#give me a place to stand and a big enough lever and I can move the world.

[batboyblog]

There's a joke among Texas Democrats, "Texas isn't a Red state, its a non-voting state" and its true, states like New Hampshire or Maine have about a 70% turn out, while Texas, a record busting year was barely over 50% (another problem is so many people aren't registered to vote)

Which I guess brings me to a point, a lot of people are saying that any state is a swing state if enough people vote. Which in theory is true enough, but some people will roll their eyes at that, but here's an example

in 2004 George W. Bush won Indiana 60% to 39% over John Kerry, or 21 points for the Republican. In 2008 Obama beat John McCain 49.8% to 48.8%, a massive swing that literally no one saw coming, all of us were in SHOCK on Election Day. Because Indiana wasn't a swing state (and it has special laws that make it hard to poll) no one had bothered to spend the money to poll the state, no one knew it became a swing state, the McCain (and Obama) camps didn't bother to invest, after all the last Republican won the state by a landslide.

Thats a pretty extreme example but its possible.

however just as important is to realize, often times states shift because of hard work. In 2000 Al Gore won the popular vote, and lost the election thanks to a mess in Florida. I won't go into it, but barely now remembered is New Hampshire went for Bush by only about 7,000 votes. A bunch of Democrats in Massachusetts realized if just a tiny number more Democrats had turned out, the whole Florida recount mess wouldn't have mattered. So every election since then Massachusetts volunteers organize and bus up to New Hampshire and knock doors, together with NH Dems they've won every single Presidential campaign in the state and elected two Democratic Senators and two Democratic Reps in once deep Red New Hampshire.

another case is Virginia where Democrats spent the 1990s and 2000s running up that hill falling short over and over between 1992 and 2004 till Obama won the state, narrowly, Today in 2024 its not even really a swing any more. Why? well you see people don't change overnight. However, if you, yes you, reading this, now. Show up, knock on doors, call people, etc in your red red state, you're opening a door, your yard sign, your bumper sticker, your t-shirt is opening a conversation. Millions of Americans decided at some point "this is my party" and stopped really thinking about it often for years and years. No one has showed up and asked them to think about it

and guess what Parties change over time, I know everyone knows about Democrats once being the conservative party and Republicans the liberal. But just in our life times, the GOP used to be the party that was all in on American strength and leadership in the world and bullying Democrats who had any doubts about that. Well today the GOP is all about retreating from the world, ditching our allies, throwing Ukraine and Taiwan to the wolves, getting out of NATO, leaving South Korea etc. Becoming Russia's junior partner in a multi-polar world where might makes right and great powers like Russia and China get to do whatever whenever. The GOP used to endlessly bang on about "small government that doesn't tell you what to do" about "personal responsibility" and "law and order" well it wants the government in the personal lives of every American and feels like its criminal leader is above the law, and indeed that his supporters should get to beat the shit out of police and not face any legal repercussions.

So if any of those were why someone became a Republican in the 1980s, 90s, 2000s, there's a party that believes in American leadership in the world, the minding your own damn business, and that former Presidents aren't above the law, It's called the Democratic Party.

To get back to the point, if you, yes you, show up on someone's door and bring them that idea, challenge them to really think before they vote, maybe they don't change this time, but maybe in 4 years those seeds take root. Maybe people go "oh I guess there is a choice" it can be a long hard road, but if you don't try, you don't start, you never get anywhere.

But I don't live in a swing state?!

every 4 years I see people talking about how they live in a red state (or more rarely a blue state) so their vote doesn't matter and I just want to briefly point out that I think nearly every state is either a swing state for the Presidential election, having a key Senate Race that will decide control of the Senate, has one or more key House races that'll decide control of the House, or is having an important Governor's race that'll could flip control of the state

Presidential Swing states:

Arizona

Georgia

Michigan

Nevada

North Carolina

Pennsylvania

Wisconsin

Key Senate Races:

Arizona

Florida

Maryland

Michigan

Montana

Nevada

Ohio

Pennsylvania

Texas

Wisconsin

States With Key House Races:

Alabama

Alaska

California

Colorado

Connecticut

Florida

Illinois

Indiana

Iowa

Kansas

Maine

Maryland

Michigan

Minnesota

Montana

Nebraska

Nevada

New Hampshire

New Jersey

New Mexico

New York

North Carolina

Ohio

Oregon

Pennsylvania

Texas

Virginia

Washington

Wisconsin

Swingable Governor Races:

New Hampshire

North Carolina

there are lots of local and state level races that are very important to, but my point was basically odds are very very good, you live somewhere where your vote will help decide what America looks like in 2025. Don't get tricked into thinking just because your state isn't one of the ones always mentioned in the news as a swing state that it doesn't matter what you do

[queenofbaws]

oh my gosh hiiii !!! can you write jessicash please? maybe them baking together? shenanigans ensue? thank you !! 😋❤️❤️

not-quite-six sentence weekend :P

It wasn't a gradual thing - one moment she was standing just fine, carefully moving cookie after cookie from the hot tray to the cooling rack, the next, everything inside of her gave out in a wave. Had the kitchen been that hot the whole time? How long had she been on her feet? And, more to the point, why had she agreed to this in the first place?!

"Hey. Um. Sorry. But...do you think you could maybe...take over for a second? Just, like...the next batch?"

Jess looked up from the bag of Hershey kisses she'd been diligently unwrapping, her eyebrows pulled together and a teeny-tiny sliver of her tongue poked out over her bottom lip in a wildly overdramatic expression of concentration. She blinked for a second, almost like she hadn't understood the question, then shrugged and got up, giving the hem of her t-shirt a little tug to adjust it where it'd been riding up while she sat.

Ah. Right, Ashley thought as she carefully levered herself up onto the countertop, resting her head against the cabinets behind her. That was why she'd agreed to it.

She shut her eyes against the wave of dizziness that had come over her, hoping against hope that it was only a temporary thing. If she was being honest, baking had never really been her strong suit, her 'thing,' so to speak; it wasn't that she'd forgotten how tiring it could be, buzzing around with the oven going, it was that it hadn't even crossed her mind. If she'd known, she would've taken a break ten minutes ago, would've just gone to sit in front of an open window, or excuse herself to hide in the bathroom, or, heck, even lying down on the floor in the fetal position was starting to sound good at this point, and -

"I always forget which one's which."

She blinked, shaken from her mental flagellation. "...huh? Which what is...what?"

At the other end of the counter, Jess stood in front of the mixing bowl, her head tilted juuust enough that Ashley could see her lips purse in thought. She had her elbows on the counter, meaning the rest of her was sort of leaning away from it, and lo and behold, wouldn't you know it, that t-shirt of hers was riding up again, showing a whole stretch of her lower back and stomach, which, honestly?

Wasn't really helping the whole 'overheating' part of this whole mess.

"Tee-ess-pee and tee-bee-ess-pee," she explained, giving the bowl a spin as she kept staring at the recipe. "I know one's tablespoon and one's teaspoon, but...c'mon. They're almost exactly the same! How do you even keep track?"

"Tablespoon's got the b in it, like, y'know, um, table. And teaspoon doesn't. It's just t. Like. Um. Tea."

It had felt like a reasonable enough explanation in her head, but maybe she was worse off than she felt, because Jess turned at that, giving her a confused look. She didn't push up from her lean (again, the arch of her back? Not helping), instead propping her chin up with her hand. "You're, like, so red right now. You good?"

"Uh." That was the question, wasn't it?

Lying down on the floor was sounding better and better.

"I'm - " Ashley paused, clearing her throat. She doubted it did much to make her look any less terrible, but at least she hoped it would keep her voice from cracking. "Yeah. Just tired, I think. It...it kinda snuck up on me."

Jess blinked slowly, still watching her, and the longer that went on the warmer Ashley's face felt, so she scrambled to keep them moving right along.

"Um. Capital-t means big spoon. Lowercase-t means little spoon."

"Oooh. Okay. See, that makes sense!" Beaming, Jess (finally) turned away from her, setting about starting the next batch. After getting the dry ingredients together, she pointed to the nearby cooling rack, offhandedly suggesting, "If you feel gross, eating might help. That's a thing, right? Like, sugar gives you energy? I think that's a thing. Plus, if these turn out to be fuuucking terrible, we can stop while we're ahead!"

It couldn't hurt, she figured, taking one of the mostly-cooled chocolate chip cookies. 'Mostly' being the operative term, she quickly realized, because its middle was still just gooey enough that she had to stick her other hand under it when it began to warp and droop on its way to her mouth. The good news was that they weren't horrible - she'd had better, sure, but they were totally passable. It was gone in three warm, sumptuous bites, and then she shut her eyes again, resting her head against that cabinet.

"Better?" Jess asked over the telltale scrape of spoon-on-bowl.

"Um," she said, eyes still closed, her thoughts soupy in the heat of the kitchen. "I think so? I'll be fine, really, I just - "

But then she heard the bowl clunk back onto the countertop. Cracking an eye, she found Jess staring at her - again - and something in the way she was looking...something in her eyes...she couldn't say what it was, but it had Ashley sitting straighter, opening her eyes altogether.

"...y-yeah?"

Without answering, Jess walked over to her. Right up to her, in fact. And that wasn't to say 'just in front of her,' or 'until she was beside her,' or anything like that; no, Jess walked right up to the section of counter she was sitting on, going so far as to set her hands on Ashley's knees (the contact positively electric through the holes in her jeans), gently nudging her legs apart until she had just enough room to stand flush against the counter and -

In one quick move, she reached up and ran one of her fingers along the line of Ashley's lower lip. The resulting short-circuit in her brain meant she was only sort of aware of the smear of chocolate she saw on her fingertip before Jess brought that finger to her own mouth, her nail polish glimmering in the light as she pointedly licked the mess away.

"Had something on your face," she said as if what she'd just done had been the most natural thing in the world, and then she was walking away again, picking up the mixing bowl.

Ashley sat there for a second afterwards - two, three, four, five - and then she gave in, doing the only thing she could possibly think to do in that situation. She slid off the counter and onto the floor beside the table where the cookies were cooling. She stared at the ceiling. She thought about the choices that had brought her to that moment.

And she decided maybe, just maybe...baking could be her 'thing' after all.

[vikenticomeshome]

Cyberchase Web Adventures Episode 5: Hacker Jack by Ron Barrett

Ron Barrett is an illustrator and comic artist who is probably best known for illustrating "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs", a classic story written by his wife, Judi. However, he also produced a series of web comics for Cyberchase that were released on the pbskids.org website. He produced a single Cyberchase web comic in 2005, and then a set of three one-shot Cyberchase web comics in 2011. None of these comics are on the website anymore.

The web comic from 2005, Hacker Jack, was the final entry in the Cyberchase Web Adventures line of web comics. This series included the original three-part prequel comic and the original Poddleville story, "Numberless Poddles".

However, Hacker Jack was an entirely different style. Those four comics were assembled like animation cells. They placed the background layers first, and then added separate images that they rendered on top of of the background. By swapping between different images, they could make simple two-frame or three-frame animations. Hacker Jack was drawn in a more traditional comic panel format.

As i said before, this comic is not on the pbskids.org website anymore. Additionally, it is not on Ron Barrett's personal website. I am only posting it here for the purposes of archiving it and sharing it with the fans. All credit for its creation goes to Ron Barrett.

I will transcribe all of the dialogue. I will leave my comments to the end, unless i feel it is absolutely necessary. Let's begin.

Buzz or Delete: Gee boss, look at all those freaky tikis!

Buzz or Delete: Everyone in Tikiville is flipping out!

The Hacker: Can the cackling! Prepare to land!

Tikiville Citizen #1: Hack attack!

Tikiville Citizen #2: Don't walk, run!

Tikiville Citizen #3: Taxi!

The Hacker: Behold! - The Great Tiki of Tikiville! When I topple this giant, all the tikis will fall... like dominoes!

The Hacker: Then this site will be mine! All mine! Ha Ha Ha!

Delete: But boss, how can you topple a tiki that's this big? Grunt!

Buzz: Grunt!

The Hacker: I am a man with a plan! - Look!

The Hacker: As it was said by another genius long ago...

Poster of Archimedes: Give me place to stand and a lever long enough and i shall move the earth.

The Hacker: I shall call my invention the Hacker Jack!

Buzz: It'll never work.

The Hacker: You dare to doubt my brilliant design?

Delete: Well... um yeah!

The Hacker: Give me that ice cream pop and i will make a model to test it!

Delete: Hey!

The Hacker: SHHH-LURP

The Hacker: This stick will be my lever

The Hacker: And this will be my fulcrum!

The Hacker: I press down on the lever and...

The ice cream pop stick: Snap!

Buzz: I told you it wouldn't work.

The Hacker: Zip it!

The Hacker: Hmmm! I need to use something stronger, something that won't break... something just like...

The Hacker: This leg from your chair!

The Hacker: And now to test my new, improved lever

The Hacker: I press down and...

Delete: Nothing happened!

The Hacker: Hmmm... a minor adjustment... I'll move the fulcrum closer to the box and...

Buzz: A full-crummy idea!

Buzz and Delete: The Hacker Jack works!

Delete: Now we have all the parts we need to build the super-size Hacker Jack!

Delete: Huff-puff

The Hacker: Ow! Watch that board!

The Hacker: All is ready! I shall jump upon the Hacker Jack and set in motion the toppling of the tikis. Then - I will rule supreme!

Narration: Or will he? Can you stop The Hacker?

Buzz: Lookin' good, boss!

Motherboard: Hacker alert!

Motherboard: ... the Cybersquad needs you to invent a machine

Motherboard: ... stop Hacker from toppling the tikis!

And so, we reach the end of this comic. There was option to send in drawings of your invention. These drawings were placed in a gallery on the website. I was able to preseve this gallery. One day, i may grab some pictures from that gallery to share.

As i said before, this was the end of the Cyberchase Web Adventures line. It ended on this cliffhanger, so we don't know if The Hacker was successful, or what invention was used to try to stop him.

While I enjoyed the comic, it doesn't really fit in with the rest of the Cyberchase Web Adventures series. I find it interesting that Buzz is openly criticizing The Hacker here. He would grumble a bit in the show, but i don't remember him saying it to his face. And then, The Hacker casually rips off one of Delete's antenna caps.

[wuxiaphoenix]

Worldbuilding: Life on the Rung

Consider the step, in all its permutations; from a niche chipped out of a rock face to grand stairways to the lightest aluminum folding ladder. We think of being human as working with our hands, but we shape a lot of our world for our feet.

As Archimedes said, “Give me a lever and a place to stand and I shall move the world.” The lever can be pretty near anything long and sturdy enough to take the force you put into it. The place to stand... that can be tricky. Just look at the gallery roads in parts of China’s mountains. I have to picture how someone must have climbed and scrambled to chip out each post-hole, to build another step of the road. A level of effort and risk that only makes sense when you consider the time and effort it takes to climb down the cliff face, and up at the end - and that unpredictable mountain weather means if you take too long, you may not live to make it through the pass. Put in the effort to carve those steps and make a road, and the business of human travel goes on.

Shaping steps out of the landscape or building materials is one thing, but we took it a step further. We abstracted the idea of a step, from a specific shape carved out of earth or wood, to “I need a firm thing to stand on”.

Enter the ladder. And things really step up.

Once you have the idea of a ladder, specific materials become less important. You can make it out of wood. Steel. Memory metal. Rope, if you have to. As long as it’s anchored enough to put your feet on and have them stay put, you’re good. I’d rather be painting from the stable tripod of a stepladder than a dangling rope type, but both will let you get the job done.

Being able to abstract an idea, to move from “I need X specific thing” to “I need something that will allow me to do X”, is a big step. It’s the kind of thing that lets you go from “I need to get over the next hill” to “I want to go to the Moon”. Eventually.

If you’re writing about humans, or creatures that think human-like enough to be characters, you’re writing about people who can create abstractions.

“They’re concrete thinkers!” Well, maybe. Just remember, writing is an abstraction. Math is an abstraction. Colors are an abstraction. Manipulating not just the thing, but the idea of the thing, is how we built our cultures from found rocks to flaked tools to laser-cutting robots.

What are your world’s ladders?

[hawthorn-j]

Here's Where It Starts

“Of all the resting cities in civil airspace, Mitakura is one of the biggest. The city of pillars, a shining beacon amongst the landscape, is a place where the airman’s every need can be catered for.” – Karlen’s Guide for Airmen, 1767

The white silk shirt tucked neatly into the khaki linen trousers of the bar stool’s current occupant, buttoned neatly save for the top three, which hung open as a testament to the heat of the mid-day sun in Mitakura. It’s owner sipped from a glass of dark rum, savouring the heat as it went down, taking the last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray on the bar top. Blonde hair that was just starting to get too long to style hung over a face that knew whatever peace he was getting from this place was sadly limited.

He knew he had 20 minutes.

Well, about 15, truth be told, but he was hoping that the general incompetence of the last batch of MPs His Majesty’s Navy of the Air had sent after him would carry over to this lot. If he was them, he’d look for the one tavern with the Sword & Cross still flying above the door, and make sure the barkeep upstairs saw what he had on his hip when asking questions about the section of loose floor at the back, ensconsed in rumours careless patrons trying to impress disinterested potential lovers had dropped over town, a particularly pathetic trail that could be easily followed by sitting in any bar in midtown and taking some notes on the sly. They were 15 minutes he was going to savour.

In his head, he plotted how it was going to go down. They’d come in the door at the top of the stairs, guns drawn if they were smart, and stand at the end while making whatever noise their duty bound them to make. That should give him enough time to grasp his own weapon – strapped to his thigh – state his piece, and escape. The last part wasn’t big on details, but it didn’t need to be. Every good Captain needed the ability to think on his feet, and he had practice enough for anyone the Navy was going to send after him.

He'd just about finished the glass when he heard the door move open upstairs. In one fluid motion he left the bar stool and grabbed his jacket, the short, light blue with golden braid feeling as light as a feather as he flicked a lever on the side of his weapon. He felt it’s warmth begin to permeate the holster and smiled.

Then there was a gunshot, and the door upstairs burst into splinters. Jack’s forehead furrowed – who the hell shot a barkeep over a single rogue Captain? – as three figures descended the stairs, dressed in the dark blue and red of His Majesty’s Navy of the Air. They each raised long pistols, flicking the short silver lever just above the trigger in turn.

Jack’s brow remained furrowed, but that was reassuring at least. Steam saving meant they weren’t going to shoot him just yet.

A fourth figure descended the stairs, and Jack’s left eyebrow raised in surprise. The epaulettes indicated he was an officer, and a damn high one at that, but the sash across the dark blue jacket showed he’d been decorated by His Majesty King Ermond Landrick IV himself. What the hells was going on?

“Mr Summersday, I presume?” the decorated figure enquired in clipped tones.

And using his new name. He’d almost be flattered if he didn’t know what that meant. Someone wanted him, and wanted him badly.

“Who’s asking?” he replied calmly, cracking a smile to hide his nerves as he surveyed the three soldiers before him, “Can’t you let a man enjoy a drink?”

“I can assure you, we have plenty at the officer’s mess. You could have all the liquid comfort you will ever need, would you just answer the commission letter. I trust it reached you?”

He’d read it three days prior, with no idea how it had been able to reach him given the somewhat nomadic turn he’d taken. Naturally, he had no intention of obeying it.

“Sorry mate, must have passed me by. You know how it is once you leave-“ he made a theatrical wink to the soldiers- “you just lose track of things.”

“Now, Mr Summersday, there’s no need for pretence. We’re quite willing to forgive the ignorance of the letter and those before that, including the associated penalties, if you would just come with us. There really is no need for hostility.”

Now that was rich.

“Bollocks, there isn’t. I appreciate the effort, I really do, but it’s going to take more than that to get me to return with everything all smiles and handshakes so if you’d be so kind as to piss off and leave me alone?”

The officer’s façade of civility slipped for a second. Jack’s smile tightened for a second. He could see the bastard mulling over the harsh words, the fuse running down.

“I see. That is most unfortunate. Gentlemen, take-“

Jack drew before he finished the sentence, gun rising from the holster, the two brass contacts at the end of the barrel sending a shock of lightning out and hitting the central soldier square in the chest, gun firing into the ceiling as he went to the floor, writhing in agony. He whipped the bolt over to the left hand soldier as he pulled the trigger, the impact enough to send the bullet flying over his shoulder and into one of the ceiling beams, shattering the decorative mug nailed there. Jack whipped his free hand round, catching the glass from the bar top and hurling it with force into the head of the soldier on the right, leaving him dazed for just long enough to meet a second bolt of arcing electric destruction and crumple to the floor. Jack straightened up to look the officer dead in the eyes, the beady eyes and bushy moustache bristling with wounded authority as he drew the sword from his scabbard into his right hand. Jack grinned and fired again, but the blade whipped out and deflected the bolt harmlessly into the floor, the smell and smoke of charred wood filling the air as it was levelled at his chest like an accusation. Jack’s heart beat with the thrill as he smiled, reaching up with his thumb to flick the small lever back down. His left hand clasped the hunting knife at his hip as the right hand lowered the pistol, a gentle smile enough to get his opponent to lower his blade slightly. There was a quick flash of the smile before the knife lashed out, it’s length no match for the fine sabre but it’s weight proving enough to deflect it away before a finely crafted leather boot came up to kick the prick in the chest. He went down, but reached up as Jack ran for the stairs, catching his ankle and bringing him down to the floor, head catching on the cast iron tread as he hit the floor. Jack’s head swam as he fought to keep himself together, rolling over to find the officer on his feet already, the sabre pointed just under his chin.

“Captain Jack Summersday, you are under arrest” he stated, the clipped tones giving way in part to anger, sash crumpled and the dirt of the floor evident on his jacket and trousers, “for evasion of conscription, assault of an officer-“

Jack shook himself back to sense. This bastard had won, and he was reading him his charges? Again, what the fuck was going on?

“-and theft of property of His Majesty Ermond the Fourth’s Navy of the Air.”

Whatever they wanted him for, Jack wasn’t taking it. The tip of the sabre pushed into his chest as a warning as he made a show of straightening himself up.

“Alright, you won. I’ll come quietly.”

Jack smiled, hoping that it read remorseful yet dashing. The blade relented, pulling up three inches as the officer took half a step back. The smile turned to a grin, and the right hand came up with a frantic speed, the burst of lightning hitting the officer in the chest before he had a chance to think it could appear. The man staggered backwards clutching his chest, sword clattering to the floor as he fell to his knees. Jack bought himself to his feet, dusting down his jacket and trousers before striding over to catch his opponent before he keeled over. Looking down at the former picture of authority in his arms, fear of mortality etching itself into his features with every precious second he had left, Jack stared into his eyes and spat on his jacket.

“I don’t care what you’ve got in your officer’s mess, what you’ve got on your shoulders or what our bloated corpse of a King gave you for your fucking service, I’m not going back. You killed whatever chance you had of that in Madoria.”

[nagichi-boop]

This fic is a massive amount of projection. So if that isn’t your thing, maybe give this post a pass?

Also, this isn’t intended as a ship fic. I see Shadow and Rouge as a found family dynamic.

— x —

Shadow folded his arms as he walked alongside Rouge, lagging behind the rest of the large group. Rouge glanced over at the disgruntled hedgehog.

“What’s got you so fed up?” Rouge asked somewhat playfully. “You don’t like fireworks?”

“Hmph, don’t be pathetic,” Shadow replied grumpily. “I just don’t see the point in it.”

“Aw come on, sometimes it’s fun to just relax!”

Shadow raised an eyebrow at Rouge. “What’s fun about standing there watching rockers explode into colourful rockets in the sky?”

Rouge sighed. “Well…just give it a chance. You’ve never seen them before, right? It’s hard to express how it feels to watch them until you’re there. And if you reaaally hate it, you don’t have to do it again!”

Shadow fell silent for a while, then sighed. “Fine,” he scoffed, to which Rouge smiled. She knew that with Shadow, small victories are big enough.

The group arrived to a crowd of people who had also appeared to watch the show. Knuckles lifted Tails unto his shoulder, to which Cream bounced up and down beside Big, who Amy eventually promoted to imitate Knuckles. Shadow stared up at the sky, his arms still locked together. After some time of waiting, the show began.

The group stared in awe, making all sorts of noises in admiration. Shadow felt a thud in his chest with each explosion. Though he was used to this sort of thing, for some reason each bang made him feel more and more uneasy.

A large firework exploded. Shadow suddenly found himself surrounded by a glass tube. In front of him was a frail Maria, grasping onto a lever and speaking to him. He stumbled back, caught off guard by this sudden change in scene. Another bang and he was now running down the hallway, holding Maria’s hand tightly. Again. But this time, he found himself flying through space in the test tube, all alone.

Everything fell silence.

“…dow,” a muffled voice spoke. “Sha…dow…Shadow!” He snapped back to reality, stumbling back a little.

“Shadow, are you okay?” Rouge spoke, holding Shadow by the shoulders with a concerned look on her face. He suddenly realised everyone was staring at him, including strangers. But worse than that - he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He impulsively slapped Rouge’s hands off of him and ran off. He continued to glide through the crowd, barging past anyone who wouldn’t move. He wasn’t sure why, but he needed to get out of there.

Eventually, he found himself alone by a tree atop a hill. He looked back to where he came from, noticing the now muffled sound of fireworks. Leaning against the tree, he tried to compose himself. He clutched his chest then slowly slipped down to the ground, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his head in them. His ears then twitched as he heard what sounded like someone panting and the flaps of wings.

“Ugh, there you are!” Rouge exclaimed, completely out of breath. Shadow lifted his head tried to talk to her, but he couldn’t get a word out of his mouth. Rouge landed gently, then approached Shadow, placing one hand on the tree. “What happened back there? You started shaking and mumbling to yourself and I couldn’t snap you out of it.”

Shadow refused to make eye contact with her. “It was nothing,” he replied dismissively.

“Come on now, babes, that definitely wasn’t nothing.” Rouge sat herself down with her back against the tree, turning her head towards Shadow. “You can tell me the truth - it’s just us.”

Shadow hesitated. “Maria,” he spoke suddenly. “I saw Maria.”

Rouge tilted her head curiously. “You…saw her? What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure myself, but I saw her. I was trapped in the test pod again. It was all some…jumbled mess of memories. But I don’t understand why it happened.”

Rouge suddenly had a look of realisation on her face. “I think I get it,” she spoke softly. “You must’ve been having flashbacks.” Without speaking, Shadow looked at Rouge inquisitively. “Sometimes the most random thing can trigger our memories like that - sounds, sights, even smells.” She reciprocated Shadow’s gaze. “Did you feel the emotions that you did back then?”

Shadow’s eyes widened. He then looked away and nodded gloomily. “I can’t quite explain it.”

“And you don’t have to,” Rouge responded, looking up towards the sky. “Not everything needs to be analysed into detail. Things just…happen sometimes. And it can be really scary when it comes out of nowhere.” The two of them fell silent for a moment.

“What a fool,” Shadow spoke abruptly, placing a hand on his head. “I can’t believe the ultimate life form was taken aback by something so ridiculous.”

Expecting a chuckle from Rouge, Shadow was surprised to see Rouge pivoting around the tree to get closer to Shadow. “You‘re not perfect, Shadow,” Rouge said non-judgementally. “None of us are. So what you’re the ultimate life form? You’re still allowed to feel.” Shadow went quiet. Rouge slowly extended her wing around Shadow, reading his reaction as she went. To her surprise, he put up no resistance. In fact, he eventually gave in, resting his head on her shoulder.

“I’m tired,” he spoke defeatedly. “Mind if I have a nap?”

Rouge smiled softly. “Oh, go on then, ya big goof.” She listened to the gentle crackles of the distant fireworks. After a minute or so had passed, she looked down to check on Shadow to find that he had fallen asleep already. She gently closed her wing in more on Shadow.

“It’ll be okay. I’m here.”

— x —

I edited the intro comments to sound less aggressive lol. Hope y’all enjoyed~

[slippinmickeys]

Le Comtesse de Saint-Germain

(TW: major character death)

The basement office was cold, dusty and had a smell redolent of the dry bones of long-dead animals. There were reams of paper, dot-matrix printouts, binders of old expense reports, an antique brass microscope. There were coffee rings on the desk, a paper clip wedged into the roller on one of the drawers, an adjustable date rubber stamp that didn’t go past 1999 sitting in an old styrofoam cup. In one corner, near the floor, a sunflower seed husk had been painted over and was stuck to the wall. A thick layer of dust lay over all.

She moved into the room, leaned forward to observe a picture of the two of them that had been tacked to the wall with a pushpin; glossy, moody, the two of them in FBI windbreakers wearing masks of concentration. It captured something peripheral about them, about their relationship, though she couldn’t put her finger on what. She realized how they had once looked to outsiders; they were cliquish, the two of them. Insular and subterranean. They worked best in the dark.

There was a clearing of a throat behind her — the agent who’d let her in had come to collect her. She had called in several favors for the privilege.

“Right,” she said, and picked up her briefcase. It was light and contained a single file which was probably still classified. She was committing a crime by taking it. She paused and turned back, pulled the push pin out and slipped the photo into her pocket.

XxX

“Excuse me,” said a voice, and she was so in her own head that she didn’t register that it was talking to her until it repeated itself. She looked up to see a handsome man smiling at her with brows raised in friendly anticipation.

“I’m sorry?” she said, looking up from where she was standing, somewhat cemented in place in front of the peaches in the produce aisle at her local market. Mulder had said peaches were the only thing that sounded good.

“I’m wondering,” he said somewhat shyly, “if you have any idea how to tell if an avocado is ripe?” She looked at him a little blankly at first, her head still on the fruit in front of her. “I got voluntold to bring guacamole to this party I’m going to tonight, and I haven’t the foggiest idea how to tell if these are ready.”

“I think the premade stuff is over in the deli,” she said, trying to be helpful, but really not wanting to engage.

“I’m trying to defy expectations, here,” he smiled. He was maybe forty, with dusty blond hair and a strong chin. Wide set eyes. His hands were big and tan where they gripped a medium-sized avocado. She took pity on him and shook herself a bit, put on a friendly smile. Overhead the canned sounds of an oldies station blared Vampire Weekend.

“The stems,” she told him.

“The… stems?” he said, looking a little lost.

“Yes,” she said, walking over the few steps to where he stood. She picked up an avocado and levered her thumbnail under the stem. “If you can get your fingernail under the stem and lift it a little, the color underneath it will tell you whether or not it’s ripe. If it’s brown, it’s likely overripe. If it’s green, it should be good. If the stem won’t lift, it’s not ready yet. This one’s okay.” She handed it over to him, and he accepted the fruit, his palm smooth and warm.

“Huh,” the man said, delighted by the information. “Would you look at that!”

She gave him a small smile and turned to go when he reached out and grabbed at her sleeve. Gently, just a little tug. He let go immediately when she paused.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely. His eyes, she noticed, were a deep brown, and his gaze was soft. He smiled again, a little flirty. “How did you get to be an avocado queen, anyway?”

“Years of experience,” she said ruefully, and then turned away once more.

“Hey,” he said, and she knew his game – tired of it years ago – but he was nice enough. “You look familiar,” he went on. “Did we go to school together by any chance? Bulldogs, class of ‘25?” he finished, giving the air a little punch.

She wanted to outright laugh, but gave him a forgiving smile instead. “Have fun at your party,” she said as she walked away.

XxX

In the hallway outside Mulder’s door, around a blind corner, she almost collided with an older gentleman. When they both regained their footing, she seemed to recover from the surprise of the moment before he did. The man, well into his seventies, with thinning hair and a paunch that hung over his belt, continued to look at her with a kind of mute shock.

“Sir?” she said, reaching out a hand to steady him. He recoiled slightly, his face still registering mild astonishment. Concerned he may be having some kind of cardiac event, Scully bent toward him. “Sir, are you all right?”

“Uh,” he started, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Yes, thank you.”

They both stepped around each other and he gave her one more odd look before continuing on down the hallway and to the elevator.

It only occurred to her as she inserted her key into Mulder’s lock that the man had to have been coming from her old partner’s apartment. Mulder didn’t get many visitors these days, barring her.

“Mulder?” she called once she had closed the door and had set down her suitcase and coat.

“In here,” he called back, and she made her way to the bedroom.

“Hey,” he said to her with a smile when she walked in, scooting up in the bed.

“Hi,” she said, moving to his side to help him adjust the pillows. “How are you feeling?”

“Like the dog’s breakfast,” he said with a smile. She sat down on the bed next to him and ran her fingers through his hair.

“At least you seem happy about it,” she said.

“Nah, I’m just happy to see you,” he said with a sigh. Scully let her fingers linger in his hair for a beat or two and he went on. “Did you get the file?”

“I did.”

“Is it in the bag?”

Scully turned to look at the small paper bag she’d carried in and left on top of the nearby dresser.

“Oh, no.” She turned back to him. “I got you some peaches.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Do you feel up to eating?” she asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “Wouldn’t mind seeing the file, though.” He gave her as much of a puppy dog smile he could muster, and she mussed his hair affectionately and stood to get her briefcase from the outer room.

When she came back in, she settled into the chair beside the bed and handed the file over.

“You do know they have digital copies of these Mulder,” she said as he swiped it out of her hands. Getting the file seemed to animate him a bit, and he scooched back in the bed energetically, settling in to read. “They wouldn’t let me sign it out. I had to…” She gestured with her hands, not quite able to bring herself to admit to stealing something out loud.

“Ah, but asking you to commit a felony has always been our thing,” he said, his rapscallion smile bringing about one of her own. “Anyway, I think better when I’ve got something in my hand.”

He opened the file and she watched as his eyes scanned the pages. After a few quiet minutes, she spoke.

“There was someone leaving here when I came in,” she said. Mulder hummed what might have been an affirmation, not looking up from the file. “Who was it?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, eventually setting the file down on his lap. He then turned it slowly toward her and pointed to something on the last page. She stood from the chair and leaned in to look, following his finger with her eye.

Agents of Record, the file read, Dana Scully and Peyton Ritter.

Mulder’s finger stayed on the second name.

“Peyton Ritter,” she read off out loud, and then realization dawned on her. “That was Peyton Ritter in the hallway?” she asked. “Peyton Ritter was just here?”

Mulder nodded silently, his rheumy eyes seeking hers. A low feeling of unease began to wind through her, starting low in her belly where Ritter’s bullet had lodged itself all those years ago.

“Mulder, I’ve been indulging some of your more kooky requests for a while now because you’re-” she fumbled, unable to finish the sentence. From the bed, Mulder gave her a look of tender sympathy, his eyes crinkling with affection. He reached out for her, the skin of his hands liver-spotted and thin as paper. She looked down at her own, smooth as glass, ripe with collagen, and she swallowed thickly, steamrolling ahead. “But you need to tell me right now, why did you want this file? Why was Peyton Ritter here? What are you up to?”

He began coughing before he could answer; deep, rattly hacks. Scully sat forward quickly and grabbed a glass of water that had been sitting on his bedside table, holding it to his lips. Mulder sipped at it and then pushed her hand gently away. The headboard creaked when he leaned back into the pillows.

“Scully,” he said gently, imbuing her name with a thousand different sentiments.

“Mulder, no.” A tear dropped onto her cheek and ran hotly down her skin.

“If I can figure out how Fellig did it-” he started.

“Mulder no!” She stood up quickly, her voice shaky and thin as tissue paper.

“It’s a burden, Scully,” he went on, seeming to have no sympathy for her at all, and yet his every word was suffused with tender understanding. “Your youth–your life will become a burden I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. If I could take it from you… If I could carry it…”

Another series of coughs wracked him and Scully sat back down on the bed, futilely watching his body double over with each seal-like bark. When he finally stopped, he was stooped, his head hanging down, and Scully reached out to pull him to her tightly. She held him there, tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping one by one into his thin white hair.

“I would do anything for you, Scully,” he said, his voice muffled by her body.

“Including living – forever – like this?” she hissed, leaning back so he could sit up, and pointing at him, at his wizened condition.

His smile was weak. “Yes,” he said simply.

He leaned back once again into the pillows. “Being this close to death,” he said, and Scully felt her lower lip wobble with emotion. “There’s a clarity that comes with it. An understanding of what really matters. All the pieces of your life get a bit fuzzy as your focus shifts and narrows.” His eyes softened as they rove over her form. “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love,” he quoted to her, his finger touching her hand gently with each of the three words he cited.

She had to look away from him so her heart wouldn’t break right there in front him. Her immortality wasn’t something they talked about often — they had joked about it in their youth, but as the years passed and it became more and more glaringly in their face, she would shut down when he brought it up. She had accepted her fate. She didn’t think she could take it if he refused to.

Everything in the room took on an indelible importance suddenly. The second hand of the clock in the corner snicked the seconds by and she reveled in the warmth of his hand on hers. The way the sun hit the pill bottles next to his bed and turned them a glowing copper. The loose slippers next to the door, one turned on its side to reveal a tread worn down by his supinated step. Dust in a sunbeam. The whistley sound of his breath.

“The greatest of these is love,” she whispered back. He squeezed her hand and released it, flipping the file closed.

“If I can save you, let me,” he said gently.

“I can’t do that,” she said, sticking to their script.

When he fell asleep, she took the file and laid it where he’d be able to reach it. In her pocket, she felt the crinkle of stiff paper. A pinprick hole in the top where it had been stuck to the wall, she pulled out the rumpled old photograph of the two of them, hale and hearty, a remembrance of a time before she stalled out in Death’s blind spot. She set the photo on top of the file.

He died that winter, and she buried him in the spring.

[maraudereestauderelb]

Pool Party

A Vince Neil smut One Shot

Prompt: Your parents are gone for the weekend and you decide to throw a pool party at their estate. Coming home after all those years brings back bad memories but a certain blond singer helps you overcome them...

Warning: Sexual acts

MASTERLIST

The music was blaring loudly over my parent's back lawn. Y/F/N had pulled me into the low end of the pool after pushing a cup filled with vodka-lemon into my hand. I was already feeling a bit tipsy as we started to sway our hips to the music, not a care in the world.

This party was a hit and it seemed like everyone was having the time of their lives. I made out another friend of mine in the crowd playing beer pong with a group of guys, who seemed to be more interested in her outfit than in the actual game. I shook my head amused and found my best guy friend at our outside bar flirting with the bar keeper we had hired. His name was Sanchez and he was from Spain and even I had to admit that he was hot.

Have fun Greg! I grinned but focused back on the music which had changed to a more up-beat song and I placed my arms on Y/F/N's shoulder so we could dance together hoping to get some attention from the guys around us. We were wearing nothing but our bikinis and I could feel pairs of eyes boring into the back of my head.

"Looks like we are attracting some guys over there." I told Y/F/N grinning and watched her head poke around gazing at our little audience until it stopped at a spot right behind me.

"Yeah. Hey, you mind if I just go over there and talk to Nik for a moment. Have barely seen him all night." I turned my head and followed her gaze. Nikki was sitting on one of the deckchairs in black jeans and leather jacket. This dude hasn't even taken off his sunglasses. "Has no one told him that this was a pool party?" I asked my best friend with a grin.

She just shook her head but I could see a little amused smile on her lips: "I might have mentioned it, but you know him. Maybe I get him to change. Be right back."

And with that she waded through the water. I just shrugged and emptied my cup before getting out of the water to refill it again.

It was weird being back home like that. I knew every corner of this house and still, standing here now as this totally new person - compared to my sixteen year old self - it just felt foreign. Like a place I have rented for a party but isn't actually my home.

It never did feel like home, to be honest. More like a prison with golden bars that locked you in, but all everyone always seemed to notice was the gold, not the bars.

I sighed and took another sip to get rid of my melancholy thoughts when from the corner of my right eye I saw the floodlights to the garage light up. Confused that anyone of the guests would be in that area, I grabbed my boho robe which was draped over a bar stool and walked down the little path towards the driveway.

Taking the last turn around the corner I could see one of my dad's Rolls Royce parked in front of the garage and I almost had a little heart attack thinking my parents might have come back home earlier from their summer vacation, when I saw a blonde mop of hair examining the vehicle.

"Vince? What are you doing there?" He almost hit his head on the side mirror, when he heard my voice, shocked that he's been caught.

"I...uhm I was just looking..." His one hand was brushing through his hair nervously while he pointed back at the car. "It's really...I mean man, it's a 1982 Silver Spirit...it's so new, this baby must have cost a fortune!" I had to smile a bit, delighted at his enthusiasm. My dad does always drive one of the best and latest cars, he must have inherited that hobby from my grandfather.

"Yeah, must be pretty new. Actually I haven't seen it before. Usually my dad has his Bentley out. It's probably in the garage." I said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal and leaned against the car, watching Vince's eyes grow big. It was kinda cute how excited he got over cars. "Y-Your dad has a Bentley?" He stuttered and his gaze dropped to the gararge longingly. Again I had to smile to myself, watching Vince stand in the driveway in nothing but his swim shorts, gazing at the garage like a little kid at a toy store.

"You know, if you want...I mean only if you really have the time - you might miss a few hot bitches while you're gone - but if you want ...I can show you the rest of the cars." His head turned back in my direction so fast, for a moment I thought he could have snapped it and he gave me a look like I have told a child it was christmas and his birthday on the same day. "The rest of the cars?", he said with a thin voice, probably trying to hold back an unmanly squeal. This time I couldn't hide the smile and shrugged. "Sure, if we both hadn't had so much alcohol in our blood, I would have even let you drive one." I suggested and walked to the pin pad to open the garage doors. A strange sound left Vince's throat, which sounded like he was holding back an excited scream and I turned around to him and grinned: "Please don't faint." And with a push of the buttons the garage door lifted from the floor.

"What the fuck?!", Vince exhaled and I was afraid his eyes might pop out. We stepped into the hall and I closed the doors again, hoping we wouldn't attract more people who wanted to see the cars.

"Yep, it's a tic he got from my grandpa and surprisingly my dad's also into racing cars. Well watching them..." I rolled my eyes. "The worst thing about those cars is, if I didn't care so much about their value I definitely would have slashed a few holes in some tires." A gasp from Vince signalled me that this wasn't the right answer. "Well, not for the cars' sake." I hit a few swtiches and the hall lit up.

"If you wanna get into a car", I informed him while he roamed around the at least half a dozen vehicles, "just tell me, I got the keys.", pointing at a display cabinet on the wall behind me.

"Dude, is that a 1979 manufactored 450SL Mercedes-Benz?" Vince said excited running to a red convertible Mercedes at the end of the hall. I followed him.

"Yeah, that one is my favourite. That's also...shame on me...the only car I know the exact labelling of. The others in here I'm glad I can name the brand. Dad said I was supposed to get it after I graduated college. Well, you probably know how much my parents love me at the moment, so that went down the toilet hole."

"That's your car?!" Vince was still examining every detail of it. "Was." I corrected him and he finally looked up into my face.

"Oh, your dad sounds like a major asshole by the way."

I shrugged and followed him to the next car. "Sadly, I can't pick where I came from. But enough about me. So, which one is your favourite?"

"The Porsche."

I laughed: "Of course, the porsche."

"Hey, you said I can look at them from the inside." "Yes?"

"Which one is your dad's favourite car?"

"The Roll Royce in the right corner over there. Why?" I replied confused at the sudden change of topic. For the first time I realized how close Vince and I were, leaning against the Mercedes. His exciting demeanor was replaced by a smirk. "Maybe we can't slash holes in those pretty tires, but maybe this is just as good." Before I could ask, Vince had grabbed my waist and pulled me against his tanned chest when our lips collided. I had to moan at the sudden impact and the alcohol, which was already running through my system, clouded my mind. Why was it suddenly so hot in here? And gosh, those lips were soft. Before I could properly comprehend everything, my hands got caught in his hair and I pulled him down deepening the kiss. Vince grabbed my thighs and pick me up pushing my back against the vehicle, which squeaked a bit at the impact.

"Vince..." I mumbled with a satisfied sigh as his lips traced a path down my neck. I still couldn't put his words and his actions together, but his mouth was just too good to stop him.

"Let's have some fun in your dad's favourite car." It finally clicked in my brain and I moved my head to make him look up at me. He first thought my sudden move was a way of disagreeing with his idea and he already had his next words formed in his mouth: "Look I know this-" but he stopped midsentence when he saw my smirk.

"Can I suck you off?" I had no clue where my sudden bluntness was coming from, but I loved Vince's physical reaction to it, feeling the small thrust of his hips and a rather bigger problem poking into my ass. "In the car?"

"Gosh, fuck! You can't just straight forward say such words to a man." I shrugged and put a hand under his chin only to kiss him again.

He started carrying me towards the black car when I stopped him: "Wait. Need to get the keys."

Vince let me back down on my feet and I rushed to the cabinet grabbing the right key.

"Someone's really eager.", he laughed as I reached for his hand and pulled him along. In seconds the driver's door was opened and I pushed Vince into the seat, before straddling his legs. "Fuck, this is hot." His hands grabbed my ass cheeks grinding me down onto his hips. I just let my pelvis rock against his while I looked into his eyes with a grin on my lips.

"I can't believe I'm actually doing this!"

"Me, or in your dad's car?" Vince asked with a smirk.

"Both." I answered and leaned down to kiss him again. With my right hand I was searching for a certain lever and as I found it the seat slid backwards, leaving enough space in the foot compartment for me to kneel in.

I interrupted the kiss and let my lips trail down his neck to his chest, where I kissed my way down over his navel until I reached the waistband of his shorts.

Kneeling between Vince's legs, I let my hands brush over the inside of his thighs, staying

just inches away from his little problem. I could hear him groan and it sent a tender prickle straight to my core.

Without thinking more about it I untied his shorts and let my hand wonder inside to pull out his hard dick. Fuck he was thick. I thought and swallowed hard before opening my mouth and giving his head a tentative first lick. It was already covered in precume and my lips sucked in his head, while my tongue swirled around it. My right hand was still holding the shaft until I decided to swallow him down to the base. His thickness almost made me gag and I felt tears forming in my eyes, when I suddenly heard a deep moan: "Oh, fuck! Fuck! Yes, just like that! Take it all babe!" And then his hands were in my hair and I let him hold my head in place. God, this was hot. I was trying to breathe through my nose but I couldn't keep the moan from escaping my lips, vibrating around his dick. "Yes, fuck!" His hips began to thrust up and his hands pulled my hair back and forth while he kept fucking my mouth. I could feel saliva escape the corner of my lips, but I didn't care, I was too focused on giving him a good blowjob. I slowly opened my eyes, still letting him fuck me and my gaze moved up to look at him. He had his head back in his neck and his eyes closed in ecstasy, but then he groaned: "Fuck, Y/N...I'm gonna cum!" And his head dropped forward and he looked straight into my eyes. "Gosh, fuck- you're so... hot!"

And then I could suddenly feel my mouth filling with his cum, running down my throat and I almost forgot to swallow. His dick slipped out of my mouth and I licked my lips clean with a grin. "That was fun!" I said, too satisfied about the thought that I gave a blowjob in my dad's car. If he knew. My grin grew bigger and I climbed back onto Vince's lap, who was still trying to catch his breath. "Fuck, you're amazing." He mumbled, still dazed from his orgasm. Then he suddenly wrapped his arms back around me and kissed me hungrily. And all I could do was

claw my fingers into his hair, giving myself into this hot kiss, as cold shivers ran down my spine. My body definitely wasn't done yet and it let Vince know by slowly moving its pelvis down onto his hips.

"Pleasetouch me." I begged against his lips and hid my face in the crack of his neck to muffle my moans, as I desperately wanted to feel some release between my legs. This has turned me on more than I would like to admit. But having Vince almost naked underneath me in one of my parent's cars, felt so exhilarated I couldn't stop moving.

Vince's hands reached under my robe and he tried to pull it off my shoulders.

"You're wearing way too much...", he whispered with a hoarse voice into my ear and I helped him get rid of my it. Then his fingers undid my bikini top in seconds and threw it onto the passenger seat. I moaned into his ear as he grabbed my naked breats, massaging them. My heart was beating so fast and all I could think of was feeling this sweet release while my hips rocked against his, trying to find enough friction. "Let's move this to the backseat, princess. So I can pay you back." He let go of my breats and grabbed my thighs again getting out of the car. I could hear him open a door and then I felt leather under my back as he pushed me into the cushions of the backseat. "Much better. Now, let me get rid of that" he hooked his two index fingers into my panties and pulled them down, "and then I wanna hear you scream, princess."

Before I was even able to react, Vince had disappeared between my legs and a second later his lips were sucking hard at my clit. "Fuck...Vince...fuck!" My head slammed back into the leather cushions and he had to grab my thighs to hold me still. Thousands of elictric shocks were running through my body straight to my core and my hips started rocking aginst his tongue. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This felt so good. My hands rushed to his blonde mop of a hair to hold him in place. I could feel how wet I was getting and Vince just kept sucking my clit when suddenly two fingers entered my core at once. "Oh god! Fuck..." I couldn't hold back my voice any longer as his fingers fucked me relentlessly. "Please...please don't stop..." I was so close and my mind wasn't able to think straight anymore, when out of nowhere a third finger entered me. "Oh fuck Vince!" And then I came so hard, my entire body started shaking. I lost control of it and all I was able to do was ride it out until my muscles gave out. I had no idea how Vince had been able able to breathe, the way I had been fucking his face, but moments later he crawled up from between my legs and I slowly opened my eyes, only to be met with the same enthusiastic grin I had given him after the blowjob.

"You good?"

"Yeah...", I said, still trying to catch my breath.

Suddenly he kissed me again and for a while we were just making out heavenly, my fingers clawed into his back, probably leaving red streams. Until he interrupted the kiss and looked back down at me: "And? Better than slashing holes in those pretty tires?"

I grinned satisfied: "Yes..."

"Anytime, babe." He winked and got up. I followed him and grabbed my bathing suit, putting it back on, followed by my robe. "We should go back to the party." I said blushing. "Not that someone is missing us."

"Afraid what they might think if you show up with me?" He joked but all I could do was blush harder. I couldn't tell him, how right he was. Even though I can't deny that my core is still shaken from that orgasm. Gosh, how many girls he had probably done that with already. I shook my head, before trying to fix my hair.

"No, afraid that your friends might have lit my pool on fire." I said with a grin and locked the car doors.

"Hm, there's even a small possibility..."

"Vince!" I exaggerated a shocked voice and then smiled, playfully punching him into his arm. "That's not funny!"

"A little bit!" He grabbed the keys and walked to the display.

"Do you know exactly how many keys are in there?"

"Don't even think about stealing one!"

[pndnj]

Cathartic- Yellow Metal Lyrics

Heres where I am with the lyrics, I referenced @25Goldenn on twitter for some of it that I couldn’t comprehend. 

*music*

0:23

Dark matter, like painted splatters, they fit better, the old saying, the way it goes, better the devil you do then you don’t know. I hit pedals and switch levers, my heart metal, I can't settle, im part trouble, they are not subtle. I fuck good so fuck cuddles, burst bubbles the thrist levels at new heights, i down doubles, and got baked til I felt high, my face puzzled, felt muddled, far strung and your floors woodent, the thought might but the fit wouldn’t. A fortnight

0:46 - 1:00

And I thought right, it’s all bark and no bite, I’m Tony Stark still embarking on a dream, took a bit of time to take darkness from the team. Seen what I saw. Heartless on the sleeve. Tried to burn my wings, so I put them in a piece on my chest , at peace no rest.

1:00-1:15

Flipped this on it’s head. Rip the script up now, flip it don’t pretend, slipping shit again, Fakers all around me, I’ve been living in pretense. Fake friends won’t make amends. There’s no need, these mean comments control the scenes. Attentionseekers, the spine is weakened

1:15-1:24

This family needs, what a family needs, and the planet bleeds, the damaged trees. It’s never leaving til we ascend so fuck the fence, and until they stop killing colour it’s fuck the feds.

1:22 - 1:44

You must be off it, I mean it, you know you ain’t never get with the judging and I used to dread growing my beard too long, never felt I belonged, but it's really long like a minute I ain’t looking to no mans for the limits, They’re feeling timid, I’m telling them who they mimic, why they don't look like a clinic …. Why they don't get no women, Still, we’re just fucking girls, Lost in the wrong world, Jurassic, now to this vermin

1:41-  1: 50

Kicking the game I’m serving, these losers are never learning, my fire is forever burning, adding it to my fuel, seems like I’m always focused on never becoming you, These locals that rob us feeling … was for a reason.

1:52-2:02

I’m seeing my new beginnings, watch out this loser’s winning, and no water is too deep to swim in Like I’m about to see a killing, I’m all the way that and living, flawless and feeling lawless, the prison now to the gimmicks, my vision is set to something,

2:03-:2:20

I’m watching you bitches plummet, no matches here for my cunning, you rappers are feeling done in, switching your genre, running and Running your jaw, stunting, pulling at straws, something  I think you’re a poor effort, deaf and tone deaf and I ain’t treat you separate. Living, I’m in my element, riding it like a … never lose me to fentanyl, scared when I take a benadryl. Keeping it green in general

2:20- 2:46

Think that you remain irrelevant. Look at yourself with reverence, hoping to always elevate. Celibate of these thoughts, killing themselves with sedatives. In comparison to eminem, you’re feeling feminine. Impolitically correct, still dropping on my dick. And I never gave a fuck about what they say abt my shit, I’ve been moving things in my mind like it’s this mountain dew Memories have made me wonder if one day I’m after you. What’s the purpose that you do, is what you're hoping that they learn, i’d like to say i’m done but it’s getting up on my nerves

2:46 -2:55

I’m looking at my life, saying what do I deserve. It’s hard to say I know when I’m walking through the dirt. Talking while you’re nothing I can see for what it’s worth. I’m tired of feeling hurt and I’ve tried enough but nothing works.

2:55-3:40

I’m racking up excuses while I’m slacking off on work. Chit chatting is the usual, talking to this clerk, i beg you don’t include me. I might write it on my shirt so everytime they see me, the oldest know to swerve. SWERVE Life is potent, bits of fucked shit… till they took notice weren’t  no hocus pocus, it was hard work that got me heard so i put in the graph like google maps but the whole earth

… around my door mat, taking over like the drones, rolling dirt up in miles like the water, and exploding like Annas hematoma. Don't need to see a slammer to know that I don't want to go man

I’m a showman. I’m just focused on the drama… like i’ve got my own insurance, show myself the pain, like i boxed it in the frame, if we’re about to talk greatness im great, the way you have to say my name like beyonce

“Say my name”

4:00-4:46

Just a bum with a cigarette, sun coming up, all my thoughts on the internet. Feeling deep, I’m just bored with the silhouette single sec,  get fucked up for the thrill of it . killer streak playing Pacman. Like I came from the Philippines vanilla bean still a thing for the thrill of scene,

Theres a beam, UFO, Leave it well alone  I aint moving, stood still on the peloton, telephone and its always on the dial tone,  it's been a while since i’ve smiled at a milestone, seen a big pile in my mind stone, me against the world on my Jack Jones, Like I’m John Jones, With pictures in the condo, far from John Doe, in the ___, like I'm Johnny Bravo, got pravado, with a small dick sitting in golados, feeling far gone, cuz that last hit was the good shit, was that stay lit

4:48-5:02

You can never take my shit come and get me. On the top floor,  cloud 9, fading, never bailing, felt amazing, inhaling, til my lungs two guns blazing. Overcome all the stunts that I pulled. A suit of just skin and then wool

5:02- 5:17

This life doesn’t give you no armour, a lot of myself can harm ya. I swear on what’s good, that I’m here till they take me. I pray that I’m wrinkled, at least over 80, and start moving like a ruler, ?damaged? Like a computer going fast, bars from the jeweler, bring the songs to the beach in hopes of finding tuna

5:18-5:36

…

5:36- 6:16

Grab a bat, lose my rag. Couple things got me mad, a couple people got me wrong and now I’m changing up the swag. Coming in and stealing it, I might take the whole bag. Feeling undefeated, I’m a beast with a reason, and imma lead the whole pack. Fearless like I’m Caesar, I’m just waiting for a chance to fill it up with diesel, and all I've been achieving is clocking miles in its region, moving like a legion.

Promise that I made to myself an allegiance. Do you still believe I’m a fool for ever leaving, staring at the ceiling, can never put a cap on achieving. I’m just here for the rap, then I’m leaving.

I’ve had about enough of being my own enemy, it’s time I grew up,  a long way from 17. Always went against the grain, struggles in my life. Got some things to say when I stand up on a mike.

6:16-6:32

I ain’t dropping this for fame, I need this time, like therapy, it’s just to keep me sane. The truth is on my medicine, can’t put that on your plate.

Speeding into everything, bout time I fixed the brakes. Don’t say I can’t communicate , you know I conversate with you in several different ways. And I know you know it’s references, looking at your face.

6:33- 6:53

Can’t justify mistakes, like every man that made them, seems I ain't  the one to blame. Lying to myself, only had so much to gain, so now I’m switching up the plate, see if that affects the place, im at on most days

I ain’t going with the usual so they looking at me strange. Confused, I can feel it all,  I’m here to make a change. It’s cold at 3am outside, I’m walking with the dog, thanking god that you don’t talk at all, my mind is switching off

6:54-7:12

Driving down to find myself, cuz I’ve been getting lost, lived this selfless life and found I can give a toss. Lessons that I’ve learned I’ve tried teaching to myself. What I’ve learnt from certain people is that they’re better than myself.

So I surround myself with real ones, and you feel the plastic melt. Like burning toy soldiers that used to go up on the shelf. Recycle the ideas, conveying on the belt

7:14-7:29

.. circus, always hurting the way we felt? Embarrassed that we dreamt of bigger things and letting go of notions till we feel them in cement

Tired of only hoping, we feel broken men. Cuz the gravity is weight and has kept us to the ground, see the only people speaking with favors in their mouths

7:46-7:58

Got killer rhymes… no fillers, like godzilla, eating clouds cuz my smokes thicker, throat licker, my dope sicker, bringing people their hope like im the pope slicker,  i hope you’re getting the point cuz i walk quicker

I thought my city was shit bcs I want bigger like my zipper couldn’t zip up fed up with the…my love is fickle.. Residual age has a primitive face

I see demise for your limited ways, Left it to simmer, simmer away…a fake glimmer in the haze

8:09-8:11

Feeling trapped this industry is a cage

8:34-8:50

Nobody’s speaking the truth, I’m offended by the State. Look at the state of the news, I’ve decided the argument, reciting my views, while they’ve been sat in their chairs, I’m feeling pressure to choose.

Standing here as one man, how can I do half when you’re half the person I am. If it wasn’t in your life, you didn’t choose it. It’s the funny thing about music. It’s the pain and beauty of it.

8:52-9:11

Don’t give a fuck what my suit is, it looks good so I wear it, better than the shoot that People’s wearing, changing the whole narrative for these basics and scarcity

Been facing the racists from back when i were a kiddie .born up in in 93’. been living in Bradford City..kicked me out of the schools, they had a problem with me hitting the kids that would call me p*** still sitting in the classroom chilling, and i'm angry now that I’m older I see they treat us different

9:12-9:25

got me thinking I’m the problem cuz they never dealt with those issues.

20 years later I’m still in the same boat, tryna treat me like my grandpa, say I came up off the boat. Came to tell you what I stand for, man I think you’re shit, a joke. How can I be civil, when they got me by the throat

9:25-9:35

Pushing my feelings down, you ain’t got it like them

‘Boy your skin is so light’, ok motherfucker take my name up on a flight. Try to convince immigration that your bloodline’s half white.

9:35-9:45

I don’t know how that’s acceptable, when life is more susceptible to perception, be the death of them. I’ve been looking at the sky saying where’s that day of reckoning, you had your prophets right when they say that you would speak to them.

9:45-9:55

I need justice in this life and I trust that it’s my fight, cuz when I’m writing it feels right to have them focused on the facts again. Focused on the rap again, hoping for the change, gunna put this on the map again

9:55-10:16

Writing in all caps again, the pain, it goes through me so I write the letter. All the shit that could have brought me but made me better.

I’m at home with a pain in my soul , yeh rap… cuz you know I was too real to contest it, my time was invested. Now I look at the industry, I see it infested, looking like kids who would write on nesquik.

10:17-10:29

My name ain’t on the list unless they label it ethnic.

I ain’t never gave a fuck about these jokers and jesters. Ain’t no answers for these things, so just save us the questions, man allowed of violence, cuz my silence is deafening, your opinion stinks, somebody get him a breath mint.

10:30- 10:42

Start to understand why they think that I’m threatening, I move in certain ways, couldn’t slow me with ketamine Now they all wanna hear me, got a table at letterman. Direction changed, like I changed up the lettering. Don’t believe the age ,bcs I move like a veteran.

10:42 - 10:47

Raised on the benefit for whose benefit, they’ll never learn shit, man, if the shoe fits.

…no words coming out when you open your mouth

And to be honest, it’s insulting, offensive to my wounds that have been salting. Tryna ask me questions that they know I never answer. I’d rather sit online and reply to the fan art

11:00-11:06

Fuck a sports car, coming through when i rapped

tell you what I like, farm life and the tractor

11:06- 11:17

Fake life, 'sup online, suck a fat one. You don’t wanna buy into that, none of that son. Sitting in the garden 98’ in the Datsun,  seen some hot summers but I still remember that sun.

*music*

11:51- 12:34

I make millions off of my pain, cause I know a few millions still living that way

Dealing with the hurt, they should know cause they don’t deserve it, it hit deep cause i hit the nerve. Only way that the sheep learn if the street firm, in my ways I don’t wanna change, everything just stay the same

Who you tryna convince you understand, cant maintain, let the lights dim some,  get the Chow Mein, flex, get the tape, right up at night

Why these men be nice to my face, be nice,  i ain’t tryna be a gangsta ruins my vibe

Rather be low-key and on my phone. Never need the trophy or the show piece

Never show peace in a North Face fleece. Show kids this like i wrote my flip

Cause the sign might fit till the start i’m sick

12:37-13:05

Now you see where I come from, the world don’t. Only achievement in this life is the Jordans. Committing petty crimes out of boredom, we can’t afford them. So I stole it, need a rolex

Go make sense, get yourself a job, It’s a poor man’s game tryna sit and pray to god, he ain’t sorting out your problems, gotta sort them out yourself

Used to tell us fables, now I’m writing them myself, Cause we raw like animals we all just need some help

Cathartic, I’m an artist, trying to put my heart in

Felt double crossed like Leo in Departed

13:05- 13:27

For the knowledge i’m not charging see I got it all free

But my hunger kept me starving like i’m feening for the feed

I just Need a reason to see me bleeding for my creed. Trick you with the words like I keep em up my sleeve. Picking where I fit, I see me sitting with the queen

I ain’t doing it unless you’re used to saying please

Let me flow a bit, before I sting 'em with the bees, They tryna kill us with disease

(Music)

13:34- 14:12

Why does it feel like they had the same notebook and the same four looks

Like the rain won't touch on their face, so sus when they lie don’t trust not a minor

Please no fuss, I just move through the game like must

Something in the way i adjust till i stick, Free falling like the ship, free fall till i bust

Remember 21 brother gave no fucks. Trying to project when they give them looks

In the projects, in the objects us

In my own way, never gave me love, shoulda never started this, broken hearted kid

Dried up the feeling till I stole the lid

Don’t wanna relish in the fame but I can’t resist

14:46-14:58

I like the way we feel, I like the way, I like the way

Ain’t no mistake, i am a being

I ain’t tryna be a leader, been selling out since Jesus

All my rhymes are for the readers, between the lines, like Father time, I fuck Mother Nature

14:58-15:40

That’s what they get, the connotations. Tell 'em I lived a life, and then I lived a life of adjacent? like its…. and played it patient.

Alone on my own spaceship, always tryna find greatness, still defying lines, but I’m fighting in my prime.

Shining light like Kylo while imma kill it all the time. Aging like I’m wine

Asian in my face, but still my race you can’t define. Focused on defiance, imma fight it while it’s life.

Started something sick and on my mind is what’s next, just became a dad so now I’m taking all the cheques. Better know I’m staying and paying like it’s debt. Imma get it done, if it’s taking all my breath, sweat, and down I ain’t messing around til I’m the best

Speaking in full sentences, shoulda thought about a strategy before you went at the stratosphere about this… rings around Saturn, this ain’t a battle, I’m sat, I’m here

15:40-16:22

Catch me doing magic, hired and sounding tragic I think you could use practice and until that you get the blacklist and pull like a … actress? Fooling them like a catfish, schooling like a legend, happy to be the reference, fusing like iridescence, leaving them all guessing, leaking out of my brain like a pipe I aint fixing, shining like a star you can see it from a distance

Aint many of me around p*** I’m just different Certain stages to this level aint here because fame is to the devil fuck a label, imma do this from the ghetto, clean up like Im Dettol

I’m the man to put a bet on, sight smart like a weapon,  this is my kind of setting, i write the world I’m sat in, while these others live on hype, i see them fight in how they type, the fruit is ripe for the taking, i think i might

16:22-16:57

Let me take you away from here, Let me take you away from here, Let me take you away from here

16:58- 17:47

Eccentric things are mentioned like a kid stuck in detention tryna escape im just spitting what is written on the next page, spitting image of my dad in his young days

Born sinner when i’m livid i say fucks sake

Don’t worry i’m too cunning with no plumbing, the waterworks, i sung something that resonates, i thought it first like giving birth to the parrot perch

They see me do it and they know it works

Don’t know what’s worse: the way that you live your life or the way that you write a verse

You’ll be nervous, you don’t deserve it we’ll scratch the surface ill leave a crater, lift the dirt up to find the hurting

Can’t know for certain nothing is guaranteed, tryna be a better person than the world deserves to see cuz i see a lot of sharks still swimming in the sea

Cease and arrest what’s the reason.. And these the kinda kids we bringing up next

Distorted reality, all they needed was family, too hard to face, to see what the damage is

17:47

*i don’t wanna be, i don’t wanna be, a part of this, no, i don’t wanna be, i don’t wanna be, a part of this, *

18:04-18:38

Sometimes they ask the questions too deep to form a sentence, to disform, is this the norm, is this the sentence i feel defenseless i played the setlist, and all my sweat blood and tears, forgot to mention feeling lost, going off into different sections i feel like love wrecked it

If it’s not a drug why am i waiting for the next fix, affected, i cant believe that you left this

I guess I leave for the best wish, moving on like im fine for the lectures

We see it all from spectrums, cuz if we’re falling down we can fall down together

Staircase to heaven, mirror down the middle like 11, resentment on one side it won’t settle

18:38- 19:14

Mind fried but taking sense, they aint got a sense of themselves in the rich ends

Need to spell it out for them.. Made for them so witness

I know you feel afflicted but you always love it with me while im laughing at you, ya think you’re laughing with me

I try to (i love you) but im grown so they don’t fit me, my body thrown from the new to this old city so Im sick of sitting on my own, feeling so shitty, i’ve been on roads where its cold and the snow hitting

Its okay to be yourself, sit and talking to myself

I’ve been walking for the longest, just need a little rest, know i ain’t the strongest, I can feel it in my chest, talking about my feelings and of me, they get the best

19:14-19:59

They aint leaving, seeing breathing in my breath

Till death do us part is just seeded in my heart, like a work of art

Never winning,im just scared

Cant begin from the start, do i play a part in the rhythm of the night

I guess i’m onto something cuz the dark is feeling right

Every cloud got a lining, put my own miles  in, like moralis, figured that they’re jealous, that they could just never tell us to change because the weather never made me question whether or not i’m not that level

Got rid of all the bullshit sitting in my way, most of them are full of shit i see it every day

I do hearing the same things that i do, maybe that shits hitting like haiku

How much do you pay for them to hype you

Recycle your flaws but they aint like new, leaving and conceded and full of diesel like engines that need a cleaning, the ending will be revealing. Even though we ain’t raising the facts, now we been facing.

20:01-20:52

The cactus with spikes, needing spaces. Different faces, the same story. A full body like straight body direct to your system.

Could never tell 'em we missed’ em. Not even with the thoughts, we gift them. Cuz they just take advantage, guess we are caught in a system.

My soul pouring out details of borrowed time, had enough of a fill, this is for sorrow time. I’m seeing visions of Heaven, I seen the severed line, between the gospel they speak and when theyre telling lies.

Remember telling a friend of mine, you’d sent of mine, identified like a 3rd eye. Got a habit of knowing now where the dirt lies. So benign. I ain’t sober after 9, so I fuck their minds. Why you flipping out, see another

Try to rep it from the city, fuck a chiller crew, repping for the nittys, trying to keep us down, raised on the social, don’t want to let us out of the system. Me, I insist we assist them, me alone putting shifts til I lift them

20:53-21:12

I know it’s hard, that’s why I like it, I’m fit to fight it, I’m from the North, I’m backing Tyson, it’s been decided, don’t see no light. They needing guiding, just redefining, realizing, I’m realigning, in full finance, they stay silenced.

Can’t be louder, I’m juiced up with no powder. I fix shit like a slick spanner. Gone green like Bruce Banner. So free Gaza on my banner

21:12-21:51

The real McCoy, I ain’t nothing to toy with, signifying peace like a Japanese Koi Fish. How did this happen, we’re moving backwards in our timeline, killing us with cyanide, Right up for the freedom 'til we transform like Ironhide

This is bout my feelings, the way that I move affects the fate that I’m sealing. Can’t say nothing, with that something being on the page, kept inside the pen like the bars that have been kept caged. See I always had a plan, since I was young, we had nothing man

Now it’s been a few years since I ain’t seen the fam, on foreign lands. Bout to climb Everest in the avalanche. Right into the riddles as soon as you were born. Never asking the question cuz it’s the norm. See I’m in a questionin’ session

21:52-22:03

Like the manner got a method to teaching a lesson, listen to MF Doom, he taught me like Ra’s Al Ghul. Felt like living in Gotham, the people were rotten. Still we play cartoons so it’s never forgotten.

22:03-22:15

Chilling at the top but we came from the bottom. Writing and jottin for them life by, spotting the difference

*Dreams, was growing out of me, sun promising that tomorrow it will rise, time playing games with my mind, I swear it will pass us by

Train goes on the tracks, smoke, I’m tired to hide my thoughts, so blinded in flames, Don’t know where we’re going, I have no way of knowing, only see what’s in my head

Can’t we wait a minute, so we can savour this, It’s on my brain again, these days, It on my brain again these days”

23:10-23:46

They’re hating on Palestine ways, The oh no Palace playing Prince on the Steinway, Sending out mind waves, stop them like crimewaves, Freedom fighter, Yellow Metal is my name

Like vipers, I see the sly ones, the snake that’s called Biden, none of them abiding what they might put in writing

We should be used to it by now, say whatever for the vote and then just choose another route, say they’d never kill another unless that brother’s skin is brown

I’m just telling you the facts, if you can’t take it, the truth naked, to bare bones and my thoughts lately, spitting politics.. Done ain’t it, Shit just gets me vexed, and now I’m sitting that I think of it

23:45-23:59

Feeling on the brink of it, whatever it is, Figure out some shit at least it feels that way

talk about my feelings and I don’t feel so strange, finding solace, that’s a promise, in Metropolis but being honest, can’t write a sonnet, without some pain

24:00-24:40

Can’t fade away, away so we can savour this, been on my brain again these days

Can't find a way to be so you can savour this, been on my brain these days

Singing the song for another, singing a song for another

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale

An Advent Calendar of 24 Normal Human Tasks As Performed By A Huge Man Baby. 

Day 2: That’s Not Exactly Folgers In Your Cup

Warnings: Smut (Oral) and Bad Language Words

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N- Hello! I hope y’all are as excited about this holiday special collaboration made with @what-is-your-plan-today​ and @jennmurawski13​ as I am. It all blossomed from early morning (for me) ramblings and we decided to do it. 2020 has been a hell of a year and we all needed a little something to smile about. And come on, whats funnier then imagining Ransom Drysdale trying to be domestic? Plus it gives some feels. There will be smut written in occasionally, so please heed the warnings to each individual fic. 

Also, we are alternating, but will reblog on our accounts, if you don’t want to miss any, send a message and we will get you added to the tag list. Happy Reading. 

Series Masterlist

Ransom woke before you, the early morning light streaming through the window cut right across his face and he swore into the pillow while rolling to his back to sling his arm over his eyes to cut off the annoyance. He was almost there, back in that blissful state of unconsciousness when his body took over and insisted he get up. Any further attempt to return to sleep was now disrupted when natural morning urges overtook him and he sighed while lifting his arm to let the light return, blinking rapidly to adjust to the the most inconvenient thing to plague him at this hour. 

Next to him you were still asleep, soundly, peacefully which made him scowl at you for being so blissfully unconscious. He envied you in this moment as he rolled up from bed and trudged into the bathroom to take care of himself. Afterwards once he came back out, he grabbed a pair of grey sweatpants and slipped them on. You would be waking up soon, and there was one thing you always wanted before anything else, even before you were pregnant, it was a must have or else. Now you valued this all that much more since his child seemed to just suck all the energy from you, savored it more then he savored his biscoff cookies. 

Your coffee. And hell be damned if you didn't get your coffee. 

Now typically you make it, liking a certain amount of scoops to get you through the morning, touch of cream and a little sprinkle of sugar just to take the bite out of it. Ransom has seen you make it countless times in the morning, your over sized tee hanging around your thighs and hair piled atop your head. Your eyes would be closed while you measured, you just knew it down to the action how you wanted it. He never tried to mess with your perfection. In fact he learned early on to stay out of your way the first twenty minutes in the morning unless he was taking care of you between the sheets. That was the only equivalent you were accepting of in the morning. 

This morning Ransom felt a twinge of affection now that he was awake, seeing you shift into the middle of the bed and pull his pillow into your chest like you were hugging it. Gently he leaned over and brushed the flyaway hair from your forehead and pressed a kiss there before leaving the bedroom to head downstairs. 

Typically you just made Ransom a coffee too, it became almost a habit for him to want it, although he didn't need it, not like you did. But yea, he craved it and decided that this morning, since he was already up, he would just do it himself. Regardless of the fact that you had forbidden him to touch the coffee maker for some reason. Which fuck it was in his kitchen, if he wanted to use it he was going to. 

“Can't be that hard, dump some grounds in, put in the fucking water.” He flipped off the top of the coffee maker to see if you pre-filled it the night before, sometimes you did. Last night was not the case though. Reached into the cupboard for the precious Starbucks coffee and opened the bag to breathe in the strong coffee bean aroma. Okay, he had to admit it was a pleasant smell, and already he could feel himself feel a bit more upbeat. He ended up setting it aside and searched everywhere for the measuring spoon, leaving a slight kitchen destruction in his path of open drawers and stuff piled on top of the kitchen counter, he just eyeballed dumping the coffee in. Completely forgetting the filter in the process. 

Impatiently he waited, fingers tapping on the counter as the drip drip drip started. “It would be faster just to have someone deliver.” He muttered to himself, contemplating how much you would protest possibly hiring a housekeeper. Fran was decent… enough. He thought to himself. Aside from her being the most annoying woman his grandfather had hired. Of course she could be useful when the occasion called for it. Like now, how fucking easy would it be if someone was just delivering you two the coffee in bed.  

Already he knew you probably weren't going to go for it, it was fine for Harlan according to you because he needed the help. In fact when he brought it up, your eyes rolled and you scoffed at him. “You are kidding right Ransom? You are a grown ass man, do it yourself.” 

 When the coffee maker finally gave the last spurt, and sounded exhausted, Ransom shook his head from the memory and turned to pull down two mugs and proceeded to pour into each. It was black, blacker than usual. He sniffed it, and needless to say it was STRONG. 

Ransom just kept going, grabbing your half and half, as well as the small bit of sugar you like, he stirred it all together and brought it back up the stairs. 

You were just waking up when he reentered the bedroom. Your arms lifting up to hit lightly against the headboard and your wiggling fingers while giving a yawn, you inhaled the strong scent of coffee and immediately pushed to sit. 

“What is that? Is that what I think it is?” Your eyes widened as Ransom set the mug down on your nightstand with a roll of his eyes. 

“Well good morning to you to Princess.” he stated as you grinned at him, reaching over for the mug while he sat on the end of the bed. You didn't dare take a sniff as if to check, not with the way Ransom was watching you intently and you just took a sip. 

It hit your mouth with a ferocity that brought tears to brim to your eyes, and your taste buds screamed in protest at the gritty black death you were forcing yourself to swallow, doing everything you could to keep from spitting it out. You were just thankful that this morning you were dealing with morning sickness, yet. Somehow you forced the bitter liquid down your throat and tried to keep a straight face, as you were touched with Ransom’s act of kindness, something he was still working on. But there was no hiding your expression, as hard as you tried to keep it from Ransom.

His head dropped when he saw your face. “Fucking terrible isn’t it? See this is why you should let me hire a housekeeper.” 

“Ransom, it tastes just fine. And we don’t need a housekeeper. This house isn't all that big.” You rolled your eyes as you showed him you were right by taking another sip of his coffee, forcing a smile on your face. 

“I always had a housekeeper, and I turned out fine.” Ransom rebutted while moving to a stand. “Put that cup down. You can make some later.” He instructed and you were quick to set it aside, relieved not to have to pretend anymore. Ransom yanked the blankets away, making you tumble a bit in bed with a yelp. 

“Ransom! What are you doing?” You looked down at him as he grasped your ankles, sliding you down the bed while he moved to kneel at the end of the bed, smirking at you. 

“Cant make coffee worth shit. But I can do this, and I know you like this just as much.” 

He was right, the man had a mouth on him that you had a hard time resisting, even when he was pissing you off. 

Fingers delved under the band of your sleep shorts and slipped them off before draping your legs over his shoulders and pressing hungry kisses along the inside of your thigh. “Okay, you have me there, maybe I do. I'm a little scared to see what you did down in the kitchen now.” 

“Nothing that can't be cleaned up.” He looked up at you, and you opened your mouth to say something about how you were going to have to clean it when he let his mouth press against your cunt and his tongue bury between the folds. 

That effectively distracted you, making your words stutter from the tip of your tongue into a moan while he lapped at you, shifting between quick flicks to flattening his tongue and dragging through your folds to suck at that bundle of nerves that made you gasp his name in a needy way. Your hands shoot down to twist into his hair, holding onto his scalp while he takes you apart with his mouth. Toes curled into his upper back when he teased you further, your hips starting to rock to meet the darts of his tongue in your clenching channel. You let yourself fall back into the pillows and quit trying to reason with him or make him feel better. You just let yourself experience this new attempt at treating you.

“Please Ransom, I want to come now.” You whined out while his fingers flexed on your hips, keeping you mostly pinned in place although your body was rippling to arch and grind into him. Your heels firmly pressing into his back in an attempt to lever yourself although he was firm in his hold. Unwilling to let you move just yet. Ransom sucked folds of flesh into his mouth, the lower part of his face slick when he lifted to smirk at you, and shifted a heavy forearm across your hips, careful not to press against your stomach. 

“How badly do you want to come, Princess?” He licked at his lips, brighter pink with use then normal and you glared at him down your body. 

“Considering I am growing you spawn in me, you think you would treat me better.” Trying your hand at using guilt to get him into giving you your orgasm, he let his fingers stretch your open, pressing into your warmth. 

“You know I love you, and only treat you fucking good.” His fingers curled to stroke your fluttering walls, enticing you to come for him with every stroke against your sweet spot. “Come on Beautiful, come undone for me so we can start our day.” 

You pressed to arch but he was sure to keep you held down. You started to see stars peppering your eyesight and your mouth dropped open in a silent gasp as you came for him, that rush enveloped you to send tingles all along your nerves, and your voice finally broke out in a soft cry of his name while your toes dug into his flexing back, and fingers twisted in the sheets in a weak attempt to stay grounded. 

It didn't stop him, he kept lapping at your sensitive bud, sucking and driving you to another with steady strokes of his finger. “That was just one... you know we are not stopping Princess until you have had a couple more.”  

Ransom couldn't make coffee to save his life, but he certainly knew how to make you come more than just the one time.

[marvelous-space-nerd]

My dearest Bee

Hi dear tumblr people! I wrote a thing and I quite like it,,

Summary: Time travel, is, well something. Who would've thought that you would get stuck in the 1800's?? Well here you are, part of the Van der Linde gang, ready to face the past.

First chapter can be read as a stand alone chapter. It takes place a few years after Isaac died. The relationship between the reader and Arthur is platonic. Enjoy!!

ao3

My dearest Bee,

So I hope these letters- I can’t call them letters if they’re in a book right?- Anyways, I hope these will find you, I hope you’re home, safe. I hope you saw your dog again, I miss her. I have a horse now though! Maybe I’ll name her after you, or just wasp. If I remember correctly you weren’t the biggest fan of wasps. But really, I’m not sure if we timetraveld or were transported to another universe where everything just started like 100 years later, the latter case making it a whole lot harder for you to find this. I just really hope you’ll find this against all odds, because I said I’d write to you if I made it. And I did! I guess. After the whole thing blew up some cowboys found me, I think they call themselves the Van der Linde gang? But yeah, they feed me and gave me a bed for the small price of doing some chores. I’d like to do more though, did you know that the 1800’s are really boring even though you can die at any second? It’s spicy but in the wrong way. I’d like you to know though that it’s not all bad here. People are lovely when they’re not trying to shoot you. You should see a campfire evening- hell any evening- here.

Yours always,

(Y/N)

“(Y/N) get off your lazy ass and do the chores we asked you to do!”

“Mister Morgan! No need to yell, I got it perfectly under control. I was just, taking a break, that's all. Everyone who works all day has the right to take a break.”

“Boy as much as we want it workers are exploited ‘till they fall to the ground face first. You however are not so-” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes before speaking agian. Softer this time than the louder tone he was using first. “get to work, please.”

“Fine fine, but-”

“There better leave something good out of that big mouth of yours.”

“Hey that's just rude! But I want one of you lot to teach me anything. I can’t even ride a horse for Christ's sake.”

“I still don’t get how you can’t kiddo.”

“I told you I lost my memory at the explosion, maybe I lost my skills too.” You said avoiding his piercing gaze. Nothing is better at covering up lies than staring at rocks being sad over the skills you’ve lost.

“And we all know about that blatant lie.” Fuck, maybe rocks aren’t good at covering up.

“It isn’t-”

“Boy I don’t give a damn, you could work on your handwriting though, you’re almost worse than John. But fine, when you’re done with your chores I'll teach you to ride.” He said, finally giving in.

“Yay!” You said while doing little hand clapping motion. “I won’t disappoint, I promise. I’m a fast learner!” You said with smiling eyes

“And how’d you find out you were a fast learner boy?” He spoke out as he raised his eyebrows, just enough for you to feel them piercing right through you, poking at all the holes in your lie. You thought you’d last at least a few months, well here you are, exactly one month deep in this shithole being caught red handed.

“Fuck” Is all you managed to cram out while your eyes lost all their focus. You being back in your own mind instead of the wild world.

It made the silence hard. The only sound that of the other gang members and the birds and the bees to give you something to focus on. It’s so hard out here, no amount of scouts will ever prepare one for the real wild.vIt’s much scarier out here. The real wild is the place where you die if you trip over the wrong rock. The scouts will make sure the rock isn’t even there. Every bird will just put down another rock and god I want the silence broken, just as broken as my lie is.

“I know there’s probably a reason you’re not telling us anything.” Athur said, as he moved closer, his eyes smaller. Like they could see right in his head “You can’t hide forever, not who you are.”

“...”

“Use your words boy”

“I’m sorry, Mister Morgan, I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You’ll figure it out, but first geT your ass back to woRK.” His voice became louder this time, I mean this was the third time he asked. He put his hand on your shoulder, shoving you away from your shared tent towards the hay bales you were supposed to move. A bit harder than anyone in the twenty-first century would’ve done, but for Arthur it was just a friendly push.

“I will, I will mister Morgan!” You said trying to act cheerful. Arthur made a “tsk” sound and waved you off, absolutely done, it seemed. You moved to the hay bales that were still in the wagon, ready to be fed to the horses.

The hay bales were heavy, yet they seemed lighter than they were a month ago. Your hands weren’t soft no more and being covered in dirt and dust wasn’t rare anymore. The luxuries that the modern world gave you disappeared the moment you decided that Bee was the one who should go home. One to run to the portal the moment it opens, one to pull the lever and jump through afterwards. Both of you knew that people don’t want you touching their stuff, let alone interdimensional portals or time machines. You knew someone would be quick to show up the moment you turned it on. It was surprising to see the portal become unstable, blinking in and out, in and out of existence. It left you with 2 choices. Option a: jump in it praying it would still transport you back home, back to all you knew not leaving you in the empty pocket of a closed portal. Or option b: run away for the inevitable explosion.

Gods you hated thinking about it. It played and twisted your mind. You couldn’t even talk about it, no accessible therapists in the wild west. And you’d prefer not to tell anyone you’re a helpless time traveler. Stuck in 1895 traveling with a gang of outlaws. A surely unique situation only you could get yourself in. You don’t even remember what you chose. You just remembered waking up surrounded by a bunch of cowboys.

“And how is our newest member doing?” The man's smooth and easy voice was easily recognizable. Dutch Van der Linde. Isn’t it ironic that he has a dutch surname and that his parents called him, well, Dutch. It’s a question that always on your mind, why his parents did that and if it’s iconic or just stupid. Dutch was one of the first people who introduced himself, right after Arthur- who was very inclined on being called Mister Morgan- and Hosea. The trio who showed you the wild west wasn’t all bad.

“Dutch! It is absolutely lovely to see you.” You said while putting the last hay bale down. A little bit of healthy sweat decorating your face. “I am doing absolutely great. Arthur- Mister Morgan is actually going to teach me how to ride a horse when I’m done.” You said while eyeing Arthur. Clearly not being amused with the situation. “Eh, he said yes, it’s his problem now.”

“I’m surprised you got through that thick skull of his!” He said with a smile, each word a little louder than the last. He clapped his hand on your shoulder as he let out a little chuckle.

“I think he likes me even though he won’t admit it actually.” You lied, confidence was half of the battle, as they say.

“I think I don’t you annoying little bastard.” Arthur said, joining the conversation. Dutch clearly talks loud enough to make sure any gossip subject will show up to the gossip. Definitely not the fact that you made eye contact with him “Now get to your horse before I change my mind.”

“Arthur! Oh shit- Mister Morgan! I’ll be there before they can even give me a speeding ticket” You said, maybe it was a bit too modern this time, but isn’t the wild west about living on the edge?

“You speak a strange version of english boy.” Arthur said. “You know how to saddle up a horse right?”

“Hosea taught me so I could help around with chores. And Wasp already had a saddle when we found her so I’m all good to go Mister Morgan!”

“Great, now go get her saddled up so we can go.” He said, motioning towards the horses.

“See you in a flash.” You said while snapping your fingers, forming finger guns to point back to Arthur. You dismissed the look of confusion on their faces, clearly not used to the finger gun motion. You walked off to Wasp and gave her a little pet and a snack. As you were putting her saddle on you overheard the rest of the conversation between Arthur and Dutch.

“We can both see you have a soft spot for the boy, Arthur.” Dutch said with a chuckle.

“And we both know youngins have great hearing and that he’s spying on our little conversation.” Arthur said in response, eyeing you. You kept saddling Wasp up as if you heard nothing. Let the deaf chicken inside of you arise and all. Hoping they’d say more.

“I know Arthur, I know.” Dutch said with a chuckle. About to walk away. “Oh before you go, he’s a kid Arthur, don’t be too hard on him and be carefull.” You didn’t think you were a kid, maybe not a full grown adult, but at least you were half an adult, no kid. But you weren’t going to say anything, you were eavesdropping after all. “He’s all yours, (Y/N)!” He yelled at you, before leaving for real. You turned around and gave him a smile and a quick wave. Arthur walked

“Take her by the reins, we're walking to an open spot first.”

“Shoar '' You said, absolutely trying to mimic the western accent you hear all around here. Apparently it was just bad enough to make Arthur chuckle.

“We’ll make a cowboy outta ya yet.”

Traveling in the wild was absolutely amazing for the most part. Abandoned camps are in fact disgusting. They leave their trash! And it’s not like they cleaned their cans so it smells. But besides that the mostly untouched nature was beautiful and the air was so clean. It all felt much more, how to put it, real. No factories everywhere, no house on every corner of the street, just, the world how mother nature intended it. It was peaceful. There was an open field about ten minutes walking from camp, and that’s where you arrived. Reins in hand.

“You ready to go (Y/N)?” Arthur asked. You put your hand on your hips looking at your horse with abosute pride and stupidity because how to fuck were you going to do this?

“Absolutely.” You said. “Remind me how do I get on again?”

The words were taken by the wind as they made room for silence. Arthur’s expression could be described as a mix between surprise, disbelief and the OhMyGodAreYouStupid emotion. Yet it all quickly made room for a smile, or a laugh. He could definitely be laughing at you.

“I didn’t expect to need to teach an 18 year old how to get on a damn horse.”

There was no fire behind the words, but as they say, fight (fake) fire with (fake) fire.

“And I didn’t expect to end up here for the life of so I did not think horse riding would be a viable skill to know. So get your pretty ass in the saddle so I can.. mimic you or something.” You said making a hand gesture at Arthur’s horse.

He gave you one more smile as he turned to his horse, getting on slower than usual. He got on on the right side of his horse so he put his right foot in the styrup. He lifted his body up effortlessly and as elegant as a western outlaw could get. And there he was, in the saddle, in full western glory.

“Looks easy enough.” You said, an absolute lie as it turned out. The stirrups were way higher than expected, and the getting on could be called anything but elegant or the cool western movies you saw. Turns out your own body is heavy and there’s quite a lot on a horse to get stuck behind. But you ended up in the saddle, full western glory.

The rest of the riding lesson went about the same. Arthur did something really cool looking and whenever you did it it felt like you were some old slime blob.

“Squeeze your lower legs to get her to move, (Y/N)!”

“I am this horse is just broken- OHMYGOD SHe’s moving!”

“Never blame the horse for the rider's lack of skill, boy. Now steering.”

He explained it all to you. How to properly hold the reins and how to use them, how to do it with one hand and how to do it with two. Western and English style he called it. He taught you how to move your horse around and what not to do. The one and most important thing being to have no doubts and no fear. The horse will sense it.

It felt odd at first, to have control over another living being. It wasn’t easy no, Arthur had to tell you how to correct your posture every 5 minutes. But after a while of correcting everything you started to get confident. It started getting easier to steer. Every muscle of yours was getting tired but it was so worth it. Maybe one day you’ll look like an actual movie star.

Once you got the basics down you could go a bit harder. From a walk to a trot, a canter and even a little gallop. And as the wind brushed over your face blowing your hair away, it felt like something the 21st century didn’t have a lot of. Galloping through the grass hearing every step as more and more grass was thrown into the air. Arthur still giving you instructions on what to watch out for, riding by your side in case of emergency. And the horse, Wasp, god she deserved a cooler name. Her big strong muscles moving beneath you, her breath as she was running, the heat radiating from her skin, gods it felt so great. No modern bike or car could ever top this feeling of freedom.

Cars and bikes could however top the feeling of falling off. You lost control quite a few times, losing balance, a rearing horse throwing you right where you belong. But nothing modern could beat that feeling of getting on again. Of it working when you tried it for a second time. Hell, maybe the third time. Arthur was there to make sure you were okay, and you could have another go. And another. And just one more for good measure. Lying on the ground trying to see if this time you did break something wasn’t a strange thing after today. Hell it happened at least every hour. But determining it as fine and getting on again, it felt like a lot.

You didn’t even realize it was getting late until the sky started turning orange. The normally so bright sun started becoming more yellow and stopped burning at your eyes. Instead it just seemed pretty. The clouds became yellow just like the sun, and the sky turned a bit darker with every passing minute. Yellow and orange were happy colours, maybe this was an good omen, maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t think you’d die somewhere in a ditch. Bee would be proud to see you haven’t given up. You knew that for once.

“Time isn’t a real thing Mister Morgan, I swear.” You said looking at the sunset.

“Call me Arthur.” Said Arthur Morgan, though guy in the west in dire need of respect. Arthur “You call me mister Morgan boy” Morgan.

“Wait, did someone hide weed somewhere because this must be a hallucination! Can I really call you Arthur?”

“Wouldn't have said it otherwise boy.” He hissed, the mister Morgan just wouldn't leave Arthur.

“Well, Arthur, thank you. I’m happy I only have to say half the syllables now.”

“Shoar thing. Now let’s go back to camp before they send out a search party to see if you haven’t broken anything today.” He said jokingly

“I would never! I am obviously the best horse rider in the entire United states!” You said sarcastically, if you fake confidence long enough, it might become real.

Arthur laughed at that. “Well see about that boy. Now let’s go, we should be there soon considering you can ride now.”

“Of course, good plan. I can show off my skills now!”

“Shoar, go ahead boy. Don’t make your entrance too dramatic.”

“I will, I absolutely will. Oh and Arthur?”

“Hm?” He said, quite relaxed actually.

“Thank you, for everything today. I’m happy you let me bother you today.” You said with a proud smile.

“You’re welcome boy. Bother me all you want, we ain’t getting rid of you just yet.” He said as he ruffled your hair a bit. “Now let’s go home, I’m realll hungry.”

You absolutely couldn’t hide the smile on your face. “Hell yeah, I’m starving.” You said as you kicked the stirrups making Wasp move, you rode to camp in the beautiful orange sky. Maybe he did actually care about you, just a little.

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

[hslotharrie]

Valentine’s day (eve)

summary: domestic pre valentine’s day life with harry.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none! harry being cute. not much plot. not proof read? when do i ever proof read?

inspired by this ask

When you wake, the sun is shooting it's rays through the gaps in the blinds over your bedroom windows, illuminating the space in hazy golden streaks. Your legs are tangled, but warm, in blankets that are only half on top of the bed thanks to yours' and Harry's admittedly wild sleeping habits.

As your eyes adjust and you reach out to stretch, you notice harry isn't in his place beside you. You frown, wishing he would relax on his days off, but he's always been such a morning person.

You could never.

Valentine's day is tomorrow, and your cheeks heat up with excitement for the gifts you'd got him. You stretch an arm to your night stand, slipping your hand inside the first drawer and reaching for the little black box containing two gucci rings.

The sound of Harry's feet climbing the stairs makes you quickly close the box and slide it to the back of the drawer, though you can't wipe the excited smile off of your face before he's nudging the door open. Two steamy mugs of coffee occupy his hands as he slowly waddles into the room. When he looks up, your smile brings a smile of his own.

"What's got m'girl so happy this early?" he quizzes, setting the mug lightly onto your table and bending  to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Just you," you cover.

"S'it because I brought coffee? Or do y'love me?" Harry jokes, stepping across the room to peer out the windows through the sun's fiery rays.

"Of course the coffee helps" you purr. He fakes offence.

You watch him squint out the window, studying the streets and taking in the warm sunlight. He's wearing a baggy-ish pair of tie dye sweatpants and a loose black t-shirt that hangs just close enough that you can see the curve of his lower back. Distinctly Harry.

You get lost in the sight of him. The messy morning curls in his hair, the way the light from the window contoured each little curve and bend of his body, the pretty green in his eyes that the sun only magnified. You miss seeing him like this when he's away. Home Harry is the best Harry; all yours.

His phone dings and he announces 'its Mitch!', opening his phone and turning it in your direction for you to see a selfie of him and Sarah with a thumbs up. Little does Harry know, you'd told them about the rings and the selfie was really secret code for 'he's going to love them!'.

If he only knew.

You smile wide, placing your coffee on the night stand and holding two thumbs up when harry returns the selfie, holding back a mischievous giggle. Harry sends it, then neglects his phone and returns his attention to you. He lays (not so gracefully) on the bed, resting the back of his head on your blanket-covered lap. Looking up at you, he adores your own features the same way you were eyeing his earlier.

You bring your fingers to trace along his face, scratching lightly at the stubble on his chin, soothing up along his cheekbones and running them along his eyebrows. His eyelids flutter closed and you can't help but to brush your thumbs gently along his eyelashes. Harry has a soft, blissful smile on his lips.

You both love days like these, it's almost a treat when you can both just relax alone together. Harry’s guilt does come through though, his busy schedule often keeping him from you, but you assure him you knew what you signed up for and that you love him always, no matter where he is.

"So, 'was thinking," he begins, "I couldn't get a reservation at that fancy place y'like for tomorrow,"

"oh, Harry, that's alright-"

"So, I got one for tonight. Wanna do valentine's day early?" he questions, opening an eye to peek at you. A grin begins to grow on his lips. You bend to press a kiss to them.

...

It's almost 6pm now, your reservations are for 7 and you're adding finishing touches to your makeup while Harry brushes his teeth in the sink beside you. You're wearing a pair of high rise straight leg pants with an open red floral top tucked in. It exposes your chest even well below the valley of your breasts in a long makeshift V-neck and you can feel Harry's gaze all over you.

He spits and rinses his toothbrush, stepping behind you in the mirror and wrapping his hands around your middle. He rests his chin on your shoulder, smiling big to put his shiny teeth on display. You smile back at him while you untwist the cap to a lip stain.

He teases his thumb along your exposed skin, eyes shifting down in the mirror to watch his thumb disappear inside of your shirt. You don't give him a reaction though, save for goosebumps, and bend forward to apply the red colour onto your lips; teasing him in return.

He catches on to this, quick, and lets out a low laugh before kissing your shoulder and pulling away.

"M'gonna go start the car so it's warm," he says softly, leaning on the door frame. He winks, then disappearing into the house.

Ah, domestic life.

When you're finished your lips, you zip into the bedroom and quickly place the box of rings into your matching white bag. Then, grabbing a pair of boot-heels and snugging them on your feet. You feel butterflies with the rings in your bag, they could be so easily discovered but you know they won't be.

You return downstairs where Harry, of course, is waiting for you. He's got a coat on and holds another over his arm for you. He places it over your shoulders and mumbles a quick 'it's cold out,' before opening the door and ushering you outside.

The drive is long and quick at the same time. His hand rests on your knee when it's not occupied by the shifting lever, and your eyes train along the side of the road as he drives. You both hum to whatever the local radio is playing, his thumb tapping against the steering wheel. It's busy, the roads are full and the sidewalks are crowded.

He parks close to the entrance of the restaurant, shrugging it of as 'the closest available spot' but really he just doesn't want you to get cold.

He checks both of you in, taking your hand as the waitress leads you both to a booth in a quiet part of the restaurant. You sit down together, ordering immediately because you've been going here together for so long. You joke about the waitress eyeing him up and, in turn, he defends that no! she was all over you!

It's well into your meal before Harry slides a little flat red box in your direction, pretending it's no big deal to him. You stop mid-chew, eyes connecting with his and you try (fail) to hide a smile. You reach into your own bag, pulling out the little black box and sliding it towards him before going back to eating your food in the most nonchalant way you can manage.

"Hey now! Open mine first, s'only fair." he says, looking at you with a humoured smirk.

You decide to tease more, taking your time finishing your mouthful and dabbing at your lips with a napkin. Harry leans back in his chair, giving you an amused 'really? we're doing this?' look while you slowly reach for the box.

Suddenly, his hand snaps to take the little box of rings, and you squeal, quickly taking the red box and holding it in your hands. He leans ahead in adoring anticipation and watches as you as you open the flat, cartier, box to reveal a delicate chain with a flower in the middle.

"Oh, Harry, it's beautiful." you gasp, looking at him almost in disbelief 

"S'pink gold, with an orchid and a pretty little diamond- baby," he pauses, seeing the tears gathering in your waterline as you closely inspected the little piece. You hadn't meant to cry, it caught both of you off guard.

"s'alright, here-" chuckling, he rises from his seat to slide into the booth next to you. He rubs your back and lightly presses kisses to the side of your forehead. Soon you both start to giggle, leaning into each other to feel as close as you could in the public area.

"Harry, god, you really didn't have to... it's perfect," you sniffle. You turn your head and pull him into a quick soft kiss, feeling his smile against yours. His hand rises to cup the side of your face, thumb running along your cheekbone and his fingers curling around just under your ear.

"Now, let's wipe those tears away, yeah? Can't be havin' people think I'm makin' my girl cry."

"But you did," you snort

"I didn't know you were gonna' react that way!" he defends "y'scared me!"

You both laugh, leaning on each other and temporarily forgetting about the world around you. He presses a kiss to your head, hungry for even the sweetest of touches. Harry has always been like this; needy for touch... your touch, in any way.

He brings you out of your gaze, reaching for the little black box you had previously slid towards his empty chair. Inspecting it, he turns the box on it's side to read the 'Gucci' print. You catch the sides of his lips curl up.

He opens the lid, slowly and gently, then moving the velvet packaging to see what the little black box contains. Your eyes are trained on his face, watching his bottled up excitement seep through his cool impassivity.  Though, when he catches glimpse of the rings, an eager laugh and then a shocked gasp rumbles through him.

He meets your eyes, almost in disbelief. A wide smile on his face and his jaw open. You giggle at him, watching him immediately look back to the box and delicately pull the first H ring out.

"Oh baby," he grins, slipping it onto his right ring finger.

"Thought you would like them." you reply in murmur, leaning against him again and watching as he takes the smaller ring, S, and slides it perfectly onto his pinky finger.

"Love them, baby, so much," he takes a moment to flex his hand and admire the two silver rings from afar. "Y'know what, though?"

You hum, pulling back from his side to see a tender, adoring face tearing back at you. He leans in to kiss you, taking his time and getting his point across. His hand newly clad with silver rings rises to your cheek to hold you in place; the metal cold compared to the heat of his hand and your face. He pulls away only slightly, eyes still focused on your lips.

" I,"

he presses another peck to your lips

"-should be buyin' you the pretty rings, darlin'."

[amintyworld]

Goodbye - (SBI Inc.) World War II AU

A/N: Hey guys! So... this is actually part of a bunch of fics I was making for some of my mutuals, and at first, I wanted to post them together, but I soon realized with my own creativity and motivation, not to mention constant burnout, it was more just wishful thinking.

This fic is a gift for my friend and mutual, Cam (@bones-sprouts)! They're an awesome person for me to rant to about AUs or other fic ideas, so if you can check out their awesome blog and give a follow if you'd like. I hope you enjoy it because I'm actually really proud of how this turned out! <3 - Minty

Edit: Forgot Taglist.

Summary: Phil works in the coal factories, his wife Kristen with the sewing machines. No matter how hard they work, there never seems to be enough money. What will happen when a World War rises on the horizon?

TW: Bomb mention, Implied death mention, injury (No blood or gore tho). (Let me know if I need to tag anything else!)

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Phil remembered when it was all just rumors. After all, one couldn’t help but get bored within the tedious factory jobs. Hauling coal from one place to another, scooping it into the fireplaces - minds always began to drift. Gossip was whispered with bated breath under watchful eyes. Phil had heard it all - some true, most of them, however... complete fibs. He guessed that’s why he didn’t believe it at first when there were talks of war. There were always talks of war, but after the World War a while back, Phil thought it was stupid anyone would dare try to repeat it. The leaders were smarter than that, he thought to himself.

Besides, he had other things to worry about. Wilbur needed a new winter coat for the season. He’d been going through another growth spurt over the summer and had, unfortunately, outgrew his one from last year. They’d been saving to buy a new one, and his old one was given to his younger brother, Tommy. Funnily enough, the coat was extremely big and baggy on the ten-year-old, so much so he kept tripping and falling to the floor. Kristen kept pinning it up, though it never seemed to help much. He remembered one night telling Wilbur with a chuckle he was getting too tall and Tommy was getting too small. Tommy had grumbled angrily in a way only small children could do, puffing his chest out and proclaiming himself a ‘big man’. Kristen had smiled and laughed throughout it all, and when Tommy yawned she picked him up and carried him off to bed.

Money was always a tight issue, but Phil had the wisdom never to bring it up in front of his sons. Instead, he talked about stories of adventure-seeking pirates or brave warriors in hushed tones at night when the roof began to leak and they huddled together in thin blankets during the winter. Phil’s heart always swelled when Tommy’s eyes would light up in curiosity at the stories, at another world full of hope and things that Phil could only wish to provide them. One day, he promised himself, one day he would give them everything they deserved. Everything they’d wished for upon stars or whispered to themselves at night when they thought no one was listening. One day.

Phil remembered once when Wilbur was not much older than Tommy, he’d asked him if he could work with him in the factories. They had barely been able to afford the school fee that year, and Wilbur had started school a month behind his classmates because of it. When Phil had quickly tried to dismiss the idea Wilbur’s mouth had pressed in a thin line.

‘I can do it, Dad. Let me do it. I want to help.’

Phil’s hand had absentmindedly moved to trace around the scar in his calloused palm. When he first started, the manager put him near the machines, with the task to flip the lever and run them when the ribbon was on target. He flipped the switch before realizing it wasn’t on target, and when he moved the ribbon - the machine was merciless. He’d thought about Wil doing that, the machines, hauling pounds of coal up a hill, and he realized that he’d rather die working in the factories than accept the help. The money wouldn’t be worth it, the money would never be worth his life. Never in a million years.

No matter what, he’d always protect them. That was never a question on Phil’s mind.

When the orders came there was never any doubt about what he needed to do. There was never any hesitation. They needed to be safe. They needed to survive. When he told Kristen he held back tears, but his wife knew him better than anyone, cutting him off with a small loving embrace. Emotion welled up in Phil’s throat as he returned the hug, and the two stood in their cramped dining room like that for a while, the opened letter left scattered on the stained wooden table. Phil’s gaze drifted toward the couch where the two boys lay sprawled on top of each other, covered by a single blanket, asleep. For a moment, just a moment, Phil wanted to keep them like that forever - blissfully in that perfect moment of peace. But, Phil couldn’t do anything. A war was coming.

“We’ll get through this together.” Kristen had promised him. Phil hoped she was right.

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

The train howled in the distance. Millions of families rushed to and fro on the platform, volunteers and teachers hoisted the smaller children into the train. Conductors shouted, and the entire train platform was bathed in a large gust of steam. In the middle of all the chaos stood Phil, Kristen, and their two children.

“Okay boys, let’s go through this one more time,” Phil said, getting down more on their level, and trying his best to maintain a smile. “When you get on the train, stay in your seats. Make sure not to lose your bags, and try not to cause any trouble. Listen to the volunteers, yeah?” Wilbur nodded, and Phil noticed Tommy looking around in curiosity at all those passing by. He snapped his fingers, turning the ten-year-old’s attention back on him. “Tommy?”

“Uh-huh?”

“What did I just say?”

“Uhm… don’t pull any pranks?”

“Yes, don’t cause any trouble, Tommy. This is serious. There’s a lot of people, I don’t want you to get lost okay?”

“Okay.”

Phil looked over at his oldest, clutching the suitcase in his hands tightly, a tag around his neck matching his brothers’. He’d been quiet since Phil had told them both the situation a day ago, and rushed off to help Phil get everything they needed from the list - they barely afforded getting the essentials. Money saved up for Wilbur’s new coat went to bars of soap, stockings, slippers, and handkerchiefs. Phil had given Wilbur his own, saying he’d be fine without one for the winter and they’d be able to afford another in no time. “Look out for him, alright?” While the two shared a brief moment together, Kristen was leaning down toward the child, spotting a bit of dirt on his cheek she was determined to get rid of. Tommy protested and squirmed from her grip as she smiled, holding back as laugh and keeping him still. Wilbur looked over at the two, smiling fondly.

“I will, Dad. I promise.”

Phil couldn’t help but be overcome with pride for his eldest, a small smile on his face. He grew up way too fast - where was that small boy who was always propped up on his shoulders and sang beautiful songs deep into the night, eyes shining with happiness? There were still traces of that same glimmer in Wilbur’s eyes, signs that those dreams and that hope were still alive, and to Phil that was all that mattered. He grew and became so responsible, so capable of anything and everything. At that moment, seeing him, he remembered that strong feeling of pride. Phil had every confidence in him, no matter what the future might hold.

He reached into his coat pocket for the letter, before taking in his eldest for what would be the last time for a while. His hand lightly brushed through that curly brown hair that always fell over his eyes, moving down to cup his cheek and look into those dark eyes that were so much like his mother’s - deep pools of infinite. “I hope you know how much I love you, Wilbur.”

“I do… I mean,” Wilbur stumbled, looking down at the ground. “I..I know, Dad.”

Phil nodded, pressing a small kiss to his son’s forehead. “Good.” He handed out the folded piece of paper with a name scribbled on it - Technoblade. “You’ll be staying with an old friend of mine, he knows me well and I trust him. Be on your best behavior.”

“Right,” Wilbur confirmed, looking over the name for a moment before sliding the piece of paper in his bag. “Does he... know we’re coming?”

“Well, uhm… no…?”

“No?”

“Just give him the letter, it’ll explain everything. He owes me.”

Tommy rushed over, seemingly running from Kristen who simply giggled. “Papa!” Phil’s smile widened at the exchange.

“Come here you little squirt!” Phil’s heart lit up as he scooped up the smaller child in his arms, Tommy laughing with a playful shriek as he did so. “What’s wrong, mate?”

“Mama keeps scrubbing my face, it hurts!” Tommy accused, to which Kristen rolled her eyes with a smile.

“You’ve got dirt all over your face, honey-”

The train howled once more, sending all of them to silence. One of the conductors at the train car around ten or so feet from them shouted: “All aboard! All aboard who’s coming aboard!” Phil looked between the two of them.

“Let’s get you two settled, yeah?” They passed through the crowd toward the conductor. At this point many of the parents were already gone or standing a far distance from the track itself, seeing their children off. He slowly lowered Tommy off his hip and into the step. “I’ve got two kids here for the train, they’ve got their cards and items.” Phil gently moved Wilbur in front of him as he spoke. The man, in a bit of a hurry, snatched Tommy’s tag, almost making the child lose his balance as he glanced at it. Phil heaved Tommy’s shoulder bag, packed with things, into the steps with him. “He’s good. You had another?”

“Yes, my oldest, Wilbur. Please make sure, if you can find them a seat together.” The conductor looked Wilbur over before checking his tag as well.

“Will do, but I don’t make any promises.” He nodded at the tag. “He’s a good chap too. Let’s go, we’ve got a schedule.”

Tommy hugged his father around the neck. “Love you Papa. Love you Mama.”

“Love you, Toms.” Phil smiled, as Kristen leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, making the smaller child giggle. Wilbur was already picking up his younger brother’s things and sliding the bag over his shoulder.

“Bye!” Tommy waved as he followed behind the conductor.

“Bye.” Wilbur waved behind him. “I love you.”

And… just like that, they were gone. Phil held Kristen’s hands as they watched their two sons leave in a cloud of steam, chugging away toward the countryside. Going someplace safe. Kristen began to tear up and Phil held her close in comfort. Now, it was a waiting game of fate. A waiting game for the foretold bomb. A waiting game to die.

—————————

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@bones-sprouts

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[everyhowlmarksthedead]

Stay.

DIN DJARIN. ┃ THE MANDALORIAN.

❝ words: about 1.8k

❝ summary: The first time Din says his name and why he does it.

❝ a / n: this work wasn't supposed to be this long, but well... As always, feedback is appreciated!

Gif credits to the author.

MASTERLIST. ⎢ MULTIFANDOM TAG LIST.

“Where are you going?”

Suddenly stopping your steps halfway over the ramp, you can feel Mando's curiosity through the modulator. Although you can't see his face and he doesn't need to move his head to study you from top to bottom, you can notice his helmet slightly shifting. It's the first time you abandon the Razor Crest —to accompany him to civilization— since he rescued you from Trask, a few months ago.

You were sold by your parents to a Quarren like a pet. He had you slaved for years, confined in a joint for the ones of his same race. He forced you to be kind, to be pleasant, and to dance for them, as if you were part of a show for their simple delight. Until Mando found you by casualty. At first, he just set you free. He didn't ask questions, he didn't care about what you were going to do, nor about where you were going to go. But that little thing —his son, apparently—, he was bringing inside a camel color bag everywhere, got attached to you for some unknown reason.

He hasn't been a man of many words since you know him, and he wasn't really in agreement with you joining their adventures, but your silent company began to be something positive for him when he started to trust in you.

“To Nevarro”. Your reply doesn't play hard to get, about taking another step.

Even if the beskar covers his shoulders, you can see how they get tensed by your response. He doesn't like that idea, he prefers you to stay in the Razor, but he also knows you're decided to follow him. You need to see what's around you. You're prepared. He has trained you from time to time, so you know how to defend yourself and how to fire the blaster hanging on your waist. Mando doesn't have to worry about you, as a matter of fact.

The child emits something similar to a happy giggle, being in accordance with your decision, drawing your attention towards him.

“Fine”. He reluctantly grants. “Stay behind me, and stay close”.

Two simple commands you can obey for your good.

The road to the city is silent, but not the kind of comfortable silence you're used to. You could cut the tension with your knife and you aren't sure why he is so worried —you'd understand it if you hadn't learned anything about self-defense.

While he attends his meeting, you're sitting at the next table with the child, trying to eat some kind of dense soup that spoils your appetite more than give you the desire to ask for another one. Putting apart the bowl from your sight, you can't help but raise your eyes to the corner of your right. Humans laugh. Your pupils dilate at a group of people like you. Among the crowd inside the place, full of different races, you see them. It's the first time in years that you cross with someone of your same kind and you must've breathed too loudly for a second because you have called Mando's attention.

Fastly putting your gaze away, somewhere over the bar, you try to dissimulate the anxiety for talking to them about anything, just talk. You know you can do it, not because of him, but because of your lack of social skills. After this uncomfortable moment, the bounty hunter is compelled to finish his reunion. He knew it wasn't a good idea, but for the wrong reasons. When he tells you that you're coming back to the ship, you don't go against it, standing up under the attentive look from one of the humans. A man older than you, who isn't able to put his emerald-green eyes away from you, when you walk closer with the child clung to your chest. Mando notices it, not swallowing a threatening grunt towards his table, and causing you some shivers. What has been that?

Back in the Razor Crest, you feel tiny. You have that same feeling stuck within your heart as when you were handcuffed in Trask. He hasn't said anything. He normally explains to you his new mission —your new adventure—, not going into many details, but this time he has just remained a holy silence that is killing you.

“I'm sorry”. These two words have been dancing through your head since you have jumped to cyberspace.

Mando turns around his seat towards yours at his right, tilting his helmet a little disconcerted. Stretching a hand over himself, pressing a couple of buttons before pushing forward a lever, he rests both gloved palms on his thighs. “We speak the same language, but I don't follow you”.

As you continue feeling more and more little under his gaze covered by the grey helmet, you sigh closing your eyes for a second trying to remember what you used to say the few times you disrespected a Quarren. It's not like you don't feel it, but you don't know what else to say. He is still staring at you waiting for a reply, or anything actually when you open your eyes again.

“I will… stay on the Razor next time”.

As soon as he understands, he turns his seat completely to you. “You can leave whenever you want. You're not my prisoner, and I'm not your master”.

For some reason, his words hurt you like a shot straight to your chest. And he must have noticed it by the down-hearted way you have to lick your lips, nodding with your chin just one time, before getting up to abandon the cockpit quietly. It wasn't what you wanted to hear. You were expecting some comfort words, but what you have obtained is an invitation to go. And you're having the strong desire to accept it, now aware that your company doesn't mean the same that his company means for you.

Grabbing a dusty bag from a compartment, you pick up the few things you have. Some clothes and a small cushion to sleep. Holding the tears by closing your eyelids, you drag your back down against the cold wall to the floor, sitting next to a big iron box —with who-knows-what inside it. Flexing your knees towards your chest, you wrap your legs with both arms, resting your cheek on them. You don't know where the Razor is going, but you have decided to stay on that planet.

Mando's heavy steps going downstairs provoking a metallic noise make you turn your back towards him, resting it against the box and trying to not continue sobbing. But, although he's pretending to replenish ammo, you can feel him looking at you sideways under his armor. And you hear him exhale slowly, closing the gun cabinet and bowing his head a few inches with pure resignation. Immediately as he swings to your position, you clean the tears wetting your cheeks with the back of your hands. The last thing you want right now is to give him the pleasure of letting him know he has made you cry.

“It wasn't my inten—”.

“I don't care”. You cut him off, resting your chin on one of your knees, turning your face away from his. “You don't have long to worry about me. I'll stay on your next stop”.

Mando continues in silence, feeling lucky you can't watch his hands closing into two furious fists. He didn't mean to talk to you like he has done, he didn't choose the correct words to say and he doesn't know how to fix it. How to fix you. If he only could tell you he was jealous because of your reaction to looking at other humans not in the same way you look at him, he would tell it to you. And for the first time since he was recruited by the Mandalorians, he needs to show his face to someone —to you. He wants to try to explain how he really feels with his eyes, conscious that there isn't enough vocabulary in your language to express it.

Mando can't ask you to stay, he doesn't have the right. Certainly not after what you have been through all these past years. But he wants to. He wants to do it. He wants to ask you to stay by his side.

“Din”.

The word with unknown sense falls from his lip across the modulator. You tilt your head in confusion, doing your best to read the most imperceptible gestures of his body under the beskar. His chest rises and falls a little more rapidly than normal. His hands are hidden under his cape, behind his rigid back. But there's no tension covering his whole anatomy. It's remorse what you're receiving from him. A sensation you had forgotten.

“My name is Din”.

A heavy feeling within your belly takes you over, impulsing you to stand up on your feet. Your eyes are somewhat widened because of the unexpected approach.

“You can… stay with us, as long as you want”. He whispers trying to relax his posture and don't feel vulnerable.

And with that said, he takes you aback a little more when you watch him bring his hands to the front, about to do something with them. For a moment, you guess he's going to clap to wrap things up, but what he does causes you to part your lips breathing through them in surprise. With the help of his left fingers, he ungloves his right hand to offer it to you. You're so absent fixated on his skin, as if it has hypnotized you, that it takes you some second to realize he wants you to shake it like a formal introduction.

As soon as your hands get in touch, you have to gulp a soft gasp. A shiver warms your body urging you to take a step closer to Din, invading his personal space, although he doesn't seem disgusted with the idea. Now, you comprehend it. You know what has been running through his mind since you came back to the Razor. You can smell the light jealousy, even the desire he was carrying since the meeting. He grunted to the man because he was envious of him and the way you were looking at him.

So you are somewhat pleased he has made the effort to discover himself without disrespecting or disobeying the Mandalorian creed, only to make you feel better.

“I wanna stay”.

Mando doesn't speak, but by the way the fabric of his cape shifts around his neck you can perceive his lips curving in a smile, as his throat gets relaxed under the piece of clothing. Covering his hand again with the glove, he points with a gesture of his helmet to upstairs to the cockpit.

“I'll be up there if you need me. You should rest”.

Pressing your lips, you nod in agreement as the door of the compartment is opened by the child. You haven't let him sleep and now it's your moment to sing him another lullaby.

[drowningbydegrees]

For once this month, I actually wrote what I meant to.  Written for @whumptober2020 prompt 26. If you thought the head trauma was bad (Migraine, concussion, blindness). Pretty please mind the tags. <3

Read on AO3

In retrospect, they had had better days. They’d been all but run out of town, which, they were killing a monster for these ungrateful jerks, so rude. Said ungrateful jerks had also greatly understated the monster problem so that Geralt would agree to save the town they wouldn’t even let him sleep in for less money, so extra rude. And now, the monsters are dead, but the building that had served as a nest has pretty much come down around Geralt’s and Jaskier’s ears, which probably isn’t the villagers fault, but they’re summarily awful so the bard opts to blame them anyway.

Jaskier coughs as the dust and debris settle, but it still feels like he tried to breathe in a sandstorm. Blindly, he shakes the rubble from his hair with his hand, staring out into the darkness. There’s only the weakest light shining in from off to his right promising that a world continues to exist beyond their unexpected prison.

A prison that Jaskier hopes Geralt is investigating to find them a way out of. Geralt is quiet, but he’s always quiet, so that really doesn’t mean much. When he can’t hear the witcher, Jaskier squints at the dark room, wishing his friend didn’t absolutely insist on wearing black all the time. “I don’t suppose you can do that magicky thing you do and break us out of here?”

No answer comes.

“Geralt? You’re not on the other side of all these rocks are you? I really don’t fancy being stuck here alone,” Jaskier calls a little louder. He feels his way to where the crumbled stone blocked off the exit and finds it every bit as impassable as he feared. Jaskier thinks to try and free himself, but the first rock he grabs comes loose and the whole pile rumbles, sending the bard scrambling backward, tripping over something and landing in a heap on the floor. Alright, bad idea then.

He had initially assumed the something he tripped over was more rocks, except that it makes a wretched little whimpering sound that rocks are very definitely not capable of. Fuck.

Hampered by the fact that he can’t see, Jaskier feels his way across the floor until he finds the hard leather protecting Geralt’s torso. Geralt isn’t moving and he can’t see, so Jaskier curses under his breath as he maps his way up to the witcher’s face. “C’mon Geralt. Wake up. This is really not the time.”

A hand held in front of Geralt’s face confirms that at least he’s still breathing, but that’s no real comfort when he’s still so still and quiet. It’s as much reassurance as Jaskier thinks he’s going to get though, so he continues. Maybe if he could get Geralt to sit up…

Jaskier never gets that far. Blindly, he slides a hand behind Geralt’s head and his heart nearly stops in his chest. Geralt’s hair is matted with something warm and sort of viscous, and when Jaskier rubs his fingers together, they’re wet. The touch that just got what Jaskier assumes is blood on his hands is also the thing that finally pulls a sound from Geralt. That makes it even worse because it’s an agonized moan that Jaskier is pretty sure is going to haunt him every day for the rest of his life.

“Okay, don’t panic Jask. You can fix this,” he mumbles under his breath. If he just had some light. Jaskier glares at the little hole where the sun is still shining in like the wall did this just to harm him personally. If the window is mostly blocked, there have to be a lot of stones in the way, and no telling if he could lift them.

Except maybe he doesn’t have to. Frantically, Jaskier feels around for Geralt’s sword, breathing out a sigh of relief when he finally wraps his fingers around the hilt. If luck is on his side, maybe he can get enough leverage to knock something free.

“How do you use this thing?” Jaskier grumbles once he’s got it, supporting the weight of the sword against his shoulder. It’s not that it’s all that heavy to stand there and hold, but even the idea of swinging it around is exhausting. On the upside, it seems sturdy enough to pry a few rocks loose, and if it isn’t… well, a sword is replaceable. Geralt is decidedly less so.

Every second feels too long, like he’s moving in slow motion. Jaskier shuffles across the open space as briskly as he dares, shoves the sword into the first thing that feels like a gap in the rocks and shifts his weight downward against the hilt. There’s nothing. The rock is too heavy or he is too weak, or the sword isn’t stiff enough, or…

Jaskier shakes his head, refusing to give up like that. He yanks the sword free and tries again, a little off to one side. This time, the sword slips further in with the grating sound of stone on steel. Once again, he throws all his weight into pushing the sword down like a lever. There’s a creak, an echoing sort of groan as It moves a little and then all at once. Jaskier barely has time to jump out of the way as a sizable rock skids from its resting place along with a shower of pebbles.

It’s not really a big enough gap to get out, but it does let the light in quite a bit more. The room is dim and dusty, but it brings the periphery into focus, not that Jaskier cares a whit about that. He nearly stumbles over the rocks scattered across the floor in his hurry to get back to Geralt.

“Oh, no no no.” Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat when his gaze settles on the witcher. He has seen Geralt muddle through all manner of injury, has patched up a fair few of them himself. He’s stitched up angry, uneven gashes and set fractured bones, but none of those things prepares him for the way Geralt looks now. Blood spreads around the witcher’s head like some sort of macabre halo staining Geralt’s hair a disturbing shade of crimson and soaking into the dust and rock around him.

It’s not really a relief to find Geralt’s potions weren’t lost when the building came down around them. It’s more like a handful of sandbags in the face of a hurricane. He’s not a complete stranger to them though, and a rather distraught effort at rifling through the witcher’s bag turns up one Jaskier recognizes. It’s an orangey red, almost sparkling, and he’s seen it work before on things that should have killed Geralt. He’s got it in hand when he realizes he needs to back up a step. It can’t mend the witcher if he bleeds out first.

There are no bandages, because of course there aren’t. Jaskier shrugs out of his doublet. It’s not soft at all, so the chemise goes too, and that he can work with. Carefully as he can, Jaskier winds the cloth around Geralt’s head, tying it in place and hoping to whatever deity might be listening that it’s enough.

The potion comes next, and that’s somehow much worse. Geralt doesn’t stir when Jaskier brings the bottle to his lips. The only thing Jaskier can think to do is drip it in a little at a time, so agonizingly slowly that he worries it’ll be too late before he’s even finished. Afterwards, he stares at Geralt’s unnaturally still form, waiting to make sure he doesn’t choke on the stuff somehow.

Are you supposed to leave people where they are or something else entirely? Jaskier doesn’t have the foggiest idea, but he can’t bear the idea of leaving Geralt on the hard ground. Shivering in the chilly air, Jaskier ignores the blood seeping into his trousers and sits so that he can rest Geralt’s head in his lap. He won’t panic over the stain spreading too quickly across his chemise. He won’t. “You're not dying here. You don't get to leave me behind. Not like this.”

All that’s left to do is wait.

***

Geralt can’t remember ever opening his eyes to this before, the world having slid so violently out of focus. There’s a weight, or maybe it’s him that’s heavy. Even curling his fingers a monumental effort.

“Wh-” It’s all he manages before words fail him, and suddenly there is a hand squeezing his shoulder.

“Oh thank fuck,” someone says. Jaskier? Geralt thinks it’s probably Jaskier. It usually is. “How are you feeling?” Did something happen that suddenly granted him sleeping in Jaskier’s lap privileges? He doesn’t think so. That feels important in a way he can’t imagine being ambushed by, tied to a conversation he keeps not having, but here they are, his head very definitely in Jaskier’s lap. Only Jaskier looks horribly unhappy, so… so…

Jaskier had been asking him something. “What?”

“How’s your head? There was a lot of blood and I didn’t know if the potion would be enough, and…” Jaskier’s still talking. Geralt is distantly aware of this, but the words won’t stick.

“What happened?” he says, or hopes he does. His mouth feels as disjointed as the rest of him and it’s disconcertingly difficult to tell.

“The building came down on us. Don’t you remember?”

“Obviously not,” Geralt bites out. Wait. The building came down and as that sinks in, there’s a sharp pang of fear, but not for himself. He’ll be fine. He’s always fine. But Jaskier is human and sometimes overwhelmingly fragile. Geralt's head is swimming and he's almost afraid to ask. “Are you alright?”

“Me? I’m fine.” There’s more, but the rest won’t stay put. That’s the important bit anyway. Jaskier is okay. The swell of fear dissipates like a puff of smoke as quickly as it had sprung up. The building is a problem, but he can figure that out. Somehow. It’ll come to him eventually. To Jaskier’s credit, he does seem fine, if oddly clothed. Rather not clothed, actually. “Where is your shirt?” “Ah yeah, that.” Jaskier’s knuckles brush gently across Geralt’s temple. Dizzily, Geralt leans into it before it occurs to him maybe he shouldn't. “You were bleeding a lot. It was all I had to work with.”

“Hmm.” There’s an itchy sort of feeling at the back of his mind suggesting he’s supposed to be alarmed by that, but the response itself never comes. Not the way it did for Jaskier. Which, there was a reason he was worried about Jaskier, he’s pretty sure. There might be a reason he’s lying here too, what whatever it is, it’s lost to him now. They’re somewhere dark and dusty, and they can’t stay here forever, so without much thought, Geralt rolls over, trying to get up. It’s a mistake.

That the room is spinning is the least terrible thing out of all the things that come of his attempt to get up. The shift in equilibrium feels like having nails driven into his skull from every angle, sharp and impossible to tune out. There’s a high, keening sound Geralt only belatedly realizes is him.

“Geralt. Fuck. Hang on.” There’s nothing to hang onto though, and Geralt all but collapses down to his forearms. For a second he’s very, very certain he’s going to retch, but the immediacy of the sensation passes, leaving him deeply nauseous instead.

Jaskier’s hand smooths up and down his arm in the places where hard leather doesn’t block out sensation. In another place he might call the touch affectionate, but what daydream could he be in where that’s true? “Where are we?”

“We just talked about this. We're in a building that collapsed.” Something has crept into the edges of Jaskier’s voice, fretful and shadowed. Geralt decides he doesn’t like it. He’d like to soothe it away, but does not know how.

“‘M fine,” he tries because Jaskier seems worried about him, but even in his own ears the words blur together. Geralt tries to lift his head enough to look at Jaskier and prove his point, but the awful needlepoint pressure only presses more deeply. The witcher drops his head, forehead resting against what he thinks might be Jaskier’s knee.

“You’re not fine, you dolt. I don't want to mess it up, but I don't know how to fix this one. Are you supposed to sleep it off? Should I make sure you don’t sleep?” Jaskier is saying things still, Geralt is distantly aware, but the words all drift like dandelion seeds. There’s only this thread of terror that Geralt cannot stomach hearing.

“It’s okay. We’re okay,” he mumbles, blindly reaching to lay his hand over Jaskier’s. He’s not dead and Jaskier is well enough to talk, so it can’t be that bad, can it? “Tell me what happened.”

“...Geralt?” Jaskier’s thumb is brushing against the back of Geralt’s neck. It’s sort of lovely in that it's one pleasant thing when everything else is awful. “What do you remember?”

That’s a trick question if Geralt ever heard one. His memory is fine. He can’t think of any reason it wouldn’t be. Refusing to fall for it, Geralt aims to distract instead. “That feels nice.” 

 “Well, now I know you’re unwell. The Geralt I know barely tolerates my being around for more than a few weeks at a time, and would never own up to liking something I was doing.

Does Jaskier really think that? Maybe. Geralt can’t seem to hang onto where that line of reasoning was going, but Jaskier was talking and wrong. He needs to know he's wrong. “That’s not true. I miss you when you’re gone.”

“Ooooookay. That’s very sweet, but I think you’ll remember that’s not true when you’re better." It sounds sad, but Jaskier still has a hand on him, warm and welcome.

He’s staring very closely at a floor that was probably pretty once, but it’s cracked now. It’s a weird place to be, even for him, so Geralt tries to get up. Sort of. More precisely, he lifts his head an inch or two. It’s as far as he gets before his head feels like it’s splitting and he thinks he might be sick.

”Okay, that’s enough of that. You are, in fact, the worst patient. I would like to not be stuck here, and I imagine you would like to not be stuck here, so just let me help.” Stuck? Geralt doesn’t know where they’re stuck, but he knows there’s some reason he shouldn’t ask. Nodding is probably a terrible idea, so the witcher hums an agreement and listens to Jaskier sweep the worst of the debris from the floor next to them.

There are hands on him next, guiding him somewhere else with painstaking care. Geralt lets himself be moved. He ends up on his side before it feels very abruptly like Roach is stepping on his skull. It’s all he can do to bite off a low whimper.

“Alright, hey. Just get some rest. That swallow has to work eventually, right?” Jaskier doesn’t sound certain, but there's something soft under Geralt’s cheek and there’s a gentle hand cradling the side of his neck, a thumb carefully sweeping across his temple. If they weren’t lost, Geralt would call the gesture affectionate, but nothing makes any sense here. Are they lost?

Geralt thinks about the worried quiver in Jaskier’s voice. He'd fix it if he just knew how. It's quiet here, and Jaskier doesn't belong by himself in the quiet. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“You’re not.” There’s a change in pressure around his skull, something falling away, but it doesn’t hurt, and it comes with Jaskier’s fingers sliding through his hair. “Your head is looking better.”

That’s good, he thinks. Maybe it means the awful needling feeling will go away. Maybe it means this other ache, the one sprawling out behind his ribcage, will go away too. It means something, Geralt knows, but he can’t quite piece it together and his mouth runs away without the rest of him. “I don’t think I want to be alone.” 

 “You’re not. I’m right here.” Jaskier’s short nails scritch tenderly at the base of Geralt’s skull, a welcome counterpoint to everything else. “You’re not alone.”

***

I don’t think I want to be alone. It’s a revelation if it means anything. Jaskier knows, of course, that the rambling of a witcher who couldn’t even remember how they got there for more than thirty seconds at a time might not mean anything at all. But if there’s nothing to it, at least Jaskier can know that there for a moment in time, he could be exactly what Geralt needed. For now, Geralt’s face is pressed into Jaskier’s thigh, his breathing the only sound in this dim place.

An hour in, Jaskier starts to wonder if it wasn’t the other way around. Maybe he was supposed to keep Geralt from sleeping. Two hours in, he worries that Geralt might wake up in just as bad of shape as before, that he’ll have failed them both. Three hours in, sitting so still has gotten to be agonizing as much as he’d like to stay.

He’s just about to try and see how carefully he can move out from under Geralt when the witcher stirs. There’s a low groan and one eerie golden eye slowly blinking open.

“Careful.” Jaskier carefully brushes his thumb along Geralt’s temple, trying to coax the witcher into staying put, even if it means his own continued discomfort.

“Fuck. That hurts,” Geralt grumbles, holding his hand over the upper half of his face, and some of Jaskier’s unease settles. The words are perfectly clear this time.

“Shockingly, Falling rocks will do that.” He should let go, Jaskier thinks, but he carefully threads his fingers through Geralt’s hair and the witcher stays like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. It's probably just that Geralt needs a little time to reorient himself, but for a moment, Jaskier lets himself believe it’s true.

Bit by bit, Geralt seems to recover. When he finally pushes himself to sit up, there’s a pained wince, but the witcher’s eyes remain focused. That’s… good. That’s probably good. Except if it’s not. “Should you be doing that?” 

 “I’m fine,” Geralt replies gruffly instead of bothering to answer the question. It’s considerably more normal than their last conversation, so that’s something.

 “Actually fine or ‘I can’t wrap my head around the fact that someone might care what happens to me’ fine?” Geralt ignores the question entirely, his gaze flicking over their surroundings before settling on Jaskier. “You were afraid.”

It's not a question, and Geralt is looking at him like a puzzle to solve. It would just figure, the one time the man is actually listening to him. It seems weird that Geralt couldn't keep ahold of where they even were, but that Jaskier being afraid for him would stick even now. Then again, Jaskier doesn't know anything about head injuries. Maybe that's just how it goes.

“Damn right I was. I thought you were dying and I was going to be trapped down here with your… your corpse or something. Then you woke up making no sense, and I don’t know what to do with a head injury, which it turns out is an awfully stressful thing to guess about. I wasn't even sure I'd done enough to fix it until, what, five minutes ago?” It's a lot, even for him, the words tripping over each other in their need to escape. Jaskier leans on theatrics because it’s all the armor he has. Anything else might give away how his heart broke with every attempt Geralt made to speak the last time around.

“Hmm.” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose and says nothing more. Typical.

Jaskier wants to be angry, but the feeling floats away as soon as he really looks at Geralt. There are dark, angry smudges under his eyes, and Geralt is so pale, more than usual even. He appears every bit the part of someone who was recently on death’s door and Jaskier just can’t hang onto any real bitterness. “How’re you feeling?”

Geralt gives him a sour look, the kind he gets when he thinks Jaskier is asking a dumb question. Much to Jaskier’s surprise, he does answer eventually. “Terrible… but not dying.”

“Sooooo, any thoughts on how we get out of here?” It’s abrupt, but Jaskier really can’t stomach thinking the state Geralt was in, and escape is the next most pressing thing. The sooner they steer away from what happened, the less likely he is to say something foolish.

There’s that look a second time, and this time Geralt doesn’t deign to answer. Which is okay really. They’ve been stuck here this long. A little longer probably won’t hurt anything.

“I was. Dying, I mean,” Geralt says quietly, startling Jaskier from his thoughts. The bard follows Geralt’s gaze to where there is still quite a lot of blood splattered across the floor. It's dry, but it stains the alabaster flooring and pale, crumbled stone.

“Oh, that. Well, see I-” Jaskier stumbles because he doesn't know what Geralt wants, and having nearly lost the witcher in this remnant of a room has left him raw and tender in places. It's almost a relief when Geralt’s hand slaps unceremoniously over Jaskier’s mouth, stifling any further reply, but not hard enough to hurt. When Jaskier looks at him in surprise, he’d swear there was something like affection in Geralt’s exasperated expression. It's probably just a trick of the light.

“Stop. Talking. You did well. I'm still here, aren't I?” With a grimace, Geralt pulls his hand from Jaskier’s mouth and wobbles to his feet. It’s an unsteady motion, and Jaskier isn’t sure it’s really wise this soon after nearly having his brains bashed in. Geralt seems to manage though, and holds out a hand to Jaskier like he’s the one who needs support.

“In this life, some days not dead is the best you can hope for." Jaskier can’t help but take Geralt’s hand, letting the witcher yank him to his feet. Jaskier thinks he catches a smile, but Geralt turns away too quickly to be sure. What he is sure of is that he's on his feet and Geralt's hand is still holding onto his. "Not dead... and not alone.”

You can find the rest of my Witcher fanworks here. <3

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Take Me Out, Take Me Home

Paring: 12th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2,207

Warnings: None

Summary: You wake up in the TARDIS to find the Doctor no where in sight. You set out to find him before Nardole does.

Request: Hey!!! Can I request a 12th doctor with fluff prompt 5 "Home stopped being a thing when you entered my life." Being with the doctor feels like it would be home enough😭❤️ Prompt: Home stopped being a thing when you entered my life.

You woke with a start, shooting out of bed. You couldn’t explain it, but a heavy weight had settled into your gut. Something was wrong, very wrong.

You left your room carefully, your feet padding against the TARDIS hallways. It was silent, eerily so – not even the TARDIS was making much noise. It was as if her silence was purposeful, like she was conserving energy.

The console room was dark, with only a few lights glowing from the round things that sat on the walls. It was unnerving, and walking through made the hairs on the back of your arms stand.

The bookshelves were still in their places, the Doctor’s guitar was resting on its stand, and the mugs had been cleared. Everything was as it should be, except, well, the Doctor wasn’t there.

You scurried across the console, towards the door. You cracked it open, careful to make sure no one who should see it open – such as a student or one of the Doctor’s colleagues were around.

The first thing you noticed was that it was dark – middle of the night dark. You stepped out slowly, staring out of the window. A small collection of stars twinkled delicately in the sky.

You ran your hand along the wall, pawing for the light switch. You found it, and, in an instant, the overhead light flicked on.

The Doctor’s office was the same as it had always been; his desk was cluttered, Nardole had left a scarf over one of the chairs, and there were empty chip boxes overflowing in the bin. Just like the TARDIS though, the Doctor wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

You ran a hand through your hair and let out a breath. Right. He must have been inside the TARDIS somewhere.

When you returned to the TARDIS, your thoughts were interrupted by a curious ticking sound. You scanned the console room, your eyes falling onto a monitor that definitely hadn’t been on when you had looked here earlier.

You looked up at the roof, addressing the TARDIS. “This is your doing, isn’t it.”

The ticking noise didn’t stop, so, you assumed it was had to be the TARDIS. You stalked towards the monitor, examining it carefully.

It didn’t make any sense, it was an odd, indiscernible pattern of circles and roman numerals. You frowned at the screen. “Could you make this… I don’t know, a language I can understand?”

The symbols on the screen morphed, revealing a set of numbers: 4:24:06

The two numbers on the end went down rapidly, until the four ticked over to a three.

It hit you – this was a timer, counting down to… something. What it was counting down to though, you didn’t know.

You ran your hand around the edge of the TARDIS console, studying it as you circled it. You didn’t recognise a lot of the buttons and controls on the console, but you knew enough to know that there were a couple of levers left in the wrong spot, and your hand ghosted over their position. You frowned at some of the buttons, which were pushed down, and had been left like that.

You stared back at the monitor, counting down, and the console, which looked primed and ready, as if it were about to take off.

“He’s gone somewhere,” you breathed out, finally understanding. “He went somewhere and sent you back here.”

You stared at the door, like in any moment, Nardole was about to storm in, demanding that they find the Doctor. He wasn’t supposed to leave.

Your mind went to the vault, to who was in the vault.

Oh, if Nardole found out, he was going to be so mad.

Madder than you were now.

Because this was the kicker: The Doctor had left, and he hadn’t taken you with him.

You circled the console, looking for the big leaver the Doctor pulled to take off. You reckoned you had figured it all out. The Doctor had given himself some time away, that was the countdown. The TARDIS was poised to return in another four hours.

Or, she would return right now, should you find the lever that would get you there.

And then there, right in the centre, where it always was. You chewed your lip, gripping the handle. You waited a second. Were you sure about this? If you were wrong, you could wind up anywhere.

No. You weren’t wrong. You were going to find the Doctor. If, for anything, to make sure Nardole didn’t find him first.

You took in a deep breath, and pulled.

The TARDIS seemed to come to life. The lights all around flashed on, basking you in their familiar glow and the engines roared, droning and groaning as you began to phase in and out.

Just as soon as they started, they stopped, and the TARDIS lurched slightly as you landed. You patted the console, smiling softly at the roof. The Doctor always teased you when you looked up to talk to the TARDIS, but you liked having a reference point. “Thanks,” you said.

You jogged downstairs, finding some of your clothes and throwing them on. Whatever was out there, you didn’t want to be in your pyjama’s.

Then, you carefully walked back up the stairs, mulling over everything that had happened in the last few minutes. You’d lost the Doctor, and flown the TARDIS, two things which, ordinarily, were a recipe for disaster.

You rocked backwards and forwards on the balls of your feet, staring at the door apprehensively. You had no idea what was out there, what you would find, what you would see.

You swallowed and straightened your spine, steeling your nerves. With new resolve, you left the TARDIS.

You stumbled onto a cobblestone street, lined with tall, Victorian buildings. You palmed the key around your neck, your link to the TARDIS, and closed the door behind you. You had no idea where to start looking, you hadn’t thought this far ahead – you hadn’t thought at all.

There was a crash in one of the buildings, and you startled, a small smile growing on your face. Well. It was as good a place as any to start.

So you ran.

The cobblestones echoed under your boots, and you ran into the building where you had heard the crash.

You came upon… a library, of all things. A collection of books had scattered across the floor, having toppled over from one the shelves. Sitting there, in the centre of the mess, as a familiar man with a mess of curly, silver hair.

“Doctor,” you breathed. “You’re here.”

He poked his head up, giving you a funny look. “Y/N? How did you get here?”

“TARDIS,” you said. “Where is here?”

“When,” the Doctor said, and he stood up. He turned back to you. “You came here by the TARDIS? On your own.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, because I was going to bring Nardole with me.”

He considered you. For a moment, he looked impressed, then, he frowned. “You didn’t need to come, I had the TARDIS set on a timer.”

“I saw that,” you said, and you came inside and began picking up the books. “What are you doing that requires at least four hours?”

“Six,” the Doctor replied. “I designated six hours,” he gestured around the room. “I’m looking.”

You started placing the book on one of the tables, before turning back to pick up some more. “For..?”

He looked at you with a frown. “Answers, I’ve got questions about things.”

You hummed. “Descriptive,” and you turned your back to him, shuffling more books. A silence fell over the small library, the only sound of you moving the books. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either.

Eventually, you spoke. “I’m mad at you.”

“You’re mad?” He said, sceptically. “At me.”

You sighed, dropping some books onto the table. You gripped the table, breathing in and out. “You left, without me. Again.”

You didn’t mention the last time. When he had disappeared, only for you to find him months later at the university, of all places.

He’d told you he hadn’t seen you for a century. And you had made him promise not to ever leave you again. “How many of these adventures do you go on?” You asked. “Playing hooky from Nardole? From…” You didn’t say her name. Couldn’t. Not yet. Not after all the things she had done. You still needed more time.

“This is the first in a long time, actually,” the Doctor said, and his voice was soft.

You turned to face him. “What are you looking for?”

He didn’t reply. He just… stared at you. With deep, sad, eyes, he looked at you like you were one of the most important people in his life.

“I needed advice,” he said. He ran a finger along the spines of several books. “This library, it’s famous for holding the secrets to love and romance.”

You snorted. “Why do you need to know the secret of love and romance?”

He looked at you as if begging for you to understand. “Why do you think, Y/N? Honestly.”

You could take a guess, but you really didn’t want to. If you guessed wrong… well, it would break you.

You swallowed nervously. “Come on," you said, and you reached out for his hand. "Let's get you home before Nardole realises we're gone."

The Doctor took your hand gingerly. He’d been touching you a lot more lately, it had been nice. "The TARDIS is a time machine, Y/N,"

"Home," you repeated, and you tugged him along, out of the library.

The Doctor didn't let up. You turned to face him, exasperated. "Doctor, what's up?"



"That doesn't work for me," he said, and, to your blank expression, he elaborated. "The whole 'home' thing.”

“How do you figure?”

The Doctor shrugged slightly. “I’m a time travelling alien from a different galaxy. I don't have one."

You raised an eyebrow. “The university? Where you’ve been for the last 50 years? What you call that then?”

The Doctor groaned. “No, you’re not understanding me. Think Y/N, c’mon, you’re clever.”

You were getting frustrated now, it was bubbling under your skin. “I don’t know what you want me to say Doctor. You’re being obnoxiously cryptic again.”

"Home stopped being a thing when you entered my life," he said, as if it were the most basic fact in the world. He said it the same way someone would say that the sky is blue, or water is wet, like it was simply a thing that was, that it's truth was so innate, so entrenched in every aspect of existence, that it was almost as if he was surprised he had to say it at all.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Doctor... You know what a statement like that means, right?” Because what he could mean, it couldn’t possibly be true. Not for you. That wasn’t how things worked. You couldn’t dare hope. “You don’t know what you’re saying. "

The Doctor grumbled, you couldn't make out all of it, but you could swear he said something about being cheesy. "I know exactly what I’m saying,” he came towards you, until you were barely a hair breadth apart. “Y/N Y/L/N, I’m saying that you are my home. Wherever you are, I'm home. That's it."

You stood there dumbfounded. The Doctor continued talking, rambling more than anything. "So you need to choose your words better, because you really aren't conveying the full depth of the English language like that."

It took you several moments to process what he had said, what he meant. This fool couldn’t say the word ‘love’, so he’d found another way, a way to circumvent the rules like he always did.

Your idiot genius in a blue box, had just told you that he loved you.

You swallowed back all your nerves, all your fears, all your confusion. This was one thing you knew to be true.

The Doctor loved you.

"Doctor," you said, and he clamped his mouth closed. "Shut up."

Then, you kissed him.

You weren’t sure what compelled you to do it; the worry you’d experienced when looking for the Doctor, the latent adrenaline from being so frustrated with him earlier, or the elation of finding out that he loved you, but, when your lips met his, it just felt right.

The Doctor was still, at first, then almost instantly softened. He kissed you like he needed you, his arms wrapping around you and holding you steady. His forehead fell against yours and it ignited something within you, dancing from your head, down to your fingers, and to your toes.

His hand reached the base of your neck, holding you steady, as if he had to hold you, as if he had to protect you, and you had never felt more safe in your life. Here you were, on this strange street, in this strange time, and you had never been happier.

The Doctor was the one who pulled back first, and he stared at you intensely, it was like he was looking straight into your soul.

“Come back with me,” you said softly. “Come home.”

He nodded, and took your hand.

“Home.”