#I miss god narrator voice a little

[lejoursobre]

Happy good omens y'all

[waitineedaname]

I'm watching the stage play rn and I love that in every version of mp100, dimple's acting is always the best

[sarahscribbles]

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐮𝐩, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟒.𝟔𝐤

𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐲 @inklore

𝐋𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

The God of Mischief is laughing beside you. 

It’s quiet against the happy chatter of the TV but still sends a rush of warmth straight to your heart - like taking a straight shot of Tennessee whiskey on a winter’s evening. It’s nothing like the bitter, sardonic sound he reserves for most of the team - this laughter is light and joyous and unquestionably happy.

It’s…nice, and it’s quickly becoming your favourite sound in the world. 

Much like how Loki is becoming your favourite person in the world. It’s been gradual, like the first blooming flowers of spring, and, if you’re being honest, entirely unexpected. Only a few months ago Loki was nothing more than a thorn in your side. Now, you can’t imagine your life without him. 

In a short space of time, he’s become your best friend and your confidante; he’s the first person you want to run to when you have a bad day, the first person you want to run to when you have a good day, and, steadily, he’s starting to feel like home. 

He isn’t a monster intent on destruction or a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

He’s just Loki, the man whose happiness is slowly becoming yours.

His chest bounces beneath your ear again. You have no idea what the narrator has just said, but it was evidently something that Loki found amusing, and his laughter pulls an easy smile across your face. “I love hearing you laugh,” you murmur quietly, nuzzling even further into his side. 

Maybe it’s because the man who so many people are still quick to call a villain is reclined back on your sofa with his legs stretched out on the massive ottoman, maybe it’s because he’s cradling you to his cashmere clad chest like he never wants to let you go, or maybe it’s because of the random kisses he’s been pressing to the top of your head all evening. 

Whatever it is, you’re overcome with softness for him. Behind the aloof, icy facade is a golden heart, and you’re seeing more and more of the goodness that lies within it every single day.

“Is that so? Then we should watch your little mortal box more often, darling. It’s rather endearing to hear Midgardians attempt to understand Asgard,” he reponds, mirth lighting up his voice while his fingertips trail softly along your upper arm.

He misses the fond roll of your eyes only because something else has caught his attention that he must pass comment on, and you listen enthralled while he explains the actual differences between Valhalla and Fólkvangr. You’ve both been watching this documentary on Norse mythology for over an hour, and Loki has spent a large chunk of it pointing out every wrong detail no matter how small. 

Each deep, exasperated sigh and pronounced click of his tongue has you giggling like a child beneath his arm, to which he squeezes you that little bit tighter. He’s proud of himself, and it makes you wonder if he’s actually annoyed by the portrayal of his home or if it’s all an act to make you laugh. 

With Loki, either is highly likely. 

“Do you know what amuses me, darling?” he says lightly, still trailing those elegant fingers along your arm. You expect to hear something more about what the documentary has gotten wrong, but that’s not what comes. “A few months ago, you actively despised me. Now, I believe you would climb into me if you could.” His voice is soft, leaving no room for you to doubt that he’s only teasing. 

You burrow deeper into his embrace. “I didn’t despise you,” you reply with a small smile.

His arm tightens around your shoulders again and something warm and golden blooms in the pit of your stomach. It’s too soon to call it what you know it is, but you feel the flame burn brighter with every second you spend with him.

The man you’re currently twisted around is brilliant and loving and your heart fits right in the palm of his hand. It’s safe there, you know. You trust him, even though everyone you know has warned you not to. 

It’s one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. 

Loki’s chest rumbles with laughter again. “Darling, you despised me,” he repeats, but you know he’s smiling along with you. 

You pretend to huff, but reach out to poke his side, delighting in the way he squirms beneath your tickling touch. “I didn’t! I didn’t like you, but I didn’t despise you, either,”

“That knife you threw at me in the training room after Yule begs to differ,” he shoots back seamlessly, while you force back laughter at the memory of his face frozen in shock at your expert aim. 

You shrug lightly into his chest. “Natasha told me I needed to practice more. 

“Darling, I can assure you she meant to practice on inanimate objects. 

You tilt your head back to peer up at him with a teasing smile. “You were inanimate; you were standing in the doorway.” 

Loki releases an exasperated sigh but wraps both arms tightly around you to pull you fully into his lap. “Little menace,” he replies while you pretend to squirm in his grip. It only makes him grip you tighter until you’re clamped inescapably against his chest. 

Through the rich material of his sweater, you can feel his firm chest and the taut muscles of his stomach. The man is a work of art, yet it’s you who's straddling his lap - an unremarkable mortal. 

He smiles at you as you continue to admire him, and it’s a smile that’s almost shy. “What’s going on in that brilliant mind of yours, hmm?” he asks quietly, resting his hands on your hips.

“You. Thinking about you,” you answer, watching the faint tinge of pink that colours his cheeks. 

His hands slide up from your hips only a fraction until he can dip his thumbs underneath the hem of your shirt to trace absentminded circles on your bare skin. It’s an innocent touch, but it sends something electric shooting along your spine. 

“Oh? Do elaborate, darling,” he purrs. 

Loki’s eyes are sparkling with amusement, but you can read the need for praise that’s swirling deep beneath the surface. It’s one thing you can’t deny him. 

“I was thinking about how beautiful you are,” you tell him, sliding your hands from around his neck to stroke his biceps. “And how lucky I am,” you continue. 

The muscles in his neck flex and you feel your resolve crumble to dust. It’s been calling out to you from the moment he pulled you into his lap, and you can no longer deny yourself the luxury of pressing your lips to his skin. 

Loki’s broken inhale is instant and his fingers curl tighter around your waist. Your teeth are quickly grazing along his throat while you suck a bruise into his skin. You want to mark him, to stake your claim on him. 

You want to leave no doubt that this god - this beautiful, wonderful man - is yours. 

“Darling, you need -,” he begins, but it melts to a moan when you run your tongue along his neck. “Darling,” he tries again. 

You silence him with a kiss. It’s slow and deep, and when you tangle your fingers in his hair to tug it, he rolls his hips experimentally against you. The hard length of him presses wondrously against you, coaxing your hips to grind down on top of him. Loki’s breath catches in his throat while he kisses you, and you know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth. 

“Darling, anymore of that and -,” 

“I’m ready,” you interrupt him, cupping his face in your hands. “I’m ready.” 

His eyes soften as they take you in, scanning your face for even a breath of hesitation. “Are you sure?” he asks, while his thumbs return to stroking your sides. 

“Yes,” you answer firmly, resting your forehead against his. “No more waiting. Please.” 

In one smooth movement, his arms are wrapping around your middle to press you tightly against him. One strong hand weaves its way into your hair while his lips find yours again. There’s a new hunger to his kiss - it’s raw and possessive and filled with a need that has been simmering beneath the surface for months. 

You expect him to flip you onto your back and finally make you his right here on the sofa, but his hands eagerly begin to run down your back and grip beneath your thighs. Suddenly, he’s on his feet and your legs are locking around his waist. You can’t help but giggle against his lips, because he’s not letting you break this kiss even for a second. 

“Beautiful thing,” he whispers into your mouth, effortlessly carrying you from your living area and down the hallway toward your bedroom. 

The Norse mythology documentary is long forgotten. 

His lips stay locked to yours until your back hits the bedroom door, and only then does he break away to curse as he fumbles with the handle. You laugh quietly - because for some reason it’s oddly endearing - and press a chaste kiss to his cheek. 

Loki wastes no time in kicking the door closed when you’re finally through. Vaguely, you notice a faint green shimmer cascade over the wood as it settles in the doorframe, but it’s pushed from your mind by the frenzy of kisses that Loki is pressing to every inch of your face. 

“Do you know,” he murmurs, trailing a haphazard line of kisses along your cheeks, “how long I’ve wanted this? Wanted you?”

His admission fans the flames of desire burning fiercely in your stomach. How have you lasted so long without inviting him into your bed? How have you not had this man again and again until his name is seared into your soul? How have you not realised how fiercely he burns for you too?

“Then take me. Please,” you murmur against his lips. 

His answering smile is soft and gives you another swift kiss. “Begging won’t be necessary, darling.” 

With surprising gentleness, he lays you on the bed amongst your pile of pillows. Your legs fall open instantly for him, to which he quickly climbs between. There’s a hesitance to his movements, almost as if he’s scared to lay a finger on you. 

“I’m not going to break,” you say with a smirk. “You can touch me. I need you to touch me, Loki.” 

Your hands find the hem of his sweater, coaxing it along his back until he’s helping you pull it off. You’ve seen him shirtless before - many times - but your fingers still reach hungrily for his chest. Loki shivers beneath your touch and pride blooms happily in your stomach. 

An unremarkable mortal you may be, but you have a god shivering beneath your fingers. 

Slowly, his hands slip underneath your shirt, and cool fingers glide along your stomach to push it over your head. His eyes travel appreciatively over you before settling on your breasts. 

“Enchanting, beautiful thing,” he says, leaning to press his lips to your neck. 

The reverence in his voice has a rush of heat pulse between your thighs while you grasp his strong shoulders. Too many times, previous lovers have made you feel like you were nothing more than an object, something that was conveniently there for them to fuck. 

Not with Loki, though. The man has barely undressed you and he’s treating you like the most precious thing his hands have ever held. 

Boldly, you reach for his belt, shooting him a suggestive smirk while you unfasten it. He lets you work, diving in for another blistering kiss as you undo the button and open the zipper. The taste of him on your tongue and the feel of him beneath your fingers is electrifying, and there’s a newfound urgency in your movements as you try to push his jeans off. 

After a few strategic tugs they slide over his hips, granting you the freedom to run your hands greedily over the firm swell of his ass. You can’t help but moan shamelessly into his mouth while simultaneously squeezing him with both hands. He’s a work of art beneath your appreciative fingertips. 

Something close to a growl rises from Loki’s chest and he gently nips at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Are you trying to seduce me?” he purrs lightly. 

Grinning, you squeeze his ass again. “It’s been my evil plan all along.” 

“Ah! I’ve been bested by a beautiful little devil!” he teases and lowers his lips back to your neck. 

His kisses are slow and deliberate and punctuated by the occasional nip of his teeth. You know what he’s doing; you know that every mark he’ll place on you tonight is a claim, a message to anyone who looks that he’s finally made you his.

The molten beast of arousal burns fiercer between your thighs. You hope and pray that you’ll be covered in his marks tomorrow. You want everyone to know that you belong to him.

Loki interlocks the fingers of one hand with yours, all while slowly trailing a path of kisses along your chest and down your stomach. It’s silent adoration - a god worshipping his mortal - and he only stops when his lips meet the waistband of your leggings. You feel him hesitate, feel him run the pad of his thumb across the material while he lifts his eyes to yours.

It only takes you a second to realise he’s asking for permission. 

You nod quickly and breathe out a quiet “yes.” 

Loki presses a final kiss to your stomach and gently squeezes your hand. He lets go to hook both sets of fingers into your leggings, taking great care not to jostle you around while he tugs them - along with your underwear - easily down your legs. You’re suddenly bare before him and, stupidly, you feel a rush of nervousness pulse through you. This man has slept with gods and goddesses and beings more beautiful than you can even imagine. 

How can you compare?

Glittering green eyes travel hungrily over you. The earlier softness is still shining there clear as day, but now it’s swirling and mixing openly with undisguised lust. It causes a gentle heat to burn beneath your skin and, almost subconsciously, you attempt to cover yourself. 

But Loki is having none of it. 

His hands reach to clasp yours and he folds your fingers easily between his, pinning your arms to the mattress. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on,” he says slowly, making sure you hear every word. 

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you repeat his question back to him, though even you can hear the shakiness of your own voice. 

Loki’s answering smile is infectiously boyish. “Is it working?” 

He can likely hear your heart thundering in your chest, but you still reply with, “maybe. I’m not sure yet.” 

“Hmm, perhaps I need to try a little harder?” he says, still grinning impishly.

His hands slide to gently grip your wrists so he can guide your arms around his neck. It’s such a simple gesture, but it makes your heart swell in your chest because he trusts you enough to touch him. You hum contentedly and tangle your hands loosely in his hair, twisting silky strands around your fingertips as he drops his lips back to your chest.

His kisses are slower now and the warmth of his lips lingers like a dream against your skin. It’s as though he finds his pleasure from simply kissing you, like that alone is enough to send him freefalling into bliss. It’s a heady thought that has your back arching, greedily searching for more of him or maybe offering up more of yourself. 

You aren’t entirely sure. 

Loki’s lips travel lower in tandem with his hands that are curled around your middle. His touch is so intoxicating, so wonderfully addictive that you can’t stop the quiet whimper that slips from between your lips. You feel him smile against the skin of your lower stomach, feel his thumbs trace tiny circles against your hipbones, and when he hovers just millimeters from your cunt, you automatically hold your breath. 

When nothing happens you flick your eyes questioningly down to his. 

Loki is gazing at you with desire storming in his eyes, so much so that they’re almost completely black. He looks like a man starved and doesn’t break his gaze from yours as he bends his head to lick a firm, slow stripe along the length of your cunt. Electricity crackles almost joyously through your blood, setting every inch of you aflame and pulling a shameless moan from the depths of your throat. 

Through the haze of your desire, you feel Loki gently squeeze your hips. “Ok?” he asks quietly. 

The laugh you release is short and strangled. “Y-yes! God, yes!” 

A wolfish smile curls across his face. You watch transfixed as he dips back between your thighs, never tearing his eyes from yours as he buries his tongue in your cunt. A volcano of pleasure erupts in your core, twisting through every inch of you with each skillful flick of his tongue. You groan, you whimper, you grip Loki’s curls so tightly that you’re surprised he isn’t howling from the pain. 

“Ugh…fuck!” you groan when he slips his hands beneath your ass to pull you closer. 

His mouth is warm and wet and talented - god, it’s talented - and when his tongue begins to lap over your clit you can’t help but buck and grind against his face. You feel him hum appreciatively against your cunt, and he swirls his tongue firmly over your swollen clit once, twice more. 

“Loki!” you whimper. “Fuck, Loki, keep doing that! Please!” 

He’s only too happy to grant your request. His tongue traces swirls and patterns endlessly against your clit. It’s just enough pressure and just the right rhythm that the coil in your stomach quickly begins to wind tight. Every expert flick and swirl of Loki’s tongue is like diesel to a flame, setting your core alight until you’re completely engulfed by him.

If you died right now, you would greet death happily. 

Loki continues to lap at your cunt like a man starved, and when your back arches off the bed, he slips his hands further beneath your back to clamp you firmly against his warm mouth. It’s pleasure like you’ve never experienced - white hot and all consuming - and before long you’re balancing beautifully on the edge. 

“Loki…Loki, please…I’m…m’ gonna come!” you say, unsure if it’s a warning or a plea. 

The first tendrils of your release are licking through your core and each tiny cry that passes from your lips only encourages the god between your legs. The warm wetness of his tongue laps perfectly at your clit, making stars begin to dance at the edge of your vision, but when he moans against you - a deep, satisfied rumble of sound - you know you’re gone. 

Your orgasm engulfs you suddenly and without warning. The force of it sends your eyes rolling in your head and your hands tangling in Loki’s hair like a vice. His name leaves your lips in a scream to the heavens, and his head doesn’t stop bobbing between your legs until you’re panting and boneless on top of the mattress. 

Amidst the lavender haze that has settled around you like a favourite blanket, you feel Loki press a soft kiss to your still sensitive clit. It makes you jolt and pulls a strangled sound from deep in your throat, but then his thumbs are drawing lazy circles over your hip bones. 

I’m here. 

His lips begin a slow path from between your thighs, pressing gently and haphazardly along your stomach and between the valley of your breasts. He kisses across your collarbone and dips below your chin, making sure not to miss even an inch of your throat. 

Never in your life have you felt more desired.

“Exquisite,” he murmurs before his lips find yours. "Worthy of the gods.” He kisses you deeply and the taste of you is still heavy on his tongue. It’s electrifying and only serves to reignite the flames of arousal that he’s only just quenched. 

You can’t help but giggle against his lips and reluctantly break his kiss. “The only god I want is you,” you say quietly, cupping his face in your hands. 

He gazes down at you silently, looking as though you’ve just placed the secrets of the universe in his hands. It’s both endearing and heartbreaking - that he’s struggling to believe he’s the one you want - and it fills you with a renewed purpose to ensure this man never goes to sleep feeling unwanted. 

You tug him back down until his lips are back on yours. His kiss is slower this time, languid, as though he wishes to use every last second to commit the taste of you to heart. 

A god drunk on the taste of his mortal. 

“Touch me. Please,” he rasps, breaking from your lips for only a second. 

It’s a plea you’re only too happy to answer. Slowly - because you want to enjoy every last inch of this man - you slide your hands from where they’ve been resting on his biceps. You marvel at the broadness of his shoulders and drink in the smooth expanse of his muscled back. Lightly, you trace your fingertips along the hollow of his spine, delighting in how he shivers beneath your touch.

But it’s nothing compared to the deep, appreciative moan that tumbles from his lips when your hands once again squeeze the smooth swell of his ass. 

You laugh into his mouth and rest your arms back across his shoulders. “You are so beautiful,” you whisper, raising a hand to brush some stray curls behind his ear.

He catches your wrist before it can rest your hand back on his shoulder and presses a kiss to the centre of your palm. “You, my dove, are a treasure amongst mortals,” he says softly, all while positioning himself between your welcoming thighs. His forehead finds yours at the same time his cock nudges teasingly against you. “Let me pleasure you, darling, please. Let me give you every part of me.” 

Easily, you wrap your legs around his waist where they fit like a missing puzzle piece. “If you don’t, I’ll be very upset,” you tease him. 

He grins widely so widely at you that the corners of his eyes crinkle endearingly. “Well, we certainly can’t have that,” he replies, and slowly, you feel him begin to ease into you. 

You inhale deeply as the blunt head of his cock slips inside you. It’s barely anything at all but already your head is rolling back on the pillow and your eyes are slipping shut. You knew Loki would feel good, but nothing could have prepared you for just how good. 

You want to lose yourself in the feel of his body in yours, but before you can even draw breath two cool fingers are on your chin, encouraging you to tilt your head forward. 

“Keep your eyes on me, my darling,” he commands softly and you instantly snap them open. “Good girl.” 

His eyes don’t leave yours as he eases himself fully inside you, giving you all the time you need to adjust. He’s big, and every added inch has you clenching joyously around him if only to hear the groans that spill from him each time you do. 

“Fuck,” he groans, dipping his head between his shoulders when you clench particularly hard. “Little vixen. Beautiful little menace,” he continues, dropping haphazard kisses to your cheeks and chin. 

When you can take no more of him he coaxes your hand from where it’s been clamped to his shoulder, clutching it tightly in his own as though he fears you’ll melt beneath the cotton sheets. 

You can’t stop the small smile that tugs at your lips. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise,” you assure him, giving his hand a squeeze. 

A quiet puff of laughter escapes him and he dips his head. You see the sheepish look that settles across his handsome face and your heart swells for him, for this man who has known more loss than many would deem fair. 

You’ve barely left his side these past few months, but still he fears that he’ll lose you. 

“I know,” he answers softly, sounding unmistakably embarrassed. “Forgive me. Sometimes…sometimes I still struggle to believe that someone like you chose someone like me.”

Your free hand is instantly cupping his cheek and your thumb is caressing his flushed skin. Does he know that you feel the exact same way? “I will always choose you,” you tell him firmly. 

He hasn’t even been yours for a year, but you know with unwavering certainty that you would follow this man to the ends of the earth and beyond. 

Loki presses his cheek into your palm and leans in to steal another chaste kiss from your lips. “My darling mortal,” he murmurs with a roll of his hips that has you groan. “My beautiful girl.” 

You can’t look away as he expertly begins to build you up. You’re lost to the pretty gleam of his green eyes as they hold yours and how stray strands of ink black hair fall to frame his face; lost to the way his jaw falls slack when you roll your hips to meet his and clench around his cock; lost to how your name falls like spring rain from his lips, like it’s the only word he’ll ever need to know. 

The edge crests like a wave in your core within minutes, each ripple making you dig your heels into his ass in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, deeper. Your climax is bubbling white hot in the pit of your stomach, promising to drown you in pleasure like you’ve never known if you can just tip over the edge. 

“Loki…,” you cry, twisting a hand into his hair for leverage. “Loki…I’m ready…please!”

His hands grips yours like a vice. “Look at me,” he pleads, and your eyes quickly settle back on his. “Cum for me, my darling.” 

With five words, you go soaring off the edge. 

Your orgasm rips through you like a storm, each blinding wave of pleasure submerging you deeper until tiny white stars begin to dance at the edges of your vision. It’s all consuming and so powerful that it robs you of almost all your senses, though you’re vaguely aware of Loki burying his face in your neck as his own climax pulls him under. 

He’s ruined you for anyone else. 

As the final ripples of your release fade in the aftermath, you can hear Loki panting in your ear. You untangle your hand from his hair to stroke it and turn your head to press a light kiss to his temple. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out. It’s all you're capable of saying as you lie boneless on the bed, still basking in the warm afterglow of your orgasm. 

“Fuck.” Loki echoes, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him. 

You burrow happily into his side and feel him drape an arm around your shoulders. His heartbeat is still thundering beneath your ear - something that makes pride blossom in your stomach. 

“Darling?” Loki speaks up after only a minute of silence. 

“Hmm?” you hum back, excitement already beginning to fizz between your legs. 

“I’d like to do that again…if you don’t mind.”

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

AN: As a heads up, I do not have anything scheduled for the rest of the week. I could post but I'll give a notice :) otherwise, we will return Monday 8-14 (if you know me, I probably won't even wait that long lolol)

Transcript under the cut

Nancy Narrates: [I never felt more terrified in my entire life. I could hardly look at him at first. I almost couldn’t bare to hold him, I thought I would break him]

Geoffrey: He’s beautiful. I can’t believe we made something so perfect.

Nancy: [voice wobbles] He’s so tiny... innocent. I don’t want to ruin him.

Geoffrey: You won’t. You’ll be an amazing mother.

Nancy: It’s not like I grew up with the best example of one. What if he hates me?

Geoffrey: Look at how he’s already looking at you. He’s 3 hours old and he’s looking at you like you’re the love of his life. You’ll be great, Nance. We’re going to love him together, our Zachary.

Nancy: I was thinking. I’d like to name him after my brother.

Geoffrey: Oh yeah? Nathan?

Nancy: [hums] Jonathan.

Geoffrey: [smiles] Jonathan Landgraab. I love it.

-

Geoffrey: Hello Mrs. Landgraab. Thank you for coming.

Queenie: I wouldn’t miss the birth of my first grandson. Chester, however, sends his regards; he had a last minute meeting with a client.

Queenie: My, he is stunning. He looks just like my Nathan.

Geoffrey: We’ve named him after him. His name is Jonathan.

Queenie: [softly] I see.

Queenie: [to herself] I’ll do right by you, Jonathan.

-

Nancy Narrates: [When I did look at him, I couldn’t stop. He was beautiful. I counted nearly every eyelash. I kissed every single little toe on each foot. I was mesmerized]

Nancy Narrates: [How did I create something so utterly perfect]

Nancy: [whispers] I don’t know what I’m doing, Jonathan but I’ll figure it out. Bare with me.

-

Nancy Narrates: [ Turns out, I had alot to learn. Motherhood did not come to me as easily as fatherhood did to Geoffrey]

Nancy Narrates: [Jonathan was always regarding me so curiously, and I him. I’ve never interacted with children until I had one of my own. I hardly knew how to talk to them]

Nancy: Oh. Hello. So, what would you add to this lobby to make it look less sterile?

Jonathan: [coos]

Nancy: Natural materials? What are we thinking, wood or stone?

Jonathan: [gurgles]

Nancy: Can I tell you a secret? Your grandmother drives me crazy. Can you believe she mocked my blueprints in front of the entire department? What would she know anyway, she went to school for journalism for fuc- for flip sake.

Jonathan: [babbles wildly]

Nancy: [scoffs] Exactly!

Nancy: Goodness, you’re greedy. You’re like your father. You’re actually a lot like him. You’re sweet; you’re silly. You’re nothing like me, are you? That’s a good thing. I want you to be more like Geoffrey. That’s your father’s name, by the way. I don’t know if you knew that.

Nancy Narrates: [When it came to fatherhood, Geoffrey was a natural]

-

Nancy Narrates: [They were made for each other]

Nancy Narrates: [And began to feel softer every time I looked at them]

Nancy: What did I say about dressing him?

Geoffrey: Heh. Don’t. Don’t dress him.

Nancy: Exactly. He can’t go with my mother dressed like this. I’ll never hear the end of it.

Geoffrey: But he looks so cute.

Nancy: He does but that’s besides that point.

Nancy Narrates: [I was smitten. Everything felt perfect just the way it was. This was certainly the life I signed up for-]

Nancy: [retching, coughing]

Jonathan: Mommy?

Geoffrey: Yeah bud, sounds like Mommy’s not feeling too good. Hey, Nancy? Are you ok in there?

Jonathan: Mommy kay?

Nancy: Oh, for the love for fucking-

Nancy: GOD!!

Nancy: RAAHH! If you get me pregnant again I will kill you, Geoffrey! I swear to god I’ll kill you!

Geoffrey: [nervous chuckles] No Nancy Jr. then, huh?

Nancy: Shut up, shut up, shut up!!

Nancy Narrates: [And before I knew it, we were a family of 4]

Malcolm: [wails]

Nancy: What’s wrong? Why is he still crying?

Queenie: Well, he’s certainly your son, Nancy. You drove your father and I mad with your colicky cries.

Nancy: I did this to him?

Geoffrey: [softly] No, someone’s just having a rough time adjusting to the outside world, that’s all. Hey, Malcolm! It’s mommy and daddy! Your big brother is here! You two are going to be the best of pals, I just know it.

Nancy: Look, Jonathan. This is your brother, Malcolm.

Jonathan: Ew!

Geoffrey: [chuckles] He’s not ew, son. He’s a baby. He’s just a little fussy right now.

Nancy: Do you really think we can handle two children under 2 years old?

Geoffrey: Hey, if there’s anyone who can do it, it’s us. It’s me and you.

Nancy: [sighs] Ok. Me and you.

Jonathan: [screeching] EW!

Malcolm: [screams]

Nancy: Geoffrey do something!!

Geoffrey: Oh! Oh, damn it- Hey! That’s enough!

[xzaddyzanakinx]

Romance Novel

Stepdad!Anakin Skywalker x femme reader Oneshot

18+ MDNI

Warnings: unprotected PiV, oral (female receiving), inappropriate relationships, scent kink? panty kink? Anakin is freaky idk, L-bomb, accidental cumming inside you

Info: Anakin is your stepdad, you’re in college, he LOVES to embarrass/tease you; so of course he can’t miss the opportunity to read your filthy little romance novel!!! Sweet n’ tender, alittle mushy ❤️ low key making fun of myself/fanfic writers just alittle with the book Ani teases you about (hehehhehehe)

"That's better," Anakin mutters in satisfaction, wrapping an arm around around you as you tucked yourself against his side.

"So, what have you been reading?" He asks, taking a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling slowly.

"Oh, just some romance novel," you mumbled, trying to sound casual. Knowing we would tease you about it.

Anakin chuckled lowly, his deep baritone reverberating through the room. "Aww, a little romance, huh? Do tell me more about these knights and their damsels in distress." He teased, kissing the top of your head.

“Anakin.” You groaned, your face getting pink with embarrassment.

"Those college boys really so bad you had to turn to books?” He chuckled, grabbing the book from the coffee table.

“Jesus… this is raunchy.” He laughed, a glint of something dark in his eyes as he looked over at you. “you like this stuff?”

“I mean… yeah?” You giggled nervously “I’m reading it aren’t I?”

"I knew it," Anakin smirked, setting aside the cigarette in the ashtray and flipping through the pages again. "You're not as innocent as you let on."

“Wow.” He chuckled, a wide grin on his face as he read over a paragraph.

“Maybe I should be your narrator for a minute. Just to see you blush.” He teased, pinching your thigh lightly as he cleared his throat.

“No!” You yelped trying to grab the book from his hands. “Oh my god no, please I’d rather die.”

"Well, I’ll make sure they play your favorite song at your funeral.” He grinned wide and devilish.

Anakin started to read out loud, his deep voice flowing like honey. His hand slowly crept upwards, tracing along your thigh until it reached the hemline of your skirt.

"The hero, strong and muscular, towering over the petite damsel... ohh, she feels his hands caressing her delicate curves..." He said mockingly, his fingers brushed against your waist.

“She closes her eyes, surrendering to his touch..." He wiggled his eyebrows at you, a smarmy expression on his face.

“Really?” You huffed, rolling your eyes and pretending this wasn’t doing anything for you. Nothing at all.

“Gods… this is-“ He cleared his throat, not-so-subtly adjusting himself through his sweatpants.

“He dipped his tongue into her dripping hole, devouring her slicked cunt with lewd slurping noises.” He glanced over at you to gauge your reaction.

“Anakin!” You gasped, covering your face with your hands. You were getting flustered, panties dampening just at the thought of Anakin doing those things to you. It was even worse that he was saying them out loud to you.

“Hmm. Let’s see… gonna skip ahead just a bit.” He hummed, obviously having a wonderful time embarrassing you.

"Ah, yes... the climax," Anakin chuckled, his voice husky as he continued reading. “The hero thrusts his massive cock into her tight, virgin entrance, filling her up to the brim..."

"She cried out in pain and pleasure alike, begging for more..." He paused, his eyes locked onto yours.

You knew what he was doing. He knew what he was doing. What he was trying to convey through his beautiful blue eyes. His want. His need for you.

You’d known for a while about his secret obsession. He spoiled you, treated you like a true princess, hell he was more attentive to you than your mom… his wife. Since they married last year, they’ve done nothing but argue. Anakin is so sweet and caring, he deserves better than her. Maybe he deserves you instead.

“Anakin…” You whispered. Your cheeks red as you chewed your lip and squeezed your thighs tightly together to get some pressure on your throbbing clit.

"What is it doll?" He asked softly, reaching over to stroke your hair in a comforting manner.

“I-I just…” You stuttered, flustered and embarrassed by the situation. You’d always found Anakin attractive, just as he did you. But this was not right. You shouldn’t be wet at the thought of your stepdad, it’s wrong…. Right?

“Take your time sweet girl.” He whispered, pulling you closer, wrapping a strong muscular arm around you while he gently rubbed your lower back.

“I want to give you what you want.” He mumbled, his lips pressed against your temple. “But you have to be the one to ask for it.”

You sighed, furrowing your brows in thought as you buried your head into his shoulder.

“Please.” You whispered. “Don’t make me say it.”

He shook his head. Giving you the answer you didn’t want. You knew he needed to hear it from you. To know he wasn’t crazy for thinking this way, to know you felt something too. To have it said aloud.

You lifted your head and looked up at him. Seeing the same hunger in his eyes that you knew were in your own.

“Tell me what you need.” He softly commanded.

“I wanna kiss you… please?” You asked, voice shaking with nervousness.

He leaned in and tilted your chin just enough so that your noses were touching and whispered sweetly, honeyed and smooth. "You want me to kiss you?"

“Yes.” You said without hesitation, causing Anakin let out a puff of air in a breathy laugh.

“I’m proud of you baby… I’ve been waiting so patiently for you to ask.” He mumbled against your lips, making you wait a few seconds more before giving you what you both so desperately wanted.

The kiss was loving. His soft lips smoothed over yours, slotting together as though they were meant to be. Like two magnets that had finally been turned the right way, snapping into place the way nature intended. He wasn’t rushed, not like you were. He groaned and chuckled when you tried to lift your shirt over your head, his strong hands stopping you.

You should’ve felt embarrassed. Being so desperate for your stepfather’s touch, so needy for the man before you. But you weren’t, you couldn’t be. Not when he looked at you like that.

“No, no. I don’t want to rush this." Anakin spoke between breaks in the kiss, his thumbs teasing your bare stomach beneath your shirt, tracing circles around your bellybutton and downwards towards the waistband of your skirt.

He carefully slipped his tongue past your lips, massaging your tongue with his. The taste of him was so… right. Perfectly curated for your liking. Like the fancy wine he bought for you to share sometimes. You couldn’t help but moan in response, thinking of all those times you could’ve done this, thinking how clear it was… your attraction to each other, how foolish you’d both been to ignore it.

You moaned, needy and practically distraught over his lack of touch. “Please, I need more.”

He groaned, pulling you into his lap to straddle his thighs. His calloused hands slipping beneath the soft fabric of your skirt. Grabbing a handful of ass to guide you closer, pressing you against his chest.

“I will give you everything.” He whispered, his breath hot against your neck as he placed sloppy kisses there. “just let me take my time.”

“Mmmhhhmm.” You hummed in agreement, the feeling of his lips against your sensitive flesh was satisfying in a way you’d never felt before. Midas’s touch in the form of a kiss.

“Ani… th-that feels good.” You breathed out, your voice showing how much you really wanted him. If there was one thing you couldn’t control, it was that. The tone of your voice. Try your best and still, Anakin would always know what you really meant, how you really felt.

Anakin smiled, his lips moving downwards along your neck and collarbone, nibbling on the sensitive skin as he went. He wasn’t planning on speeding this up anytime soon, he was going to tenderly torture you by making you wait. Making you earn it.

“Anakin…” You whimpered, hips unintentionally grinding against the bulge in his sweat pants. “giving me goosebumps.”

Humming, his hand sliding beneath your ass and lifting you up slightly before setting you back down on his lap, now directly centered over his hard bulge. His lips traveled lower, kissing and sucking along the slope of your cleavage, stopping just short of the fleshy part you so badly wanted him to squeeze.

"Are you okay, doll?" He asked, his voice husky with desire.

“Yes.” You nodded, rolling your hips against him. It send a strike of lightning through your cunt, exiting your needy body in the form of a desperate whine.

“Please touch me.” You begged, arm around his neck, hand in his hair while your other fisted the hem of his shirt.* “please I can’t take much more.”

"Patience darlin’. I am not doing that out here, you deserve a real bed." He growled, standing up from the couch and pulling you with him. He carried you towards your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him with his foot.

Once inside, he placed you on the bed, crawling over top of you, pinning you down with his weight. His mouth returned to cradle yours, devouring you hungrily while his hands continued their relentless exploration of your body.

Anakin pulled away from the kiss, sitting up on his knees and pulling you against his chest to suckle on your neck again. Nipping your earlobe gently as he slowly slid his hands beneath your skirt again. His rough palms gliding over the backs of your smooth thighs. His fingers teasing the crease of your ass cheeks at the top of your thigh before following the line of your panties. He gently tugged it down until it pooled around your bent knees. You quickly kicked it off and out of the way.

Carefully he lifted your shirt up and over your head, as though he were unwrapping something delicate and breakable. The wind knocked out of him with the realization you weren’t wearing a bra. You giggled to yourself thinking ‘yeah, could’ve found that out earlier if you just would’ve touched me.’.

But if you were being honest, you preferred it this way. Being able to see his reaction to your body, the unobstructed view of his eyes as they widened. His pupils dilating in love and lust.

"Oh fuck..." His voice cracked as he looked down at your bare breasts, nipples hard and begging for attention. "You are beautiful..."

Anakin's hand cupped one breast, squeezing firmly, rolling the nipple between his thumb and index finger while the other hand found its way to your waist.

“Ohh Ani.” You gasped at his touch, ‘finally’, you thought, ‘this was worth the wait.’. A fresh gush of arousal leaking out to form a wet spot on your panties.

“Anakin, please you’re torturing me.” You whined, desperate for more, anything more.

"I told you I'd give you everything, baby girl." Anakin purred, his hand moving up to tenderly trace your jaw. “but I’m not going to fuck you.” He whispered kissing you softly to quiet your attempt at protest.

“Shhh, I’m not gonna fuck you.” He pulled back, looking into your eyes with a depth of emotion you’d never seen before. He slowly lowered you back down onto the bed. Ensuring your comfort before kissing you again, licking down your jaw to find your earlobe and suck it between his teeth. He released it slowly, and whispered in a deliciously low rumble.* “I’m gonna make love to you.”

The wave of pure lust and arousal that washed over your body was almost painful in the way that it made every pore of your very being cry out for him. Willing you to beg for more, more, more.

He sucked one nipple into his mouth, resting his upper body weight on your stomach. It should’ve been uncomfortable, but it wasn’t. It was actually kind of comforting? Keeping you grounded when all your mind wanted to do was float up to the clouds.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, his lips moving to give the other nipple the same love and attention.

You mewled, trying to buck your hips and squeeze your hand unoccupied with guiding his head on your breasts, down between you to give yourself some well deserved friction on your clit.

He didn’t stop you, nor did he speak, he just looked up at you from his work on your raw and red nipples with a disapproving expression. Reluctantly you returned the hand to its previous position of tracing invisible lines between his shoulder blades.

“That's a good girl." Anakin praised, releasing your nipple with a soft pop. His lips trailed downwards, leaving a trail of fire along your stomach before reaching your panty-covered mound.

He gripped your hips and dragged you to the edge of the bed so he could kneel between your thighs. He kissed and nipped his way up your inner thigh, stopping to bury his face into the fabric of your soaked panties, inhaling deeply.

You squirmed, cheeks flushed and chest feeling hot. What was he doing? Your heart raced at the way he brazenly took in your scent, he looked completely unfazed, as though this was a normal thing that every man does. Maybe he thought they did, or should.

“Goddamnit.” He moaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he rested his forehead at the crease of your thigh, his lips still dangerously close to your cunt.

“M’taking these off dollface.” He whispered in a husky tone.

He peeled your damp panties off, bunching them in his hand while his other teasingly dragged his fingers through the curly hairs between your legs. He brought the fabric to his face again and inhaled like he was oxygen starved. His voice rumbled in his throat as he removed his hand from its place of teasing to assist his other in unwadding the panties.

“Smells so goddamn good.” He growled, bringing them back up to his face; making eye contact as he dragged his tongue across the large wet patch on the fabric.

Oh. Oh, okay… so he’s kinky; you whimpered at the realization that he’d somehow gotten even harder just from your scent. You couldn’t help but be incredibly turned on at this unexpected moment. It was filthy, so filthy. But more importantly it was extremely fucking hot.

At devious thought occurred in this moment; ‘has he done this before? He’s done your laundry often… fuck, that would just make it even hotter.’

“Mmmhmm..." Anakin moaned and nodded his head as if to answer your unasked question, his eyes locked on yours as he tossed the panties behind him.

He slowly lowered his head to finally get a proper look at your wet and waiting cunt.

“Oh my poor girl.” He cooed, his eyebrows furrowed as he glanced up at you through hooded lids. “all swollen n’ red baby. I made you wait to long didn’t I?”

“Uh huh.” You nodded frantically. “need you Ani… please.“

You tried to wiggle your hips alittle closer to his mouth but his strong hands held you firmly in place, causing a whine of impatience to fall from your lips.

“Anakin please!” You begged without hesitation, without a second thought at how desperate you must sound. “please, please I can’t stand it anymore. It hurts.”

“Shh it’s alright sweetheart." He said, tracing slow circles around your entrance with his index finger, collecting more of your juices before bringing them to his lips and sucking them clean. “I’ll make it all better.”

He paused, his thumb pressed against your swollen, throbbing clit, teasing you mercilessly. "Is this where it hurts baby girl?"

“Gods yes.” You groaned through gritted teeth. Your hand fisting the sheets beside you while the other laced through his thick hair.

At your admission he slowly began to lick and suck your sensitive folds. Each stroke of his tongue sent wave after wave of pleasure to blanket your aching pussy in well earned attention.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly, legs wrapped around him as he buried his face between your legs, his tongue delving deeper inside with each thrust. His fingers trailed along your collarbone before reaching up to caress your breast again, massaging it roughly while keeping eye contact.

"Perfect… such a pretty little pussy." He groaned, his voice almost broken by the intensity of desire in his tone.

His dirty words lit a fire in your stomach that burned hotter and hotter with each swirl of his tongue. Gently he inserting one long digit into your sopping hole, the vibration from the lustful rumble in his throat traveled straight to the coil wound tightly in your gut.

"That's it baby girl, you’re close already huh?." Anakin encouraged, his breath hot against your needy core.

Each thrust of his finger making your body shake and quiver. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your swollen and overwhelmed clit. The way he spoke, even with his face buried and his words muffled from your wet folds… it was beautiful. He was beautiful. His eyes looking up at you with love and devotion as he showered your most intimate place in pleasure.

“There it is… you can do it baby.” He panted.

He added another finger, spreading you wider apart, stretching gently but firmly. He brought his other hand down to pull and pinch your clit, holding it firmly while he viscously attacked it with his talented tongue and the suction of his plump lips. His two fingers relentlessly massaging the spongy front wall of your cunt.

“Anakin oh my god.” You gasped, white hot lightening shooting through you and practically blinding you with pleasure as your legs quivered, thighs clamping around his head.

“Cum-cumming oh fuck don’t stop!” You cried out his name in ecstasy. He took your pleas to heart, he never faltered in his strokes; only humming and moaning along with you as he greedily drank down every drop of your juices.

Anakin kept sucking and licking, his tongue tracing every inch of your sensitive folds until he felt you start to calm down. Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers from your aching core, leaving you drenched and panting.

"That was beautiful, doll." He praised, wiping his face with the back of his hand before standing up to gaze down at you with a satisfied smirk. “You’re just a fucking Angel aren’t you?"

Without further ado, he pushed his pants and boxers down, freeing his thick, hardened member. It throbbed and leaked a bead of precum, glistening in the dim starlight that illuminated the room.

He helped you get settled back into the center of the bed, positioning himself over you, one hand caressing your red cheeks with his still wet and sticky fingers. Going behind the trail he’d left to lick it away, pulling back to make eye contact while he sucked his digits clean.

“Damn… th-that’s hot.” You whispered, eyes widened as you watched him throughly clean every trace of creamy juices from his fingers.

“You taste so fucking good." Anakin growled, his hand moving down to cup your breast again, squeezing and massaging it roughly while his thumb circled your nipple.

With his weight propped up on one forearm he leaned forward to capture your lips in a slow and loving embrace, his tongue tracing the seam, begging be let in.

You moaned, dropping your jaw slightly to allow him to explore the depths of your mouth as he pleased.

Breaking the kiss Anakin looked down at you, cupping your cheek in his hand. A look of something foreign and familiar in his icy blues. He looked like he wanted to say something, his plump lips parted slightly, tongue darting out to wet them. He closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his forehead to yours, rubbing his nose against yours in that odd affectionate way that he often did. When he pulled back, the look was still there, just dimmer, calmer.

“Let me show you what it feels like to be worshipped as you deserve to be.” He pleaded, positioning himself between your spread legs. Slowly, he lowered himself onto you, his thick cockhead pressing against your sensitive entrance.

"Tell me when you're ready, baby girl." He panted, his hips rocking back and forth teasingly, rubbing the head of his cock against your tight opening. Gathering your mixture of slick and his saliva to lube his cock. “I’ll be so gentle, I’ll make sure you feel good baby. This is all about you.”

“I’m ready.” You whispered, looking at him as his free hand soothed you with gentle caresses on your waist, over your navel and back again.

Anakin groaned, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly pushed inside, inch by agonizingly slow inch. Each bit of his girthy cockhead sliding deeper into your tight, stretched passage.

You moaned, arching upwards towards him, fingers digging into his shoulders, nails leaving small crescent marks in his skin.

He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the intrusion before resuming his pace. Each thrust was slower than the last, each one deeper, stretching you wider and wider until he finally bottomed out, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm.

"Relax sweetheart. Daddy’s got you." He groaned, his breath hot against your ear, teeth nipping lightly at your earlobe.

The growl in his voice, the gritty undertone of the one little word made you clench tightly around his cock, alittle ashamed at loving the way he called himself that. You’d been so caught up drowning in pleasure, you had practically forgotten Anakin was your stepfather, forgotten how wrong this was, forgotten that he wasn’t yours. The reminder almost brought you to tears, or maybe it was the way he circled his hips to hit every ridge and crevice in the depths of your pussy. Maybe it was the way he held you closely as he rocked into you, both his arms tucked underneath you, one hand cradling your head, the other had a firm grip on your ass.

Or perhaps it was the way he praised you, complimented you, put you up on a golden dais. When he said he wanted to worship you, he truly meant it. Every inch of your body felt surrounded by him, like you were fully blanketed in his tender attention.

His hand left your ass to grip your leg tightly, pushing it back and up to your side; anchoring himself as he buried his cock deeper inside with each thrust. Every time he pulled out, he trailed his cockhead along your sensitive folds, before plunging back in again, hitting your G-spot perfectly.

"You’re so fucking tight, baby girl." He groaned, his voice low and husky. "Oh goddamn, I'm close..."

The sensuality of it, the sloshing sound your unbelievably wet cunt was making each and every time he moved, the fact that I could feel your own arousal dripping down your legs, it was overwhelming.

You were so focused on everything you were feeling that you only registered Anakin’s next words after you heard him let out a reedy whimper.

“Fucking hell. You’re killing me here doll.” He groaned. “squeezing me s’tight, being so fucking loud.”

Loud? You were being loud? Oh shit… you were being loud.

“Moaning like a fucking pornstar.” He mumbled, his eyebrows pinched together in concentration.

You flew back to the present moment, suddenly aware of everything ten times more intensely. A roar of white noise deafened you as your eyes rolled back in your head. Your throat constricting as you let out an unholy scream of pure heaven-sent pleasure. Your legs shaking, hands finding purchase behind your head in the form of gripping the headboard.

You called out Anakin’s name over and over again as though it was the only word you knew, your orgasm flooded you in ecstasy coating his cock and thighs in squirt, soaking the bed beneath you.

Anakin groaned, his own orgasm threatening to crash over him like a tidal wave. His grip on your leg tightened to the point of bruising as he pounded into you harder, faster, fucking you so senseless that you were as limp as a rag doll in his arms, whining and moaning, tears of pleasure and overstimulation trickling down your cheeks.

He growled low in his throat, his voice hoarse with need. "Oh fuck... Oh goddamn..."

Anakin groaned, leaning back to watch his cock disappear into your well-fucked hole. His bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“Shhh-shit shit fuck oh…” His hips stuttered and you swear you saw goosebumps flare up on his arms as he scrunched his eyes shut and let out a low whine.

“Damnit, oh shit.” His breath hitched as he came, as though it took him by surprise. He quickly pulled out, watching his cock twitch as it prepared to shoot another load of sticky white cum. He lightly laughed at himself and looked down at you before pushing back in deeply, his cockhead brushing your cervix as he emptied the rest of his seed into you. “Fuck it I guess. Too late now.” He panted.

The feeling of him emptying himself inside you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. It was hot, sticky, and somehow right. He remained buried deep, his breath steadying slowly, and his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That was... damn." He finally managed to pull out of you slowly, his cock still half-hard, drenched in your shared fluids.

“Ani.” You moaned softly, chasing after him as he flopped over onto his back. You crawled over and tucked yourself against his side, playing with the coarse hairs beneath his navel.

"Mmm... you okay baby girl?" Anakin asked, reaching over to run a finger down your back, tracing the line of sweat that had accumulated during your lovemaking.

"Uh huh." You murmured, snuggling closer to him, your hand moving up to trace circles on his chest. You felt oddly content in this position, nestled against him, bodies still joined together by the thin layer of sweat and cum.

"Good." He muttered, placing a gentle kiss on top of my head. After a moment of silence, he spoke up. "How about we go shower? And I’ll change the sheets if you’ll go get me my cigarettes from the living room.”

“Deal.” You sighed contendedly. Standing up on wobbly legs, shooting Anakin a glare when he laughed at your expense; grabbing your ass to ‘help’ steady you.

"My poor little princess." Anakin chuckled, watching you stumble toward the bathroom door. "I don't think you'll be able to walk straight for hours."

Once in the bathroom, he turned on the water and waited patiently for it to heat up before joining you under the showerhead.

"Use my soap," he instructed, passing you a bar of something resembling cedar. "I want you to smell like me." He added as he nipped your shoulder.

You giggled and did as you were told, letting him wash your hair while you rinsed the soap from your body.

After stepping out of the shower he wrapped you in a towel as well as himself. Then ushered you to the sink so he could brush the tangles from your hair, he did this often, but now it felt different, more intimate… special.

He patted your ass with the back of the hair brush to send you off to get his cigarettes while he made the bed with clean sheets.

You happily went about the task and brought the cigarettes as well as a cup of ice water. By the time you returned Anakin was straightening out the blankets.

"Thanks, doll." Anakin accepted the items with a nod and smile, handing you a clean pair of panties as he slipped into some fresh boxers. Once dressed, he motioned for you to lie down, while he walked over to plop himself in your beanbag chair.

“What’re you doing all the way over there?” You complained.

“Shhh.” He chuckled. “I’m not smoking in the bed. It’ll make the sheets reek.“

“Fine.” You huffed. Letting your arm hang over the side of the bed as you looked over at him, watching the smoke curl around his head.

“You’re staring sweetheart.” He chuckled.

“Mhm. I know.” You nodded. “just… like to look at you.”

Anakin took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke that drifted toward you. His eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite identify, possibly contentment mixed with a hint of something else.

"You're beautiful. Always." He murmured, taking another drag before setting aside the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand and putting out his cigarette in an empty water bottle on your nightstand. “I love to look at you too.”

You blushed, smiling as he crawled in beside you to pull you into a crushing embrace. Slowly releasing you to tilt up your chin for a slow and tender kiss.

“Is it… okay if I sleep in here with you?” He asked. Tracing your lips with the pad of his thumb.

“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “I’d like that.”

"Good girl." Anakin smiled, rolling onto his side to spoon you, wrapping his arms around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as he placed a soft kiss on the nape of your neck.

His hand drew patterns on your stomach, occasionally traveling up between the valley of your breasts.

His voice was low, almost inaudible as he spoke. “This- it feels right. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah… it does.” You agreed, in the same tentative tone. You weren’t sure where he was going with this conversation but you were hopeful that maybe it meant this wouldn’t be a one time thing. Maybe it meant he could be yours… maybe.

Anakin’s hand moved lower, tracing slow circles along your panty line before settling on your hip bone. His thumb massaged in a lazy circle, mirroring the rhythm of his breathing.

"This is probably a bad idea." He muttered, voice thick with emotion. “what I’m about to say.”

"But I can't fucking stop thinking about you. Everything about you... your smile, your laugh, the excited little clap you do when you’re happy.” He whispered.

“I would do anything to make sure you’re always that happy, that’s why I spoil you the way I do. You’re… you’re the most important person in this world to me.”

“Now that I’ve had you… your smell, your taste, how it feels to hold you. To kiss you.” You couldn’t see his face but knew he was on the verge of tears by the way his voice cracked.

“I don’t know what to do. I-you’re… you are everything I want.” He cleared his throat.

“I think…” He breathed deeply. “I think I’ve loved you in ways that I shouldn’t for a long time now.”

“You love me?” You asked quietly, heart leaping from its cage and clawing up your throat.

Anakin didn’t respond immediately, leaving you both in a suffocating silence. You felt his heart racing faster against your back, matching the beat of your own.

"Yes." He finally managed to whisper, voice breaking. "I love you, doll. Always have." His hand squeezed yours tightly, his thumb tracing slow circles on your palm.

“I want more.” He choked out. “and I know I shouldn’t.”

Anakin remained silent, his breathing slowly returning to normal as he processed his own confession.

"I don't fucking care." He finally said, his voice raw with emotion. "I want you, I've wanted you for years. And now that we're here... I can't stand the thought of not having you."

“Please say something.” He whispered, his forehead resting on the nape of my neck.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling your eyes welling up with tears of joy and relief. "I love you too, Anakin."

“I- um… I don’t-“ You stammered, turning over to look at him with tear stained cheeks. “I don’t want to be without you. I love you. I want to be yours. I want- I mean… Anakin I…”

He quickly scooped you into his arms to hold you tightly, cradling your head as you cried.

“Shhh. It’s alright doll.” He said, stifling his own emotions. “it’s okay. I will figure this out for us okay? I will.”

You sniffled. “Promise?”

"Promise." Anakin parroted back.

He held you tightly, rocking you both until you calmed down, and eventually, exhaustion caught up to you . You drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his arms, feeling safer than you had ever felt before.

Lord Vader have mercy on my soul for the smut about to be unleashed on my page. This is a sweet little mushy thing… but my notes app is plagued with raunchy things that probably should’ve never left my brain.

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch @cherrylooney @star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit3corpse @jeldog @arzua10

@bby-imasociopath @depressed-kay

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Let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the tag list!

[astralnymphh]

copy that, romeo

— ellie williams was supposed to be your supervisor, not your object of infatuation ~ ♡

⋆❝ this is cordero tower, calling in.❞⋆

CHAPTER ONE: SUMMERTIME INTERLUDE . NEXT CHAPTER > ♡. pair; firewatcher!ellie x recruit!reader

♡. summary; it's 1995, and the angel crater national park welcomes you; a retrograde lookout all to yourself, a space nerd for a supervisor, and a whole summertime job spent in hues of sepia and juniper, waiting for the first sign of smoke. ninety–three days. you don't know her face, you share no breath— but by walkie–talkie, you know her voice.

♡. a/n; READ THESE; 1 and 2, HELP HERE, BOYCOTT. CLICK HERE. DO NOT BUY THE REMASTER, TLOU2, TLOU1, OR ANY GAME FROM NAUGHTY DOG! neil druckmann (the creator) is a zionist. PLEASE READ THIS. AND REBLOG THIS. ALSO THIS.

♡. content; EVENTUAL SMUT, narrator present, silly fourth wall breaking, a dash of comedy, slowburn (somewhat), living alone, long–distance pining, reader/characters are similar ages(mid–late 20s), depression, heavy metaphor usage, complicated poetry styles, mentions of organs, mentions of weaponry, metaphorical death, grim humor, drinking alcohol, drunk!ellie, drunken flirting (vaguely and bluntly), ellie jumpscare, uh-oh sassy masc apocalypse, she's corny and cheesy too (a dork), awkwardness, humiliation, lighthearted bickering, nicknames used. [lmk if i missed anything] . SERIES PLAYLIST .

WC; 6.1k+ ✮ thank you @trackinglessons for your sexy brain and beautiful ideas + custom art ✮ masterlist ✮ series masterlist ✮ ellie ref sheet

Summertime is the interlude between misery and Mondays.

  May was a rough patch for you. A coagulated chapter within the spring world, a shunned ponder, red jello in the gradience of passage. Tempus, time. Early months hence were just as pessimizing, doubt is an arid reservoir in you. But, as a maypole sits a svelte giant in the sweet Beltane soil, braving an invisible smile whilst little ones— little laughters, spun prances and wraps of dainty satin to an ensnare on its long body, it weeped for its delicate capture. You; flesh coarse like timber, relate to the log standing, ensnared. Sunk in that gelatinous texture, unmoving as pressures collided with the surface outward, ripples everywhere yet incapable of sprinkling through you. Something would have to delve itself to drag you out.

  Chapters; cusp of autumn to April, every single month, wound ‘round you. They each had separating colors, and spared turns to soundly fold your limbs and bulge your skin in ribbons. It snipped your circulation, shriveled the ripe breath in your skull and traded it for a pressure. A throb. Weight upon the cranium, you felt the narrowing cradle inside wilt from thought, drain from consciousness, and soften your stiff eyes locked on drywall. Hour to hour.

  But those weren't the only things taunting you with a dance— expectations danced faster. Expectators, paired minds heaping expectations; yourself and the selves blackjacking their wants expressed as worries onto you. Stressful creatures, they are. Bosses, co–workers, energy vampires disguised as lover boys prowling about your workspace, general creatures of the retail world. God, they're like ravenous wolves snarling hunger through their teeth, slobber moonlight–bright of that dire carnality for variety meats. Depression just took the first serving before they could.

  Even the domesticated places are a wilderness untamed.

  Stress drained you of life. It softened your desire to even try. Gods are dulling, blamed you, on another dull morning where the trickling sound of coffee pouring drilled irk into your ears, rather than simply a trickle. Caffeine, a roast so void–black was brewed to un–drain you. Yet, it fuckin didn't.

  Impugning was your everything, until it could no longer purify; Elaine. Emptiness. Hmm, you gave this state of vacuum–headed hollowness a name, keenly because it deserved so by its dismantling of your autonomy. You don't want it. It's not you. It's Elaine. A some–angel fallen out of grace, weary of its wander upon a washed up cove, beige toned and swept shivering–cold. Interested by the warmth your sundry organs pushed into its light silhouette. 

  And perhaps, if the bird was never freed from its heavenly cage, it would be powerless to pester you, to poke the meat inside with the pointy end of plumage.

  Elaine was an organized assault on your wellbeing, moreso against the pulpy, pinkish-gray blob sitting ugly above your throat. Believe it, or assume it. A paralysis, moving shoulders from bed sheets proved farcical, running bristles over your teeth twice a day rhymes with nonsense, and midnight ink born to swirl and curtsy to convey thoughts gone rancid, goes unused atop the white flutter between your journal hardcovers. You have a morbid case of the seasonal blues, except this time, the season is beyond its blue hues. Spring, a fuckin’ kaleidoscope embellished. Blotches of big fuck you greens so vibrant you'd long to die from your tears, and an abstract spit of smell me reds thorny as your stomach brought to a scream for something. Anything.

It was a slow, banal descent into the jello.

  January, floating atop the sweet delicacy, atop your bed.

  February, the solidity gave out beneath you, goo subtly etching around your ankles, calves, elbows, unforgivingly cold when it first hit. When in reality, the bed was heating from your lay.

  March, marrow goes heavy, your limbs at this time could not lift, your efforts waned, and satiating the rumble in you with sustenance was forgotten, as that rumble got so, so.. quiet. 

  April, the jello had stuffed your nose, your sockets, and lullabied your ligaments. You let it happen.

May.

  You let yourself sink. Let yourself decompose and go mush in the head. Like a zombie.

  The descent doesn't taste of sweet delight, but it also fails to churn your lips with a heavy saccharinity. Neutral, your hopeful side did say. Nothing, rationality slapped past your lips.

Five months, either a misery, or a Monday.

  Yes Eve, a bite out of the Apocrypha will indeed fill this human abysm in me. Forbidden knowledge is my craving. Contraband of truth, bite to bite, I envy that I could not cope with its coating of my empty gut earlier.

  Innocence is so dull. You are depressed, not a fucking saint for staying indoors, starving your rage.

  But on came a crisp bouquet of biker–boy newspapers; ‘Hiring’, and a few scans further; ‘Do you harness a great love for the evergreen?’

  A honed section in Missoula's local print— jobs. A publisher boldens and compresses enthusiasm sporadically; writing–on–the–wall hollers speckle themselves meticulously on the newsprint that strike a sense of obligation into the susceptible and soft–of–heart chunk of the population. A pert voice read with persuasion between your ears, gritty in tone and stereotypical of a middle aged ranger, vocals fried by cigarettes but as booming as a cannon.

“Do you care for the animals inhabiting our national sanctuaries?”

  Abutting small paragraphs, the sagging belly of a black bear, tender caramel snout and snoopy–faced, fitted on its head a mustard yellow campaign hat labeled, ‘Smokey’. Its burly, blundering frame on all fours stood out over a comic–style vista of the Montana rockies, paws obscured by blocks of thickset text reading ‘Only you’.

  Huh, a realistic depiction of Smokey Bear— over a not–so–realistic background, avant–garde. 

  Tree greens sprawly that didn't shout ‘Fuck you’ on your poor, sunken eyes searing for sleep and a twilight darkness. Sagey lichens that didn't draw out the spasms above your own bones, calling your regard to bring pin–sized problems and blemishes sprawling your own flesh out of the bliss of ignorance. Brunette muds with only a fleck of sun, a slice of earth dull, humble and unprocessed enough from benevolence to leave you unconsumed, unsunken. A mere slop and pudge in the future and wake of your walk. Nothing obnoxiously grand, nothing sanctimonious. Nature is by birth— righteous, regardless.

  “Before we can be proud of our nation, our nation must be proud of us!”

  The advertisement gropes for a summertime made free. A cyclopean sinkhole in the becoming of time. Recruits–in–waiting are called to bargain normalcy and the bustling cities plump with lumbering limbs of sheen–tight pantyhose shaded under short shapes of plaid skirts for boot–cuts n’ backpacks hefty with gear that could either save you the trouble of mountaineering by path, or trouble your time with a faulty snapping of two things. Rope and neck.

Too grim?

  A months’–long moment of tension snapped at the pressure joint— Summertime the snapper.  You'd be devoting ninety–three suns, ninety–two moons, and some two–million breaths of fir laden air up in Angel Crater National Park, northwest of here. Pupils flickering the double-page setup, you continue: A pictographic, old–fashioned lookout taller than the timber spires surrounding would be your station, your core of operations, for those three young and sunny months. Boxed provisions and supplies are guaranteed to ship every other week, and testimonies encourage even the anxious, balmy buzzes of your brain to sigh in solace learning that the weald creatures there— are mostly harmless, if you aren't bred an imbecile. Alongside, an appointed supervisor, whose name was never disclosed duly except for a scratch of text gingerly clasped in quotations reading, “E.R.W” trailing the mention of said supervisor. What’s required of you was delivered plain written and patent on that shoddy newspaper, held thick in your intrigued thumbs; Keep the forest from catching wild fire.

  You fiddled the idea. Should I? Or should I wallow the summer away? Fiddled it anxiously, fiddled it needily, bumped the clumped rim of the newsprint on your cupid's bow in bending rumination, steadied it cause newspaper smells oddly good— but next to minutes racing hours upon musing, a conclusion had to knock your static looping of gloomdom in the butt.

  One phone call, and the bird would be barred again. Pesterer, Elaine the Terrible, would be cast back where eyes can't roll over the cottony clouds. Just a couple fucking prods to your number–pad, might genuinely un–drain you.

  Luckily, you aren't an idiot reared to take bullshit longer than meritted.

You took the job.

May 30th, 1995, 7:28 PM.

  What does any clever pedestrian traipsing capricious terrain store in their pack to avoid total gangly–branch–grips–of–nature butchery?

Item one; Black nylons— scratch that, you aren't getting paid to snag at every kink and curl of the forest, tighties of gossamery fabrics are a no–go. Citywear stays citywear. Double scratch on those sweet, blackberry Mary Janes too prized and polished to muck up in shit of the earth. Immolating the rigid underside of some chunky hiking boots to the unruly woodlands is the adrenaline pinnacle of out–worlding, come on. It proves you've got a hardy backbone and the right row of teeth to chew what you've bitten off, sullying boots ‘till the color is forevermore stained. Backup boots are tradition, so that's item number two. Best get used to cargo, ankle–length overalls and miscellaneous graphic tees, cause the rockies’ fashion gurus can't get enough of ‘em!

Clothing, check.

  Swathes of ropes twined pumpkiny orange and plenty of clanging anchors to bolt them in, goddesses and gods forbid you be tight on anchors. Medical kits— duh, did you trudge all from yonder just to die out here? This country is dicey, at the cuddly claw of a bear, or not. Hair ties, scrunchies you hoarded as a teenager in the eighties, disposable camera to suit your flaky memories, and an eclectic dump of nutty and fruity cereal bars galore. Unless you're allergic. Substitute.

Accessories and essentials, check.

  Ah, and a spare pistol and switchblade in replacement of newcomer paranoia! Keep that hush–hush though. No matches or lighters, obviously.

True American, illegal weaponry, check.

  All this paraphernalia bangs and clangs heavily on the polyester holding of your backpack, straining your scruff uncomfortably as you tiptoe, scarcely tumble, and tread lightly across a log. It creaks, it groans, it wobbles slightly over the blaring white rush of a stream, suctioning your heart–to–stomach when it grinds a wee bit louder than you thought it should.

  “Shit!” you crimp your torso in and dart wary hands on the timber beam at your feet, assuming a gawky newborn–bambi–pose in hesitation, shuddering in cracked tones, “This can't be the right way..” 

  Hoping on an evaporated sun, you frazzlingly testify in repetitive thought that the map mailed by the rangers a week prior led you on this perilous and incorrect path.. for the last two days. Winding and wounding, literally— your bruises are measureless and on top of that ache your skin to want no more of this. But, you have to. A boulevard of brown, short and stout, wrung unyielding from one gray side to the greener other, a shortcut. Assumed to be a shortcut, based on the route drawn by utter confusion.

Oh yeah, and remember the advertisement stating the park was twenty-five miles out?

Nothing about that hot-press, black-cat inked newspaper accounted for the extra eight weighing your ankles down and your motivation dead low. Twenty-five only stretched out unto the ranger parking lot. The entrance, for fuck's sake.

  Shaky flit of your digits, they float gently off the carve–veined surface of the wood, unfolding your spine as you rise. “Wrong way—” you utter to your chest, oven–warm as it puffs, “—gotta be the wrong..” 

  Tentative–ism is normal here, right? Like, no way you're cautious and sweating at the brow for nothing. Right? 

  One foot— creeakkk— in front of the prudent other, two sailing lunges, three hurried hops and a matched thud soft as marshmallows plants your shoes to hallowed ground. Blades of verdant whiskers so innocent crush under, and it feels fucking— demeaning, actually. All that gulping and pausing.. for nothing.

  You tuck a shoulder–glance to the makeshift ricket of a bridge, and blankface, “Didn't feel like killing me today?”

The tree bears no reply.

  “Hmph, surprising. Seeing as someone killed you,” a sigh parts, fading into the whip and straightening of your head, “figured the pursuit of revenge doesn't stop at ghosts.” and the hoist of your boot up, carrying onward.

  Sundown paints, crescent layers repose approaching moonlight and dying sunlight sprawls psychedelic limbs above you. Balance ambling in tiny bops only made the swirling grasp of those gradient rays more trippy on your eyes and coercive of daydreams, rot–nip for the brain. You spot nutbrown brick— a fireplace in your mind, fevered heat roasting on the inside wall of your forehead too. It was Christmas before the storm, a subzero December. And it was, in fact, colder than the unreachable heaven. Dad was hunkered down in front of that innocuous amber crackle, his right leg slack to the ground and his left arched in the neck of an acoustic guitar, arms plaiting its hollow curve into his chest. 1971, when the veil through and within was thin, and love–vomit poured so easily through. A time of justified ignorance; Childhood. 

  Stood you adjacently, legs short and posolutely not stout, dimpled in the knees. Aged two years, and mushy as ambrosia, contorting your mouth jubilant as you're told for the camera, contrary to your father with his expression drooping to his strumming fingers. Sickly sweets, adult–you unpurposefully neglects to twirl lips at, your extraordinary grins now turned ordinary flat–lines. Holiday memoirs, those spoiled ripe quick after adulthood bolted itself in the slabs of your tender spine and instilled an artificial love for labor and country, displacing nostalgia from ever being seen as a flesh existence. 

“Say cheese!”

  America is sub–human, and sub–humans created America, the imperfect cycle. Families tear, eagles outcry, friends drink their death, and the days continue to unfold without a trace of acknowledgement. Days exist where you soak festivities and stave off the pointer–finger poking at so called slack you relish, and some twenty dwindling years ahead the slowly deadening oak grove road, carousals will be criminally known as layabout–makers.

Joy is a luxury now.

  A blockage prevents your foot from winching clean forward, meeting the bone–hard kiss of a boulder to sore your toes. “Fuck!” you brand your throat walls to a shout, pissed at the rock rather than your woolgather that lead you to said rock, “Fucking fuckhead rock!”

  Woolgather means daydreams, by the way. Funner to use words that don't make a split of sense. Yay for English.

 The sunset clouds dripped with a mania of fascination and had strung your brain to its hypnotic whims, like a siren had soloed a trance, drifting your mind somewhere utopian and phantasmagorical. It sounds silly, but, blanking out seems so often out of grasp from your control, you usually could never flag what caused it, when it started, and why. Nothing practical surfaces. Fuck, your head is so tangled upon memories, you haven't even noticed the progression of scenery twelve o’clock from you. 

  Ponderosa boughs band together where your eyes brush shapes and forage for a clue of what scene wants to greet you ahead. The sequestering silence of rustles indicates a clearing, possibly. Possible as it could be, you fully expected this cruel footslog to wallop your ass into a minefield, so you bet cards and course carefully beneath the crowns of pine, completely bent to the chance of another obstacle threatening your tender ankles. Leafy whispers above strum your ears brimmed with its sotto voce song, and then— colors it silently behind.

“Holy shit.”

  Presence crumbles above you, and opens before you. The lookout. Wood shafts slant in opposing directions, up and up along four brawny beams in three consecutive layers, like a blocky cone. The face closest to you overlaps the backing rest, giving the illusion of tufted wooden legs sketched under all lackadaisical. Endgame daylight spies from behind this one–roomed cyclops, gushing final spurts of citrus rays as if it truly was an orange squeezed to pulp. So, the flank and forehead of that towering, mountainscaping lookout rolling a cold shoulder to the sun, paves in a tattered tapestry of garnet smokiness instead. Shadow of sundown. From where you sow feet, a football field apart, petty details are difficult to squint into clarity, but the window panes appear tawny, too.

  An intimidation, “So much for a tiny room.” A beaute intimidation, “And no actual bathroom.” it makes you feel like a genuine insect compared.

  A sort of stairwell serpent faintly chokes the foot, the calves, the thighs, and punctures kindly a mouth leading up to the skirting balcony hedged in many gaunt teeth. Tamping gravel closer, subtleties and fine points fade as the tower's plank–lined and flat underbelly turns to you. Larger and larger, it dips darkly from miniscule masquerade.

  Bringing your decently aching foot to the first step, you press into the curb and meander your cruder aching— thanks to a random boulder— foot weirdly on the outer ridge of your boot. Making it up the stairs to fund yourself a fucking break was a palpable mockery in itself. Like, ‘Hey! Climb this long–ass stairwell for a teensy break before doing it all over again the next day!’. 

Un–fucking–believable. 

  Fifty years of history and past rangers grate in your walk, the floorboards thump with their stories, thump into your skin— verse you a wordless eulogy. Each step is a sentence, and every sentence branches into a whole tree of genealogy, lives. Lifestyles you can't understand now, but will.

  Really redundant of me to highlight the generations alive in those floorboards. The walk up there isn’t that exciting.

  After the last step, you're met eye–to–frame with a scratched door, pygmy window centered and paper–screened from within, and the stories predating your stay inspire a comical theory, “Jeez— bears make it up here?” you half–suppress a snort, palming a fist on the doorknob coldly before rotating and giving sympathetic pressure to the door.. jammed. 

  “C’mon..” knuckles pulse into the knobs plate, gradually upping the force you pushed, “.. losing light out here..” eventually adding your other hand to sweeten the push.

  Sure, a whole year has gone by since it homed somebody, and it's retro, but come on.

  Breaking splinters into the door was your last intention, so you try so–so carefully— to some extent, “Please..” now butting the tip of your boot on the rim to ease it— ease, and finally pry, a clapback of wind blowing dusty, nightfall air past your crescent cheeks following the snap of the fallow door.

  Thank goodness for your grace and balance, some days, avoiding a timely trip face–first to a floor so powdered in light dust, any kid would mistake it for a good time sweeping snow angels. 

  Not so good for the respiratory system though.

  Muggy space filtering your lungs tightly, you cough out, “Gah— fuck!” nothing higher than the level of a guttural wheeze, your chest punching into your throat. Gaping out the last flock of butterflies clumped at your collarbones, the tickle inside calms, and you find your sights taking in a dark box. A dim orb of lily silver glow rests in the middle of the pall room, raising the natural, “Where's the ligh— ah, big clunky thing—” 

  Flicking the off–white and stubby nub attached to an impractically sized lightswitch, which frankly resembles an electric box externally, an essence of Apollo ladens the room. Lemony–gold light, passably bright off the redwood ceiling, and murmuring a low buzz through one ear, and out the other, your pupils caper along the contrasting shades awakened.

  “Definitely retro, but.. no roommates.” spoke you, gingerly content with the colors piecing this camper pad together. You observe.

  Forget–me–nots bled the cotton bedsheets baby blue, leavening the mattress with a tidy emotion as it's tucked, folded at the top and draped in a complimentary quilt— benevolent blues, hues your lids soften on. The bed beelined from the doorway, a corner counter fawn–brown as the wood extends adjacent to it, covering the northeastern angle of the room. Magpied brands of canned food clutter shelves, spines spanning thick books of epic poetry to sci–fi comics create a ribcage of literature along a compact bookcase perching that countertop, and sunken in the east side of it, a steel sink. It shimmered sunflower bands of light as you moved, a rainbow–arched faucet brightened completely.

  Step by step, you draw near a circular table in the middle. Strange rods and gadgets stuck out of the borders, inlaid glass protecting a local map so sleek you could see a phantom of your face in it, and a black bar looming the width, so it rings with tangible importance. Of which you'll gauge about later. Truthfully, the journey by foot here? Dead–beating, your knees bloated, throbbed flesh hot, and almost buckled; fatigues infamous way of scolding you to sit the fuck—

“Sup Maple lake, you there?” 

  A pang hammers to your heart, and a crawlish wave of startled blood pales from your face and drops to your jaw, “Jesus!” sweat hitting you a blink after, every normal function just— flunked. That voice, more like a ruptured stereo sizzling, caught you the fuck off guard. Now you dither, dumbassery taking your eyes through a new loop of figuring out where–why–how and what the robotic intruder wants.

  But pre–realizing, your ears perk to a more coherent, and outstretched string of static, “C'mon, know you're checked in.” and post–realization tugs your eyes to a mustardy n’ black cased device; a walkie–talkie.

  Okay, way to creep recruits out. Whoever, for whatever reason— at the nick of night too, gimme’ a break. You wry, knitting raisin crinkles above your nose, trying to discern your palette of options; pick up the walkie, tap in and feign politeness in the shortest and sluggiest scraps of small talk to be done with the day, or rant off the bat— highlight how fucking late it is, and how taxing a double–goddamned–day hike made your head and patience feel. And right now, the second response route feels arguably more tempting than—

  “This is Cordero Tower, calling in. Can see ya’ standing by the Osborne, by the way.” 

  Its staticy feedback has waned completely, densening a thick husk and tilting towards a honeyed undertone. Relaxed sounding or not, what the fuck.

  You react predictably, flicking your chin west, then east only for you to meet the dead of night— thanks mountains— stalking perfectly in every single window. So, useless to check. Answering it was a yes–go, it would be sickenly awkward to thrust it under the rug now. Your knees pull forward, eyes calligraphing the power buttons tinted in cherry light, palm drawing to meet your focal point.

  The case is ribbon gentle under your fingertips’ graze, fresh and in store–new condition. Maybe the only thing hot from the pot of newfangled technology. Plastic intricacies roll under until you settle on a swollen button, denting the plush of your finger as you press, hold, and speak. A crisp crackle activates your line, tuning you in.

    Breath hesitates between your chords, “Maple.. lake.. speaking,” off–the–tongue words manifesting on–the–spot, “you can see me?”

  “Yeah.” the walkie chuckles, sugary curl pitching up and through their tone, “Look out ur’ north window, you'll see her.”

Her?

  Nooking your nose north, you only widen pupils on that same, starless coast of darkness nosing the rim of your window sills. What do they mean to—

  “Nh–no,” You literally said north, “get closer to the window, n’ look up.” What, are you a fucking sparkling, rasp–voiced eagle?

  “Fuck are you talking about,” mouthed you void of voice, stumped on what this person was getting at. Wedging your knuckles below the meshy underside of your backpacks right strap, you wrangle it down your arm as you glide rubbery sole along croaking oak, tossing that bag so cumbersome atop a lily white pillow— looking fresher than a daisy, and clamber the mattress pliantly dented to your knees to grasp a broader panorama. 

  And with that window hood washed over, a convoy of fireflies focus a tiny constellation in the murked glass. Little pinholes of light, dots in the distance. They rough–hew a blur, but the excess seconds taken to brood squints and balance the blurry blotches, an outline crops up. Another fire lookout, sprouting from rock and rise of a berg. Offspring of the distant cordillera that gives this whole park its sense of a cradled–woodland, but either way thought, a lookout hosts it home on top.

  “You can see me from all the way out there?” you wondered, truly. I mean— at minimum, a sore sprawl of miles bridges you both.

  “Mhm..” a pause loiters that fluid hum, then some really throaty syllables, “Binoculars~” you could almost envision— nah, feel the stare of those binocs, undoubtedly taking note of every contort in your body right now.

  “Oh thats, totally.. not,” you blunt your tone, shying a few inches from the glass, “.. creepy.” awkwardly. “Uh, who are you anyways— are you like, uh, another recruit?” as you engage small talk, grumpy frown pouting, the habit of kissing your wrist to your jaw as you would a piglet–tailed telephone overruns your burnt out focus, having to wince the walkie away when your eardrums nearly burst.

Ouch.

  “For one, I'm actually your supervisor. I know, I don't sound like a typical smoker–lunged, middle–aged white dude.” their tone gruffs and deepens to impersonate, finger air quotes practically radiating from the other end, “And two, my name is Ellie— Ellie Miller–Williams, if you care.”

  “Don't.” you heave out the pain stretching your head, aching each time you simply thunk.

  “Straightforward,” her timbre ups in approval, seemingly, “I like it. I like you, recruit I dunno’ the name of.” and a bubble hics her throat, quite audibly.

  “Not single.” Wrong, just uninterested. Hooking two fingers in the fabric handle of your bag and craning it to the ground, with scattered grates of plastic buckles skating the floor.

“What?”

  Oh, shit she wasn't— oops, ‘course she meant that platonically, heads so damn muggy,  “Uh, it's—my name.. sorry I’m just a bit out of the loop—” Dumbass, unscramble your brain alphabet soup, will you?

  “That’s a long ass name, what were your parents thinking? Haha.” Her duo–beat chuckle flares your humiliation, and then proceeds to pinch its swollen parts into total inflammation, “Where does it originate from?”  

  Cheesy bitch, “Can you not— I like, pfhh..” you temper yourself with a moon–cool blow to chap your lips and inflate your cheeks, ending up with a draw of an even more loosened tongue sour as it complains, “Did a whole two–day hike through the most torturous terrain just to get here, I really don't—”

Please.

  And if gripes trudged through teeth aren't persuasive enough, you recess your bone–ache bod avidly in the springy haven of your bed which chirped at your weights shifting motions, collarbones packing down on your vocal chords. You shouldn't sound up to chat whatsoever. Instead, vehemently drained, “I just wanna get some shut eye, talk me over n’ the mornin’.” your thumb lying a button away from disconnecting. 

  “Hey, hey—” Ellie ushered, her slurry breath fogging up the mic. Lips squeak softly into it, smacking before an intone, “Can't I be a little curious?”

  You synchronized in noise, sucking teeth behind heart–pursed lips, “Do you think somebody this exhausted has the appetite to entertain you?” stilling your thumb–pad on the power off key.

  “If I keep bothering you,” that alone ticked you, her blatant drive to carry on when your brain rejected its substance, “.. yeah. Maybe you'll be nicer then too.. huph!” a heartier peep hicced up on the speaker, and right then that noise jogged a discovery.

“Are you drunk?” has to be.

  Of course, she ignores the naked and sorely obvious, “Did your boyfriend break ur’ heart or something— an’ that's why you're out here?” bottle sloshing in the background of her mumble.

  Dumbstruck, you furrow a miffy expression, “W–what, boyfriend?” 

  “Said you weren’t single.” she recalls, warmly unspinning the fuddle that knit your brows, “Think I forget so easily?” drawled like a sultry retort, baking your ears.

You a hundred percent forgot though.

  Gosh, short–term memory sucks, or it's just your energy drought making you woozy. Blame it on lethargy, “No no, that was just.. tired talk. I thought you were hitting on me.” 

  “Oh? That's cute.” her choosing to say that latter statement unfolded discordantly, you seriously couldn’t gauge if that was a flirt, or another paper daisy— mock honey, a platonic notion. Even so, it sounded so damn smooth, lace to the ears. “But no, I wasn't— m'not like gay or ‘whutever.” stammered her, light snort fanning.

  A stifled chuckle hops from your chest, mixing with hers, “Uhuh, cool.” halfway uncaring and halfway amused, bafflement working your facial muscles. 

  “Yeah, um, but seriously..” her voice drifts into a ponderous rasp, the faint rustles of flimsy paper licking page to page subtler than her speech, “what's got you out here, newbie?”

“Newbie. Really?” A brow pricks.

  “I mean, you're new— new to the lookout, new to the job, in need of my phenomenal supervision and my wide range of knowledge. Yeah, a newbie.” 

  Then your brow mellows, tension held in your face dropping dead on backhanded flattery, “You are funnily agonizing.”

  “Aw.” her scratchily suave coo has your jaw set like stone, “That's so sweet.” but her short–lived song has your heartstrings soaked in ripe honeycomb, touched to the core by sweetness nebulose and an assortment of some foreign threads. Thickened heart, tighter ribs, a churn to weaken your stomach, a maverick of things unfamiliar to you.

  Momentaries, but still noticeable even if your senses were twisted backwards.

  Chewing over how you'll begin to explain, a few letters sift through your chords, until you hook on a sigh, “Ah, well, I'm out here for a fuck ton of reasons—”

“Reasons, or— huhp, problems?” Ellie blurt–hics, nosy.

“..”

  A brief gulp and exhale wheezes from her, “Sorry, it's the bourbons’— super good. Continue.” 

 You loosely split your mouth, gasping to exchange a gale for words pressing out, “A series of reasons, and problems, that I don't bother to lay on a grand platter, so you'll get a summary tossed on an appetizer plate.” you preface. Allow an elliptical gap to cut through, rousing her hum to let you know her ears are as intent–peaked as a Chihuahua’s, “Contact with my parents’ has gone cold, my last job made me want to hurl into a pack of crocodiles— and the city became too loud and too heavy–handed. Saw this job on the local paper, and got the hell out of dodge.”

An omissive summary, you meant. 

  There’s more that eats the heart. People can’t just.. drop the burden of knowledge wantonly on randos like they’re idling under fertile treetops waiting for the apples to plummet, biting into a pulpy biography. She’s just a girl, not a therapist.

  A discomforted purr lengthens into her reply, “Mmmmh, ever try a drink or two?” her intoxicated reply.

  “Oh, see,” you flap your hand and slap it to your denim clad thigh, “you are drunk.” as if she could even see your gesture.

  “No, I’m Ellie, hmhm~” comes with a giggle, and you consider her state of insobriety to be— wavering, but it’s stimulating to hear her fluctuate between groaned jokes and extra raspy comments, “Still haven’t told me your name though.”

  Some moments during this whole ‘Who are you?’ seminar made you concerned for your future here— if you’ll make it out psyche intact, but some moments found by winnowing through the illogical backtalk touched you with inbound camaraderie.

  Invisible touches that inhabit your neck with a leak of your name so— sincerely. It transforms into a fairer sound on your ears when she repeats it, affirming it. Nobody else's teeth clutches your name so welcome as she.

  “Hmm, ‘name kinda fits your voice.” odd commentary, but since composed with her already peculiar and drunken tongue, the shoe fits.

  That said, crabby confusion seems easier to articulate, “Thanks, weirdo.” but lips rebellious, they press an inevitable grin together. 

“No problem, sleepyhead.”

So many nicknames.

  Recognizing that downtick in hubbubs and breaths on the walkie, checking out for the night posed as a passionate option the burden weighing your eyelids couldn't or shouldn't veto. So you haul your torso up, kick and poke your toes over ankles to butt your boots off prior planting your heels, whisking toward the lightswitch and committing your lookout to swell with the outside's dark fresco. 

Stygian tones.

  “Speaking of sleepy heads..” you taper off speech, leaving the rest to her— touch wood— wide enough, hopefully–not–drunk–enough imagination to fathom as you slide and slip desperately beneath woolen blankets, sleepy worries, and sentences sailed to rest.

  “Aw man.” Ellie bums so, so stupidly, for comical value.

“Yeah, man.”

  “Mpht—” wetness smacks, “wanted to bore a pretty girl to death with recruit regulations and syllabi..”

How would you know?

  In reality, Ellie was reaching a transcendent caliber of wasted, drinking up your atmospherics and drunken to her gutly core. Woods hatch forlorn people; forlorn people get thirsty, “But, mhh, heads’ nearly falling off, whoof.” she expresses a soaring of vowels, but it parallels a gruff howl more. 

  Drowsy, buzzy jubilancy, plucking her flirty strums. You sugarcoat the flare in your chest hearing ‘pretty girl’, ears clicking to the swallow convincing your heart that Ellie was not flirting. As established; She’s under the influence, and not gay. Your brain repeats that, over and over, repeat, repeat, she isn’t flirting. 

  “Hey, here's a tip..” you inch the walkie a penny away from your flopped head, clefting your lip open, “Don't get drunk on the job. They didn't hire you to decoct your brain the day before chaperoning a recruit in the literal wilderness. So, stash that shit, n’ let's both get some shut eye, yeah?” and saying all that, may have just cashed in your last dose of breath and brain cells for the night.

  Ellie being Ellie— well, what you suspect is a ‘her’ thing after these few speckled minutes, dopily laughs at you. And dammit if she wasn't glamoring a dopey smirk in accord, you’ll have gleaned wrong.

  A voice, “Who’s the boss again?” her witty and cruel wisecrack, “They didn't pay you to boss the— hup, boss around.” 

  They will pay you to confront and reflect your spectrum of limits if this girl brushes their seams, that's for certain. Or, play God and lambast her, tender as milk.

  There's even a stroke of a chance, that your crooked lips poached her dopey grin instead, “Kay, well, maybe they'll reimburse me for your poor services.” 

  “My services are not poor. You'll see, tomorrow.” the volume of her melts away, going muted under liquid swills clanging on glass.

  “Please tell me that's the sound of you putting the bottle away.”

  “Mhm!” came out plugged, the bottle confining her garble, then popping clean as a cork, “Fuck— okay,” she siphons air in, pure little clink tinting the end of her sharp–edged sniffle, “Make sleeping in earlier worth it t’morrow, wanna drive you nuts with my questions.” she nasals, drawing near the mic again.

  Such a magpie, “Cause you're lonely?” and weird.

  “Shut up,” she shushes you, a satin whisper light–hearted and quick on beat, “M’not lonely anymore, right?” The type of softly spoken outcry that would balloon your cheeks with soreness if you were face–to–face with the throat that conducts it. Involuntary smiles plague you everywhere. But there is no mouth, no larynx, no throat that you view the swallow of. Just a walkie, so you settle in stoicism.

  You tug your upper–lip and pivot your eyes, drumming up something clever to combat, “In a sense. Not like we’re bunkmates, thank goodness.”

  “Fuck you,” Ellie breaks into a cuss spout so serenely, she sounded small and harmless, “just go to bed.” reduced to birch in winter shed of its brittle autumn arguments.

“Don’t gotta tell me once.”

  By the first full and emphatic giggle she cast just now that wasn’t suppressed nor achieved by humble pie, you take it that Ellie found you funnily harrowing just as her, two peas in an outstretched pod. Fault be with her, for getting wasted. Otherwise, you might have pried her skull open with questions dolled up as a pruner, clipping the forelimbs that are foliated in a messy breadth of first glance leaflets and attitudes until you piece it prettily, in a way that thralls you to never shrink your eyes back into their sockets. Drunk people are like prone beehives though, so you don't prod them.

Tomorrow, you can paint her portrait, or vice versa.

“Whatever you say, newbie.”

And with the whirry crunch of the walkie shutting off, Monday, came to a close.

if you enjoyed this chapter, please lmk what you thought!! i love getting asks about my content ♡

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[luveline]

hiii, can i have a blurb with emily, it can be literally about anything, i miss her and you write her impeccably ✨🥺

thank you ♡

Emily frowns at her computer screen. She's been having a hard time using the new system, and she can't stop batting at the feathered bangs that kiss her eyebrows, an agitated tic. 

She really doesn't like admitting that she can't do things. 

You rifle through your desk drawer. A few weeks ago you'd stopped for throat soothers on the way to work and found a packet of strawberry flavoured mentos at the gas station. I love the strawberry flavour, Emily'd said once, but I don't like any of the other ones. It feels like too much of a waste to buy the bag. 

You bought them. Chickened out on giving them to her. They're still sealed. 

"Hey," you say quietly, careful not to draw the attention of her deskmates. If Spencer or Derek were to witness this, they'd both laugh at you. Everyone knows how you feel except Emily, because isn't that always the way? "Emily?" 

She immediately turns her attention and concern to you, her eyes so dark and pretty it makes you feel sick. "Hey," she says, her voice dulcet, near melodic, "you okay?" 

"I got you these." 

You pass her the box of mentos without fuss. 

Her lips part in shock before melding to a smile that brags the pearl of her teeth. "Oh my god. Where did you find these?" Her gaze flickers between you and her newfound treasure. "How did you–" 

"I remembered, um, when we went to Austin, you," —you look down at her hands— "said you liked only the strawberry ones. So when I saw them I hoped you'd like them."

"Have you ever tried them?"

You rub at the inside of your wrist. "No." 

Emily's chair rattles as she stands, and mentos hit the sides of the box as she breaks the seal with her finger and tips a few into her palm. They're a light pink and smell strongly of strawberry, though there's a subtle coolness to them. 

"Here," she says. "I think you'll like them." 

You take it because she could offer you little tiny rocks and you'd eat them. You'd smile at her with cracked teeth. Emily doesn't realise how much power she has over you (remarkably) nor the effect of her closeness. You press the mento between your lips and she does the same, beaming this beatific, heart-racing smile at you as strawberry pops over your tongue. 

"They're good, right?" she asks, nearly smug. 

You nod quickly. You're not a reliable narrator and you'd say yes no matter what, but something about looking at her makes them sweet. 

"The– the new computer system, it's buggy, right?" you ask. When she looks at you dumbfounded, you correct, "Non responsive. Doesn't wanna listen." 

"Right?" She looks so relieved that it knocks you off kilter. 

"I think I figured out how to get my emails to stay in one place," you say, aiming for casual, barely making the mark. 

"Could you show me how to do that?" 

You sit in her desk chair at her computer and fix her emails to the desktop. The system isn't buggy, but you want her to feel capable. She is capable. Strawberry mentos over your shoulder, her hand resting on the back of her chair, fingertips brushing your back and silky dark hair skimming your shoulder, she's perfect. 

Spencer meets your eye from over the desktop monitors. He, of similar disposition, seems to be commending you on your demeanour with widened eyes and a small nod. 

Derek, on the other hand, taunts. "Is it hot in here?" he asks, fanning himself with his t-shirt. 

Emily leans over your shoulder to grab a case file from her desk, tossing it onto Derek's. "You can fan yourself with that once you've peer reviewed it for me." 

Spencer shakes his head in pity. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" Emily asks you, looking down. "Are you hot too? You look flustered." 

"I'm feeling it," Spencer says. 

"Huh. I must be cold blooded," she says under her breath, the exhale tickling your neck. "Weird." 

[mistydeyes]

little moments and little voices

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summary: Despite the long hours and constant threat of death, the 141 always has something to return to. Even when they're away, they love the moments you share with them and your children.

pairing: 141 x fem!Reader (established relationship)

warnings: none :)

a/n: i redid my little headers for each section so hope you enjoy!

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

price

“C’mon babies let’s call daddy,” you said as you gathered your three little children. “Mum we’re not babies anymore,” the eldest spoke up as your youngest climbed in your lap. “Alright my mature adults, let’s call your father,” you said in a fake stern voice. Your children laughed as they got settled. “You sound like daddy,” your son giggled as he sat down. "Okay is everyone ready?" you asked and they all nodded in agreement. You grabbed the laptop and pulled up Skype and they all giggled as it rang.

After two rings, John's face lit up the screen. "Well hello there," he said as he sat back and your children rushed to wave hi. "We all miss you, sweetie!" you exclaimed and blew him a kiss. "I miss you all too," he replied as he held a hand up to the screen. "Daddy guess what?" your middle said as she climbed onto your lap to see her dad better. "What, pumpkin?" he replied happily. "I lost a tooth," she exclaimed and showed her dad the empty gap in her front smile. "She's been showing everyone, sweetheart," you laughed as you placed your face back in the frame. You continued to have your other two children provide their updates, your eldest had gotten the best marks at school and your youngest recently learned how to tie their shoes. You could see your husband smile at them proudly as he praised all of their achievements. Eventually, you saw the time and knew it was time for bed. "Kiddies I think it's time we head up to bed, yeah?" you asked and you were immediately met with groans. "Don't act like that for your mother," Price scolded and the whining stopped. "Maybe if you ask nicely, Daddy can read us all a bedtime story," you smiled and they begged your laughing husband.

Eventually, he relented and your kids happily climbed down and raced upstairs. This was their favorite part of the night when John was away and were all dutifully ready to be tucked in. You followed with the laptop in hand and set it up so that all your children could see. "Alright, let's see what we have here," John chuckled, "I have a new one for you it's called '‎Goldilocks And The Three Bears'" your kids oooed in response as you sat next to your youngest bed. "I have a special guest," he continued and shifted the camera to the left, "Uncle Kyle is here and he'll be doing some of the voices." You waved as you saw the Sergeant appear on the screen. The kids screamed with happiness at the sight of their favorite uncle appearing. "Hi kids, I'm Goldilocks," he said in a high-pitched voice and you let out a small laugh. As soon as everyone settled, John prepared his best narrator voice and opened the book. "Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Goldilocks," he began. Before you knew it, he was reading the last few lines. By now, your children were fast asleep. The excitement from seeing their father and the laughter from Kyle's impressions had tuckered them out. You kissed them all gingerly before picking up your laptop and heading downstairs.

"Hi sweetheart," John said as you settled on the couch. "How are you doing?" you asked and his smile faltered a bit. "Tired, missing home," he replied and your heart ached slightly. "We miss you too, John," you whispered as you brought the device closer. "I'll be home soon, just have to tie up some loose ends," he noted. God you missed him. You knew what you had signed up for on your wedding day but these last few months had been hard. You sighed as he looked at your thoughtfully. "Want me to tell you a bedtime story?" he joked and that's how you fell asleep to your husband just talking.

soap

“Daddie daddie daddie!” is all the warning Johnny got before his two twins came running to him. “Slow down there, wee little ones,” he laughed as he went to pick them up in his arms. After four years, Johnny would never get tired of this. “Mammy did face paint with us,” his son said as Johnny examined his face. You had in fact painted their faces and they were excited to show their father. “Let’s get a proper look at both of you,” he said as he sat them both down on the kitchen counter. His kids smiled widely at him and he could see a collection of butterflies and bees on his son’s small face and hearts and flowers on his daughters.

“Where’s your mam now?” he asked as he lowered them off the counter. His daughter excitedly grabbed her dad’s hand and led him to the master bathroom. You stood there washing off your hands and brushes to see your tiny terrors dragging Johnny in. You smiled when you saw them tugging at your husband's arm. You put the brushes down as your twins jumped up and down in excitement. “Hi sweetheart, everything good at the brief?” you asked as you walked over and kissed his cheek. Your kids squealed in disgust and hid their eyes as he held your face gently. "All good, love," he replied, "now what's all this face paint business about?" You looked down to see your kids running around as if they were in a sugar rush. "Ah I had them lying around and they were getting antsy waiting for you," you said and gestured for the twins to settle down. As you continued to clean and chat with Johnny, your daughter had a brilliant idea.

"Mam, can you do some face paint on Daddie?" she asked sweetly and you looked over at Johnny who looked equally as excited. You sighed as you had just finished cleaning your brushes but you always folded for your children and your husband. "I guess I could," you said and the whole group cheered. You set up your station again and Johnny sat on the bathroom counter, leaning down so you could see his face. He squirmed a little under your grip and you ran your fingers over his stubble. "I could make something work," you said before pulling out the paints in your other hand and beginning your masterpiece. You made sure as you were painting to tell your kids not to ruin the surprise. Johnny held onto your waist as you painted. Your children moved around every so often to get a better angle of your work.

"And done," you said with a smile and he turned to look at himself in the mirror. "You've outdone yourself," he said as he examined the delicate brush strokes. "I wanna see!" your son called and Johnny hopped off the counter so they could get a better look. The twins gripped his cheeks and giggled at the splashes of yellow and blue and white. "It's a duck!" your daughter exclaimed. "It's a family of rubber ducks," you said as you bent down, "There's a daddie, a mammy, and two little ones following." They moved Johnny's face around to see the two parent ducks on one cheek and the two smaller ones on the other side. "That's us!" your daughter said as she touched the wet paint. She quickly rubbed it off on her dress and you sighed as you had just gotten them changed that morning. They ran to the playroom and before you could follow, Johnny held you back and kissed you. At first, you thought it was romantic but you soon realized he had brushed off the paint onto your face. "You're a bastard," you joked as you examined your face. "Ye but I'm yours," he said and you laughed as you went to follow your wild children.

gaz

"Shhh don't ruin the surprise," Kyle could hear you say as the door slowly cracked open. All morning, you and your daughter had worked on something special for him. According to your five-year-old, it was "Top Secret" and Kyle was happy to catch up on some shows while you and her worked in the living room. Your daughter jumped onto the bed as Kyle reached to pause his show and you joined soon after. "Okay it's time to close your eyes," she said and Kyle put his hands over his eyes. You smiled as you handed your daughter the masterpiece she had been working on. "You can open them now," she giggled and shoved the paper into his hands. "This is amazing Ivy," he said as you lay down next to them. "She made it all himself," you smiled as you turned to see the drawing.

Today was Kyle's last week before a long deployment and your daughter had wanted to give him something to have. All morning, she drew and colored a drawing of your family including your German Shepherd. The childish drawing had you and Kyle in front of your house and your daughter running around with your dog in a yard of green grass. Kyle kissed your head as your daughter described the scene and pointed out all the drawings. "...then we have mummy, she's wearing the green dress you got her," she said as she continued to point. "And who's that handsome guy?" Kyle said as he pointed to himself. Your son smiled up at you before replying. "That's you, Daddy," she said, "I wanted to draw your uniform but it was too hard so you're wearing a shirt and shorts." Kyle laughed as the drawing was surprisingly accurate, the clothes were things you wore daily and the house looked like the one you were sitting in.

"Well I'm sure my little artist is hungry," he said as he got up and placed your daughter on the ground. "Let's go out to eat today," he announced and your daughter jumped up and down. "I wanna pick out my outfit today," she triumphantly said before running off to her room. Kyle took this opportunity to grab you and hold you in his arms. "Thinking about another little one?" he joked and you laughed as you rolled over to face him. "Not when you're away," you exclaimed, "don't even get me started on the weird cravings Ives gave me." He kissed you gently and you knew you would revisit this as soon as he got back. "She doesn't want you to leave," you whispered after you sat in silence for a few moments. "I'm going to miss you too," he replied and held you closer into his chest. Parting was always such a bittersweet time for the family.

Before you knew it, Ivy came storming back into your bedroom. "Look at me!" she said as she twirled around. You and Kyle propped up to see her in a similar green dress. "Oh Ives, I told you that you were going to wear that when we picked up Daddy from the airport," you scolded but Kyle placed a gentle hand on your waist. "It's a special occasion though!" she exclaimed and you just smiled at her early surprise. "I love it, sweetheart," Kyle replied as he helped you up. "I only think it's fair if Mum wears her green dress," he smiled and kissed you on the forehead. Despite having the surprise ruined, you enjoyed walking around the streets of your town with your daughter in matching dresses and your husband lovingly smiling at you.

ghost

Simon woke up to hear the soft taps on the piano and your soothing voice guiding your son. “Alright sweetheart let’s try that again,” he heard your voice instruct as he played the beginning notes to Heart and Soul. Simon lay in bed for a while as he listened to the peaceful melody. He had been gone for too long and your son had gotten even better since he was last home. You were now able to play duets with him and didn't have to direct him through the sheet music. He smiled softly as he got out of bed and made his way down the stairs. He made sure to walk gently as to not disturb his two musicians. As he descended, you joined in with the duet and began to play the other notes. “Heart and soul, I fell in love with you,” you began and Simon heard your son's little voice join in. Your voice was light and it filled the home with life. When you were first pregnant and he found out it was a boy, Simon feared he would turn out like him but after seven years all of his worries were quelled.

"...and stole a kiss from the night," you both finished as Simon entered the living room. After a few years, you knew when Simon was watching so it didn't surprise you to see him in the doorway. "When did you learn that?" he asked as your son ran up to hug him. He held him to his leg as he watched you turn from the piano slowly. By now, you were about 7 months along and were clearly showing. In just a few more weeks, you would be welcoming a little girl. "I taught him a few weeks ago, he's a fast learner," you proudly announced as you closed the piano lid. "I can play two songs now," your son boasted as Simon lifted him up and tussled his dark hair. "Better than I could ever do," he replied and he lowered your son and made his way over to you. "We might just have to get you lessons, Elliott," you said as your son joined you back on the piano bench. He beamed at you as you looked at Simon's mini-me. "And soon we'll have our own little orchestra," you continued and patted your growing belly, "she loves when Elliott plays, I imagine she's dancing in there." In the morning sunlight, you looked radiant and Simon kissed your forehead gently.

As you shared a brief moment together, your son insisted on playing a new piece you had just started to teach him. "I don't know El, you heard how bad I was singing last week," you joked as he looked at you with puppy eyes. Eventually, you relented and you motioned for Simon to watch. You cleared your throat as your son stretched his fingers and found the starting notes. Simon's ears were soon filled with the melody of Edith Piaf's La Vie en Rose. He smiled softly as you soon began to sing. "Des yeux qui font baisser les miens," you began in an attempt at emulating Piaf's elegant French accent, "Un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche." He watched as Elliott's hands moved around the keys as you sang the romantic song. Despite not being as musically inclined, Simon recognized you were in the key of C, something you had taught him. He closed his eyes as you both continued to perform in sync, savoring the melody and your soft vocals. As soon as he finished with a few ending notes, Simon clapped softly. You and your son laughed as you bowed to your audience.

"It's still a work in progress," you laughed as scooted off the piano and joined next to Simon's side. As you enjoyed the soft moment with your head on his chest, Elliott posed a question. "What if we name the baby Rose," Elliott spoke up and you both thought for a moment. "But out of all the songs why Rose?" Simon asked as you looked at your son. "Mum's always so happy when she sings it, I think the baby would like it," he continued and Simon listened intently. You had been flipping through baby books for weeks and no one of them truly resonated. As you thought about the idea, you suddenly felt the baby kick and smiled. "I think little Rosie agrees," you said happily before sitting down. Simon joined on the other side of the piano and you three squished on the small bench. "Rose it is then," Simon said and enveloped you all in a hug. Before you could get up, your son had a brilliant idea. "Dad let me show you how to play 'Chopsticks'" he exclaimed and Simon knew he was trapped with his musicians.

[soolh1k]

Skz ghosting you ! (pt 2)

notes: english is not my first language so apologies for any misspelling or grammar. i hope u like it !! :))) this is only the hyung line

type: text post | narrated text

genre: kinda angsty but w fluff

WARNINGS: swearing, a little bit angsty, let me know if you'd like me to tag u :)

Hyung Line pt1 | Maknae Line pt1

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

ೋ Christopher Bang

Your heart ached. You knew he hadn't intentionally ignored you, but he did anyway. You really didn't know what to do. Maybe it had been a little immature to leave home without saying anything, but what he did wasn't very mature either.

Your head was a mess. You simply wanted to disappear from the face of the earth. You felt so many things at that moment. It was clear that you still loved him and would continue to do so for a long time. But if he had already hurt you once, what assured you that he wouldn't do it again? You were simply afraid. Maybe not only Chris was the problem, but both of you.

You had to return to his arms. It was clear. Despite the fear you had, the love you had for him was greater.

The doorbell rang throughout the apartment, catching Chris' attention. He quickly went to the door, hoping it was you on the other side. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened the door. A few minutes passed in which only you and he looked into each other's eyes, as if you thought it was all a dream.

"Hello, Chris," you said to break that eye contact.

"Oh my god, you're here, love. I thought I had lost you completely," a sad tone escaped his voice. He gently took your wrist and ushered you into his apartment, so you could talk comfortably.

"I also thought I had lost you, Chris. I really did, and it hurt like you have no idea. Every day without you is hell," you started to tell him, pain evident in your voice. "But it also hurt that you ignored me. You know I understand how complicated your job is, especially being the leader. I admire you so much. However, your job has been driving us apart for months. I don't want you to stop doing what you love because I know it makes you happy, and that makes me happy too. Clearly, I'm not going to make you choose between me and your work. That would be stupid. Can you just promise me something, Chan?" you asked, on the verge of tears. He was lost in his thoughts, realizing the damage he had been causing for months. Was he really that oblivious?

"Chris?" you called out to him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Darling, I would do anything for you. I wouldn't even have to think twice if I were given a choice between you and my work. You've always been my priority, and forgive me for not showing it. You're my everything. I shouldn't have neglected you from the beginning. You're the person who has always been there for me, supporting me in every decision I make, giving me love at every moment. I don't want you to leave. I want you here with me. I promise I'll change," your loved one replied almost instantly, shedding tears in the process.

"Chris, listen to me first," was your response to his heartfelt speech.

"Baby, please. I don't want us to end," he whined.

"Chris, listen to me," you repeated.

"I don't want to. If you're going to break up with me, I don't want to hear it."

"Christopher, I love you with all my being. I'm not going to break up with you. I just want you to promise me that you won't ignore me like that again. If I'm your priority, then love me as if it's the last thing you could do. Please."

"I promise, but never leave," he whispered as he hugged you.

"I'll never leave, Darling," you whispered back.

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

ೋ Lee Minho

One missed call after another, Minho had been looking for you for days, but it seemed like you wouldn't be returning anytime soon, which was tearing Lino apart. It was never his intention to hurt you; you would always be the only person he loved, so he couldn't let you walk away from him. Why did he have to ruin things? Everything was going so well, so why did he leave you without any specific reason? He felt like the worst person in the world.

All he needed right now was to find you and resolve things between you. He crossed seas and lands to locate you, only to find out that you were staying with your best friend since she couldn't find you at your apartment. He knocked on your friend's apartment door and waited patiently for it to open.

Your friend opened the door, visibly tired of seeing you in distress and falling into a depressive state because of the issue. She hadn't even realized that you had been sending messages.

"Please, fix things with her. She's been going through a really tough time," your friend told Minho.

"Believe me, I want to fix things with her." She simply nodded and let him go, informing him of your whereabouts. He quickly made his way to you.

"Angel, thank God you're okay. I was so worried," he exclaimed as he recognized your voice.

"Minho, what are you doing here?" you asked, upset, not because he was present, but because you looked terrible.

"I need to make things right with you, bunny. I messed up big time, and I can't express how sorry I am. You're the best partner I've ever had, and I don't want things to end between us. I need you in my life; you're the only thing that brings me happiness. I understand if you can't forgive what I did, but please, give me another chance," he said with so much pain, almost on the verge of tears.

"Minho, to be honest, I'm hurt by what you did, and I don't understand why. I thought everything was fine between us." Now you were the one on the verge of tears.

"I'll be honest with you because I love you. I was afraid, afraid that you would be hurt because of my work. The other day, Felix showed me everything they were saying about the girlfriend of an idol, and at that moment, I started thinking about what would happen if they found out about us. Would they hurt you like that? I didn't want to allow that, so I started to withdraw into my thoughts. I wanted to protect you, and my first instinct was to stay away so that those hurtful comments would never reach you. But I can't, I love you so much that my heart won't let me stay away. I'm sorry; I just wanted to protect you, but I did it in the worst way." The love of your life couldn't stop crying, and with everything he told you, you realized that neither of you was the problem.

"Why are you like this? Why do I have to love you so much, Minho? Come here, from now on, things will be better. We just need to talk about it, okay? Nothing will separate us. I love you so much," you reassured him and planted a tender kiss on his cheek.

"I love you too. I'm sorry," he replied, hugging you tightly.

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

ೋ Seo Changbin

Changbin didn't even dare to go home after what he did. He had truly hurt you, and he didn't know how to fix it. How could he have been so stupid? Did he distance himself from you just because he loved you? Wasn't that ridiculous? What was he doing with his life? Why wasn't he going to look for you? Those were some of the questions swirling in his mind at night. Lately, insomnia had prevented him from sleeping. He had been having sleepless nights, and every day away from you made him feel dead.

Chris advised him to go look for you before it was too late, but he already felt like a coward and firmly refused. It wasn't until Chan opened his eyes completely that he gave him a hypothetical situation where you both broke up in the worst possible way, even inventing that you could hate him. That day ended with him crying oceans, but with a clear mind, he knew what he had to do. He couldn't fail you once again, so he made his excuses and ran to his apartment. He had to apologize properly, he had to show you how much he loved you, that he would never hurt you again, and he wanted you to know that.

You were finishing up dinner, hoping that today your boyfriend would show up. You missed him so much and didn't want things to end badly between you. You didn't want to break up with him or for him to break up with you. You loved him too much, although you were afraid. He said he was afraid to love you. Was it because of something you did? Were you just a game to him? Why did this have to be happening, and why to you? You thought he really liked you, but his actions showed otherwise. Maybe it was all a bet, and being so naive, you gave him everything. You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn't even realize someone was knocking on the door.

"I'm coming!" you yelled as a warning, and you headed to the door and opened it. When you saw who was at the door, all you could do was sigh in disbelief.

"Sorry," was the first thing you heard from the person you had been waiting for so long. You couldn't even react when you felt him embrace you.

"I'm an idiot, forgive me. I don't know why I was scared," you began to hear small sobs, and that's when you realized Changbin was crying. So you let him in, offered him some water, and tried to calm him down.

"Tesoro, it's okay, don't worry, alright?" you reassured him, but he only became more agitated.

"Honey, it's not okay at all. It's not okay to ignore you or make you feel bad. I had no reason to be afraid of loving you. It's just the first time someone has made me feel this way, and it was pure panic because I didn't want to lose you, honey. I didn't want my insecurities to affect you, but I think that's all I did. God, I'm such a fool. Please forgive me." So it wasn't you, not a bet, none of that. It was just how you made him feel.

"Oh my god, I thought you didn't love me because you didn't like me. Tesoro, the next time you feel like that, just tell me. We can solve things in a better way. Don't doubt how much I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I love you, and I'm not afraid to say it. Please don't hate me. I want to be the man you spend the rest of your life with," he told you before giving you a small kiss.

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

ೋ Hwang Hyunjin

You knew how closed off he could be. At the beginning of your relationship, it was also very difficult to get him to communicate his feelings with you. It was as if someone had hurt him, and he continued to have the constant fear of talking to you and getting hurt. But it's clear that he knows you wouldn't do such a thing. It's clear that you are the love of his life. No one has ever evoked such feelings in him. Even in his worst moments, he was sure you wouldn't leave so easily. But he needed to meet you to solve his problems. He became so happy and relieved when you sent him an address, telling him to meet you there in 15 minutes.

"Did I make you wait for too long?" he heard behind him, startling him a little.

"No! Of course not. I would wait as long as needed for you, Belle," he said, getting up to greet you. He pulled out your chair, waited for you to sit, and then sat down himself.

"I missed you so much, Hyunnie," you said, looking outside, avoiding eye contact.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what happened to me. My mind just wouldn't let me do anything. It was like I ceased to exist for a couple of days. I didn't talk to anyone, literally, not even the guys. I know I should have told you that I wasn't feeling well to avoid worrying you, but I truly couldn't. I didn't even want to look at my phone. Nothing was motivating me," he said, his head down, afraid to see your reaction.

"Handsome, don't worry about that. I just want to know why you're feeling like this," you understood that he hadn't been okay with himself lately, so he couldn't be okay with anyone else until he resolved his internal conflicts.

"Oh God, if I say it, I'm going to start crying, Belle."

"And I'll be here to comfort you, my love. Please, talk to me."

"Everything they say about me on social media, they hate me so much, and I can't stand it. Do you hate me?" you could hear the brokenness in his voice.

"Of course not. I could never hate you, Hyunjin. You're the most precious person in my life and probably in the lives of many others. Don't pay attention to them. Those people are just filled with envy. They're jealous because they can't be you. Literally, they're sitting at home, commenting stupid things, while you're touring the world. They're just bitter. So don't listen to them. Many of your fans are doing everything they can to make all of you happy. I love you, okay?" you assured him, taking his hand and kissing it.

"I'm truly sorry. I love you so much. Like I said, I'm yours, and I'll continue to be for the rest of my life. Please love me the same way. Stay with me. In the future, be my wife," Hyunjin declared, looking directly into your eyes.

"I love you like no one else in this world, Hyunjin. In the future, let's be happier than ever."

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

Tags !!

@albaficaslover

@marcillfll

@str4wb3rryc0ww

@damselettism

[y-rhywbeth2]

I know we sickos all love the tragic memory of Durge killing their parents as a child, but honestly - as a lover of interpreting Durge as a tragic eldricht horror cuckoo/changeling creature - my favourite memory is baby Durge playing tag with the other children in a "time before Bhaal".

They're being gentle with their friends, but the narration explicitly describes them as hunting and compares them to a predator. If Durge pities their child self the narration just goes: "Mayhaps that child was already a murderer." "Oh, sorry, did you think this was a happy memory?" asks the game before it points and laughs at your naivete.

You pair that with the little cuckoo killing their foster parents and it's very much like somebody took in a baby predator. Sure, it hasn't grown into its claws and aggression but then we reach the starting point of puberty and suddenly the once cuddly baby is a danger to everyone around it.

Oh, except that apparently there's a chance that Durge was already killing things as a baby!

We know they were aware of Sceleritas following them around when they were young, occasionally talking to them as he does in the dead family memory - even if he hadn't presented himself yet. Even if he doesn't always speak, did Durge grow up seeing him out of the corner of their eye?

The fun thing about Durge is that we get to make our own character out of the scraps we're given, so all of it is up to us to decide for our own characters/playthroughs.

I interpret Durge as being like the Bhaalspawn we meet in Throne of Bhaal, Gavid, and the 3.5e tieflings - they've always known they were different. Always had dark urges and whispers in their mind, coming from the essence in their blood.

Kids have accidents around them, pets go missing. Maybe they have black outs, maybe they're aware but can't stop (small children aren't exactly masters of impulse control). We know from a later memory that Durge feels self-hatred regarding their urges, so presumably they learnt enough to know this is wrong and feel guilt. Do they still feel pain and nausea if they resist? I'm going to assume for my own take that since they got the Urge back then, they did.

I wonder if their family ever took them to wizards and clerics, trying to find out if their child was cursed?

Then that family dies. Violently. Graphically. Another tragic accident taking place around the twitchy weird kid who sees monsters and hears voices.

If you play paladin then the Oathbreaker Knight tells you that you've broken your oath multiple times, so I assume that these disasters didn't stop happening.

And judging from the fact that they showed uncharacteristic compassion to a homeless person at the peak of their "I'm such an evil bastard villains like Elder Brains and the God of Tyranny are impressed" era, I think that Durge ended up homeless themselves at some point between losing their parents and joining the temple (I'm also pretty sure that's the period of their life the cannibalism memory happened in).

And then they "came of age" (I recall the age of majority being 15 in the Realms at some point, but can't find that anywhere so don't take my word for it) and Sceleritas introduces himself, and it's time for a family history lesson that explains everything and Orin gets a sibling she absolutely never wanted, ever - put that thing back in the ditch it came from, so help me.

[sophies-junkyard]

NOBODY ASKED but… Obviously Simon’s arc in adventure time solidified the series as one of greatest of all time (and I’m so hyped for this ice king sadness renaissance) but now I’m thinking of OTHER Adventure Time moments that rewired my brain as a kid. In no particular order:

1. “Once the strong guys got it how they liked it they said ‘this is fair now. This is the law.’ Once they were winning they changed the rules”. They really had the cartoon dog say that on tv in 2014.

2. “People get built different. We don’t have to understand it, we just gotta respect it”

3. The entirety of All The Little People. That shit was absolutely nuts for a kids show but also like…. I can’t articulate the lesson I just know there was one and it haunted me. The danger of the human ego. Hubris. Irreverence. Don’t play god bro.

4. Lady and Peebles. When PB ripped Ricardio’s leg off and bashed his skull in with it. And it was so hardcore they edited it out of the episode. Bro. I remember watching that after school one day and how my jaw just DROPPED at a PRINCESS being so brutal. They let her be so fucking angry and that was a game changer.

5. [Finn, about a horrific memory] “that one’s going in the vault. Aaaaaaaaaandd. It’s gone.” I quote that CONSTANTLY. It’s a great way to bring levity to a bad situation, but also forces me to go “hey wait a sec that’s not gonna work forever”. Things don’t stay in the vault.

6. Puhoy. He lived an entire life in that pillow world. He had kids. And then it’s just gone like a dream.

7. The deer. It was probably my first real introduction to horror. The hand wiggle. You all know exactly what I’m referencing. Were the candy people stuck in that well for 6 months???

8. What Was Missing!! Obviously now because it foreshadowed (and confirmed past) Bubbline, but back then just because it was so good??? IMO, this is the episode that defined WHO our main cast was, and how their relationships needed to grow for them to be content. It set up the next 6 years of the show! Plus it gave us 2 absolute BANGERS. Ugh i rewatched that recording so many times it wasn’t even funny.

9. Ghost Princess. Really just for the line where he sounds like he’s gonna shit his pants remembering his death and then in a clear narrator voice he’s like “I was a broken man.”

10. The pajama war episode. Now I’m doing this from memory so I could be wrong, but I think this really marks the start of Finn growing up. “I’ve really enjoyed just… hanging out with you.” The ability to start over with someone you’ve got complicated history with. The kindness. The growth from both of them!! It’s a direct parallel of episode 1 but their tones couldn’t be more different and I love it.

11. The slow and horrifying realization that The Mushroom War was nuclear Armageddon. Mushroom clouds. That went so far over my head as a kid even though they reference it constantly. It finally clicked during “I remember you”. Which I am NOT gonna go into because holy fuck that’s like 18 posts on its own.

12. Goliad! A child mirroring EVERYTHING they see, for better or worse. Seeing Jake in a bad moment screaming at the kids and goliad absorbing that behavior. Seeing she can use fear to control people. Also PB was Fucking Crazy! Her line “I’m not gonna live forever… I would if I could” is even more unhinged when we learn (like years later) that she’s already 900 years old. But she does physically age so I guess there’s that. The Suitor also falls into this category of episodes.

Ok getting into some of the more talked about moments

1. OK I LIED I have to talk about I remember you. I was 11 years old. I turned on the new adventure time episode like usual. 10 minutes later I was grappling with a grief I had never imagined before. Absolutely BAWLING not just for Simon and Marceline (the PLOT), but for what it showed me. The reality that every kid tries not to think about: your loved ones will leave you someday, even if they don’t want to. It’s an episode that becomes more powerful with every year I get older. To get a bit personal, dementia has completely taken my grandparents from me. I’ve seen sides of my grandfather that should never have existed, and I must constantly forgive him for what he does… now that he doesn’t remember me. And someday it’ll be my parents. That’s just the way of the world, ya know? Anyways, I remember my mom got home right as the credits were rolling and we had a long talk about keeping people alive with memory, mortality, and how the future was far away and we should decide on dinner lmao.

2. The Hall of Egress. I was almost 15. Life was changing. I was changing, and it was strange and frightening. That feeling where you know you’re losing your childhood but you just want to cling to it. Follow the same old familiar path, stick with what’s comfortable. But life doesn’t work that way. It took me years to really understand this episode and it’s symbolism. Honestly I still don’t think I could fully explain it. It’s like. How do I put this. I was so glad to be in the target age group in that moment. I was so glad that something I was growing up with was assuring me “you’re changing, but we’re changing too”. And isn’t that the theme of adventure time? Everything stays, but it still changes.

3. The absolute horror of Ferns existence. He’s Finn, but he’s wrong and warped. All those memories of the people he loves and they can’t stand to be in the same room as him.

4. Susan Strong. The introduction of a RUNNING PLOT. The show up to that point had really been so goofy and so monster of the week. I think the only really plot heavy episode before this one was It Came From the Nightosphere? And then suddenly they call into question the fact that Finn really is the ONLY HUMAN in all of OOO. And then… is he? It was SUCH a departure from the usual tone. Ending that episode with him reaching below her hat and gasping in shock, but never telling the audience what he found. And then she’s just gone. Which leads us to Islands!

5. Min and Marty. Second saddest episode in the entirety of adventure time, made worse because you know exactly how this family is gonna end up. There’s SO MUCH to dissect about Martins behavior in the series. A reformed con artist receives a traumatic brain injury while attempting to save his son. They’re both lost at sea, and he never looks for him. Was it the emotional trauma? Was it the physical damage? Meanwhile a mother loses her husband and her child in a single night and never EVER learns why. Nobody but Martin knows what happened that night. Also Finns fear of the ocean from season 1 is finally explained. 7 years of ignoring Finns origins and then they throw you THIS??? Watching it live was unreal.

Anyways I’m sure I’ll think of more. I might add on to this later for my own sake lmao, but I’d love to hear other peoples formative moments, quotes, episodes, etc. I really just needed to dump this information out of my brain so I can get on with my week.

[uhzuku]

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒. | 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔-𝐍𝐘𝐀.

𝐂𝐖 ‼️ | hybrids, hybrid au, no quirks, cat hybrid aizawa, hurt slight comfort, shou-nya lore drop ( aka u finally learn abt nem n zashi ).

“It wasn’t just me.”

Shouta’s voice breaks the long silence that had been perpetuated by nothing but the soft sounds of the accented narrator speaking about penguins and other arctic life from the television. You jump, startled by him speaking all of a sudden when you’d thought him asleep; you’d been cozy on the armchair in the corner of the living room, tapping away at your laptop and scribbling rapid notes into a notebook as you worked from home, and Shouta had been dozing on the couch the last time you’d glanced up. 

“Oh?” Is your only response, low and dumb-sounding in your surprise; Shouta wasn’t one for sharing information about his past, so this was mostly new for you. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly, playing with the hem of the blanket he’d wrapped himself up in. He's quiet for a long time, seemingly pondering what to say next, and then, “There were three of us — four, before the accident, but three now.” He suddenly looks uncomfortably wistful — and pained. So pained. “Then. Three then. Now it’s just me.”

Your heart aches for him, despite what little you know. you weren’t an idiot, just from the mere sight of him and his missing eye and limb ( and God, all the scars; some of them  must have been agonizing ) you knew his life hadn’t been easy — and yes, you’d known he’d not gone into the shelter alone thanks to the manager ( though you’d only been informed of him being brought in as a part of a trio, not one amongst four ), but despite that he was a complete question mark, a mystery you’d yet to solve. “You aren’t…” you hesitate as he looks up at you through a curtain of hair reminiscent of the first time the two of you had locked eyes in the shelter, then force yourself to continue. “You aren’t alone anymore. You have me, if you want me.”

Another silence falls over the two of you. You don’t take his lack of a response as any sort of slight, considering he isn’t a chatterbox by any means ( and likely hadn’t ever been, if you were as good of a judge of character as you thought you were ), but still don’t return to your laptop. You instead gaze at him through the silence, eyes soft and considering, as he repetitively glances up to lock eyes with you before looking away. 

“I had a friend. Her name was Nemuri,” he offers quietly, and you try to control your facial expressions; him sharing names, something he clutched tightly against his chest, was a big step. “I met her first.” He goes quiet and blinks towards the window; you pretend like you don’t see how his eyes are growing misty. “Her fur was blue-black, like the sky in the middle of the night, and she was a short-haired hybrid. Her eyes were blue…” he trails off, his thick tail lashing anxiously as he slowly starts to breath hard in what looks like the beginnings of a small panic attack. “Hizashi was the other. He was blond and long-haired, more than me. He had green eyes, like spring grass…”

Shouta’s visibly trembling now, and you feel almost sick. Quietly you say, “Are you — no. What is it, Shouta? What’s wrong?” It’s the correct thing to ask, you discover a tiny bit later. He’s quiet for a long time — a really long time. His eyes are wide and panicked and wet, and he looks on the brink of tears as he gazes out the window into the trees on the edge of the backyard of your property. 

“I can’t,” he whispers quietly, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion as a soft sniff escapes him. “I can’t remember their faces very well anymore — just their eyes, and their fur.” Your heart plummets to your stomach, sharp and cold like a stone coated in ice, as he continues, voice shaking ever so slightly. “Their voices are gone too. It’s been so long…”

Slowly you stand, allowing him to show any signs of being against you going to sit with him. He does nothing but watch out the window, and you sit next to him on the couch gently and pretend you don’t feel when he sags i to you. 

“You speak about them in the past tense,” you say slowly, not wanting to push too far but still so curious,  “Are they…?”

“Might as well be,” he says bitterly, still staring blindly out the window, and the ache in your heart strengthens. “They were taken years ago and I’ve never seen them since.”

“That doesn’t mean that they died, Shouta,” you say as gently as you can manage, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, clearly holding back all of the big emotions he was feeling. 

“No, but it’s easier.”

“It’s easier to assume they’re dead?” you question softly. 

He nods. “Yeah. Makes it easier. Dead means they’re not out there somewhere, possibly being hurt again. Dead means they’re with—“ He stops himself, almost choking on nothing, and looks away. You want to ask who they could be with, but know you’ve already pushed your luck on sensitive subjects today, and wisely choose to refrain. 

“Do you remember what they were like?” you ask, already knowing the answer, and you warm up inside when he huffs out a tiny laugh and smiles fondly at his hands, visibly losing some of the tension in his shoulders as he melts against you further. Instinctively you begin rubbing gently between his ears, and he snatches up on of your hands to hold in his own, picking at the edges of your fingernails and silently comparing them to his own claws.  

“Yes. They were loud and loved smiling, and they were… they were like the Sun,” he finally says honestly, his voice gooey and soft with a love and reverence you so desperately hoped his former companions had when speaking of him to their owners. “My entire life endlessly revolved around them, they were the only thing that ever mattered to me…” He fixes his one-eyed gaze on you, soft and contemplative. “I suppose you’re my Sun now.”

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠���𝐭 © { 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 } 𝐛𝐲 𝟒𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[anthroposeen]

tmagp 12 relisten notes

Celia:

- requests tea, not coffee, the OIAR custom. points to her being from the TMA universe + bonus thing! there was no tea in the OIAR and sam lended her some. potentially a demonstration of their relationship dynamic lore-wise (celia representing other-wordly things and sam's insistence on interacting w them. this is definitely a reach, though, since im very much a 'the curtains are never just blue' person)

- she agrees to go out with sam but needs to "sort some things out" maybe related to jack, georgie, or her individual research

Sam:

- he asked her out! oh my god (alice's father)!

- is trying to distance himself from the magnus institute (TMI) but is still unable to break his curiosity about it

Alice:

- watched sam ask out celia (we can assume it was with the manner of a deer in the headlights)

- "its rude to have no game" i love you maam

- no glitch after she says "i cant believe im missing out on all of this- devastating" but could be because it comes off as more sarcastic than a blunt lie

- "we dont always get what we want, do we?" potentially a hint at her feeling about sam

- "i go by alice, now, actually" important only because i adore you miss dyer

- seems to genuinely care about gwen, lending to the idea that shes protecting her coworkers

- "i dont wonder. i know" no glitch followed this statement. it could be because it was meant as a joke and not to deceive gwen, but who is to say

Gwen:

- she's trying to discuss the morality of their roles and seems to be unhappy to participate in mascot strip club murder

- "you dont wonder what the point is? who benefits from all this awfulness?"

Glitches/lies:

- "dont worry about it, it wasnt that bad" alice, referencing TMI

- "no." sam, lying about not being interested in information about TMI

Incident:

- this is the result of gwen giving mr bonzo the hit, and it seems to have been read at her computer (once again implying theres a consciousness within FR3D1 or jmj)

- incident made by jordan bennett -> maybe related to this universe's bennett family (connection to barnabas bennett) but i doubt its lore relevant

- no obvious alchemic ties in this incident

- this case is narrated by norris/martin, but goes against the regular theme of his incidents (lonliness, loss of a loved one)

- the robotic sound of the narration seems to be diminishing, with very little of the beginning and end of the incidents being read in a monotone and robotic voice

- i want to voice my deepest appreciation for the title being "getting off", along with mr bonzo initiating a hit for the uk government in a strip club. incredible. absolute cinema from the minds of AJN and johhny sims truly

The target:

- before this episode, my theory was that klaus, colin, and teddy were the most likely to be the hit

- based on this list, if the target is the groom, it makes the most sense for it to be klaus, since there has been no mention of colin or teddy being engaged, and thats a clue i dont think the writers would leave out. however, the groom is called "baz" by his friends, which is a nickname i dont recognize (but its potentially on the rpg somewhere?)

- im not very convinced that klaus was the groom in this incident. i think the hit may have been obvious to lena, but gwen has yet to connect all the dots, leaving the audience a bit in the dark as well

[chuckeroo777]

Slay the Princess- Voice Rankings

Slay the Princess has been one of my fixations for a while, and for good reason. It is such a complex, well written, and funny game. So, why not rank all the voices? Maybe I'll do another one later with the princesses.

13. Voice of the Opportunist

God I hate this guy. Despite being involved in all three of my favorite routes (Razor, Thorn, Dragon), he is the worst. Seriously, despite his best attempts to butter everyone up, he only manages to make himself the most hate-able voice. He pretty much never misses an opportunity to betray everyone.

12. Void Narrator

This is the thing that gives narration whenever the Narrator vanishes. Might not be an actual voice. Honestly, I only included it so that Opportunist could be lower.

11. Voice of the Hunted

He's alright. Never exactly a bad voice to have around, he's mostly rated this low because he's boring. Between his soft voice and one-track mind, there isn't really much to say.

10. The Narrator

Ah, Mr. The Narrator, if that even is his real name. He's exactly the sort of guy you love to hate. His intentions are noble, if misguided. I ultimately believe he is in the wrong, though I can't exactly blame him. He's a lot of fun to mess with. Would probably be higher, but evidence points to him being a false voice, so he loses points for that.

9. Voice of the Skeptic

Skeptic seems like a really good voice to have to solve the mysteries of the construct. Until it turns out he isn't. Seriously, he is worse than the contrarian when it comes to making spiteful decisions. If the narrator says something, he immediately wants to do the opposite. He acts like a know-it-all, but really, he knows nothing.

8. Voice of the Cold

Similar to hunted, Cold is just a little boring sometimes. His calm collected manner is helpful sometimes, but really, he's just kinda there sometimes. He is particularly fun in the grey.

7. Voice of the Broken

A lot higher than I thought he would be. Broken is a simp and a whiner, but he is really funny sometimes. His performance in razor and fury are particularly entertaining.

6. Voice of the Cheated

Cheated is not a helpful voice. He's a salty gamer who would totally sling racial slurs at the narrator if he knew any. The reason he's so high is because he is really funny. Flinching? Never heard of him.

5. Voice of the Stubborn

The second horniest voice, stubborn knows exactly what he wants. He always brings a lot of passion, determination, and drive, though he can be a pain to deal with if you don't actually want to fight.

4. Voice of the Paranoid

Paranoid is a voice that might seem annoying at first, but he is probably the best voice to have your back. Better at deductions than skeptic, better at keeping you alive than hunted, pretty funny at times too, paranoid has it all.

3. Voice of the Smitten

As much as I kinda hate this guy, there is no denying that every word that comes out of smitten's mouth is pure gold. Would probably be number 1 is not for his... uncomfortable behavior in happily ever after, putting it lightly.

2. Voice of the Hero

Sometimes the straight man can be boring, but in hero's case, he is a delight throughout the whole game. Adorably innocent, abundantly reasonable, and always wanting to do the right thing, Hero is a steadfast companion, and is funny to boot.

Voice of the Contrarian

I just love this guy. Contrarian never takes anything seriously, but at the same time, is generally never a hindrance (except in razor, but no one was salvaging that one). He's just here to have a good time, and I love that about him. Only downside is how few routes he shows up in.

Honorable Mention: The Princess

She occasionally slips into the role of a voice in your head. But she is not you. She doesn't count, despite how much I love her.

[cosmiiqueer]

replaying mcsm!

i havent touched this game in about 3 years and now im going back through it because i have terrible terrible brainrot

ep 1

-i still had the opening narration memorized oh my god

-THE OLD MINECRAFT TEXTURES DISTRACTED ME SO MUCH absdfkhsh i kept being like :0 old cobblestone texture! when i was supposed to be making choices

-the original oots are all so goofy

-REUBEN, ,, ,, gently holds. baby. protect baby at all costs.

-petra and lukas and their whole thing still make me so insane

-the animation has some really nice little details that i don't remember ever paying attention to before, like jesse's wooden sword breaking in half before poofing. it's a nice blend of minecraft logic and irl logic i think.

-also girl i KNOW you have the materials for a stone sword! you cannot convince me that wooden sword is your best option

-i played mcsm on a tablet in ye olde days, and even though i have played it on a computer before, im not fucking good at it !!! kept almost missing or fully missing arrows and embarrassing myself lmao

-i forgot how unnecessarily STACKED the va cast is like. matt mercer how did you get here

-i love ivor i love ivor so much he is so dramatic

-"ashley johnson sounds like she's trying really hard to sound cool" -my partner. ohhhh he's right. she does.

-i don't actually ship jesstra (kind of over shipping in general) but jesse having a huge dumbass crush on petra is a headcanon i still enjoy. she's silly.

-yes i always play as fem jesse i simply cannot handle oswald's voice for long stretches of time

-I LOVE THE MUSIC SO MUCH, ,, I REALLY MISSED IT. it's so GOOD. i love how many characters and things have their distinct themes, i love how it sounds similar to minecraft music, i'm just literally obsessed with it. ep 1 alone doesn't really have tracks that i go specifically insane over (thats more in s2) but boy does it have some iconic ones. like look me in the eyes and tell me ivor's theme isn't iconic. you can't.

-like i forgot how melancholic the order's temple track is?? that one gave me the most intense 'im still fourteen playing this game for the first time' feeling that i really wasn't expecting

-who in the ocelots had the legit redstone knowledge to make a working rainbow beacon. which one. i need to know.

-truly love the moment of lukas being like "if you're cool with petra, you're cool with us :D" while the other three are standing behind him, VISIBLY not cool with you. peak comedy.

-axel and olivia are the funniest bitches here. some of the jokes fall pretty flat but they definitely have the most lines that do make me laugh

-lukas and axel are such highschool mean girls to each other. calm down.

-heading to Boomtown because i literally don't remember a thing about it lmao

-i still love this game a lot. i stopped hyperfixating on it around 2019-2020, and replaying it back in 2021 didn't rekindle the intense interest i used to have in it. but god, i missed it a lot. i think it's really fun to rediscover something you used to love so much and i'm looking forward to continuing when i have time

[colonelpancakes]

Watching The Dragon Prince Season Six Part Seven: The Red Wedding. The title of this episode makes me so nervous nothing bad better happen to Amaya and Janai at their wedding.

Okay, first of all, that is NOT Rayla narrating I don’t know what the subtitles are on about, I’m 99.9% sure that’s Ezran.

Skjfklsa I love Rayla, she has absolutely no intentions of getting up, she is way too comfy.

Aww Sneezles.

Also “There’ll be more kisses later” I love how the second they officially get together, Callum and Rayla resume their status as world’s sappiest, most clingy couple.

UHHH. Wait a second. Is Kosmo just. not telling them about the Pearl before they leave?

...That seems like a really bad idea. They’re going to find out eventually and it's a huge potential risk to, you know, have Aaravos’s magic prison in the castle basement and not know it?? Kosmo, telling Callum before the star-truth ritual was a bad idea but you gotta tell him EVENTUALLY. KOSMO!!

I love themmmm 🥹.

Also, yeah, Kosmo just did not tell them. Um. That may become a bit of a problem later.

Hello bitch. Nice to see you again.

Do some of them not know the plan? They seem very surprised to see Sol Regem. Did no one tell them??

Wait, shit, who the fuck is Pharos? I do not remember, I really should have rewatched season five before starting season six. Oh well, hopefully I’ll figure it out...?

Karim, man, that seems like the type of thing you should NOT be staring directly into. That cannot be good for your eyes.

Oh Dang. That was way more powerful than I thought it was going to be

ON HER WEDDING DAY???? YOU HAVE TO DO THIS ON YOUR SISTER’S WEDDING DAY? You cant have a single modicum of politeness and at the bare minimum choose a day that your sister’s NOT getting married on? KARIM.

I also love the continuity of Corvus playing the cello from Breathtaking

Aanya!! I’ve missed her!!

God, I wanna try Sunfire wedding cake too. I want to know what fire tastes like. Also, I think Aanya’s voice has gotten deeper since her last appearance and I really love it. It’s just really melodic and nice to listen too.

Amaya!!! Janai!! They look so good!!

Sjalskfjl I love them.

“Two very special people helped us bridge our differences and understand one another before we learned to do it on our own.” I love them giving Gren and Kazi parts in the wedding so much and how they’re doing both a traditional human wedding ceremony and a traditional Sunfire wedding ceremony.

Also, I know Kazi was confirmed to be nonbinary by the creators but I think this is the first time their pronouns are actually used in the show! Yay!

BAIT! NOOOOO! The wedding food!! I really hope that didn’t include the Sunfire wedding cake

“So, how are affairs in Katolis?” “Oh. Affairs are well, fair.”

This is the royalty equivalent of when someone asks you how it’s going and your life is on fire but you can’t say that so you just reply with “it’s going.” This is an SOS call, someone get Ezran a hug and like. Some cold apple juice. And maybe a therapist. Definitely a therapist.

Aww, Aanya and Ezran’s friendship is so precious. I’m glad that they each have someone who understands what it’s like being a child ruler. They’re so cute.

I love seeing the Sunfire wedding custom and I love Kazi so much.

Zym stomping his little feet so that he can clap!!!

Aww Grennnn. He’s so sweet I love him.

COME ON! Really Karim?? In the middle of their WEDDING?? Let my girls have a nice wedding ceremony! Let them get married and not have to worry about the safety of their nation! Please!

Poor Janai and Amaya but especially poor Janai. Imagine finally deciding to get married after putting off scheduling your wedding because Something is always happening in your kingdom, only to have your fuckass brother decide to take a sixth of your army and invade your fucking kingdom ON YOUR WEDDING DAY right as you’re about to start the vows. I deeply admire the composure of these women, I would have lit something on fire by now.

Karim, shut the fuck up. You are one of the least righteous people out there. You have done nothing but be wrong for this entire arc.

Okay, so I guess that guy is Pharos. I remember absolutely nothing about him I forgot he was a recurring character until right now skjfalskj

OH WAIT, FUCK, What happened there???? I cannot remember for the life of me who this guy is gosh dangit. Curse my stupid gosh dang memory

(It should be noted that, although I haven’t mentioned it thus far, I am watching this season with my family. My brother says that he thinks maybe the guy got bitten by the dark-magic zombies at the great bookery in season five? That sounds like it could be right so I’m gonna go with that for now. I’ll check when I’m done with the episode.)

Ough… My heart. I love the character growth Amaya has gone through so much.

Okay, go, but maybe take Aanya and Zym with you. Just for safety. Also, nooo, this means Ezran doesn’t get to see his aunt get married. Give my boy a break! Please, just let him have a good time where nothing goes horribly wrong 😭

Oh, Corvus and Aanya works too! I love Ezran so much. He’s hopeful and kindhearted but he’s not naive. He goes to negotiate with Karim using words rather than violence, but he takes Corvus and Aanya for backup in case things escalate.

Continued in reblogs!