#bafflement gets the mail

[bafflement]

Hello, there! Just stopping by to hear a little about your WIP! What, in your opinion, makes your WIP unique? What makes your WIP stand out?

The premise isn't something I've really run across before, at least not in this fandom. As for making it unique? I like to think the characterization of Tip in particular. He isn't the distant, reserved Headmaster he is as an adult, he's just a kid with a child's emotions and a child's body. Not everything always makes sense and while the others listen to him, they don't really expect little ten year old Tip to have all the answers.

He doesn't. He knows a lot because part of his soul is very, very old... but there are memories that are being kept from him, things he doesn't know. Ozymandias is doing it to try to protect him, preserve more of who he is now than survived the first time they merged, but Tip doesn't always fully appreciate that.

As said, he's a kid and no kid appreciates adults keeping them in the dark. :P

It's also really interesting exploring the shift in relationships between the characters that comes with this Oz being so much younger than he really should be, younger than the other kids. Oscar sees him as a brother and most of the others as a friend, which might have been far more awkward for his adult self.

Of course the relationship between Tip and Qrow is... complicated, for now.

Then there's the fact that this Oz is very much a kidnapped Schnee... and everything, politically, that happens as a result.

[maskyartist]

Just a quick message that you rock. Because you really, really do, Masky. <3

sgmdkskfdns aww thank u :(

[dameronscopilot]

I’ll Be Your Bright Side

Pt. 3 - Find Me Where the Skies Are Blue [BENNY'S POV]

Benjamin “Benny” Miller x f!reader

He was so tightly woven into your life at this point, a part of Benny knew that when you eventually began to dig up those roots, cutting them away to make room for something new, he’d never get those parts of himself back.  There would be no getting over you.

Word Count: 1k

Content: angst, pining

A/N: This is a partial snippet of Benny's POV from part 3, detailing his internal monologue when your date shows up before trivia night. Dedicated to @helloimhereforabit 💖💖

If you haven't read I'll Be Your Bright Side yet, I'd suggest reading up to part 3 for context first.

SERIES MASTERLIST

“I have a date.”

A date.

A date?

A pained, self-deprecating laugh threatened to spill from Benny’s lips when you finally said the four words he’d been selfishly hoping he’d never have to hear from you. Because of course it had to happen this way. Of course you’d start seeing someone when he’d finally worked his way right to the precipice of telling you how he felt. He’d been so fucking close.

And yet it seemed that even now, even when you were in the same room, you were destined to be a million miles away. 

He deserved this.

You attempted to downplay the date by telling Benny that you were just doing trivia night, but something bristled inside of him as you said it. Admittedly, it was stupid and immature for him to feel some kind of entitlement over it, but you always did trivia night together. And then any chances of him brushing it off were destroyed the moment you added in that Santiago and Frankie had apparently received an invite, too, for whatever reason. 

And that…hurt.

Benny felt a pang in his chest, and internally, he stumbled.

While his automatic response was to sarcastically ask if his invite had been lost in the mail, he bit his tongue, easing into the question—though his bafflement over the situation then increased tenfold as you then informed him that it was Star Wars night. The knowledge only served to add insult to injury

“...and you didn’t invite me?”

His confusion grew as you retorted, “I thought you had a hot date tonight.”

In that moment, Benny wanted to shout from the rooftops that there was nothing he wanted less than that—to try and fail on yet another date, where he’d inevitably spend the entire night comparing her to you.

He’d been there and done that already, he’d tried to pretend you hadn’t accidentally ruined him for anyone else.

When he realized you’d taken Santiago’s sarcastic comment about his one-on-one lesson with one of his clients the wrong way, there was a split second where Benny wondered if you were jealous. If perhaps that was why you had a date in the first place. So naturally, before he could second-guess the entire situation, he invited himself to come along.

But at the sound of a knock at your door, Benny was filled with an odd sense of dread. 

He could lose you forever.

“Don’t scare him off!”

Striding over, pinning you up against the wall in the entryway, and kissing you the way he’d always imagined doing while your date waited outside would likely fall into that category. 

Benny was fairly certain he was going to be sick as he made his way across the room and went to lean against your kitchen counter, reaching for a tea packet sitting in a pile in a small wooden bowl to busy his hands—better than clenching them at his sides. He watched as your date briefly observed the collage of framed artwork he’d painstakingly hung up two weeks ago, another wave of nausea coursing through him at the knowledge that soon, it might no longer be his place to do things like that for you. 

You wouldn’t need to call him to come over when you couldn’t reach something on the top shelf. When you found a ridiculous armchair at a yardsale and needed help getting it up into your apartment. 

And you definitely wouldn’t call him anymore shrieking over a spider the size of a quarter at three in the morning, knowing he’d drag himself out of bed just to come and squash it for you. 

(There’d be no more late nights passed out beside you on your couch either—those quiet, stolen moments where he woke up to find you asleep with your head resting on his shoulder. When, cast in the soft glow from the television, he’d glance down at you and allow himself to pretend. If only for a moment.)

You had so many of his shirts strewn about in your drawers and closets, what would you do with those? Would you leave them forgotten until you eventually came across them years later, hardly remembering who Benny was? Would you donate them to a thrift store without a second thought? 

Would you give them back to him? As if he’d ever be able to stomach wearing them again.

Benny never quite could lie to himself about how much he loved seeing you in his shirts, the way he never made an effort to get them back when you borrowed them. 

He was so tightly woven into your life at this point, a part of Benny knew that when you eventually began to dig up those roots, cutting them away to make room for something new, he’d never get those parts of himself back. 

There would be no getting over you.

As you introduced Benny to Dan, he couldn’t decide what he was more distracted by—the fact that this was his bizarro lookalike from the dating app, or the way he almost felt the need to correct him for bringing you a bouquet of cut flowers.

Wildflowers, nonetheless, like some goddamn hipster.

He didn’t know you didn’t care for bouquets. 

That you always felt silly for how guilty and upset watching them wilt and die made you feel. 

He didn’t know how much you loved houseplants and the permanence they represented. The way they set down roots, how they’d always stick around as long as you took care of them.

There he went with the fucking plant metaphors again.

Dan didn’t know you had funny names for each and every one strewn about in your apartment. He didn’t know the story behind the lopsided one sitting on the windowsill in the living room, the one whose pot had a small chip along the lip—Benny had knocked it over when he was watering your plants for you while you were away once. 

As he watched you rifle through drawers looking for a vase to put the flowers in, Benny was on autopilot as he went to grab the one that he knew was in the cabinet above the fridge. 

But as you placed Dan’s flowers down on the counter beside the small plant Benny had bought for you on a whim last week, something about seeing the way the two contrasted with one another was Benny's undoing.

Maybe you’d learn to like flowers better.

[sonatine]

S3E11 aka “Mom City” aka the perfect episode highlights

Ted pulling his hands down his face when his mom walks out of sight aka everyone’s reaction after spending ten minutes with a parent

Jamie high fiving a fan with his forehead

Obviously “walnut mist”

The feeling of being in your hometown and automatically knowing how to get home on autopilot no matter where you started

All the boys crying at You’ve Got Mail but keely falls asleep

Roy’s face of utter bafflement observing the whole oedipus situation while gently holding a scone

YoU cAn’t wALk up sTaiRs

[catsvrsdogscatswin]

Higurashi Month 2024, Day 24: Astonished

Higurashi Month prompts archive: AO3 

When Mion suggested the idea of magic tricks, everyone was on board.

When she specified learning magic tricks and not just watching her do them, because she'd seen this cool program on the hotel TV when Batcha had sent her with a few of the Kimiyoshi family on a business trip and she wanted to try, reactions immediately split.

"Nope," Keiichi said immediately, shaking his head. "Uh-uh, uh-uh, uh-uh. No way are we-"

He pointed to Satoko.

"-giving that gremlin access to prestidigitation. Think of what she could do!"

"Presti-what?" Satoko said, her foxlike smirk momentarily stymied by bafflement.

"Sleight of hand," Shion clarified, and then pretended to stroke a nonexistent beard. "But you know, I'm kinda liking that idea."

"You just like it because she doesn't come after you!"

"Nobody's exempt from club strategies, Kei-chan. You're just the only one klutzy enough to keep tripping headfirst into them."

"Hey!"

"Will there be bunnies?" Rena asked, her eyes aglow, ignoring Shion and Keiichi behind her as they started to tussle.

"I ordered a magic set from the mail catalogue, but I dunno if we should work with live stuff yet," Mion admitted, lifting up her bento just before a flailing arm swiped under it. "There's plenty of critters around if we wanna try –I'm pretty sure one of my aunts has a rabbit hutch, too."

"And none of us have a top hat, mew," Rika said cheerfully.

"Ah, that's easy to get." Mion waved one hand. "You remember my uncle in Okinomiya, the one with the game store? He's got a load of old costumes and things in his basement."

"So how come you didn't buy a magic set from him?" Satoko asked, eyes on the whirling cloud of dust that had overtaken the two desks as the occasional yelp or shout echoed out of it.

"Didn't have the right kind of set," Mion said. "I wanted something comprehensive, y'know? Ropes and rings and a deck and an instruction pamphlet with pictures and all that. The pamphlet part was the trickiest, since most are in English."

"It'll be odd having a set of new cards," Hanyuu mused.

"We'll just use 'em for magic, don't worry," Mion replied, although her grin went a trifle sharp-edged for a moment. "We wouldn't want to mess things up, would we, Kei-chan?"

"What?" he said as the scuffle suddenly paused, Shion's arm wrapped around his neck in a headlock and his hand frozen in the act of pulling on a chunk of her hair.

"We're getting a new deck with the magic set and Mi-chan promised not to mix the two together," Rena repeated happily. He snorted.

"Yeah, because she doesn't want me to trick her again –urk!"

He gurgled as Shion flexed her elbow, cutting off his air supply. Keiichi yanked on her hair, but it was long enough that she could merely dip her head with the movement and go with him to the edge of his range.

"Should we make it a competition to see who masters all the tricks the fastest?" Satoko suggested, an evil gleam back in her eye as she began to grin.

"Mm." Mion hummed noncommittally. "I dunno… that doesn't sound very inspired. Maybe whoever can do the coolest performance with the tricks? Extra points for however many you include?"

"We could do a magic show!" Shion gushed, eyes sparkling at the idea as Keiichi, purple-faced and foaming at the mouth, tapped rapidly at her arm with both hands.

"Shi, I think you need to let go," Rika noted, and with a blink –as if forgetting she had him stashed there– Shion looked down, and then opened her arm.

Keiichi smacked down to the floor and wheezed on all fours, his breath rattling throughout the room as he drew in deep gulping lungfuls of breath.

"I'm… the Magician of the Mouth!" he said weakly after a few moments, setting a hand on his knee and pushing himself to his feet. He swayed a little, but stuck a finger in the air, declaiming proudly. "I came from Tokyo! I know about physics! There's no way you guys'll be able to beat me!"

"Them's sleighting words," Mion replied as her eyes lit with the spark of challenge, rubbing her hands with a grin. "Sleight of hand, that is. Eh?"

"Mion Sonozaki, disqualified for use of lame puns," Shion pretended to note down in an invisible book, even going so far as to mime the act of scribbling with her retrieved chopstick before her sister smacked her hands.

"Bring it on!" Satoko scoffed, tossing her head and folding her arms. "With my trap expertise, I'll master those tricks in a snap."

"While Satoko does traps and tricks, I'll do my best with the treats," Rika said sweetly.

"Learning magic tricks does sound fun…" Hanyuu admitted.

"For the bunny rabbits and fluffy pigeons!" Rena cried, raising her hand as though calling an army forth to battle. Shion snorted and lifted an arm to join her.

"For prestidigitation!" she added, grinning at Keiichi.

"Alright!" Mion laughed, and punched the air as Rika, Satoko, and Hanyuu belatedly –and in Keiichi's case, reluctantly- followed. "For traps, for treats, for fluffy bunnies, and for learning all the amazing tricks that will astonish and delight our eyes! The Hinamizawa Club's Magic Academy is now open for showbusiness!"

[padmavatisteel]

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[obeythebutler]

hello hello! first things first is that i have been following your vlog for a long time now and its a must for me to check it at least twice or thrice a day! anyways, can we get mc who dreams of the weirdest things about the brothers? like maybe lucifer had refused to do the paperwork diavolo sent him because he wanted to play with cerberus, mammon who became a stripper for food just for money, satan who fears cats and actually prefers dogs, etc. if its not much of a problem, of course!

MC Has Weird Dreams About The Brothers!

LUCIFER

The first time you told Lucifer of the dreams you had about him, the demon couldn't believe his ears.

"What kind of dreams?" He had asked, with that smirk playing on his lips. The demon wasn't expecting you to narrate about the dream where Diavolo was blowing up his D.D.D. concerning the documents which were past due.

And in which Lucifer ignored the calls in favor of petting Cerebrus. And cried because he didn't have three hands to pet the three good boys.

Certainly, the human exchange student had peculiar dreams.

Dreams should remain dreams only, lest his brothers find out and the next thing the demon knows is that he's drunk and crying because he doesn't have enough hands to pet Cerebrus...

....and the fact that this could happen in reality is even more concerning, but Lucifer won't say it out loud.

MC is going to have to stick with him replying 'So true, bestie 💅' in the chat.

MAMMON

What kind of dreams are you having about him—

The demon gets flustered when you mention dreaming about him. But his expression changes from excitement to bafflement to a constipated one when you mention him working at a strip club, and there's also that dream where he turns over a new leaf and becomes a lot more responsible!

The last one is definetly not happening. Nor is the former. Nope!

One dream was where MC was running away from Mammon, while the demon has outstretched his arms and goes "Why are you running? Why are you running?!"

And baby-talking to his familiars!! Mammon won't say it out loud, but he does that to some of his crows!

(Whose the greatest bird of all time? You are! Yes you! You're great enough to be alongside the Great Mammon!")

One time Lucifer was hot on the demon's heels about another debt received. The mail was overflowing with overdue payments, and you were chilling with your barbecued zebra.

"You know, I had a dream where he payed all his debts and you were the one with overdue payments, Lucifer."

LEVIATHAN

Him?? Being a normie?? And a bully?? Participating in normie activities?? Not a chance!

When MC recites how Levi removed all the posters and his precious figurines from his room and turned it into something else, the demon could bear no more! Ruri-Chan for all his demon life!! No one is going to steal her away!

You sit besides Levi while he games, and leaning your head on his arm casually mention how Henry 2.0 was replaced with a racoon.

Your dreams are some serious crack material, MC. Some that Levi himself posts in the group, and then it's a whole circus.

But confident Levi makes him wonder too. Perhaps, if he's a wee bit more assertive then maybe MC would like him more...?

SATAN

Dreams have diverse meanings. Representation of dreams, one's hopes, failures and longings. Flying, falling and—

Him?? Fearing cats and liking dogs?? Mushing over Cerebrus?? Look MC he likes all animals but he could never hate cats look at those paws and ears and—

Though MC's dreams are weirdly hilarious to imagine sometimes. Like Lucifer turning into a peacock and trying to seduce Lord Diavolo. That's going right in the group with an edited picture of Lucifer's face on a peacock.

He's the one asking you to maintain a dream diary, for research purposes, of course. And if the demon is right on time to wake you up with a drink, he'll share a chuckle with you over your latest weird dream.

You have the most absurd of dreams, but maybe some of them can be brought to life? Maybe mixing some hair removal cream into Lucifer's shampoo? Putting googly eyes on all his things?? So many ideas😏

ASMODEUS

So we're having dreams, aren't we? Of course you would dream about him! His beauty is so captivating that it follows into one's dreams too.

What do you mean he's all dirty and has horrendous fashion sense. That simply won't do! Oh no! He's not becoming Satan with his choice of clothes!

(Asmo, to Satan at one point: "Wear your clothes properly, hon."

Not in his wildest dreams!

You once mentioned while the demon was painting your nails about the dream you had where he threw hands with a wall because it insulted his earrings.

Your dreams are certainly the weirdest, and yet Asmodeus finds himself listening in some sort of macabre fascination. His head hurts because of some, but the others are simply too alluring to let pass.

"What if we all were birds? Lucifer would be peacock and Mammon crow, but you'd be a secretary bird, Asmo."

"Secretary bird? Was that another dream of yours?"

BEELZEBUB

When you tell him about a dream of yours, the demon is in the middle of chewing a giant fried gargoyle burger.

Beel doesn't exercise anymore. He's as thin as a stick, and his behind doesn't pass the cake check test. All that muscle gone...(but I will slap his behind, no matter what 😤)

Jk, it's right there for you to smack, MC. Give his behind a nice slap but be beware of not breaking your hand.

Beel has seen the potential you reciting your dreams at the breakfast table has. It almost always leads to more schemes being planned in the Anti-Lucifer League.

So when the demon sees chaos causing due to them, he ensures you're safe from the shenanigans. No one wants shaving cream in their shampoo bottle.

"You know, I had another weird dream."

Beel nods, signalling for MC to continue.

"Okay so it goes like this. Hi my name's Derek welcome to—"

BELPHEGOR

This man dreams of sleeping even when he's asleep. But sometimes he has some of the weirdest dreams when Belpheghor puts in the effort.

When you mention at the table about having a dream where Belpheghor became surprisingly nice and hugged Lucifer, while referring to him as "my lovely eldest brother❤️," the demon shuddered.

He can't imagine Lucifer being all gooey and warm with him, and neither can he.

The demon isn't awake for most of the time. His sin compels him to sleep, and when he's asleep he has fun with it when the mood strikes. Belphegor enters your dreams, and when you both wake up the rest of the brothers wonder why he won't look them in the eye without snickering.

"What's the matter, Belphie?"

"Belphegor stop laughing and at least don't fall in your soup—"

[ghostbellies]

Earthworms

(SFW SHORT STORY)

(A story I wrote about Engines. Yes, it’s Thomas and Friends, Get off my ASS. If you like it, drop me a comment! i love writing but don’t do it often! ALSO bear in mind that this is NOT my usual content, i’m just using Tumblr to post this to world lol)

It was a warm, drizzly day on the Isle of Sodor.  Rain fell in shimmery sheets over the island, the smell of new greenery and rich earth mixed in the air with the scent of petrichor. The sun shone through breaks in the clouds, spilling a golden light on the awakening countryside.

“The devil is beatin’ his wife”, Some Sudrians would say as they lifted their eyes skywards.

The engines on the Fat Controller’s railway hardly had time for such meteorological observations - they were busy at work as always, the Spring season bringing eager tourists from the mainland looking to enjoy the milder weather; trucks laden with paint and fresh thatch for Spring cleaning; and of course, lots of post.

Percy The Little Green Engine found himself pulling an additional afternoon mail train on every Wednesday, bringing priority post from the mainland. Although eager Percy would have rather blown his throttle valve than complain out loud, he couldn’t help but be a touch grumpy over the additional load, as it was always a rush job and always just shy of ‘absolutely bloody late’.

On that wet Spring Wednesday, Percy was hauling a particularly heavy priority mail train, running 8 and red-faced as the gentle rain became stinging needles against his plump cheeks.  Percy offered meek praise to the Maker when the mail depot finally appeared on the horizon. The porters were already racing around with carts in anticipation of the mail delivery, but he could also see a tall lady waiting patiently on the platform. She was wearing a lumpy raincoat, dirty overalls and muddy green boots.  Her brassy blonde hair was grimy, plastered to her forehead in the humid air.  As soon as Percy labored up to the platform, wheezing with the effort of hauling the laden trucks, the woman waved to him.

“Hello, Little Six!” she said in her big, brash northerner’s voice. Percy beamed, immediately feeling ten cars lighter. “Hallo Miss McColl!” He chirped brightly.

Amelia McColl was Farmer McColl’s eldest daughter. Only a few seasons prior she had taken over a good deal of the farm duties that pertained to the growing of crops, and she took it very seriously.  She was rarely seen without a healthy dusting of dirt on her clothes or a big box of seasonal produce and flowers to share with her neighbors. Percy liked her. She seemed to genuinely enjoy talking to the engines; sharing stories about troublesome crows in her corn or photos of her army of barn cats. 

Amelia stood aside as the porters hustled to unload Percy’s freight. One of them rushed over to her. He nodded to her curtly with a mumbled “ma’am” and handed her a clipboard, which she scrawled her signature on and traded back for a smallish crate. It was stamped with blue ink - RUSH DELIVERY: KEEP COOL.

“Thank you, Percy!” She said, bringing the crate ‘round to Percy’s front so she could look into the green engine’s earnest face.

“You’ve no idea how excited I’ve been for my worms!”

Percy raised an eyebrow as he watched the dirty farmer tear into the crate like Christmas morning.

“Worms?” He said incredulously. Suddenly he realized he had little to no idea what a worm even was other than the most basic wormy-understanding. He’d barely even seen a worm. Even as the smallest of the engines at Tidmouth, they were simply too far beneath his line of vision to see.

“Those little squiggly things??” 

Amelia laughed a big barking laugh - “I’ll have you know these are pedigreed squiggly things! All the way from Scotland!”

Percy’s furrowed brow communicated his absolute bafflement.

She pulled off the lid of the crate with the edge of her pen-knife and thrust her hand inside; she pulled up a handful of rich dark earth and held it up close to the curious engine’s pug-nose. She sifted the dirt out between her fingers, and as he peered closely, pale pink somethings twisted and writhed in her hands.

“These little beasties live their whole lives underground, eating dirt and keeping the soil loose and airy so the roots can breathe. They’re wonderful for a vegetable garden - a farmer’s best friend!” Amelia said it with a touch of pride, pleased with her purchase, clearly thinking the engine would agree. 

But Percy’s eyes were wide as dinner plates. He couldn’t look away from the strange things squirming desperately, as if the light burned their slick skins.

Suddenly he heard the sound of the mail truck doors creaking and slamming shut.  The porters had almost finished their frantic dance, and he would need to carry on with his daily duties. Amelia replaced the worms in their dirt bed, then patted Percy’s cheek affectionately. “Right! I better let you get on with it! I’ll bring you a bright bunch of posies for your cab once they sprout - all thanks to your hard work, and my worms!”

Percy smiled half heartedly. “Thank you Miss McColl, I certainly would love to see the flowers.”

But not so much the worms…

He thought to himself as he pulled away from the station, feeling a queasy rush of cold in his pump injector.

***

Later that evening, the engines were all bedded down at Tidmouth Sheds. They’d had the clinker cleaned off their grates, their flues brushed, and were cooling comfortably in their berths. The nightly indignation session was in full swing.  

“…I’ve had an ache in my flank since this morning…Driver says it was nothing but oh, I KNOW it’s a loose rivet…I shall come apart at the seams…”

“… A whole filthy team of footballers, all jostling and climbing in MY coaches!!! I could just DIE…”

“…I want racing stripes! Bertie says they’ll make me go faster…I’ve no idea how paint can do that but you bet your buffers I’ve GOT TO HAVE IT.”

Edward The Blue Engine listened patiently, the grumbling chorus of engines providing a familiar backdrop to the rain that was pattering on the tin roof. But one voice was missing.  He turned his gaze to his left where Percy sat silently, letting Thomas’ inane chatter about paint rush past him like a countryside view.

“It was Wednesday today, wasn’t it? Priority Mail day. Anything extraordinary?” Edward prompted gently, watching Percy’s eyes refocus as if he had been staring a thousand miles down the track.

“Worms.” Percy said hollowly. “I brought Miss McColl a crate of Scottish P..Peppertree worms…”

“Worms?” Thomas blurted out, a touch of jealousy piping up. “You’ve hauled a load of worms?! I’ve never hauled so much as ONE worm!”

Percy’s chassis rattled. Now that the seal was broken, he blurted the rest of his story out in a torrent.

“No you don’t understand…they…they looked so horrible! All pink and strange and slimy! She had a crate of smelly wet dirt, and they came packed inside in a horrible tangle… She said they live their whole lives underground…in the dark…”

“Ugh!” James The Splendid sniped, turning his bulbous nose up in disgust. “You wouldn’t catch ME living in the dirt!” 

“No respectable engine would have anything to do with worms. Pitiable tiny things. They haven’t even any arms.” Gordon huffily contributed to the worm deriding.

Once again the shed was ringing with cantankerous voices as the engines, big and small, provided their expert opinions on the merits (or lack there of) of worms. Percy seemed to shrink in on himself as the others talked over him.  Thunder shook the shed, and Edward seized his chance in the ensuing silence. He raised his voice only slightly.

“Oh, I don’t know. This reminds me of stories from the mainland about strange trains.”

All that could be heard was the soft tick-ticking of cooling fireboxes, and the air was thick with the engine's collected curiosity. Edward’s lined face crinkled with his gently mischievous grin. Now I’ve got them.

“Edward, I don’t like such frightful stories before bed!” Henry groused, screwing up his face in a look of distaste.  Edward just continued, knowing they’d all be hooked by the time he took his first pause.

"Driver told me on the mainland there are cities built over vast, gloomy tunnels underground. They tried to explore the tunnels, but they were so long and dark that anyone who set foot in them was swallowed up by the great yawning black, never to return.  So many were lost trying to navigate the tunnels, that they realized something had to be done. So the Great Controllers on the Mainland and the Makers got together to create a  plan.  They would tame the dark. Yoke it for their use as they have the great expanses of Sudrian countryside.  They brought in builders and iron workers and brick layers and engineers, but it was still so utterly alien and foreboding that they realized they had only one choice…to build engines to help.”

Thomas blinked in confusion.

“Engines? Underground? Away from the sun and fresh air? What kind of an engine could stand that misery?!” He knew the dark was not a friend to a locomotive.  Unseen hazards lay in it, waiting to derail an engine who carelessly rolled into it without their lamps, or worse. Tunnels had their own hazards, flooded lines or bad track that lay in wait. To The Iron Horses of the rails, the thought of a dank, endless dark was as unpleasant as a cold water washdown.

Edward cleared his throat of a bit of soot, and continued as his friends leaned in as if trying to breathe in his words.

“Underground engines.  Strong as the greatest LNER, and as fast as one as well. Great big beasts with wide, luminous eyes, though they are blind as a dead end. They haven't any fireboxes, because they do not need to eat…."

"Not eat?!" Muttered Gordon with a huff, already fuming over the implication of a faster engine than he.  "Nonsense. no proper engine could run without coal!"

 "...Or diesel!" Henry piped up helpfully, fully invested in this strange tale.

Edward continued quietly.  "Not a single lump of coal or drop of petrol. No - these monsters get their power from cables and coils…electricity.  They pull trains so long their tails are like rivers.  The Makers created the perfect engine for these inhospitable depths…the subway train. Never sleeping, stopping only to pick up passengers. They hurtle down these subterranean tracks, screaming into the dark like banshees, searching constantly for someone, anyone, to relieve their toils.”

Thomas spoke up with faux-bravado.

“Oh Edward. You’re yanking our Johnson Bars! No controller would allow their engines to be treated so unfairly! Afterall, if they are strong and fast and pull such huge trains, they must be really useful!” His tone seeked affirmation from his fellow engines, but they seemed to doubt his conviction.

Edward just smiled, another rumble of thunder punctuating his artfully crafted pause.

“When the Makers built the engines, they only knew to make them really useful for the underground.  And no man, brave or strong, can live in the tunnels with them all the time.  As a matter of fact…Driver told me he witnessed a subway train break down.  The poor engine had been rushing through the foul tunnels at full speed when it derailed on a length of uneven track.  It lay on its side, bellowing in pain for days before they finally found it. They had to use a huge crane to pull it through the tunnels and haul it above ground to the works….”

“Did…did they fix it?” James squeaked fitfully, the trio of big engines shook like shivering trucks on a shaky track. Henry rolled backwards as far as he could go into his berth, hiding his face completely behind Gordon’s bulk.

Edward’s voice dropped to a low rasp.  The dying embers of the engine’s smokebox cast strange shadows behind him, making his careworn face seem hard and angular in the low light.

“They drug the pitiful thing up to the surface slowly, carriage by carriage. The whole time they could hear it’s soft, mournful moans. At last they arrived at the head… But those poor fools, the lot of them - they didn’t know, just couldn’t know…once the engine was in the full light of the sun…”

Edward SHOUTED in a manic voice!

“PUT ME BACK! PUT ME BACK UNDERGROUND! MY FACE! MY FACE IT’S BURNING!!”

The shed erupted in noise. Thomas startled back like a nervous horse, giving a fearful wheesh of steam. The Big Engines hollered, Gordon’s whistle blasting a strident, hectic shriek. 

Throughout the whole ordeal… Percy had been staring tightlipped with mounting panic. As the others turned their ire to Edward for startling them, the old blue engine looked at Percy…and winked cheekily.

Percy’s face finally broke into a wide, genuine grin. He giggled, realizing suddenly that he and Edward had shared a brief moment of solidarity. He was grateful to his old friend.

“So there you are, Lads” Edward said, chuckling at his rioting comrades. “You see, Percy was rather brave to face those worms unprotected!”

***

The Engines on the Isle of Sodor always work hard and want to be really useful…but every so often, when the rains come and they care to look downwards to the wet soil where strange pink snouts poke out of the earth…They remember the alien worlds of the subways and their fireboxes cool a degree or two…

All except Percy of course, who now knows that pedigreed worms really do help grow wonderful flowers!

[andie-cake]

the fact that in-universe, the perky's buds music video is something emma and ziggs commissioned from the smoke club is so funny to me.

like imagine emma and ziggs are just chilling when suddenly ziggs gets an e-mail from the smoke club kids. hey! the ad they commissioned is ready! they both sit down to watch it, and as they do, they're just a mix of complete and utter bafflement and hysterical laughter. ziggy's kinda mortified bc "oh god, we actually paid them $100 for this", and emma's mad that they didn't pay them more. it's perfect advertising! why can't more ads be like this? idk it's a fun concept

[lyrebright]

Got through a good chunk of TMA episodes yesterday while at work but didn't really have an opportunity to share my thoughts on them as they came because while my job is conducive to listening to podcasts while I work, it is adamantly not conducive to posting on Tumblr while doing so.

Got through...I think MAG014 to MAG026? So. Thoughts on that block of episodes below!

still not super fond of MAG014 now that I've like actually finished it but I will say that the spooky methodology was Fucking Metal. Getting mailed your body parts before you lose them? High concept art.

MAG015 was probably low-key one of my like...favourite "closed" statements? Since it's clear now that a decent chunk are connected...I don't think this one is (I am prepared to eat my words) but it WAS very visceral, to me. As someone who had to leave a mine tour once from having a panic attack at being in the dark and small underground, this one Got To Me.

My initial reaction to MAG016 was holy shit. Man does not like spiders. And that was about it. Knowing some more things retroactively has made me like. See it from a different angle but I still think my overall takeaway is Man Does Not Like Spiders!

MAG017 was a case of me being Fucking Confused.

I had to check the transcripts WHILE ON THE CLOCK just to make things make sense.

Why The FUCK are they pronouncing Jared and Gerard exactly the same way.

MAG017 was clearly a fucked up books episode! So when I heard the name Jehred, which is apparently how both Gerard and Jared are just Pronounced Across The Pond, I was like oh! Gerard is here! Fucked up books are his thing! But then it was a Jared and I was lost.

Anyway! Good episode I liked it. I think I like the fucked up book episodes. Still would love to know why they get Jon so heated when he is such an asshole about being a skeptic. I can only imagine he has a fucked up book backstory.

Maybe a fucked up book ate his dog?

MAG018: meat

this one made me queasy I didn't like it

MAG019/020! Wasn't expecting a two parter but I definitely liked what we got. It feeding back into a previous statement was really cool and the actual story itself was gripping. Did have me fairly tense though because of the religious stuff mostly I think? I Don't Like Fucking With Demons.

Everytime I went in to do another coat on the room I'd been painting while listening to those episodes I just kept thinking about demons so those are just bad vibes rooms now.

BUT ALSO I called it I KNEW those delivery guys would be coming back into it somewhere. I know worldbuilding when I see it.

Speaking of: I think I'm just deep enough in now to start getting a grasp on the world building of TMA. Like, in a general sense; that one church has been mentioned a few times, something something the lightless flame, that one house on. A hill. Recurring elements are showing. I See Them. I Am Noting Them Down.

I Am Petrified Of Heights. MAG021 Is A No Thank You.

MAG022 MADE ME :D!!!!!!

Another live statement! But this time it is Martin who I am glad to finally properly meet. He seems so sweet Jon why are you so mean to him.

Did Martin kill Jon's dog?

Poor Martin though oh my god

I still feel like I'm missing something re: Jane Prentiss because they're acting like I should know who she is but I SWEAR she didn't pop up before the uh, worm sex statement so I have simply resigned myself to bafflement.

Clearly we're ramping up the plot that exists outside of the statements and I am so excited. Poor Martin though for real. Get some therapy.

Jon gets one (1) point for letting Martin stay in the archives at the end.

(Also: there is something both really funny and really scary about the worm hive lady just. Using Martin's phone to pretend to be him so people didn't like. Call a wellness check or something)

MAG023 Was An Old Timey Episode And That's Literally All I Have To Say About It.

MAG024: I Do Not Like Clowns. Or Dolls. Or Puppets.

Fuck Everything To Do With This Episode, Basically.

Except for Jon and Sasha♡

Jon and Sasha: arguing over the correct pronunciation of calliope. Me, a vtuber fan: (filled with knowledge)

MAG025 was just an exercise in me staring at the skirting I was painting and going But How Are You Not Immediately Cluing In That She Joined A Cult.

This cult has shown up a few times now I think? At least once before, I remember the mention of the closed eye symbol. I'll be keeping an, uh, eye out for more mentions in the future.

MAG026 was where I knocked off for the day and man. Very good. I loved it.

Another Michael?? I SWEAR that I've heard of at least two other Mikes already

I guess I did go to highschool with like eight Sarahs, though.

A Sasha statement! I love her.

I've now "met" both Martin and Sasha. When Do I Get Tim.

Jon is SO much nicer to Sasha than he is to Martin so I can only presume he and Martin do have some sort of torrid past. I'm choosing to believe a primary school Jon slipped Martin a note saying "do you like me" that Martin then promptly threw away because it's the absolutely funniest option.

Sasha Sweetie Your Sense Of Self Preservation Is Fucked.

You do have the gumption of a horror movie final girl though and I admire that.

I can feel the plot building up around me and I am so excited for the final worm showdown, whenever it hits.

Torn between taking a break for a few days and just charging on ahead because I'm so curious as to what happens next, lmao.

[bafflement]

Heyyyyyyy, Happy STS! My question for you today is: What's one thing about writing that surprised you? Could be something from your WIP specifically or writing in general!

Happy STS. :D

The thing about writing that most surprises... and humbles... me is how many people like what I write, to be honest.

I've been writing since before I can remember, it isn't really a hobby for me so much as vital for my own mental stability. But I'm my own biggest critic. So seeing others actually like what I do? Yeah, that's my biggest surprise.

[chelsfic]

Leftovers - Part 7 - Nandor the Relentless x Reader Fanfic

Previous parts: Masterlist

A/N: Well...this was unexpected. I wasn’t planning to go in this direction quite YET, but the characters had minds of their own...

Summary: While planning for the upcoming biannual orgy, the reader gets a lesson in seduction from Laszlo and Nandor finally surrenders to his desire.

Warnings: Smut, Female reader, Blood drinking, First time, Loss of Virginity

---

Nadja’s voice echoes through the house as she rushes into the library clutching a letter in her hands.

“Laszlo! Nandor! Colin Robinson! House meeting!”

Guillermo trails after her carrying the rest of the mail. Bills, a grocery circular, and a stack of computer parts catalogs addressed to Colin. He drops the pile on an end table and takes an unobtrusive position by the doorway as the other housemates start to file in with varying expressions of annoyance, curiosity and boredom.

You’re the last one to arrive, traipsing into the room looking vastly under dressed, as always, compared to the old world vampires in their elegant finery. Even Colin and Guillermo keep it business casual. You, on the other hand, are dressed in a pair of neon pink capri leggings and the USA Men’s Basketball jersey you stole from Nandor. The jersey falls down to your knees and the wide arm holes reveal the sports bra you’re wearing underneath. When Nandor first caught you wearing it a couple weeks ago he’d groused at you about disrespecting his belongings. But then he found himself strangely pleased with how his garment dwarfed your smaller frame. He rather liked the idea of his human wearing his shirt. So, he stopped complaining.

You give him a cheeky grin and flounce the bottom of the shirt around your thighs saucily as you flop down beside him. It’s been just about a month since the rave and since things between you and Nandor...advanced. You’ve started secretly thinking of him as your vampire boyfriend. You spend more nights in his coffin than you do in your own bed and you’ve both enjoyed the closeness that comes with sleeping in an enclosed box. 

You’ve continued to touch, kiss, and explore each other physically. Your progress has been slow, though you’ve gone further and experienced more with Nandor than you ever have with anyone else. But he is being downright mulish about taking the next logical step. On the one hand it’s comforting to have a more experienced partner who is so willing to go slowly. On the other hand...you’re horny. And you can’t tell if he’s being considerate and cautious or if he’s being selfish and wanting the best of both worlds: sexy times and virgin blood.

You sit so that your leg brushes against his and take his hand, twining your fingers together happily. You probably look like a preteen with her first boyfriend but you don’t really care. 

Colin Robinson grins and his eyes flash blue as he drones, “PDA! Get a room, you guys.”

Nandor hisses angrily and you roll your eyes. You spot Guillermo standing rigidly by the door and wave him over, patting the cushion on your other side.

“Memo! Come sit down for the meeting,” you invite.

Guillermo’s eyes flick to his master automatically and Nandor proclaims, “Vampires--non-familiars only, Guillermo!”

“What!?” you exclaim, slapping his arm. “Stop being mean to Guillermo!”

“Mean!?” Nandor scoffs. “I’m not mean to Guillermo! I saved him from being executed by the Vampiric Council last year, didn’t I?”

Guillermo nods, “Yes, master...although I did save you as well--”

“And I let you have the human giving thanks holiday off, didn’t I?” he interrupts.

“That was...three years ago…” Guillermo mumbles.

Nandor is gearing up for a full on hissy fit but Nadja interrupts, “Enough! Gizmo, go and sit with the human, you know Nandor is going to surrender to her eventually and I have news to announce!”

You smile in triumph and Guillermo reluctantly slinks forward to sit on your other side, eyeing his master over your head with a worried look.

“That’s strike one, Guillermo,” Nandor grumbles irritably, as Nadja takes over.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I had their answer,” Nadja smiles beatifically and folds her hands over her heart, “but I petitioned the vampire orgy committee and they’ve decided to give us a second chance to host the biannual orgy! I explained that my husband had been unnaturally deranged by some putrid blood--”

“Don’t you mean, betrayed by my wife?” Laszlo interjects.

“--and so we’re hosting it this weekend!” Nadja finishes, ignoring her idiot husband.

“Wonderful!” Nandor cries, dropping your hand and standing up to pace the room. “We’ll need to begin preparations at once. Guillermo, I’m giving Nadja permission to boss you around. It needs to be perfect this time!”

“Thank you, Nandor,” Nadja trills, obviously euphoric with plan-making already. “This time we’ll chain the virgins up, so there’s no chance for the cheeky buggers to spoil our fun…”

“Excellent idea, darling!” Laszlo praises, eager to show his support and avoid sleeping in one of the basement coffins tonight.

Nandor nods, “Yes, good suggestion, Nadja. Guillermo, you’ll bring the chains up from the basement...”

Nandor continues rattling off orders and you listen with increasing bafflement and alarm. He’s clearly giddy as he lists the “supplies” they’ll need.

“The sex net, obviously… the swing… assorted dildos… we should get a few Devil’s butt plugs, shouldn’t we? Those were popular at Marcus’s orgy last year…”

You turn, wide-eyed, to Guillermo and find him looking resigned and pulling a notebook from his back pocket to write this down.

Laszlo, Nadja and even Colin Robinson join in the discussion and they don’t seem likely to lose momentum any time soon. 

Finally, you clear your throat and speak up, “Um...I’m sorry. So...you--all of you--go to...sex parties? Like, where you...have sex all--all together?”

God, could you sound more virginy? You direct the question to everyone in the room but your eyes focus on Nandor. He looks away with an uncomfortable grimace.

Nadja tuts and puts a hand to her forehead as she croons, “Oh my sweet, baby virgin! I have forgotten how stupid and innocent you are. Do you not know what an orgy is? It is like a dark, bacchanalia of the flesh… a joining of bodies into one, throbbing mass of pleasure. And it is a great honor to host it! Vampires from all over New York will attend.”

“But…” what you really want to do is talk to Nandor in private. Your mind is racing with half-formed concerns, but mainly you’re hoping your new vampire boyfriend isn’t planning to have casual sex with a dozen strangers after spending the last month refusing to deflower you because he’d rather preserve the taste of your blood than deepen your...well, what you’d thought of as your relationship.

But you can’t give a voice to these worries even if the idea of Nandor with someone else stabs at your heart. You don’t want to be the needy virgin. The silly little girl who thinks a 758-year-old vampire is interested in “going steady.” Are you being unreasonable? Are you being unrealistic? Are you being insensitive to vampire culture? All at once you feel tears stinging your eyes and you blink rapidly to clear them before anyone notices. 

“I know what you’re worrying about, my warrior,” Nadja breaks through your thoughts. “But you’ll be perfectly safe during the orgy. Look!”

She poofs into a cloud of vapor, reappearing a few seconds later holding a pair of matching plain white t-shirts with the words “Do Not Eat” printed on them. 

“One for you and one for Gizmo!” she exclaims with a proud smile as if this solves everything.

---

“So…” you start and then trail off, not really knowing what you want to say.

You’re up in the attic with Nadja and Laszlo, helping them sort through boxes with labels like “Sex Dungeon,” “In Case of Orgy,” and “Emergency Dildos.”

Laszlo uncovers something wedged behind the StairMaster and exults, “My darling! Do you remember this…?”

It looks like a dildo circa the Renaissance period, smooth and hand-carved with a leather harness attached. Laszlo throws his head back and his hands twitch excitedly at his sides as Nadja stalks up to him with a seductive smirk.

“Of course, I do, my naughty boy. And if you are good and don’t ruin this orgy with your moods then maybe we’ll have ourselves a nice little time with it…” her voice goes high-pitched and squeaky as she grabs the phallus out of Laszlo’s hands and strokes it along his jaw, bringing it up to his lips and squealing as he opens his mouth to run his tongue lewdly over the shiny, smooth wood.

“O-okay, I’m just going to give you guys some privacy…” you stand and start to make your way over to the stairs.

Nadja drops the dildo and calls after you, “Wait, mortal! You had something you wanted to ask?”

You stop in your tracks, turning back to the couple and taking a breath to steady yourself. You have to talk to someone about this.

“Yeah, it’s...well, Nandor and I haven’t had sex yet--”

“We can tell that very well, my yummy friend,” Laszlo cuts in and Nadja slaps his arm.

“Go on, little horny infant,” Nadja says encouragingly.

“--but we’ve done other stuff,” you continue, “and I...I have feelings for him. But the thing is, I’m not as comfortable as you all seem to be about...sharing…”

“Ahh!” Laszlo murmurs with an arch look. “And you don’t want a load of randy vampires diddling your man.”

“Right,” you confirm, heat spreading over your face under their scrutiny. “But he seems so excited and I...I still don’t really know if he feels the same way that I do…”

“Hmm, yes this is very tricky,” Nadja muses. “Of course...there are some vampire couples who attend and only pay attention to each other…”

“Bloody boring, if you ask me…”

“Shut up, Laszlo!” Nadja hisses. “Can’t you see our human needs us?”

“Alright, alright!” he says irritably. He turns in a small circle, rubbing his chin abstractly before snapping his fingers and pointing to you in excitement, “I’ve got it! It sounds to me like what you really need is a little help in seducing our warrior friend. Once you’ve done the dirty deed you can enslave him to your feminine wiles just like my darling Nadja did to me.”

“Good idea, Laszlo! Then you can attend the orgy together and if anyone tries to tempt him away you will do the whip on them!” Nadja declares with delight.

You’re not sure if she’s misusing roller derby lingo or actually suggesting that you use a whip on your rivals. Probably both…

“But he won’t have sex with me because he’s obsessed with my stupid blood…” you whine, plopping down on one of the boxes with an exasperated sigh. 

“Trust me, human. With our help, Nandor won’t know how to resist!” Laszlo assures you with a self-satisfied grin. “Nadja, darling, get the projector!”

“Oh, no, Laszlo...she’s just a poor human girl. Don’t subject her to your boring pornos…”

---

By the time you come down from the attic you’re pretty sure the image of Laszlo’s orgasm face is permanently burned into your brain. And you’re not exactly sure how “Vampire Tricked in Steamroom” is supposed to help you with your conundrum, but Laszlo’s proud enthusiasm is adorable. Nadja’s words as you walk down the stairs are a little more helpful.

“Nandor is just thinking too much with his fangs and not enough with his penis. Use your natural talents--” she glances meaningfully at your chest, “--to make him realize his mistake.”

You’re not sure you have it in you to play the seductress like Nadja does. Still, your footsteps automatically take you in the direction of Nandor’s room. When you walk into the crypt you find him bent over a long roll of paper on the floor with a paintbrush in his hand and glitter stuck all over his head. He holds his work up to show you with a proud grin.

It’s a banner with large, bright, sparkly letters spelling out, “Welcome Orgy Guests!”

“What do you think?” he asks shyly. “Too much glitter?”

You blink and bite back a laugh at the sight of your fearsome boyfriend with his hair and beard covered in glitter. He’s smiling at you, revealing the wicked gleam of his fangs and you’re suddenly overcome with the desire to kiss him until you’re covered in glitter too. You stride forward, gingerly taking the banner from his hands and setting it back down on the floor.

“Just the right amount of glitter,” you assure him and then you hop up, wrapping your arms around his neck and trusting that he’ll catch you with his strong arms. His beard is scratchy against your face as you claim his mouth with yours, kissing and nipping his lips with a needy growl. Okay, wow--maybe Laszlo’s cheesy movie instruction has some merit?

“I knew it,” Nandor smirks. “You like the glitter, don’t you? Like Twilight!”

“Shut up, Nandor,” you laugh, stroking your fingers through his thick hair and angling his head so you can kiss along the edge of his jaw. You playfully drag your teeth against his neck and his whole body shudders in response. 

Curious, you do it again and this time he moans low in his throat and gasps out your name. Your lips curl into a mischievous smile and you bite down sharply, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to bruise if he didn’t have supernatural healing.

“Gah! Human…” Nandor pants, walking you over to the luxuriously upholstered couch set against the wall and dropping down with you in his lap. His voice breaks as he begs, “Harder.”

You draw back, locking your eyes with his for a moment, your breath coming quick as you feel the stir of his hardening length beneath you. His eyes are nearly black with desire and he digs his fingers into your hips in encouragement and repeats himself, “Harder, my mortal.”

You bend forward, brushing your lips gently along the crook of his neck like always does before he feeds from you. You bring your hands to his collar and loosen the ruff of his shirt, pulling it aside and cradling his head as you sink down to bite. You’re tentative at first, somehow afraid of hurting him, but he growls in impatience and swats your butt with his open hand to spur you along. You increase the pressure, feeling his skin give beneath the blunt edges of your teeth and the cool, coppery taste of his thick blood spreading over your lips and tongue. You swallow it, lapping at his neck eagerly as he squirms beneath you and mewls in pleasured surrender. 

When you finally pull away, your mouth and chin are painted an obscene red and Nandor goes wild at the sight. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a rough kiss, arching his hips upward so he can grind against you.

“Now, I get to taste you,” He whispers against your lips, shifting out from beneath you and kneeling on the floor between your legs.

“It’s not--” you’re out of breath and your head is spinning. “It’s too soon, baby”

He purrs at your use of the pet name and slides his hands up the outsides of your thighs, catching the waistband of your leggings and dragging them down your legs along with your underwear.

“There’s more than one way to taste you, my human,” he explains, pressing his palms to the insides of your knees and pushing your legs further apart. He drags his beard along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, scenting you with a pleased sigh. He scoops you up in his hands, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch and finally lowering his face between your legs. His breath is cool against your heated flesh and then he’s dragging his tongue along your slit in one long stroke that ends on your needy, throbbing clitoris. 

“Oh my go--”

Nandor rears back, hissing, and you rush an apology, “Sorry, sorry, sorry! I forgot.”

“Be careful with that shit!” he grouses but then he’s dipping his head back down and attacking you with his mouth. 

He’s gentle and thorough and--you think--very good at this. A few times you feel the sharp edge of a fang just brush against your most sensitive skin and you start to flinch away but he shushes you and strokes his fingers along your thighs to settle your nerves. His lips and tongue move against your clitoris in perfect, rolling motions that have you melting under his attention. You let your hands fall down to rest in his glitter-specked hair and stroke your fingers along his temples as he laves and sucks. When the mounting tension in your core grows to be too much you roll your hips up, grinding yourself into his face and twisting your fingers in his hair as you cry out. 

Nandor climbs back onto the couch and settles beside you, watching with a pleased smile as you tremble and gasp through the aftershocks. He’s lazily palming himself through his trousers when you finally turn to him and press the full length of your body into his, capturing his lips for a kiss that tastes of mingled blood and arousal--both your essences combined. 

“I’m ready…” you whisper, sliding your hands beneath his loosened collar and along his shoulders. “If you can possibly stand my blood tasting all ordinary and non-virgin flavored…”

You emphasize the last statement by edging your leg between his and grinding your thigh against his fervent erection. Nandor groans loudly and it sounds like a surrender. 

“Yes…” he pants. “My human...yes. I’ll make you mine. But...but--” he growls in frustration “--wait a moment!”

He hops up, leaving you half naked and bemused on the couch as he darts around the room, locking the door, positioning a fur rug on the floor next to an ornate candelabra, and finally opening a drawer and removing a folded piece of paper.

He comes back to you, kneeling at your feet and handing you the sheet of paper. He watches with a gleam in his eyes as you open it.

Inside he’s written in glitter pen:

“Happy Deflowering!

Love,

Nandor the Relentless”

And there’s a drawing of you laying on a fur rug with an artfully modest sheet draped over your nude body and Nandor floating in the air above you, his cape flying out behind him and his fangs bared. Well...now you know he hasn’t been planning to keep you a virgin for all eternity...

You bark out a laugh and press the drawing to your heart as you look up at him and gush, “I love it, Nandor!”

His lips part in a light smile and he presses forward, taking your face in his hands and catching you with his intense eyes.

“I wanted it to be--” he frowns uncomfortably as he forms the word “--nice...for you, human. Perhaps we had a rocking start…”

“You mean with you kidnapping me, drinking my blood and treating me like a human snack pack?” you deadpan, but you dart in to peck his lips to show you’re only teasing.

“Yes, that,” he continues and his fingers are tracing light patterns through the hair at your temples. “But I...I do care about you, my mortal. For more than just your delicious blood…”

Finally hearing him say the words out loud starts your eyes misting and you set the drawing down on the couch beside you, reaching forward to take him in your arms and kiss his beautiful, stupid, warrior lips. 

Nandor is remarkably quick at removing his layers of clothing. By the time you’ve shed your stolen jersey and squirmed your way out of the sports bra, he’s completely naked. Vampire speed. He kneels on the fur rug before you, his pale skin reflecting the golden light of the candles, glowing with second-hand warmth. You forget to be bashful about your own nudity as you drink him in. Dark hair covers his chest and trails down his stomach into the dark nest around his proudly straining erection. 

His own dark eyes drop to linger on the lines of your body as he reaches out and draws you closer, laying you down on the plush rug and perching beside you. You draw your hands up under your chin automatically, but he takes them and draws your arms down to your sides, baring your body for his hungry gaze.

“You are more breathtaking than the Euphrates running red with the blood of my enemies,” he murmurs, brushing his fingertips over the peaks of your breasts and smiling as your nipples pebble under his touch. 

You smile and shake your head, gazing up at this gorgeous man and feeling, for once, entirely worthy and beautiful in someone else’s eyes. You joined roller derby hoping to gain some body-positivity, some confidence--which you have. But still, you’ve never before felt so attractive and powerful. Nandor bends down to kiss you, running one hand along the line of your neck and letting the other roam over your belly and down between your thighs. He strokes through your still wet slit, spreading your slick and rolling your clit between his fingers until you’re mewling into his lips. 

“You know…” Nandor murmurs, pushing your legs apart and shifting to seat himself between them, “there’s more than one reason they call me relentless, little human.”

The sound that falls from your lips is half-gasp and half-moan. He slides the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your arousal before finally--finally--pressing forward at your entrance. Even after a month of pining and yearning for this you still tense up at the final moment and Nandor kneads his hands into your hips with a soft coo, “Relax yourself, my mortal…”

He leans down to press a rough-stubbled kiss along the edge of your jaw as he finally slips inside of you and you feel, for the first time, the impossible and wonderful sensation of being filled by your lover as he gradually pushes deeper. For several seconds the pressure of him inside of you is all you can think about and it’s overwhelming. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, digging your teeth into the already healed skin.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and there’s a distinctly vampiric edge of lustful curiosity that accompanies his concern. He’s rolling his hips against you in a slow, steady rhythm. 

“Mmhmm,” you murmur without removing your teeth from his neck. 

He slips a hand between your bodies and finds the hardened bud of your nipple with his fingers, rolling and stroking it as he continues rocking into you with deeper and deeper thrusts.

“Not for much longer,” he promises with a teasing pinch to your nipple.

His pace increases as the pain gradually ebbs into a delicious, burning ache that builds and builds. You throw back your head, keening each time he buries himself inside you. Nandor’s mouth falls open and he dips his head to run his lips over the throbbing pulse of your throat, feeling the rush of your hot blood beneath the surface and losing the steady control of his movements as he frantically ruts into you. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” he cries, wrenching his mouth away from your neck and instead slamming his lips to yours with an anguished moan as he goes rigid, pushing deeper inside of you as his release tears through him. He jerks his hips several more times, reaching between you to put his fingers on you and coax you towards your own peak as he softens inside of you.

He finally slips out of you, collapsing onto the rug at your side with a heavy groan. He hugs you to his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin and humming in pleasure. His skin is almost warm with your borrowed body heat, but where you are covered in a fine sheen of human sweat, he is as smooth and unaffected as ever.

Your muscles shake with involuntary tremors and he strokes his hands down your back comfortingly.

“Shut your eyes,” his voice is a low rumble that you can feel where your head rests against his chest. “Rest, my love.”

The word sends a warm rush around your heart and you smile, burying your face into his lovely chest hair. 

All your insecurities about the upcoming orgy are forgotten as your limbs grow heavy with exhaustion. You’re just starting to drift to sleep under the steady feel of his hands smoothing over your back when a sudden thought pops into your head.

“Nandor!” you poke your head up to meet his eyes. “Am I going to turn into a vampire?!”

He furrows his brow as he asks, “Why would you think that, human?”

“Well...I drank your blood…” you explain, relaxing back into his chest now that it seems you’re not on the brink of transitioning into an unholy creature of the night without warning.

Nandor laughs, “I would have to drink your blood first...almost all of it. And then feed you my blood. No, my human, you won’t become a vampire...not yet.”

You nod your head absently, letting your eyes drift shut without fully absorbing his last words.

---

A/N: ?????????

Tags:

@festering-queen​ @kandomeresbitch​ @strangestdiary​ @glitterportrait​ @scuzmunkie​ @redwoodshadows​

[what-a-messsss]

2x2 rewatch

Eeeeehehehehe, why the fuck am I laughing this hard when I realized it was the roadkill compost episode?  That is not in the least funny, it’s actually pretty gross, but I’m literally paused 3 seconds in chortling to myself so hard that I’m having to wipe away tears.  ...I think the stress is getting to me.  Anyway, back to fictional Wyoming!

It’s actually a pretty genius business model, to be honest.  Taking a sadly repeating resource and using it to enrich the soil?  Tough work, no doubt, physically and mentally, but a smart and very niche thing.  I hadn’t thought about the fact that cleaning up roadkill would have been part of Walt’s job as a deputy.  Lucian said in S6, in his fantastically circuitous way, that it had been 10 years since he and Walt had worked together (if I remember correctly).  Which... wait, is that right?  Had Walt really only been sheriff for 4 years when the show started?  Which is a single term, before Branch ran against him.  I think I’d had the impression that he’d been sheriff for longer than that.  Or is my math just super borked?  (A very real possibility.)  Who were Walt’s deputies before these three?  Branch has  probably been a deputy for a while, Vic was hired a few months before the show and it isn’t clear for Ferg but it’s implied at least a chunk longer.  So who were his deputies for the rest of those 4 years?  (Aaaaaand this is how I grow OCs.  Shit.)

She names the roadkill?  Eeeeeh...

Branch, you douchecanoe.  You are very clearly not welcome in her home anymore; the fact that she hasn’t moved the spare key isn’t a fucking invitation to break in and invade her privacy, oh my gods I hate you so much.  This is predatory behavior.  You need to either go through official channels with the department to do a wellness check or FUCK RIGHT OFF into the deepest reaches of hell.  Excellent plan, fucking off.

Henry,  I adore you beyond measure.  “Thanks-taking.”  Vic... Seriously?  “God, you people really hold a grudge.”  Somehow, I think they’re kind of entitled to, what with all of the wars, genocide, stolen land, racism, broken treaties, and the like.  Get bent.

Genuinely, Henry’s dry as anything sass is quite possibly the best thing about the whole show.  We didn’t get nearly enough of it during the later seasons.  And his little smiiiiile at having made Walt chuckle, oh my heart.

The “Hands up!”  O.o  “Hands down!” little comedy gag is totally sold by KS’s face, haaaa.  And Ferg’s bafflement, but collected response to those truckers thinking he was a rentboy was solid.

I kind of have to applaud that sex worker’s gumption to just try to take off in the truck.  Not the best thought out plan, to be sure, but gutsy.

Ok, Branch has just had a line establishing that they’re not in Absaroka, and then Vic and Ferg look annoyed/confused when Walt tells them to cut the sex workers and customers loose, but then Branch finishes with, “Absaroka County wishes you all a fine evening... at home.”  So are they in Absaroka, or not??

Kudos to Walt saying, “Which will allow you to get out of here.  If that’s what you want.”  Not falling completely into the savior complex bs is good, and acknowledging that she is an adult who can make her own decisions, even if they’re ones he would wish she wouldn’t is good.  ........If only he could extend that same courtesy to his own daughter.  

Branch, wtf.  It’s a felony to even have burglar’s tools.  Legit, it’s a felony punishable with up to 3 years in prison or up to $3k, or both.  Unlawful entry is 10 years and/or $10k, and I’m pretttttyyyyyy fucking sure you don’t have a warrant to be in Cady’s house.  FUCK OFF.  You giant douchecanoe.  (Min and I also have a headcanon that the random coloured empty frames are Branch’s fault, because they don’t really go with any of the rest of the decor, and we hate them.  So we decided that when he saw the Andy Warhol style print she had that he got those for her and she just never got around to taking them down after they broke up.)  And isn’t tampering with someone’s mail a federal offence?  You are the worst.

Aaaand then Walt calls the Collettes showing Ross Lanten’s wife video of him with prostitutes “interfering in his marriage.”  Okaaaay.  Because helping get a woman and kids out of what has several hallmarks of an abusive marriage is “interfering,” I guess.  Not the happiest about that word choice, I’m not gonna lie.

Aaaaaand then Whitish is super racist, and I hate her.  Henry handles it with grace, but fuck, I cannot imagine how wearying that must be.  And Branch makes obnoxious and offensive assumptions (playing to his strengths, natch), and Henry once again demonstrates how he is also the Actual Best.

Nobody has heard from Cady recently, but the tiny little hesitation Henry has before he confirms that he hasn’t heard from her either is so good.  LDP is so good.  Just from that, it reinforces how much that bothers him, and that he’s worried, but also that he really doesn’t want to talk to Branch about any of it.

“If you do, will you let me know?”  “I most certainly will not.”  Such a classy way to basically tell Branch to fuck off and get wrecked.  

A lady threatening Henry with a knife and I should not be focusing on how great he looks in a vest, but heeeeere we are.  (I do love that brown vest.)  And even after she is drunk and rude and racist and threatens him, Henry’s look when she says that she knew the dead man still has concern and compassion in it.  Waaaaaah.

Do I remember what Walt did to his hand?  Was that something from this episode that I’m not remembering right now, or are they actually having some intra-episode continuity and that bandage is him still recovering from the start of frostbite?  [Dang it, my Xbox controller just pooped out.  Now I have to go swap it out for the other one and stick this one in the charging dock.  But I’m so cozy in bed with my jar o’ tea and everythinggggg.  Boo.]  ...  [It has been long enough since I wrote that last bit that my Xbox has shut itself down twice in the interim.  Oops.  I’m super great at focusing.]

Fuck, that “I was some place I shouldn’ta been” hits hard.  This whole seen in rough.

Aaaahaha, why is the fact that Ferg is also standing there looking at Walt when he wakes up so much funnier than if it had just been Vic?  And his little grin.  And Ruby with a mug of his toothbrush and such for Walt!  Rubyyyyy!  (Holy shit, the fact that they have this little set up is alarmingly adorable, and I heckin’ adore Ruby.)  And then she sasses Branch, and I just want nice things for her.  

Walt’s “If you want,” to Ferg came off to me more like, ‘waste your time if you want to,’ (though that could well be my own issues projected” but I’m proud of Ferg for running with it.  And I do appreciate Walt calling the sex worker a lady.

Of course, he pulls Henry into his bs, getting him to solicit a sex worker.  Why does Henry put up with him?  I’m sorryyyy, but the pointing is so awkward and I cringe so hard, but what else is he going to do, I guess?  And how does he recognize her anyway?  Did Walt take a picture of her before letting her go, or something?  It doesn’t seem like he even got her name, to pull up a picture from a rap sheet, sooo...  Why am I even worrying about it?  And at least Walt doesn’t think that it’s not rape just if it’s a sex worker.

The flashback scene sure hits hard, too.  Damn.  I’m trying to remember the last time I saw anybody other than Vic actually pull on a glove in consideration of fingerprints.  I think there might have been one time or something, but nothing comes readily to mind.

For all that I rag on Walt for just collecting his assumptions and taking them to the bank, there is heavy irony with him now laying out the reasons he’s not arresting Whitish, because there is reasonable doubt in the form of the Collettes.  

Ooooooope, and then Branch brings up Cady.  I sure this can only go really well.  Aaaaaaaaand of course Walt has one of his Longmire Epiphanies and just walks off in the middle of the conversation, such as it was.

Does a college registrar’s really have your birth certificate on file?  I’m pretty sure I didn’t have to submit a copy to mine, but I also don’t really remember?  But that seems weird.

Ah, the bandage was about the frostbite.  I appreciate the continuity.  

Hmmmmmm, Cady leaving her phone at home when she drove to CO seems unlikely.  It seems unlikely as a generality for her generation, and on practical levels (directions to the precinct and such?), and just... That’s pretty hard to buy.  If I don’t want to talk to somebody, or even a bunch of people, I’d ignore calls or even block numbers, but her not taking her phone gives the impression that there is literally nobody that she would want to talk to, and that plays into this really weird bit of characterization void that the writers fell into of Cady just not knowing any single person other than her dad, Henry, Ruby, Branch, and Ferg, and I guess Vic.  As if she just doesn’t exist outside of her relation to one of them.  She doesn’t want to talk to any of the 6 of them, so there is not a single other person on the planet who she would want to be able to talk to/have them contact her?  There’s not a single other person on the planet that she knows who if they called and said, “I have an emergency, can you talk/help?” that she wouldn’t want to be available for?  Bullshit.  The entire rest of the series when she’s onscreen is showing how much she cares.  She’s a fucking Hufflepuff, and she’s not going to leave her damn phone at home while she drives 6 hours away into another damn state.  If you so desperately need to that she’s not even seeing his call, have her leave it in her car when she goes into the Denver station.  Like, unless she has a second phone that she did take, I’m not buying it.  Even as an attempt at “she’s so caught up in her mother’s murder now, oooo, Longmire tantrum and singular focus’ characterization.  Just, boo.

[fangirlxwritesx67]

Happy Birthday, Sam

Happy Birthday Sam 4th in the Sam x Rowena Celebrations

Tags: 18+, smut, sex, fluff, smutty fluff, sex, food, extra unnecessary references to Rowena and online shopping and her red hair.  2100 words

Rowena and Sam had been together long enough that it didn’t have to be a holiday or special occasion for them to have dinner with one another. Spending nights and days together was a delight, an escape for them both. He wasn’t sure why she was so insistent that he come over on the first weekend in May. 

But what, would he say “no” to Rowena? Not if he knew what was good for him. 

Still, Sam was taken aback when Rowena opened the door dressed in a slinky dark navy dress. She welcomed him into the living room, where the coffee table was piled with wrapped boxes and gift bags. 

“What’s the occasion?” Sam’s mind raced as he turned to Rowena. Had he forgotten a holiday, or her birthday? “What is this?” He finally asked, trying to keep his voice from revealing the alarm he was feeling.

“Oh my dear boy.” Rowena leaned into his grasp. “It is your birthday, of course.” Sam pulled her close with a long arm before looking down at her in bafflement. 

“My … birthday?” He tilted his head, confused. She reached up and booped his nose affectionately with one delicate finger.

“Yes, Sam. Birthday? You know, happens every year on this date? You get ...older?”

He sighed, a slow smile curving his mouth. He cupped her face in his hand, thumb stroking her cheek gently before tipping her chin up. Their mouths met in a kiss. Her lips were as sweet and soft as they always had been, and for a long moment, he lost himself there. 

Finally, Sam pulled away and shook his head. “I guess I have a birthday every year, but I haven’t marked it since I was a little boy. Why now?” 

Rowena scoffed. “A birthday is just an excuse to celebrate someone you love,” she told him, before kissing him again.

“And you love me?” he formed the words against her mouth before taking it all in another deep kiss.

“Yes, Sam, I love you,” she laughed, that musical irresistible laugh. “Now come and open your birthday presents.” She tugged his hand eagerly, leading him to the couch. 

Sam folded down willingly amongst her piles of throw pillows. Rowena handed him gift after gift, each one exquisitely wrapped, almost faster than he could open them.

“Shopping online again?” he teased fondly.  A new plaid shirt, that made him laugh. A couple of magazine subscriptions, Smithsonian and Psychology Today, which of course he could see online, but the old fashioned anticipation of actually getting something in the mail would be fun. 

The last gift was a journal, handsomely tooled leather, with a metal latch. 

“I have kept a journal for years, for decades. I know your father did too. It’s time for you to start your own record, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears, and he nodded slowly. “Maybe-” Whatever else he was going to say was lost in the sound of a timer going off. 

“Oh!” Rowena sprang to her feet, tissue and ribbon in a flurry around her. “The chicken is almost done.”

Sam did his best to choke back his laughter. “You’ve- made a chicken?” Rowena was a brilliant woman with an incredible depth of knowledge and skill when it came to the arcane arts. Cooking, however, was not her forte. 

She rolled her green cat eyes, more dramatically than perhaps was necessary. “Okay, I bought a rotisserie chicken, I was just warming it up. And the potatoes came chopped and seasoned in a bag. But I bought the asparagus myself.” 

Now that she mentioned it, Sam could smell chicken. “What do you plan to do with the asparagus?” 

“Oh Samuel,” Rowena turned to him, her upturned eyes beguiling as she leaned into his chest. “Do you know how to cook asparagus?” 

Sam scoffed. He could never resist Rowena, not when she looked at him all coy like that, and they both knew it. 

But he actually did know how to cook asparagus. He made sure the chicken was warmed through and the potatoes were roasted to perfection. He flash steamed the asparagus before topping it with butter as he plated his own birthday supper. 

Sam and Rowena sat on the connected corners of the table, enjoying the meal and one another's company. They talked and laughed and ate, lingering around every bite, every word. 

Their plates were empty when Sam laid one hand on the table. Rowena slipped her hand into his, and they wound their fingers together. He tugged her gently towards him, and she stood up. “Ro…?” he asked. 

“I've gotten dessert, too,” she said. “Birthday cake and ice cream.” She stepped into his grasp, slotting herself between his knees.

“Oh, my love,” he answered, pulling her into his arms again. “The only thing I’m hungry for is you.” 

They kissed, deep and searching. Sam didn’t care about dinner or dessert, he didn’t care about anything but Rowena in his grasp. Her arms closed around his neck. He reached for her waist, pulling her in. He could not get enough of her, he wanted so much more. 

He scooped her up, lifting her knees, holding her close. She pressed against his chest, pulling his face down to meet hers.

Sam’s lips sought Rowena’s over and over as he carried her easily into her bedroom. She slipped out of his grasp, stripping down as her feet hit the floor. He peeled off his own layers eagerly. She was down to a lacey navy bra and panties when she placed a hand on his bare chest. Her delicate fingers pressed warmly into his tanned skin. 

“Lay back on the bed,” she purred. Sam obeyed her, let her direct him with the slightest touch. He was putty in her hands. 

On one hand, he towered over her physically. On the other, her magic skills outstripped any of his abilities. It was a delicate and dynamic balance between the two of them. But they were both willing to engage in the process, to practice the exchange of power. To trust.

Sam stretched out, relaxing against the ridiculous amount of pillows that cluttered her bed. Rowena settled easily on the foot of the bed, sinking down onto her hands and knees. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders as she lifted her face up toward Sam. For a moment she stayed that way, making no moves to come any closer. 

He couldn't complain; she was giving him an amazing view. Her breasts were spilling forward, creamy skin pressed against dark lace. Her ass was high, curves and creases against more dark lace. She swayed side to side just a little, lean muscles graceful. 

Sam sighed. She lowered her gaze, long lashes brushing freckled cheeks, then raised her eyes to meet his gaze. Lust shone unmistakable in their bright green depths. 

“Come here?” he asked, his voice husky with longing. 

She obeyed his invitation slowly, prowling up the bed towards him. He shivered when the ends of her curls brushed his limbs, his hair standing on end. He reached out his hands and huffed out her name. She stretched up to meet his mouth in a glancing kiss, then pulled back before he could get ahold of her. 

She rose up on her knees and hooked her thumbs in her panties. Slowly, gracefully, she pushed them down over her velvety thighs. One leg at a time, pushing them down, pointing her toes as she slipped them all the way off. 

Wearing nothing but her bra, she swung one leg over his hips, straddling him. She began to move slowly, rocking both back and forth, and side to side. Her hands rose into her hair, elegant fingers lifting her curls and letting them go, tumbling down over her breasts. Her trim body flexed and rolled, undulating over him as she kept a steady pace with her hips. She teased him, slicked him with her wet warmth, and, god, did he enjoy the show!

Finally, she reached down and took him in one hand. A ragged gasp punched from Sam’s throat as she lowered herself onto him, inch by hot inch. He reached out, trying to grab her, to pull her closer. She met his hands with her own, winding their fingers together and keeping control as she began to ride him. Up and down, over and over, the muscles in her stomach and thighs flexed with her steady, maddening rhythm.

Sam enjoyed the show his girlfriend was giving him. He wasn’t about to hurry this along. But he wanted - needed - so much more. He turned his wrists, breaking free of her grasp. His hands roamed hungrily over her body, unable to settle in any one place. First, cupping her breasts, molding them to his tingling palms, then skimming down her sides over her ribs, curving into the dip of her waist, his fingers flexing involuntarily every time she rose and sank above him.

Finally his palms settled around her hips. His fingers dipped down to skim her ass while his thumbs pressed in. 

He let her control the pace but couldn’t keep himself from rocking along with her, couldn’t help as he tightened his grip. She was irresistible, perfect and all his. 

"Rowena, please" he moaned. He wasn’t ashamed to beg, not when he so desperately needed her, more of her, all of her.

Before long, he was moving her body in time with his, handling her, grinding her down as he thrust up. Her breath turned into pants and then short little moans. She dropped her hands to where he was holding her. Her nails dug into his wrists. 

He could see her body tensing as he pushed her, relentlessly, driving her higher. A flush was creeping up the skin of her breasts towards her collarbone. Her head tipped back, pulling her white throat taut. Her mouth dropped open in a low keening cry. Her back arched and she bucked against him hard. 

Sam paused for just a moment, slowing his thrusts, drawing out her orgasm. He waited until she sucked in a shuddering breath. Then he started to move again, faster, harder. She released his wrists, resting her palms against his chest, letting go, curling down onto him. Her thighs shook around him. He sank into her, everything dark and warm and close. His release shot through him like a bolt of lightening. 

The last thing he knew was shouting her name. 

When Sam could draw a deep breath again, Rowena was stretched out on top of him. Their skin was sweat slicked, their hearts racing together. He reached for her without seeing her, tracing the lines of her face with his fingertips gently. He could feel as much as hear her soft pleased sighs. He tipped her chin up with one hand, drawing her face up to meet his. Rowena’s fingers slid up, tangling in his hair. 

Their lips met again and again, lazy, slow and sated kisses. 

Finally Rowena pushed herself up and looked down at Sam. Her beautiful features were flushed and open. Her green eyes were wide and bright. Her soft mouth rounded as she exclaimed, “Oh! There’s still cake!” 

Sam laughed and tipped onto his side, rolling her back onto the bed. “All that, and you’re thinking about cake?” 

She giggled. “It is your birthday, after all. And I ordered this cake from the best bakery in the city.” She sat up smoothly, brushing her hair off her face. “Hand me your shirt.” 

Sam obeyed. She slipped her arms into the sleeves of his blue flannel, fastening just a couple of  buttons down by her waist. She hopped out of bed and headed for the kitchen. Sam sat up to watch her go, admiring the lines of her legs beneath his shirt.

He could hardly believe that she was his. Not because he owned her, but because she had given herself to him willingly. Because they loved, and trusted one another. She was his as he was hers. He had no claim on her, only enjoyed her, and the mutual delight they took in celebrating one another. 

When she came back, she was carrying two plates with cake and ice cream. She was balanced, perfect and graceful, the loose shirt allowing a generous peek of her small, high breasts. Her hair was a riot of red gold around her radiant face. 

Sam held out his hands, palm up, and Rowena handed him both plates as she settled onto the bed. She crossed her legs and pulled the sheets around them both. Sam handed her one plate. Then he forked up a bite of both cake and ice cream. She laughed and let him feed it to her. She licked her lips, eyes closing with evident pleasure. When she met his gaze again, he was surprised to see her expression suddenly tinged with disappointment

“Oh Sam,” she murmured. “You didn’t get to blow out birthday candles.”

He smiled down at her fondly and shook his head. His heart was full, so full of gratitude and happiness and love. Never in all his years had he dreamed of being with a woman like Rowena. Her beauty and her caring was more than enough.

“I don’t need candles,” he answered, pulling her close with one long arm. “I have everything I could ever wish for, right here, with you.”  ...

Thanks to @mskathywriteswords and @boondoctorwho for poking and teasing this one out, especially @itmighthavebeenintentional​ for letting me steal entire lines. I am forever in your debt, my dears!

SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @defenderrosetyler @divadinag @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @kickingitwithkirk @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn   @the-chocolate-moose  @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting

Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff @lilsylvia @winchesterxfamilybusiness​ Rowena My Queen:  @delightfullykrispypeach @lilsylvia @marril96 @pansexualdarling @songofthecagedmoose​ Gay Screaming: @boondoctorwho, @cracksinthewalls, @fookinghelljensensthighs @itmighthavebeenintentional, @justcallmeasmodeus, @katehuntington, @maddiepants, @mskathywriteswords, @rockhoochie, @there-must-be-a-lock, @thoughtslikeaminefield

[shepherds-of-haven]

So how would the ROs react to meeting the MC's Ex who is really nice to the MC and obviously into them but when MC leaves the room the Ex starts talking crap about stealing MC away from RO. (RO and MC are together in this scenario)

Blade: absorbs this information silently… he’s confident MC could never be “stolen away” from him but he’s definitely going to do something about Ex… until then, though, he’s not going to show them his cards and give them a reaction, so he would just coolly ignore them and make them feel really awkward lol

Trouble: MC walks back into the room to find Trouble having grabbed Ex by the collar and hauled them up into the air with superhuman strength. Really depends on if he’s just staring silently into their soul with wordless fury or if he’s already pummeling the absolute bejesus out of them

Tallys: “Oh, I see. That’s how we’re going to play it.” When MC walks back into the room, she says, “Dear, Ex was just telling me the most fascinating things…” and tells them calmly and exactly what the Ex said… in front of the Ex! 

Shery: She’s so shook–they seemed so nice!–that she has tears in her eyes by the time MC walks into the room and has to excuse herself. If MC doesn’t follow her, she reads into that that they’re more concerned about Ex than her, and starts to panic… but then she gets angry, and she eventually hits a breaking point and yells at both MC (if they didn’t follow her) AND Ex!

Riel: Riel would smile thinly and inform Ex that he already has researched all of their weaknesses and has known them ever since he first learned of their existence. Do they really want to pull the trigger on this, or would it be better for all parties involved if they quietly left town?

Chase: Chase would just be holding his ribs and cracking up by the time MC came back into the room. He’d find the concept so hilarious and the Ex so pathetically unthreatening that they’d be silenced and ashamed by his raucous laughter. To add insult to injury he’d wipe the tears from his eyes and just be like, “…good joke!”

Red: he’d be thrown off and really uncomfortable by them saying they were going to steal MC. What is he supposed to say to that? Later on he’ll think of something cool like “I dare you to try” in the shower, but in the moment he’s like, “Uh… what?” Afterwards, though, he tells MC everything in a tone of bafflement: “So you’ll never guess what your ex just told me…” 

Ayla: she calmly crosses the room and punches Ex in the face. By the time MC comes back into the room, she’s sitting on their chest, having grabbed them by their forehead as she raps their head smartly against the floor 

Briony: I think it depends on how personally threatening she’d find the Ex (like does she think they’re better-looking than her, or make her feel insecure in some other way?): she could just have a big bright smile on her face and just kill them with kindness, like “oh wow, that’s really embarrassing that you said that out loud!” and cheerfully informing MC what they said when MC comes back, or she could get really dark and angered by the disrespect, like i could put you through the wall and not even blink, and you still underestimate me enough to talk to me like that? you must really not respect me at all... like gritting her teeth and shaking with the need to KILL but only just managing to calmly, softly say, “if you ever show your face to me or MC again after today, there won’t be enough of you to mail back to your family”. *MC comes back* :) “oh honey, Ex was just telling me they were on their way out!”

Lavinet: she gets perversely excited, like “👀 oh bitch? u… u challenge me?” and she’s just smiling wickedly and practically vibrating with energy by the time MC comes back into the room. Oh yes, she is going to organize this Ex’s downfall and teach them their place so quick. She doesn’t even need to tell MC what happened, she’s just looking forward to making Ex rue the day they ever thought they could go head-to-head with Lavinet Naveen… 

[elcorhamletlive]

Fandom: MCU (post-Avengers) Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Tags: Fluff, Pining Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century summary:  As Steve discovers the internet, he also discovers old memes.

As Tony and Bruce climb out of the lab, the sound that echoes in the room is so foreign that it takes Tony a moment to realize it’s a laugh, and one more moment to realize it’s Steve’s.

At the top of the staircase, Tony sees him on the couch, and yeah, he’s laughing. Not politely chuckling or awkwardly forcing a laugh, mind you, but actually, genuinely having a belly laugh, complete with a pink flush all over his face, his eyes turning into tiny blue streaks as he wipes them with back of his hand, catching his breath.

It’s—well. It’s a vision, to be blunt.

“Sounds like you’re having fun,” Bruce says, and that’s the understatement of the year, because Steve looks downright delighted. He struggles to catch his breath, still grinning helplessly as he looks away from his phone.

“Oh,” he says, as if he’s just realized their presence. His flush deepens, Tony notices. Steve’s has kind of an ugly flush, that shows up in red spots coming up from his neck as well, instead of sticking prettily to his cheeks. Tony sticks his hands in his pockets to control his itch to touch it. “Hi.”

“Hey, Cap.” Clint throws himself on the couch next to him and leans, trying to take a pick at his phone. It’s rude, but Tony can’t really blame him, because he’s one step away from offering actual money to find out what made Steve laugh like that. “What are you looking at?”

Steve controls his grin into a more schooled smile, but he still perks up , and in a moment Tony is right behind the couch, leaning forward to place his hands over the cushion. From behind Steve’s broad, sculpted-by-the-Gods back, he catches a glimpse of a Twitter feed.

“I was trying to learn how to use, hmm—Twitter, right?” He pronounces it correctly, which really shouldn’t make Tony want to kiss him in congratulations, but it absolutely does. “And I found this, this page…” His face twists in an effort not to laugh. “You’re not gonna believe it. Here, I’ll show you. You guys need to see this.” He holds up the phone a little higher for Tony and Bruce to see.

As he types – a little slower than most people would – a name into the search bar, Tony’s heart kind of breaks.

“It’s genius,” Steve says, as the account opens. “I was just looking at this one—”

“Wait,” Clint interrupts. “Are you serious?”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, with a little frown between his eyebrows that Tony’s hand itches to smooth it out. “I know it seems silly, but it’s really funny.” He turns, and, at Clint’s gaze, grows more indignant. “The pictures are very good and the captions are really creative.”

“I know,” Clint says bluntly. “It’s Dog Rates, Cap. They have over eight million followers. It’s a huge account. Everyone knows it.”

Steve’s frown vanishes, but it’s replaced by something a lot worse: surprise, and then a clear, raw disappointment that he does his best to mask. His posture deflates, his hand going to the back of his neck, rubbing it.

“Oh,” he says, and he’s back to his usual man-out-of-time voice, probably feeling old and stupid, the excitement from before already a distant memory.

It’s legitimately like someone turned off the sun. So, really, nobody can blame Tony for saying, “I didn’t know it.”

Steve looks at him. “Really?”

“Really?” Clint asks, a thousand times more skeptical, and Tony gestures flippantly at him.

“Not all of us have free time to troll on Twitter, Barton,” he says. Then he turns to Steve, who’s watching him with wide blue eyes that almost make him forget how to form words. “So? What’s all the fuss about?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, a hesitant smile already blooming on his face. He turns further to show his phone exclusively to Tony, signaling for him to lean further so their heads are closer, which isn’t a configuration Tony minds, at all. “See, it’s very simple – they post a picture, and give it a rate. At first, I thought it seemed a little harsh, because, really, which dog should ever get a low rate, right? But, see—all their rates start out at ten.”

He proceeds to show some of his favorite posts. Tony’s seen them all, either from following the account or from random dog memes Rhodey sends him sometimes, but he plays along, ooooh- ing and ­ awwwww -ing at the right moments, and in no time Steve is grinning again, glad to be explaining something to someone else for a change, feeling in the loop.

Some people could say what Tony’s doing is lying, but he disagrees, because he isn’t faking it at all when he grins back.

-

After Steve finds out Dog Rates, it doesn’t take him long to find Thoughts of Dog, which he finds even more delightful. He shows it to Tony during breakfast, sitting next to him on the counter as they go through the tweets together.

“This is amazing,” Steve says. He’s at that stage where it seems like his cheeks hurt from smiling. Tony thinks he should look like this more often. Maybe all the time. “When they explained it at SHIELD, I thought the internet was more of a tool, like a huge encyclopedia. And obviously, it is, but it didn’t occur to me it could be…”

“Fun?” Tony asks.

Steve looks at him and smiles. Tony is quite fond of that sequence of events.

“Yeah,” he says. When he smiles like that, a dimple shows up in his cheek.

Tony isn’t even a dog person, but it couldn’t matter less.

-

Steve eventually expands his knowledge of animal memes and pages to include cats, which means Tony starts receiving lots of videos that were, at one point, considered the pinnacle of internet humor, with cats playing piano and sliding over wood floors.

Steve finds out about Grumpy Cat a few hours before he learns she’s dead. In between, he texts Tony a bunch of pictures of her with a message reading “this is how you look at morning team meetings”.

Tony honest-to-God giggles, because, really, he’s a lost cause.

A few moments afterwards, he receives a lengthy message of Steve saying he just found the cat in the picture had died, but she had apparently lived a long and happy life and so he hoped Tony wouldn’t be sad by finding this out.

Since Tony doesn’t immediately answer (because there’s a marching band leading what is apparently an eternal fourth of July parade in his chest), Steve then apologizes for sending the memes in the first place, and, look—if nobody sees Tony sighing, nobody can prove anything, regardless of what the dopey smile on his face might suggest.

-

On a remarkable occasion, Steve sends in a “important Avenger news – waiting for your thoughts, Iron Man” e-mail, and, when Tony opens it, he’s rick-rolled in front of his entire office.

“This is the cringiest shit I’ve ever seen,” Clint, who’s there to get suit upgrades, says.

“Shut up,” Tony says.

“SHIELD has informed him we think it’s best if he doesn’t have a Twitter account,” Natasha, who’s there to have lunch with Pepper, says, and even through her supreme spy training Tony can tell she has to try hard to keep an even expression. “For his… reputation.”

“Oh, shut up,” Tony repeats. “It would only make him more popular, and you know it.”

Natasha shrugs with a knowing smile. “To some people, maybe.”

Tony looks away, his face heating.

-

Eventually, Steve confronts him about it.

They’re on the couch, right after what wasn’t exactly a date, but also wasn’t definitely not a date either—Steve had said he was hungry, and Tony had asked if he wanted to get dinner, but then Steve said “sure, there’s pasta in the fridge”, and they had ended up eating in the living room, plates full of large portions of heated up pasta from lunch (which, against all odds, tasted really good).

Now they’re on the same couch, bodies lax and full of carbs, and sitting pretty close to each other already, although Tony does take advantage of any opportunity to slip a little closer. They’re watching as Steve scrolls through a series of images on his phone, all historical pictures or paintings with a photoshopped, photobombing squirrel.

Tony chuckles, because he barely remembers this one, and because Steve seems happy and relaxed and this makes it easier for him to laugh.

“How come you don’t know any of these things?” Steve asks with a raised eyebrow. “You work with tech.”

“Machines don’t make memes,” Tony says. Then, after a second, he adds: “At least not good ones.”

“Your profile is one of the most followed of all time on Twitter and Instagram,” Steve counters.

“Wow, okay—cyber-stalking much?” Tony replies, which makes Steve’s cheeks grow a little pink, but he doesn’t seem too embarrassed, just a little shy as he opens a small smile. Tony takes the opportunity to nest a little closer.

“I was just looking,” Steve says, his eyes landing on the point of contact between his and Tony’s shoulders. They’re so close now they’re basically leaning against each other, and Tony is about to retreat and mumble an excuse to leave and save himself the embarrassment, when Steve adds: “It’s nice. That—that you don’t mind me sharing things.” Then, to Tony’s bafflement, he comes closer and leans his head on Tony’s shoulder. “There’s so much to catch up on. Sometimes it’s nice to—to feel like I’m in the loop for a change.”

There’s a knot in Tony’s throat, and yet his body is reeling, completely taken by the warmth of Steve’s frame cuddled up against him.

There must be something in Steve’s eyes, too – something more than what his words say, something brighter and warmer that’s almost blinding as he stares at Tony, something that makes Tony confident enough to lean forward and press a kiss on the top of Steve’s head.

“No problem,” he muffles against Steve’s hair.

Steve hums pleasantly and then asks Tony if he’s seen the world’s fastest skateboarding bulldog yet.

Of course, Tony hasn’t.