#Yes all of those tags are in order if you were curious

[gachaparadise]

I've been doing interludes lately (as you do during an interlude campaign) and the gap in quality and character analysis is insane sometimes. I did Qsh and Nezha's back to back and... Night and day over here. Qsh's was so charming and showed me a new side of my beloved moth, as well as some really cute gap moe moments. Nezha's was boring, hardly focussed on them at all, and made the same tired jokes about their gender over and over... Even the blurb on their profile you get after it's complete does it orz

[khaire-traveler]

I'm curious because someone recently made the comment that it's only fair for Lord Charon to expect money in return for his services, but this system would actually raise a lot of questions. If you're curious, some questions I thought of are featured below.

(For the record, I still believe Charon deserves recognition for what he does; it's just the coin system doesn't actually make sense when you start examining it closely.)

Please reblog! 🧡 I want to hear everyone's opinions on this.

Not every Underworld god is paid for their labors. Some aren't even given offerings anymore, their names tragically lost to time. So, why is Lord Charon specifically mentioned to require coins for his ferry? Why not Lord Haides, for entry to his domain? Or Lord Thanatos for deliverance of one's soul? Or Lord Hermes for transportation from the mortal realm to that of the dead? Why not Cerberus for letting you through The Gates (he is a sentient being, btw, for those who seem to think he's just a random three-headed dog)?

Does The Underworld have an economy? Why does it need an economy based on coins from the material plane/Earth? How does it even determine currency value?I mean, just imagine how many different people from different countries would have gone to The Underworld and paid with coins over thousands upon thousands of years.

Does payment have to be coins, or is there maybe some other form payment you can provide? Does the value of the item have to be monetary, or can it be something that meant a lot to you in life? More of a metaphorical release of the material plane, in a sense, as you trade off something that ties you to Earth and are officially transported to "The Other Side".

How do you get physical coins onto a spiritual plane?

Why would Charon need coins from the surface world? Does he maybe just have a sick coin collection from over thousands of years of human history?

What about our ancestors who were alive before the invention of monetary coins; were they just expected to stand at the shore for 100 years for not having something that didn't exist yet?

Speaking of the last question, where do animals go? How do they get across the river Styx?

Why would the afterlife require money in order for you to enter it properly? That seems kind of fucked up and more like something a bunch of old men wrote down to declare the wealthy more important than the poor, no?

If this is really just a job for Lord Charon (who is a son of Nyx, mind you), that implies that maybe Lord Haides (or whomever oversees that) could hire others to help him. Is there more than one ferryman on the river Styx? What is their average hourly pay? How can I apply, and does anyone have any interview tips? Seems to me that it'd be based on commission.

Do you think the spirits on the riverbank get bored of waiting? What do you think they do for 100 years to pass all that time? 🤔

[bcacstuff]

What a cringe fest that event was. What are your thoughts on the booze party?

While Anon 1 is mostly referring to the Steak&Whisky event, and Anon 2 wants my opinion about 'him' last week,I rather prefer to share my overall thoughts about the NYC Wine & Food Festival based on what I saw from all the footage I've watched on several accounts. As I do think, most people here in this fandom only saw the footage posted in the fandom, (including on my blog). So maybe to give a bit a broader view on it and put things more into perspective, these are my thoughts

First of all, last year the SS brand was presented at the festival as well, but it didn't get any exposure at all! It was nowhere exposed on the main accounts, like the nycwff one on IG. Only Chrissy and Melanie were there and all I've seen from their private accounts back then was them going over the festival tasting all the brands... Not once did I see anybody posting about the SS booth (apart from a very few OL/SH fan accounts). Sam, who had been in town in the days before was gone for a vacation at Nevis exactly the day the event started! Something I thought was a missed opportunity, strange and not very smart back then.

It's a very large event, many booths, even more brands and bars/restaurants promoting their business.

And being present promoting your brand, especially when you seek more exposure and want to build your brand beyond the current customer base (read the OL fandom) is a good opportunity to present your brand to a wider public.

It was a 4 days event, 17 - 20 October. I watched the location and the nycwff account and tags to see if there was any exposure on the days before (and after) he was at the booth. But not much was there to see about his brand. Only the SS account posted a video on the 2nd day, which at least showed the booth styled by Ally Amenta, which was compared to last year, an improvement.

Seeing a working team behind it was as well something new. Of course it helps a lot when he's there himself in order to get exposure.

But mind you, most of it were on OL/SH fan accounts. Little on the main nycwff account or location tagged accounts.

Sure, being a 'special' guest on one of the evening events of the festival helps as well. Yes, there were several events, dinners going on in the evening during the festival. Most themed based and one more luxurious than the other.

The Steak& Whisky event was presented by A.1. Sauce and hosted by Robert Irvine. Advertised as an indulgent and sumptuous evening centered around steak and whisky, a walk-around dinner event. Which comes down to a number of tables that presented their produce, steak and whisky. All sponsoring the event of course. People could get their food and whisky at those tables walking around.

You might have gotten the idea that it was all about him, and of course he did get the usual acclaim when arriving and dare I say goofing around. But not only his whisky was presented and promoted on the event, a number of others as well. In fact I was watching the nycwff account live all the time, they posted several stories of this event (as well the other events going on). I saw several whisky brands being posted, but after his arrival I didn't see anything about the SS brand!

Compared to other tables which, dare I say, looked a lot classier, the SS table looked quite chaotic when he was playing 'bartender'

Okay, you say because all the fans around it, yes exactly that - fans-and yeah the dancing... what can I say 🤐🙈

and of course there was steak, and when I say steak... I mean...

I'm more curious though how the random visitor, the ones not knowing him or OL, go home and still remember the brand they might have tasted amongst countless others? I don't know if there were any giveaways or marketing materials handed out which the random visitor could take home to at least remember the name. The Sassenach isn't the most easiest name to remember when you're not an OL fan or never heard of it. And how many times have we seen his name spelled the wrong way... 🤐

And does the visitor know where to go, where to find his product? We know it's not available in every liquor store around the corner, and how many like to order their liquor on the internet? That's if they can find out where to order it! His only exposure is in fact mainly on IG, on the SS account, and his account. They're stories and posts but not really advertisements (as in #ads which will popup randomly on your timeline). And if you check the Datareportal, you'll find out that Instagram is only the 4th social media platform actively used.

A number of bars were listed on his and the SS account, but just 11 bars in NYC (and mind you half of them are owned by friend chef Paul Donnelly), does the random visitor know where to go and order his booze in a bar? Do they order his booze in a bar at all? I have my doubts here... you can be optimistic, and perhaps I'm wrong 🤷‍♀️ I'm afraid though when the random visitor can not find much about it, he/she will quickly forget about it and move on to the next thing.

All in all, good event for promo, but doubts and question marks about the follow up on my part, which imho is equally important. But who knows.... According to Frank Sinatra.... 🎶

Anyway, last but not least about the event itself. I do really hope events like this find a better solution for all the plastic used. I get it, you can hardly use glasses, but in this time it really is necessary to find a better solution for this especially seeing the event so near to the river.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blurred Lined 4

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your boss takes an unpredictable turn.

Characters: Nick Fowler

Note: Mr. Panty Snatcher.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Nick may have had a rude awakening, but you feel you’ve had one of your own. You can’t help but note the subtle changes. Your boss is a stickler, a man of order. For the few years you’ve worked for him, it’s always been a sober, professional interaction. You pick up after his dinner parties and the like but he never lets you see the details of his leisure time. 

It’s nothing to do with you, you’re sure. You imagine there’s something going on; with work or otherwise. In a way, his little display reminds you of Joey. When she was a teen, she had her moments, acting out as she tried to figure out how to deal with all the new challenges of living. Still, Nick is much older than your daughter and even she’s outgrown that sort of behaviour. 

You serve him his coffee, no whiskey. He takes it along with the two Advil capsules you hold out in an open palm. He’s still naked, the blanket bunched high up his muscular thighs. 

“I see you had a rather exciting night, sir, I suppose I should start making my rounds,” you say as you turn to clear the used glasses from the table; some empty, others sticky, and more with liquor left in the bottom. 

“Eh,” he grumbles and gulps noisily, “what about the whiskey?” 

“Well, sir, I really don’t think it’s necessary,” you say as you gather up the glasses. 

“Alright, mom,” he scoffs and sighs as he takes another swig.  

You let his sarcasm roll off your shoulders. If you can deal with a teenager, you can deal with him. You feel him watching you as you stand straight. 

“Anything else I can get you?” You offer. 

“You’re not even curious about all the excitement?” He stretches an arm over the back of the couch, “there was a girl... you didn’t see her hanging around, did ya?” 

He chuckles and your cheeks tinge with embarrassment. His unusual crassness puts you on edge. You shake your head. 

“Think she’s gone,” you say. 

“Mm, don’t remember her. Must’ve been boring,” he grumbles. 

“I’m sure she was just as pretty as all the others.” 

“Hm, sure,” he snorts. 

You take the glasses out, the tense silence nipping at your heels. You return as he drains the coffee and stifles a belch. He holds out the mug. 

“Any more?” 

“Yes, sir,” you accept his cup, strolling through to fill it from the pot. As you come back again, his knees are set wide as he cracks his knuckles. 

“So, what’s it like being married?” He ask abruptly. 

You hold out his mug, trying not to show your surprise. 

“Sir?” 

“Well, you...” he looks at your hand decisively before he takes the mug, “were married, weren’t you? That bad?” 

You go back to the low glass table and collect the last of the glasses, “it was nice,” you answer honestly, “steady, consistent...” 

“Mm, so it wasn’t amicable?” He suggests as he presses the cup to his forehead. 

“With due respect, my marriage is my marriage--” 

“Where’s the ring? If he’s still around--” 

“Sir,” you warn, trying not to let your agitation seep through. 

“You never talk about him. Or your daughter.” 

“It’s...” you sway in indecision between setting him straight and stomping off. “It’s work, sir. It’s not really relevant.” 

He hums thoughtfully and sucks his teeth, “but you know all about me, don’t you?” 

You grin wryly, “sir, I know how you like your suits pressed and hung and how you take your coffee,” you insist, “it’s work.” 

“Work,” he narrows his eyes. “Not much time for a personal life. Guess I’m shitty like that.” 

You frown, “I wouldn’t say--” 

“You wouldn’t because you got a daughter to put through college. And an internship.” 

You flinch and shake your head, “did I do something that--” 

“No, I’m just being... sociable,” he measures his words. “It’s part of my job. Intel. I have to know everything about everyone. Didn’t realise before I know nothing about you.” 

You part your lips, uncertain how to react. He’s hard to read. You can’t tell is he’s angry or what. 

“If I wanted to, I could. That’s all I’m saying,” he shrugs and tastes his coffee. 

“Right, sir,” you nod hesitantly, “I’m sorry If I said anything--” 

“No, you don’t say much,” he stands, not bothering to keep the blanket over his pelvis. Instead it falls to the floor without a care, “that’s the problem.” 

Before you can reply, he turns and struts away. You look away quickly and try to shake off his attitude. What’s gotten into him? You know it’s not you. You know this kind of behaviour. Like before, you can’t help but be reminded of those adolescent blow ups. At one time, you had them yourself. 

Whatever’s going on with him, it should pass soon enough. You’re certain he’ll find some model to distract him. Or bury himself in his work like you. Hard to be upset when there’s a mess to clean up. 

🔹

The day wears on as any and you leave thirteen hours after your arrival. You’re not unfamiliar to the long shifts but you’re less and less attuned to them. Your tailbone has that subtle ache which calls for a hot bath and sleep. You don’t know that you’ll have time for both.  

The house is quiet when you leave. Nick has made himself elusive since the morning. You’re thankful for it, only seeing him to bring his meals and the few demands he had. He always seemed to be on the phone when you were near. No doubt he has his own work to tend to. It could be why he’s been so erratic. 

Is that how you’d describe it? 

You skip the bath and go straight to bed. A quick shower in the morning will do. You wake only hours later and begin a new day. A few more years and you can slow down; once Joey’s got her feet on the ground. 

You head to work in a daze. You’ll wake up once you get moving. You enter the gate code and it buzzes furiously back at you. The red flash suggests you put in the wrong number. You try again. Several times to be certain. 

Your phone shakes and startles you. You peer up at the sky, still in its early hues, and answer. You know without looking that it’s him. 

“Hey, you set off the alarm. Stop.” Nick says flatly. 

“Oh, uh, the code isn’t working--” 

“I’m not home.” 

“Oh, okay, but--” 

“Go home,” he interrupts. 

You stutter. Is he firing you? 

“Sir--” 

“Had to run off on a work trip. You need time off,” he says matter-of-fact, “so go.” 

He doesn’t wait for your answer. The line clicks and you’re left in utter confusion. You stare at the screen. The call was barely a minute long. 

Why would he lock you out? You work all the time when he’s out of town. So what’s changed? Your heart sinks as your dread wells up and fills your chest. It feels like he fired you. 

You try to call back. It goes straight to voicemail. Either he has his phone set to away or he’s deliberately ignoring you. 

You idle just before his gate as panic pulses through your skull. What did you do? You weren’t rude. You’re always painfully professional. You parse through the conversation from the morning before but can’t find anything that you did wrong. He acted strangely but you didn’t say anything about it. 

So why is he doing this? 

Your phone vibes. 

'Go home.' 

The text flashes at the top of the screen before the notification disappears. You sigh and through the cell phone. So, do you go back to the job boards and hope for the best or wait for your mercurial boss to make up his mind? 

🔹

You’re restless. The first day you spend trying to keep yourself busy. You put the energy you would have spent cleaning up Nick’s house and work on the apartment. You even oil the greasy hinge on the kitchen cupboard and squeeze in a walk before dinner. 

Joey doesn’t pick up either but you expect as much. She’s off having fun. When you were in college, you barely spoke to your parents. You were off having fun, meeting your husband... 

The next day is much the same though there isn’t as much to do. You try to make yourself catch up on your reality TV indulgences but you can’t even focus on that. Joey texts to ask if it’s something important and you assure her to keep doing what she’s doing. She calls after dinner as you have a rare glass of wine. 

“So, things are better?” You ask, trying not to betray your own worry. 

“Oh, much better. I can’t believe I was freaking out. My boss... he can be a bit intense but he’s so awesome. Mm, you know he took me to this really awesome place for a business lunch. They had one of those conveyor belt things with the sushi.” 

“That’s amazing,” you smile, “and how’s the special girl?” 

“Mom,” she squeaks. 

“What? I don’t even know her name. Give me something.” 

“It’s nothingggggg.” 

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” 

“Mom,” she croaks. 

“Alright, fine, I can be patient but when you’re ready, you know she’s always welcome.” 

“You are so cheesy,” she accuses. 

“I can hear you blushing through the phone,” you chime tauntingly. 

“Mom!” 

“What? What’s going on? Did I forget something?” You play dumb. 

“Stop it,” she growls. 

You laugh and swirl the wine, no longer thirsty for it foggy lens. You sigh as your amusement recedes and you’re reminded why you broke the seal. You’re silent as the line turns to empty static. 

“Mom?” Joey says and reality slaps you across the face. 

“I’m sorry, I was just... you know, I think I’ll bring your dad some flowers tomorrow,” you say, “he’ll know what to do.” 

“What do you mean?” She murmurs. 

“Sitting with him helps me clear my mind,” you sigh. 

“Yeah, but, what’s going on?” 

You look down and exhale, “nothing big, just... life.” 

“Ha, tell me about it. It just doesn’t stop,” she snickers. 

“Right, well, I don’t wanna keep you from having fun or whatever--” 

“Fun? Please. I’m looking over all these case files Andy gave me.” 

“Andy?” 

“My boss, you know? As nice as he is, he sure makes you work,” she tuts. 

“Oh, I know the type,” you shake your head at the thought of your own boss; even in his absence, he’s persistent. 

[angelslittlewritingcorner]

DESIRE

(Adam x Lute x Reader)

After you gave so much love to the first part of the series, I thought I'd post the second this week. A little more fluff this time, but the next part will be very spicy. Have fun with it.

Tags: @mournings-stars

Synopsis: Y/N just wanted to spend some wholesome time with her lovers but they had other plans.

Part 2 (of 3)

Part 1

Warnings: Language

Y/N straightened her shoulders and opened the bathroom door. "Yes, I'm ready," she said and let her eyes wander over Lute. She was actually wearing the dress she had just bought. It clung perfectly to her curves and Y/N had to avert her eyes. Even if Lute was an angel, she was made for sin. Damn, she was already thinking like Adam. He came up behind Lute and scrutinised Y/N. "Woah damn girls you look really hot" Lute just rolled her eyes and punched Adam lightly in the arm. Y/N also looked at her other lover and couldn't help but grin slightly. "Adam? Is that gel in your hair and you're wearing a jacket?" He just grinned and his nose coloured slightly pink. "So can we then?" Lute asked, a little more annoyed and held out his hand again. Y/N nodded and grabbed her handbag before the three of them left the flat.

Holding Lute's hand felt incredibly good. She looked quite petite, but her grip was firm and firm. Adam walked next to them and talked about a dog he'd seen the other day that had totally dragged its owner through the mud because it had seen another dog. "And then he dragged him all over the park. I really thought the ice cream was going to fall out of my hand I laughed so hard." His two girls just grinned at the story and threw in a few comments here and there. Once Adam started talking, he never stopped. Y/N thinks it's because he was alone for so long after Lilith and Eve left him. You could really feel sorry for him.

When she first met him, she thought he was just a jerk who was self-absorbed and reckless. Just like the high school jocks in the TV series on Earth. But after getting to know him better and seeing behind his façade, she realised that he longed for love and acceptance. Things he would never admit to, of course, but were very obvious when you knew him.

The three of them arrived at the elegant restaurant and quickly took the seats they had ordered. As they were all quite hungry, they immediately began to check out the menu. "Really a fancy place," said Adam and grinned at Lute out of the corner of his eye, "Yeah, you'd never have thought of such an idea, you Dickmaster." He just rolled his eyes and grinned behind the menu. God those two were cute when they weren't out for blood and fighting. Y/N thought about the little surprise she had in her handbag. When would be the best time to give it to them? Before dinner? After? She decided to give them the present while they were waiting for the food.

After a few minutes, a waiter came and took their orders. He also placed a glass of crystal clear fresh water in front of each of them. No matter how many times Y/N saw the food and gifts of heaven, it was still a mystery to her how everything could be so clear and clean. Every colour seemed brighter and more intense. Lute took a sip from her glass and then put it down. "Y/N darling … why are you looking like that? What's bothering you?" "N-Nothing's bothering me I… well" she took a deep breath "It's just that I have something for you both because today is such a special day." None of the three would ever admit to dating in public. What would people think if they knew it was a three-way relationship? Unfortunately, they didn't realise that they were so obvious that everyone already knew. Y/N reached into her handbag and handed her two lovers a small parcel each.

Curious, the two opened it and stared at the contents for a moment. The parcels contained a bracelet for each of them with the initial letters of the three of them. "I made them myself. The band is made of leather and the letters are made of silver." "That's really pretty," said Lute, her eyes taking on a warm glow. She took the bracelet and held it out to Y/N. "Will you make it for me baby?" She nodded and carefully put the bracelet on her. Adam was silent the whole time and just held out his arm. Y/N put the bracelet on him too. She had been wearing her own since she had left. Why didn't Adam say anything? Didn't he like it? Too cheesy? Too feminine? But she didn't dare ask, after all, she had her pride. Luckily, the food arrived and took the decision off her hands.

After the meal, they paid and went back to their flat together. "Kitten" Y/N turned to Adam. "We have a little surprise for you too" She raised an eyebrow curiously and Adam gripped the side of her waist and led her in the direction of the bedroom....

[eupheme]

“you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me.” Or “I can’t get enough of you” / “Does that feel good?” Prompts for Edward Deegan, please :]

ahh I can’t tell you how excited I was to get a Deegan request!!! I tried to do a little something with each one you listed - they were so good, thank you!! 💖

— only you (and you alone)

edward deegan x sole!survivor!reader

rated e | <1k words

prompts: “you're mine, & i take care of what belongs to me.”/“I can’t get enough of you”/“Does that feel good?”

tags: tiny bit of cabot slander (sorry), references to ghoulification, soft smut, feelings, PiV - an exploration of deegan's feelings towards sole!reader

Maybe, in the old days, he might have been embarrassed. The bare mattress on the old, creaking bedframe - he knows you both have memories of finery. Of what romance should be, what he could never give you - still thinking you deserve better, in the silence between dusk and dawn.

Edward Deegan has seen much, in the long years he's walked the Wasteland. There wasn’t a lot that surprised him anymore - not in the two hundred and some years that had passed since this all began.

Miles trekked across the Commonwealth in those early days, until his skin burned with radiation. Skin tightening, sloughing off.

Those now-blurry days of sickness, where he had begged for it all to just end. Only to come out on the other side - forever changed, and forever living.

Forever bound to the Cabots, with all their family secrets. As loyal and fierce as a old dog, after everything they've done for him.

With you in the picture, though - that dedication tips towards something that resembles real affection.

Because tonight, he's glad for his own room - that narrow space, tucked away in the basement. It sometimes felt so small, with the wide breath of his shoulders. All that shed armor piling up at night against the trunk in the corner, pieces creeping across the cracked concrete.

Suffocating, compared to the vast house and the sprawling floors, hidden rooms. All that empty space, untouched for decades.

Edward had never said anything. He had always known his place, and it wasn't his to question. Never even occured to him to think about it, until one of your early, off-handed remarks had him bristling. An urge to defend his employers, until he realized your comment had been wrapped in concern for him.

But if his room had been bigger - if for some reason, the house had been his for the night - then he wouldn't be so wrapped up in you now. He likes the way you cling to him, laid out bare beneath him on his bed and looking like you belong there.

Edward had always been good with hunches, but he still can't believe the luck that had led him to meeting you outside Bunker Hill. How he had been curious, and then pleasantly surprised - again, a rarity - when your reputation held strong.

When you had stuck around, after.

And then once more, when you had boldly stepped over the line of hired help, and became something more.

Always so good at following orders - and you do so here, too. Lips parted on a sigh as you answer his commands.

“Does that feel good? Tell me, doll.”

He always wants to know, and you always answer.

“Yes. So good baby, don’t stop-”

Now, with the walls closing in, your moans echo. Music to his ears, his own sounds bitten back and swallowed, so he can hear more of yours.

How they fill the small space, surrounding him like your embrace. The strong grip of your soft hands, where they anchor against his shoulder, the curve of his neck. Clinging to him as he grinds himself deep into the tight clench of your cunt.

Making every second count.

These visits too few and far between. His loyalties lie here, his trips outside governed.

You’re already stretched thin, making a name for yourself. But you always end up finding your way back here, if only for a night.

Maybe, in the old days, he might have been embarrassed. The bare mattress on the old, creaking bedframe - he knows you both have memories of finery. Of what romance should be, what he could never give you - still thinking you deserve better, in the silence between dusk and dawn.

Things he won’t say out loud, because he can already see your expression - the anger held in the pull of your brow, the narrowed slit of your eyes. A look so often thrown at others, but so rarely at him.

You had never batted an eye at any of it. Of his arrangement, of him.

If it was good enough for him, if he was there, it was good enough for you.

Always enough.

And as he brings his mouth down to yours - he feels how your heart mirrors his. Pounding beneath your skin, under the careful press of his thumb where his broad hand spans your throat.

Your lips greedily meeting his, hips rocking to meet the grindof his hips. Sighing with the soft swipe of your tongue against his, pulling back to murmur soft words and praise and his name - all things that will have to keep him until next time.

He’s never owned much, but tonight you’re his.

And he always takes care of what belongs to him.

His fingers swirl against your clit, tight circles that have you moaning into his mouth. Thighs tightening where they hook around his hips, urging him deeper. Your nails biting into the meat of his shoulders, pinching with each pound of his cock.

His cheek brushes against your nose, as he allows himself to want.

Committing to memory the sound of your cry as it breaks - pitching high, as you tremble beneath him. A warmth that starts somewhere behind his ribs before it pools low in his belly - feeling the way you flutter around his aching cock for the second time that night.

He’ll aim for one more before sunrise.

“I can’t get enough of you.”

It’s a confession - murmured quietly into your hair, unheard as you drift back down.

And just this once - he wishes for something more.

ahh anon thanks so much for sending this in! I love him & was so excited to get this!! 💖 and thank you so much for reading!!

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 3: Getting It Right

Mulder runs into the man Scully has gone out with a few times, but of course, he's not jealous or anything. Rating: T, wc: 1,017

Prompt: "I know you better"

Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober24

Mulder isn’t sure when the best time is to meet one’s partner’s potential love interest, but he knows it isn’t a Friday morning, in line for coffee. He wouldn’t have recognized him – medium height, perfectly styled brown hair, and altogether average – if it weren’t for the phone call he received while they waited.

The guy in front of him is Sawyer Montgomery, tax lawyer and the man Scully has gone out with twice. At least that’s what she’s told him the other day over lunch. Mulder isn’t jealous. Of course, he isn’t. Why would he be? He merely almost choked on his tuna sandwich because he was surprised. That was all. Scully had to pat his back and was sweet enough not to mention his red face afterwards, or his teary eyes. He had a sore throat all day and lost his appetite for the next three days. But that's normal - isn't it?

Tax lawyer Sawyer – or Snoozer, as Mulder has started calling him in his mind – is still on his phone, talking to what must be his assistant. He’s ordering flowers for the ‘lady’, making Mulder roll his eyes. If Scully knew that Snoozer was referring to her as ‘lady’, she’d call the whole thing off right away. At least that’s what he thinks she’d do.

He can’t help but listen to the one-sided conversation. Partly because he’s curious – after all, this guy is dating Scully – and partly because he doesn’t have a choice. Maybe he should be glad that the guy isn’t using Scully’s real name. They’re regulars here and he doesn’t want anyone associating Scully with this guy. Unless they become serious, but that’s a whole different can of worms he’s not ready to open.

“I’ll be there soon,” Sawyer now says, glancing at his watch. “I’m getting my girlfriend her favorite coffee. Remind her that we have a date tonight.” Mulder plays with the button on his coat, trying not to think too much about what he’s just heard. Girlfriend. He didn’t think they were there yet. Hasn’t it just been two dates? Scully wouldn’t lie to him about that.

He can recall the moment she told him in great detail, right up to him choking, and her hand on his back. Two dates. Meaning that tonight is their third. The third date. Mulder hasn’t had one in a while, but he remembers what those typically mean. He reminds himself that Scully is free to date as many boring tax lawyers as she pleases. He and Scully are just partners. Aren’t they?

As he stands there, half listening to Snoozer, he thinks about it. About how it would be. After tonight, after Scully and Sawyer’s third date, they will go official. Scully calls her mother, with Sawyer throwing a hello in, making everyone laugh. He’s invited to Sunday dinner, and then to birthdays, Thanksgiving, and Christmas.

When Bill Jr. meets this golf-playing, taxes-loving guy who couldn’t be more perfect for his little sister, he’ll sing Hallelujah. Mulder can see it all while he’s waiting to make his order. First up, however, is wonder boy Sawyer, who’ll soon be the one who picks up Scully from the airport when they return from out-of-state cases. He’ll take her home because soon, they will share one. Mulder swallows hard, knowing what will happen next. A picket fence and a dog. A child or two.

“Yes, I’d like a caramel macchiato with extra milk.” Mulder’s ears perk up. He waits to see if Sawyer orders anything else – but what would be the odds? What this guy just ordered isn’t Scully’s favorite coffee at all, it’s Mulder’s. Which means that when they met, it was Scully’s turn to bring coffee. And Sawyer got it all wrong. Maybe Mulder has too.

“Is that all?” The young barista asks, bored already at not even 9 a.m.

“That is all,” Sawyer says with a smile. When he turns with his precious coffee in hand, he nearly crashes into Mulder. “Oh, I apologize.”

“All good,” Mulder says, trying his best to sound and look friendly. He was right; Sawyer is altogether average, altogether boring. The two men nod at each other and then the other man is gone. Mulder will take his time, making sure he won’t run into him at the office.

“Are you going to order or just stare after this guy?” The barista asks him.

“I’m gonna order,” Mulder says, fishing out his wallet, smiling to himself. Right now, he feels like he has all the time in the world.

*

By the time he gets to the office, Scully is sitting at the desk, lifting her head and smiling when she sees him.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Mulder replies, eyeing the coffee beside Scully.

“Good thing I only bought one, huh?” He gestures toward the steaming coffee cup, and Scully responds with an apologetic glance.

“Um, Sawyer came by and just wanted to confirm our date tonight.” Mulder nods, pretends to be hearing this for the first time.

“Did he get you your favorite?” She doesn’t need to answer; avoiding his eyes is all the answer he needs.

“We’re still in that getting to know each other phase,” she says.

“Hmm, yeah, I remember that.” He puts his own coffee in front of her and lifts the lid. Scully takes a deep breath and almost moans.

“Is that-”

“A latte espresso with just a hint of cinnamon and cardamom? It is.”

“Thank you, Mulder.” She pushes the to-go cup Sawyer brought her away and takes the other one between her hands, relishing the smell. He tried her favorite once, claiming it was too bitter. Just like Scully claimed his preferred choice was too sweet. A perfect blend, he thinks now. He watches as she takes a sip from her coffee, her eyes fluttering close.

“Sawyer may know you,” Mulder says, rounding the desk and reaching over her shoulder to grab the other coffee, “but I know you better.” The blush creeping into her cheeks gives him hope—though he’s not quite ready to admit, even to himself, what for.

[mistyresolve]

| Wayward Behaviour - Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count - 1.7 k

Summary - Every time Simon comes back home to you after a mission, the two of you spend the first couple of hours catching up for the lost time. Here is an example of the first hour. 

Tags/Warnings - 18+ ONLY, Handjob, Road head, Premature ejaculation, Begging (yes, it's Simon), Mentions of edging     

A/N - here is something short and sweet in celebration of me passing my pharm final the bane of my existence, and there may or may not have a brief homage to “Talking to the Void”

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It was dark out by the time his charter landed, and the street lights had already turned on. His profile became outlined by those same lights in swells as his truck passed underneath them. Going a little faster than the limit because he was lost in the ecstasy that your touch always brought him. His mind went momentarily blank and looked down at you, his brown eyes curious. He had already changed into his civics, blue jeans, a black sweater, a canvas bomber jacket and that same old ball cap. You once offered to buy him a new cap so you could throw this one out and he simply said, “This one is lucky.”. You never would have taken someone like him to be so superstitious, but he was.  

“Eyes on the road, Riley, “ it was a sickly sweet command. Simon never normally liked to follow the orders of someone who wasn’t his superior, but when they came from your lips he didn’t dare disobey. Not when your hands were drawing lines up and down his thigh. Your pace was unhurried and alluring. With promises of more. 

“They are,” he muttered quietly, his throat tightening as your hand travelled a little more medial. He motivated the gesture by spreading his legs further apart, allowing you better access.       

Simon knew very well that when he came home from particularly long missions he was almost always welcomed with tantalizing ensembles or sensual promises. The sex was sometimes better when the missions stretched over weeks and there was minimal contact. Every moment with you was made all the more exhilarating and frenzied. The heat between you two the moment you got any semblance of privacy burned into his very soul. A burn he wished left corporeal marks in their wake, all so he could return to them later and reminisce. When he was on missions and he had the rare moment alone he would palm himself just for some relief. He never came but it was better than needing to constantly adjust his pants when the mere thought of you made him hard. He’s also yet to decide whether the edging was torture or if it made being you all the better. This time, he was gone for a total of 16 days. 16 days where he went without your touch and he was only able to make one phone call this time. 

One thing he did know was that nothing he did you himself held a torch to what you made him feel. He swore you knew his body even better than he did. 

When you picked him up from the airport and immediately hopped over the center console so he would be behind the wheel, he knew what your plans were. He wasn’t going to be the fool to stop you, not when your hand reached over to his thigh. Between the growing hardness between his legs. 

Simon rolled his hips into the palm of your hand, eliciting a groan at the touch. A pained expression flashed across his bare face, “Bloody ‘ell, baby.”

That seemingly harmless reaction was more than enough to let you know that he wouldn’t be lasting long. He was already on the edge. You’d still try to find a way to draw it out as much as you could though. “Do you want me to stop?” you questioned, pulling your hand away. 

He caught you by the wrist, his head whipping from the road to you and back to the road, his eyes feverish, “I’ll pull over right here.”   

“No need,” you smiled up at him, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, “As you were.”

He let out a deep, breathy laugh, “Yes ma’am,” and he guided your hand back to his erection. You traced the outline of it, adding a little more pressure around the head before flattening your palm over him and making long, leisurely strokes. 

His lips parted as a sigh escaped his chest. The smoke of his tattoo, came to life as the muscle in his arm flexed as his hand tightened around the steering wheel. His other hand worked to undo his belt and jeans, his fingers were nimble and calculated. You bit down on your lip as you watched, knowing exactly how it felt when those same long fingers were inside you. How he would curl them at just the right moment, each and every stroke. His thumb would be rubbing circles into your sensitive clit. 

“Touch me,” he was practically begging as he pulled his hard cock free from his jeans, and began jerking himself, “Please.”

It was rare to hear him out of control, and even rarer to hear him beg. It was a real delight when you’d get him to this point. The last time he was like this he was on his knees before you, kissing up the length of your thigh till he met your center and he begged for you to let him taste you. He licked and sucked and kissed your pussy until you were nothing but a shaking whimpering mess. 

Without hesitation, you obliged him. You spit into your hand before reaching for him again, wrapping around his base and squeezing. You stroked up and down. Up and down. His hips lazily followed the rhythm. When your thumb brushed over the head and he had to lean his head back against the seat to keep from driving the both of you into the ditch. His eyes were on the road, yes, but they were glassy, unfocused. Luckily, since it was already so late the highway was light on traffic. 

You unlocked your seatbelt and the sound snapped him out of whatever trance he was in. He glanced over with a cocky smile, “Wanting more?” He was so conceited. You liked it, but you also wanted to humble him. With your knees on your seat, you leaned yourself over the center console and to his side. You spit down onto him, a string of saliva connecting you two. It slid down the side of his shaft, mixing with the pre-cum that had already started to drip down. 

“Okay,” his voice was tight like he was trying to prepare himself. 

“You’re not going to last very long are you, Simon?” you flattened your tongue and licked a stripe up his length. 

“No,” he admitted, “No, I’m not.”   

You grinned to yourself before taking him fully into your mouth. You could feel him shudder beneath you, fighting back the urge to buck further into your throat. What you couldn’t fit into your mouth you grasped with a free hand, twisting a little every time you pulled back. It evoked a combination of nervous laughter and moans from the man. Something that seemed so at odds with his exterior and usual aloof personality but somehow it suited him. 

You hollowed out your cheeks, your tongue circling around the head, sliding along the slit. You felt one of his hands delve into your hair, balling up a fist full. It wasn’t to push you down or pull you off him but to support himself. Ground himself so he didn’t float out the window and into the night sky beyond. 

“I gotta—” he choked out, and you heard him as he flicked on the turn signal, missing the thing entirely the first time in his frantic state. The force of him turning off the highway was almost enough to throw you into the dashboard. You pulled back, barely catching yourself from falling onto the floor. 

“Jesus, Simon,” you snapped, shooting a glare in his direction. 

“Don’t stop,” he panted, “Please, don’t stop.”     

With his hand still tangled in your hair, you fell back down into him. A bubble of excitement rises in your throat at the sound of his desperation. Wet, gagging sounds echoed through the small enclosed space, and each time he hit the back of your throat it tightened catching him on his withdrawal. You braced your hand on the open space between his legs, your other hand reaching down to press two fingers to your clit through your pants, needing any sort of relief. You rolled your hips side to side, giving him a little show of your ass. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, as he felt his ending. It was coming in hot and fast, and he panted at the pressure of it. He usually prided himself on his stamina and control, but there was nothing he could do to slow it. Nothing he wanted to do. 

“Atta girl, just like that,” he pulled your hair away from your face. It was for two reasons, the first being that you didn’t have the mind to put up and out of your face before going down on him, and the second was so he could see his cock disappear and reappear. The sight was all it took to push him over the edge. The vein beneath his cock throbbed and pulsated against your tongue as he came. His hot seed coated the back of your throat, some of it escaped and dribbled down his base. You swallowed around him, milking him, before finally seating back on your knees. You opened your mouth to him, showing him that you swallowed. A mix of saliva and cum hung from your chin, a lewd presentation of what you just did to him. He reached out and wiped it away for you, a wicked look in his eyes. 

“I might have to go on missions more often,” he half-joked as he reached into the glove compartment and handed you a tissue, keeping another to help clean himself up. 

“Or just never leave,” you countered, using the tissue you cleaned what you could. You looked out the window. He had actually pulled off onto a gravel side road, he almost didn’t make it too. When you looked back at him he had already straightened himself, save the still unbuckled belt. His expression was unreadable. 

“We better hurry home before I ask you to fuck me right here,” you feigned naïveté as you back down onto your seat. All you managed to do was whet his appetite for you because when he pulled into the driveway of the house you weren’t sure you were going to make it through the front door. He wrapped his arms around your waist, ducking down to attach his mouth to your neck as you try to unlock the door. His hands snaked south until they disappeared underneath the front of your pants, finding nothing but slick heat.  

“You’re insatiable,” you gasped, leaning your head back into his shoulder, fumbling to open the door. 

“Wait until we get inside,” he challenged.     

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A/N - im going to try and write a couple of short fics to post for the month of May bc i won’t have time to write, but if anyone has any ideas on what i should write lemme know. 

Tag List - @thychuvaluswife ❤︎  @shuttlelauncher81  (sorry, the first thing i tag you guys happens to be smut 😀)

[cuffmeinblack]

A Man Of Ill Repute

Richard Jackdaw x f!reader

Summary: Richard has a reputation as quite the flirt; a scoundrel, even. But you can't deny your attraction to him, or the ways in which he surprises you.

Tags: explicit | alive!Richard | sex | cunnilingus | semi-public sex | music as foreplay | 1790s Hogwarts

4k words

A/n: What in the Bridgerton is this? Not intentional, but I love the thought of Richard being a complete flirt but actually never earning his scandalous reputation.

Period accurate underwear (?), definitely not period accurate sex.

Breakfast time was a somewhat boisterous affair; the gaggle of girls who crowded you now made for rather spirited company. The hour before lessons began was often filled by exchanging gossip, and today was no exception, though the appearance of the subject of much gossip himself had just entered the hall, only adding to the whispers. 

Richard Jackdaw—charmer, layabout, devishly handsome despite his arrogance—was not just passing, but approaching your table. He walked with his hands behind his back, chest proud, strutting like a peacock, like he owned the place. No small wonder, when girls of all houses would swoon over his perfectly coiffed brunet locks and those lips to die for. Those lips had been on a fair few of your fellow students, no doubt, if the stories were to be believed.

Despite all this, you watched him in all his swaggering grace, wishing that you could drag your eyes away. Underneath that bluster you thought there might be something deeper worth exploring—or at least that’s what you had been thinking before he opened his mouth.

“Good morning, ladies. You look utterly divine this morning.” He let his dark eyes drift across the swathe of girls, eventually landing on you. As much as you wished you were immune to his charms, your gut twisted and warmth spread through your body to the very tips of your ears.

A few of your classmates giggled and batted their eyelashes whilst the other half rolled their eyes with distaste and returned to their breakfast. Richard blew an air kiss in your general direction and was off, probably to terrorise some other unsuspecting group of girls. Your cheeks were burning, and you suspected it had nothing to do with your cup of tea.

“What a rake, that Jackdaw!” your friend erupted as soon as he was out of ear shot.

“He is ever so handsome, though.”

“And ever so dim witted,” another added.

“He has a good mind for solving puzzles,” you interjected, idly spooning porridge into your bowl. The words had quite appeared from nowhere and earned you a few curious glances. Since when did you defend Richard Jackdaw?

“Yes, well, you still beat him at chess, did you not?” A fair eyebrow raised in your direction.

That you did, though it was a tough match and the Gryffindor provided ample distraction with his flirtatious gazes. Richard tended to float through life with not a care in the world, save for the riddles that perplexed most others. If it weren’t for his utter disinterest in typical scholarly pursuits, one might think him more suited to Ravenclaw house. He had an inquisitive mind when presented with the right interest.

“I don’t think he was very happy about it,” you said with a satisfied smile whilst stirring honey into your bowl, the amber liquid reminiscent of a certain rake’s eyes when they caught the light just so…

You shook that thought away. 

Your presumption turned out to be accurate, however, when only a day later Richard approached you after your shared Charms lesson. Slightly ruffled from practicing weather charms (the gale he’d conjured had almost swept your professor clean off his feet), he caught up to you as you left the classroom bearing his signature charming smile.

“Jackdaw. What do you want?” you asked suspiciously.

“I'm offended you think I must want something in order to talk to you, darling.”

You halted just outside the doorway and rounded on him. “Am I wrong?”

“Well as it is…I wondered if you fancied a rematch? I've been turning our chess game over in my head, and I think I know how you bested me.”

“I bested you because I'm the better player, Jackdaw.”

His eyes glittered, amber and gold, captivated. His intense stare was unnerving in the best way. Was he trying to figure you out? Or was this simply another attempt at seduction?

“I'm afraid I have time booked in the music room to practice on the pianoforte,” you said, clutching your books tighter against your chest. 

“Oh, you play? I knew there must be a reason why I find myself so drawn to you,” he purred. 

“Yes, so I'm afraid our rematch will have to wait—”

“May I join you?”

The question caught you by surprise. There was no particular reason to say no; in fact the thought of spending more time with him wasn't entirely unpleasant.

“You want to listen to me play?” you asked, suddenly nervous.

“I thought I might accompany you. I play the violin. There are surely some sonatas that are suitable?”

Another surprising revelation.

“I…suppose so, yes.” 

Barely ten minutes later you were settled in front of the pianoforte in the middle of the music room, with Richard quietly tuning his violin. The music you’d retrieved felt suddenly intimidating as you shuffled through the sheets. It was imperative you found the right piece, for this was another competition of sorts.

Something challenging, then.

“Any joy?” he asked, sauntering to your side to look over your shoulder, his hips swaying in your periphery. You licked your lips. From his vantage point he could no doubt see down your dress. 

Rake.

“Sonata number eighteen in G major,” you replied primly. “You know it?”

“Who doesn’t know Mozart, my dear?”

You knew this piece well enough for your fingers to fly across the keys with little thought, muscle memory taking over. The notes on the manuscript before you held little interest compared to the man beside you. He played effortlessly, superbly. His fluid strokes were hypnotic, deft fingers stretching wide, flying across strings to create the most enchanting accompaniment to your own melody. His eyes were shut, lost to the music, giving you ample opportunity to watch him unashamedly.

There was something undeniably erotic about his performance; so enraptured he was with the sonata that every lilt came with a peak of his eyebrows, his lips parted as he moved and swayed along with the rhythm. He threw his all into his performance, and you could practically hear his heart thumping along with your own. 

Fingers teased the strings, stroking with precision. The crescendo of the piece coincided with a lurch in your stomach, and his eyes flew open as his final vibrato rang out. A final chord, a slice of his bow and then the music ended; deathly silence filled the room. Your chest heaved as he held your gaze, breathless. You knew then that he felt the same agonising tension, the same magnetic pull.

He was the first to smile and break the silence. “We do make such beautiful music together, don't we?”

You blinked, but did not—could not—deny it. You wanted to believe that whatever this was had been special for him, as it had been for you, but you knew better, did you not? The thought made you quite ill.

“Is that what you say to all the girls, Jackdaw? Before you slip your tongue into their mouths?” you gasped, struggling to compose yourself.

“Wh-what?” He staggered back, looking wounded as his violin dropped to his side.

“Come now, everyone knows you've kissed half the girls in school!”

You stood up suddenly, stool scraping across the floor. Gathering your sheet music, you intended to leave then, to chastise yourself in private for having fallen for Richard's charms so wholly. How foolish to think that you had been special. Richard opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again, like a damned fish. Why was he so surprised that you'd figured out his game?

“Good Gods, no! Who said that?”

Richard made his way to your side, forcing you to look at him. If he had been anyone else you might have recognised hurt in his eyes, or confusion, even. 

“Everyone, Richard!” you said shakily, still vibrating with whatever had passed between you only moments ago. He'd knocked you off-kilter, filled you with a warmth you recognised but ought to be ashamed of.

He reached out, faltering only inches from your hand. His voice dipped to a mere whisper. “All because I enjoy complimenting the fairer sex? That hardly seems fair.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “So you didn't accompany me here just to try to get your hands up my skirts?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn't say no to that prospect,” he laughed, but his smile faltered into sincerity. “I've had my eye on you, surely you've noticed? Just you.”

Your breath caught, hands stilling on the stack of music that had changed everything. Had you been mistaken? You thought back to every recent interaction with Richard. He had sought you out to play chess, held your eye when he offered his compliments, followed you here and played beautiful music with you. 

“Have you?” you managed to ask.

“I can't quite forget how you so effortlessly bested me at chess.”

“Me neither.”

“And that…playing with you…”

You subconsciously parted your lips as he moved closer, drawn towards your quivering body that yearned for his touch. You must have sighed his name as he offered up a gentle ‘yes?’ before capturing your mouth in his. 

Lips as soft as pillows pressed gently to yours, tentatively exploring how you fit together. Perfectly, as it was. He drew in your lower lip between his teeth as his hands finally found your waist, warmth unfurling in your abdomen at the slightest brush. You were as tightly wound as the strings that now strained under the hammer on the pianoforte, as you found yourself pushed backwards onto the keys. The almighty racket that ensued thankfully drowned out most of your whimpers, but not all.

To be caught now would cause enough scandal to last a lifetime. You would be shamed, ridiculed, cast out from polite society.

Then why couldn't you stop? 

All reason had fled you. Only a primal desire to be ravaged by this man remained.

Richard seemed to be struggling similarly, his hands flexing against your ribcage in a poor attempt at control. His tongue glided across your lips seeking entry, and your gasp invited him in. Languorous swipes had you falling apart in his arms, your hands struggling for purchase against the instrument behind you as you felt your legs weaken. A clatter of chords and mismatched harmonies created a deafening cacophony, the only rhythm to be heard belonging to your straining heart. 

That pulse settled firmly between your thighs, urging you to let Richard have his way with you—for that was where this was headed, you had no doubt. You felt his same desire pressed against your hip, stiff and unyielding. He held you against him in that same restrained way, fingertips bruising your hips through layers of cotton.

When you broke away for breath, Richard startled and almost fell against you, an arm bracing on the pianoforte, caging you in. His eyes were wild, his hair a mass of chocolate curls that fell over his eyes. Had you caused that? You'd been so preoccupied with his lips that you'd barely noticed your fingers curled in his mane. Your fingers wound tighter around the silken strands, trying to find the words to assuage your guilt.

“Promise me I'm not just another notch on your bedpost, Jackdaw.”

He grinned then, all dimples and flushed cheeks. “Darling you are the only notch, if you'll have me.”

“Oh. Yes.”

His lips crashed back into yours, Richard’s low groan speaking of his relief. The pianoforte behind you gave another almighty belch of clashing notes. Your hands grappled behind you to close the lid and it slammed shut. His lips curled in a smile as he maneuvered you backwards, hands shamelessly sliding underneath your behind to hoist you onto the wood. 

Lips found your jaw, your neck.

His tongue laved the skin below your ear, hot and wet and insistent. 

Every nerve ending was ablaze, the throbbing between your thighs growing almost painful. Richard had the enthusiasm you’d expected but the fumbling of your skirts and a clash of teeth told you that perhaps he did indeed have no more experience than yourself. It didn’t matter—the passion was enough.

Those nevertheless skillful hands soon wrapped around your calves, sliding higher and higher, far too slowly. You wobbled on your precarious perch, cracking open your eyelids to peer down at him. Richard had his lips still firmly glued to your neck, licking and sucking until you felt the sting of a blooming bruise. Your dress glided higher, over your knees now; an agonising ascent. Finally his palms skimmed your inner thigh and hesitated at the border of cotton and skin.

You were loathe to beg, but every passing second was torture without the contact you so craved.

“Please, Richard…”

He moaned against your neck as he slid his fingers to your centre, the slit in your undergarments providing easy access. That first press against your clit provided an explosion of pleasure, and the gliding strokes that followed had your back arching clean off the instrument behind you. 

So distracted were you that you barely registered when Richard’s weight had disappeared from your body, the chill air of the music room suddenly shocking you back into focus. His head had dipped below your skirts, knelt before you as if in worship. 

You blushed, furiously, gnawing at your lips. You hadn't expected this much attention. He surprised you at every turn, from his hidden talents (present situation included) to his willingness to attend to your needs first. He kissed your thighs, murmuring and moaning against your skin whilst his thumb—slick from your own arousal—rubbed exquisite circles between your folds. Any sort of worry about where you found yourself, who might walk in and how Richard saw you from his present vantage point simply melted away in a haze of pleasure.

He played you as expertly as his violin, teasing moans from your lips just as he coaxed forth beautiful melodies. Your fingers curled into his hair, gentle tugs that grew in urgency the closer you approached your peak—and it came on with such haste that you feared you might never be satisfied by your own hand again. 

“May I taste you?”

The question came from nowhere, his thumb still gliding, teeth returned to the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Wh-what?”

“My tongue, can I use it—” he pressed more firmly against your clit, eliciting from you a whimper “—here?”

Without waiting for an answer—which you weren't sure you could manage to articulate anyway—Richard gripped your thigh and pressed it wider, higher, resting your leg on his shoulder. Your skin was burning now, being so exposed, laid so bare. You tried to tug your skirt down but he brushed your hand away, instead gripping it in his and locking your fingers together. 

“Oh…”

Richard smiled up at you, before delving back between your legs. The first swipe of his tongue against your sensitive bundle had you squirming in surprise whilst your unrestrained moans filled the room. Richard squeezed your hand tighter as his tongue dipped inside you, gently at first, then more insistent. Deeper he delved, teasing you open until you began to relax around his muscle.

He was preparing you for what was to come.

You shuddered at the thought, a quiver of unbridled lust.

By the way he groaned, he seemed to enjoy using his tongue to pleasure you. You chanced a peek over your bodice to watch him, his hair in disarray and cheeks as flushed as your breasts. Then his eyes flew open as if sensing you watching, locking his soft chestnut gaze on you whilst he worked. You couldn't look away; his dishevelment was utterly captivating.

“You're…ever so good at that,” you gasped, your breath quivering.

Richard smiled in return and wriggled his eyebrows. He was flirting with you still whilst doing that! The most frustrating thing seemed to be that it was working. Your stomach gave an almighty lurch, butterflies caught in a whirlwind, all trapped behind your ribcage. 

His tongue returned to your clit for the finale, sensing your climax by the shake of your legs and the increasing pitch of your moans. The bell in the tower above chimed as you came undone, masking your cries and muddling what should have been pure ecstasy. Panic mingled with pleasure.

Only once did it ring, then the gargantuan bell fell silent but for the waning hum as the pianoforte vibrated beneath you.

“No…oh Gods!” Still caught in the wave of your orgasm, you struggled to speak.

“What's wrong?” Richard asked.

“Ch-choir!”

His eyes flew wide as he understood your meaning, and suddenly he was over you instead of under you, your leg no longer supported. He caught you in his arms before you could fall, strong hands gripping your waist as your skirts fell back to the floor. 

You felt the steady stream of saliva and your own juices run down your leg as you righted yourself, and what little shame you had left flared, muted by the terror of being caught. As you both ran up creaking wooden stairs, away from the approaching voices outside the music room door, you grinned. 

What scandal—what a thrill.

Richard had hold of your hand, pulling you through the door to the bell tower stairs just in time as the Hogwarts choir bustled into the music room for their weekly practice. You practically fell into his arms in relief, huddled in the dank, dark store room, gasping for breath. You felt his heart pounding beneath your palm, the heat from his skin, and—to your disbelief—he was still achingly erect. These close quarters did nothing to quell your excitement, still buzzing with lustful want despite, or because of, the fear of your capture.

“What should we do now?” he asked, barely a whisper.

This store room was not ideal for a romantic rendezvous, nor even an illicit one. Dim light trickled down the stairwell to illuminate a square on the floor—a greyish patch of dust and cobwebs—and the little ambient glow was barely enough to see Richard's face by. But, it was enough. His plump lips, the shine of his chin, sparkling eyes and the curls that dusted his brow—you saw it all in soft contrast, and answered him with a kiss.

He returned it with fervour even whilst the students below crashed about and chatted loudly. Neither of you seemed to care; the reward far outweighed the risk.

Richard pressed himself against you, his cock impossibly hard against your hip, whilst his hands slid to your behind and held you firmly in place. His breath was hot and heavy, coming in pants between slippery swipes of tongue. All technique had flown out the window, and you threw your arms around him to press yourself flush against his chest. You wanted every inch of your body in contact with his, to feel the warmth beneath his clothes against your touch-deprived skin.

Stripping yourself of clothes might be a step too far, however. You would settle for what you could—and that involved him once again bundling the heavy fabric of your skirts around your waist whilst guiding you backwards until your thighs hit something solid. A box or chest, a crate maybe. Whatever it is would serve your needs—another perch for you to be defiled on.

You wrapped a hand around his cravat, pulling him between your legs as you shuffled backwards. You heard the pop of buttons as his breeches came undone, saw the pink of his head strain against the fabric until his erection fell into his waiting hand. Reaching out to stroke him, you felt the weight, the girth as your fingers curled around his shaft. Richard was blessed, that much was clear. Saliva pooled in your mouth at the thought of taking him, your core fluttering with need.

The din from below had dulled to a quiet murmur as the choir took their places and readied themselves for their first song. 

Richard nibbled at your lower lip as he lined himself up with your entrance. 

His cock twitched when you bit back. 

The music began, and you knew nothing but bliss as Richard filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist and leaned back, gaping in awe at where you joined. Even in the semi-darkness you saw what a mess you were, the fabric of your bloomers sticky and tattered. 

The voices grew louder, beautiful and mesmerising to behold.

Richard withdrew with a low groan, and he pressed his palm down firmly on your abdomen before thrusting slowly back into you, even deeper than before. You tried to stifle your moans with your own fist, but what did it matter? You could be as loud as you wanted to be whilst the choir’s harmonies filled the bell tower.

He leaned into your ear. “Good girl. How do you feel?”

“Good…amazing…”

A twinge of pain made you wince as he bottomed out, and he held still, searching your eyes. 

“Don't stop, Richard.”

“Godric’s heart,” he whispered barely audibly before pulling out and slamming back inside you.

You saw stars, perhaps even heaven itself as he fucked you into oblivion. Fingers bruised your hips, a messy clash of teeth and tongues, desperate moans into each other's mouths. It was everything you'd dreamed of yet nothing like the fantasies of a perfect night under the stars or a gentle romp in your bedchamber. This was raw and feverish and utterly glorious. 

“I never want to stop,” he said. Or at least you thought that's what he'd said—it was hard to tell through the swell of voices from below. The choir approached their impressive finale, perfectly masking your sobs as Richard made you come again. You fell limp into his arms and gripped his back tightly, nose nestled into the crook of his neck as he pounded into you through the waves of your orgasm.

He smelled of ink, wood and musk. Heady, beautiful.

Your mouth spilled forth utter filth; expletives you'd dare not use around anyone. To your shame, you begged him to fill you, a testament to just how addled you were. 

“I will. I'm going to fill you until you can't take another drop.”

Oh, Gods, this scoundrel of a man.

Richard didn't falter, hips snapping faster and harder. He moaned so loud you thought you'd be discovered after all, looking deep into your eyes as he came. His cock pulsed, a final hard thrust so deep you almost screamed, and his seed spilled inside you. His release came thick and fast, and you kissed him through it all, muttering his name as he did your own.  

The warbling from below died, the song finished; and so too were you.

Clarity is a wonderful thing, when one is able to come by it. It had all but fled the moment his lips met yours, and was flooding back now.

Atop a dusty box in a store room, Richard Jackdaw had deflowered you. 

Richard Jackdaw—notorious philanderer.

“I hope we can do that again—” he kissed you, so softly his lips were a mere whisper “—and again.”

You searched his eyes for any hint of a lie, but found none.

“The duet or the…other thing?”

“Both, preferably.” Richard peppered your cheeks with kisses, smiling in a dazed sort of way. He looked quite endearing like this. Vulnerable, even.

“That depends entirely on you, Jack—Richard,” you said, rather sternly, though the effect was rather ruined by his steadily softening cock still being buried inside you.

“On me? Then you are willing?”

“I want you to woo me, to court me, and to stop flirting with every girl in the school.”

“Tch, such demands!” he said, grinning. You swatted his arm, but he chuckled and kissed you again, harder this time. “Of course. How could I possibly want anyone else?”

Your breath hitched then, rendering you speechless.

Did you believe him? This man of such ill repute? 

He kissed your hand as if you had all the time in the world to ponder the question. That smile, those lips—they were intoxicating. This could be a trap, and you an unwitting victim of his charms, but then again you could be wholly wrong about him.

Only time would tell if this rake was worthy of your heart.

[dreamsandstars24]

credits for the pictures to the author of the post:

@the-darkestminds

okay, so I'm not someone who likes to go into conflict but as a survivor of SA, I can never hold back to people that say stupidities. Therefore, here is me standing up for SEXUAL ASSAULT VICTIMS

Back story to this because this is crazy:

I was going through the anti ewriel tag because I have a morbid obsession of seeing how my fellow gwynriels shut down the stupid elriel theories and to be honest I also learn a lot by going through them! I'm like "oh, I didn't connected those points! It makes sense" so today was a normal day for me and then suddenly, I see this post about how disrespectful it is for SA victims to see posts of how Gwyn isn't ready to have see and she shouldn't be shipped with Azriel and I agree. It is disrespectful because Gwyn is not her trauma and just minimizing her to it is disrespectful.

So I wanted to comment on the post to say "totally agree" bit instead I found an Elriel in the comment spitting stupidities about how Gwyn isn't ready and she didn't go to Nesta's mating ceremony (honestly, you would think they have the next book with all the things that say happen) and then she said the most stupid thing ever and I will put it on picture because wow

First of all, credits to defending Gwyn to all the people included in the pictures and then about the elriel comment

What

The

Heck

Rhys and Lucien weren't violently attacked? What the hell are you talking about?

Rhys had a nightmare of Amarantha pinning his wings to the bed and you're telling me that this nightmare came out of the blue? This had roots, this fear was there before, this fear had a reason and the fact that you are dismissing it is disgusting.

Feyre found Lucien bound to a freaking tree while Ianthe was assaulting him, and you mean to tell me this isn't violent?

You mean to tell me that just because they were forced to that situation it wasn't violent?

You are saying that being forced into giving your body isn't violent?

What does violent entail? Does there need to be blood? Do they have to have their skin peeled off? Their hair cut off? Their lips split open? Be bleeding from their genitals for it to be considered violent?

Sexual assault is sexual assault it doesn't matter in which form it comes, it doesn't matter if the person said yes and had to it IF THE PERSON WAS FORCED INTO ACCEPTING THEN IT IS SEXUAL ASSAULT

Dismissing their trauma by saying "it wasn't violent and they are men" is disgusting, it reduces you to saying "well, of she was raped then it's on her because she is a woman and she know she needs to take of herself but she didn't so it's on her"

Saying Gwyn is not ready is disgusting. Does she need to be like a dog with her tongue out and thirsting after males to be considered that she is ready? Does she need to be in a constant aroused state for you to say she is ready? What does being ready entail? She reads smut, she banners with Azriel, she jokes with Cassian, we know she is at least curious about sex after reading so much smut so stop coming up with stupid stuff just to make your ship fit

If you need to reduce somebody else, be it fake or real, in order to accommodate the perspective to your ship then maybe your ship wasn't supposed to happen

[lenievi]

Les Misérables, the musical: things I found worthy of note (seen in Prague on 18th May 2024)

Madeleine/Valjean used a cane and limped

in this version, Javert was shorter than Valjean

when Valjean met Cosette in the forest, he kissed her hand. When he took her away from the Thénardiers and dressed her in the black dress, they held hands and skipped away together. It was cute.

during "Lovely Ladies" there were some threesomes with two guys and one girl

during "Master of the House", Thénardier had several cute scenes with Éponine. They danced together on the table.

during the song, when the second guest came, he had a (toy) cat with him. Thénardiers took it, killed it, cooked it, and served it to him (to go with the lyrics)

sad that during the cart scene, Valjean gave his hat and coat to a random policeman who tagged with Javert because Javert was too busy holding his own hat lol

Javert, played by a 74yo guy, has an aura of being absolutely done with the world and oozing holier than thou kind of attitude. He calls Valjean his rival twice in the lyrics. He also does not have long hair in a ponytail, and he has white hair since Toulon. And his Toulon/Montreuil uniform is chef's kiss

Confrontation: when Valjean was like "pls gimme three days", Javert was like "no *scoffs, shaking his head* no". For some reason, the final fight between them (after they stop singing) was missing, so the scene kind of ended in a way that made it seem that Javert let Valjean go. It was funny because he also wore a weirdly exasperated expression.

During the Arras trial, when Valjean takes of his cravat and exposes his chest (he still has the number on it), Javert just looks at him and then orders Champ to be taken away

Marius kissed Éponine's temple (or forehead) during the scene in Paris when we see grown Cosette for the first time

the café was called Café ABC lol

I think I mentioned this before, but they don't wave the red flag in our adaptations (there are reasons for that), they use the French flag. It's reflected in the song ("Do you hear the people sing?") with "the tricolour will fly" and it was also reflected on stage in a really cool way - they were slowly putting red, blue and white pieces of fabric over a gun to form the French flag (and then in the following scenes, they'd have a real one to wave as if they sew it from the fabrics). The three pieces of fabric thrown over the gun made a comeback during "Empty Chairs", where one of the dead guys was carrying it (which to me symbolized the broken dream because the tricolour flag didn't fly, it stayed as three pieces of fabric)

when Éponine was dying, everyone was crying. Little Gavroche was lying on the ground in some women's lap, crying and being comforted. (Javert was sitting on his chair having the expression of pls let this be over already. why am I still here?)

when they captured Javert, they threw him on his knees and Gavroche was then singing right into his face (and those two were the oldest and youngest ones in the cast). It was fun. Gavroche was really small, the boy didn't look older than 10.

one of the barricade guys carried Gavroche on his shoulders almost all the time (and when Gavroche died, he shouted the loudest). And they appeared liked that during "Empty Chairs" too

Enjolras was the last one to die. He climbed the barricade and waved the flag, was shot and fell down. When Javert came to the barricade, he climbed it (then it got turned, so we saw), and Enjolras was hanging in the middle, covered by the flag, and Javert bowed to him and climbed down.

Javert almost picked up the sewers cover haha

when Javert met Valjean again after the sewers, he was using the formal "you" in the song

when it comes to the lyrics and "look down", I liked how well it was done - our lyrics have "I/we want to exist" and I was curious how it would fit the post-sewers song and it did

Javert jumped from the bridge. Like he climbed up the bridge (and yes, the 74yo guy climbed ladders several times during the show) and then "jumped" and a younger guy plopped down on the ground (= into the smoky illusion of Seine) lol

during the curtain call, Valjean and Javert's actors "high-fived" (but it was on the level of their hips). And Javert's actor got six cans of beer which I found funny.

also during "Master of the House" Madame Thénardier's mic stopped working, so the poor woman had to sing without it for a while until a guy in a suit brought her a handheld mic.

[theoceanoasis]

Can you please do a story about Soundwave trying to decide on someone he can trust to be his 3rd in command because he already has Shadow Striker is his second in command. Soundwave comes to the conclusion that the only other person aside from Shadow Striker & Laserbeak he trust is Hot Rod. Only problem is that Hot Rod is an Autobot and Soundwave can’t be certain where Hot Rod stands if he had to choose between Soundwave or the Autobot’s. Soundwave ends up creating a test to determine if Hot Rod would be loyal to him or the Autobot’s. Hot Rod proves that he’s not a snitch and is loyal to Soundwave.

Soundwave makes Hot Rod his third in command and everyone gets confused when the Deception's start following orders from Hot Rod. Hot Rod starts tagging along to Decepticon social gatherings and the Deceptions start addressing Hot Rod with more respect.

Thanks

He scanned the wall of Decepticons looking each one over and debating their weaknesses and strengths. Some were out automatically either too dumb or too insane.

The Decepticons needed a third in command and finding someone was a lot more difficult than he thought. He needed someone he could trust who will help lead the Decepticons. Without fighting him for power.

He scanned the list two more times having no luck in finding anyone suitable for the position. He quickly realized they needed someone else.

He was distracted by a knock on the door.

"Soundwave are you there?"

"I'm here."

The door opened and Hot Rod walked in carrying two cubes.

"Shadow Striker said you haven't eaten yet."

He took one of the cubes and used a straw to drink out of it. Surprised that Hot Rod had memorized his order.

Looking back at the wall of Decepticons he realized the only person he trusted besides Shadow Striker and Laserbeak was Hot Rod.

He glanced at the Autobot who gave him a curious look.

"What? Do I have something on my face?"

Lying he nodded and Hot Rod began wiping his face asking.

"Did I get it?"

Nodding again he found his optics drawn to the Autobot symbol on his chest, which was the problem. Even though he trusted Hot Rod he was still an Autobot.

He needed to see if Hot Rod would be loyal to him or choose the Autobots over him. He did this by setting up a few tests to see if he'd be loyal to him.

Having found himself falling for the Autobot he really hoped he'd choose him. He knew if the situations were reverse he'd choose him. The thought shocked him and he'd been forced to reflect on himself as a person and how much he'd changed.

He'd been working in his office going over the results of the tests, Hot Rod had unknowingly taken. When the door swung open. He tried hiding the datapad in case it was Hot Rod only to see Shadow Striker standing there.

"What are you doing?"

"I thought you were Hot Rod."

"What are you trying to hide from him?"

He looked at the datapad debating if he should tell her or not. However since she was his second in command he thought she should know.

"I'm looking for our third in command."

"Okay... I don't see how that involves Hot Rod?"

"I want him to be third in command."

"What!"

She yelled in shock.

"He's an Autobot."

"That's why I secretly had him take this test to prove his loyalty to me."

"He's never going to pass that. He'd choose the Autobots over you--"

"He passed."

"What?"

Shadow Striker froze in shock.

"He passed all of my tests."

"Oh..."

She shifted her feet not knowing what to say.

"So he's our third in command?"

"Yes."

"You know the others won't accept that. Not without those tests results."

"I know."

"Which means Hot Rods going to find out."

"I know."

"Are you okay with the consequences?"

"Yes. I knew the risk when I chose to do this."

"Okay, I'm here if you need me."

Later that day he released the results announcing Hot Rod as the Decepticons third in command. There was some grumbling here and there, but everyone quickly got in line. It was Hot Rod he was worried about who busted into his office later on.

"What is this? I'm the Decepticons third in command? You've been doing secret tests on me?"

He waved the datapad in the air and he winced.

"I'm sorry but I needed to make sure. Not just for myself but the Decepticons as well."

"Why? I'm not a Decepticon. Why am I your third in command?"

"Because I trust you and I know you are exactly what we need."

Hot Rod sighed accepting his fate.

"Just don't do something like that again, at least not without talking to me."

"Of course."

A few days later and some Decepticons were getting into an argument in the middle of town. Which was quickly turning into a fight with Decepticons gathering around and picking sides.

The Autobots weren't sure what to do and had called Optimus hoping he'd be able to help. Only for the Decepticons to ignore him. That was until Hot Rod who'd been passing by told them to stop. Immediately they all backed down apologizing for starting a scene.

Optimus and the others gave him a shocked look and he just shrugged. It kept happening all over town. When a Decepticon had yelled at Perceptor for not being fast enough. Hot Rod made him apologize and sit back down.

Even though the peace treaty had been signed there was still tension between the two sides. Hot Rod helped where he could.

The Decepticons respected Hot Rod and that's why they listened to him. When an Autobot became disrespectful and started being rude to Hot Rod. It was always a Decepticon who stepped up defending him.

They didn't care if you were an Autobot or Decepticon. You did not disrespect one of their leaders.

Since becoming third in command and helping led the Decepticons. He was invited to many of their events where he learned about Decepticon culture and beliefs. Which were similar to those of Nyon. It made him feel like a piece of his home was still there.

When he started dating Soundwave the Decepticons had a large celebration that lasted through the night. All of them excited about their relationship.

Hot Rod found a home amongst the Decepticons especially with Soundwave. The two of them building a life together and a better future for everyone.

[vibratingskull]

Ok so we all love Thrawn as a dad, but the idea of Thrawn coming back from exile to meet his baby granddaughter is rotting my brain and I need others to see my vision (and if you're taking requests when you get this, I'd love to hear your headcanons/thoughts about it)

Gilf Thrawn for the win! Granddad Thrawn is such a sweet thought tho... I'm melting, the softness, the sweetness, the tenderness... 😭😭😭

Thrawn & Daughter!reader

Tags: tooth rooting fluff, reunion, single dad/granddad!Thrawn, daughter!Reader

Thrawn remains silent, simply observing the house in front of him. 

He is sure this is the right address, but he somehow feels tense at the idea of knocking on the door. 

So many years have passed. Ten years of complete radio silence while he was exiled. So many things must have changed. 

He just hopes his daughter is doing okay. You were a teenager when he disappeared, now you must be an adult, with your life sorted out, you may not want him back... 

He raises his hand and presses the doorbell. He is met by silence, only hearing his pounding heart until he hears hurried footsteps behind the door. 

“Coming!” A male voice responds. 

Did he get the wrong address? 

The door slides open to reveal a human male he has never met before. 

“What do you... Oh!” The human simply says discovering Thrawn in full Grand Admiral regalia, his eyes rounding up in surprise. 

They look into each other eyes in silence for a split second before the human turns towards the inside of the house. 

“Thitanu! I think  you should come at the door!” 

New footsteps can be heard and a human female appears. Thrawn’s heart jumps. You are so grown up now!  

You stop dead in your tracks with a shocked expression. 

This is you, his daughter, his beloved k’eten, the joy of his heart, his pride. 

“...Dad?” 

“Ch’eo k’eten.” He responds, incredulous himself. 

“...How?”You ask with a white voice like you were observing a ghost from a distant past. 

“It will be long to explain everything. Just know that I am back for good, Ch’eo K’eten.” 

You raise your hand to your mouth, a broken sob escaping you. 

“Re-really?” 

“Yes. I am here for you now.” He opens his arms to invite you. 

You throw yourself at him. You are taller now and with a mature face, but still as beautiful as in his memories. You hug each other tight, reveling in each other’s presence and warmth. 

“Thitanu...” He whispers in his bliss, pressing you against his heart, “(Y/n)”. 

It is so good to finally hug his daughter, after so long... 

He kisses your forehead, inhaling your scent, sending his heart into a frenzy. Now that he is back he will not let you go! You will need protection in those future confused and violent times and he is perfectly capable of offering it to you. 

You will travel with him on his ISD across the universe. 

If you refuse to come with him he will make you move to one of his hideouts, where nothing could ever reach you and harm you. Your security is his top priority now! 

You part from him suddenly with eyes full of excitation. 

“I need you to meet someone urgently!” And you grab his hand and pull him inside in a hurry, so much so that he almost bumps into the human man.  

You pull him all the way up the stairs, never letting him go for a second. You giggle and almost fly across the corridors of the house. You reach a door and you press your finger on your lips, ordering him to remain silent. 

He nods, curious about that person you so desperately wants him to meet. You slowly opens the door to let him discover... a nursery. 

His heart skips a bit, he turns back to you and you smile, absolutely radiant, inviting him to enter. He passes the door gingerly, not making a single sound, not even a breath, like the nursery would evaporate at any moment, and with it all its promises. 

The room is colorful, filled to the brim with toys and plushies. He remembers buying some for you when you were still a very little girl. He is glad you kept them with you. He slowly approaches the crib in the middle of the room, holding his breath, full of anticipation. 

He slowly discovers a baby, sleeping soundly with a snow bunny in their little fist. He leans forward to observe them closer. They must be between 4 to 6 months old, still tiny and fragile. They have the same skin tone as the human male, but the nose and hair are yours indubitably.  

Magnificent... Simply magnificent. 

He observes, fascinated, the baby wiggling under their plaid, pressing the plushie against themself. They suddenly stop moving to yawn a big time, opening their mouth in perfect ‘O’, letting out the most adorable sound he ever heard. 

“Take her in your arms.” You invite, approaching in his back. 

“She is deeply sleeping. I would rather not disturb her.” He refuses. 

“Nonsense. She can still sleep in your arms. Go on, take her, I know you want to.” 

It’s true, he really wants to hold her in his hands. 

But she is so small, and him so big... 

What if he hurt her in some way? She looks so fragile, like she was made of thin glass. 

“Go on. You will not hurt her, you never hurt me when you held me.” You insist. 

He tentatively reaches for the baby, making sure to take her head delicately and support her body correctly. 

Warrior, now that she is in his large hands she appears even smaller... 

He lifts her slowly and carefully to bring her to his chest. She doesn’t seem to wake up, perfectly at peace. Now that he has her in his arms, reality settles in his mind and heart. 

He is a grandpa. 

He has a granddaughter. 

A legacy. 

Another dear one to protect with all his might and power. 

He never guessed he would have another family before adopting you when you were only a three-year-old. Grandchildren were a concept so far away, like an impossible dream. And then he got exiled to Peridea, never to see his daughter again. 

In his mind, his family would stop with you. 

But you kept going, you flourished and pushed through. You found yourself a companion and gave birth to a magnificent baby girl. His family is alive and well against his worst fears... 

His family... is safe. 

And now he is back. 

With you. 

Nothing will ever separate him from his family again! 

He presses the baby against himself, reverently kissing her forehead like she was a saint figure that came to grace his dark existence. 

“What is her name?” He whispers to not disturb the baby’s sleep, eyes fixated on the most beautiful being he ever saw beside you. 

“Thisaima.” You smile, caressing your baby’s head. 

His heart jolts. 

You chose a Chiss name. 

To honor him. 

Back when he met you on this now far away planet ravaged by war, the only miraculous survivor under your birth house rubbles, he asked you your name and kept it. He always addressed you as Thitanu, your Chiss name, and (Y/n), your birthname, leaving you the choice of your identity. 

And today you chose a Chiss name for your daughter. 

He is so grateful to you, you are giving him so much! 

“What happened when I disappeared?” He asks finally. 

“Aunt Karyn took care of me. When you left us both on Coruscant to go to Lothal she stayed at our apartment for a bit. Then we learned your disappearance with the Chimaera. She really stepped up and took responsibility the best she could. She pushed me to get my diploma and helped me find a job. She did her best with me.” 

He owes a lot to Karyn Faro and way more than several years of diligent and loyal services it appears. 

He looks back at his granddaughter, looking even more precious and fragile now. He cannot lose anyone else again. 

He will not allow it. 

Not anymore. 

He kisses the baby’s forehead again, reveling in the softness of the skin. She giggles in her sleep. 

“I am back to protect you both. I will not fail again.” 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar@thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay @obbicrystaleo @germie2037

[nysus-temple]

I saw you mention this twice this week and so I was wondering...what's the thing with Virgil's name being misspelled about?

I never heard of this in class so I'm assuming it has to do with the English version of his name SPECIFICALLY, right? I'm kinda curious

Oh this might get long.

I actually LOVE to talk about this silly little thing !! I had to search for a lot of stuff regarding it back when I had to do an university work about Virgil (and I've never been the same ever since).

A quick clarification first: yes, I only speak for the English, Spanish and "Latin" versions only. I'm not sure how he's called in Italian nowadays. Virgilio, perhaps (that's Spanish).

The whole thing about the name being misspelled is, well, we all know he was called Vergilius in Latin, even if now we refer to him as Virgil and Virgilio respectively, when the actual transcription should have been Vergil and Vergilio, at least if we follow the rules. The reason most languages nowadays keep that <i> in his name instead of an <e> is due to his name having been written as Virgilius instead of Vergilius for quite a LONG while.

At the end of 1484, Angelo Poliziano traveled to Rome for the first time as a member of a Florentine delegation. During that trip, Poliziano had time to look through ancient codices in the Vatican Library. Thanks to that, he had found that Virgil's name was, in fact, Vergilius, not Virgilius, as all the copyists and authors had kept calling him. And well, all the modern research agrees with him nowadays, the name of the mantuan poet has an <e>, not an <i>. It's not certain why Virgilius was the name used instead for so long, BUT we know that by the 5th and 6th centuries this was already the predominant spelling.

And you know to where those centuries belong to? The Middle Ages !! Bear with me, most of the shenanigans regarding poets such as Virgil have to do with that.

Virgilius was associated etymologically with both virgo and virga. It was more metaphorically than an accurate etymology, though. Why do I say this? Well, turns out that back during the Middle Ages, Virgil's Eclogue IV was read as a prediction of the coming of Christ (virgo) and "magic wand" (virga) due to a tradition that made Virgil some sort sorcerer capable of prophesying the birth of Christ.

This is, obviously, not a fact. But given the topic of the Eclogue IV, of course we were going to use that as an excuse to talk about the coming of Christ. (I wonder why the Eclogue II has been ignored for so long, hm).

There's also the traditions of the biographers stating that Virgil had a nickname, parthenias, due to his apparent timid character. And uh, why we do know he didn't like the public gazes much, I'm not so sure if we can take all these biographies as a fact. So take this last bit with a grain of salt.

(Before Poliziano wrote his work explaining why Virgilius was wrong, we DO have one or two examples of the name Vergilius being used instead, but those are odd cases I did not look into.)

You can see how in English this has already been starting to change. People will call the poet either Virgil or Vergil, since both are equally accepted.

My case? While Vergil sounds better, closer to Latin, I use Virgil instead in order to avoid the mantuan poet being confused with *checks notes* the half-demon with family issues. Believe me the DMC fanbase has found some posts of mine in which I tagged the poet as Vergil instead of Virgil, and the misunderstandings were hilarious.

Hilarious, yet understandable. Searching "vergil" shows you the character. If you specify "vergil, poet" it will correct you to "virgil".

In Spanish? Well, if you say Vergilio instead of Virgilio, everyone will give you a side eye. And while, both are accepted like in English, submiting academic work in which he's not being called Virgilio can end up in a bad mark.

I tried that, and the response from my professor was "I don't know, he has always been called like that, I suppose. Vergilio just sounds wrong, correct it."

[petalouda85]

Names

Fandom: Blades of Light and Shadow 2

Pairings: Tyril x f!human!MC (Kassandra)

Word count: 2.7k

Concept: Continuation of Tightrope. Tyril and Kassandra have an unexpected visitor in Riverbend and discuss their upcoming parenthood.

Tags: @liviusofpella, @megas-choices, @starlight-starfury, @dutifullynuttywitch, @thosehallowedhalls, @choicesficwriterscreations

AO3 link: x

A/N: I’ve been thoroughly sucked into the world I established in “Tightrope”; I have so many ideas for it that I will likely need to make a separate masterlist for it eventually. Enjoy this little ball of fluff and hint of spice at the end. And of course, I had to include some crocheting in this fic

Riverbend had its charms.

In retrospect, Tyril had had his reservations about settling in the village despite being the one to suggest going there. There had been an underlying fear that the town would still be a hotbed for tourists and the curious, wishing to see the home of the legendary hero of Morella. But with the new world order, it seemed that few were interested in their legends. Furthermore, the inhabitants of the town had seemed keen to keep their own safe from unfriendly eyes, especially once news of the pregnancy began to leak out. Their loyalty and protectiveness had been a soothing balm in these uncertain times.

There was a time in his life where he couldn’t imagine never using magic for the most basic of tasks nor that he would live in such a humble place. But strangely, he found himself quite comfortable in the small village. Sure, he was quite a spectacle to behold – there weren’t any elves in Riverbend after all - and children would gawk at him, the occasionally brave one asking to touch his ears or show off his magic but most never treated him any different from the rest; it surprised him to admit that he preferred their company to those of the highest houses in Undermount. There was none of the needless extravagance, none of the posturing; the people here were honest and straightforward and uncomplicated.

He walked the familiar path from the edge of the forest towards the heart of Riverbend, a square lined with various shops. He made his way to the bakery, the bell tinkling as he opened the door. Soon, the baker appeared, giving the elf a smile as he approached the counter.

“Good to see you again, Tyril. The usual?” The elf placed his basket onto the counter.

“Yes.” The baker nodded and immediately went to retrieve the usual items, packing them carefully into the basket. Soon the order was filled but when Tyril reached to grab it, the baker stopped him, signaling him to wait. He dashed to the back of the shop, soon returning with something wrapped in brown paper.

“Some apple strudels for Kassandra; she was asking about them last time. No extra charge.” He said as he placed the item in with the rest. Tyril smiled a little.

“Thank you.” After laying out the payment, he grabbed the basket and headed out of the bakery. He required only a few items on this errand and before long, he turned towards the path that led out of the market square, ready for a quiet and peaceful night.

“Elf boy.” Tyril turned at the sound of the nickname, blinking twice to ensure he was not imagining the rogue leaning casually against a cart full of hay. The man flashed his signature cocky smile as he approached the elf.

“What are you doing here?” Tyril asked as the two shared an embrace. Once he pulled away, Mal patted him on the shoulder.

“Had some business in Zaradun. Thought I’d come by on my way back to Whitetower, see how you were doing.” Tyril couldn’t help but smile.

“A most welcome surprise. Come on; Kassandra will be happy to see you.”

The two men walked in silence out of the city square, Tyril eventually turning onto a smaller path which led towards a more hidden trail into the woods. Immediately, the din of the village gave away to the peaceful embrace of the forest.

“So, how is the great adventurer Mal Volari? Last I heard, a lovely elf caught your eye.” Tyril smirked when Mal playfully shoved him.

“Not a word to Kassandra; she’ll never stop teasing me.”

“My lips are sealed.” The two exchanged a chuckle.

“So how is Kassandra?” Mal asked after a moment of silence.

“She’s doing wonderful.”

“And the little one?”

“Everything’s going good. A few more months to go. Aderyn has been so helpful.” Tyril stopped walking, looking ahead on the trail, his mind restless for a moment. “I won’t lie. I’m nervous. There’s a part of me that’s uncertain if I’ll be able to handle it all. Fighting monsters I am more than capable of but children and babies…” Tyril turned to look at Mal when the man placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“From what I’ve heard, it’s normal to be nervous. But if you can survive two world ending scenarios, you can survive dirty diapers and a screaming baby. The kid will be lucky to have you as their dad and Kass as their mom; it’s more than most kids have.” The scoundrel said, his typical bravado replaced with a genuine and sincere tone.

“Thank you, Mal.” The two exchanged a smile and continued their trek further into the woods, the path soon widening into a small clearing, where a humble cabin stood with a small, fenced garden and a smattering of other small buildings, forming a small homestead. It wasn’t much but it had become home in the months they’d been there; close enough to Riverbend to have all their necessities met but far enough to allow them peace, quiet, and safety from prying eyes. Next to the cabin was Kassandra, busy chopping wood.

“Kassandra.” Tyril called out. The woman lowered her axe, dropping it entirely when she turned and saw the visitor.

“Mal!” She called out joyfully, running to him and giving him a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Visiting you two, obviously.” He pulled away and briefly glanced at her now-visible belly. “Excuse me, three.” Kassandra laughed and hugged the man again. “It’s good to see you, Kit.”

“It’s good to see you too.”

“You going to invite me in?” He teased, smiling deviously when the woman pulled away and punched his shoulder in good nature.

“If you’ll give me a minute. I have to finish this up.” She walked back to her work area, slowly bending down to pick up the chopped pieces on the ground and adding them to the stockpile by the side of the cabin.

“You know Aderyn said to avoid heavy lifting.” Tyril said as he joined her in the space. The woman held up the piece of chopped wood with a grin.

“This is not heavy lifting.” She then snapped her fingers and a heavy log gently lifted off the ground, floated towards the chopping block, and casually lowered itself onto it. “And magic can lift the rest.” The elf couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“Stubborn as usual.” Kassandra smirked and reached up give him a quick peck on his cheek.

“And you love me for it.” Taking his hand, she walked back towards the house and entered it, motioning to Mal to follow.

The inside was quaint. It didn’t bear the status of the rooms of Whitetower nor the grandeur of the Starfury estate, but it was comfortable and provided all that was needed for the two and future third inhabitant. Kassandra took the basket from Tyril’s arm and placed it on the table in the kitchen area. He joined her as she pulled out the brown package.

“What’s this?”

“Apple strudel. The baker put some in for you since you were asking for them.” Touched, Kassandra opened the package and pulled out one of the treats, immediately taking a bite from it as Tyril began putting away the items in the basket. When empty, he turned to the counter and began pulling forth the items they would need to cook that night’s dinner: cutting boards, knives, pots, and pans. The elf had it down to a routine, a practiced dance.

“Grocery shopping, cooking? Since when is elf boy the poster-boy of domestic bliss?” Mal asked, lounging on the bench by the dinner table.

“Since he doesn’t live in a fancy elven estate anymore with servants and butlers.” Kassandra answered, her mouth half stuffed with the pastry. “But don’t knock him too hard, Mal. He’s gotten much better over the months.” She quickly finished her treat before joining Tyril, helping him prepare the food.

“I appreciate your confidence in me.” Tyril whispered to her as she began to peel and cut the potatoes.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. Yes, you absolutely destroyed the pot the first time, but you make quite the stew now.” The elf chuckled a little before returning to the task at hand.

The night passed joyfully, the three catching up and swapping stories from their most recent escapades, Mal weaving his usual colorful tales. He also informed the pair of the happenings around the rest of Morella, all relieved that no dire threat had emerged since the joining of the realms; only minor squabbles and internal conflicts that didn’t require their legendary touch. Morella was rebuilding and, for now, peaceful.

Once the dinner was finished and all the tales had been told, Mal took his leave, making his way back to town as Tyril and Kassandra set to their usual evening routine.

“I’ll clean up this time.” Tyril said as Kassandra began to reach for the used bowls on the table.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go relax.”

“Alright.” Kassandra reached up and kissed his cheek before making her way to the open area next to the kitchen, sitting down on the small couch and pulling a basket to her; it wasn’t one he’d seen before.

She reached down and grabbed a small swatch in the shape of a rectangle alongside an attached ball of yarn and another item, a small wooden stick with a hook at the end. She got comfortable and began to use the hook to work the working thread of yarn into the little swatch. He watched her for a time, fascinated by the movement of her hands and the yarn; he’d never seen anything like it before.

“What are you doing?” He asked after a time. Kassandra stopped her work.

“Crocheting. Aderyn’s been teaching me how to do it.” She held up her project. It was a mishmash of color, and the finished swatch was slightly lopsided.

“What will it be?”

“A blanket. For the baby.” She returned to her work, adding a few more stitches. “Seemed like a fitting thing to do. I remember some of the women doing that when they were expecting a baby.” Tyril smiled a little and quickly finished his cleaning before meandering over to the woman, standing, and watching her work at her project for a time.

“Did your mother do that for you?” He asked. Immediately, her hands stopped.

“I-“ the words were lost in her throat, her face falling. She gulped and looked down sadly at the blanket. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.” Tears welled in her eyes, and he knelt before her, placing a comforting hand on top of hers. She grabbed onto it and glanced at the blanket again. “Did your mother ever do something like this for you?” He thought for a moment before shaking his head.

“I was raised by a governess mostly. And by the time Sarenya took over, I was too old for such things.” He ran his hand over the in-progress blanket, seeing and feeling the love imbued into the fabric.

“Seems that we both missed out on typical parent/kid things.” Kassandra mumbled. He squeezed her hand.

“All the more reason to ensure they do have those things. Give them everything we didn’t.” Kassandra only nodded in response, but she had a relieved smile on her face. She lay her hand on her belly and the two sat in silence for a time, basking in the quiet comfort of each other.

“Boy or girl?” He asked. The woman briefly glanced at him before looking back at her belly.

“I don’t know. Though the older women in town think it’s a boy. I don’t really care either way; I just want them to be happy and healthy.” Tyril rose and went to sit next to her.

“As do I.” The moment he was settled, Kassandra put her work away and leaned her head on his shoulder. He quickly wrapped an arm around her, resting his head on top of hers. “We should probably think of some names for them.” He said after a time. He felt her shift under him.

“I’m open to suggestions.”

“Terran.” Tyril said after a moment.

“That was your ancestor’s name, right?”

“Yes. The one we saw in the visions room.”

“Hmm.” Kassandra was silent for a moment. “A name belonging to someone brave and noble and strong. Though I wonder if your father would have a problem with that name; you did say he criticized that ancestor.”

“He did. But there is no denying that Terran was a great warrior and general.” Tyril placed a kiss on her head. “Besides, I don’t think my father would criticize if he knew you liked the name. He’s rather fond of you.” Kassandra shuffled around and looked up at him, her expression happy and slightly relieved. He gave her a smile in return.

“Regardless, we shouldn’t rush in picking a name. There might be something else we’d like.”

“I’m open to suggestions.” They spent the next few minutes discussing a few possible names, debating the pros and cons of each option. Before long, they were just calling out names, sometimes devolving into giggles at the suggestions.

“We need to think of some names for a girl too.” Kassandra laughed after their game had gone on for a time. She moved out from under Tyril’s arm and got comfortable in her new spot.

“Alright.” He also moved into a more comfortable position, facing Kassandra. “Do you remember your mother’s name?” He suggested. Kassandra looked sad for only a moment before shaking her head.

“No. But I have something else in mind for a girl. Something better I think.”

“Oh?” He sat up straighter, his curiosity piqued. Kassandra looked down at her belly once more, a warm and fond smile on her face before she turned her gaze back to the elf.

“Kaya.” Tyril forgot to breathe for a moment, staring into Kassandra’s eyes, her expression genuine.

“Really?” He asked softly. She reached up and cupped his face in her hand, running her thumb gently over his cheek.

“She was someone special to you. And why wouldn’t I want to name our baby after someone intelligent, compassionate, and kind?” Tyril remained silent, tears welling in his eyes but unable to look away from hers. He tried to find words to formulate some response. Unable to find them, he leaned forward and placed a kiss on her lips, the movement slow but the emotion potent and fervent. After some time, he pulled away, never looking away from her.

“You’re amazing, Kassandra.” She smirked and moved closer, straddling his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” The two laughed before Kassandra leaned in for another kiss. It began chaste and sweet but quickly devolved back to the deep kiss from before, the movement slow but passionate. He held onto her at the hips before slowly moving a hand down her leg, hiking up her skirt to grasp at the bare skin, the woman letting out a light gasp at his warm touch. She, in turn, moved her hands down his neck, opening his shirt and sliding her hand under the fabric, caressing the warm skin.

Suddenly, Kassandra pulled away with a light gasp.

“Kassandra?” She shook her head.

“I’m alright. They’re kicking.” She rubbed her hand over her belly in a calming manner. “Already taking all the attention, aren’t you?” She teased, causing the elf to chuckle as well. After a few minutes, she returned her attention to him, cupping his face in her hands. “Now, where were we?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He teased. Kassandra smirked before placing a quick kiss on his lips.

“I think this is the part where we head to the bedroom and ravish each other in every way possible.” With a smirk, he shuffled forward slightly, making sure that her legs were secure around his hips.

“Then hold on.” He stood up from the couch, lifting her with ease. Kassandra kissed him once more as he moved to their room, clicking the door shut behind them.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Immortal Beloved - Chapter Seven.

Last update until after Christmas, guys. I guess this gives anyone wishing to catch up a chance to do so, but I must confess that if reads and engagement are still dwindling, the story will likely be discontinued. I don't want to do that really, but I'm not being left with much choice. Working hard on creating something that went from a lot of initial interest to barely any at all is soul destroying for a writer. I appreciate the few people who are committed to it enormously, though.

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four Five Six

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,739

Warnings - 18+ only. Adult themes + vampire content throughout. Minors DNI!

“Well, it looks as if the roads are quite passable now.” Looking at John, she snorted a laugh. It was not the news he’d been hoping to hear.  

“Can’t you go and, I dunno, move a load more snow over ‘em, so we don’t have to go anywhere?”  

Oh, the bubble they had fallen into over the past few days. Neither truly wanted to burst it by venturing out from within the four walls of Georgian House. They’d spent most of their time naked, either enjoying one another on a sexual level, or simply warming themselves at the fireside while they’d talked for hours on end. Reality, though, it had to come knocking eventually. 

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she raised a curious eyebrow. “What, I am to go out there and shunt the snowbanks back into every single road running through Birmingham?” 

“Yes,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of the front door. “Go on, hop to it.”  

Her laugh filled the hallway, curling her fingers at his neck. “You do amuse me, my darling. There is nothing to stop us from coming back here later on. I would like another night with you until my rescheduled work engagements fill up the rest of my week.”  

“Yeah,” he breathed, kissing her forehead, “I’m gonna have all that to focus on an’ all. All the races will have been cancelled cos’ of the weather, but we have other things going on I’ll need to be about for.” Those things included words he hadn’t wanted to let into his mind for the last four days since his arrival in Little Aston, such as the Rasmussen’s, and his taking Bryn back to Small Heath to introduce her to his family in order to discuss her own difficulties with them.  

“Come, let us depart, then.”  

His face was not in agreement with those words. “Do we have to leave right now?” 

“You called your brother, and he is back from Warwickshire, yes?” 

“Yeah, he is.” 

“Then we should not keep him waiting. It is rude, and I pride myself on being polite.” 

He grumbled in protest. “I wanted to do something before we did.” He watched her cock her head slightly, his hands wandering over the contours of her body through her long, black skirt. “I really fancy burying me face between your legs for so long, you forget what I look like.”  

He winked, and she felt her stomach flutter. “I could never forget a face so handsome, but by all means, you may do that to me later on.” 

Biting his lip, he smirked, eyes touring her. “You sure not now?” 

The devilment within him. It would be the death of her, if she were not dead already. “Coat and boots. Now. Your family already distrust me. I am not about to give them another reason to stack against me before I have even crossed their threshold.” 

That threshold was reached at just past 6pm, Bryn stepping from the car as John took her arm, reaching to open the front door. His arm pulled from hers as he stepped inside, her body rooted to the spot.  

Polly’s words the previous week returned to him in an instant. “Ah, yeah I have to invite you in, don’t I?” She nodded. “Won’t you please come in, you ridiculously beautiful woman.” Stepping into the small house, it had a very cosy feel to it, the fire crackling away, evidence of someone having been sitting there, that someone coming hurtling in from the back room.  

“Daddy!” 

“Hello, pige.” Scooping his daughter up, John kissed her cheek, Katie cuddling up to him tightly as her eyes took in Bryn, who beamed brightly. “What’s this you’ve got on your head, eh?” Gesturing to the wire hanger that had been fashioned, little sequins wrapped around along with paper flowers, he laughed when she batted his hand away with a scowl. 

“It’s my crown!” Her finger then pointed at Bryn. “Daddy is this your new lady friend?”  

He grinned, nodding. “Yeah, pige. This is Brynhild, but you can call her Bryn, like I do.” 

Immediately, she scrambled from his arms. “Hello, Bryn! My name is princess Katie.”  

Bryn took to her like a duck to water, placing a hand to her chest with a small gasp. “What, you mean to tell me I am meeting the princess Katie of Small Heath?” The child nodded, tucking her chin a little shyly for a moment. “I am thrilled to make your acquaintance, your majesty.” Katie looked thrilled as Bryn bobbed in a neat curtsy, giggling before launching herself to hug her legs, the vampire lifting her into her arms. “This is a very, very pretty crown.” 

“Thanks! I made it, aunt Polly helped but then she got glue on her skirt and said it was a bugger, so I did the rest.” 

“Oi, you want smacked legs?” John admonished, pinching her cheek. “Less of the swearing, eh?” 

“But Polly said it!” Turning then, she found interest in Bryn’s tattoos, her fingers trailing the lines. “Did you paint these on? Do they come off?” 

“No, little princess. I did not paint them on and no, they do not come off.”  

“Is it like what uncle Tommy has on his arm? A two two?” 

“A tattoo, yes,” she softly corrected, Katie’s fingers reaching to begin playing with the strings of pearls around her neck. 

“Where are you from? Your voice is all funny. You don’t talk like we do.” A little more pearl playing went on, Katie studying her intently. “You’re very pretty.” 

“Why thank you. Such a compliment, and from royalty too, no less. As for where I am from, I come from a country called Norway.”  

Her little head of blonde curls swung around to view her father. “Can we go one day, daddy? Can you drive us there?”  

He laughed, taking her back from Bryn. “Not unless cars can suddenly cross water, pige. Now let’s get you off to bed.” 

“But I want to say up and talk to Bryn!” Ahh, he knew she’d probably be difficult, confronted with a new person. She likely already had designs on bringing down her doll collection to proudly show off. 

“I will come and see you again soon, princess Katie. This I promise.” Bryn vouched, rubbing her nightdress covered thigh affectionately. A few more protests were given before John took her up, coming back to walk Bryn through to the backroom, where there waiting were Tommy, Arthur and Polly.  

“Everyone, this is Brynhild. Bryn, this is Arthur, Tommy and Polly.”  

Studying them, she made her usual quick assessments, walking first to Tommy. He looked a little stiff, but was certainly the least frosty of the three.  

“A pleasure.” She offered her hand, Tommy hesitating only for a second, the echoes of screams that had sounded long ago sharp again within his mind before he shook it. He noticed it as soon as his skin pressed to hers, the ancient power that radiated from her.  

She seemed confident and polite, a civilised woman. It did not mean she truly was, though. Whatever sorcery she’d obviously worked on John, he wouldn’t be so quick to succumb, but he would give her a fair chance all the same.  

“Polly, hello.” Here she was met with much more coolness, the matriarch of the family lifting her chin as she took a step back, Bryn hearing her heartbeat escalate. She withdrew her hand after a few moments, certain it was not about to be shook. “I am not what your grandmother told you we are.”  

“You’ll keep my grandmother’s name out of your mouth, if it’s all the same to you.”  

“Pol, knock it on the head,” John warned, his brow creasing. 

“No, I bloody won’t,” she protested, although her eyes did not leave Bryn for a second. Her jaw clenched as she swallowed hard, trying to remain rocklike in the presence of a creature she’d been warned never to trust, no matter what. Bryn saw it, though, the way the curls framing her face gently fluttered from her trembles. “But I will at least listen to what she has to say.” 

“Well, I flamin’ won’t,” Arthur began, brandishing a large, silver knife as Bryn turned to him. “Don’t you fucking come anywhere near me!”  

“Arthur, put the knife down,” Tommy spoke, his tone quiet yet strong.  

“I will not.” 

Bryn turned, moving to take a seat at the table beside John. “If he wishes to arm himself for his own peace of mind, then I shall not object.”  

“Ain’t like you couldn’t take it from him faster than he could blink,” John snorted, resting a hand to her thigh, remembering how she’d done the very same to him. While Polly studied the ease he displayed while interacting with the shadow walker, Arthur was becoming tighter wound by the second.  

“I suppose if you’re fine with it,” Tommy began, lighting a cigarette. “Now, let’s get right to business, shall we? You want us to offer you protection in the daylight hours from the Rasmussen’s, should they ever get wind of your whereabouts.” 

“That is correct,” Bryn confirmed. 

“And what do we get out of it, apart from monetary recompense?” Taking a drag on his cigarette, his eyes narrowed a fraction. “The Peaky Blinders aren’t exactly short of a bob or two already, so I want to know what else it is that you can provide me with, in the interests of making it worth my while to trust a shadow walker.” 

John had mentioned how shrewd he could be. “It would be a regular, large sum of legitimate cash, for one thing. Bodyguarding services do not need to be hidden from the books, or laundered by other means as I know you have to with some of your more, ah, shadowed activities, shall we say. Then there is the fact that the Rasmussen’s do not play fair when it comes to a fight. I could give you the means to not just level the playing field, but level them, also. You know what they are, I am correct in thinking?” 

He nodded singularly. “Vampire hunters. John told us, yes.”  

“And you know why specifically they are hunting me?” 

“I do, for your blood. Somewhat hypocritical, if you ask me. Trying to wipe out your kind, but only too happy to drink your blood in order to harness a little of your strength for themselves.” 

Her mouth upturned, a smile spreading. “I have often thought much the same. In light of this, know that in physical combat, you shall never beat them as it stands. Outwitting them too shall prove difficult, for the advantage they hold. What I can offer to you is what they seek. My blood.  

“It will sharpen you both mentally and physically, far more than they. Whatever vampire they have within their clutches at present whom they are using for their blood source, they are nowhere near as old or strong as I. If you have that, Tommy, you have everything. The advantage will be yours.”  

His eyes widened a fraction at the suggestion, Bryn turning to John. “Show him, darling.”  

He stood, placing his hand beneath her chair before lifting it clean in the air above his head, his arm not even wobbling, no sign of any strain upon his face.  

“Holy shit,” Polly exclaimed, her eyes snapping from the sight to Tommy, who’s interest had just piqued by several notches.  

“And why the fuck have you been doing something so fucking vile as drinking her blood, eh? That’s fucking disgusting. Shame on ya!” Arthur raged, watching as his brother set the vampire down again neatly.  

John sniffed casually, looking at Bryn with a wink. “I had my reasons. I could tell you, but you’d probably shit a lung in disgust.” Being able to fuck for hours on end. Having the feeling of a million stars shooting through his bloodstream. Orgasms that rocked his foundations to rubble. Being able to feel her there connected to him, on a level that went beyond what they as mere humans could otherwise comprehend. No. Arthur likely wouldn’t take fondly to hearing such candid verbatim.  

Tommy cleared his throat. “And how much did you have in mind, monetary speaking?” 

“Are we just going to fucking sit here and ignore that this... this... evil witch creature has our bloody brother under some kind of spell, or what?” Arthur raged, thumping his hand on the table before the chair screeched out from under him, rising to his feet rapidly.  

“I am no witch, Arthur,” Bryn commented softly.  

John snorted with laughter. “Could’ve fooled me, bab.” The wink he directed at Bryn left nobody in any doubt over exactly what he alluded to. 

“Shut the fuck up, John! Just because you’ve decided to start shagging the fuck out of a corpse, it don’t mean we’ve got to be alright with it!” 

The mood in the room changed drastically, John shooting his eldest brother a dangerous glare. “The fuck did you just call her?” 

“Technically he’s right,” Bryn spoke casually, looking over at Arthur with a small smirk. “However, you shouldn’t knock it until you’ve tried it. If there is one place we truly come alive, it is in the bedroom.” She then winked at John, feeling his temper deflate in an instant. He did nothing to hide his grin and snort of laughter, his reaction only further exasperating Arthur.  

“Revolting,” he began, swinging his pointed finger then towards Bryn. “And you, you fucking vile piece of filth, are a goddamned abomination!” 

Bryn was prepared to take a lot in order to help her cause, also to smooth any tensions that her love’s family might’ve still harboured now that she was involved romantically with him. Being called an abomination was where she drew a definitive line, though.  

Her growl rattled through the room, every person bar John feeling the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. “You will never call me that again.”  

“Listen to it, listen!” he raged, gesturing with both hands, his eyes widening. “Fucking growling, like the beast it is!”  

“Arthur,” John warned, “don’t bloody push her. She’s gentle as a sparrow, but if you light a match under her fucking temper, I ain’t putting myself between you and the explosion.”  

His mannerisms became jerky as anger and fear flooded his blood, thrusting a pointed finger in Bryn’s direction. “I will not share air with that fucking devil creature!” 

“That is fine, Arthur. For I do not need to breathe.” She was hanging onto her desire to exit her seat and pin him to the nearest wall, fangs bared, by the skin of those very teeth. Out of respect for John and nothing more, she remained seated. John, her darling, he who had just broken the tension in the air somewhat by snorting with laughter at her words.  

“John boy, this ain’t funny!” 

“Oh, it fucking is though, Arthur. You ranting and raving like a bloody lunatic about how vicious and murderous she’s supposed to be, and she’s just sitting there quietly, taking every ounce of your shit while you show yourself up good an’ proper.” Leaning back in his seat, he shook his head, still rumbling with his chuckles. “Give it a rest, eh?”  

“Give it a rest?” His spat statement was accompanied by a fine mist of saliva sprayed into the air, his hair becoming unruly as he dragged his fingers through it. “Oh ar, yeah let’s all give it a rest and let her think we’ve dropped our guard. Then she’d bring her friends along and it’ll be the Black Patch all over again!” 

John remained calm, chewing his toothpick with nonchalance. “You’re going to give yourself a funny turn, you are.” 

“You didn’t see it, John boy! You didn’t see people ripped apart, their throats torn out, you didn’t...” His words trailed off, eyes snapping to Bryn as she stood, making a start to walk towards him. “Don’t you bloody come near me! Don’t you...” He reached for the knife, but in his haste sent it clattering to the floor, Bryn upon him before he had chance to retrieve it.  

“Shhhhh,” she soothed, reaching for his face, clasping it between her hands, Arthur struggling. 

“Get your fucking hands off me!” 

“Shhhhh, Arthur. Come now.” She’d been pushed to anger before by his verbal tirade, but looking at him, really studying the man whose face she held, thumbs gently stroking his cheeks, she saw it. His outburst was not prompted by any hatred. It was all fear. He was terrified of her. Just like she had done with John upon their first meet, Bryn held his face, transmitting her energy to him, soothing him. He fought against it, though. 

“Get off, stop it. Fucking stop it!” 

He began to crack, embarrassed, frightened tears pooling his eyes, Arthur ashamed to let her witness them sliding down his cheeks. He remained rigid as she pulled him close. “There, there. You are not that frightened little boy any longer, Arthur. You are a strong man, a capable man, one who fought for king and country. There is no need for all this anguish. I do not seek to hurt you.” 

At last, she felt his muscles slacken, surprised to feel his arms wrap around her as he sobbed silently into the soft pelt of her coat. It took him by surprise, the feeling of sudden waves of calm pouring into him, there in the arms of the creature he had considered to be nothing short of the purest evil to ever exist. She fed upon the blood of the living, a shadow residing beast of unimaginable power and darkness, but there in her arms, Arthur felt the kind of safe comfort he hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.  

He couldn’t discount that. 

The whole room remained silent, John raising an eyebrow and nodding at the scene as he and Tommy exchanged glances, the former mouthing ‘told you’ with a satisfied grin. Where Tommy looked to be more accepting of the sight before him, Polly remained stern, her face not cracking whatsoever.  

“Are you composed now?” Bryn asked, pulling back to wipe Arthur’s tears gently with the backs of her fingers.  

Nodding, he took a deep breath, straightening his stance. “A bit, ar.” He still felt embarrassed, excusing himself as Bryn returned to her seat. Immediately, John reached to cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek. She turned her head to kiss his palm, covering her hand with his for a moment. Tommy raised his eyebrows, looking to Polly. Neither had ever seen him really express affection like that for a woman so openly, but both saw it quite clearly.  

Their precious John was in love with a vampire. 

“Now, before Arthur became distressed, you mentioned to me a monetary figure. How is five hundred pounds?” 

“A month?” Tommy asked, surprised. 

“A week.”  

Good god. Just how rich was this woman, to be able to offer five hundred pounds a week? It was a sum he had not expected at all.  

“I think that can be arranged,” he began, stubbing out his cigarette, “but the blood offer I shall have to give some consideration to.”  

“Good enough.”  

“Before anything is decided, I have some questions I’d like to ask you,” Polly began, leaning forward in her seat a little. “How do we know we aren’t about to be set upon by a group of your kind and slaughtered, like what happened up at the Black Patch? We have no bloody assurances here, Brynhild.”  

Bryn nodded, clasping her hands together upon the table. “Polly, the only assurance you need is that if I wanted you dead, you would be.” Clicking her fingers, she smirked. “Faster than that. You would not even see it coming. If I were as feral and bloodthirsty as you assume, it would happen before you knew it. I have no long game to play here, there is no merit in the Shelby’s ending up exsanguinated. I have no need for your money, merely your protection during the daylight. After telling you that, now you tell me what purpose I could possibly have in being duplicitous?” 

Her response was sharply delivered. “The Black Patch massacre, as I just said.” 

Bryn truly hated when humans did not listen. “You would be dead already, as I just said. Besides, it was not my fight.”  

“So you wouldn’t take the side of your own kind over a betrayal?” 

“If a gypsy family whom were not of your blood fell out with others, would you immediately take their side simply because they were gypsy?” 

She lit a cigarette, feeling nervous that the vampire so swiftly had her on the back foot. “That would depend on the circumstances.”  

“If that is so, then why can the same not be applied to me, hmm?”  

Polly did not enjoy witnessing her argument so flawlessly picked apart, feeling as if the neat stitches had been dropped from the needles she had knitted her opinion upon all too easily. “I see.”  

“No, you don’t,” Bryn challenged, reading her like a book. “You are prejudiced against my kind because you lost your kin at the hands of vampires. I knew those responsible, this much is true, but I had no part in what happened. Furthermore, I wanted no part. I have lost too, Polly. Because of the Rasmussen’s, I...”  

John felt it flare within him, a wave of distress burning through her blood, his hand reaching for her. “You alright, sweetheart?”  

She swallowed hard, nodding as she turned to him. “There is something I did not reveal that happened during my incarceration at the hands of the Rasmussen’s. I do not speak it because it brings me too much pain. Pain I can barely comprehend, even after all these years.”  

In getting the family to truly trust her, she knew she had to relive it in revelation. The three humans sitting at the table all waited with bated breath to hear it, just what could make an ancient vampire the likes of her suddenly become victim to her emotions. They would be the first outside of her own kind to know what had happened, too.  

That spoke volumes for a vampire as guarded as Bryn had been forced to become.