon and his perfectly coiffed hair. He was notorious for his unethical practices, but since rich white assholes were incapable of being fired, it was your self-appointed job to protect Will from him.

Though, recently, you had to admit two things.

One: you may have been the tiniest bit biased by your fondness for Will, and two: your feelings toward Dr. Chilton had been softening.

Not long ago, Chilton had barely survived being tortured by a former patient, Abel Gideon. The sight of him on a medical gurney cradling his own internal organs in his arms was a horror that would be burned into your brain for life. He may have been an incompetent jerk whom Gideon had every right to want revenge on, but he didn’t deserve that.

You didn’t think he would survive, but in a few weeks, like magic, he was back to play Will’s jailer, a cane in hand but no other sign of the trauma he endured.

Too little sign of the trauma he endured, honestly. After all, he was only hurt because of his own meddling—using psychic driving to convince Gideon he was the Chesapeake Ripper in order to achieve the fame and glory of having treated the Chesapeake Ripper.

But no, he was still bursting full of egotistical remarks and ambition, if a little short on organs.

“I see the experience hasn’t humbled you one bit,” you commented upon his return, when he gloated about the accolades he would receive after writing a book about Will Graham.

“Funny, it almost sounds like you wanted me to be gutted,” he retorted in a pleasantly upbeat voice with a sharp undercurrent.

His rich-boy superiority complex did make it tempting to punch him in the face… but disembowelment was going too far.

Something changed after that. It used to be that you couldn’t wait to get away from him, but now you found yourself wanting to stay and fight longer, your cheeks burning with indignation. Days you weren’t visiting Will, you went to the mental hospital to crusade against Dr. Chilton over ethics and his lack thereof, just for the excuse to see him. 

The two of you exchanged cutting banter the same as always, but you found yourself being more civil... or, at least, your heated arguments felt more playful. Sure, you still called him a dirty slimeball, but now it was a friendly roast and not because you hated his (slightly damaged) guts.  

It was strange. Every time you argued your heart would pound against your chest in anticipation, but you couldn’t figure out why.

Your breaking point came when you barged into his office and discovered him spying on patients’ private conversations with visitors—headphones on, feet up on his desk, holding a Montblanc fountain pen in his mouth and swirling it with his tongue.

He didn’t startle at your unexpected entrance, as a person who feels shame might do when caught in the middle of something so sleazy. He was completely unrepentant about it. Sliding a headphone off one ear and picking up a glass of top-shelf scotch from his desk, he took a slow sip, and smugly asked, “Can I help you?”

What could you say to that? You felt your face heating up, so you turned on your heel without a word, and left. You finally understood what you had been feeling.  

You always took him for a coward—the type who runs crying to mommy the moment his knee gets scraped. But he’d been tortured, brutally, and still wasn’t running away. He got more than what was coming to him, but he didn’t change his manipulative psychiatric practices or grating personality at all.

As infuriating as it was… his resilience was sexy.

Like a switch was flipped, every time you sniped insults at each other, instead of picturing strangling him with his tie, you imagined blindfolding him with it, tying him to a bed and spanking him with his cane. He had the cutest way of shimmying his shoulders when he was trying to be coy about a secret, and that smarmy little crooked smile he made when he thought he was winning used to infuriate you, but now it caused an aching between your thighs. 

After weeks of this, he cornered you in an empty hallway. “Do not think I haven’t noticed you are here far more often than you need to be. You didn’t even talk to Will Graham the last two occasions you paid a visit. What is it, then? What’s your angle? Keeping an eye on me for Crawford?”

“Isn’t it obvious?,” you scoffed. “I want to fuck you.”

“Huh,” he vocalized with detachment.

You’d expected him to be flustered by the bold declaration, or to jump on you immediately. Not to coldly look you up and down like you’d handed him a strange puzzle piece to analyze.

It must have been a long time since he’d been intimate, considering his reputation as a Grade A piece of shit. But apparently he wasn’t that desperate.

To be honest, you weren’t even sure what his orientation was. You may have been completely off base.

“Fascinating, really. For someone who called me… what was it? A ‘morally corrupt assclown,’ you must be in a dire state to consider propositioning me. You know, as a respected psychiatrist, I can recommend some literature on sexual dysfunctions.”

A cold, satisfied smile spread over his thin lips and you realized if your attraction was one-sided, he held all the cards. You made the mistake of delivering him a massive advantage over you, and you were going to make a fool of yourself. He was relishing the power.

There was still time to backtrack on the vulnerability you’d accidentally exposed while he was still trying to figure out if you were joking. But you were around profilers, psychiatrists, and investigators with hidden agendas all day, and you grew weary of conversations having ten layers of meaning and obfuscation.

The honest truth was, it would be nice to get laid.

“Well? Are you interested or not?” You dropped your voice and stepped closer to him, inches from his face. He smelled so clean, like hospital antiseptic and spicy aftershave. His breath hitched as your leg brushed the inside of his thigh—that’s it, that was the reaction you wanted. “Do you want to fuck me, Dr. Chilton?”

Oh, he did.

A barely audible whine rose from the back of his throat, and his hands were around your waist. “I suppose so,” he said, still a little too clinically, though a hard bob of his Adam’s apple betrayed him. His eyes met yours. They were the color of an ocean wave crashing on the beach; an honest, North Atlantic wave that you might find at Chesapeake Bay—not some perfect crystal-blue wave from a tropical paradise. “It couldn’t hurt to let off some steam.”

“Precisely,” you nodded. Just two adults doing the logical thing. That’s right. No squishy vulnerable feelings that could be used against you. Just relieving tension.

He grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you hastily into the nearest unoccupied space. The door to the cramped supply closet clicked shut, and he leered at you with eyes that seemed to glow with hunger in the dark. You felt pleasantly like a small animal trapped with a wolf about to be devoured. A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine and sent heat rushing between your thighs. Before you knew it you were flipped standing with him pressed against your back, pumping into you with muffled moans—as frenzied with desperation as you’d fantasized he would be—as you braced against a metal shelf crammed with pens and packs of post-it notes.

He was strong. You had expected his suit to hide the flaccid body of a sedentary academic, fragranced of old books, but when he pulled your hips into his your body moved.

After finishing inside you with a ragged, tortured breath (barely choking back a too-vulnerable moan), he hastily zipped himself back into his pants and left you to clean yourself up on your own, without so much as a nod to ceremony or pleasantries. That was the end of that, you figured—exactly what you asked for, no more no less. Little did you know, Dr. Chilton had no intention of leaving things off at one quickie in a closet.

Before you left, he pulled you into his office and provoked you with lewd remarks about fucking you on his desk—so you knocked the clutter off it onto the floor to make room. He shrieked like a toddler as his very important papers and very expensive office décor went flying, having neither thought through the actual consequences of desk-sex nor expected you to call his bluff. His beautiful seawater eyes went wide as you pushed him back on the broad mahogany surface and climbed on top of him. Then you were riding him, chasing your climax with his well-manicured hands kneading your ass cheeks, pulling you deeper and deeper with each stroke of your hips. And still you wanted more. You wanted to fuck him into next week.

And then you were in his unreasonably lavish home, in his unreasonably, decadently oversized bed, his mouth feverishly working your heat, and you repaying him by making him come over and over until it was torture, until he could no longer hold back the whimpering sobs of pleasure as he fell apart, and he passed out from fatigue. You collapsed next to him on the bed, panting, sweating, and shaking with over-stimulation.

For a moment you considered the snoring body of an unsavory man you had exhausted into submission, lying naked and leaking fluids onto two-thousand-thread-count sheets, and briefly considered calling a cab. Then you went to the bathroom for a towel to wipe him off before curling yourself around him under the covers.

  *****

Morning found you nestling in his soft light brown chest hair, tracing your fingers along the raised red scar that divided a third of his torso like an autopsied cadaver. He flinched a little when you touched it, but remained impassive. A reservoir of sympathy swelled up within you.

“You pity me. That is why you wanted to sleep with me all of a sudden,” he said, deciphering the meaning of your look. “I’m not complaining. Apparently, to be fortunate in bed requires only that one be tragically disfigured. You are drawn to wounded birds.”

The corner of your lip screwed up like you swallowed something bitter. It’s… probably not healthy to desire someone purely out of pity, but he was right. You never felt anything for him until you felt sorry for him. But that wasn’t all there was to your relationship… was it?

“The instinct to nurture and the instinct to hurt are both strong human emotions. They’re primal,” you speculated.

“Trying your hand at psychoanalysis? I would leave it to the professionals, darling.”

“Would you?” You tilted your head innocently. “Then how come you’re still practicing?”

He clutched his chest and feigned being wounded.

Grinning, you buried your face back into his hair. “Arguing with you was always exciting… trying to land a stinging blow. Now I see you hurt, and I feel the need to protect you, too. You tickle my instincts, I suppose. Like cold ice cream on hot pie. What can I say?”

“Hmm, a plausible hypothesis,” he nodded idly at the ceiling, one brow lifted. “I’m not sure that that is any better, but as previously mentioned, your motivations are not of particular interest to me.”

“Charming. Let me phrase it another way, then: You have a very punchable face, but since you’ve already been eviscerated, it takes the fun out of it.”

“Well, and I was going to offer you breakfast…”

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Raúl Esparza #Hannibal #my writing #very excited to start the sequel sooooon!

[axwalker]

Undeniable Miracle 2: Stranded

I’m participating in the 12 days of Christmas hosted by  @leelee10898 and @emichelle . Thank you so much  💕 💕

Synopsis: Alexis decides to leave Cordonia on Christmas Eve, but she has a car accident in the middle of the woods during a snow storm.

A/N: This AU takes place during Liam’s and Madeleine’s Engagement Tour.

A/N 2: Some vocabulary for the Spanish words.

A/N 3: I’m using the prompt: “If you’re so cold, why didn’t you say something? Come here.” requested by @mskaneko​ 

Fonda: Small Mexican restaurant.

Romeritos:  Tender sprigs of seepweed  which are boiled and served in a mole sauce seasoned with shrimp jerky blended into the mix. Typical additional ingredients include boiled potatoes, nopales and shrimp. They are usually served with bread slices and in tacos

Ensalada de manzana: combination of lettuce, beets, apple, and peanuts in a light orange vinaigrette

Bacalao:  Cod fish prepped with sautee onion, garlic, tomatoes and olives.

Pozole: Tradition Mexican soup made with Hominy, pork and peppers.

Villancicos: Traditional Christmas songs.

Warnings: I can’t think of anything for this chapter but there will be NSFW in future chapters. All my fics are for 18+ ONLY.

Words: 2718

Disclaimer: Characters and settings belong to Pixelberry.

@burnsoslow Thank you so much for beta read and for your encouragement. I love you and appreciate you so much.

The edit of the mood board is the work of beautiful @mskanekoI was dying to use it. I love youuu

When he sees I don't respond, he opens my door. "O'Brien? Are you okay?"

I blink, incapable of forming a coherent sentence. 

"Did you hit your head? You seem lost." Drake kneels in front of me.

Finally, I react. "What are you doing here?" 

"Hello to you too. I asked if you were okay."

"I'm fine. I need to call a tow truck."

"Yeah, right. There are no tow trucks in storms like this, O'Brien." He sighs and asks me to open the car's hood so he can check the engine. Five minutes later, he comes back, and I read his expression. The car is not going anywhere.  

"Sorry, O'Brien, but this car is not going to work for now, and the storm is getting worse. You're going to have to come with me."

I scoff. Drake is insane if he thinks I'll go anywhere with him. I've spent the last two months trying to forget everything about him; I don't need this right now. 

 "I'm sure I can find a way to get to Lythikos by myself."

"Shit, you're so damn stubborn, O'Brien. You aren't anywhere near there. It's about 50 miles away. I guess if your car had kept going about 50 miles through the woods, you might have landed there. Is that what you were trying to do?"

"Bite me, Drake."

"Wow, you really should do something about that attitude of yours." The asshole actually smirked. "I have a cabin a few miles up the road. We can go there and wait out the storm. My truck is parked on the road. I pulled over when I saw the car spinning."

"I'll wait here." 

"You'll wait for what? To freeze to death? Don't be ridiculous; you're coming with me."

I shake my head stubbornly. "I think freezing to death is preferable to going with you. Thank you very much." 

"You don't have much of a choice, O'Brien. I can't fuckin' leave you here. My cell phone doesn't work here, and I'm assuming yours doesn't either or else you'd be on it right now. They're expecting two feet of snow or more. So, I'm sorry if you're pissed at me or whatever, I'm not leaving you here."

I'm well aware that I'm behaving like a petulant, spoiled child, but my wish to make him as angry as I am overcomes all logical thinking. “As I said, I’m not going.”

 "I'm going to have to carry you to my truck then." 

"Carry me? No way. You are not touching me." I grab my phone again, begging my Abuela to send me just a little bit of phone service so I can call Max. 

"Either you get out of that by yourself, or I carry you. You have exactly 30 seconds to decide."

I shut my door and raise my phone, trying to get some signal. Suddenly, Drake opens the door, reaches into the car, and has me scooped up without effort into his arms before I can even protest. I barely have time to grab my purse. 

"Enough of your bullshit. Done," he states, then kicks my door shut and starts to walk up the snowy hill. 

I have no choice but to put my arms around his neck. "Let me go this second Walker!"

Drake stares at me and gently shoves a strand of hair off my face. I'm suddenly aware of how close our faces, our lips, are. Because my heart is stupid and has a mind of its own, it starts beating like crazy. Drake swallows hard, and for a second, I think he's going to kiss me; I'm almost closing my eyes when he speaks.

"Here we are." He puts me back on the ground and opens the door of his old Jeep. 

A bark coming from the backseat startles me.  

"Oh my god! He's beautiful! He looks like a wolf!"

Drake's eyes soften when he pets the animal.

"It's a Tamaskan dog." 

"Hi, boy! You're so cute!"

"He's not supposed to be cute; he's supposed to be terrifying." I turn my head, and I see he's teasing me. I shake my head and keep talking to the dog. "Don't listen to your dad, handsome; you're a cutie pie." 

"I'm not his dad. He's a damn dog, O'Brien." 

I rolled my eyes. "What's his name?" 

"Zeppelin. Get in the Jeep; I'm freezing my ass off out here."

I smirked at him. "I never realized how bossy you are." 

He shakes his head, but I catch the unwilling smile on his face. 

DRAKE

I glance to the seat next to me, still not believing that O'Brien is here, in my Jeep. I try to think of something else besides her maddening fruity scent or the curve of her neck, but I already know that my ability to function like a normal human being disappears when she's around. 

 I can't believe that I'm so fucking stupid to be still hung up on her after what happened in Ramsford. She made perfectly clear who she wanted to be with -- yet here I am, looking at her like a goddamn fool. 

We drive for a few minutes in complete silence. Suddenly a deer jumps out from the woods, right in front of the Jeep. I hear Alexis scream as I swerve, and the truck starts to slide and spin, gaining speed. In a second, I glance at her, throwing one arm across her chest to hold her against the seat when I see she doesn't have her seatbelt on. I try to regain control of the truck but it's not working. I feel the Jeep flying off the road and into the woods, crashing downhill and plowing down small trees, until it finally stops, wedged amongst a bunch of larger trees on the side of a hill. 

"Fuck!" I throw both hands against the steering wheel. "I can't fucking believe this shit!" I turn to O'Brien. "And why the fuck wasn't your seatbelt on?" 

“I thought you could drive!" She looks down at my arm, still holding her, and whispers, "Thank you." 

I rest my head against the wheel and take several deep breaths. "I'm sorry for yelling at you." My voice is level and calm, even if the thought that something could've happened to her while I was driving makes me murderous. "Are you okay?" She nods, still shaken. 

 "You okay, Zeppelin?" The dog whimpers and licks my hand. "That's a good boy. We're all okay." I try to restart the truck, but it's completely dead. I can't believe this; honestly, I just can't.

 "What are we going to do now?" O'Brien asks.

 "Well, we're out of cars, so unless you want to walk or ride the dog to my place, we're stuck here." 

She squints at me. "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Walker."

"But the highest form of intelligence, O'Brien." I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes at me again. I've forgotten how much I loved teasing her. At least, I wish I had forgotten. "We're going to have to just stay put until the plow truck comes by, and we'll have to hitch a ride. Until then, we're in luck because I stopped at the grocery store on the way to the cabin. I have enough things we can eat and drink to keep us going until then. I have a big blanket in the back seat, so we should be able to stay pretty warm. It's really heavy and thick."

I saw the panic in her eyes, so I continued. "Hey, O'Brien, look at me." She raises those fucking beautiful dark eyes and meets my gaze. "I would never let anything happen to you, okay?"

She nods. "Okay. Yes, I know. I just hope we don't get hypothermia.”

"We won't, O'Brien. C'mon, I think we should both sit in the back seat, since there's a lot of room back there, and we can put the blanket over both of us. I think it will help keep us warmer."

She gives me an odd look but nods. "Right. Yes. I think it's the best idea." She climbs over the seat first, and my eyes roam over her perfect body. I suppress the urge to sink my hands in her delicious hips and sit her on my lap. I sigh and call Zeppelin to the front seat, so we have more space. 

"This is nice; it's very roomy," she says as she pulls the cover over both our legs. 

I can see that she's shivering. "If you're so cold, why didn't you say something? Come here." I put my coat on her shoulders, and she smiles at me. Fuck me if I wouldn't do almost anything for that smile. "Where were you going on Christmas Eve? I' would've thought you'd go to the Christmas ball in the palace."

She hesitates for a few seconds, but finally, she answers, "I was going to spend Christmas with Olivia in Lythikos."

I raise my brow in disbelief. "I must have a concussion, O'Brien; I just heard you were headed to Lythikos to spend Christmas with Olivia Nevrakis."  

"I know! Our friendship was … unexpected. At first, we were just trying to figure out who set us up. The whole Tariq thing that you stopped? It was a trap; someone was trying to blackmail both of us." 

I don’t want her to know that I spend every single free minute I have helping Max figure out who set her up. If I ever find the person who sent Tariq to her room that night and scared the shit out of her, I will kill him. 

"Yes, O'Brien, I knew. Liam told me."

She nodded. "Well, we're trying to get to the bottom of it together, so we've been spending a lot of late nights drinking bourbon and talking. She hides it very well under layers of sarcasm and abrasiveness, but she's extremely loyal and has a great heart. Just like you."

"If you compare me to that crazy redhead one more time, you'll be sleeping outside, O'Brien, and I can promise you, it's cold." 

She laughs. "Okay, okay, sorry. I won't do it again."  

I'm about to ask her why she's not spending Christmas with Liam, but she speaks before I can talk. "And you? What are you doing here?"

"I moved to a town close to Lythikos a month ago. I'm opening a veterinary clinic there. This morning I went to supervise the construction site and to get some groceries for the cabin." 

She looks pensive but doesn't say anything for a while. "I hope you're happier here than you were in the palace, Drake,"she finally says, so softly that I almost miss it. 

I take a deep breath because I can't tell her the truth. I can't tell her that I can't be happy now, not after her. When I kissed her that night, I lost everything. She would never be mine, and after that, we couldn’t even be friends anymore.

"Thank you, O'Brien," I reply anyway because I know she's expecting some sort of answer.

 "How did you get Zeppelin?" she asks as she pets my dog, and I swear the traitor's mouth curls up into a little doggy smile. 

"I was running some errands for the clinic when I saw him tied up outside. I came back a few weeks later on a sunny day, and this poor dog is just tied up to a fence on the side of the building with no shade or anything, and I don't even see a water dish or food. So I park my car and check on him, and he's all happy to have someone pet him, tail wagging like mad. There was an old food dish off to the side, but it was empty, and a dish with some dirty water. I went to my house and grabbed some of the toys and food I'd bought for the clinic. I also gave him some water, and he drank three fucking bowls. I felt terrible leaving him. I just had this bad gut feeling, you know?" She nods with misty eyes. "Anyway, I had to go back to Cordonia city after I gave the dog the stuff. To be honest, I kind of forgot about him. But when I came back, O'Brien, it was awful. I honestly think the last time he ate was the food I'd given him. He was nothing but skin and bones, too weak even to stand up. He was just lying there in the dirt with flies buzzing all around him. But when I kneeled in front of him, his little tail wagged a tiny bit. I think he remembered me." 

Tears spring into her eyes. "My God, Drake, what happened?" 

I see how affected she is, so I reach her hand and squeeze it. "An old man came out of the little building and started yelling at me to get off his property. There was just no fucking way I was going to leave him there. I told him that if I ever saw a dog or any other animal on his property ever again, I would fucking kill him. The douchebag just ran back to the house. I took the dog to my cabin. He was dehydrated and almost starved to death, had two ear infections, worms — you name it. We've been together ever since." Zeppelin looks up as if he knows we're talking about him. 

She wipes a tear and caresses Zeppelin's ear. "You named him?"

I shrug. "Best band ever." 

"Ha! You're so predictable, Walker."

 "How do you know my last name? I never gave it to you." 

"I asked Maxwell at the coronation. Why? You don't like it when I call you that? Turnabout's fair play, Walker." She bits her bottom lip; I look away before the impulse to kiss her becomes unbearable, and I do something stupid. Again.  

"Nah, I like it, O'Brien. Calling each other by our last names will be our thing." 

She sighs, not talking for a while. "What is it, O'Brien? I can almost see the wheels turning in your head."

"We're going to spend Christmas Eve here, stranded in the middle of nowhere."

"I know; I'm sorry, O’Brien. Do you usually do something special?"

She looks up to me with so much vulnerability in her pretty face, I find it hard to breathe. I instinctively come close to her because I hate that look in her eyes; I hate even more that I was the one who put put it there with my fucking dumb question. Her mom and grandma are dead; of course it's a sad subject.

 "Not in a long time. It was one of the holidays my mom, my Abuelita and I celebrated together. We didn't really do Halloween because my mom's Fonda was so busy preparing for Dia de Muertos. The day of the dead," she explains.

 "I know, O'Brien. You made me watch Coco with you and Maxwell in Applewood." I can't help but smile at the memory. She forced us to watch the damn movie in Spanish only to hit "pause" at every single scene to translate it and explain the traditions.

 "Well, Coco had it right! They really respected our traditions!" she replied, her eyes shining as they always did when she was excited. "Anyway, my mom worked for most holidays, and I was forced to spend Thanksgiving with my dad, his crazy wife, and her creepy son. So, Christmas was the best. Especially Nochebuena, Christmas Eve. We had this huge dinner where all our neighbors came to the house and brought Mexican dishes. We had everything; bacalao, romeritos, ensalada de manzana, and the best pozole in Brooklyn. We sang villancicos, had a piñata. The whole thing. My abuela took the holidays seriously," she says with a sad smile. 

I might be a fucking fool, but I can't stand seeing her this sad. And, suddenly, I know what to do. "We might not be able to have a traditional Mexican Nochebona ..."

She giggles. "No-che-bue-na, Drake."  

I think I could spend the rest of my life here listening to her speaking Spanish.“Yeah, that.” I watch through the window and when I see that the storm has calmed, I say, “I have an idea; just wait here." 

Tagging: 

@texaskitten30  @leelee10898 @emichelle @burnsoslow @kat-tia801

@msjr0119 @twinkleallnight @mskaneko @drakexwillow @twinkle-320  @kimmiedoo5 @kingliam2019  @drakexwillow @princessleac1 @marshmallowsandfire  @tinkie1973 

#axwalker writes #drake walker #drake x mc #12 days of fictmas 2020

[free-pool-trash]

she - warren worthington iii

More Warren!!! He honestly makes me just 🥺 but also 🥵

Requested by the lovely @kurt-nightcrawler​: so,,,, Warren’s writing poetry for a class and he’s really struggling,, so someone suggests he writes about what makes him happy and it’s the reader and then y/n finds out he wrote this really good poetry about them and the reader is all like 🥺🥺

This is so cute thank you for sending it in ✨💕 hope u like it boo i changed it a little i hope it’s still okay :)))

Okay but the tea is I SUCK with poetry okay so I stole song lyrics from a song that I just think is so super cute and kinda goes with the request and that is She by Dodie 🥺 (but I changed it to be more poem like)

Word count: 1,891 :)))

Warning (s): tooth rotting fluff, swearing (obviously), I'm physically incapable of not including Peter in these, that good kissing shit 

masterlist

"Okay, class. Have that assignment for class on Friday." The English teacher spoke loudly to the room full of students and Warren had to fight to contain a groan.

Creative writing - poetry or the way that Warren saw it, torture. Not to get him wrong, he loved poetry. It was deep and it could say things without really saying anything at all, he was one of those people who just got symbolism, no explanations needed. 

However, that didn't mean that he was any good at actually writing poetry. And this assignment was due for Friday, which meant he had four days to figure out how to write a decent poem. 

The thought occurred to him to simply pull some shitty haiku out of his ass and maybe get some marks for effort, but, he dismissed it as English was pretty much the only subject that he had an active interest in, he didn't want his average falling because he handed up one shitty poem.

After the bell rang signalling the end of the class and the end of the day, the winged boy made his way to his dorm to work on his homework and make a start on the dreaded English assignment, where would he even begin?

"Hey man, you coming to hang out?" Warren's roommate, Peter, asked speeding into the dorm room.

Looking up from the blank page of his English copy, Warren cocked an eyebrow at his silver haired friend, "Who's gonna be there?" 

"The whole gang." Peter replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world to which Warren nodded his head and got up from his bed, tossing his English copy onto the floor, he'd work on it some more tomorrow.

"(Y/n) was wondering where you were." Peter told Warren nonchalantly, as if it didn't even matter, oh if only he knew.

At the statement Warren's eyes widened and he was flooded with worry, "Why is she okay? Did she need me for something?" He questioned frantically, as Peter pursed his lips and made a face at him.

"No. She just wanted to know why you didn't come to hang out after class ended…" Peter replied heading out the door with Warren following behind him, a lot calmer now.

When the two boys entered the room, Warren caught sight of you immediately, the bright smile you gave him once he entered the room very nearly floored him.

It was no secret to anyone, not even you, that Warren Worthington III was absolutely crazy about you. You were soft and bright, you were the human embodiment of sunshine. To Warren you felt so familiar, like the cool release of fall coming in after a hot summer.

See, he absolutely understood symbolism, especially when it came to you: His girl that isn't actually his girl. 

Warren walked over to the seat you'd saved him on the couch, beside you, trying his best to keep up his cool exterior Warren sat down and threw his arm over the back of the couch, his hand brushing against your shoulder as he did.

"Hey, Princess." He reveled in the way the nickname brought a hue of pink to your cheeks, and the smile you tried to hide from him only made him chuckle.

"Hey, War. Where have you been?" You asked, scooting ever so slightly closer to him.

At your question Warren groaned and his head fell into your shoulder in exhaustion. "Ugh, I've got an assignment due for Friday. Have to write a poem- I was trying to work on it after class. It's hell." 

Laughing at him, you brought your hand up to play with his blonde curls that were brushing against your neck as he huffed about English. 

"I thought you loved poetry?" You wondered out loud, frowning as he shook his head against your shoulder.

You were sure he loved poetry, something about the symbolism and depth of words.

"Not if I'm the one writing it." He elaborated for you, noticing your frown and adorable furrowed eyebrows and he didn't even realize he was staring up at you until Peter let out an exaggerated groan from the end of the couch.

"Ugh! Would you two just kiss already? The tension is k-i-l-l-i-n-g me!" He exclaimed, dragging out the word ‘killing’ for as long as he could. 

"Peter! Shut the hell up they were being cute!" Jubilee shouted, throwing a handful of popcorn at the speedster who only shrugged.

Kurt looked at you, Warren, Peter and Jubilee confused as Jean and Scott watched you all in amusement.

"Are you two going out?" Kurt asked innocently, looking between each member of the group.

"Might as well be." Peter remarked causing your cheeks to heat and you only added to the teasing as you hid your reddening face in Warren's blonde curls.

"SEE!" Peter exclaimed, pointing at you and Warren accusingly.

You knew better than anybody that you and Warren acted like a couple, but you and him never had that conversation. But it's not like you needed to, it's not like you ever kissed or anything, you were just close.

"Shut the fuck up, Maximoff. You don't know what you're talking about." Warren said, irritation clear in his voice, he didn't even bother to untangle himself from you, you were both used to your friends acting like this. 

He cared a little less about the teasing than you did, however. Awkwardly, you cleared your throat and eased Warren's head off your shoulder before standing up, "I'm, um, yeah I'm gonna go… do homework or something." You stuttered out before practically running out of the room.

If looks could kill, Peter would've dropped dead from the glare Warren was giving him, "Way to go, asshole."

Come the next day everything went back to normal, Peter's teasing hadn't upset you, not really, it was just that fact that you were in some weird in-between phase with Warren where you both knew you wanted to be more than friends but neither of you had said anything yet and Peter calling you out had just sent you into a whirlpool of thoughts about you and Warren that just left you wanting to be more.

It was always the same, day in day out, you hung out with your friends, you or Warren saved each other the seat beside the other and then your friends teased you about what you already knew. "(Y/n) and Warren act like a couple." This and, "(Y/n) and Warren look so cute together." That. Well you were sick of it. You didn't want to just act like a couple, you wanted to be a couple.

The cycle continued until Thursday. Warren had denied Peter's attempts to get him to go hang out as he still had to write his stupid fucking poem. He hadn't made even a word of progress since the project had been assigned. It was getting frustrating.

He'd been slumped over his English work for about 5 hours, it was late in the evening now and sometime during his struggling to write the sun had gone down.

Warren was pulled out of his trance when you peaked your head through his door, smiling sweetly and glancing to Peter's bed to make sure he wasn't in the room before entering.

"Brought you a snack." You told him, handing him the plate of food and sitting down behind him, propping your chin on his shoulder and looking over it with a sympathetic look, "Still no luck with that poem, huh Birdy?"

Warren only hummed, leaning into your body for comfort, he was stumped.

"Yeah, I've got nothin'."

"Well," You started thoughtfully, "Why don't you try writing about something you like?" You suggested while Warren closed his eyes, "Something I like?"

You nodded against his shoulder, "Yeah, like things that make you happy!" You chirped as he opened his green eyes to look at you, your face so close to his. He could smell your shampoo and see every single detail of your face, like looking at a picture.

A smile broke his face, "I think I'll be able to think of something." He told you smugly.

Looks like he'd found some inspiration.

After you left, Warren didn't waste anymore time and quickly finished his poetry assignment and handed it up on time in his class on Friday.

The stress of the previously unwritten poem had evaporated and Warren enjoyed his weekend with you and the rest of your friends, he had to thank his English teacher for handing out the assignment, though. It made him realize everything he'd really been thinking, the little things he noticed often subconsciously.

When his teacher handed him back the graded poem, he couldn't have been happier, he got an A+ and honestly, it was all thanks to you.

His final product had been about you, after all.

After class he'd walked into the common room, to see that you were the first one there and by yourself.

"Princess." He greeted happily, plopping down next to you and shoving the piece of paper with his poem on it, into your hands.

"Ohhh, A+, can I?" You asked, glancing between Warren and the poem.

Warren nodded confidently, impatient and wanting to see your reaction to his poetry.

"Go on. Read it."

"Okay." You smiled and cleared your throat dramatically before beginning to read.

"Am I allowed to look at her like that?

Could it be wrong

When she's just so nice to look at?" You read out softly, a teasing tone to your voice that soon faded away as you continued.

"And she smells like lemongrass and sleep

She tastes like apple juice and peach

Oh, you would find her in a Polaroid picture

And she...

Means everything to me" Warren was biting his lip as he watched you read with a small smile, the lines making sense to you, he hoped.

"I'd never tell

No, I'd never say a word

And oh, it aches

But it feels oddly good to hurt" As you read aloud you knew exactly what he was saying, smooth bastard.

'And I'll be okay

Admiring from afar

'Cause even when she's next to me

We could not be more far apart

And she tastes like birthday cake and story time and fall

But to her

I taste of nothing at all." You finished, looking directly into his eyes, lip between your own teeth almost mimicking him.

"Not to be seen annoyingly oblivious or anything, but I have to ask… who is this 'she'?" You asked Warren shyly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

"She is you." The winged boy stated clearly and you couldn't stop the relief filled laugh that left your mouth, followed by a muttered "thank God".

Warren barely had time to process what was happening before you had practically pounced on him, legs either side of his lap, both hands on either side of his face and your lips pressing against his.

Instinctively his hands grabbed onto your ass to keep you steady as he returned your passionate kiss, lips moving frantically against yours while he pressed you closer to him.

Little did either of you know that none other than Peter Maximoff was standing in the doorway of the common room, shaking his head disbelievingly, "Fucking finally."

#warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #x-men x reader #x-men #x-men apocalypse #ben hardy #ben hardy x reader

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XCI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I'd missed this silly goose! tho the actors in hp for some reason look way older so he looks like a baby but pls imagine Erick like this older-looking student bc he should look that way jdhfd -Danny

Words: 2,195

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Six: Talk it out.

"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being —" The door opened. "About t — !" Hermione froze when she found Dumbledore there instead of their friend.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"We — er — we wanted to see Hagrid."

"Yes, I surmised as much," He said in amusement. "Why don't you come in?"

"Oh... um... okay."

Hagrid was sitting at the table, there were two mugs of tea. For the looks of it, he'd been crying.

"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry.

" 'Lo," he said lowly.

"More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, and with the flick of his wand, a tea tray appeared. "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid? Hermione, Mel, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow — sorry, Professor..."

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up to the ceiling with interest.

"Er — right... I just meant — Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that — woman — wrote about you?" Hagrid cried silently, two huge tears falling down his beard.

"Oh, Hagrid, don't cry!" Mel's hand went to rest above his, looking almost comically small.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it —"

"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid. "Not all of 'em wan' me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time. Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

"Yeh — yeh're not half-giant!"

"Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!" Harry said in disbelief. "Look at the Dursleys!"

"An excellent point," said Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery..."

Mel looked at her uncle knowing that there was certainly more he could say about their family, but she remained quiet.

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," said Hermione, "please come back, we really miss you."

"I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," said Dumbledore, standing up to leave. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."

When the Headmaster left the cabin, Hagrid sobbed for real, hiding his face behind both hands.

"Great man, Dumbledore... great man..."

"Yeah, he is," said Ron. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," said Hagrid. "Ar, he's righ', o' course — yeh're all righ'... I bin stupid... my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'... Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth — he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha' was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed... thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum... well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...

"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job... trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances... tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'... well... all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh... there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say — I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones... I'll give her big bones."

The kids shared nervous glances, but Hagrid kept talking without waiting for a reply.

"Yeh know wha', Harry? When I firs' met you, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' you was feelin' like yeh wouldn' fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it... an' now look at yeh, Harry! School champion! Yeh know what I'd love, Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all... yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don' have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry?"

"Great," said Harry shakily. "Really great."

"Tha's my boy... you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat'em all..."

"But if it doesn't turn out as expected," Mel was quick to add. "Know that we are all proud of you as well, Hagrid. We love you very much."

"I'll follow Cedric's advice," Harry told her quietly before going to bed that night.

"Blimey, all it took was a crying Hagrid..." Mel raised her eyebrows. "Want help?"

"No," He replied. "Dunno... I'll let you know."

"All right," She sighed. "Good luck."

She had an important matter to attend that day in private and it could only be between her and Erick. She used the pocket watch he'd given her and informed him that she wanted to talk. On Monday, both students met at the far end of the library, Mel had no idea where to start.

"I won't apologize for what I said the other day, I know you hate it when I do that," She began, "but you're hiding something and I would like to know what it is, maybe I can help you?"

She was expecting many reactions, all except the one she got. Erick let out a long sigh and picked out of his bag one of the books she'd lent him.

"Persuasion?" Mel raised a brow.

"I take that you've read it?" He asked.

"I love it," She smiled at it. "The main character's name is Anne, right?"

"Yes," Erick shook his head. "The story... It made me think– What if I'm making a mistake?"

"What d'you mean?"

"What if I don't like Anne the way I think I do?" He elaborated. "I wrote and she wrote back every week, we never ran out of things to say, but the last week before going to my grandad's house she said something that... What if I just like her because she's the complete opposite of what my parents want?"

"I feel like those are unrelated, I'm not sure I follow," Mel frowned. "Since when you've been having doubts?"

"Since Anne and I started to talk more this summer. It's not exactly that I have doubts, I mean, I know I feel something, I just don't know what."

"I don't think there's a reasoning behind the people we like," She retorted. "...Right?"

"If there's no reasoning, then I guess it's all right, but if I'm supposed to have one... I don't have it. I can't tell why I like her."

"Well, you think she's pretty?"

"Yeah," Erick moved on his place awkwardly. "Although I think other girls are pretty too, and I could even get along with them as I do with Anne. If you were to ask me why I'm interested in her, I wouldn't know."

"But that's normal," Mel tried to calm him. "Love has no logic, that doesn't mean is bad?"

"Listen," He put a finger on the book and pointed harshly. "If I just like her because she's pretty and fun then it wouldn't be bad... Yet I think I'm around her because I know it'd make my parents mad, when I'm here, at school, I don't worry about her... I do wonder, but is not constant."

"So? I don't think about Harry all day."

"Aren't I supposed to be dying of solitude when I'm away from her? Maybe this is just a lie I tell myself so I feel like a normal guy, maybe I'm incapable of falling in love and Anne is just my excuse to be a bad son..."

There was a piece of paper coming out of the book, she took it without thinking. Erick kept rambling without looking at what she was doing and her eyes skimmed through the letter. The seams were so worn out that she could tell the boy had read it several times.

"Anne likes someone else..." She said quietly.

Erick's eyes landed on the piece of paper his face turned pale. "Give me that."

"His name's Stuart and he's nice...'" Mel read out loud. "Her boyfriend?"

"No," He said, seizing the letter. "He could be... but she's waiting."

"Waiting?"

"For me."

"And you don't want to say anything," Mel said slowly, "because you're not sure?"

"I can't be with her," Erick said with difficulty. "Not yet... I have two more years of school, even then I don't know when I'll be able to leave my parents' house..."

"But you like her."

"My parents won't approve."

"You don't have to tell them."

"I can't do that!" He said. "Imagine that Harry's parents were alive and they hated everything about you. That every time they see you they'd throw nasty remarks your way, and then Harry'd be out in the street with no money and without being able to give you a good life, imagine you're from two different worlds and nothing you have to offer can get him out trouble..."

"I think... I think we'd both be in pain all the time," Mel said quietly, "...Is that how you feel?"

"That's what will happen if I do the wrong thing," Erick ran a hand through his hair, ruining his neat curls. "I'd love to send a letter telling her everything... but we're young, I wasn't expecting things to move as fast as they did... she's great, she really is, but she doesn't even know I'm a wizard. There are too many secrets and I just think Anne deserves better. Maybe Stuart can do better."

"I think that in a way, you're right," Mel pushed the book towards him. "But I've seen you read and learn, get rid of so many prejudices just to meet her, not even knowing if she'd like you back... that has to mean something."

Erick supported his head in one hand, rubbing his forehead. "All I know is that if I pull her away from this boy without telling her everything... I'll end up ruining one of the best things that have ever happened to me."

"Then?" She frowned. "You're going to... you're just going to leave her?"

Erick swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want her to choose him... I'm not around anyway, I could even mention the ball and Daphne just to... to make her think..."

"You're gonna hurt her," She told him, not in a reproachful tone, but one that had to be said. "I guess this is the gentlest way you can do it... and it's not forever, right? I mean, if everything goes as planned, eventually you'll be able to try. It's meant to be."

"Meant to be?" He chuckled bitterly. "You sound too sure."

"I am," She responded sincerely. "You and Anne will end up together... just like Harry and me, if I'm lucky enough."

Erick gave her a look, a tiny smile on his lips. "Warming up to the idea then?"

"I've been too hard on myself and Harry," She shrugged. "I think life can be a fairytale if we do what we're meant to do."

"How are we supposed to know what that is?"

"Fate will find a way," Mel got up and patted his shoulder. "Just don't lose hope..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​ @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere​ @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

[lucefrs]

𝘼𝙁𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝘾𝘼𝙎𝙎𝙄𝙀'𝙎 𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙃, Gallagher’s therapist gave her a journal to write in. She hasn’t used it until today. Incapable of doing anything without an audience (real or imaginary), she writes as if someone will be reading it, in the form of an unsent letter. 

I am once again asking is it ever gonna change, am I gonna feel this way forever? Look up I am once again asking meme to get the tone, then, in your head superimpose a picture of Clairo over Bernie’s head. Hi, you son of a gun. How are ya? I miss you. Dearly, with all the tension that’s in the hand touches of Jane Austen movie adaptations. The last few months can only be described as a series of unfortunate events (no copyright infringement intended). You’ll be happy to know I have a new lease on the English language, mainly that’s it’s totally and completely inadequate in describing anything I feel. But I’ll try. I feel like a collection of voices. The low, exasperated, drawl of Matt Berninger, and the brassy exhaustion of Fiona Apple and FKA Twig’s unparalleled high notes in Cellophane. I also feel like Mac DeMarco’s Baby You’re Out. Do you understand how I’m feeling? Knowing how I truly feel, which very few people at the moment do, how long do I have before people start to think I’m milking it? I can feel the clock ticking already. I hope these feelings pass before people start to stop loving me. 

When I was a kid, no maybe a tween, god that reminds me of the Twinkies. Do you remember the Twinkies? Wait, the Tweenies. Oh my god. They looked weird as hell. Anyways. My mom took me to a ballet. Because she was into all that stuff, and I guess I was to. I just like hanging out with her. Mostly I liked looking at her while she watched. But we went and it was, they were so beautiful. Like swans. Everything was elongated and graceful, and I think I decided then and there I wanted to be like that. Not a ballerina, but effortless. For a while I thought they could just, do that. Which was obviously like, super silly. It wasn’t until, I don’t know how I stumbled across it, probably on YouTube or something. Where they showed the dancer’s feet, all mangled and bruised. But it never like, made their performance any less beautiful. Because you couldn’t see it. Their feet would always be covered by ballet slippers, and the only people who would ever have to look at themselves were themselves. And I remember thinking, that’s a bloody good deal. Because no one goes to a ballet and thinks about how irrevocably wrecked the dancer’s feet are, everyone’s too busy being in awe of how they tiptoe and plie. I think that’s how I wanna be. Being effortless takes effort but you don’t have to show it if you don’t want to. I always thought I had the one-up knowing that. But I don’t know...Lately I sort of feel like knowing doesn’t mean shit. The whole, I know what you’re doing and I’m allowing it to happen. It’s a trick, especially for girls I think, deludes us into thinking we have a semblance of control, I think it dilutes the pain. You probably haven’t seen Sharp Objects, ‘tis really good if you wanna check it out. But one of the characters, Amma, says: “if you let people do things to you, you’re really doing it to them.” But so what? Permission’s not that strong and knowing doesn’t make you feel any more powerful. I talk a lot, but I think I might always be silent under consumption. Like the girl’s on stage with mangled feet. I could be more careful, but being careful’s not effortless, and I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than The Nutcracker. 

The thing is, I don’t know how to come out of this unscathed. I don’t think I will. And just like that, everybody will see my disgustingly, grotesque, mangled, feet. 

And none of them will like me anymore, but they won’t be sad, they’ll just wipe their foreheads and go, phew, close call, it’s always the girls with daddy issues that are the most fucked. Daddy issues is obviously used as a synonym for slut because it’s 2020 and it sounds, in a backwards way, more progressive, and it’ll be tragic because I don’t even have daddy issues and I do have really nice feet, you can attest to that.

I’ll be back in D.C soon-ish, I’m pretty sure. But I’ve gotta go home for the holidays this year. I just have to. I miss my parents so much that I wanna cry. And I’ve gotta get an apartment even though financially responsible would be staying in Ireland for the summer so I don’t have to pay rent, but I have no friends there. Sad face. But that’s okay ‘cos I wanna hang out with you anyways. Happy face. I was maybe wondering if you could cover my rent for the summer, and then I’ll work a bunch so I can buy the plane tickets myself. In return, you can put me in your bedroom and I’ll sing a little song (Clairo, 4Ever). 

As always, a music rec, and this one’s a doozy. The Magnetic Fields. Two albums, 50 Song Memoir and 69 Love Songs. I chose a few for you, that relate to me, in case you’re not like me and don’t have time to be listening to 119 songs. 

Washington, D.C - Washington, D.C, it’s paradise to me! :) ‘12: You Can Never Go Back to New York -  I think you’d like the whole album, a 50 song memoir for each year of the lead singer’s life. I hope my life is as colourful as his when I’m fifty. Meaningless - The people I could send this to! But I won’t!  

If you’d been to Pluto before, and no one else had, would you be disappointed to return to Earth? I wouldn’t be. I met some Plutonians and they were all very nice and charming, and I even slept with some of them and loved some of them (in my own way, the same way I love you). I didn’t know how to tell them, because I didn’t want to brag or gloat, that Earth is the best place in the universe. Mostly I felt sad that they’d never get to experience Earth the same way I do. Do you think that makes Earthians and Plutonians incompatible? 

It’s better if you don’t overthink it, really just a roundabout way of getting you to tell me whether you’d fuck an alien. ♥

Hope you still think of me sometimes, hope you’re not lonely.  Yours, before I am mine, - Luce 

P.S. We both know that’s not true, but it looks so romantic, don’t you think?

#we are . Jumping on the self para train ! #phew . emotionally constipated even in writing . good for ha #mostly all i got out of this is that her priorities are wack if main thing she cares about is if the gallagher kids will still like her /: #luce 2 luce spending the majority of this writing about feet : this better not awaken anything in me #meaningless truly does go out to all the gallagher kids tho! <3

[kerfufflewatch]

Candy/ pastries or your pain is mine

everyone asked for candy/pastries, and I wrote way too much, and I’m pretending that’s because everyone asked for it and not because I have no self-control

[on AO3]

--

"Kinda surprised you like sweet stuff that much," McCree remarks. 

Hanzo only gives him the barest of glances before returning his attention to the doughnut box on the counter. McCree had found a proper doughnut shop while they were here in the States--one of those local places that was big enough to be noteworthy but small enough to still have product worth talking about--and brought back a solid half-dozen to the safehouse. It was, admittedly, entirely too much sugar even for two grown men, but it'd been a long and frankly boring mission and he thought they deserved something.

After a moment's deliberation, Hanzo liberates the box of its blueberry cake doughnut and sets it on a napkin that is already dusted with crumbs and flakes of glaze. "And why is that?" he asks as he sets to pouring a cup of coffee. 

"Dunno. You're so fit. Figured you were one of those guys who counted every calorie and eats their body weight in protein every day."

Hanzo snorts softly at that. "The fact that I put some thought into my meal composition, unlike some people, does not make me obsessed."

"Mmhm."

Hanzo shoots him a glare that is more amused than annoyed, then returns to his coffee. "You are not too far off, I suppose," he says, slowly pouring milk into his cup until it reaches the precise color he deems acceptable. "When I was younger, I did maintain a much stricter diet--it was considered childish to indulge in something with no health benefits. After, it simply became one of those things that I did not need and did not permit myself."

"And now?"

"Now I have learned that denying myself cake will not restore my honor." His coffee spoon clinks sharply against the countertop.

"Nah. Not unless it was a real good cake." Hanzo laughs a little and, as always, it makes McCree's heart flutter and his mouth incapable of shutting up just in case he can get Hanzo to do it again. "What's your favorite, then?"

Hanzo has to think on that for a moment. Then he answers, "Taiyaki, I think. Although to be fair, I think it is mostly whatever I am in the mood for."

McCree hides his smile in his coffee cup. He really is too far gone to be helped. "Fair enough."

"What about you?"

McCree shrugs. "Never had that much of a sweet tooth, to be honest. I mean, yeah, here and there," he adds, gesturing vaguely at the doughnut box, "but . . . I guess I'd never turn down a slice of apple pie, though."

The corner of Hanzo's mouth lifts in something that might be amusement, though McCree's not sure why. "Really."

"Used to drive my mamá mad. She must've disowned me six or seven times for it, back in the day. Why not her flan, or sopapillas, or something else she had a family recipe for." McCree chuckles at the old memory, his mother sighing and putting her flour-dusted hands on her hips as her son continued to betray their proud Mexican heritage. "But yeah. That's the favorite, I think."

Hanzo laughs softly. "A troublemaker at every turn."

"That's me." McCree brushes past Hanzo to pour himself another cup of coffee. Going by the files Winston sent this morning, it’s looking like it might be a half-pot kind of day. “Gotta say, though, damn hard to find any decent apple pie out where we’re stationed. They got stuff like it around, I guess, but none of it’s quite right. Think the last time I had any was . . .”

He trails off. He’d been about to say it was probably the better part of a year and a half, but come to think of it, it’s probably been about a year. It wasn’t much, but he remembers now: serving himself a cup of burnt diner coffee and a slice of pie from the display case, sitting in a cracked vinyl seat with the best view of the railroad over the gorge, getting one bite in before having to abandon it. He’d barely appreciated it at the time with his attention focused elsewhere, but the taste of tart apple and sweet cinnamon had lingered on his tongue through the hell that followed, mixed with gunpowder and dust.

“McCree?”

McCree blinks out of his reverie. His sugar spoon still hovers over his coffee, teetering and threatening to spill. He hastily dumps the sugar and gives it a stir. “Sorry. Got a little distracted there,” he says, putting on an easy smile. “Was a bit of a rough day last time, is all.”

Hanzo seems unconvinced, but he knows when to let things drop. It’s one of the many things McCree appreciates about him. 

They lapse into a companionable quiet. Hanzo breaks off a small piece of the doughnut and pops it into his mouth. He absentmindedly sucks a crumb off the pad of his thumb, and McCree forgets all about pointing out that he'd actually bought that particular doughnut for himself. 

—

They're both sent back to the States again within the month, but on separate, minor missions. Hanzo goes off with his brother and Angela. McCree tries not to think about how irritable that makes him. 

McCree's sent out on a solo mission for three weeks, investigating a business out in Canada Winston worries might have some Talon ties. It looks and acts like a standard accounting firm, and three weeks of running coffee and organizing files doesn’t give McCree any reason to believe otherwise. The tedium slowly grates on his nerves, and being treated like a witless errand boy does so more quickly, until he’s certain that he has none left carrying him through. 

The whole thing is made worse by having to maintain radio silence the entire three weeks. He wasn't necessarily the sort to enjoy long text conversations or phone calls, but he could always count on a wry response from Angela or Genji if he sent them updates or complaints, and Lena and Mei sometimes just liked to check in. He gets none of this, though, and it leaves him far too much time to think. 

And of course, because his heart's a goddamn fool, he finds himself missing Hanzo the most. 

For a while, as one does once a crush starts to become a little bit desperate, McCree entertains the notion of telling Hanzo in a variety of ways. With how long they've known each other, just asking for a date seems too distant. Grand gestures are something, but anything too grand would just leave Hanzo embarrassed and irritable regardless of how he felt in return. He doesn't know when Hanzo's birthday is and asking Genji would mean any surprise would be ruined. 

At some point, he remembers the conversation with Hanzo during their last mission, and he thinks for far too long about gifting Hanzo with some sort of sweet thing. Cakes and candies were romantic, weren't they? Except something generic would go over about as well as a snowball taking a lovely vacation in Hell, and Hanzo deserves better than some dime-a-dozen chocolates. 

He dithers and sighs and eventually forgets about the whole thing after a week or so, and the conversation shortly thereafter. The whole idea is a fool's errand, anyway--it all assumes that Hanzo would want him at all. 

Just before he can drive himself mad with hypotheticals,  he digs up a handwritten set of budgets in someone's locked office desk that, even coded and vague, implicate the business in some illicit dealings quite nicely. He activates the little automatic drone that helpfully scans and uploads all of the pages straight to  Athena and Winston, neatly replaces everything, and slips out of the city the moment he is given the all-clear. 

By the time he gets back to Gibraltar, the combination of a shitty mission and an equally shitty flight has him too exhausted and irritable. He checks in with Winston, drags himself through the shower, and flops onto his bed. He’s too antsy for sleep, but he can at least use a few minutes with his eyes closed before he has to dodge the rest of the team to find food. 

He only gets a couple of minutes before there is a knock on his door. He sighs up at the ceiling. “Just a sec.”

His irritation all but evaporates when he opens the door to find Hanzo on the other side. He has a paper bag in one arm, wafting the rich scent of food, and a bottle of whiskey in the other. 

"Well damn," McCree says. "Rollin' out a hero's welcome."

Hanzo rolls his eyes, even as he smiles. "Hello to you, as well. I thought you might like to celebrate your success, but if not . . ."

McCree snorts. "Success. Yeah. We'll call it that." 

His tone makes Hanzo's smile immediately drop in a way that makes McCree's stomach do the same.

"Was I mistaken?" Hanzo asks. "The mission brief suggested you were successful, but . . ."

McCree groans, rubbing his hands down his face. “No, you weren't. Sorry, Han," he says wearily. "Was just a long, frustrating sort of job. Bunch of annoying assholes, then me doing a whole lot of nothin’ to prove that they’re assholes. Got me in a bit of a mood, y’know?”

“Oh. I am sorry. Perhaps I should have considered--would you like me to go?”

His expression of mild concern might have fooled anyone else, but McCree knows better nowadays, and he sees the flash of disappointment as it crosses his face. "No, 'course not," he says. "Just warnin' you I might not be the best company."

Hanzo nods, but his brow is still pinched with uncertainty. McCree reaches to take the bag. "Got a couple glasses if you wanna pour us a drink," he says, nodding to the pair he keeps on his desk just for this purpose. 

"I--yes."

McCree pauses as he lifts the first box out of the bag. "Seriously, what's buggin' you?"

"It is nothing."

It's clearly not nothing, but no amount of prying will get Hanzo to talk if he doesn't want to. He unpacks both their meals, but pauses when he finds a third box at the bottom of the bag. This one is smaller and clearly from a different place entirely. 

He looks questioningly at Hanzo, but he is pointedly not watching McCree, pretending to need his entire focus to pour their drinks. McCree opens the box.

What he finds is an apple pie. A full one, untouched, with the slightly uneven look to the crust that comes from something handmade. He looks to Hanzo again, his mouth running dry. 

"Why . . . ?" he starts, and finds himself unable to finish the question.

Hanzo sits on the edge of the bed and shrugs one shoulder, now very interested in the contents of his glass. "We ended up getting dinner the last night of our mission," he says, too casually. "One of their specialties was apparently their pies, and I remembered what you had said before."

Forgetting dinner entirely, McCree grabs one of the forks from the bag and carves out a piece of the pie right from the center. Hanzo mutters "That is barbaric," but is ignored. 

It's good, definitely one of the better apple pies he's had--tart apples and sweet cinnamon, perfectly flaky crust that just about melts on the tongue. But it's the full realization of what Hanzo's done--not only remembering some inane conversation from weeks ago, but going out of his way to bring back a gift--that has him struggling to speak.

"Thank you, Hanzo" McCree says when he finally has his voice again. "This is real nice of you." Hanzo gives him a halfhearted smile. "Is this what's been eatin' at you this whole time?"

Hanzo purses his lips and runs his fingertip around the rim of his glass, which is now conspicuously empty. It is a long moment before he answers. "I had hoped to--to have a rather different conversation, but now I believe it might be better saved for another time, if you are not feeling well. It is no matter."

McCree's heart feels full to bursting. He sets aside the box and sits beside Hanzo on the bed. He knocks his hand lightly against Hanzo's and leaves it there, fingers resting in the valleys of Hanzo's knuckles. "Dunno," he says. "Seems like it might be somethin' worth talking about to me."

Realization dawns on Hanzo's face slowly. When he finally meets McCree's eye again, it's with a shy, sweet smile.

Much later, after confessions and dinner and a few self-conscious laughs are shared, McCree offers to split the rather large piece of pie with Hanzo. It's good, and he ends up eating most of it, but finds it tastes better off Hanzo's lips.

#Kerfuffle Fic #scenario prompts #Overwatch #McHanzo #Anonymous

[rocket-roach]

People make me better

this is a gift to the amazingly talented and hilarious @causeimanartist who drew a wonder woman so beautiful it wiped my brain and rendered me incapable of rational thought. thank u. this doesnt even begin to repay the debt i owe you.

summary: Dick moved into the manor about a year ago. Bruce’s been dating Diana and Clark for a while. It’s time he brought everybody together (and he’s nervous as hell)

word count: 2014

Dick could tell Bruce was anxious about something, but every time he’d asked the question, it’d been avoided. He kept himself busy on his bars all day while he tried to puzzle out just what was making Bruce so nervous. It wasn’t Batman stuff, because when they had patrolled the night before everything had been fine. Alfred hadn’t been commenting on Wayne Enterprise’s stock price, so it wasn’t work related. He was confused. He wanted answers. After one final flip, Dick’s feet hit the floor. He’d get the answer out of Bruce if it meant sitting in his office and bugging him all day.

Dick grabbed the batman slippers he’d been gifted that Christmas. They swished across the floor as he padded towards Bruce’s office. He should be home by now, it was well after five. Bruce, being a diagnosed workaholic, would no doubt be in his office hidden behind a wall of paperwork. He pushed open the door and cleared his throat.

But the billionaire wasn’t hidden behind paper at all. He was staring at his phone, his head in his hands and looking more morose than Dick had ever seen him.

“Bruce?”

He looked up, and he was awfully pale. “Dick? What’s up, chum?”

Dick walked closer to the desk, and didn’t miss the way Bruce locked the phone before he could reach him. He was hiding something.

“Is… is everything okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Bruce began to lie, then stopped as his son began pouting. “Damn it. You’re too hard to lie to. C’mon, let’s go to the den. We can talk in there.”

He took Dick’s hand and led him across the hall. All manner of terrible thoughts flashed through his mind as they settled onto the couch, so he scooted closer till he was tucked under Bruce’s arm. The billionaire looked even paler in here. It was starting to make Dick really nervous.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a long time. You know how I work with Superman and Wonder Woman?”

Dick nodded his head.

“Good. Well, we’ve all been working together for a while,” he looked like he was about to expand on that, but instead he fell silent.

The boy sat there, with the patience of a saint while Bruce strung his thoughts together. They’d only been in each other’s lives for a little over a year now, but both Dick and Bruce had learned to read each other like a book. There were times where they had entire conversations without saying a word. This was starting to feel like one of those conversations.

“I really have no idea how to say this. They’re coming over. Tonight. The both of them.” He sounded annoyed, but Dick didn’t miss how soft his eyes got. “Diana and Clark have wanted to meet you since you moved in but I was… am, nervous about it. They’re not bad people. God, they’re the best people I’ve ever met. Clark’s so goddamn midwestern,” he was babbling now and he knew it. “and Diana’s the strongest person I’ve ever known. And we’ve… we’ve all been dating each other.”

“… that’s it?” Dick asked. Bruce still had that constipated look on his face.

“Um, yeah.”

“I get to meet Superman and Wonder woman?” he was starting to bounce now. “And you’re dating them?”

Bruce blinked. He’d expected outrage, denial, rejection, or even just distance. He didn’t expect Dick shaking with excitement and yanking on his arm in disbelief. He realized, for the umpteenth time, that he really had no idea how to raise a kid.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. They’re actually gonna be here soon- you’re really okay with me dating them?” he double checked.

“I grew up in a circus, Bruce. A lot of people did that. Mom and Dad were kind of the weird ones because they were only married to each other,” he shrugged. “Besides, they make you happy, right? That’s what all the contortionists always said. Stay with people who make you happy.”

“They make me very happy,” he said, reaching out to pull his bouncing son close again.

“Well, that’s good then! I can’t wait to meet them. Why’d you wait so long?” Dick nearly flew out of his skin as the doorbell echoed through the manor. He looked at Bruce, his hair practically frizzing.

Bruce simply took his son’s hand and led him to the foyer, where Alfred was holding the mahogany doors open as Clark, dressed in a nice blue button up and khakis followed a yellow sundress clad Diana. They smiled, their eyes lighting up at the sight of Bruce standing there with Dick. He gently nudged the boy forward, leaving his hand resting between his shoulder blades for support.

“Dick, this is Clark Kent and Diana Prince,” he introduced before Alfred could jump on his case.

Dick looked up at them, his eyes the size of dinner platters. He shook their hands gingerly, and the two of them didn’t miss the small shake in that gesture. Bruce watched all of this like a hawk, a small irrational part of him screaming to protect Dick. He quashed that part down. Dick was currently the safest person in the world, after all. He was surrounded by Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman.

“Hello, Dick,” Diana smiled as she knelt so they were eye to eye. “It’s very nice to meet you. You’re all Bruce’s talked about. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.”

“I- you- me?” He just about squeaked.

She smiled gently at him, and it reminded him a lot of his mom’s smile. Gentle, understanding, and she had a dimple just like his mother. He’d been so absorbed taking her features, he missed Clark bending down to his height as well.

“I’ve read a lot about you, and more about Robin. You’re doing great work, Dick. Are you taking Bruce’s lessons seriously?”

Now Superman was talking to him. Dick felt like he might combust. He looked over to Clark, and realized he was wearing glasses.

“D’you have bad eyesight?” He blurted out. Immediately following that, he clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!”

But Clark just laughed. “No, it’s okay. It’s something I do to separate Superman from me. Secret identities and all,” he rose back to his full height.

Diana stood as well, and offered her hand out to his. He took it, his fingers slipping into her strong grasp. He was holding hands with Wonder Woman. She began leading him through the manor, which felt a little weird but he guessed as they turned to the corner to the dining room, she’d spent much more time walking its halls than he had. Diana sneaked a peek back, just in time to see Bruce giving Clark a quick kiss.

“Bruce told me you’ve enrolled in a new school,” she said as they sat at the large table. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do. I don’t get bullied like I did at the old school. Plus, it’s close to where Bruce works so sometimes, he picks me up and we go get- “Dick paused as Alfred walked into the room. “nutritious snacks.”

The butler’s infamous eyebrow stayed in it’s resting position.

Bruce and Clark walked in a moment later, and once they were all settled in, Alfred brought drinks. Apple juice for Dick, bourbon for Clark, Malbec for Diana and scotch for Bruce. He promised dinner would be served shortly, then left them alone.

“How long have you all been dating?” Dick asked after the silence went on for a little too long.

“Two years,” Clark answered. “This uh, doesn’t make you uncomfortable does it?”

“No,” Dick answered quickly. “No, lots of people did that in the circus. I was telling Bruce; my parents were kind of the weird ones because they were exclusive. They didn’t get treated bad or anything because of that,” he shrugged. “I just thought it was a circus thing. I think it’s nice, loving more than one person.”

Diana caught the proud smile that slipped across the billionaire’s face. Underneath the table, she took his hand and squeezed.

“Thank you,” Clark said. “You have no idea what that means to us, pal.”

Alfred wheeled in dinner at that. Pork steaks, mashed potatoes, green beans were laid out in front of them, earning dual groans of happiness from Clark and Dick. The two dug in with gusto, each telling stories of the times they’d eaten this same meal. Diana and Bruce were a little slower in joining them. The rest of the meal passed with a familial ease that hadn’t been experienced there in nearly twenty years. Once every one had been stuffed to the gills, they were shepherded into the den by Alfred who promised cookies and milk, and the adults were promised a digestif. Dick curled up in his usual spot, underneath his guardians’ arm. Diana sat to Dick’s other side, while Clark sat by Bruce and stretched an arm across the back of the couch.

“Tell me about the circus, pal. It’s been so long since I’ve been to one,” Clark prodded after a moment’s silence. “They used to come to Smallville all the time, but that was a long time ago.”

“It was amazing, Clark,” Dick hummed. “Every day Dad and I would go and help feed the animals. I loved the elephants. They were so nice! Pop always said that they knew I was a circus kid, so they were always extra gentle with me. I used to ride them around before I was old enough to fly. We had horses, too. A few of them were still pretty green, but I got to help the riders break one of them.”

“You broke a horse?” Diana asked, amazed.

“Well, they already did most of the hard stuff by the time I got to ride her. But she was a pretty white color, kind of beige. Pop said she was an American cream horse. But yeah, I got the saddle on her and rode till she stopped bucking. It was kind of fun,” he blushed, missing Clark’s look of glee and Bruce’s sudden paleness.

“That’s a pretty rare horse,” Clark couldn’t stop smiling. “How long did it take you?”

“’Bout a day,” Dick shrugged.

Diana and Clark laughed. The boy gave them both inquisitive looks.

“Sorry, Dick, that’s so impressive! Even on Themyscira it takes some of best riders a few days to break a horse. Maybe one day you could teach me something?” Diana nudged him.

“Only if Bruce is okay with it. I miss riding horses. Elephants, too. They’re so much fun to ride, you know? You just get so high up and their skin is so wrinkly but if you get the right elephant? It’s like flying.”

Bruce was already shaking his head no at the question forming on Clark’s lips. It was hard enough seeing his kid get shot at nearly every night, he didn’t need the added stress of watching him being thrown from a half ton animal.

Clark lightly punched him. Damn his hardheadedness.

“My Ma and Pa have some horses at their farm. Why don’t you come out sometime and show me what you’re made of?”

“Please, Bruce?” Dick asked, his lip beginning to move out into a pout. “It’s been so long since I’ve ridden.”

For the first time in their relationship, Diana and Clark watched as Gotham’s Dark Knight finally gave in. It was like watching the side of a mountain slough off. Something that was previously seen as immovable, vanishing in seconds.

“We’ll find a weekend,” he finally allowed. “But you’re wearing a helmet.”

Dick grinned as he squeaked, “Well, duh.”

Alfred returned with the food and the drinks, and not long after that Dick was snoring softly against his guardian’s chest.

“He’s wonderful,” Diana murmured as to not wake him. “You’re a very lucky man.”

“He makes me better,” Bruce agreed as he felt Clark’s hand rubbing his back gently. “You all do.”

#trinity #Batman #Robin #Superman #Wonder Woman #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Clark Kent #Diana Prince #nothing like a nervous dad and his bouncy son!!!!! #AND nothing like his two supportive partners letting him work through his own nerves until he was ready to introduce dick to them and not #pushing him to it! #fluff #like barely a dash of angst #blink and you might miss it

[lvllns]

5 questions for writers!

i was tagged by @goblin-deity​!! thank you so much owen!!!

i’ll tag: @allisondraste​ @serbarris​ @arlathen​ @trvelyans​ @lavellane​ and i am probably missing a few writers so if you wanna do this, consider yourself tagged!!

some of this is under a cut bc it got long since i am incapable of picking “short” things that i like oops

1. Do you have a favorite character to write? Who and why? Oh Isseya for sure. A lot of it is because I have her so fucking fleshed out after writing so much of her. I know her like the back of my hands and she is so damn easy to slip into and write. I did really enjoy writing Solas as well, that was a whole experience.

2. Do you have a favorite trope to write? Or one you want to write? Friends to lovers is so good and is my absolute favorite. Tending wounds is another good one. FOUND FAMILY, give me that good good slow burn friends to lovers with a side of found family actually.

3. Share your favorite description you’ve written? from rare is this love.

This is what they are. Protectors that are forgotten about until they’re needed to stop the world ending and even then, when they fall nobody notices unless they take an archdemon with them. Nobody will remember Riordan. Nobody will talk of how he flung himself at a fucking archdemon and wounded it enough to ground it so the two of them could have a chance. Isseya knows, she knows, she will spend the rest of her life talking about him but it will not matter because only the name of one of the last two Grey Wardens of Ferelden will be spoken in taverns after the sun has gone down.

also this from ritl:

Isseya moves, stands on the handles of her daggers and leaps. Comes straight down with her longsword and uses her momentum to bury it deep into the skull of the archdemon. It sinks in cleanly, but slowly, so slowly. Her arms shake.

There’s a blast of heat and light. Bright and hot. She closes her eyes, looks to the side and holds steady pressure. Forces the blade to stay deep in the beast. The leather of her gloves starts to smoke a little, her hands begin to ache and it’s too much. It’s too much and her arms hurt, her eyes hurt even though they’re closed. Her right foot slips off the pommel of the dagger that she’s using as a foothold, and she swears.

The archdemon is thrashing around, screaming and bellowing and twitching. Its massive body rolls around, knocks soldiers and dwarves and mages and elves around. Sends them flying and Isseya knows death throes when she sees them but she hurts all over. Her body slams against its neck as her other foot slips off the dagger and she clings to the longsword, desperate to end this.

And right when she thinks she is going to have to let go if she wants to keep her hands, the dragon falls to the ground with a deafening thud.

Everything goes silent and dark and the heat recedes. Isseya lets go and falls to the ground. Lands in a heap and curls into a ball. Her head knocks against the stone and isn’t that just great. Every single part of her aches and has a heartbeat. She flexes her hands, winces when the leather gloves crack and she tries to pull them off but she is shaking so bad she can’t get a good grip so she gives up.

The sounds of battle still ring out around her. No doubt the last few darkspawn getting their heads removed. She reaches to her belt and pulls a thick, red elfroot potion free. Pops it open and swallows it down without even a grimace. It won’t heal her, not even close, but it numbs everything enough that she can climb to her feet. She braces herself on the shoulder of the archdemon. Dips her head low and takes a few deep breaths before she steps away.

Her knees knock together, legs shaking from sheer exhaustion, but she takes another step. And another. Gets herself to where she can see the fighting. Where she can see the darkspawn retreating and soldiers cheering and there is so much blood everywhere.

Isseya looks around and finds herself locking eyes with Alistair. He’s a mess. His gauntlets are gone, his shield is dented and his hair is stuck to his head. Blood and ash and sweat streak his face, deep cuts that will scar mar his skin but —

But he’s alive.

And so is she.

Isseya laughs, high and strained and pushes herself into an unsteady, limping run. Thinks that when this is all done, she is never running again.

Alistair drops his sword and catches her when she leaps at him. She throws her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, and laughs into his hair. Laughs and cries and kisses the top of his head. The metal of his armor is uncomfortable where it pushes against her but she does not care.

They’re alive.

4. Share your favorite dialogue you’ve written? This is from salt.

“Solas?”

He startles. Jumps and sends an apple flying through the air. She catches it easily and her brows turn down as she looks at him.

“I am —”

“You went somewhere and it didn’t look very nice,” a small smile as she hands the fruit back to him. Her fingers brush his and he barely keeps his body from blowing apart.

He shakes his head violently.

“Memories,” his smile is more teeth than anything. It only makes her look more concerned. “They return in pieces. Sometimes I find myself swept away,” his fingers drum against the table to the beat of an old song that he has not heard since a party at Dirthamen’s many years ago.

She hums before setting to work peeling the orange. “My name’s Abigail, by the way.”

He thinks he has never been so off in his entire life. “Ah, please pardon my inability to remember how one handles a conversation.”

Abigail snorts. “‘Handles a conversation?’ It’s just talking Solas,” she waves an orange segment around as she speaks. “Handling implies that it’s uncomfortable,” a blink as she leans across the table. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I — No?”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

He takes a bite of the apple and leans back in his chair. Wills his heart to stop trying to beat right out his throat. Is this really all it takes, to catch him so flat-footed? A nice conversation? Pretty eyes? He rolls his shoulders and flops his arm over his face.

“Yeah, you look like you’re having a blast over there.”

and this bit from rare is this love:

“Zevran” her voice is barely above a whisper and holds his gaze until he looks at the door. “This seems...like it is very important to you.”

“Don’t get the wrong idea about it,” there he goes. Walls and bricks and stones to hide behind. “You killed Taliesen. As far as the Crows will be concerned, I died with him. That means I’m free, at least for now,” his body is tense, like a trap ready to spring and she is reaching right for the trigger. “Feel free to sell it, or wear it...or whatever you’d like. It’s really the least I could give you in return.”

Something odd nudges in her chest. At the spot where that plant took root so many months ago.

She turns the earring over in her hand.

“So...not a token of affection, then?” She tries to keep her voice light but immediately he freezes. Amber eyes wide like a spooked halla.

Somewhere in the back of her skull, glass shatters.

“I...look, just...just take it,” he stands now, runs a shaky hand through his hair. “It’s meant a lot to me, but so have...so has what you’ve done. Please, take it.”

He’s pleading with her to take this earring and ah, that’s it. There’s fear laced throughout. Fear and nerves and he is looking at her like she is on the verge of tearing his heart from his chest.

“I - Zev, vhenan,” he flinches and she holds the earring out toward him. “Please believe me when I say I want to take it but...I can’t,” shaky hands pluck the gold earring from her fingers and she watches as he chases every emotion from his face and oh how it hurts to be closed off from him so suddenly after all this time. “I think...I think it means something more to you and I won’t take it until you can be honest about what it means first.”

“You are a very frustrating woman to deal with, do you know that?” The words are sharp and he takes another step away. “We pick up every other bit of treasure we come across, but not this,” he opens his mouth. Shuts it. Shakes his head. “You don’t want the earring? You don’t get the earring. Very simple.”

“You’re being childish,” gold eyes narrow and he snorts. “You are! Zev, we have to communicate, to talk about things,” her voice softens. “This doesn’t, Creators guide me, I care about you Zevran. I love you and whatever you need to work through, I’m here for you but you need to let me know what's going on. I'm not, fuck, I know there are things that will take time, on both our ends, but I can’t accept this when it is clearly more than just the pretty earring you’re trying to pass it off as.”

He says nothing. Hands scrub over his face before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I - Give me a few days, please,” twists the leather around his wrist, eyes flicking to her own and he looks terrified.

She takes a step closer, just enough so she can touch his arm briefly.

“You can talk to me about anything, you know that right?” Her head tilts as she wraps her arms around herself. “This won’t...what we have, it will not work if we don't communicate with each other.”

“I know. And I promise I will tell you, I just…” a heavy sigh, a hand through his messy hair. “A few days Isseya. Please.”

“Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

She watches his face crumble, a hand covering his eyes for a moment before he dips his head and quickly leaves the room.

5. Scene you haven’t written, but want to?: SO MANY. I have a ridiculously large modern au plotted out and I want to write Isseya/Zev meeting there so badly. Also really want to write Penelope/Fen in that au bc oh BOY that’s good stuff. I also have an Alistair/Hawke thing that’s been rattling around my skull and I so desperately want to write them meeting up at Skyhold after everything that’s happened since the Blight.

#caiti.txt #long post #owen thank you for this tag bc it gave me a reason to share my absolute favorite things #tbh i love all of salt so much #i didn't look at what i have that's not posted bc this would be SO MUCH longer but STILL #me reading ritl for the 321859372482 time: damn this is good actually

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 184: JP Hero Billboard Chart

Previously on BnHA: We spent the whole chapter enjoying the cultural festival. Class B entertained with a fantasy play that drew inspiration from no fewer than four separate intellectual properties, proving that it’s not just Monoma who likes to copy stuff. Hounddog handed out some of the most terrifying discipline we’ve seen since Orca’s EXTRA GUIDANCE. Eri regaled Deku with her enthusiastic recap of the concert in vivid detail including sound effects and both Deku and Mirio were thrilled to see her so happy. Those jerk upperclassmen from before apologized for their bad attitude. Everyone was grateful to class 1-A for lifting the school’s spirits. Hadou won the Miss Con competition at long last. Bakugou conquered the warped wall. Shinsou traumatized several class A students for life. Mei successfully wowed people with the support team expo and then promptly passed out afterward. Deku presented Eri with a handmade candy apple and bid her farewell. And lastly, over at the police station, the cops processed Gentle and La Brava and seemed to be taking steps to rehabilitate them. All in all it was the most wholesome chapter ever and I’m almost sorry to see this arc end, but the plot must go on.

Today on BnHA: Aizawa brings Eri back to U.A. and is all “oh yeah by the way, she lives here now.” We learn that Tokoyami interned with a hero named Hawks and YOU ALL KNOW WHO THAT IS. The Pussycats visit the 1-A dorms and announce that they’re coming off their hiatus and that Ragdoll will be supporting them as an OL which is some bullshit but at least she’s okay. Pixie-Bob explains that shockingly, All for One was not inclined to just give her quirk back just like that! We learn that the JP Hero Billboard Chart, the organization that ranks active heroes, will be presenting the new official rankings -- the first without All Might -- shortly. Right now, in fact! We then travel to Kamino for the live presentation. The top 10 heroes are introduced, the highlights of which are Ryuukyuu at #10, Kamui Woods at #7, my new bunny fave Miruko at #5, Edgeshot at #4, Best Finest Elite Superlative Jeanist at #3, and THAT MAN, Hawks, at #2. Oh and Endeavor at #1. With a new suit. I WONDER WHO THIS ARC IS GOING TO BE ABOUT.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 207 now, so any ETAs will reflect that. Just to clarify real quick, my stopping right smack dab in the middle of my boy’s big fight isn’t by choice, lol. I’ve been sick for the past few days, but I’m finally starting to feel a bit better, so hopefully I’ll have the energy to resume soon.)

GASSPPPPPPPP

IT’S THE THING. THE THING WITH THE RANKS. THE HERO RANKINGS!!

omg. are we going to get to see how they do it finally? AND ARE WE FINALLY GOING TO MEET FORMER NUMBER THREE AND CURRENT NUMBER TWO HERO IDOL HAWKS?? THE MYSTERIOUS HAWKS WHO HAS WINGS, AND I ASSUME HE HAS THE POWER OF HAWKS. MAYBE. EXCEPT THAT’S KIND OF A LAME POWER TO SOMEHOW GET HIM ALL THE WAY TO NUMBER TWO ABOVE PEOPLE LIKE EDGESHOT AND FUCKING BEAST JEANIST. HAWKS WHAT ARE YOUR SECRETS

maybe I should READ THE CHAPTER and find out. hmmm

anyway so November is ending! that means we’re entering December! which also means I think Bakugou is going to get a new costume soon! and also he and Todoroki have only one month left before they get to retake their exam oh gosh. so much excitement so little time

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

ERI GOT ADOPTED BY EVERYONE!?!??!??!

AIZAWA IS OFFICIALLY HER DAD. OH MY GOD. I’M GOING TO CRY. LOOK AT HIS NONCHALANT FACE. “hey Deku meet my new kid”

(ETA: and he says “U.A.” but we all know it’s really just him. I don’t see anyone else from the school stepping up. Aizawa it’s okay you can admit that you’re completely incapable of turning your back on a child in need and so you stepped in and took responsibility for her and only afterward actually went and asked Rat Principal if it was okay and thankfully he said yes because he’s also a pretty cool guy. just like you. my god I love you)

ERI’S SO HAPPYYYYY

LOOK AT ALL OF HER NEW BIG BROTHERS AND SISTERS!!!

THE FULL STORY IS YOU ALL ADOPTED A KID, DEKU!!!

Nejire put her hair in pigtails omggggg

and Tsuyu, she is your sister now. GET USED TO IT

so now Aizawa and Mirio are leaving her with Tamaki and Nejire and calling the 1-As outside to talk

so they found out that Eri was abandoned by her parents, and that her grandpa is the comatose Precepts boss

and Mirio says that her horn, which you recall had shrunk quite a bit after the Overhaul battle, started to grow again recently. although it’s still pretty small

so they figured U.A. would be the safest environment for her, rather than a foster home

GOOD. I’M GLAD YOU ALL FIGURED THAT OUT

AHHHHHH

(ETA: btw Mangastream’s translation says “teachers’ dormitory” rather than lounge, which makes a great deal more sense)

HE REALLY DID ADOPT HER IT’S OFFICIALLLLLLLLLL

oh my god. he cares so much. obviously it’s not something he had to do, but he obviously grew fond of her and knew it was going to be the best option for her

so now you have a six-year-old daughter, Aizawa. good thing your twenty other kids can help babysit

and also this guy!

so Mirio is now a full-time live-in nanny. I approve

omgggg

yesssssss

but that’s not to say that this the only reason he’s doing this. that will be the happiest ending but he still loves her regardless

“it’s been a while since we did anything gay, Mirio. how bout it”

yes. pretty neat

now Aizawa is asking if the third years can take Eri for a little bit. I guess he has to go and take care of some teacher things. he’s such a busy guy

Mirio says they’re happy to, and he’s saying they should all play Othello

apparently this is not referring to the Shakespeare play but it’s another name for the board game Reversi. that was really confusing for a sec lol. I’ve never heard of this game before

Deku’s asking if they can join in, but Aizawa’s telling them to go back to the dorms

ah??

OH? DO TELL

and now we’re cutting to the dorms and Tokoyami is suddenly sneezing quite forcefully

LOOK AT THESE CUTIESSSSS

why is Kiri wearing a button down shirt. are you going on a date. none of your usual suitors seem particularly dressed up

(ETA: and what is going on with Kami and Momo there oh my. you two sure look mighty cozy)

Kaminari is teasing Tokoyami about the old superstition that if you sneeze it means someone’s talking about you somewhere

AHHHHHH WHAAAAAAAT

THE FUCK!?

fuck me, what? Tokofuckingyami interned with the former number three himself and no one fucking said a thing?!

and was this his actual internship or his work study? I wonder how many other kids had actual internships that we didn’t hear a damn thing about

also why does Ochako look about 8 years old in that panel. holy shit her eyes are big

anyway, Toko is flatly saying he doubts he has any fans yet and that it’s too early

and now the door is cracking open and Iida is announcing that their guests are here!

EYYYYYYYYYYYY

IT’S BEEN A WHILE YOU ASSHOLES

Ragdoll! ❤❤❤ glad to see they didn’t dump you and that you’re keeping your spirits up even after everything that happened

DID THEY BRING KOUTA. THEY SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT KOUTA. he’s probably in school now though. damn

-- NO HE’S HERE!!!

BE CAREFUL WHEN GREETING HIM YOU KNOW HOW HE GETS!

I love that everyone’s so happy to see them and Mina and Hagakure are even running over for hugs. that’s so heartwarming to see, especially given how the camp ended and the scared and sad terms they must have parted on last time

speaking of those events!

it’s nice that he apologized. even though it wasn’t their fault (mostly). but I’m sure Bakugou doesn’t particularly like to be reminded of it and would rather just pretend like nothing happened. so I hope they take their cue from him and try not to make him uncomfortable

something like 90% of AO3 is convinced Bakugou has Secret PTSD from this incident, and while I tend to stick to Confirmed Canon Only and thus am more on the side of he probably doesn’t, I’m sure that it’s not something he likes to think about all the same and the subject probably does put him on edge

(ETA: and! come to think of it, the one thing we do know he came away with for sure is a lot of guilt! so it’s more than possible that he actually blames himself for being the cause of the attack and for indirectly being the reason why Ragdoll lost her quirk. so to have them come up and apologize to him when from his perspective he’s the one who caused all the trouble to begin with... now that is something I can see really bothering him, actually. oh Bakugou)

Jirou, who as you recall was also injured during the attack, says that they’re all doing well

and meanwhile Tora brought bread for all of them and Mina’s waving it around excitedly and Ochako looks over the moon. she always loves sweets

YESSSSSSSSSS

MY TINY ANGRY SON

LMAOOOOO

DEAR MIDORIYA I’M REALLY SORRY

lmaooooooo

look how much better he’s gotten now, though! he’s graduated from groin punching to handshaking! he’s actually super thrilled to see Deku again and you can tell and he’s trying so hard not to show it and I fucking love it omggg

OH MY GODDDD

HE MATCHED DEKU’S SHOES HOLY SHIT. HOW DOES THIS SERIES KEEP OUTCUTEING ITSELF!?

oh my god. Deku really is his hero. I can’t. why do I suddenly want to cry omggg

anyway! so now Satou’s asking why they’ve come to visit U.A.

and Pixie says they came “to celebrate her reinstatement”

???! Ragdoll???

:(!!!!!!

OH COME ON WHAT THE HELL

okay but like. her quirk was all mental anyway. physically she’s still just as strong as she ever was. I don’t see why she couldn’t be out there fighting crime even without the pokedex quirk. sure, it leaves her a bit more vulnerable not being able to track people or knowing their moves and stats ahead of time, but there’s still a lot she could do goddammit

and now Pixie says they got a report from Tartarus omg!

(ETA: okay so I posted Mangastream’s translation here as it makes much more sense than Jaimini’s version. so you can ignore all the confused commentary below. this makes it clear he’s just taunting them and saying “why sure, I’d love to give back all the quirks I stole, but I can’t do that while you’ve got me all tied up :’) too bad.”)

oh my god sudden All for One holy shit. I don’t think we’ve seen him since like chapter 116?? oh snap

so I’m not quite sure what he’s saying here. is he saying he physically can’t return the quirk, or that it’s use it or lose it type of deal? or is he just saying he doesn’t feel like returning it, sorry, too bad so sad?

I’m going to assume it’s that last one, seeing as he’s a dick

but like, there was never really any chance of that happening anyway. we all know the only way that quirk is coming back is if Deku does in fact turn out to be his kid and he takes the quirk himself and gives it back to her

AHHHHHHH

OKAY BUT. THE SHOT OF KACCHAN’S FACE THOUGH! Kacchan being part of the inner circle yesssssss. holy shit. I’ve been waiting so long for this?? thank you, manga, for this friendly reminder that he is the only other one who knows the full story of All for One and his connection to Deku. I love how serious and somewhat apprehensive they both suddenly look just at the mention of him

anyway, so Mandalay is saying it’s going to be broadcast soon, but that on the most recent JP Hero Billboard Chart they were ranked 411th

holy shit what?! weren’t they in the top 50 before?! that’s an insane slide. I know they lost a member and also had a kid get kidnapped on their watch, but still

AHHHH DETAILS ABOUT THE JP HERO BILLBOARD CHART YESSSSSSS

lol actually this is all stuff that we already knew

BUT LOOK AT THAT SILHOUETTE IN THE NUMBER THREE POSITION THOUGH! fucking Rawk Hawk is about to be revealed at long last omgggg

okay yeah, Deku says the Pussycats were previously ranked at #32

so Kiri says oh, that’s why they’re starting things up again, so they can fight their way back to the top after such a steep drop

oh my god

“NO YOU GUYS DON’T UNDERSTAND, WE FUCKED UP REALLY BAD”

they’re saying that the fact that they didn’t drop even lower means that there are still fans rooting for them, and so they have to work hard

lol Kiri’s sobbing into his arm at how manly they are

and now the kids are all “oh yeah come to think of it, the second semester rankings haven’t been presented yet” and that it’s probably because of all the crazy shit that’s happened recently

are they usually presented before now? I just figured it was a twice a year June-and-December type thing

“exciting” isn’t quite the word I’d use, but okay. sounds more depressing than anything :(

ahhhh now we’re cutting to the presentation!

they’re broadcasting from Kamino of all places

so there are a ton of people and a bunch of stretch limos and such, and it seems to be like an Oscar-level event

oh, but apparently it’s not normally like this

RYUUKYUUUUUUUU

HEY WHAT THE FUCK

WHAT FUCKING GIVES. THERE HAD BETTER BE AT LEAST ONE MORE BADASS LADY IN THE TOP TEN THEN OR I’M GOING TO BE REALLY FUCKING PISSED THAT THE TOP TEN RANKINGS GO “GUY GUY GUY GUY GUY GUY GUY GUY GUY, AND I GUESS WE’LL THROW IN A GIRL HERE AT THE END NOW BECAUSE WE’RE SO GENEROUS”

ffff

number 9 is some old samurai asshole

go fuck yourself Yoroimusha. what makes you so special that you’re ranked above my dragon queen

number 8...

...okay he can stay

oh shit Kamui fucking Woods made it all the way to number 7!

fffffff they showed Mt. Lady and for a moment I thought it meant she was at no. 6! but noooooo she’s all the way at #23. despite having participated in the same missions as Kamui. do you know what, the JP Hero Billboard Chart can go fuck themselves

who the hell

“Crust” lmao. toast hero. sandwich hero

OH GOOD

so now women make up a full 20% of the top ten rankings rather than a measly 10%. we really smashed that glass ceiling, y’all. gender equality has been achieved. you’re welcome

(ETA: I feel like this needs more :/ faces to get my full feelings across. :/ :/ :/ :/ :/ :/ :/ okay that’s better)

anyway if she’s in the top 5 she must be pretty cool and I hope we get to see what her power is someday

(ETA: seems to be your basic run-of-the-mill animal-themed super strength, but damned if Dabi did not want to fuck with her though. you go Miruko)

Edgeshot is at number 4, which is expected since he was previously in the number 5 spot before All Might’s retirement. good boy Edgeshot

except for Mt. Lady apparently

AHHHHHHHHHHHH

BEAST JEANIST

GET WELL SOON YOU SEXY PUNK

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH

IT’S HIM!!!!!

RAWK HAWK

HOLY SHIT HE’S SO FINE. LOOKS JUST LIKE I REMEMBER FROM ALL THE FANART. HAWKS YOU SEXY BITCH

“HOW EXCESSIVE”

IT’S LIKE AIZAWA’S FACE AND ATTITUDE WITH ALL MIGHT’S HAIR, OH SHIT WHAT A LEGEND

BUT DON’T THINK YOU CAN JUST AUTOMATICALLY WIN MY APPROVAL OVER JUST LIKE THAT! YOU STILL NEED TO PROVE TO ME WHY YOU DESERVE TO BE RANKED ABOVE MY BOY BEST FORKING GODDAMN ONE AND ONLY JEANIST

and of course, number one is Endeavor

lol what he gets the whole last page to himself. why. just because he got a new costume?? I honestly didn’t even notice the difference lol

but okay fine let’s take a look

well, he’s definitely trying! did he make himself a fire antennae thing. and does he have a cape now I can’t tell

god there’s so much fire. just turn it off when you’re not in action and be fucking normal you asshole

and so that’s it. I guess

what I took away from this chapter is that the people of Japan voted in a washing machine over a fucking dragon. given the choice, they would rather have him on the scene, tossing in red shirts with the villains’ white loads to turn all of their clothes pink. I mean, sure then. whatever

BONUS: Miruko’s profile!

OH SO YOU LIKE CARROTS HUH. I don’t know what I was expecting lol

so her last name means “rabbit mountain.” I guess the mountain part is just cuz she’s strong as hell? idk

and I wonder if her first name has any meaning since it’s just written in katakana. I know the notes say something about it being a reference to a professional fighter, but I have a feeling that’s talking about her hero name rather than her given name

I fucking love her. I wish to god there were more than two fucking female heroes in the top ten, but at least the two we have are pretty badass

#bnha #boku no hero academia #aizawa shouta #midoriya izuku #eri (bnha) #toogata mirio #bakugou katsuki #class 1-a #miruko (bnha) #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #okay so I'm sure I'll do a proper rant about this soon #but long story short #you know how horikoshi ended up gender-swapping hagakure and tsuyu because he realized he only had four girls in class 1-a? #I *really* wish he had ended up doing this with one or two of the jp hero top ten #specifically hawks #he is such a great character #and you know what #there is absolutely no reason why he had to be a dude #it wouldn't have changed any aspects of the character or the story #we could have had a badass lady as the number two hero in all of japan #doing badass plot things and generally being amazing #I'm not saying that I don't love him regardless #but this is probably the one thing about this arc that I personally would have changed #anyways that's my tea for today lol