#(i say as i draw her abstracting anyway) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stylesonfilms · 19 days ago

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ink & innocence - 22 *

word count: 8.1k

smutsmutsmut! this is me saying sorry for the wait 😞 ermm pls ignore any grammar issues im not readin allat!! 🗣️ (luv u guys)

Still snuggled into his side, Aspen took a content breath. Her heart happily fluttered in her chest as his words repeated themselves in her head. She couldn't believe she was loved by him, him of all people, and he always had a way of showing it to her. She only hoped she could give him that same satisfaction as well.

To her right, Harry was using his right hand to hold his sketch pencil, dabbling the granite over the sheet of paper in his notebook that was balanced on his knee. The girl took in the sight before her, how his tattoos grazed up his neck past his shirt collar and how his rings danced around his fingers in different directions (which she made a mental note of to twist back properly), how his nails were always painted a sheen black, never matte but somehow always chipped. She wondered if he'd ever try doing something like a topcoat.

Her brown eyes skimmed over his office, spotting the two ceramic pieces sitting on a shelf from their date, which was also when Aspen had asked Harry to be her boyfriend.

"You kept those?"

Aspen's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as she tilted her head toward the shelf where their two ceramic pieces sat side by side. The soft afternoon light filtering through the window illuminated the edges of the figures—the small, imperfectly painted conversation heart she had made and the abstract, green and gold swirled mug Harry had crafted. Seeing them there, carefully placed amongst his things, made something in her chest tighten.

Harry followed her gaze, then let out a low chuckle, his pencil pausing against the sketchbook. "'Course I did," he said easily, as if the thought of getting rid of them had never crossed his mind. He glanced down at her, his arm tightening around her waist. "Why wouldn't I?"

Aspen shrugged slightly, ducking her head. "I don't know. I guess I just didn't think—"

"Didn't think I'd keep somethin' we made together?" Harry cut in, his voice teasing but warm. He turned his head and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Asp, I love what we made. I wanted to have it here, where I spend most of my time. Where I can look at it and be reminded of you."

Aspen's breath caught in her throat, and her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of his shirt. Reminded of her.

She didn't know why those words hit her so hard, but they did. It wasn't just about the ceramics—it was about everything.The way he drew her, the way he sang for her, the way he kept little pieces of her woven into his life. He loved her, and he made sure she knew it, not just in words but in all the little ways he held onto her presence.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the way her eyes burned slightly. "That's... really sweet," she whispered, almost shyly.

Harry hummed, smirking as he resumed the sketch in his lap. "I can be sweet," he murmured. "For you, anyway."

Aspen rolled her eyes at his playfulness, but she smiled, letting herself sink further into him. She watched as his pencil glided across the paper, forming soft, delicate strokes.

"What are you drawing?" she asked curiously, her head tilting to get a better look.

Harry hesitated for half a second, but then, with a small smirk, he tilted the notebook so she could see. Aspen's breath hitched when she realized what it was.

Her.

Her sitting just like this, curled into his side, her face tucked into his chest with that peaceful little expression she knew she had when she felt safe. The details were soft but unmistakable—the slope of her nose, the curve of her lashes, the way her hair spilled over his arm. It was just his side and his arm, a small section of the sofa where they sat, but he had captured her in a way that was exact, as if he took a photo and printed it onto the paper.

Aspen stared, lips parting slightly. "Harry..."

"I told you, sugar," he murmured, his voice softer now, more serious. "I like keepin' you with me. Even when you're not here."

Aspen's throat tightened, her chest swelling with something too big to name. She had no words—nothing that could possibly match the way this felt. Instead, she lifted her hand, fingers grazing over the lines of the sketch as if touching them would make it feel more real.

Harry watched her, his green eyes tracing every flicker of emotion that crossed her face. He wasn't always good with words—not when it came to things like this—but he could show her. He could give her proof of what she meant to him, of how much space she took up in his mind.

After a moment, Aspen turned to him, her brown eyes deep and searching. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this," she admitted softly. "The way you... see me."

Harry smiled, tilting his head slightly. "How's that?"

Aspen's cheeks warmed. "Like I'm something worth capturing."

His expression softened. He reached up, brushing his knuckles against her cheek before cupping the side of her face. "That's 'cause you are," he murmured. "Every damn time I look at you, I see somethin' I wanna keep."

Aspen sucked in a quiet breath, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, something unspoken passing between them.

Then, slowly, she leaned in, her lips brushing his in the softest, most reverent kiss. Harry sighed into it, his fingers slipping into her hair as he deepened the kiss just slightly, savoring her. It wasn't heated, wasn't rushed—it was slow, warm, and full of something that settled deep in both of them.

When they pulled away, Aspen rested her forehead against his, her lips curling into a small, shy smile. "I love you," she whispered.

Harry grinned, pressing a quick, playful kiss to the tip of her nose. "I know, little mouse. I love you."

Aspen laughed softly, the warmth of his voice settling deep into her chest like a secret only she was meant to hear. The words lingered between them, wrapping around her heart, sinking in slowly. She still couldn't quite believe it sometimes—that someone like Harry, with his rough hands and soft heart, loved her.

Harry pulled her closer, tucking her against him like he never wanted to let go before leaning down to capture her lips in another sweet kiss. His lips moved slowly, tenderly, like he was savoring the moment, like he was trying to tell her things he couldn't put into words. Aspen sighed against his mouth, the familiar warmth of him sending tiny sparks through her veins.

"You know," Harry murmured against her lips, voice thick with affection, "I don't think I'll ever get over kissin' you."

Aspen blinked up at him, still caught in the haze of his touch. His gaze flickered between her eyes, down to her nose, then to her lips, before coming back up again, taking in every part of her like he was trying to memorize the way she looked beneath him. She tilted her head just slightly, her silent way of asking for more, and Harry smiled.

"I used to be... light on kisses," he admitted, his voice quieter now, as if he were confessing something important. "Never was my forte, but then you came along, and it was the only thing I could think about. Amongst other things, of course."

A slow, teasing smirk crept onto his lips, his tone laced with playful insinuation.

Aspen let out a breathy laugh, rolling her eyes even as heat crawled up her neck. Harry had a way of saying things—of looking at her—that made her feel entirely too flustered. "Yeah, yeah," she mumbled, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt. "But I like kissing you, too."

Her voice came out in a shy squeak, and Harry lived for it.

"You've got the mouth of an angel," he mused, the corner of his lip twitching in amusement. "Quite literally. Guess that practice paid off, eh?"

Aspen's eyes widened as the realization of what he meant hit her like a freight train. "Harry!"

She smacked his arm lightly, but the damage was already done. His grin stretched wide, shameless and absolutely unrepentant.

"What?" He chuckled, rubbing his arm dramatically, though they both knew she hadn't hit him hard.

Aspen narrowed her eyes, her face practically burning now. "Says you!"

Harry quirked a brow, his teeth catching the metallic ring of his lip piercing, playing with it before releasing the jewelry again. He always did that when he was amused, when he knew he was getting under her skin in the best way possible. "Says me what?"

Aspen huffed, crossing her arms as if she could shield herself from his relentless teasing. "You've had multiple... practices before," she muttered, her tone shy but her eyes still locked onto his.

Harry let out a deep chuckle, one that rumbled through his chest and sent a pleasant shiver down Aspen's spine. He reached for his notebook, setting it aside with an easy motion before focusing all his attention on her.

"Maybe," he admitted, his voice dropping just enough to make her breath catch. "But none of them compare to you."

Aspen swallowed, her fingers curling into the hem of her shirt.

Harry leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear as he added, "Especially not the way you taste."

Aspen let out a tiny, involuntary squeak before promptly burying her face against his chest again, utterly defeated.

Harry threw his head back in laughter, his arms wrapping around her securely, holding her tight as she tried (and failed) to escape his teasing. "Ah, sugar, don't hide from me now," he mused, running his hand up and down her back.

Aspen groaned. "You're so..."

The man hummed in amusement, his hand carding through the soft strands of her hair. The cherry vanilla scent hit his nose through the motions. "I'm so what? So handsome?"

The girl only groaned again and kept her flaming face buried in Harry's chest. A soft rumble of laughter fell from his lips again as he shook his head. "Hey, don't get me wrong. I love that you practiced f'me."

When she didn't respond, and Harry could feel the warmth of her face through his shirt, he continued with a smirk.

"The thought 'f you even thinking of something like that does somethin' to me. But come to find out my sweet, little girl was on her knees and putting her sweet throat t'work jus' t'please me." Harry sighed, heavy with his accent. His tongue came out to run over his own lips before his fingers tucked under the girls chin, tilting her head up to look up at him. His thumb ran over her bottom lip as her face wore that deep red once more, yet she kept her eyes on his.

"And when you had actually got down to your knees in front of me? Fucking hell, Aspen..." He muttered, a slight furrow forming in his brows while the image flashed in his mind again. "You looked so lost down there, hm? Your small hands and these pretty lips," the mans thumb pushed passed the barrier of her parted lips, resting his pad of his thumb on her tongue, hooking her mouth open slightly more, "these pretty lips that could barely wrap around my cock."

Harry sucked his teeth slowly and sighed once more, his eyes ripping from her mouth to her eyes again. "Don't worry, hm? 'M going to make sure I train this gorgeous mouth of yours."

Aspen's eyes fluttered shyly, her cheeks hot as her breathing slowed and got heavier. With the words that spilled from his mouth, the girl's stomach couldn't help but coil in embarrassment but also satisfaction. She wanted that just as much as Harry.

She nodded hesitantly, closing her lips around the mans thumb. Aspen hollowed her cheeks around the digit as she kept her eyes locked on his green ones, now a glint of something deeper than his usual shine.

Her tongue pressed up against his thumb as she slowly and carefully moved it side to side. Her eyes grew shy, the burning desire to shut them or turn away, but she couldn't look away from Harry's parted lips and furrowed brows as he looked down at her in what seemed to be awe.

Harry slowly pulled his thumb out, her teeth grazing along. His thumb pulled down her bottom lip as he did so, his lips immediately pressing onto hers before his thumb could fully remove from her bottom lip. Aspen's hands came to rest on his chest as his large hands came to grip her hips, pulling her to a seat on his lap.

His tongue glided along the girls bottom lip, taking her parted lips as a quick invitation. A groan fell from his mouth and tumbled into hers. His head was swarming with everything Aspen. The man would have never expected her to be the way she was, expected her to shy away from his finger in her mouth or swat him away. His tongue ventured through her warmth, tangling along with her own as she let out a breathy whine against his lips.

Harry tilted her hips down with a firm grip as he shifted his hips under her. Aspen let out a small gasp as she felt the familiar bulge press up against her clothed clit before it disappeared just as fast as it came. Her hands slid up towards his broad shoulders and took ahold of the fabric there as she let out another sound against Harry's open mouth.

Harry’s breath was heavy, warm as it fanned against her cheek before he tilted his head and pressed his lips just beneath her jaw. The sharp inhale Aspen took didn’t go unnoticed by him, nor did the way her grip on his shirt tightened, fingers curling into the fabric as if she needed to ground herself. He liked that— liked knowing that he was the one making her feel this way, making her shiver beneath his touch.

His lips trailed lower, slow and deliberate, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of her throat. He lingered when he reached the delicate spot just beneath her ear, where he knew she was sensitive, and when he dragged his tongue lightly over her skin, she let out the sweetest little sound, barely more than a breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered against her skin, his voice gravelly, strained. He could already feel himself slipping, getting lost in the way she felt, the way she reacted to him like she was made for this, for him. His hands flexed at her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh as he guided her just how he wanted, feeling the way her body molded against his own.

Aspen whimpered as Harry kissed lower, his lips brushing against her collarbone before he nipped lightly at her skin, his teeth scraping just enough to make her tremble. “Harry...” she whispered, her voice breathy, filled with something between desperation and awe.

The sound of his name on her lips, so soft, so needy, sent a deep warmth curling in his stomach, and he knew he was toeing a dangerous line. He was getting too carried away, too caught up in the way she moved against him, in the way her fingers dug into his shoulders like she never wanted to let go.

And God, neither did he.

He swallowed between kisses, his hips pressing up against her for a longer moment, keeping her there. With furrowed brows and wet lips, he moaned against her sweet skin as she whined out above him, wiggling her hips a small bit as to tell him to keep it going. And truly, her wish was absolutely his command.

He continued to guide her hips in slow rolls to meet his, grazing his teeth along her neck between soft pants. Aspen, the way she squirmed above him and how his name came out between her gentle whimpers, drove him crazy.

The girl slid her hands from his gripped shirt to cup his jaw, pulling his face from her neck to look up at her. It was only for a second until his lips came crashing up to meet hers. He swallowed every little sound she made, though he knew her well enough to know she was aiming to keep herself quiet. His hips met hers in a particularly hard roll, his breath faltering in a gasp that matched hers.

"Let me hear you, pretty," He muttered against her lips before it was her turn to navigate down his jaw and to his neck. Harry groaned, his head falling back against the couch for a brief moment as he tried to rein himself in. His hands smoothed over her hips, slipping under the flowy material of her top while moving up the sides of her waist before settling at her lower back. She was so warm beneath his touch, so intoxicating.

To Harry's surprise, even without his hands guiding her hips, she continued the movements. And who was he to stop? The way she moved against him, he was sure he couldn't stop anyways. The way her warm thighs swarmed his lap and just the mere thought that she was getting off to this? He felt like a stupid teenager again, but he was pleased to be here with her.

Aspens hips faltered as she whined out a moan, a bit louder now, resting her head in the crook of Harry's neck. Her stomach coiled with need for Harry, for him to just touch her, but she couldn't stop the movements of her hips. If she did, she was sure she'd have to shoot herself from the loss of contact.

Even she couldn't believe what was happening. With every drag of his firm cock along her clit, the girl's panties bunched between her folds with ease. She gasped softly at the wet feeling pooling between her thighs, a red rushing over her cheeks. She lifted her head once more and latched her mouth in wet kisses over Harrys neck, which had his own head spinning.

Aspen's lips were soft, warm, and hesitant at first as they brushed against Harry's skin. She had never done this before—at least, not in the way she wanted to now. But she had seen it, knew the basics of what it was supposed to be, and she had the overwhelming urge to mark him, to leave something behind that said he's mine.

Her kisses trailed along the sharp line of his jaw, down the strong column of his throat, and she felt him swallow thickly beneath her lips. Harry’s breathing had gone uneven, his chest rising and falling with a little more force now as her mouth explored his neck.

"Shit, baby," Harry muttered, his voice rough, strained. His hands squeezed at her hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shorts, and Aspen felt a rush of pride at the way he reacted to her. He liked this. She was making him feel this way.

So, emboldened by the way his grip tightened on her, by the way his head tilted back to give her more access, she decided to take it a step further.

Aspen let her lips part against the warm skin of his throat, sucking lightly, testing the waters. She wasn’t sure how much pressure to apply, wasn’t sure if she was even doing it right, but when she grazed her teeth ever so slightly over the spot she had just sucked on, Harry let out the most guttural sound she had ever heard from him.

His hands clamped down on her hips, his fingers digging in as a deep groan rumbled from his chest. His reaction sent a thrill straight through her, and she felt something hot and needy coil in her stomach. That had worked. That had sent him spiraling.

"Jesus Christ, Aspen," he gritted out, his voice hoarse, wrecked. His head fell back against the couch, his eyes squeezing shut as his hips jerked up into her reflexively. Aspen whimpered, guiding her hips down once more.

She smirked against his skin, her chest swelling with a newfound confidence, and she did it again—this time, sucking just a little harder, letting her tongue swirl over the spot before nipping at it lightly.

Harry growled.

"You're gonna kill me," he muttered, his voice cracking slightly at the end. His ring clad fingers twitched at her sides, gripping and releasing as if he was trying to control himself, trying not to flip her over and take what she was so teasingly offering.

Aspen pulled back just enough to admire her work, her lips tingling from the effort. There, on the side of Harry’s neck, was a deep, blooming mark, proof of what she had done to him. She felt a flicker of satisfaction curl in her chest. She had done that. It was small, nothing too extreme, but the feeling of pride swelled her chest.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress her growing smile, but Harry caught the gleam in her eyes. His own gaze, dark and hooded, met hers as he smirked lazily, his hands shifting from her hips to slide up her back, holding her close.

"Proud of y'self, are you?" he murmured, his lips twitching.

Aspen shrugged, feigning innocence, though her cheeks were flushed and her heart was racing. "Maybe a little."

Harry let out a breathy chuckle, his fingers threading into the hair at the nape of her neck as he tugged her down just enough so their noses brushed. "You should be," he admitted. "That was fuckin’ cruel, baby. Doin’ me like that when I can't do a damn thing about it."

Aspen swallowed, her lips parting slightly as she realized exactly what he meant. He was still at work. They couldn’t do anything more right now.

But God, the way he was looking at her, the way his hands held her close like he was barely keeping himself together—it made her want to push him just a little further.

So she leaned in, her voice soft and teasing as she whispered, "Guess you'll just have to wait, then."

Harry groaned, letting his head fall back again, his hands sliding back up to her bare waist as he exhaled a shaky breath. "You're evil, you know that?"

Aspen giggled, pressing a sweet kiss to his jaw, feeling entirely too pleased with herself. "You love it."

Harry let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, I do."

Harry’s grip on Aspen tightened as he let out a slow, controlled exhale. His girl—his sweet, shy Aspen—had just marked him, left a deep, dark bruise on his skin like a quiet claim of possession, and fuck if that didn’t send him spiraling. He had never seen this side of her before, at least, not fully. It was hesitant, still laced with that same softness that made her her, but there was a growing confidence in the way she moved, in the way she touched him, and he was absolutely, completely gone for it.

Not that he wouldn’t have loved her the same if she never changed at all. Harry was in too deep already, too consumed by everything she was. He would’ve happily spent the rest of his days kissing her through her shyness, easing her into his arms as she stumbled through her words, adoring the way she still blushed at his teasing. But this? This was something else entirely, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t love every second of watching her come undone like this—watching her bloom for him.

And if she thought she could get away with teasing him like that without consequence? Oh, she had another thing coming.

Harry smirked, tilting his head back up, his green eyes dark and full of something wicked as he met her gaze. “You think you’re so clever, huh?” he murmured, his voice deep and slow, dragging over her skin like a caress.

Aspen blinked at him, her lips still curved in the smallest, most innocent smirk, but he could see the way she swallowed, the way her breath hitched just slightly at the tone of his voice. Good.

Before she could respond, he moved. His hands slid up her back, gathering her closer, until his lips were hovering just over her ear. “My turn,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise.

Aspen barely had a second to react before his mouth was on her.

He didn’t go for the obvious spot—no, he had learned her far too well to be predictable. He aimed just below her ear, right against the pulse point where he knew she was most sensitive. The second his lips met her skin, Aspen gasped, her fingers clenching at the fabric of his shirt, her entire body shuddering in response.

Harry smirked against her, pleased with himself as he latched his lips around the delicate skin, sucking lightly at first, testing the waters, before he increased the pressure.

Aspen let out a shaky breath, her fingers sliding up to tangle into his curls. “H-Harry—”

“Mmm?” he hummed, not letting up, his tongue flicking against the mark he was making before his teeth grazed the spot ever so slightly.

Her breath hitched, and then—God above—she let out the softest, neediest whimper against his shoulder, and Harry damn near lost his mind.

He groaned, his grip on her hips flexing as he pulled her just a little tighter against him. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips dragging to a new spot, just a little lower, just to hear her make that sound again.

Aspen was melting against him now, her head tilting to give him more access, her breathing uneven as he worked at her skin. And he wasn’t holding back—if she was going to mark him, he was going to make damn sure everyone knew she was his. The spot under her ear was already darkening, but he sucked just a little harder, his tongue soothing over it before he pulled back, admiring his work.

The mark was bigger than the one she had left on him. That wasn’t even intentional—he had just gotten too carried away, too lost in the way she responded to him, the way she let him do this to her.

Aspen shuddered against him, her fingers still clinging to his shirt as she exhaled a trembling breath. And then, after a beat, he felt it—her smile.

"You’re smug, aren’t you?" she muttered, her voice breathless, but there was a small, proud lilt to it that had Harry grinning against her skin.

"Damn right, I am." He pressed a final, lingering kiss to the mark before pulling back to look at her. “Look at you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as he took in her flushed cheeks, the way her lips were slightly parted, swollen from their earlier kisses. “My sweet girl’s not so sweet anymore, huh?”

Aspen huffed out a small laugh, but she ducked her head, still shy despite everything, which only made Harry’s heart throb harder in his chest. He loved that about her—how she could switch between this confident, teasing version of herself and the soft, timid girl he had fallen for. She was both, and he adored every side of her.

“I… I liked that,” she admitted quietly, still playing with the hem of his shirt, not quite meeting his eyes.

Harry felt something warm and achingly fond settle deep in his chest. He tilted her chin up with his knuckle, waiting until her brown eyes met his. "Yeah?" he murmured, his voice softer now.

She nodded, still bashful. "Mhm."

Harry smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to her lips, slow and tender. "Good," he whispered against her mouth. "Because I’ll be doin’ that a lot more from now on."

Their mouths met again, urgency laced in every touch as Harry’s hands roamed her body, mapping out every curve as if he hadn’t already committed her to memory. His fingers trailed down her sides, brushing over the thin fabric of her top before gripping onto her waist, steadying her as she shifted against him. A low groan rumbled from his chest at the feeling, the soft, deliberate roll of her hips against his cock making it nearly impossible to think straight.

Aspen’s fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging ever so slightly as she deepened their kiss. The reaction it pulled from Harry sent a thrill down her spine. She was beginning to realize just how much power she had over him, and that knowledge sent a rush of warmth through her. He had always been the one in control, always the one guiding her, teasing her, unraveling her—but now, she could feel the way he was unraveling beneath her, just from her touch.

Harry’s lips trailed down her jaw, slow and deliberate, before finding the sensitive skin just behind her ear. He pressed a lingering kiss there, his breath warm against her skin before his mouth traveled lower, just beneath her pulse point. His lips parted, his tongue flicking out before he sucked lightly at the delicate spot.

Aspen gasped, her nails biting into his shoulders as her body instinctively melted into his. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt—hot, dizzying, intoxicating. A soft whimper escaped her lips when she felt him smirk against her skin.

"That’s better," Harry murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he pulled back slightly to admire the mark he’d left behind. It was hidden, just beneath her ear, but it was there. His.

His fingers traced over it gently before his hands wandered lower, gripping at her thighs. One of his hands slid inward, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of her inner thigh, dangerously close to where she ached for him most. He squeezed gently, teasing, reveling in the way her breath hitched, the way her body tensed with anticipation.

"Can I touch you, love?" His voice was hoarse, thick with need as his fingers danced just shy of where she wanted him. He didn’t push—he would never push—but the question was there, hanging between them, heavy and full of promise.

Aspen swallowed thickly, her lips parting slightly as she tried to steady her breathing. She had never felt this kind of anticipation before, never known what it was like to want something so badly and feel it just within reach.

Her heart pounded as she looked at him, as she took in the warmth in his green eyes, the way he was holding himself back, waiting—always waiting—for her. The care he had for her, the patience, the devotion, it was enough to send her head spinning.

Still catching her breath, she nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

Harry’s lips curved into a slow, pleased smile.

"Good girl," he murmured before pressing another searing kiss to her lips.

Harry hummed in satisfaction at her breathy response, his lips pressing once more to the tender skin beneath her ear before he let his fingers resume their slow, torturous exploration. He didn’t rush—not yet. He wanted to savor this, to let Aspen feel every bit of what he was doing to her without ever truly giving in just yet.

His palm smoothed over the inside of her thigh, warm and firm, fingers pressing lightly into the soft flesh before giving a slow, deliberate squeeze. Aspen shivered, her body reacting instinctively to his touch. Her hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt, a quiet whimper escaping her lips as he did it again—squeezing, then releasing, then squeezing just a bit higher, inching closer to where she needed him most.

Her head tipped back slightly, her lips parting as she sucked in a slow breath, but before she could even fully exhale, Harry’s fingers traced up, skimming along the crease of her thigh.

Aspen’s entire body tensed, her stomach clenching with need as his fingers flirted with the edge of her underwear through her thin shorts, barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath. She let out a soft, shaky moan, and that sound alone was nearly enough to undo him.

Harry groaned lowly, his free hand gripping onto her hip to keep her still as she instinctively shifted forward, silently begging for more. "Easy, love," he murmured, pressing a kiss just below her jaw, his lips curling against her skin. "We’ve got all the time in the world."

Aspen let out a frustrated whimper, her fingers tightening against his shoulders as he continued his agonizing pace—fingertips trailing, teasing, dipping between the soft skin of her thighs but never quite touching where she ached for him.

"You’re so sensitive," he mused, his voice deep and laced with amusement. His fingers ghosted over her one more time, and when she let out another needy sound, he chuckled softly. "So needy, aren’t you?"

Aspen bit her lip, hiding her face against his neck in embarrassment. She didn’t know how he could reduce her to this with such minimal touches, but she knew it wasn’t fair. He was enjoying this—he was reveling in her reactions, in the way she melted into him, in the way she chased after his touch like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

His hands traveled lower again, massaging the backs of her thighs before coming around to her ass, kneading the soft flesh there with a firm grip before sliding forward again, fingers dipping teasingly over the thin fabric of her shorts.

Aspen let out a gasp, her hips bucking slightly at the sensation, only for Harry to pull back at the last second.

A whine of protest left her lips, and Harry grinned against her shoulder, clearly pleased with himself.

"Patience, angel," he murmured, dragging his lips back up to her mouth, capturing her in another slow, languid kiss. "You’re makin’ the prettiest sounds for me already, yeah?"

Aspen huffed softly, knowing full well he was taking his time on purpose, that he was enjoying this as much as she was suffering from it.

"You’re mean," she whispered against his lips, her voice a breathy little thing.

Harry only smirked, his hand slowly traveling back up her thigh, tracing the same path as before. "Oh, sweetheart," he rasped, fingers pressing firmly into the soft crease of her thigh once more. "You’ve no idea."

His fingers danced their way back to where she needed it most, over her clit. This time, however, he didn't pull back. He pressed his fingers up against her, in slow circles at first as he kept his eyes on her expression.

The mans fingers slid down to press over her entrance, the gentle give of squish giving away how wet she way. A satisfied smirk crawled over his lips. "All f'me, huh?"

The girl let out a breathy moan with a nod, swallowing around air as she rolled her hips down against his fingers while they pressed and slid back over her clit. He worked his hand with ease to match her needy pace, his gaze dropping down to where he touched her and flickered back up to her expression of need.

Harry's cock throbbed under the material of his jeans. It didn't go unnoticed, twitching against Aspen's thigh which made her lips fall open in another moan. As her eyes closed, the image of his cock, heavy and thick, resting in her hand and on her tongue filled her mind. She'd do anything to have him in her mouth once more.

The newfound feeling coiled in her stomach. She sucked in a breath and let it out in a needy whimper, her hands resting on the curve of his neck now with her thumbs pressing into his warm flesh as she ground her hips down to meet the feeling of his fingers. Her hole fluttered around the open air, desperate for his thick fingers to slide into her like they did before and draw out another orgasm.

Harry could tell she was close, that she needed that final push. Her breathing became more shallow and her moans became higher in pitch, her eyes closed and her head pushed back. His eyes gleamed over the mark he left which made his cock twitch once more.

And just as she thought he might finally give in—just as her breath caught in her throat in anticipation—he pulled back again, leaning away slightly as his hands came to rest innocently on her waist.

Aspen groaned in frustration, her head dropping to his shoulder as her whole body trembled from the teasing. "Harry," she whined, her fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt in protest.

Harry chuckled, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her temple. "That’s enough for now, little mouse," he murmured, his voice teasing but firm. "Don’t wanna start something I can’t finish, yeah?"

Aspen pouted, peeking up at him through her lashes, but she knew he was right. The last thing they needed was to get carried away in his office when anyone could come knocking.

Still, the fire in her veins refused to die down, and the way he looked at her—eyes dark with something she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen in them before—made it clear that this was far from over.

"Please?," she mumbled under her breath. Her thumbs ran small circles into the skin on his neck, her nail catching skin lightly which made him groan softly, nodding.

With fumbling and quick hands that moved in need and desperation, his fingers slid under the band of her shorts and quickly met with the warmth of her clit. Even over her underwear, which she completely soaked through, Harry could feel the pulse of her clit against his fingers.

He wasted no time in drawing circles over the sensitive bud. Her lips parted and a broken moan, louder than the others, fell from her lips. The sound shot down to Harry's dick, which he took one of her hands and placed it over. He gave an encouraging squeeze, guiding her hand to move to the pace of his.

Aspen's hand merely covered the outline of his cock. Dizziness filled her head as she swiped her thumb over where his tip would be, with more pressure than she would've used if he was bare. Harry dropped his head onto her shoulder with a groan, his fingers busily working over her clit. They peeled back her panties, tucking them into the curve of her thigh, before his middle finger ran through her slick folds.

"Fuck," he muttered into her skin, collecting her arousal on both of his fingers now before dragging it back up to her clit. The feeling sent a shudder down her spine, eliciting another sweet moan of his name.

"One day," Harry grunted, his hand still guiding hers as he swirled his fingers over her clit with ease, a sense of professionalism, before dipping down between her folds, "I'm going to fill you up with my cock, so, so good." He licked his lips and pushed his middle finger past the woman's tight entrance.

Aspen arched into the feeling with a gasp, his words sending both a raging blush to her cheeks and a pleasant coil to her stomach.

"I don't know if I'd be able to stop," Harry moaned into her shoulder at a particular squeeze, pumping his finger slowly. Deciding she was wet enough, practically pooling in his palm, he pushed another finger in alongside.

The girl whimpered at the burning stretch but quickly found comfort when he began to move his fingers.

"Hell, I don't even know if I'd be able to start. You're so fuckin' tight," he grunted once more, guiding his fingers at a pleasing pace. Her thighs quivered every few seconds from the feeling and she couldn't stop the flow of moans and whimpers from her mouth anymore. She raised her free hand to cover her mouth with the back of it as her brows furrowed, his fingers curling inside her now.

Aspen's back arched as she ground her hips down to push his fingers deeper into her. Harry raised his head from its place on her shoulder, his own look of awe on his face as he beamed up at her.

"Don't do that," Harry grumbled, using his nose to nudge her hand off her face. "This is my fucking shop, and if I want to have my girl— to touch my girl— I'll do jus' that," he growled out, lips latching wet kisses back onto her neck.

"Oh, God," she quivered, her hips jerking as her stomach coiled. She felt like a stupid virgin, and technically, she was. Her orgasm grew closer with each word he muttered. The gruff edge of his voice only added to the feeling, shooting through her and straight to her core. She did her best to work her hand over Harry's twitching cock still in his pants.

Harry only chuckled, fading into a small groan. "Shit—," He gasped, his abdomen tightening as he felt his own orgasm creeping up.

"My innocent little virgin, huh? Need to come already?" Harry swallowed the groan in his throat as she let out a moan of her own, her eyes finally opening to meet his. And fuck, she looked a mess. She clenched around his fingers and nodded desperately.

"Please, please, please," She gasped in her small voice and trailed off in another moan, dropping her head back once more as the movement in her hips grew sloppy. Harry was right behind her with his movements, his hips after chasing its own high in her hand.

With last minute thinking, Aspen reached both hands to the mans belt, undoing it with clinks and slips of leather to unbutton and unzip the material before reaching to tug his cock out.

She whined softly, pleased now that the weight of his cock was finally in her hand. She licked her lips as she stared at how she couldn't even wrap her own hand around it fully, her thumb gliding over his glistening tip.

A dribble of spit left her red lips as she tilted her head down and looked up at him, her gaze broken when he curled his fingers in a way that had her fall into his chest slightly. Harry, with surprised eyes and a racing mind, couldn't help but let out another guttural moan at the sight.

Fuck.

The girls hand slid over the slick spit, rubbing it all over his heavy shaft to the pace of his fingers. "Please, H..." She whimpered, thumbing over his slit as she ground her hips into his fingers messily again, clenching around his thick fingers once more. She wasn't sure what she was begging for, for his come or for her to come, but she needed both.

"Please, Daddy?"

Harry groaned, his fingers pressing impossibly further into her as his jaw fell slack, nodding. Where the fuck was this side of her coming from?

"Come for me, baby. All over m'hand, get Daddy's hand all messy."

His words shot straight to her pussy. She clenched around his fingers sloppily while shifting her hips until it finally hit her. Aspen cried out a moan of Harry's name, her thumb sliding over his tip once more before stuttering in its motions.

Harry came right after her. The feeling of her flooding around his fingers, her thighs buzzing, chest rising and falling, her words, he was bound to lose it. His come, hot and loaded, spurted over the girl's small fist, groaning strings of curses and her name thrown in the mix, as well as praises.

Harry's free hand came to snake up the back of her neck and card between the strands of her hair as he brought her head down to capture her lips in another kiss. He swallowed every moan and whimper of hers, returning some of his own with his fingers pumping and curling through her orgasm while his thumb slowed their circles on her clit. When she whimpered and her hips started to shy away, he carefully slowed his fingers and slid them out in a way they didn't get her messy.

When they pulled away for a breath, he licked over his lips and swallowed, falling back against the sofa cushions as he looked up at her, his hand leaving her hair to rest on her thigh. He caressed up and down in soothing motions, catching his own breath while she caught her own.

Without any hesitation, Harry raised his two fingers to his lips, resting them on his tongue and wrapping his lips around them with a smirk. Aspen looked down at him with her doe eyes and flushes cheeks, lips parted as she drew in breaths. She watched his hand meet his mouth intently and a thought flickered in her mind.

Mimicking his motions, she lifted her hand carefully from his cock to her lips. Before she could pull her tongue out and lick her hand clean, Harry's hand caught her wrist.

"Don't."

Aspen tilted her head, feeling herself flutter and clench around the open air. His eyes still carried that same dark tone, his curls falling over his forehead and his lip ring. Fuck, his lip ring.

"I can't see you do that. 'm not gonna be able to control myself, Asp."

His voice came off with a warning edge. Aspen only huffed softly and pulled her wrist from his gentle grasp, raising her palm back to her mouth. She kept her eyes on his as her hand slowly inched forward, her tongue poking out to lick up some of his mess on her hand. With a content hum, she took her bottom lip between her teeth as she bit back a teasing smile. Aspen leaned forward, her other hand on his shoulder and sliding down to his chest as she took another small taste.

"Then don't."

Just as Harry let out a low, nearly desperate groan at Aspen’s teasing, a sudden knock sounded against the door, making them both freeze.

"Oi, mate," Niall's voice rang through the wood, laced with amusement. "Hate to break up whatever moment you two are havin’ in there, but Justin is here, your client."

Aspen's eyes widened in mortification, her entire body tensing against Harry’s. Her face burned as she let out a soft, embarrassed squeak, immediately burying her face against his shoulder.

Harry, on the other hand, exhaled a frustrated breath through his nose, his fingers pressing firmly into Aspen’s waist as he closed his eyes for a second, clearly trying to gather himself. He knew they were cutting it close, but he really hadn’t wanted this moment to end just yet.

"Yeah, yeah, be out in a sec," he finally called back, his voice slightly hoarse from restraint.

A low chuckle sounded from the other side of the door before Niall's footsteps retreated down the hall, but not before calling back something about how he at least let them get one round in.

Aspen groaned softly, still hiding her face against him. "That was so embarrassing," she muttered, her voice muffled against his skin.

Harry huffed out a laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head before tilting her chin up so he could look at her. His eyes softened instantly at her flustered expression, a lazy grin tugging at his lips.

"Could’ve been worse," he teased, trailing his fingers along her side before reluctantly shifting beneath her.

Aspen let out a little huff as she sat back, her hands clutching at his shirt as she watched him fix himself—pulling his pants back up properly and adjusting his belt. He worked quickly, but before he stood, he leaned forward, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to her forehead.

"You should go freshen up, yeah?" he murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as his thumb brushed the soft skin of her cheek. "Bathroom’s just around the hall. I'd do it myself, work my magic with my mouth," he grinned, licking his lips, "but Justin is waiting f'me. You'll be okay, yeah? Stick around after, too. In here or out there, I'll take y'home."

Aspen nodded, still feeling flustered but completely wrapped up in the way he looked at her—soft, affectionate, like she was the only thing that mattered in this moment.

She reached up, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before sliding off his lap, smoothing down her clothes as best as she could.

Harry smirked as he watched her, his head tilting slightly. "You’re cute when you’re all shy like that, y’know?"

Aspen shot him a playful glare before rolling her eyes. "Shut up," she muttered, though her lips twitched at the corners as she turned for the door.

Before she could open it, Harry caught her wrist, tugging her back for one more kiss—a slow, lingering press of his lips against hers.

"Go on, little mouse," he murmured against her mouth. "I’ll see you in a bit."

Aspen exhaled softly, nodding before slipping out of the office, her heart still racing in her chest as she made her way down the hall.

And as Harry watched her go, he couldn’t help but grin to himself, already counting down the minutes until he could have her all to himself again.

#harry styles #fanfic #one direction #zayn malik #niall horan #fanfiction #wattpad fanfiction #wattpad #louis tomlinson #harry styles fanfiction #smut #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing

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serialsunset · 2 months ago

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Decided to punch up my evil Julia design since I don’t really like the drawings anymore, there’s a bunch of images plus talking plus non-sexual nudity so you know the drill, cool stuff under the cut

First up, the “armour”. Tbh the ornamentation on the front view is already bugging me a bit but I digress, Isaac’s bits and bobs being flush to his chest doesn’t really work with a woman so I gave Julia’s girls some room to breathe, as well as exaggerating the corsetry elements from Isaac’s design to make it more feminine

She also has about 3% more protection than Isaac thanks to her having neck a n d shoulder coverage. The reason for this is that I love a high neckline on a villainess (doesn’t she just look so classy?)

There are a lot more thin chains on this one than with Isaac’s design. The reason for this is that the chunky black ornamentation takes up a lot of space visually, and because of Julia’s chest there’s not as much room to work with. Combine that with the tattoos that have to go under this and it just makes more sense to use thinner lines

You may have noticed her face tattoo is different from Isaac’s, that’s because I decided to give her a different weapon

This is Julia’s version of the Chauve Souris, rather than a spear I think it would make more sense for her to have a staff to aid in magic attacks. as it says on the page, Julia’s a witch and she uses magic! I also reflected this in her gloves, which are basically the same as Isaac’s, except the right one has had the fingers worn down (if you shoot fire out of your fingers eventually your gloves are gonna burn)

Back on track, let’s look at her tattoos

These are mostly similar to Isaac’s tattoos (albeit very simplified, the forgemaster crest is the only one that realllyyyy matters anyways) but there are two changes I made. First, instead of a sun tattoo on the chest area, Julia has an eclipse. Second, instead of the abstract tattoo that Isaac has on his right arm, I gave Julia a grief band.

Finally, here’s the tattoos and armour put together. It’s not perfect and I might shift some stuff around later but for now I’m pretty satisfied

So yeah that’s evil Julia redux, sorry it’s just the upper half of her but tbh I can’t think of anything significant that I’d change from Isaac’s design, it’s just pants and thigh high boots you can imagine it

thank you 👍🫶

#my art #castlevania #castlevania fanart #castlevania curse of darkness #isaac laforeze #julia laforeze #Laforeze swap #that’s a lotta words woah

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ravioliet · 9 months ago

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ok so let me be cringe on main for a minute here (this is a joke btw i know cringe isn't real). odd squad mlp au for your consideration

please ask me questions about this by the way i have so much for this. i'll put some of the basic info (it's a lot more than that now but in my defense it started as a basic summary) and a few more drawings under the cut though please look at it with your eyes thank you

so for some basic explanations we have Olive who is a unicorn, Otto who is a pegasus, Olympia who is a part unicorn earth pony (which i'll explain in a sec), and Otis who is a full blooded pegasus (which i'll also explain the importance of in a moment). i haven't drawn Ms. O, Oscar or Oona yet but they are an alicorn (formerly an earth pony), a unicorn, and an earth pony respectively

Olive and Otto are the only two that i've come up with cutie mark designs for so far (they are so hard to design..) but Olympia and Otis have them too, they just get them mid-season. specifically after the talent show. i'm designing them side by side so that they kinda match because they get them at the same time and also they're besties your honor, but anyways theirs are a little fireworks design and some sort of a swan design because y'know. the ugly duckling story. and also i think part of his talent is dancing and like swan lake exists etc etc. and yes this does mean that he's a little bit scared of his own cutie mark at times but he just tries not to think about it and usually covers it with his wings anyway. all four of their cutie mark meanings are kinda abstract personality trait related things

Olive got hers after stopping the pienado because character development moments, which also kinda means that she's sorta tied to Todd because of this which she Does Not Like. i'll need to make a whole other post about Todd in this au because he's definitely a guy, but anyways while they were partners Olive was a blank flank and despite how good at his job he was Todd was one too and it was like one of the only things they really had in common, but it also ends up being one of the reasons he goes rogue because not only is Todd bored but he's also frustrated because he's tried everything he can think of and won every award he possibly can and he still doesn't have a cutie mark even though he feels like he definitely should by now because this has to be his talent. why would he be so good at it if it wasn't? he doesn't get his cutie mark until after he reforms btw, because before then he was either too certain about his talent being something else or too busy causing trouble to entertain himself that he never really took the time to stop and discover that his actual interest was gardening and that's when he finally gets his cutie mark. in my head i have this alternate version of Otis's tomato speech where when Todd is like "i'm Odd Todd it's who i am" Otis is just like "that's not what your cutie mark says" and it's very silly but anyways i'm gonna circle this back around to Olive real quick

so on top of Todd's cutie mark being in gardening he also has a sort of side meaning as well in the sense that he's a little bit like the CMC and has a sort of knack for encouraging character growth in others whether he realizes it or not because. encouraging plants to grow.. encouraging people to grow... the whole villain rehab thing...... you see what i'm getting at here. but the funny thing is the first pony he really did this to was Olive and it was completely unintentional. he didn't know that she would get her cutie mark by stopping him, at least not consciously, but she did. it probably takes him quite some time before he actually puts together the fact that he's had that talent the whole time.

Otto's cutie mark is a lot sillier. he actually doesn't know how he got it or what it means (as mentioned earlier it's symbolic but he doesn't know that. also shoutout to Shroom aka Evillandscaper for suggesting a paper crane because i did NOT know what i was gonna make it) he just kinda walked into work one day and Olive was like "oh cool you got your cutie mark?" and Otto was just like "WAIT I GOT MY CUTIE MARK?????" cue a whole silly filler episode involving the two of them trying to figure out what it means and also Olive having a crisis over the fact that Otto can do that pegasus thing where they use their wings like cartoon hands. both of these become running bits from then on. also i drew this comic about it and it might be one of my favorite things i've made for this au honestly

and on the topic of cutie marks as i previously mentioned, Olympia and Otis both get theirs after the talent show and they're also matching a little bit. theirs are also personality things but in addition to that Otis's is also for dancing and Olympia's is for magic, and you may be wondering how an earth pony can be a magic talent and this is where that half unicorn thing comes in!

so Olympia is half unicorn half earth pony which i don't think is too uncommon on its own, but the thing that makes her weird is that she inherited traits from both sides instead of just one over the other, so she actually has unicorn magic but no horn to actually use it with so she's unable to cast actual spells or anything but her magic will kinda spill over at times, especially if she's emotional, and cause things to happen like that one time she exploded into glitter when interviewing Olive or of course the fireworks! she's kind of like the Pinkie Pie character who just does unexplained things sometimes she's just very silly. fun fact in her ref you can see that her mane and tail are sparkly and that's because they kinda just perpetually look like they have glitter in them, but the thing is it's not really glitter it's all just magic. i imagine her coat is like this as well but i just didn't draw it in

also as a side note it came to my attention that she bears an uncanny similarity to Sparkleworks from G3 and i have absolutely no idea how that happened At All. like they have the same cutie mark and everything it's so weird. i've never even watched G3 i'm a G4 kid i legitimately have no clue how the hell this happened. i did make this out of it though

anyways for Otis, he's a pegasus of course but he's specifically a Cloudsdale weather pegasus, which yes i did make up but hear me out. so basically in my mind pegasi born in somewhere like Cloudsdale are more likely to have weather talents or like. stronger abilities in controlling the weather and such, which means stuff like larger wings and weatherproof wings and feathers to make it easier to deal with storms and stuff like that, so basically all this is just an excuse for me to give Otis waterproof feathers like a duck. but anyways since he was still raised by the ducks he doesn't actually know he's from Cloudsdale or anything so he just thinks he's weird for the feathers thing

okay i have. way more but i'm cutting myself off here so i don't overload everyone with information but anyways, please ask me about them, and also here's some extra drawings i've done of them :3

#my art #odd squad #odd squad pbs kids #mlp #my little pony #mlp au #odd squad mlp au #i cannot stress this enough btw please please PLEASE ask me about them i have so much information i am begging you

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mantisgodsart · 7 months ago

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[...isolation of the transformation appears to worsen the standard disorientation of a new body. I believe that the familiarity of the upper body may be offsetting the psychological impact of the lower body - as not everything has changed, the subject still "expects", on some level, that their body will work similarly, despite radical changes to organ systems and locomotion and the near-total overhaul of the centre of gravity.]

[The subject appears to be leaning on hexapodal motion as a type of "crutch", despite the size of the lower body making most of these sorts of motions awkward at best - the tournament venue doesn't currently have many internal spaces sufficient to test this one's mobility, but outdoors venues seem more promising for testing, anyways. This confirms something that I've previously suspected, as well - subjects find it more difficult to adjust to addition of new limbs than they do subtraction of limbs.]

[Subject appears to exhibit difficulty with coordination in the lower limbs, and has adopted an extremely "cautious" form of motion, taking steps with one limb at a time. The difference between upper and lower limbs means that this mode of movement is extremely... clumsy, to say the least. I intend to keep them under observation for a few more days before release and see if this resolves within the initial settling period or not. After that, just some periodic check-ins should be...]

Hello, and welcome to: watercolor paintings for Round 2 of @bug-oc transmutations! Mirach by @ghost-of-hallownest. Some extra details under cut because this is a long post and we don't want to make it longer.

This one is based pretty heavily on Dragon!Falin from Dungeon Meshi, but we're bringing through some lizard-y aspects from last year, and very much having fun with the tabby-cat patterns on the back - though technically speaking, Mirach's blue is limited to her wings, adding some markings to the body helps us break up that big plane of sandy yellows and add some interest to the design. We think it turned out well!

If we could fit it in, we'd add a third bit of Marigold notes related to the actual transmutation method, since it's been living in our brain for a while, and we think our Potion Drawing might be a bit... abstract, otherwise?

More or less, the weave - the active transmutation medium - is woven to the inside of the lasso's... lasso, and upon encircling something with it, the weave is transferred to the target, thus making the lasso fall apart entirely as a major component of its structure abruptly ceases to be part of the object.

This transfer-and-break is the same general method through which most of Marigold's "one-use" charms work - as the effect is now tied to the target's body, rather than an object, it simply remains in effect until the weave "wears in" to the body entirely, shifting it from an effect active on the subject to a part of the subject's body.

This means that, before the effect is fully integrated into the body, it can be broken, though as with all charmcraft some effects may still linger. This also makes it so, technically, the charmcraft only casts an effect on the caster - the same effect through which pretty much all Medals work - rather than being a direct interface a la wiring it directly into the bug's body, which is illegal and what Marigold spends a lot of time tiptoing around to produce major effects on a bug's body without the single most useful method for bodily alteration Charmcraft has to offer.

...that was longer than we really expected it to be. We are working on the other contestants, both of this round and the last, though it's going very slowly seeing as the afternoon sun is currently hot enough to melt our brain into a fine sludge. We've got a solid idea of all three other Round 2 designs, and we've finally got a sketch for Mal - though Pola is being delayed, still, due to our poor comics-making decisions. We're working on it! Slowly!

If we could figure out how in the hell to represent it visually, we'd be working on making a loser's bracket, too, but as is... listen, we're not a graphics designer for a reason. If you are a graphics designer and we can outsource designing a loser's bracket to you then please contact us. We have a budget of approximately ten dollars. We can do PayPal but if your payment processor of choice is US-exclusive we cannot help you.

#our art #bug fables #ocs #other peoples ocs #mirach #bf oc tournament #finished #watercolor

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livi-in-digital-circus · 4 months ago

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Here are some songs that I think would match Ragatha/Miss Agatha and Jax/Jackson in your AU!!!

Ragatha/Miss Agatha:

- the grudge by Olivia Rodrigo would work with her and her terrible fiancé, especially after what he did to her baby. I think it could also work with her and Jax after she slapped him.

- Diet Mountain Dew by Lana Del Rey would work both Ragatha and Jax. It fits their will-they-won’t-they narrative.

- Bigger Than The Whole Sky by Taylor Swift. This song reminds me a lot of Agatha’s miscarriage and the horrible feelings that came with it. It’s the moment where everything in her world fell apart.

- Lose You To Love Me and Single Soon by Selena Gomez. The first one would work with Ragatha’s regrets over her past relationship with her ex, while the second one highlights a happier ending for her. It’s her new start with Jax, specifically her getting ready for the dance with him!

Jax/Jackson:

- Dancing With Our Hands Tied by Taylor Swift. I feel like this matches the dance scene, before everything fell apart of course.

- teenage dream by Olivia Rodrigo. This song would probably reflect the aftermath of Agatha’s coma and all the pain Jackson went through after finding out. Although this isn’t canon to the story, I feel like this would fit his 18th birthday party without her.

- Love You Down by Ready For The World. This song would resonate a lot with Jackson’s one-sided crush on his brother’s teacher and the dreams he had about her.

- Colors by Halsey would definitely work with Jax’s dreams about his past. It summarizes all the people and all the feelings he ignores to avoid feeling anything.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy these choices :D. Your AU has been one of my favorite TADC AUs I ever read. The amount of emotion, drama, and romance was captured perfectly without feeling OOC. Keep up the great work Livi!

AAAAAA THANK YOU SO SO MUCH 💕

I don't know why I didn't think of adding more Taylor and Olivia songs to my playlist, but I actually had those two Selena songs somewhere in the back of my head while making it!

I'll listen to all the songs when I get home from school in 10+ hours (it's past 1 AM here lol)

I would also like to take this opportunity to explain some of the Korean songs on the playlist:

Prologue by aespa is about feeling immature and not ready for adulthood, to me it fits Agatha perfectly because even though she has been an adult for some time, she still has the heart of a teenager and has trouble dealing with some adult issues

Checkmate by Xdinary Heroes is about feeling confident because of a won game, I relate this song to the moment when Jax's attack on Ragatha during their stage play was successful

The Ugly Duckling by YENA, well I interpreted the song's lyrics much differently than it should be interpreted, I relate it to Agatha's miscarriage due to the lyrics being about trying to move on after a horrible event and there is also a child mentioned so-

War of Hormone by BTS is a very controversial song which that has been accused of considering girls playthings for boys, basically Jax's attitude towards Ragatha before she almost abstracted

Doll by (G)I-DLE, the title says it all, it perfectly describes how Ragatha was treated by Jax and how she's fed up with it

Quarter Life by TOMORROW X TOGETHER is another song about finding adult life kind of hard and trying to go on despite you already screwed up a lot of things, every time I hear this song I think of Jax and how he feels after remembering his former life

Lonely Boy by TOMORROW X TOGETHER is a breakup song that in my opinion fits how Jackson felt after losing Agatha

Happily Ever After by TOMORROW X TOGETHER (yeah, it's my fav boysband lol) is the song I had in mind while writing the last chapter, even though it's upbeat it tells about how cruel life is and that there's actually no happy end, just like in the story :D

And thank you for enjoying my AU! At first I thought it would fail as it has no drawings (I'm really terrible at drawing + I can't do digital art) and focuses more on writing, but the amount of support and love my work has received in these few months makes me incredibly happy 🥺

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #the amazing digital cirucs au #tadc au #dreaming of real world au #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #jax #ragatha #jax x ragatha #bunnydoll

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hardyshoe · 8 days ago

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Sonnenblumen, chapter nine - Poppies, for consolation.

Masterlist

Also posted on AO3 - here.

⚘⚘⚘

My sunflower,

I am writing to you on the train back to London and I shall post this before I get into the car on the other side. I hope it arrives quickly, I want you to know how much I miss you already and that I am thinking of you. I always am.

Mother is trying to read what I am writing through the paper, she looks vexed, though that is sort of just how she looks. She keeps making snippy comments when the silence has stretched on too long. She called you ‘headstrong’ which she meant as an insult but I am inclined to agree with her. You were wonderful, truly. No one has ever gotten under her skin like that. I will write more on this when I am alone, until then I will think about the look in your eyes when you spoke to her and smile to myself with almost hysterical glee.

It will no doubt amuse you to know that Daeron has been singing your praises since we left school, much to mother’s chagrin. He has also been reading this (or trying to, he is struggling with my chicken scratch), over my shoulder and would like to add something.

‘Dear Miss sunflower, thank you for letting me stay in your house and letting me look after Rosy bear. My hands feel much better already! Sorry that I stole your mummy’s handkerchief, it was an accident but Aegon says you wont mind. See you soon!’

You will see that he made me try and write neater because he can’t hold the pen himself right now and his handwriting is apparently much better than mine. He really is very fond of you. Wise boy if you ask me.

Anyway, I will finish here, I have more I want to say but Daeron is being nosy. I should only be gone a week, and though it feels insurmountable now, it could be worse. I am going to search Aemond’s rooms for your letters when I get to the house, he is not as subtle as he likes to think. Until I hear from you, or go crazy enough to send you another letter straight away,

Your Aegon.

P.S. Daeron insisted on drawing

a picture for you. It is his Tessarion

and Rosy bear. I think.

⚘⚘⚘

He is right about his handwriting, it's messy as all hell and written on a complete wonk. Images of too-large jumpers and a cluttered dorm swim into your mind affectionately. Daeron’s little drawing is similarly abstract, you think you can make out Rosy bear’s ears although they are bisected harshly by a line of ink, clearly the product of the train jolting on the tracks.

You read it six times, cheeks stinging with the intensity of your smile.

“Letter?” your mother pries over her morning porridge. You’re entirely too giddy to feign annoyance over her intrusion.

“From Aegon,” you say, flipping the page in her favour to show her briefly. Her eyes widen a touch at the length and the state of the script, when she reaches the end she raises a brow at the drawing, “and Daeron.”

She chuckles and returns to her breakfast. There is a hint of relief in her shoulders and when you are halfway through another reading of the letter, she speaks again. “I’m glad it worked out.”

“Me too, mum.”

Her smile pinches a little at her eyes when you look at her, “just know that, if those are the lengths they will go to just to interfere, be wary of what else they might do.”

You open your mouth to speak but she holds up a hand, “I am not trying to warn you off, my girl. God knows I couldn’t even if I tried. I am merely saying that some people are best held at arm's length.”

“I am not trying to befriend Mrs Targaryen, nor Aemond,” You say sourly. The very idea of playing nice with them has you feeling that familiar burning irritation.

She laughs, “I think you would struggle.”

It takes a second for you to simmer through your rage but her laughter soo has you cracking into fits of giggles too. She reaches for you and clasps your hands over the letter on the table, recovering before she speaks. “I hope you know how proud I am of you, how proud your father is too.”

“For what?” You ask, confused.

She shakes her head, muttering something you cannot catch under her breath. “For sticking by him, even when you thought he had done you wrong.”

“He needed help-” you begin.

“And most people would not have been able to look past their pain enough to give it.” She is tracing the veins on the back of your hand like she used to do when you were a child. “Nor would they have seen how desperately he needed it in the first place.”

You feel so very little then, like you couldn't be trusted to leave the house without wellies on if it were raining or would still instinctively reach for hand to hold when crossing the road. You are struck with a memory, one of your earliest, you pushing a tine pram around the pub with Rosy bear sitting inside. You had shown her to every person in the pub and nodded at them with an exaggerated politeness when you had bid them farewell, one of your mother’s hats falling low over your eyes.

Now, you can almost feel the bakelite handle in your grasp, feel the sole loose screw clicking and spinning under the side of your thumb as you lose balance on uneasy legs not yet well practiced enough for grace.

“I just hope he knows what a special thing you are.”

Your finger sits on his nearly memorised letter, the lines that are worming their way into your very being.

“He does,” you assure her.

“Then I am satisfied,” she says, holding your hand the whole time it takes her to finish her porridge.

⚘⚘⚘

Barbara comes in on Wednesday morning, bringing pastries from the café and news that Joan is still in employment, she has a slightly stunned look on her face with that revelation. When she sits though, it morphs into a stern assessment that tells you to explain what the hell you are still doing sitting across from her on the bench that has blackened at the seam with remnant coal dust.

You explain what had happened, voice rising shrilly with each sardonic rise of her brow and tightening of her crossed arms. “I am going! I promise I am, that has not changed,” the dubious glint in her eyes does not diminish, “I just couldn’t, not after that. Surely you understand I couldn’t leave him or Daeron in that state.”

“I will not watch you get stuck here because of him,” she warns.

“You say that like you’re trying to get rid of me,” you joke, the jibe is light but Barbara shakes her head seriously. In her bag you can see her mother’s prescription tucked in between her shopping. The brown glass bottle with its shiny white plastic lid stands out harshly against the tomatoes and beans. Your attempt at levity goes down like a lead balloon.

“I can’t go without him,” you tell her, voice low but serious. It is a sentiment you have not spoken aloud before yet it is a truth you have known for some time. The sound of the words hanging in the mixed air of the pub, heavy with the particles of dust and old comfort, feels so achingly solid. “Anywhere I went I would spend every moment trying to fill the space beside me that he should be taking up.”

For a minute or so, she just stares at you, a little absent behind the eyes as her fingers dig around the thin silver christening band on her fine wrist. You squint your eyes a little and you think you can make out the delicate inscription between the tiny scrapes and dents of a lifetime of wear. The sloping italicised writing is familiar when you finally understand it, Mary Elizabeth Crillen.

“You love him,” she says, no question in it, just a statement of truth.

You don’t feel the need to answer in such simple terms as yes or no. Barbara can see your reply in the very way you are. “Would you think me naïve if I told you I knew this is it for me? When he is here I think I could stay a little longer, I am not saying I will!” You add on quickly when she opens her mouth to start up again. “But sometimes, when he is here, I know that he is half of what I have been missing all this time.”

You think she will be skeptical, think you are blindsided and foolish. Barbara has always been so logical and pragmatic, working in sureties, things that were probable and definitive.

And yet, “I don't think you are naïve.”

She is as light in tone as you have ever known her, voice scraping every so lightly on her vocal chords and giving her a gentle, reverent rasp. You know she understands and it nearly kills you how much you wish it was not the pain of longing she knew but the ecstasy of hope.

“Barbara-”

“Don’t, please,” she cuts you off quickly, eyes flicking to yours and head jerking in dissent. “My situation is what it is, I cannot do a thing to change it and neither can you. Yours is not the same and if you squander your chance to be buried in ground that isn’t laced with the same miseries you have spent your entire life dreaming of shaking off I will never forgive you.”

In the time between your eyes meeting and the seriousness dropping into your stomach, it takes all you have not to sob. For her and for yourself and the impossibility still of leaving your parents behind.

“Do not let yourself down,” she says finally.

“I-,” you start, choking a little, “I won’t, Barbara.”

“Promise me,” she demands. Behind your blinking eyes, a visage of a gangly girl with legs too long and eyes too dark flickers in your mind, how she used to sit on the ground of the little school courtyard with the backs of her legs going red and speckled with imprints of concrete just because Mary liked to spend hours plaiting and unplaiting her thick dark hair. You can still remember the severity beyond age in her voice when she had shaken your hand on a promise to send her a postcard from Paris one day.

“I promise.”

She nods and finally tears the corner off of her flaky croissant, the little scraps of pastry tumbling across the willow print plate you fetched her from the kitchen.

“You could hire someone to-”

She says your name quietly, with all the gravity of a fallen tombstone. “I know how you are, it is what makes you so brilliant, but you can’t fix this. One day it will be okay, but if I wish for that day to come any sooner than it is supposed to I would be a horrible person.”

The horrible vision of someone living their life for someone else sends a cold fissure of dread down your spine and you feel selfish for being upset on her behalf.

“Okay,” you say simply.

The ale pumps shine in the yellow overhead lights and one of them is being hit at such an angle that it tweaks in the corner of your vision.

“Mary wants to be a chemist in Manchester, it’s not so far from here and she will be done with at St. Andrews in a few years.” She slips in her delicacy when she stirs her tea, spoon clanging against the side. “The leading professor of mathematics at the university says I show a lot of promise.”

There lies her hope, bare and obvious in the tiny smile at the side of her red painted lips. Living for an eventuality.

“Of course you do, you have a mind beyond what I can even comprehend.” You really mean it, she is wickedly intelligent. She used to run laps around the sweet old teacher who did maths in the upper half of the village school.

Barbara goes a little pink in the cheeks and you smile, it isn’t that she is insecure about her mind rather that it is the only compliment you could pay her that would really mean anything.

“Yes, well, it is not for certain but…”

“It’s something,” you finish for her and she nods down at her plate.

Across the room, the swinging door to the back of the bar flaps in a great swish of air. The clock is nearing eleven and the old group will be in soon, days unfilled with the mentalities of work and labour they surrender themselves to the familiarities of each other's old stories and mournful jokes. There is a thinly worn patch of the carpet at the corner of the bar where they congregate, a bit of the faded red and green floral repetition that had given way to a threadbare glimpse of the beige threads and glue holding it to the floorboards. A testament to monotony.

When Barbara goes, she tells you she will be back later with Joan and Marlene, if her husband will look after Elsie for the evening, you agree and let her go with a weight still stretching between the two of you. The little pills in her back rattle as she walks to the door and the sound seems to clamour louder when the door has shut behind her.

⚘⚘⚘

My dear sunflower,

Bad news. I hate to start my letter like this but it is all I can think of. I am not hurt, do not worry about that, but I will not be coming back up before the hols. Daeron will, he was only given a week's suspension but they gave me two and it was decided that it would be ‘for the best’ if I did not return for the week and a half before school breaks up. I fought like hell, I want you to know that. I didn’t know what else to do, I do not want to be there but I want to be here even less.

Otto smacked me and I left it for a while but I am going to keep trying. I am also going to send your Christmas present with this, since I am not sure I will be able to give it to you myself anytime soon. I hope you like it.

I have been spending time with Helaena now that I am here, she asks for stories about you when we are sitting under the tree in the garden. She likes that I call you what I do, she likes the sound of you very much. She and I planted some sunflower seeds down the end of the garden, she says they will only take a few weeks to bloom then I can watch them from my window and think of you when they dance in the sunlight.

I miss you, I have been keeping your last letter in my pocket since it arrived and I take it out to read every time the distance starts to itch at my joints. I am still looking for your others, I will find them, it is about all I am thinking of in the quiet moments alone.

I look forward to hearing from you, you cannot know how nice it is to be sure you will write again. nor how miraculous it is that I am sure at all.

Your Aegon

P.S. I wrote the notes many moons ago

but I have not changed them, I still mean

Every word.

⚘⚘⚘

His second letter arrived a week and a half after he left you. You know, by now, that Daeron is back at the school. A fact that haunts you as you try to sleep every night, but Aegon is still down in London, still further than you can reach him. Even after so little time, the worry is creeping on you at the tone of his letter.

You stare at the door still, on Wednesdays and Fridays when he should be there but isn’t. It is not that you think he is going to be just that you cannot stop searching for him when he is not around. The Easter holidays are a week away when it comes and you feel a bit of dread at the thought of not seeing him for another month still.

It arrives mid-morning, the postie lugging it with a thick parcel wrapped in brown paper, the two bound together with a looping white string tied in a haphazard bow. You read the letter first, though that creeping excitement of a present itches at you and reminds you of your birthdays as a little girl. How you would open your cards first, saving the biggest present for last always.

The paper is waxy under your fingers and you prise the shiny sellotape from it in a line of scraping paper that leaves behind an imprint of a perforated edge. It is not wrapped neatly, too much paper wrapped around the object itself that it takes you a few minutes to get into it as you fiddle around on the creased yellow sheets of your unmade bed.

It gives way to an unassuming grey cover with a white cotton binding on the spine. You find the lettering of the title is depressed when your fingers skirt on the dull roughness of the paper finish, ‘The story of art in photographs’. The words themselves spike excitement in you but when you open the cover your heart leaps.

‘Merry Christmas sunflower, one day I will take you to see every work in this book but, for now, this will have to do.’

Over the page you turn to a photograph of a crouching Hellenistic statue of Aphrodite. She is beautiful and feminine in a raw way, her pose highlighting the folds of the curve of her abdomen and the deep setting of her absentminded eyes. It is the margin of the page that catches your eye though.

His messy handwriting coats the glossy page in a dull matte of blue ink, your fingernails change pitch when it crosses the border between the two. ‘I see you in the look in her eyes, the way you looked at me when I first told you about my family.”

It stuns you nearly to death, you feel your heart stop and stutter back into rhythm. You read and re-read the message. When you slide your finger between the pages to flip to the next it slides with uncomfortable speed against your cuticle in a close warning of a papercut.

The next is a photograph of the Caryatids of the Acropolis, the draped women forever holding up a roof that crumbled thousands of years ago. They catch your mind as they always have, a timeless companionship stretching between you and them. Then you see it, lining the grey border of the photograph, ‘You would fit among them, with your blazing strength. I would hold Athens up for you, when I see them I think you would for me too.’

And so it continues, an almost hysterical searching of the shiny blank edges of the photographs for his words. Each page reveals a different version of yourself that he has played witness to and somehow, every version is the person you had seen in yourself when you had first seen each painting.

The way Constanza Trenta reaches for her husband, even in death, in ‘the Arnolfini portrait’, ‘how his hand looks for hers in the air, it is how I always feel when you are further than I can reach.’

"Something in the pearl makes me think of your face, I do not know exactly what but I think it is how you shine against the darkness,” is written on the page of Vermeer’s ‘Girl with the pearl earring’.

Every little note sends you into a deeper spiral and you have to run the harsh knit of your cardigan under your eyes to stop the fat tears from splashing onto the beautiful pages. You follow a path of his perception of you like it was a painting of your face done in his hand. You have never been so touched in your life, so bowled over by feeling.

You love him and you haven’t told him yet. You love him and he sees you in the water of Monet’s painting of the Thames. You love him and he is reminded of the bones of your spine when he looks at Egon Schiele’s sketches of the human form. You love him and he is not here. You love him and he is miles away and you are worried sick that he is hardly okay.

⚘⚘⚘

My dear sunflower,

I am so glad you liked the book, it has brought me joy to think of you happy. I am glad of that at least. I miss you terribly and the flowers at the end of the garden are still only stems. I have been spending a lot of time in my mother’s little gallery room, no one ever goes in there unless she is hosting and the privacy is nice. I know it would make you sad to think of the paintings not being looked at all so I have been going in there to think of you.

I do not want to be here anymore, it's been three weeks and I cannot do another four. I know I cannot. I hope you do not think I am weak for that. Last night I snuck out after supper and walked until I got lost. It was an embarrassingly short amount of time and it took me nearly an hour to find my way home. Knowing you and seeing how big the world is through your eyes has made me glaringly aware of how little mine is, just how much there is that I have not seen because I haven’t pushed against the walls I have been put in here enough. It is not your fault, do not think it is a bad thing, but I feel so claustrophobic here now. More so than before, I used to want to leave because I didn’t like it and I wanted to get away from Otto and my mother, not have to watch my father decaying at the dinner table. Now I struggle to sleep because I have this irrational notion that the walls are going to cave in on me and trap me in the rubble forever.

Am I going mad, do you think? Sorry if I am and you are being subjected to my nutty ramblings. I think if I did lose it I know I would hallucinate you here with me, and sometimes I long for that in a way that frightens me.

I made Aemond give me your letters, I could not find them for the life of me. I am so sorry he did what he did, your words were so beautiful and it hurts to read your pain at his hands. I miss you sunflower, I miss feeling like a real person instead of a shade of failure.

Sorry that this is such a miserable letter, I will be okay, I do not want you worrying. Daeron is back now and he and I have been playing knights in the garden where Mother won’t shout at us for the racket. It takes my mind off things a bit, seeing him so happy.

I hope to see you in my dreams so that I may touch you again and hear your voice. I do not know what else to say other than I miss you, so I will leave here before you think I really have gone barmy.

Your Aegon

⚘⚘⚘

It is that letter that is your final straw. You are standing behind the bar with your father when it arrives and he seems to sense the worry coursing through your blood, he looks at you with concern. The pub is fairly quiet given the hour, the dull thunk of darts hitting the board and the low and easy conversation of the older men.

“I need to go to him,” you say to him. He has a rag over his shoulder and it sags with his shoulders when your words hit him, like he knew this was coming. He looks worried too.

“When?” Is all he asks and you appreciate that. He knows you will go, he would not try to stop you but you know he knows this is the beginning of your absence.

“There will be a train tomorrow morning,” you say simply and he nods.

“Go and tell your mum, she will want to help you pack.” He jerks his head to the door to the flat and you fold Aegon’s letter carefully into your pocket. You do not say it but there is not much packing to be done, you have been existing in a state of transience for the last few weeks with your suitcases only relieved of the clothes you have been wearing and your daily things. Your summer dresses are still neatly folded, probably deeply creased into their tightly packed shapes.

You just hadn’t been able to unpack them. When Aegon and Daeron had been taken back with their mother you had sat on the floor before them, the metal clasps digging into your fingers, but you had not been able to open the largest of them. The thought of putting all your clothes back into your dresser and pinning your pictures to the wall again felt like such a betrayal. So, you have lived like a visitor in your own bedroom and you have slept with your eyes on the half packed bags since that night.

Your mother does indeed want to help though, and she sits patiently as you iron your travelling suit and hang it on the back of the wardrobe door, pulling tiny bits of inconsequential lint from it with your nails.

“Does he know you are going?”

You shake your head and she gives you a look, not of concern but something closer to intrigue. You pass her the letter from him and watch her eyes narrow and her face pinch in a grimace as she reads. “I am not waiting a week for permission I know will be granted, not when I do not know exactly how he is.”

She seems to understand and helps you tuck your ‘Sonnenblume’ into your scrapbook. The space that is left on the wall feels unshakably permanent and you trace the dark square of unbleached wallpaper in bed that night.

When you put on your travelling suit the next morning, the tailored jacket top with its light flare at the bottom holds you like an embrace and you delight in the way the navy skirt swishes against your legs. You feel terribly grown up in it, your back straighter and your hands moving more deliberately like when you had first been allowed to paint your nails.

Of course, you have thought of how it would feel before, many times since you realised that the feeling that festered in your bones had only one cure. However, the practice is different than you realised it would.

April’s early sun is soft as down on your face and a frenetic anticipation tickles in unstoppable movement between your joints. Your father has your two big cases and your mother has the littlest one in one hand and is holding yours in her other. The powder blue of the cases shines happily in the light of day, bright plastic handles gleaming. You are sandwiched between the two of them on the thin field path that cuts through to the station.

A spike of raw, beautiful excitement leaps in your chest at the sight of the station’s black and white sign and you lag behind in bold faced disbelief as everything hits you properly. You have not been this far before, standing so close always felt like too much of a temptation and a teasing for you to venture so far. What you did not expect having to reckon with is the strange sadness that washes over you like a chill on the breeze, a preemptive longing for your parents and familiarity. It does not sting even nearly enough to make you think about staying but it is there, just a dull little ache between your organs.

Your mum's hand pulls tight in yours as she keeps on walking, they both turn back to you and you give a little embarrassed laugh at the way your eyes spark with close tears. The hairs on your arms are standing on end with excitement.

They pull you into a hug between them, suitcases sitting prettily among the green grass.

“Once it is all sorted, you have the most fun. Okay, my girl?” Your father says, arms tightening around you. His voice is a bit choked and you fight a swelling wave of emotion, nodding into him.

Your mum is crying outright, sobbing into your arm. “I will be back mum,” you insist with a watery voice.

She shakes her head and pulls back to pat you on the cheek, “this time.”

It could very easily be seen as her pressuring you not to go but you know her better than that. You do not have a response, just a slightly sad and knowing smile which she smothers by pulling you back in again.

They walk you onto the platform and help you put your bags onto the train. The platform is nondescript with its brown wooden shelter and little old seller who looks surprised to see anyone there when you go to buy your ticket. The sun beats off the shiny red train like glowing stained glass.

“You’re sure you know where you’re going when you get there?” Your father asks as you poke your hand through the carriage’s window to squeeze his one more time.

“As well as I possibly could,” you assure him, thumbing the slip of paper with his address that he had given you all those months ago in your pocket. If you kept a cigarette case of sentimentalities it would be on the top of the stack always, close enough that you could take it out to trace his handwriting from time to time.

“And you will send us a letter when you are all sorted?” Asks your mum, reaching for you too as the train starts to clatter into motion. You hold onto them for as long as you can before they are pulled from your reach.

“As soon as I can.” They both nod and start to wave you away. You call after them, “I love you!”

“We love you too!” Their voices are half swallowed by the receding steam and screeching wheels but you hang out the window until the borders of the station are stolen from your vision all the same.

In the green velvet carriage, you sit down, a bizarre buzz of silence tingling at you. You are still sure of yourself and your decision but it is one thing to plan and another entirely to be sitting on a train bound for a place you have dreamed of for years.

As the view out the window blurs with the speeding engine, you open the window and breathe in deeply. There is a stream of chimney smoke bleeding past the window and this time, as it fills your lungs, it smells like excitement.

⚘⚘⚘

London feels like a different country entirely when you step off the train. You thought you might be wearied by the journey when you finally arrived, nearly six hours on the trains and three changes from station to station, the distance stretching between you here and home is another weight on your shoulders. However, you can’t seem to find the burden in it now, just fervent anticipation at being so very close.

The station is busier than you have ever known any place to be, paths of every direction forged by men in suits with dripping umbrellas and women with herds of little children. You get swept up in watching it all for a minute, standing near the ticket gate with your bags tugging your shoulders half out of their sockets. It feels oddly calming, being so still among such movements. You feel like the viewer in Boccioni’s ‘the city rises’, observant to a cloud of sound and colour and unstoppable life.

Through the station, you carry yourself like a lighthouse, head circling to every angle in an attempt to capture a permanence of some kind, something in this that you can revisit when life gets too quiet when you inevitably return home.

Outside, a porter in a navy cap and uniform kindly puts you into a black taxi, rain sluicing off its sides and down the windows and doors in an interminable cascade. It is bizarre, watching the droplets chase each other down your watery reflection when it had been so hopefully warm back home.

The city blurs outside in a mirage like haze of colourful shop fronts, people in beautiful clothes and quick paced life. What a dreadful hurry everyone seems to be in.

“I apologise for the hold up, Miss. You know how it is when it’s tipping it down, everyone thinks they are made of sugar.” The diver’s accent is thick, you think it must be cockney though you are not quite sure. The thing is, you don’t know how it is. You’ve seen miners trudging home in rain so thick it pulls the coal from their skin and washes into the grass at the roadside. You laugh anyway, because the dichotomy is blinding and it tickles you to be included.

“It’s quite alright, I’m in no rush. Besides, I am enjoying the view.” You catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, he is an older gentleman with hair greying in his brows. His eyes twinkle with amusement and smile at him.

“You don’t sound like you're from around these parts. First time in jolly London?” He asks and you find his innocent question funny in the way that he acts as though he is not curious.

“Yes, it is. I am visiting a friend,” you say, though it feels wrong to describe Aegon in such a way. He is so very much more than just your friend, no word seems right to capture what he is to you though.

“Must be a very fancy friend living in Kensington, if you don’t mind my saying so,” he tacks on the last part in a bit of a rush, as if worried he might offend you.

“I think you might be right,” he raises his eyebrows and you explain, “I have never been to see him before, you see. In all honesty, I do not know what I should be preparing myself for.”

That makes him chuckle, “A shiny white townhouse by the address, quite a large one I should think.”

You alight the picture negative of your bague conjuring of the Targaryen house with his description, they align like different angles of the same shot. “That sounds about right, though I am sure it will still surprise me.”

He nods and turns back to the traffic, the roads have quieted a little with distance put between you and the station, the passers by growing more sharply dressed. You watch a woman in a tight white dress clipping through the rain in heels of impressive height, a man beside her carries an umbrella aloft above her quaffed hair.

“This fella a good friend of yours?” the cabbie asks.

“Something like that,” you offer and his lips quirk at your evasiveness that absolutely gives the game up.

“Well, I hope you have a good stay, Miss,” he bids as he slows right down in front of a gleaming terrace of white stone, bejeweled with neat black metal fences and front doors in glossy reds and blues. You are glad then for your travelling suit, a mast of tightly tailored manners to wear into batter. Everyone needs an armour of sorts, you wear yours in the sharp darts at your hips and hide away your sorts and bombs between the shoes in your suitcases.

The driver takes your bags to the door and parts with a nod, you return with a smile and a wave. His car starts up behind you and your knocking is underscored by the lowering hum of his motor.

The doors swing open after the whir has faded, revealing a portly old man with ruddy cheeks and a suspicious glare.

“Good afternoon,” you greet brightly. Your smile is not returned.

“Can I help you?” he asks, eyes on your bags stacked next to you on the step.

“Yes, thank you. Is Aegon home?”

If possible, his eyes narrow further, “Master Targaryen is at home.”

You can tell he is being intentionally evasive. No matter. “Could you fetch him for me?”

“And whom might I say is calling?”

You smile at him again, playing your own turn at evasiveness. “Just tell him it’s his sunflower, he will understand.”

The man nods curtly, shutting the door in your face once again. Left alone, you step back from the house to look up. There is something a little frightening about the long stretching façade of the street, for a building clearly some hundred years old or more, the stone sparkles like new. The black paint on the wrought iron stair rails and balconettes has nary a chip in it.

This lack of weathering is strangely off putting. There should be a grime of living and age in everything.

Compared to the surroundings you have left behind, the houses on this road are downright clinical, polished white teeth giving you a mocking, condescending smile. Greying straw in old thatched roofs and wooden benches green with lichen play in your mind.

The door bangs open suddenly, framing a dishevelled Aegon. “Sunflower!” He is wide eyed with disbelief, sweeping you into an all consuming hug which lifts you clean off the floor. “How are you here?”

He pulls back to cup for face between his hands, as if checking you are real.

“You told me I ought to come and visit, I thought I would take you up on it. Though, if I am an imposition I can get a hotel-”

“Don’t be silly, this is the loveliest surprise. You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” There is a jubilant relief in his tone and you feel a pang of concern at the pain peeking out from behind his joy.

“I think I might have some idea,” you say, lightness burning through you in increasing waves of magnitude.

The moment of harmonious happiness is broken with the clearing of a throat. The butler has your bags in his hands and a disapproving look on his face. “Where might I be taking these, sir?”

“The yellow room, please Miller, nearest my mother’s gallery.” The older gentleman nods, leaving with a final narrowing of his eyes.

When his form has disappeared up the stairs, you whisper to Aegon, “He seems a right miserable sod.”

Aegon cackles, kissing you squarely on the lips. It feels like exuberance and tastes like relief. “Come in, I’ll give you a tour if you want? Though, you’re probably too tired…”

You shoot him a glare, “of course I’m not too bloody tired.”

He grins and pulls you in by the hand.

The moment you get past the door, you are covered in a hush like entering a cathedral, a clocheing like someone has their hands over your ears. A feeling of being alone and watched at the same time. Every step you take bounces off your patent leather shoes and up the walls, licking across the ceiling and back into your ears. Aegon is barefoot and you think it might be for that very reason.

A great staircase curls into the impossibly high ceiling, its polished bannister adorned with geometric decorations in painted wood. Your eyes twist after it as Aegon starts to speak again.

“You’ve come at a good time, Mother is in town with Otto and they won’t be back till supper,” he says as he drags you into a cavernous living room, though, you’re not sure how much living actually goes on in here. There is not a speck of dust anywhere, and each chair, however beautiful in their cohesive, art-deco glory, seems placed at a certain and precise angle.

Every piece in the room is beautiful, sun beam like decorations in rich wood on the backs of the sofas and corresponding greens and blues linking each fabric in the room. Yet something is off. For all the art-deco beauty, the room feels like a subsidisation of the movement. Like a veneer on ply board posing as solid oak, it lacks the weight.

You have a book at home on modernism and art deco, it has always been one of your favourites. Something about the period has fascinated you since you first read about it, about the wild art scene in Berlin and the conveyance of pain and misery through the art. You should be excited by everything you see here but it leaves you feeling empty and angry in a way.

For a period defined by such deep feeling, perhaps the sharpest in human history, modernism has always been fascinatingly melancholic to you. The décor in the Targaryen house is so obscured from that message it looks like a caricature. Aegon had said his grandfather came here after the war, that his family had, if anything, benefitted from the conflict because of the deal made to produce uniforms for the army.

The room reeks of that lack of understanding and a burning desire to assimilate. None of the usual sorrows play this room in their eternal shows on the raised piano stage. There is no vestige of the desperate grasp for vivacious pleasure in the face of incomprehensible loss, no guttural guilt at being alive to see another day only to drink it away in a frenzied dance. No, this room is nothing more than a farce, and it is ugly and rotten for the gall it has to pretend to understand.

Room after room follows the same pattern, too neat, too cold and far, far too big. Aegon flits around the mausoleum, pointing things out like they were headstones of long forgotten relatives.

What strikes you most is the complete lack of human presence, no one has left so much as an indent on a dining chair and you begin to understand that night with the handkerchief more. How the evidence of anyone is something to be cleared away quickly by an unseen maid once they have left the room. You poke your fingertip onto the shining top of a side table as you leave the dining room in spite, relishing the visage of the spiralling print left behind.

He takes you up the stairs, waxing poetic about the times he had ridden them down on his mattress because he knew it would wind his mother up something awful.

The upper hall is wide and lit coldly by the late afternoon sun that pours in from a blue and white stained window at the end. Every door is shut tight and you follow him down the shut off maze until he turns you down a shut off corridor. He looks at you cheekily and knocks on the first door on the left, the sound echoes and fills the silence as Aegon holds a finger over his lips.

The door opens and you look down to see Daeron kneeling on the floor in front of an open book, he looks up and yelps when he sees you, jumping at you with his whole weight. “Miss sunflower!”

With arms full of the little boy and the hand of the man you love steadying you between your shoulder blades, you feel the cold of the house chased back a little. You kiss Daeron’s soft hair as he babbles on about the first week of his holiday, the highlight of which being his first loose tooth which he pulls back to wiggle proudly.

“Oh! How exciting!” you exclaim and he nods happily.

Aegon snickers behind you, “I told him how Davey took my first tooth out and he thinks I am going to do it to him now.”

Daeron yelps, “I won’t let you! I won’t”

You turn to him, his maniacally smiling face calming some of the worry in your heart. “Don’t tell me-”

“Tied it to the door handle and kicked it shut,” he nods proudly and Daeron hides behind you fully, hands over his ears and a low sound of fear coming from his mouth.

“Good god,” you say, hand over your mouth.

“It was wicked, I got blood on Mrs Thompson's cream carpet and we spent the night in the cold shed but we couldn’t stop laughing.” His eyes pinch, fond somehow despite the darkness, “I did not tell him about that bit.”

“What is going on?” Comes a fine voice from down the hall, it would startle you if it weren’t so soft. You look down the row of doors to see a girl just younger than you standing with a hand around her wrist. Daeron stops his panicky sound and runs to her.

“Helaena, come and meet Miss sunflower!” He demands, taking her wrist and dragging her towards you. She is beautiful in a fragile way, a stiff breeze would bowl her clean over and she seems to almost float across the floor instead of walking. Funnily enough, she is exactly how you expected her to be and you smile in greeting.

She has a shining gemstone in her hand and she looks you over before she does anything. Perceptive lilac eyes swimming in the space around you before meeting yours.

“I have heard a lot about you.” Her voice lilts gently, intonation a little different that normal parlance. “You look like a sunflower.”

It is a funny thing to say and you don’t quite know what she means but it makes you smile nonetheless. “Thank you,”

She just nods, putting the rock into your hand and closing your fist over it. The clear purple is the same as her eyes, as Aegon’s and Daeron’s and it is warmed by her touch.

“Come and read me your tenses,” she says to her little brother, he protests but when Aegon mimes tying a string around his tooth he bolts in front of her. You laugh brightly. It is a kind act of tact from Helaena, as much as you have been looking forward to meeting her and seeing Daeron again, you cannot let more time go without making sure Aegon is okay.

“We will see them later for supper,” he assures you and his smile turns cheeky “I believe there is a gallery you might be interested in.”

He pulls you back into the main upper hand and down to a room in the middle, when he opens the door, shooting you a broad grin, you nearly yell with excitement and slip through the door in front of him. This room is unlike the others, the walls are plain blue and there is no furniture, just rows of neatly hung paintings on the walls which hum with importance.

You can hardly believe what you are seeing, Picasso’s sketches just like Aegon had said the first time you met him, a richly moody Turner that stops your heart, a river scene in sharp coloured oils by Constable. Other names jump in your mind with familiarity that startles you and you are breathing shallowly as you take in the twenty or so works.

You stop in front of a small canvas, a pensive young woman in a field under a dark sky, her skin translucent in a way that could only have been the hand of Millais. You are in front of it for some time before you feel Aegon’s presence behind you, the warmth of him hanging in the scant space between you. His voice is low when he speaks, laced with trepidation, “I am scared you are going to disappear if I look away from you.”

It breaks your heart to hear how sure he sounds that you might not be real, and you turn to meet his unblinking gaze. “I am here Aegon, I’m not going anywhere. I promise I am real.”

“Well, you would say that…”

You kiss him, tenderly and slowly. Hands in his hair and twisted in his loose shirt. He melts into you and the way he holds you is as much a hug as it is a sigh of relief. He kisses your cheeks and your eyebrows and your temples in frenzied succession and you laugh.

“Mother is going to be furious,” he says, a little bit gleeful.

“I find I do not care much,” you say and Aegon dances around you with untameable giddiness.

Later, when you have snuck down the corridor to his room and tucked yourself between his sheets, you will ask him if he is alright and you will hold him while he cries because he is not. You will chase away the cold and the emptiness of the house as best you can and you will find a phone book and make good on the promise you made yourself when the thought first popped into your head. When he knows you are not a dream you will tell him how much you love him. Right now though, you laugh with him and kiss him freely and openly, holding onto the untouched happiness before anyone can try and scrape it out of your hands.

⚘⚘⚘

Happy Friday dearest readers! I apologise for this going up a little later than six but I had some final edits to make. I really hope you enjoy it, I love writing letters and I was waiting to reveal the belated Christmas gift to you all week. Thoughts and comments are always appreciated. All my love, SlaginSecret xxx

@neithriddle

#aegon the second #hotd aegon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #hotd fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader

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crystal-fems · 4 months ago

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Current thoughts on the Pearl/Greg situation…

First of all, It’s crazy coming back to this Steven Universe centered blog after all these years since I still hold so much love in my heart for this show that allowed me to discover who I am and live with confidence as well as helping me through many rough periods in my life. And now since we’re suddenly getting a few trickles of new content here and there (and discourse, but it’s SU so that’s always been a part of the fandom lol) I’m getting the feeling we’ll be getting some kind of big announcement sometime soon. Fingers crossed!

But alas, on the GregPearl early drawings that Raven, a former storyboard artist leaked that were drawn by Rebecca that have been resurfacing around the internet, I am able to see both sides. And incoming is a bit of a rant on the latest debacle…

At the end of the day these are Rebecca Sugar’s (Who is bisexual and genderfluid btw) original characters who she poured her heart and soul into, a lot of whom she based characteristics around herself and the people in her life. So first and foremost, what she decides to do with these characters is up to her. Not you. Of course you’re allowed to have your opinion on it, but Rebecca is nowhere in the wrong here and I’m tired of hearing about it because of the lgbtqia+ community’s blatant biphobia. She also fought tooth and nail to have a wlw wedding in her show but people have the audacity to say this is lesbophobic when these concepts and personal sketches were drawn very early on anyway and not even implemented into the fucking show.

Now on the other hand, I also understand where certain people are coming from to an extent. It’s odd for me personally to see Pearl with Greg and really any other man for that instance, as she’s always been lesbian representation to me and many others as well. At the time, she was the representation in cartoons that we so desperately wanted and needed. She was actually the first character that made me realize I was attracted to women in the first place. And because of that, many of us attached so heavily to this part of her identity which was never officially confirmed.

But you know what’s forgotten? Pearl is also nonbinary. All of the gems are nonbinary. But there’s erasure in that too of course because the community only wants to see her as a futch presenting lesbian when in reality, she physically can’t be that. Now don’t twist my words and think I’m for a second implying that you can’t be nonbinary and a lesbian, because that’s just not true either, but she’s supposed to be an alien for fuck’s sake. The whole idea of gender and sexuality is completely abstract to her species. AND ESPECIALLY SO in a world so inclusive and accepting of everyone, no matter what race, ethnicity, physical capability, gender identities and sexualities. You’d think for a show with a plot that’s so integral on being open about embracing who you are and not being afraid to love yourself as well as the people around you no matter the status quo, that people would have a little more open-mindedness and compassion.

#steven universe #su #pearl #Greg #greg universe #rebecca sugar #crystal gems #su discourse

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conchiferrous · 1 year ago

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repair and maintenance qualification

[IMAGE ID, IMAGE 1: Digitally drawn One Piece fan comic featuring Robin and Franky, pre-time skip. The first panel shows Robin on her knees holding herself up over Franky's lap. They're facing each other, and Franky's backside facing the viewer. His chest can still be seen from the side and his endo skeleton is exposed, and Robin is holding up non distinct wires coming out of Franky's chest with her right hand, and gripping Franky's left shoulder with her left hand. Robin looks panicked while Franky looks her in the eyes, an exhausted and worried expression on his face, and tells her: "Hey, relax. You told me you could handle this." Franky's sitting himself up using his arms, his right arm has been stripped bare and is drawn completely robotic. It's depicted as a series of iron bars in the shape of Franky's large barrel forearm, the robotic internals can be seen between these bars, drawn as a series of vertical piping and wires, though it's dark and hard to see. Franky is wearing a light green shirt and his speedos, while Robin is wearing her Galley Company shirt and purple shorts. They are drawn in a sort of cartoony style with sharp geometric angles. The second panel, drawn in the corner of the first larger panel, shows a close up of Franky's half exposed chest. While still drawn in a cartoonish manner, the edges are all rounded. The synthetic skin on his left pectoral has been torn off, leaving jagged edges on the sides of the hole. His chest muscles have been replaced with a sort of iron lattice in the shape of pectorals, various random wires can be seen behind it in various different colors. Robin is hovering her hand over the exposed area of his chest, the yellow wires still in hand. She's saying, "Sorry, I've never had to repair something with a heartbeat before." The text appears as boxes outside of this panel, with the Sorry handwritten and shown above this panel, and the rest of the text typed out in a nice calligraphy font (pristina). Drawn over top of the second panel is a heart, drawn over the covered side of Franky's chest with veins streaming out of it in various directions, as well as a few random gears drawn in the top corners and the bottom middle of the panel. The background for the entire drawing are abstract multicolored zigzag lines, mostly in hues of blue and purple. Franky and Robin are colored in bright hues, but stay mostly true to their canonical color palettes. Robins hair is colored as a dark purple, is darker skinned, has black nail polish, and her eyes have greenish yellow sclera with red irises. Franky's nose is a dull green and has red pupils. IMAGE 2: Continuation of the comic. The background is a gradient of dark blue to black, getting darker on the lower side of the drawing. There are no panels, and only two drawings. The first is in the top left corner of the drawing, and shows Robin saying: "Why did you let me do this, anyways?" in large white italic text. There is a closeup sketch of her eyes, drawn in blue pen, looking up, worried. The second drawing, on the right side of the canvas, is a sketch of Franky, from the lower half of his face down to his chest. He still looks exhausted, but his shoulders are relaxed. Only Robin's arms are visible, and she has her left hand inside of his chest and her right hand lightly gripping the side of Franky's neck. Underneath the drawing, Franky says, "I trust you." typed in bold text. In the bottom left corner of the drawing is Robin's text again, and she only responds with: "Oh…" END ID]

#its not a wip if you dont want to work on it anymore #frobin #2023 #id in desc

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blue134340 · 2 years ago

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Music, Love, and Lust.

Pairing: Namjoon x Yoongi x Reader

Genre: smut

Word count: I’m sorry I keep forgetting but like no more than 2k

Warning: sex, fingering, Namjoon watches, Nipp sucking, and I think that’s it.

Summary: you’re being a brat at the studio and Yoongi and Namjoon are annoyed.

Note: Hey so I noticed y’all really liked the last one I posted. So here is a new one! I think I have the AI bot a little to much detail but whatever anyways! I hope y’all enjoy you nasties 🥸!

———————————————————————

The studio was quiet, save for the sound of pen tapping against paper. Namjoon and Yoongi were focused, scribbling lyrics and jotting down ideas for a new beat. Y/N, on the other hand, was getting antsy. She had been sitting on the couch for what felt like hours, watching the guys work. She had no idea what they were doing, and it was starting to bore her.

"Hey, what are you guys working on?" Y/N asked, leaning over to peek at their papers.

Namjoon glanced up, giving her a small smile. "Just trying to come up with a new beat. It's not going very well."

Y/N shrugged, sinking back into the cushions. "Well, it looks boring. What else can we do?"

Yoongi rolled his eyes. "We're working, Y/N. You can't expect us to entertain you every second."

Y/N pouted, feeling restless. She glanced around the room, searching for something to do. Her eyes landed on the whiteboard that hung on the wall.

"Ooh, let's play a game!" she exclaimed, jumping up from the couch. "I'll draw something on the board and you guys have to guess what it is."

Namjoon and Yoongi exchanged a look, both of them looking slightly annoyed. "Can't you see we're trying to work here?" Namjoon said.

Y/N shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Come on, it'll be fun! If you guess right, I'll give you a prize."

The guys sighed, but they couldn't help but smile at Y/N's enthusiasm. "Fine," Yoongi grumbled. "But make it quick."

As Y/N drew, Namjoon and Yoongi tried their best to guess what she was making. But Y/N's drawings were so abstract and strange that they couldn't even begin to guess. They were starting to get frustrated with her constant interruptions.

"Okay, that's enough," Namjoon said, setting his pen down. "We're not getting anything done like this."

Y/N stuck her tongue out, feeling a little bad for being so disruptive. "Sorry, I just didn't know what else to do."

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, you know what they say about being bored," he said, crossing the room to stand in front of her.

Y/N looked up at him, a little confused. "What do they say?"

"They say it's a sign that you need to be punished," he said, before leaning down to press a kiss to her lips.

Namjoon chuckled, joining in on the fun. "Yeah, punished with kisses," he said, peppering her face with soft kisses.

Y/N giggled, feeling her frustration melt away. She wrapped her arms around their necks, pulling them in for a deeper kiss.

As their lips met, the tension between them grew. Yoongi's hands slid down Y/N's back, pulling her closer. Namjoon's fingers tangled in her hair, deepening the kiss even further. Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine, her body responding to their touch.

The three of them broke the kiss, panting for breath. Namjoon and Yoongi looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.

"I think we need to take a break from work," Namjoon said, turning back to Y/N. "Do you want to go somewhere more private?"

Y/N nodded eagerly, feeling her heart racing. The guys took her hands, leading her out of the studio and down the hall to a nearby empty room. As soon as they were inside, Yoongi pressed her against the wall, kissing her deeply as Namjoon stood behind her, his hands roaming over her body.

Y/N moaned softly, feeling herself getting lost in the sensations. She ran her hands over Yoongi's chest, feeling the muscles rippling under his shirt. Namjoon's lips trailed down her neck, nipping at her skin.

"God, you're so beautiful," Yoongi whispered, his hands sliding down to cup her ass.

Y/N gasped, feeling herself getting wet at his touch. She ground her hips against his, feeling his cock pressing against her. Namjoon stepped back, taking off his shirt and tossing it aside. Y/N's eyes widened at the sight of his toned chest, feeling herself getting even more turned on. Yoongi pressed his lips to hers again, deepening the kiss as Namjoon stepped forward to press his body against hers.

The three of them were lost in a haze of lust, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony. They took turns kissing and touching her, driving her to the brink of orgasm again and again. Y/N felt like she was in heaven, surrounded by the warmth and love of her two boyfriends. Y/N felt the overwhelming love and passion from both Namjoon and Yoongi as they showered her with kisses all over her body. Their hands roamed over her curves, feeling her up and down as they continued to tease and torment her with their lips and tongues.

She felt her body respond eagerly to their touch, her nipples hardening and her core growing wet with desire. She gasped and moaned, unable to control her reactions as they explored every inch of her. Yoongi's lips found their way to her neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, while Namjoon trailed kisses down her chest, pausing to tease her nipples with his tongue. Y/N's fingers tangled in their hair, urging them on as her body shook with pleasure. As their mouths met in a passionate kiss, Y/N felt her body tense and her heart race. She knew she was close to the edge, but she didn't want it to end yet. She pushed them away gently, staring up at them with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Not yet," she said, her voice husky with desire. "I want to show you both how much I love you too."

With a devilish smile, she pushed Yoongi down onto the couch and straddled him, feeling his cock pressing against her core. Namjoon knelt behind her, running his hands over her ass as he watched her ride Yoongi. Y/N moaned, feeling herself getting closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. She reached up to pull Namjoon in for a kiss, their tongues tangling together in a wild dance. Yoongi's hands gripped her hips, urging her on as she rode him harder and faster. As they all reached their climax together, Y/N felt a sense of euphoria wash over her. She collapsed onto Yoongi's chest, feeling Namjoon's arms wrap around her from behind.

"I love you both so much," she whispered, feeling her heart overflowing with emotion.

"We love you too, baby," Namjoon said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Yoongi grinned up at her, his eyes shining with adoration. "You're everything to us, Y/N."

They lay there for a while, just holding each other and basking in the afterglow of their passion. Y/N felt complete, surrounded by the warmth and love of her two amazing boyfriends.

#bangtan #bts #namjoon smut #yoongi smut #yoongi #namjoon #bts namjoon #bts yoongi #bts suga #suga bts #rm bts #bts rm smut #smut bts #bts smut

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eri-pl · 17 days ago

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Also Namo and Manwë — 1 & 5 if you want to.

1 When (how?) they became friends

I would be surprised if you chose this question without thinking about "they both know The Thing", and yes, I imagine this is a big factor making their friendship closer—

OK, an explanation to everyone else who does not follow our conversations: Manwë and Námo both know what happens to Men after they die (more precisely than "they leave Ea") I don't know where it's written, probably in Valaquenta? The other Valar don't know it and it's a Secret. (not necessarily from a reader that has at least a vague knowledge of the author's worldview… but from the other Valar etc)

—But also I assume that the proper Valar are friendly to each other in general, only the closeness of this friendship differs. And they're both introverts (or at least: I see Manwë as more of an introvert and not a fan of being important, and Námo is by necessity not very talkative). Also, Manwë is the most good of the Valar, and Námo is the only one I see as morally fixed (because of his relationship to time & knowledge)—

OK, an explanation to everyone else who does not follow our conversations: we discussed about whether the Valar get "fixed" in being good/bad at some point, or at least some of them, and my opinion is I don't like it generally, but makes sense for Námo.

—so they are the most, how to phrase it… well ok, and Varda too. Funnily, I don't see her spending much time with Námo. I wanted to say "their vibes don't match", but that's not really true. I'm sure they were/will be close outside, but the vibe that connects them both is a bit too much for Ea. No, I don't have anything concrete in mind this time, just… they both are in a way very fundamental.

Anyway Manwë and Námo are the two most good in the abstract sense (as opposed to Ulmo, who does a lot of things and I appreciate him, but I think he is often overrated… Ulmo is kinda like the Martha of the Valar if you get my mental image.)

Another explanation needed… I don't know how to explain it quickly, from the Bible, she's got this personality trait... like multitasking but that's not really it? I suppose someone else can explain it better.

And yes, of course when you spend a lot of time with someone contemplating (behold: I did not see "fanboying"! I'm learning the proper tone!) something you can't share with others, you would get close.

5. A scene of them I wish we had

I generally wish we had a scene of them two talking to each other one-on-one. More scenes with the Valar just having interactions would be nice. I know there are some in Morgoth's Ring but probably not with those two.

I don't have a precise scene in mind, not canon-compliant. I just realized I need to draw them at some point, and it does have a lot of background in my head but… I can't think of any particular scene I wish was in the books. Just: more of them.

More asks welcome!

#silm #silmarillion #Tolkien legendarium #the silm #the silmarillion #namo mandos #námo #manwe sulimo #manwë #asks

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limbus-limousine · 1 year ago

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Do you have design takes on Kromer, Knauer, Alfons, and Frau Eva. I'm dying to know

Okay first and foremost I apologize because this kind of turned into an essay but like❤️

When it comes to Knauer and Alfons, honestly, I don't have much of a mental image???I have aphantasia, so it's hard for me to imagine appearances from only text and usually stick to specific representations of them, limbus designs are like super ingrained in my mind but I do think of their book descs aswell. Mostly I'd say Knauer would be physically similar to Sinclair to some degree, but their main differences lay on face, eye shape and such. I usually draw Sinclair with round shapes, but then roughen him around the edges a bit (I make his eyes sharper, hands calloused etc). Knauer would look more soggy i think

About Kromer, I always try to make her look bulkier in a way?? Blocky and spiky at the same time if you will. I also love making her sclera a dark greenish hue, it makes her look like an animal being hit by camera flash a bit... I also lean more into her limbus character because I love how much more relevant she feels, I at least try to portray her in a slightly animalistic, scary way, in contrast to Demian with whom I also lean towards animalistic, but more like, sly??? If that makes sense, fox/snake like. Kromer to me is more feline (cat hunts bird uhu) but also insectoid, to represent that while she is scary and such, she lacks Demian's sly mystique and intelligence (in other words, the mark)

As for Eva, I imagine her very similar to Demian (obviously) although in my mind, both of them aren't super defined, the lines are blurry. I think I mentioned this before, but they feel to me like some kind of cryptid. I boost the "creepy/scary" aspect for them a lot, I think because I deeply resonate with Sinclair's more abstract view of love, it reads to me like he finds beauty in the grotesque, and I want to interpret that as nonchalance and even appreciation to something that is outwardly scary. Also going to the whole star symbolism... God, space is scary, but ohh is it beautiful as well.

It doesn't feel completely right to portray them as people sometimes tbh. They are more like masses of light and energy floating around to me. Demian to me represents camaraderie, guidance and a more childish (but still profound) love, while Eva leans more toward the whole mothery love thing, maturity, home, safety. But they are like, two ends of a spectrum?? Sometimes it will be an in-between of those shapes of love and feeling, is it Max or Eva?? Doesn't really matter, they give of the same light, same star... This is why I portray Demian differently as well, sometimes I will make his hair longer, face a bit older looking, etc.

IM SORRY this is really rambly and super long auughgg😭 I'm not very clear with specific design aspects but the way I see them psychologically really influences how I draw them... Thanks for the ask anyways!!! I love talking about these freaks mannn

#answered #project moon #limbus company #rambling #demian (1919)#my art

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vaguelyoriginaldrivel · 5 months ago

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RANDOM TOWN GENERATOR

My longest-running campaign ended this year. Granted, that’s not saying much - only ran 9 sessions, started last fall, but still as of yet the only real “campaign” I’ve ever ran. Was some sort of “urban fantasy” thing, players a bunch of wizards (and one giant shrimp-man) driving around some undefined region of the USA in an again undefined recent past… though near the end I think I’d decided on it being set in Pennsylvania? Definitely a learning experience in a lot of ways for me, regardless. Anyways here’s some tables I made for it

Town name (d10):

Washington

Franklin

Chester

Dover

- 10. [random - roll prefix, suffix]

Prefix (d12):

Spring

Hill

Glen

George

Kings

Green

Arling

Clay

Ash

Gold

Mill

Fair

Suffix (d6):

field

lake

hill

view

ton

-Town

Notable Feature (3d10): 1-3. Can’t be rolled on a 3d10

Ignore everything else - this isn’t an ordinary small town, it’s a neo-nazi cult compound. They have guns and they don’t like you

Historic building - Weird modern house - all pods, steel, fiberglass, and concrete, with spherical pods covered in pods. Abandoned.

Ruins - Abandoned Shopping Mal

Speed trap town - local cops lurk on the side of the highway, entire town economy based on speeding tickets. Basically operates on piracy. Absurdly low speed limits not properly demarcated

Weird art installation - field of sculptures (d4 - abstract metal, cobbled-together trash, stone statues of animals and people, monoliths with inscriptions)

Historic building - haunted mansion, old style - wood, maybe some stone

Notable dam overlooking the town, potentially vulnerable to failure

Ruins - Abandoned Factory

College town - small local college dominates the local economy, most residents are students or staff

Tourist trap - Historic house (d4- Rotting wooden mansion with a ghost story, old colonial stone fort, weird modern house of a dead eccentric rich guy/ weird cult leader )

Large immigrant population from a distant country (ie not part of the Americas- like Kazakhstan or Swahililand or Lichtenstein, not like, Colombia)

Oddly high concentration of a hyper-specific specialized type of business - an entire district of dentists or dog groomers or something

Not a full on cult compound, but much of the town’s population do follow a specific esoteric cults religion like scientology or sedevacantist mormonism or something

Birthplace of some celebrity, statue in town square proclaims as much

Tourist trap -Giant sculpture, gift shop (d4 - historic figure, giant animal, mascot of attached restaurant, dinosaur(young-earth creationist))

Historic building - old colonial fort, earthworks and stone and wood

Geography - Subterranean water (1d4 - Hot spring, bottomless pit in a lake, water-filled mine pit)

Geography- Big rock (d4 - Balancing rock, weird outcroppings (like fang ridge nevada), meteor (in far-off museum, there’s a plaque next to the crater though), butte)

Geography - Weird Cliff (1d6: columnar jointing, waterfall, petroglyphs, looks like a face, church built into it, odd color)

Retirement community, no children whatsoever and everyone is either a senior citizen or a caretaker

Odd museum - animal (1d6- snails, songbirds, butterflies, earthworms, leeches, mice)

Odd museum - human (1d6- finger, ear, spleen, tongue, nose, lip, nail)

Odd museum - local cryptid (1d6 - sasquatch, lake monster, grey alien, weird alien (ie flatwoods), hodag, giant toad, devil)

Religious - large megachurch, drawing in the faithful from across the state

Weird art installation - small grove with (d4 - dollheads hanging from the trees, extensive etchings onto the bark, geometric statues in between the trees, the trees coated in colorful yarn)

Ignore everything else - this isn’t an ordinary small town, it’s some kind of hippy commune or cult compound or something. Either pseudochristian or pseudodharmic, flip a coin

Special - roll on Supernatural table

(intentionally weighted to be biased more towards the middle but I didn’t really check the probabilities here, might be way too hard to get the ones at the further poles)

Extra: Supernatural element. (d4)

Entire town was replaced with body-snatchers a few years ago. They’ll try to keep you in town for a few days - constantly surveilling you, in order to grow a body-double - when they’re done they’ll try and kidnap you to replace you with it the next time you wander away from the group. Body snatcher type varies - (Fae-esque boogeymen cuckoo-bird shapeshifters, pseudo-plant pod people, 1979 Alien style androids, etc)

Recent sightings of some kind of cryptid or something has drawn droves of “cryptozoologists” to town. This is a problem because some of you are cryptids. Coinflip if the cryptid in question is real or not

Entire town stuck in groundhog day loop - the US military has caught on and is using the town as a testing-bed/training site. Just like groundhog day, there’s one guy somewhere in town originating the loop - kill him or put him to sleep and it resets - make him learn the error of his ways - or keep him awake til midnight - and the effect ends permanently. The feds know about this, first thing they do every loop is send their special ops guys to bag him and hide him in a van before they start the raid in earnest. Outsiders, like you and the special ops guys, can enter the loop - no matter what happens, when the loop resets you’re plopped back outside right where you entered in exactly the state you were then except for your memories - even if you died you’re revived.

Certain nights, at the witching hour (12-1), local monsters and spirits and such emerge and walk the streets openly - certain stalls and shops pop up in areas that are normally unused, catering to this strange clientele, and others who sell mundane wares during the day reveal their magical affiliations at night. Also there’s street performances, music and dances and parades - and games, dangerous ones - ones you can join. The rest slumber on, but the magic that keeps them asleep does not apply to you. As magicians and cryptids yourself, this could be a good opportunity, but not all the spirits who’ve emerged are peaceful.

this is what the map of the actual campaign ended up looking like at the end btw

#blogpost #misc

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philtstone · 1 year ago

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Aragorn/Arwen, 63

#63 -- tujhe dekha toh from dilwale dulhania le jeyenge ok so the soulmatism of it all had me going completely nuts (simrans waking dreams.....i need to lie down) & before i knew it i'd re-read their appendix had 3 literary analysis epiphanies and was neck deep in the wiki page on love death and meaning and the paradox of religion and nonreligion in tolkein i say all that like i didnt just write movie verse kidfic lol. ellie is a shortened version of "nethel" which means sister in sindarin. in a different time in my life i would have named every single one of canon girldad aragorns "many daughters" & also included 5 of them but alas, at this time i am Busy. so we'll pretend that the other 3 havent come along yet. arwen has magic powers she will be fine. enjoy!

“My lady Luthien!”

The words come into Arwen's dream in the common tongue, whispered and full of a child’s awe. He is speaking as if to himself — the text has surprised him, or perhaps absorbed him so that he does not realize his mouth is moving, disrupting the Sindarin read privately in his thoughts with an impulsive, delighted exclamation.

To Arwen it is just as mesmerizing. She cannot know why her dream has brought her here, to this garden of her father’s House she has sought refuge in so many a time. She knows him very little, this child, not ten in the years of Men and so very human about it, with lanky limbs folded up against himself to cradle the book and a mop of dark hair that falls down over his eyes and the very beginning of spots on his chin (of endless intrigue to Arwen, who has only ever seen skin unblemished).

She has not met him, but knows of him from her brothers’ letters: her father’s ward, sweet and grave and beloved amongst the Rivendell kindred as any novelty in the shape of a child might be. But Estel earns it, too. He is earning his presence in her dream in the same way, sat in the exact spot she always chooses, under bows of trees she has long considered friends. He earns it, though Arwen doesn’t quite know why he’s here.

Don’t you? ask her thoughts of her self, and she does not answer.

Years pass, and she is home again.

“My lady Luthien,” he says, as she comes toward him, and within his voice is a gentle embarrassment that still manages to tease.

Arwen, firm in her earlier, gentle rejection (he is far too young), cannot help but find this terribly charming anyway. It is just after dinner, and she has found him behind a pillar to the side of where they dine. He holds his cup in both hands. Until her appearance he was studying the carvings on one stone edifice to their side, and seems in every way his mortal age save one: there is a new and convoluted weight in his eyes that was not there in the early afternoon, when he called so clearly and sincerely to her. It seems to have entered like the broken branches of a sapling swept into a fast-moving stream after a storm.

“I should be greatly flattered, Estel, to be compared thus,” Arwen says, offering that weight a smile. Estel drops his eyes back to the pillar. He seems to start and stop a few times before actually opening his mouth, and when he does,

“I should like to still be called Estel, for a while yet,” and there is great vulnerability there, in his young man’s eyes. It sneaks into her breast and cups a hand over the breath she draws, and despite the glade, and his youth, and the Truth her father has now shared with him, she is compelled: Arwen’s own hand slides over his knuckles, and they are holding the cup together.

“I will,” she promises. “I do.”

On the edge of the last word do his eyes flick up to hers, canny in a way that sparks beneath her skin. He lives up to his name, she thinks then (not quite knowing why), and when she writes this to him after they have parted, in the letters they now share, he writes back: so do you.

Before Estel, her experience of Death was altogether different. She knew it first in abstraction and then in keen loss. Now she feels its imminance and urgency, in both grand and mundane ways.

For example, earlier this evening, Arwen thought she might die if she did not kiss him. It was a thought that crept over her swiftly, silent and keen as a fresh ice water brook spilling into open hands, very different from the thundering roar of the river spirits she had summoned to herself – until it was suddenly quite the same, roaring, and it must have shown in her eyes. In the late quiet of the night she came to her rooms and found him, there.

(She has long since known why.)

The employment of her tongue is not new, but pulls a murmur out of him regardless. “My lady Luthien,” he starts, speaking almost directly against her mouth, with a wry amusement that is not so unburdened as to be playful and not yet a warning, either, and then he is properly startled into, “Arwen —!” when her next kiss includes a bite. The rasp of beard against her chin is uncomfortable and delightful. She can feel the rumble of her small victory in his chest. Aragorn has always done so much with just the two syllables of her name.

When she has lost all breath she pulls away, and does not pant — sweet air made salty by urgency comes in and out of her lungs in discordant sighs — but her lips stay hot against his ear and she feels every press of his fingers against the slope of her waist, burning. She thinks of death again; she has fought it off. Twice in one week now, in very different ways.

Aragorn does pant, in his own way. He lets out a quiet gasp and drops his head against the side of hers, not trembling but finding some stronghold deep within himself that begets composure.

Slowly she begins to comb her fingers through the hair at his temple. In the dark alcove of her rooms (safe), they sway together.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, and she knows: tomorrow the council is held.

“I meant it, earlier,” says Arwen softly, into his hair. It has begun to grey, the strands too hidden yet to shimmer in the moonlight but there nonetheless. Every so often she will catch a glimpse of them and it will leave her wordless, and desperate to touch him. “Your fears are not the truth you think them to be.”

“Arwen.” She can hear the desperation that threatens to choke his own voice. Duty turns the peaceful twilight of her home into a foreboding shadow. There are two large warm hands on her face before she has noticed them move, and then she feels the wetness of her own cheeks: she had not realized she was crying.

“I did not know it would be so momentous to love,” she says, while he wipes at her tears with war-roughened, gentle fingers. So many things about Men are a paradox. So many things about this man.

“Meleth,” he says.

“I meant it.” She repeats herself. “I know who you are in my heart, Estel.”

“You do,” he allows her, and she is not certain he believes it to be enough. No matter, Arwen thinks: her own belief will sustain them. It must, long enough that he has hope for himself as well as for Men, and then they might cross through the door, to the other side of the Dark.

The Queen finds her husband in Faramir’s study, reading.

“My lady Luthien,” she is greeted, words threaded full of the subtle humour that has turned her head for over sixty years.

Arwen clasps her hands over the laden basket she packed without needing any kind of foresight and sighs thinly.

“I did expect, mel nin, that you had gone the whole day without food, but I had thought you would be found holding grave council, or visiting the head healer, or even – forgivably – in the stables. Instead, you are here, nose-deep in an ancient poem.”

“It did not come to you in a vision?” he asks, and raises his eyes just enough to catch hers from beneath his lashes. This does nothing to diminish the focus etched into his dark brow, nor the way he holds himself (always it calls to her – it does not matter the shape), nor the deep blue of his mantle sweeping against the floor; he has not paused to change since returning from the Southern Wall. Whatever peace he thinks his feigned innocence will win him, she cannot know.

“Your Steward told on you, my love.”

“Aaah,” his face falls, so dramatically it is amusing.

She holds up her basket. “I have lunch.”

“My beloved wife has developed the sensibilities of a Hobbit,” Aragorn says, in her people’s language.

“Hobbits are good and noble creatures,” she retorts. She always argues better with him in Sindarin anyhow, “and have traditions from which we might learn.” She arches a brow: “Estel.”

“I am eating,” protests Aragorn, somewhat weakly. “I mean – I will.”

“You might do so now. With me – there is no one else here.”

It is a potent suggestion, she does acknowledge. She watches him think about it, proud to note all the little tells which she has known since he was a barefaced and impulsive young man. The same canny look sparks under Arwen’s skin. Once, decades ago, she had met him in the wild woods beyond her father’s borders in a stolen moment between darkness and duty, and convinced him to bathe with her in the river. She remembers her joy at seeing his wet dark hair plastered all over his forehead. She remembers his own joy, and how it fought off the lonesome blanket of the gathering shadow.

“Your thoughts are of something I know,” Aragorn says now, suspicion arching his tone and narrowing his bright eyes, no longer that of a young man but still full of a life that thrills her. “Some joyful mischief that you’re going to coax me into again, no doubt.”

“There is sadly no river in the palace.”

“Aaah,” uttered in a very different tone from before. His eyebrows twitch out of their focused furrow and his face warms with the memory. He lowers his book a little. “Arwen …”

But he does not move from his spot behind the desk, so Arwen places her basket down and sweeps forward, intent. The silver in his hair streaks liberally now, and lines furrow down his cheeks when he laughs – often – but otherwise Aragorn remains mostly unchanged from the presence filling so little yet so much of the many years of Arwen’s memory. Affection rushes through her, swelling like the river, growing like the trees in Lorien. That glade, too, is a memory full of joy. He is much better suited to a beard, though. Arwen tells him this.

“So you have said many many times,” Aragorn says, chuckling. “I have no plans of removing it from my face, beloved.”

“I know,” Arwen hums. “I am only observing.”

Slowly she comes around the desk, on even steps, until they are very nearly touching and she can fold her hands over the top of his book. She takes a long moment to look at him, and though she in her chosen mortality no longer carries the same potency of power that Tinuviel’s blood held before, she conducts her habitual scan of his spirit, the truth of it ebbing through her fingers where they touch. Beyond her duties as Queen (of which there are many, and she both capable and willing) this is what Arwen knows most deeply in her heart how to do.

Finding Aragorn no more burdened than usual (though perhaps a little distracted) she leans in to whisper in his ear.

“Ah –” he clears his throat and touches two long brown fingers to her arm. Unexpectedly, then, Aragorn stage whispers, “We are not … as alone as it seems.”

“What exactly do you mean?” Arwen, paused very close to his mouth, is compelled to whisper back.

And then,

“It’s alright!” comes a familiar little voice from seemingly nowhere, and all at once Arwen looks down to see the outside shape of the King’s voluminous cloak wriggle. Her mouth parts in surprise. The whisperer continues importantly, “You may kiss Ada if you like, Naneth. We are not looking!”

“Ssssshhh!” materializes a second, equally familiar little voice.

Arwen tilts her head, mystified, as her husband sets his expression into something communicating exclusively the secrets and patient indulgences of fatherhood. Then he jerks his chin towards the door, eyebrows raised and everything, not a moment before there sounds the sharp cadence of what can only be a young boy’s footsteps (and Arwen would know this boy’s as she knows her own heart) and into the library bursts their only son.

At the sight of his parents, Eldarion comes to an abrupt halt, and tries very hard to compose himself.

“Ahem,” he says, straightening. She sees the way his body moves to mimic his father, and also the grass stains on his knees, and the disheveled mop of his curls that means he has definitely spent the last hour running around in the gardens. Arwen is unbothered by this. “Hello Ada, hello Naneth. Have you – have you seen my sisters?”

The front of Aragorn stays conspicuously still.

“Your sisters?” asks Arwen, clasping her hands demurely before her.

“I am afraid my attention has been elsewhere,” says Aragorn gravely, holding aloft his book.

“Indeed,” adds Arwen. “So much so that he has forgotten to eat.”

Minutely, the cloak quivers.

“Hmmmm,” says Eldarion, lost in focus. “I must find them to create an alliance with the brave rangers in the North,” he speaks, almost as though to himself – he is really giving this quite a bit of thought. He is so absorbed that she could be in Rivendell again, drawn by a dream into her beloved, occupied glade … “For we must defend the townspeople but I cannot do it alone.”

Arwen blinks. Her heart is filled with tenderness.

“They have assigned you the role of orc again?” Aragorn is guessing, sympathetic.

Eldarion droops only a little before springing back up with full confidence. “Yes! But I am determined that we will create an alliance. I am a good orc, you see.”

With hasty goodbyes, he rushes away, taking the excitable sound of his footsteps with him.

A moment of quiet passes. Aragorn’s cloak begins giggling, so he spreads open his arms and herds them out one by one.

“You must go quietly now, down the hall and into the gardens,” whispers their father.

“Naneth,” begins their youngest, halfway out the room, “Naneth, do you think if we formed a nalliance –”

“An alliance,” corrects Aragorn, still whispering.

“Shhh,” interrupts the other, “or Eldarion will find us!”

“But he must be getting lonely!”

“Oh, ellie …”

Their little voices trail out of the door.

“I believe an alliance would work,” Aragorn offers Faramir’s many inert books, speaking at a normal register once more. The study now empty, Arwen turns back to her husband. His eyes are twinkling. She does not say anything, but moves toward him, as she has done so many times before, and lays her head to rest against his shoulder. In moments the book is tucked away, and the warm hands she knows so well are cradling her arms.

After a moment he says, “You are well? Arwen?” a gentle question in her ear. Arwen nods. She can now say what she knows, and why they are here:

She sustained them, and there was hope to be found.

Aragorn’s fingers rub over the gauzy sleeve of her dress. “Did you have your heart set on lunch?” he asks quietly.

“I did,” Arwen says, and turns to hold his eye. “I do.”

#i rewrote the ending 3 times to procrastinate posting this bc i am so Nervous #ive literally written them before but never like Seriously you know?#Thee Blueprint from when i was 8 years old....#my writing #spotify wrapped prompt meme #aragorn #arwen undomiel #aragorn x arwen #the lord of the rings #the tale of aragorn and arwen #lotr #lotrweek

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melancholicheart · 1 year ago

Text

All This Time- Chapter 6

cw: trans male pregnancy (past, mentioned), angst, miscommunication, fluff and happy ending

Two weeks have passed and they have been- hectic, for want of a better word.

Simon got in touch with Price, using a mobile of all things, and Johnny fumed at the fact they’re using mobiles now after all he went through trying to contact base.

Regardless, Price- and subsequently Gaz- were informed of everything. From Elizabeth, to the General, to Johnny himself and how he’s doing and it’s safe to say, Price was incredibly pissed too. So pissed, in fact, that he and Gaz have put work aside momentarily to launch an internal investigation with the help of Laswell.

They said they would keep in touch but these two weeks have passed without a peep from the 141 so Simon and Johnny are making assumptions that they’re busy working on it, scrounging up as much info as possible.

As morning rolls around, Johnny finds himself coming around at a distinctly later time that usual, which is all thanks to Simon. Johnny was used to the 5:30AM starts, working on breakfast and cleaning before Elizabeth would wake but now, it’s 8AM and Johnny’s never felt as well-rested.

He wakes to an empty bed, suddenly an unusual feat, as he feels around for Simon.

That’s another change. Somehow Simon has ended up sharing a bed with Johnny again and neither of them are complaining about it. There were brief words of ‘the couch isn’t that comfy, y’know, and the bed’s big enough’ and that’s all it took.

So lying in an empty bed feels strange despite the last five years being spent in an oversized empty bed. He’s quick to his feet, running quickly through his morning routine, before going to find his daughter and Simon.

He knows the second he steps out of his room to use the bathroom that they’re in Elizabeth’s room. The door is slightly ajar, light on and voices bouncing off the walls as they speak in relatively hushed whispers. Johnny is quick to join them.

Johnny pokes his head around the door, not disturbing the two but watching as they play. They have their backs to the door and Elizabeth is sat on Simon’s knee. His arm is draped over her legs as she doodles all over his arm.

There’s little creatures, ants and butterflies namely, scattered over his wrist. Up towards his elbow there’s little dinosaur looking things and just below the crease of his elbow, there’s a pretty good drawing of a flower (for an almost 5 year old, anyway).

“You’re just like your Papa,” Simon mumbles. His other arm is round her back, holding her still on his leg so she doesn’t topple backwards, “Always doodling. Your Dad used to colour in my tattoos when he was bored.”

“Papa always lets me doodle! I like it.”

“You’re very good at it sweetheart. The flower is excellent.” Simon says.

“It’s a daisy!”

“So it is.” Simon chuckles, staring at his arm that looks more like an abstract art piece than a limb at that point.

Johnny makes himself known then, stepping into the room and perching on the edge of Elizabeth’s bed. He takes a closer look at the drawings and smiles, “My, my! Who drew all these masterpieces?”

Elizabeth beams, “I did it, Papa!”

“I would pay millions for them, put them up in a gallery if I could!” Johnny exaggerates, making Lizzie giggle.

“You can’t put my arm in a gallery,” Simon argues, “I need it!”

Johnny almost makes a crude joke before remembering little ears are around, “Yeah, I’m sure you do. Should we go and get some breakfast?”

Johnny picks Elizabeth up and sits her on his hip, giving her a cuddle like he does every morning. Simon makes his way to the kitchen and starts poking around for food, “Not got so much in,” Simon says. He opens the fridge and gets the milk out. He sniffs it and grimaces before slamming the lid back on, “Can’t even have a brew.”

“I suppose we’ll have to go food shopping then,” Johnny sighs. A groan tumbles from his lips, “Again!”

Simon shakes his head, “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. You and Lizzie stay here, I know you said you’ve got some things to talk about with her.”

Johnny ponders for a moment. He’s been wondering what to do about the entire ‘Simon’ thing and he spoke to him about what he wants to do. Simon said he’s more than willing to leave the army, move nearby and be a parent but Johnny wants to hear with Elizabeth has to say. He doesn’t expect much, not from a 4 year old, but he wants to give her a chance to ask questions either way.

“Alright. I’ll make you a list. We need more soap but you have to get the sensitive one because she gets rashes really easily.” Johnny says, picking Elizabeth up and sitting her on the counter in front of him.

Simon already knows the one, he uses it on his own skin since he is prone to outbreaks of his eczema. He lets Johnny make the list regardless. He lets him leave with a promise of sending him the money but Simon shrugs him off and says, “I think it’s about time I helped out.”

Once he is gone, Johnny manages to scrounge a small breakfast together, just apples and yoghurt for him and Elizabeth but he hardly touches it whilst he talks to her.

“Lizzie, darling, can me and you have a big grown up talk?” He asks.

She nods, dipping her apples into the yoghurt and kicking her feet about whilst she eats them.

“Now Daddy is here, I want to know how you’re feeling?” Johnny asks.

“Wha’ you mean?” She mumbles around a mouthful of food.

“I mean are you happy? I know you missed him before but I want to make sure you’re happy he’s here, and that you like him.”

Now her nods are more vigorous, “Yeah Papa! I like him, he’s nice! He tells silly jokes, like you.”

Johnny chuckles a little, “That’s what happens when you become a Dad, they give you a book on the silliest jokes to tell your babies.”

“You’re lyin’!”

“Okay, maybe a little, but it is a thing! The best jokes come to you when you’re a Dad.” Johnny says.

“So, is Daddy gonna go back fightin’ again?” She asks. Johnny takes a moment to eat some of his own breakfast as he thinks of a response.

“I don’t know yet, there’s a lot of grown up stuff to sort out but I know Daddy wants to be here with you, he told me himself.” Johnny explains.

“I wan’ him to stay. I loves having him here!” She exclaims and Johnny smiles.

“I do too sweetheart.”

Simon takes a long time getting back. Johnny wonders if something’s happened, if he got lost or he skipped town. He would be so pissed that he would storm onto his old base and beat the shit out of him if he skipped out on his daughter.

He manages to work himself into such a worry that he becomes angry and starts furiously cleaning the house whilst Eliza plays with her dolls and her dinosaurs. By the time Simon comes back, Johnny breathes such a sigh of relief that a few tears slip from his eyes and he wipes them away swiftly.

“Hey,” Simon says, placing the few bags on the counter, “Everything okay?”

Johnny nods, drying his hands on a tea towel after doing the dishes. He takes a deep breath, smiles and turns around to Simon, “Yeah.”

Simon looks straight through Johnny’s facade, just like he always did, and goes to question him when Elizabeth comes over and clings to Simon's leg, “Daddy you were gone ages!”

“I wasn’t gone too long sweetie, I needed to get a few extra things.”

“Like what?” Johnny suddenly snaps and he turns away before either of them can see the tears in his eyes again. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap- I just- yeah.”

“Johnny, what’s going on?” Simon asks, stepping closer to him and pressing a hand to the small of his back. Johnny takes a deep breath and sighs.

He looks down at his daughter who sees he looks upset and rushes to him, clinging to his leg instead and he reaches a hand down to play with her hair. He looks up at Simon and his heart clenches, “I- you were gone so long and I got worried. I thought- I thought you left.” He whispers, quiet enough so Elizabeth doesn’t hear.

“Left? Oh shit, Johnny I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you where I was going-”

Johnny shakes his head, “No I should’ve just trusted you, you’re a grown man, you don’t have to tell me where you are 24/7.”

“Well, you’re right I guess but I should’ve told you either way. We’re a team, right? Can’t be a team if I’m off sneaking around, can we?” He asks and Johnny shakes his head.

“Can we know where you were?” He asks and Simon nods, suddenly looking less guilty and more enthusiastic.

“Of course! I actually had a little surprise planned but I needed to go to multiple places to execute it,” Simon explains. He reaches to one of the bags, not a supermarket one and pulls out two beautiful bouquets. One is smaller than the other, a mix of beautifully colourful flowers with little decorations accompanying the flowers, dinosaurs of all things.

The other bouquet is full of purple, blue and white flowers, very deep but very pretty nonetheless and the decorations in there are full of bees and butterflies, Johnny’s favourites. He hands them both a bouquet each, corresponding to the decor within them.

“I suppose this is a sorry, a thankyou and a everything all together bouquet,” Simon explains to Johnny, before turning to Elizabeth, “And I couldn’t get Papa flowers without giving some to my beautiful girl, could I?”

Elizabeth smiles and begs to be picked up. She cuddles into Simon and plays with the little dinosaur decor in the flowers, “Daddy, I love it!”

“I’m so glad baby,” He mumbles, looking to Johnny who is staring at the bouquet with a bright smile, “I have another little surprise too.”

“Another?” Johnny asks as Simon sits Elizabeth on the counter, rolling his sleeve up.

On his arm, below his elbow crease, is a tattoo of the flower Elizabeth drew that morning. Perfectly imperfect, just like the original drawing, and just below it, there’s Elizabeth’s birthdate.

“Papa! Daddy got the drawing!” Elizabeth squeals. She kicks her legs in delight and Johnny places his bouquet down to look at the tattoo on Simon’s arm.

Johnny looks up at Simon, words escaping him and he just hugs him. Simon seems shocked before he melts into it and hugs Johnny back.

“Thankyou,” Johnny mumbles, “Thankyou Si.”

“I’m sorry.” Simon mumbles and Johnny knows what he means and that he means it.

“I know. It’s okay.” Johnny holds him close and Elizabeth begs to be invited into the hug, the two of them squishing her between them to cuddle her as she yells in laughter at them both.

#call of duty #mw2 #ghostsoap #mw2 2022 #soapghost #john soap mactavish #family #ghost #simon ghost riley #soap #trans man #trans mpreg

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