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sarahwroteathing · 1 year ago

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Dear Sam (2)

[Sam Wilson x Reader]

Word Count: 1615

Summary: You begin drafting your letter to Sam, and old memories resurface.

Warnings: Discussion of grief

A/N: Surpriiiiiiiiise. I once again kool-aid man my way back to my blog to post a thing. Any and all gratitude for my sudden reappearance can be directed to @indominusregina I am here to bum you out on your birthday, like a true friend. Love you, bestie

Part One

There were false starts, many of them, written in a notebook you kept in your nightstand drawer. The handwriting on each varied slightly, reflecting the emotional state of each version of yourself that risked putting pen to paper.

The first try came out jagged. Awkward. A handwriting reminiscent of high school note taking, messy and vaguely frantic, with half transformed letters sprinkled throughout, where your hand tried and almost failed to keep up with the ever shifting message in your brain.

Dear Sam,

The comma started too high, an aborted beginning of a second m. Sammy, you’d almost written, before dismissing it as out of character. You’d only ever called him that in moments primed for a smile. Through a pout, syllables drawn out, dramatic and mostly insincere, in a half-hatched ploy to get your way. Or in a falsely scandalized tone, clutching at invisible pearls you’d never owned, to make him roll his eyes or double down on whatever flirtation he’d been throwing your way. Sometimes in profoundly giddy joy, the kind that sent you running to meet him in the entryway like an excitable child, throwing your arms around him and not even thinking twice about the pure, eager love you were displaying for him.

In any case, not appropriate for now, for a form so thoroughly divorced from its proper contexts.

All I can think about is how I have no idea how to write this letter. How much better you would be at this. You were always good with emotion, with explaining things kindly and firmly, with making yourself understood. I think I got better with you, but I still feel underqualified to write something as important as this. But the point is, I’m the only one who can write it. So I’m going to try anyway. In case it helps. Because there’s a whole lot I don’t understand, but one thing I do know is that you’d want me to get better and to move on if I could. You were annoyingly unselfish that way.

You threw down your pen, a shaky exhale escaping your lungs with an urgency, like you’d been holding it for too long. Maybe you had been. It felt as though every word you wrote only made it to the paper by being ripped free from your heart. It hurts. It’s stupid, senseless. A letter written by you, for you, addressed to a man who will never read it. It doesn’t matter. But it still manages to fucking hurt.

You clench your jaw, pick up your pen again.

But I don’t know how to move on, Sam. I don’t know how to let you go. It shouldn’t be this hard. You’ve been gone so long that I…

You took a sharp breath, eyes burning, as you forced out the words.

I sometimes forget to miss you. And I feel like I must be the worst person alive every time. Because you deserve more than that. You deserve every tear I can shed, every second of every sleepless hour, every stolen breath, every pound of grief I can shoulder. You deserve everything. And I get so mixed up in my head about it, how I can go so long sometimes without remembering you’re really gone and then get dragged under again like I’ve just lost you for the very first time. It doesn’t make sense. I wish I could make it make sense. I wish you were here to explain it to me. I wish you were here.

You scrubbed your hands over your face, pushed yourself restlessly to your feet.

One lap of your apartment.

Deep breath.

A second lap.

You grabbed your pen and notebook from the desk, flopped down on your bed with them, staring blankly at the small jewelry dish on your nightstand for several minutes. A leather bracelet, the name of a town you’d never been to artfully etched on the surface. A delicate chain with a small gold charm in the shape of a wing. A watch, way too bulky for your own wrist, that you’d insisted on wearing every day for almost a year. An Idaho state quarter dated 2007.

Do you remember the night we met? In that dive bar down the street from my old apartment. It was as far from the height of romance as you could possibly get, but you made it work for you anyway. You and Steve and Natasha were sitting in the back booth, a few steps from the jukebox thats simple existence charmed me to pieces.

I remember how disappointed I was when my pockets came up short. I’m not sure whether it was my proximity or my colorful words that first drew your attention. But there you were. My knight in soft leather with a hand full of quarters shining red from the neon beer sign over your shoulder.

“How much you short by?”

“Fifty cents,” you answered with a rueful laugh, eyes flickering between his handsome face and the handful of change.

“Well, I happen to have fifty cents, and I’m happy to give it to you if I get veto power on your song choice.”

The corner of your mouth drifted up into a half smile despite your best efforts at his mildly flirtatious but matter-of-fact tone.

“I don’t take gifts with strings attached,” you said challengingly.

“Alright, alright. Worth a shot. Can I at least stick around to see what you pick?”

The compromise we came up with: you picked a letter, I picked a number. And I don’t think it was a test exactly, but when I picked the Marvin Gaye song, the way your eyes lit up and the smile you gave me left no doubt that I’d passed with flying colors.

And I remember being so instantly enamored with you, with that beautiful smile and those eyes that promised a safe kind of trouble, that I stopped noticing anything else. My best friend’s song request blasting through the speakers, the sticky floors, the taste of the tequila sunrise you bought me with a promise that there would be no strings attached. And there weren’t any, of course. But I remember wishing there would be if it meant a chance of seeing you again.

And I remember the way I made my move on you, when you pressed two more quarters into my hand so I could pick my own song without interference. I remember you hooking your finger on the back belt loop of my jeans so we wouldn’t get separated on our way back to the jukebox and the way I was glad you were behind me so you couldn't see how much that made me smile.

You barely hesitated, keying in your selection as soon as the quarters rattled home. You’d seen the song the first time, while Sam had been examining the catalog.

It started only a few seconds later, and you turned with a satisfied little smile, watching Sam as he tilted his head, squinting slightly as he tried to identify the opening notes.

When the first line hit, that smile was back, wide and charming and playful.

“The night we met I knew I needed you so.”

“Okay,” he laughed, taking a half step closer, leaning his shoulder against the wall right beside you. “Hittin on me now, huh?”

“Presumptuous,” you said mildly, not moving away. “Maybe I’m just very passionate about the Dirty Dancing soundtrack.”

“That’s still sounding like a line to me.”

You shrugged, pushing off the wall with a teasing smile. It put you much closer, your faces only inches apart.

“You planning on doing something about it?”

I was bolder that night than I ever had been. You had that effect on me. Made me brave, confident. Joyful. You made me so fucking happy, Sam. Right from the beginning. I was never as unapologetically and ecstatically myself as when I was with you. I don’t know how to do that without you, how to be that person again. I don’t know if I ever can. I miss her too. The version of me who walked through life beside you, who could call you anytime just to hear your voice. Who could hear “Be My Baby” and come running, follow the sound to where you were waiting with your phone held up and a goofy little grin that felt like it was all mine, get bundled up in your arms and plied with kisses until I was breathless and giggling.

Now it just hurts. I can’t bring myself to delete the song from my playlists, but every time it comes on, I can’t help but cry. And now when I’m breathless, it’s not in that fun, giddy way. It’s more dangerous. Like choking. Like drowning. And I’m so tired, Sam. I want to stop. I want to keep all the memories I have of you, the sound of your laugh, the smell of your skin, the way my hand fit in yours. But I don’t want this pain. And I’m not sure anymore if I can have one without the other. That terrifies me.

So I guess what all this means is that I’m trying to let you go, and it’s not supposed to be against my will, but that’s how it feels anyway. I’m scared of letting you go the way I’m scared of almost everything these days.

What if I forget you? What if I don’t? I honestly can’t tell you what would feel worse. But no matter what…

You know I will adore you till eternity.

Even when you’re not here to sing it with me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

I love you.

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Sound off! Who's not dead?

Would love to hear your thoughts, my loves. This story is truly a living organism with drastically changing drafts.

Tags: @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @a-book-pressed-rose @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @orangespocks

#sam wilson x reader #sam wilson imagine #sam wilson fic #sam wilson series #marvel imagine

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riftwalker-limbro · 2 years ago

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vince's scars

the past Good Few Days i have been intensely thinking about vince's scars with much help from friend fashion show and i think i will just make one huge post about it actually because else i will be putting out stuff soon that might not make a Ton of Sense anymore.

this will be a barely-structured braindump so i will be putting it under a cut to be polite to your dash. sdjbfhg

basic little lore concepts in effect on this blog are

warframe material is unique in a way and cannot simply be replaced

warframe material holds memories in a very physical sense

warframes are created by first infecting the subject with the helminth strain and then carefully monitoring and helping the subject develop into a fully capable warframe through various medical interventions.

vince's end-of-human-life backstory is he got contaminated with the helminth strain in an unknown-to-the-orokin incident, escaped before anyone could find/catch him, and because this brand new warframe was not monitored/guided by researchers, he went a little bit mad and exploded himself eventually. basically the backstory of the limbo theorem itself with mental deterioration instead of hubris.

that's where i pick back up by saying, actually, the operator and ordis found the majority of his pieces, except the ones that were too tiny to be detected (say roughly 90% of him was recovered). and then gave this confetti-shaped mess to the helminth and asked it to put it back together into its original shape. it succeeded. well, mostly.

the fragments that they never recovered get replaced with crystallised helminth goop that would match the consistency of the original missing material the best. the scar patterns kind of converge on his chest area and spiderweb their way out across the rest of his body (limbo's in-game model has a very funkily shaped torso, especially in the back, and for vince i'm keeping this and giving this as the reason why). this is why we call him the kintsugi bastard.

one disadvantage of scars is that the skin doesn't really cooperate anymore, right? it gets tight, it pulls. the helminth had left it up to vince if he wanted that kind of fully-healed-over scar, or if he just wanted to leave all but the internal not-optional-to-patch-up damage in place, because patching it all up automatically would've meant severely reduced mobility and flexibility, and the helminth's #1 priority is to create and repair battle-ready people-shaped war machines. vince chose to leave them open - he doesn't intend to go into battle often if at all, he was never a warrior.

now, there are three major effects to being ~10% scar tissue that come into play for this beloved kintsugi bastard.

very many very vulnerable spots in his armour

he's pretty much in some kind of pain at all times. aches, internal pulling sensations, feeling like he might burst apart at any time again, general cramps when something misaligns. he gets Very familiar with the helminth over time about this

remember what i said about memory being stored physically? he lost a number of smaller memories/skills and is sufficiently changed as a person because of what he lost that he takes on an entirely different name after he figures this out.

now, since he doesn't want to have his surface-level scars too filled-in with new material, he instead opts to try and convince the helminth to build him a tight-fitting coat that essentially acts as his external armour, where most warframes already just have their skin. the tight-fitting part also helps with literally keeping him together - even if he's not at risk of just physically falling apart again, it sure doesn't feel like it sometimes. and the fact that it's not glued to his body directly/permanently means that it doesn't impede his movement like properly-healed scars would. when he's in his detachable armour, the only areas with visible scars are legs, head and hands. for now i'm hc'ing the coat as pretty similar to the ingame prime model's, only completely closed in the front and going further down his chest, to cover as big a surface as possible without impeding movement.

the hat: he came with the hat. the fins on the side are from when he got primed. the hat's scars were filled in all the way because no flexibility is needed on the hat. the hat is part of him and it feels Incredibly Weird to be separated from it for too long/too great a physical distance. toying with the idea of it being part of how his rift-related abilities work (if you get a look at a limbo mid-hat-tip, you can see a circle of energy where the hat sits on his head)

additional smaller things

since the scarred areas don't have anything impeding light between his insides and the Outsides, when he uses abilities, they light up according to the magnitude of the energy flow. technically they just let the light on the inside go outside & don't glow themselves but eh words

existing vince fic is being re-rotated as i'm typing this and will be edited soon

he looks Like That because he had a decently classy sense of fashion in life, which reappeared in his self-image, and the process of warframing takes your self-image, multiplies it by ten, and makes it physical. fights are had with the helminth about the Style of the coat.

on bad pain days he walks with a cane if he absolutely needs to go somewhere

void disturbances such as fissures and storms make it worse! :) getting primed kind of helps with this one (will be explained extensively in fic once i Get There) but doesn't negate the effects of the void disturbance entirely due to the extent of the scars

one of the things that he lost when he got confetti'd and then rebuilt was the ability to focus for long hours at a time - what got him to the point of a math phd in the first place. he can still do research and such, just.. slower, in short bursts, and it's painfully frustrating. i'm not even going to start on the mental dominos this all knocks over. his psyche would be a longpost by itself

wearing the coat for Long Periods of Time is also not very great. he can't just literally have it on permanently as a second skin. he would if he could

the wrist bracer thingies that limbo prime has are Also Detachable in vince's case

#vince #wrangling his existing characterisation and current ideas about his appearance into something coherent dont mind me #rift lore

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basedkikuenjoyer · 1 year ago

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I’m Saving My “Red” Puns

So, this one fell by the wayside. I saw Film Red in theatre and have always had...thoughts. But it was such a rollercoaster I needed to see it again before saying anything. That being a polite way of saying I needed a second viewing to get what the hell I was looking at. We’re not going to treat a movie as canon or even really talk too much about the full plot. I don’t care about that here. But...I’m still utterly puzzled by its existence. You have to understand, I cannot disentangle any thoughts about Film Red from the way I interpret Wano.

Could you? We weren’t heavy into the idea by then, but this blog was rolling before the details about Red came out. By the first post I already had some of these core kernels in mind. Bringing out the idea of Kiku as more of an actress, that she could spark something deeply atavistic in Luffy through Shanks/Makino, the light/dark theming and the parts of ourselves we hide. Using this as an opportunity to probe at Luffy’s mindset a bit more. How the hell do you think I felt seeing Uta after several months of thinking about that?

The One Piece films are in a weird place. Not canon and wouldn’t fit at all. Headcanon I say they’re exploits Usopp made up. But since Strong World we do tend to get a couple elements that are a gray area. Canon but likely won’t be used in the main story, maybe with a nudge or two at something to come. This Figarland Family and a strong hint it’s relevant to Shanks would be Red’s. That’s it, just a casual one-off line of dialogue. Said my piece on that, from what we’ve seen of it in canon it could lead to setting up Shanks with a similar background to Kiku/Izo. When you already have quiet potential set up there. But I do think some of these newer Film ____ movies serve another purpose. They’re not canon, but an echo of what’s going on in serialization at the time. Gold & Dressrosa’s parallels are the most blatant if you ask me, but Strong World, Z, & Stampede have all done it as well. There’s at least an element of like, the movie tracking with the mindset of current One Piece.

So does that mean I think Uta’s going to be super important? No, not at all. Just that she felt like priming the pump for things we were already looking at and where the story was going to go as Wano wound down. Cipher Pol & SWORD, Shanks and probing at his past. Those are things already paying off. But the big spotlight is on Uta. Who comes into the picture after I was already wondering about teasing out hidden sides of Luffy through another performer he’s been getting chummy with.

Now, what makes something like that soooo much weirder and less likely to be pure coincidence?

I love that every time I dig back into this I find out something bizarre about Art NUE. Remember Kikuhime? This time it’s drone footage of a massive stone structure. 30 tons of Luffy slugging the Nue. Of course, I’m bringing this up because of the Kiku doppelganger. Came about a year before Wano. Major non-canon echoes on either side of an entire arc spent cryptically in the background. That’s heckin’ strange...

Seriously. 30 TONS of stone for one part of this full exhibit where the local girl is a dead ringer for the local girl who dominates the first half of real Wano being Miss Cryptic the entire time. If I had to have brain rot about someone in this pirate epic, at least I get the girl who makes my conspiracy corkboard look halfway sane.

#one piece #film red #uta #art nue

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ifeelbetterer · 2 years ago

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I posted 10,469 times in 2022

43 posts created (0%)

10,426 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@assassinregrets

@like-a-million-suns

@jabberwockypie

@lynati

@scoundrels-in-love

I tagged 51 of my posts in 2022

#critical role - 15 posts

#exu calamity - 3 posts

#same but my bard wanted low charisma - 1 post

#but also i have been reeally enjoying naomi noviks temeraire series - 1 post

#ok where are these people who go their whole lives without a jury summons - 1 post

#i have served on a jury and i still have gotten three summons since then - 1 post

#stern look at fearne - 1 post

#hands down its piranesi - 1 post

#as someone who was obsessed with this band at the time - 1 post

#yall i miss them - 1 post

Longest Tag: 119 characters

#that is literally why i leave an unfinished sentence when i have to stop writing to like go to bed or work or something

My Top Posts in 2022:

My critical role c3 prediction is that it will eventually turn out that Delilah needs Laudna far more than Laudna needs Delilah.....I'm putting my money on Delilah lying about being where Laudna's powers come from. I'm betting Delilah is conning her for some traditional villain end goal like.....ending the world or whatever. But I'm betting on a "you have no power over me, do you?" kind of revelation for our girl

33 notes - Posted March 26, 2022

Odd request: I have a middle school student with close family ties to Romania who has been saying some anti-Romani stuff in my hearing. I talked to him and he said he would be open to reading something about the history of Romano discrimination if I gave it to him. Does anyone know of a clear, articulate source I could give him? He's very clever, but I think his extended family might have fostered this prejudice. This isn't the first time he's trusted me to put a better source in his hands to counter some attitudes he's heard elsewhere, so there's solid hope for him to turn it around.

38 notes - Posted September 20, 2022

it occurs to me that if mortals can become prime deities and betrayer gods, it sort of implies that those prime deities and betrayer gods might themselves be mortals from Somewhere Else. this might be obvious, but I had always thought of the gods as being like "High Unknowable Powers From Elsewhere" when they might actually be "Somnovum With A Better Plan."

68 notes - Posted May 28, 2022

I also really like how without a cleric, a super advanced DND world directs its energies to like. Other means of preservation. But also like. How a dead husband is dead and gone, not someone who can be revived or resurrected. It's cool how Avalir can do just about anything but get your dead husband back when like. A normal DND party in modern Exandria would just go get some diamonds for their cleric.

86 notes - Posted May 28, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

One of the things I love most about victorian literature —one of the biggest reasons I did my PhD in it actually —is how many families are like "this is Miriam and the man who is in love with Miriam but she didn't marry and this is Miriam's husband Robert and the man he actually is in love with, William, and William's younger sister who has Ideas and William's mother who wants the dude in love with Miriam to marry the sister..." and they all are in one big house. No wonder they didn't invent tv, that's all I'm saying.

106 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #lol i do nooooot tag anymore #when they erased all my tags the last time i just gave up #also yall the kid read the whole book about romani people and is a new kid

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culttvblog · 6 months ago

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24 Hours: Assassination in South Africa's Parliament of Hendrik Verwoerd

I'm not intending to start another series of posts on documentaries, but I've watched several excellent ones recently so this may well end up becoming another documentary series.

24 hours was a BBC news commentary programme which ran from 1965 to 1972. It was an extended programme focussing on investigative journalism and extended documentary segments rather than a short news programme. It was always broadcast in the later evening, although apparently its time kept changing as it was juggled with other shows. I have to say I love this idea because I just don't think you could do this with a show nowadays, and it must have required people to pay attention and actually look at the Radio Times in the sixties. I have not seen any other episode of it and as far as I can see there are none online; I would expect it's unlikely to have survived in any numbers, but this one is available on YouTube.

Long time readers of this blog will be aware that I have a long term interest in apartheid. As a young theology student in the absolutely dying days of apartheid we had to write an essay on a particular conjunction between culture and religion and I chose apartheid. Most of the current history tends completely to miss the fact that apartheid wasn't just underpinned by Nazi pseudo-scientific theories of eugenics but that there was also a distinct Calvinist theology which underpinned it. It was heavily associated with the Nederduitse Gereformeerde Kerk in South Africa, which for this got expelled from the parent Dutch Reformed Church in Holland.

However my interest in this documentary is slightly different because I'm going to have to say that this documentary (notionally about the assassination of Prime Minister Hendrik Verwoerd, which took place on 6th September 1966, although it's also about his life and position naturally) is an absolute masterpiece.

Don't get the wrong idea when I say that the keynote here is that it is even handed. I'm not talking about 'two-sidesing' evil, what I'm talking about is a remarkable documentary which consists entirely of flat statements of fact and letting the subjects speak for themselves, and as a result it is absolutely devastating. For this reason at the beginning it feels as if it is happily supporting apartheid, but this is a slow burning genius documentary which lets the subject implode itself. There is nothing dramatic about it, but it achieves the remarkable feat of taking some of the most odious people at the time on this planet, putting them on the telly to express themselves, and letting them put this own foot in their own mouth before shooting themselves in the foot.

It also achieves the remarkable feat of expressing the full ridiculousness of the theory of apartheid. By 1966 the political resistance was well up and running but the full impossibility of claiming you want to separate races completely while also keeping Black servants in white areas hadn't yet quite hit them. It's really difficult to express how impossible and ridiculous this actually is: for example the way a person could find himself legally in different racial groups on different sides of the street, the woman who famously was legally three different races in a year and was described in the papers as 'confused', or the way bus journeys would be interrupted so that the segregated seats would be rearranged and you would all get back on and sit somewhere different. The specific example it uses is in the Black bantustan of Transkei: The capital is a white area so the Africans live in a Black area outside the white capital of their Black homeland but inside the capital is a Black parliament. This statement of the ridiculousness of apartheid is quite a journalistic achievement.

Then in the middle of the show it platforms Mrs Helen Suzman, the sole MP of the 'Progressive' Party who starts off by saying that the party recognises South Africa as a multiracial country and accepts all that that would mean. Perhaps I sould say that for years Mrs Suzman was the only anti-apartheid representative in the South African parliament, took abuse of all sorts, and in fact won the Nobel Peace Prize twice. So she was clearly highly praised for her work for humanity at the time however that makes this segment all the more devastating. Given her credentials it comes across as all the more shocking when she says that apartheid is wrong but goes on to stress the Progressive Party's position of a limited franchise: no way would they advocate votes for everyone but voting would be limited on the basis of education and/or income. It's like being hit by a sledgehammer when you realise the Progressive Party in the country didn't want only whites to vote but would still limit it to the educated and the rich. This is exactly the sort of limited franchise that was the last to fall in the UK for universal suffrage and it's shocking to hear this opinion from someone lauded for her work for peace.

Both Mrs Suzman and the apartheid politicians are very clear that they expect the rest of the world to be reasonable towards South Africa's apartheid regime and not do anything horrid to them. The sheer unreasonableness of these people comes across loud and clear. The show also contains extended interviews with Black anti-apartheid activists, both in South Africa and in exile.

By letting the different interviewees just speak with limited commentary the show is honestly the best indictment of apartheid you could ever wish. However this technique also allows it to achieve the remarkable feat of delineating the complex situation and number of views in the country: always a difficult feat and something which tends to become dreary if it's just narrated.

I am a bit sad that I can't find any other episodes of this show because watching this is a wonderful experience of intelligent evening news documentary in the sixties, and an indictment of our present TV stations' inability to report objectively.

My only possible criticism is that it's probably got the wrong title: even though Verwoerd's assassination was what was in the news and what prompted the documentary it's not mainly about Verwoerd or his stabbing, but about the situation in which he had left South Africa.

Meanwhile in the UK we have this thing of beauty taking us closer to an actually elected government:

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#60s tv

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thehill-rpg · 8 months ago

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Episode 1: The Hill

Printers warring, contact numbers hurled across the room like insults, folders being slapped down; the buzz of the office was as it always was come Monday morning. Journalists who detested early mornings, or working all together, acted like there was nowhere else they’d rather be, and bosses, tenser than usual, found themselves in what looked like a heated debate: no doubt over a story they’d missed or a scandal in legal that someone would get chewed out about. However, they kept drawing everyone’s eye that morning, in the way they stood, clustered closely together, talking in hushed, urgent whispers.

The smell of fresh coffee, mixed with the phones ringing off the hook and the clamor of people as they wove in and out of each other. People unaccustomed to the atmosphere might consider it mere madness. Loud wasn’t even the right word. It was raucous.

At a desk, front and center of the lion's dens, sat Violet Shard. Political Senior Journalist.

She could feel her head pounding. The bar last night may have been one step too far.

Squinting, she peered at the blazing computer screen, scrolling as written information rolled as fast as she could read. A woman’s blacked out name appeared multiple times throughout the email, her source name redacted. It was one of the most important things to Violet: that her sources could trust that she’d keep their identity safe–if she didn’t keep her word, was she any better than the politicians she brought down? Her fingers moved over the keyboard with rapid fervor, even with the fog clouding the edges of her mind. She hadn’t even had a chance to read the morning paper when she’d dashed out of bed.

Almost late.

She shouldn’t have done the last five shots. Even at the age of forty-five, Violet Shard had never shied away from a party. Especially one that had gotten her access and close to new electives. What had meant to be an early night had turned into one full of spilled dirty secrets.

But those were shelved, at least for now, to which she began typing back quickly, checking over her shoulder.

Friend, I think we should meet for another tennis match. The last one was a success. Only by playing another match will one realize its full potential. Can you confirm when you’re free? Violet.

Pressing send, she exited quickly. Code was better than saying too much.

With the article on Congress Whitlock and Congress Harris now out in the world, there was only a matter of time before it came back to bite them in the ass. There was no way they could let something that blasphemous stay out in the world like that. Which Violet was aware meant one of two things: one, they’d pay for them to take it down, which she prayed they’d never agree to? Or they silenced them, burying them under the law. Which, by the look of their cluster, might be exactly what was happening.

The article had been titled: Congress or Corruption? The people vs. Whitlock & Harris.

Once Violet had published the article, prime time on a Friday evening. Well, it had been up in arms across all journals, blogs and news sites across the states, leaking into media around the world by the following day. Discussing the purchasing and profiteering of war in neighboring countries was what American’s liked to believe as a myth in their country. But it was those men that they put their belief and power into that were disgracing this once very great country. Guns, food, medicine: essentials, hiked up in price so those in lower socio income lives would suffer, while the rich would profit.

It was an age old tale, and Violet Shard was done being a bystander.

On top of the current infamy and praise leaking through her inbox, there was a new bill being passed next week that she had to get on top of, as well as arranging a phone call with her source to go over any further information. With the increased monitoring from hackers and the government, conversations with her sources, or discussions were now limited over emails. She wasn’t a conspiracy theorist, well, not exactly. Hers pertained to what she knew: politics, people and the dirt that lined the streets of Washington, D.C. But it meant she was alert and aware.

And in her line of work, being aware meant she was one step ahead.

Violet had never been a fool to what was going on right beneath their noses: scandal, lies and corruption. Rampant, hidden, and embedded in every part of this godforsaken city.

“Shard, I need that report in twenty minutes,” Rick, an intern tasked with proof reading everything, called from her left.

“Bet you fifteen bucks I can get it done in ten.” She yelled back, a grin flashing across her mouth.

“Shard’s making bets, Eric.” Another intern to someone else. How she’d ever remember their names, she didn’t fucking know. But for now, she’d call him bouffant because, kid, that hairstyle went out years ago. Why was no one telling him?

“I’d bet more, but we all know Rick still asks his mother for pocket money,” Violet grinned.

If the room had been loud before, the hollering that followed had others turning heads.

“You got yourself a deal.” Rick clapped, those surrounding clapped, egging them on further.

It was a quick reminder of why she loved the job so much, why she’d always felt such a deep connection to this room in particular. Journalists might have been cut-throat, and willing to climb over just about anyone to get that next story, but at the end of the day – there was a sense of sibling rivalry here. Even if you felt bummed because you missed out on a prime slot. Secretly, they were happy for the person who got the story.

In nine minutes, and thirty-six seconds, not a sweat broken, Violet pressed send on the email, the sound of a gentle swoosh and the report was at Rick’s desk. From the corner of her eye, she saw him still, like a mouse caught in a trap. Slowly, turning in her chair to face him, her arms folded over her chest in that smug ease.

“Mother–” Rick started, staring at his computer in disbelief.

“I wiped your bet clean off the table, in under ten minutes–” Violet was interrupted mid-sentence.

The room went silent.

“Ms Shard.” A crisp male voice spoke from behind her.

That voice, she quickly realized, came from no one she knew. Brows drawing together in confusion, she felt the hairs begin to rise on the back of her neck. That loud, familiar clamor of the office had quieted down to a dull murmur. It was in that slow turn, catching each pair of gleaning eyes in the office, that she realized whoever was behind her wasn’t someone she would want to see.

It wasn’t corporate, and it sure as hell wasn’t the press, which meant…

Of-fucking-course.

Congressman Whitlock and Congressman Harris had finally had enough of the constant press at their heels after they’d published the deal. She’d expected flack for it, but this? Four police officers, dressed to the nines, stood in their imposing, statuesque bull-shit power tripping stance, cuffs out like she was a serial killer they’d tracked down after a month’s long manhunt.

Hands found her hips instantly, splashing that Shard Facade.

Bravo, she internally commended their theatrics, she was in her right mind to start clapping.

“Boys,” Violet cooed, a false pout pulling at her lip. “Are we really going to do this? It’s a Monday morning and I’ve got a hangover from one too many tequila shots.” She knew they would, it wasn’t the first time she’d had scrapes with the law, especially in her earlier years. She wouldn’t have been a great journalist if she didn’t, but the fact they’d gone for the throat so quickly?

It meant they were scared. And scared people made mistakes.

“Ms Shard, you’re under arrest for excessive defamation and harassment.” Cop one stated, unfortunate looking with a comb-over that screamed…do you ever want to get laid?

“Harassment?” Violet scoffed, a snort slipping out. “Oh, you’ve gotta’ be kidding me. Isn’t this America? Land of the free? Freedom of Speech? I’m not physically attacking people, I’m highlighting corruption. But I guess the MPD wouldn’t know anything about that, right?”

“Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Using his hand in a circular motion. “turn around, place your hands behind your back, miss, we’d prefer to do this the easy way.” As opposed to the hard way, she thought, eyes sliding to all the onlookers.

“Fine. Fine.” The more she struggled, the worse she’d look.

Turning, hands behind her back with only a smidgen of embarrassment coloring her cheeks, it clicked when she found all the managers watching her with that same expression. Pity. They’d known. In all honesty, Violet wasn’t sure whether to feel betrayed that they hadn’t given her a heads up, or thankful that they might’ve been trying to find a solution.

Either way, being arrested never looked good for their image, and what was a business without a great image.

“You have the right to remain silent.” The usual spiel began, but she attempted to drown it out as she felt the cold metal clasp around the soft of her wrist. “Anything you say will and can be used against you in a court of law.” It was like everyone she’d ever heard on those bad cop shows that her mother had loved so much when she was growing up. “You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. You have a right to a lawyer, ”

“Yeah, I know. Can someone call Jason and tell him I was arrested…again.” Chucking a glance over her shoulder, catching the Interns who looked the most genuinely concerned than those she’d worked with for years.. “Rick, pick up my jobs?”

“Yeah, course.”

Where the fuck was Ajay?

“Oh, and Rick?” Violet called, as the cops began walking her towards the elevator.

“Yeah?” He called, standing on his tiptoes like that might add to his height.

“You owe me fifteen bucks.”

#first episode: the hill #writer: admin donna #feat. violet shard #recurring feat. eric dobson #recurring feat. ricky greaves #location: the hill

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nothieflike · 2 years ago

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Is This Thing On?

It's been a spell, so let's catch up.

How was your decade? Mine was... a lot. Yours too, I imagine.

I started this blog over a dozen years ago as a place to record my thoughts on some of the movies I watched. I love movies, I watch a lot of them and I usually have some sort of commentary for them so it made a certain amount of sense. I kept it up for about a year and then got busy, then got laid off and figured I'd better focus on work and such. In any case I sort of half intended to get back to it but just never did. It goes like that with content creation sometimes (although we didn't call it that back then).

Now, years down the road, I find myself laid off again. Unlike last time, I'm not quite as hyper fixated on resuming my career in the same vein. Office environments in a post(?)-pandemic world that seems to prefer the ostrich approach to outbreak mitigation don't hold quite the same appeal, for starters. And I'm at an age where I'm ready for a new chapter.

But this isn't about my career, it's about movies. So why come back to a movie blog no one read in the first place?

Well, one thing that my family mostly lost during the lockdown and tepid re-emergence of 2020 and 2021 was theater-going. We are fortunate to have one of the few remaining drive-in theaters relatively nearby that has allowed us to enjoy a handful of family films and Marvel pictures and doesn't require sitting in poorly ventilated rooms with a lot of popcorn-stuffing mouths but like a lot of folks we spent most of the last few years streaming movies. Our family had a number of conversations during the peak lockdown period about things we missed about the pre-covid years and for me the number one with a bullet item was seeing films in theaters. Because as a largely homebody-type personality, it takes a special kind of experience to coax me out of my comfy abode. But seeing movies on big screens with dynamic sound systems and the focused, forced attention of a dark theater is just such an experience.

I loved it so much that I joined a rewards club at my local theater which came with one free movie ticket per month. I used the heck out of that perk before 2020. But then we all retreated to our caves and... I forgot about the service. It, however, did not forget about my bank account. Quietly throughout the last few years the club has been extracting its $10 monthly fee from me and cheerfully collecting a truly nutty number of free movie passes. When I finally figured out what had been going on during a budget evaluation in the face of some altered cash flow, I was shocked to note that I had almost 30 free movies.

The club has a stipulation: you can save and use the free passes as long as you... keep paying the subscription fee. I lamented the prospect of throwing away nearly a month's worth of free movies, but I was about to go through with it when I noticed they had a special option: for three months you could pause your membership which would stop the automatic payments but allow the perks to remain. After three months, I'd have to cancel and lose whatever was unused or resume paying.

So. Challenge extended? Not exactly, but I am faced with the prospect of trying to get through as many of these passes as I can in three months. My schedule currently works very well to see the first matinee on Fridays, so the plan for now is to just see whatever is showing each week. And since I'm seeing movies just to see movies, I figured I'd catalog my thoughts on them as I go along. Might as well, right?

I don't know if I'll have the free time to actually start reviewing the other random movies I catch on Netflix or Amazon Prime or whatever, but I won't rule it out entirely.

Anyway, welcome back, or just welcome. First up is "Air" (which will follow this post very shortly) and it looks like this week I'm seeing "Guy Richie's The Covenant", expect that early next week at the latest. I hope you enjoy the show.

#meta #movie-days

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sherlockfreak05 · 2 years ago

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I posted 2,378 times in 2022

17 posts created (1%)

2,361 posts reblogged (99%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@thepeanutbutterwizard

@spongebobssquarepants

@thedemonsurfer

@23-tiny-wishes

@folieadeuxdy

I tagged 1,099 of my posts in 2022

#gravity falls - 78 posts

#looool - 64 posts

#loooool - 53 posts

#omg - 48 posts

#oh my god - 43 posts

#loool - 36 posts

#hahahaha - 32 posts

#pffft - 29 posts

#stan pines - 27 posts

#looooool - 23 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i guess i should be thankful its not picard sitting with his tea watching a planet die so he can smugly say he upholds the prime directive

My Top Posts in 2022:

New headcanon I just thought of right now--

Stan originally got the girdle to wear when he had to impersonate Ford in front of family.

2 notes - Posted August 11, 2022

I am LIVID

My Gravity Falls Vinyl Soundtrack was delivered today while I was at work.

When I got home and opened the parcel locker, the package was fucking open and EMPTY

Are you shitting me?? I've waited how fucking long for this package and now THIS??

See the full post

3 notes - Posted December 27, 2022

........ I had a fic idea 😬

I want to thank @mellarkandart for tagging me in the Top 5 Fic post, bc it got me thinking about writing again. I have two WIP I haven't touched in over a year at least, and I've decided to post them and finish them.

Then this morning, I dreamt a scene for something completely different and wrote down what I could remember upon waking. (I need to think through it and flesh it out, bc it's very disjointed. Phrases and feelings more than an actual story at this point)

While doing THAT... I had another idea that reeeeeally intrigues me. So I'm gonna start working on that.

3 notes - Posted January 12, 2022

If anyone remembers who did that fanart of mullet stan laying in the snow with the crossbow bolt in his neck....

I'd appreciate the help so I can credit it ❤️

16 notes - Posted September 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Missed opportunity--

Ford going down into the bunker to look things over after he gets back and sees the shapeshifter-disguised-as-Dipper frozen in the tube.

Is that really Dipper?! Is the Dipper in the house the shapeshifter or something even WORSE?! How can he find out one way or the other?!

IS HIS FAMILY IN DANGER??!!

23 notes - Posted June 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #oh my god #looool

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lumosinlove · 4 years ago

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Vaincre

It’s here!! Thank you all for the support of this universe, it truly means so very much to me. Every time I get a comment, or get to read the fan fiction you all write, see the art you create...it just fills me with so much joy. I’m so excited to share the Sweater Weather sequel with you, Vaincre! Go Lions!

cw: brief mention of past injury and past abuse

part i: July

I’ve been holding my breath

I’ve been counting to ten

The media wasn’t kind. There were network shows and blogs. Magazines and papers and podcasts. Not to mention Twitter.

Remus had heard his name on all of them, even if he wasn’t listening. It was part of Alice’s job to make sure he knew what was being said about him. It was his job to tune most of it out. Some outrage. Some elation. Some confusion.

This is my question, one podcast asked. I mean, I’m happy for Black. Lupin, too. I’m happy for the hockey world to have this happen, it’s about time, I mean, tune it, come on, and all that.

I’m confused about the, you know, ‘let’s put the PT on the roster.’ I’ve seen college clips, like, those have been released, we know that he got injured, we know all that. He’s fast, we know that, too. But a lot of guys are fast.

Just…what a move by Coach Weasley. A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Remus had always loved to run. It cleared his head. It had been one of the forms of exercise he had been able to do first once his shoulder had healed, before weights or any sort of strength training. His therapists had recommended it. Endorphins, they had said.

But Remus liked it because it was the closest he had been able to get to gliding on the ice, even when he still couldn’t stand to even look at a rink.

A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

Remus was used to not knowing. He was beginning to think he thrived on it. Would he play hockey again? Would he ever find love? Would Sirius want him?

Was this really happening?

He didn’t think of dreams as coming so late, but, then again, why should dreams be put on any sort of time schedule?

Now, he banged out the screen door and onto the rickety, well-loved porch of the lake house that had been passed down through his family for years. His mother and her brothers split it up in the summer, overlapping for a week or so, and there were always little gifts left behind for each family at the trade-off. A bottle of the best maple syrup, or some of the local honey. They were small, but Remus smiled when he saw what his uncle and aunt and cousins had left for him and Sirius after his parents and Julian had given them the month of July with the house to themselves. A little flower arrangement with two hockey sticks, carved out of wood, sticking up in the middle.

Sirius had plucked one from the dirt, twirled it over in his fingers, and smiled.

“Your family will never stop surprising me.”

Green Lake was deep, prime for fishing, and gorgeous. The smell of the water, of the soil and sweet summer air was as good as home to Remus. He breathed it in now as he bent to lace up his sneakers. He could smell the fire pit that they had lit last night, one that he and Julian had roasted thousands of marshmallows over.

“I showed Jules how to roast the perfect marshmallow here,” Remus had said that first July night, leaning back against Sirius’ chest.

Sirius had blew out his burnt-black one. “Like this?”

Remus had scoffed. “No, you heathen.”

Sirius looked good here, surrounded by the woods and rusty cabin, wearing the old fleeces that never seemed to leave this place for when the sun had yet to warm the chilly mornings. Some mornings, they’d make their coffee, tangle their socked feet together on the small couch until the sun began to get high and they’d strip it all off in favor of swimsuits and sunscreen. Other mornings, Remus would rise, pressing a gentle kiss to Sirius’ sleeping face, and take to the dirt road that ran around the lake.

Sirius, just off of the hard won playoffs, needed to rest. Remus needed to train.

A good move? I don’t know. I really don’t know.

They would leave in two days for Pascal’s Cup Day celebration, and then to meet Remus’ parents, his little brother Julian, and Regulus back in Gryffindor for Sirius’ Cup Day. And August training. Remus stretched his hands to his toes and closed his eyes. A strange type of adrenaline filled him whenever he thought about practicing with the team, about the fitness tests that would come first. He’d have to prove himself again and again. He wanted to. But part of him wondered what would happen if he couldn’t.

The screen door squeaked open and shut again, and Remus jumped, looking up to find Sirius, still sleep rumpled, standing there in running shorts.

Remus laughed, reaching up to trace a pillow crease in his cheek. “You’re supposed to be sleeping in while you can.”

Sirius let out a grumbly sort of yawn and gathered his hair, long from the summer and just brushing his chin now, back into a small half-up bun.

“I can’t believe you do this before coffee.”

“Too acidic. Gives you running stitches.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius sighed, and threw his arm around Remus’ shoulders as they walked up the steep driveway to the road.

Remus kissed his wrist. “I’ll miss being here with you.”

Sirius smiled. He was tan from the summer, hair dark as ever and his skin sun-kissed.

Remus leaned into his shoulder. “I mean look at you. I like seeing you this relaxed.”

Sirius bit his lip as the rounded a bend, waving at Mrs. Barrow, who was tending to her garden.

“I don’t think I knew I could be this relaxed,” Sirius admitted. “It was always train, train, train, you didn’t get a Cup, try harder.”

Remus was familiar with the notes that appeared in Sirius’ voice now from years of Sirius’ small slips in conversation, even when, to Remus, Sirius had only been they youngest captain in the league, cold and reserved from even more years of his father’s abusive, relentless attitude towards hockey and Sirius’ skills. Even when Remus had only been the team’s physical therapist, closeted, crushing on Sirius, and surprised by the cracks Sirius showed when he had gotten his ankle smashed by Severus Snape, Captain of the Slytherin Snakes—the Gryffindor Lions greatest rivalry. Pain, it had seemed, and fear of never stepping on the ice again, had given Remus his first glimpses into a different Sirius beneath it all, a boy who was filled with much more than just a need to win, but for whom the want of winning only made him love his sport, and his team, more.

“And now that you have a Cup?” Remus asked. “How’re you feeling?”

They came to the road and Sirius balanced on one foot, stretching his thigh. “Now that I have you,” he said. “I’m feeling just fine.”

Remus snorted. “Yeah, the Stanley Cup Champion part has nothing to do with it.”

Sirius laughed, but took Remus’ face between his palms. “If I didn’t have you, and I had only a Cup, all I would be doing right now is thinking about another Cup.”

Remus put a hand on his chest, fingers finding the number twelve pendant that rested there.

“Now, there’s more,” Sirius said simply, and leaned down for a tender kiss. “Like your mother’s peach pie.”

Remus punched him in the arm as Sirius laughed loudly.

“You’ll have to beat me if you want a slice of that!” Remus called as he took off.

Sirius made a wounded noise, but sprinted after him until they were side by side again.

“I don’t think I can leave this beach,” Leo mumbled into the lounging cabana they were spread out beneath, and Logan looked down at him from where he was reading—trying to read—one of the books Finn had given him. He didn’t know how many books Finn had tried to get him to read over the years, but he knew he never made it through more than a few pages without looking up, getting distracted, or having to go back.

“Non?” Logan asked.

Leo shook his head. “The sun. The sea. I’m in heaven.”

“What about hockey?”

“Brr.”

Logan laughed and settled back into the pillows, setting the book aside and rolling towards Leo to feel his sun-warmed back and leaned down to kiss his temple. A private beach definitely had its perks—and so did three hockey salaries.

“We’ll just stay here, then.”

They’d had a good summer. Leo’s Cup Day, Finn’s, his own, all in their hometowns and accompanied by large parades and fanfare. Logan had finally gotten to take Leo home to his sisters and parents for the first time. It had been nice to see Finn around his family again, too, after what felt like eons of avoiding him in that small gap between being at Harvard and then them both making it to the NHL, and to the Lions.

Leo’s sleepy smile up at him melted Logan like ice in the sun.

“Okay, good,” Leo said, then his eyes went behind Logan. “There’s the ghost-on-toast with our drinks.”

Logan snorted and looked up to see Finn—and Finn’s tiny blue swim shorts that he insisted weren’t see-through—walking towards them through the sand from the resort bar with a tray of drinks in his hands.

“Hey, lover-nuts,” Finn said as he set the tray down in the shade. “Got us some snacks, too. That bar tender loves me.”

“You are so pale,” Leo laughed. “I love you, though, please put more sunscreen on.”

“Keep your sandy feet off my towel,” Logan nudged Finn’s foot with his own as he reached for his drink. Finn just smiled and nodded at the book.

“How is it?” Finn asked.

Logan just looked at him.

He laughed and ran a hand through Logan’s salty, damp hair. “I know. I’ll read it to you later. I just thought you might want something for the beach!”

Logan held up his cocktail. “I have something for the beach.”

They settled back under their cabana, the thin, white linen curtains fluttering around them in the three o’clock breeze. Maybe Logan, as he closed his eyes between Leo and Finn, Leo’s hand still on his thigh, Finn’s arm pillowing the back of his neck, never wanted to leave this beach, either.

“Back to Gryffindor tomorrow,” Logan said.

“Group chat says most guys’ll be back this week,” Finn said, squinting at his phone over his sunglasses. “We gotta be back for Dumo’s, and then Cap’s Cup Day. That’ll be nice, man.”

“I like that they’re bringing it to Gryffindor Pride,” Leo said, rolling onto his back. “Should have thought of that. Or, I guess…” Leo trailed off and Logan frowned. They couldn’t do that. Not yet, at least. Leo caught Logan’s expression and rested a reassuring hand on his thigh. “I’m glad we get to go, even if its for them on the surface. That’s real thoughtful of them, you know?”

Logan nodded. It was thoughtful. When Remus and Sirius had brought it up to them, he’d found himself getting a little choked up.

“We want you guys to be able to experience that, too,” Remus had said. “If you want. No matter what you decide to do public-wise in the future.”

Finn clicked his phone off and chucked it to the side. “Hey, don’t take me off island time yet. We’ll order to the room, eat on the deck, hike up and stargaze…”

Finn rattled off the perfect list, tilting towards Logan until their lips met.

“And then we’ll go win another Cup.”

Leo and Logan punched him at the same time.

Thomas sat in the shade with Kasey as they watched Alex try to take on Natalie and Noelle at pool basketball.

“I really think they’re going to accidentally drown him,” Thomas said thoughtfully.

“He probably thinks that, too, and is just too competitive to stop,” Kasey replied.

Thomas laughed, and held out his beer to cheers.

“This is a nice house the O’Haras have, man,” he looked at the sparkling ocean beyond the steps and fence, and at the pool with the grill and lounge chairs. They’d only come up for the weekend, between training and visiting their own families, and before returning to Gryffindor for the season.

“Tell me about it.”

“Cheating!” Alex spluttered from the pool as Natalie put all of her weight on him to dunk him under the water. Alex pointed very seriously to the foot marker on the side tile. “We agreed from that to Thomas’ chair, I was too far away!”

“Too bad!” Noelle shouted as she made another basket.

Thomas didn’t think it was the alcohol that made him feel a little fuzzy at the edges as he looked over her in her swimsuit. She was all curves of tanned muscle, softened the summer around her stomach and arms. Thomas was a goner. But she seemed pretty gone, too, so he guessed it was all right.

“This moment’s always rough,” Kasey said softly from beside him, and when Thomas looked at him questioningly, he gestured vaguely with his beer. “The end of July. One more month, but not really. Alex’ll go back for training, you know? It’s like a trick. I always think, I get three months with these two. But it’s more like two and the first week of August.”

Thomas nodded. “I know. Noelle, too. Her training camp starts on the eight. I’m just…”

Kasey sighed in sympathy.

“At least you have Nat, you know?” Thomas said. “Not that I’m saying you have it easier, I just…”

Kasey shook his head. “I know. Believe me, I’m thankful for that every day. But…when you miss someone, you miss someone.”

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, exactly.”

Last season hadn’t been too bad. His relationship with Noelle had been new. They only really knew FaceTime dates, and squeezed in weekend flights that sometimes left them more exhausted than sated. They had been taking it slow. Thomas had been kissed by Noelle—a lot. Enough to make him dizzy with it. Only, then she’d met him at the airport in Quebec, they’d spent a month with her family in France…

And Thomas wasn’t sure he knew how to do just FaceTime anymore. There was a new yearning, knotted just below his heart. He knew what her skin felt like under his hands now, knew what she looked like right when she waked up, even her skincare routine before bed. It would feel like being away from the ice for too long, the knot pulling tight. He thought this year was going to be harder. Maybe he knew it, but if he did, he was pretending it might be easy still.

“T,” Noelle called, floating on her back, dark hair fanned out in the water. “C’mere!”

Thomas smiled, setting his drink down. He would come, whenever she called. Wherever.

Cole Reyes didn’t know if Adele Dumais staring at him the way she was was a good thing, or a bad thing. He was nervous enough without the seemingly disapproval of Pascal Dumais'—the Pascal Dumais of the Gryffindor Lions, oldest player in the league—teenage daughter.

“Don’t you talk?” Marc, one of his sons, asked.

Cole blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah.”

Adele waved her brother off. “They’re always super nervous at first. Remember Sirius?”

Marc scoffed. “I was a baby.”

Cole let out a breath. Now they were casually talking about Sirius Black, who had lived in the very room Cole had been sleeping in for a week now when he was a rookie, too. It was the same with Logan Tremblay. He felt like he needed to keep the room pristine, like he was living in some Hockey Hall of Fame museum that he had not earned the right to be in yet.

“You’re still a baby,” Adele shot back.

“Kids,” came Celeste, Pascal’s wife’s voice from where she was setting the table. “Come on now.”

“Sorry, maman,” Marc said softly.

“Sorry,” Adele sighed more reluctantly.

“Go help your father with the grill, you two,” she said. “Everyone will be arriving soon.”

Katie, Celeste and Pascal’s youngest daughter, perked up from where she was sitting beside Cole, drawing. Not Pascal, Dumo—Cole kept having to remind himself that he could call Pascal by his nickname now, that it was all official, that he was a Gryffindor Lion, too. Katie hadn’t left his side since he arrived a week ago to billet with the Dumais, and he still wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Even the Cup?” she asked.

Celeste laughed. “Oui, ma cherie. Cole? Would you mind going to get the flowers for the table? They’re on the kitchen counter, just inside.”

“Oh, sure, Mrs. Dumais,” Cole nodded, glad for something to do. The thought of the Cup arriving gave him the chills. He’d have to be careful not to touch it. He was scared to even look at it, to be honest. His mom would be laughing at him right about now. He wanted to call her afterwards, tell her everything.

“Call me Celeste, I told you, please,” Celeste smiled. She was lovely, with her dark hair twisted and clipped up and a summer dress as green as her eyes, silky against her olive skin.

Cole flushed, but smiled. “Celeste.”

Cole made his way through the sliding door from the back yard and through the dining room. The kitchen was one of the biggest rooms in the house—and it was a big house. Beautiful copper pans hung shining above the island, along with some herbs that Celeste grew and dried herself. It looked like something out of a magazine to Cole, and it was nice, but it wouldn’t beat his mom’s kitchen in the small apartment they shared in Boston. The small space would fill up to the brim with the smell of spices, or cobbler. The thought sent a pang right to his heart. He missed home, that was for sure. After being away for so long, for so many hockey camps, he’d hoped he would be more used to it by now.

The flowers were right where Celeste had said they would be, and he was reaching for one when the back door that led to the garage dinged open. Cole froze, sure that he was about to run into captain Sirius Black completely unprepared, when a girl stepped through instead. She was dressed in denim shorts and a white tank top, had dark brown skin, and a Gryffindor College hat over her hair, which was plaited back into many small braids.

She smiled when she saw him. No sign of surprised, or of the nervousness Cole felt when he met basically anyone.

“You must be Cole,” she said.

Cole nodded. The girl was gorgeous. Cole was a mess of nerves already. He didn’t need the stare of the teenage daughter of one of his idols, but he especially could not handle a beautiful girl right now.

“Yeah,” Cole said. “No, yeah, um. Yes.”

The girl strode forward, setting her bag down on the counter, along with a water bottle decorated in stickers. He caught a few Lions ones. She offered her hand, which was slender and had two golden rings on it. “I’m Layla. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Cole took it, trying to place her. “Nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I babysit for the Dumais family,” she said in explanation, then waved her hand. “Well, this year, at least. I’m actually—we’re going to be working together.”

Cole blinked. “You mean the Lions?”

She nodded. “I’m in the middle of my undergrad for physical therapy. Dumo’s amazing and he got me an internship under the new PT. You know. I’ll probably get you stick tape or something,” she laughed. “Congrats, by the way.”

Cole tilted his head and she raised an eyebrow.

“On making it to the NHL?”

“Oh,” Cole laughed. “Oh, I, yeah, thanks. You, too—or…yeah.”

Cole was going to stay in his room in the basement and never come out.

“I gotta—Mrs. Du—Celeste wants these flowers outside,” he said, picking the vases up.

“Sure thing,” Layla smiled.

“Layla,” came a shriek, and a moment later Katie Dumais came sprinting into the kitchen and wrapped herself around Layla’s legs and smiled at Cole. “This is my new hockey player.”

Cole couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t have a lot of experience with kids, but Katie sure was cute.

“Yours?” Layla gasped as she smiled at Cole. “He’s all yours, is he?”

Katie nodded. “Like Tremzy and Sirius. His name is Cole, like when Santa Clause doesn’t like you.”

Again, with the casual mentions of Logan Tremblay and Sirius Black.

“Oh, of course,” Layla laughed. “Well, I’m sure Santa Clause has never not liked you, babes. Let’s go let your mom know I’m here, okay? Your new hockey player can come with us, too.”

“He’s yours, too!” Katie insisted. “You’re here all the time, so he’s yours, too, don’t worry.”

“Oh, good,” Layla said. “I was worried.”

When Katie looked at Cole expectedly, Cole managed, “I guess everyone does need a hockey player?”

“Exactly!” Katie squealed, and Cole could only follow them outside, heart pounding.

It was good to be back in Gryffindor. Remus and Sirius had dropped their bags in Sirius’ entryway, said hello to Regulus, showered, and then hopped right back in the car to get to Pascal’s house.

“You two look disgustingly happy,” Regulus said, leaning forward from the back seat.

“We are,” Sirius grinned at him in the review mirror. “I am also happy,” he stroked the leather steering wheel of his Range Rover. “To be back with this baby.”

While Sirius’ hair had grown longer, Regulus had shaved his short. The curls were barely curls at all anymore, but Remus was happy to see that his seemingly ever-present dark circles had receded some.

“Why, thank you, Regulus, you look happy, too,” Remus snorted. “When do you leave for NYU’s orientation?”

“August 23rd,” he said. “Been texting with my housemates, too. They seem cool.”

“Maybe one of you will pull a Finn and fall in love with each other,” Sirius said.

“Twice,” Remus laughed, and Regulus did, too.

“I think I’ve had enough romance drama to last me a life time, thanks,” Regulus smiled. “But, yeah. I’m just…I’m focused on friends right now, I think. Normal, non-hockey creatures like you two. But that’s not to say if something came up…or I guess someone. Who knows.”

Sirius’ smile was softer this time. “Focus on whatever you want, Reg. You deserve it.”

Regulus just grumbled something about hockey gods, and then they were pulling up to the Dumais’. There were silver and white balloons lining the driveway and the fence to the backyard where, as Remus slammed his door, he could already hear laughter. A zing of excitement shot through him.

“I missed this team,” he sighed as Sirius took his hand.

Sirius pressed a kiss to his temple. “Your team.”

“Our team.”

“Jesus Christ,” Regulus said, and gave them a shove forward.

Thomas gave a loud woop when he spotted them coming out to the backyard. Regulus immediately made a B-line towards Leo and the Cubs.

“Yes! The Captain!” Thomas said and pulled Sirius into a hug. “Missed you, man.”

“You, too, T,” Sirius said. “Ready to tear it up?”

“You know it.”

Remus smiled as Thomas hugged him next. “I forgot you two train together before pre-season.”

“You two?” Thomas raised an eyebrow, the small gold hoops in his ears glinting in the sun. Remus noticed he’d shaved three stripes into one side of his head. They were a little wobbly. Maybe Noelle had done it. “You’re not coming with us?”

“You know how this one is about his routines,” Remus said, wrapping an arm around Sirius’ waist. “Wouldn’t want to mess anything up.”

“Please,” Sirius said. “I want you there more than I want a second—”

Remus and Thomas punched him at the same time.

“I know you weren’t just about to say that,” said an accented voice from behind Remus, and they turned to see Pascal standing there. He looked as he always did, smile lines around his eyes, gray streaks at his temples. He wore a white t-shirt and had Katie on his hip. She was definitely getting too big to be carried around like that, but Remus couldn’t see a time when Pascal would ever refuse her. He’d probably carry Adele around like that, too, if she’d let him.

“Dumo,” Sirius smiled, and took the two beers he was holding out, handing one to Remus. He kissed Katie’s forehead. “Good summer?”

“The best,” Pascal laughed, and nodded towards the edge of the yard. “Especially with the promise of seeing that thing again.”

Remus followed his gaze, and his breath caught, just as he knew it would. The Cup stood there, its guards near by with drinks and plates of food in their hands. It sat proudly on a table, surrounded by white tulips—no doubt Celeste’s doing.

“I’m excited to see you two bring it to the parade,” Pascal said. “That will be a wonderful day for everyone.”

Remus glanced at where Logan, Leo, and Finn were standing with Kasey Winter, Gryffindor’s goalie, and his partners Natalie, with her long blonde hair, and Finn’s brother Alex, who played for Tampa Bay.

Sirius’ smile lit up his face. “It will be.”

Remus peered around him. “Is that our rookie?”

Sirius scoffed. “A rookie can’t call a fellow rookie rookie, rookie.”

Remus blinked. “What did you just say?”

“That’s Cole!” Katie said. “I love him.” Then she turned and shouted his name again. He looked up from where he was standing quietly beside Jackson Nadeau, another player, and Remus suppressed a smile at the way his eyes widened when he saw Sirius.

“Oh, here we go,” Sirius mumbled.

“Oh, hush,” Remus said, and sounded far too much like his mother to himself. “You’re going to be throwing hands for him the second someone gets close, and you know it.”

“I don’t know how to tell rookies I’m just a person!” Sirius whispered as Cole began to make his way over. “They act all…”

“Star struck?” Thomas offered.

Sirius just glowered at him.

Cole Reyes did not look as young as he was. Even at 19, he was jacked, and tall, with light brown skin, green eyes, and a stripe shaved into one of his eyebrows. His hair was shaved at the sides, but longer on the top and in tight curls.

Remus glanced somewhat self-consciously down at himself. He could only put on more muscle healthily so fast. He thought he’d been doing well, but looking at Cole…

“Hello,” Cole said hesitantly and Pascal set Katie down and clapped Cole on the shoulder.

“Reyes, meet Sirius. Sirius, meet the boy who is a much better billet than you ever were.”

Sirius snorted, and Cole laughed—nervously.

“Hi, Cole,” Sirius said, and held out his hand. “I know we spoke briefly over the summer, but it’s nice to officially meet you.”

“You, too,” Cole said, smile slight. “Thanks for the call. My mom freaked out. I mean—well, me too, but my mom…” Cole stuttered out, wincing.

“Loves me?” Sirius laughed. “I get that a lot.”

“He’s so humble,” Remus shook his head jokingly. “Hi Cole, I’m Remus. Welcome to the team.”

“You too…?” Cole said hesitantly. “Well, the roster, I guess.”

“Cole,” Katie said, taking his large hand in her small one. “Come meet Tremzy. He’s my best friend.”

Sirius feigned a pout. “What about me?”

Katie smiled sheepishly, throwing herself at Sirius’ legs, “You, too!”

“Always one-uped by Tremblay,” Thomas laughed, shaking his head. “How’s it feel, Cap?”

“Wonderful,” Sirius said dryly and then looked down at Katie, petting her head. “Go on, go show Cole your best friend.”

They watched her lead Cole through the crowd for a moment before Sirius huffed.

“See?” Sirius whispered to Remus. “It’s like he’s scared of me.”

“I’ve never heard you use the phrase spoke briefly in my life. Who are you, Alice?”

“I was trying to be professional!”

Remus laughed. “Why?”

Sirius just rolled his eyes and dragged him over to stack their plates with food.

The party went well into the evening, the sky pink and blue in the setting sun. There were lanterns floating in the pool where Evgeni and Jackson were playing chicken with a delighted Marc and Louis, or sometimes one of Coach Arthur Weasley’s boys, on their shoulders. Logan was sitting with Cole and Finn, cradling a sleepy Katie against his chest, Leo and Regulus laughing with Kasey and Alex.

Remus found Sirius again standing alone in front of the Cup. His hair was falling into his face, the curls gentled by the evening breeze and the Cup’s silver surface reflecting the silver of Sirius’ eyes. Remus went to stand beside him, and neither of them spoke for a moment.

“I’m nervous,” Remus broke the silence.

Sirius nodded. “I know, mon loup.”

Remus sighed, resting his head against Sirius’ arm. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Sirius switched his drink to his other hand so he could run his fingers through Remus’ hair. “This is…big.”

“It’s what I’ve always wanted,” Remus whispered. It felt dangerous, to say the words aloud. “It’s everything that I lost. Last time.”

Remus could still feel Fenrir Greyback rip at his shoulder, even if it was years ago now, while they were still at college. Being in the NHL meant that Remus would have to play against him again whenever they met Vegas.

Sirius turned towards him, hand on his cheek.

“You will have this,” he said earnestly, and then smile, reaching into his shirt for his necklace, the one Remus had gifted him last Christmas. He brought it to his lips. “Loops.”

Remus smiled at the now familiar sight, touching the pendant when Sirius’ let it drop.

“You know,” Remus said. “You’re everything I’ve always wanted, too.”

Sirius’ smile was one of Remus’ favorites, and he tucked him against his side. Remus followed his gaze to find him looking at Cole again.

“I’m not happy with the way it happened,” Sirius said softly, and Remus knew he was thinking of the pictures that someone had leaked of them kissing. The pictures that had upturned their entire lives. “But I’m glad I get to hold you like this in front of new faces. I wasn’t thinking about trades—I try not to—but getting Reyes, if things had been different, would have meant we were back to square one at parties like these.”

Remus nodded, taking a drink. “And he seemed okay with it. With us.”

“I was thinking we should invite him to train with us. With me, you, and T. Maybe Dumo would join, too. I know he usually goes with Sergei, but Sergei might be with Kuns and Nado, even though they usually like it just them. The Cubs—”

“Okay, Captain, okay,” Remus laughed.

Sirius pressed a hand over his eyes, laughing. “I just don’t like it when they’re nervous around me. Like Leo was. It’s so much better now that we’re friends.”

“You’ll get there with him,” Remus said. “Yeah, invite him to train with us. The more the merrier.”

Secretly, Remus wanted to see how Cole trained. He couldn’t shake the analytical side of him, the physical therapist side. Cole was built for such a young age.

“If I didn’t know better,” Sirius said softly, mouth close to Remus’ ear. “I’d say you were checking him out.”

Remus spluttered. “I’m not! I want to know his routine!”

Sirius cracked up. “This is your superstition, isn’t it? Cracking other player’s codes.”

Remus just shrugged, smiling into his cup.

“Have you cracked my code?” Sirius asked in the low voice he used that made Remus not want to be surrounded by people.

Remus looked up at him. “Maybe. It certainly has nothing to do with a piece of toast at five o’clock.”

“My pre-game toast is very important to me.”

Remus leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips. “No, you just like honey and cinnamon.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Okay, I’m going to talk to Reyes now.”

“Catch him if he passes out.”

Sirius just glowered over his shoulder as he stalked across the grass. Remus looked around at the back yard, at the team, together again. His team.

451 notes · View notes

weelittleweasley · 4 years ago

Text

one more night (g.w.)

prompt: after a bad breakup, george comes back to y/n’s flat to pick up some leftover things he missed. one of these missing things was a proper goodbye.

pairings: george weasley x fem! reader

warnings: 18+ sexual content MDI (break up sex, soft sex, unprotected sex), super angsty, language, emotional break up, crying

word count: 3.7k

author’s note: something about break up sex really does it for me. like...it’s so hot and for why? anyway, here’s wonderwall. flashbacks are conveyed through italics.

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdric @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @lol-idk-oops @another-lonely-heart-blog @starlightweasley @parseltongueswriting @shilohpug @peachypotter @spacexcowgirl @vogueweasley

The small cardboard box that sat next to the door was completely pathetic, sitting there in shame. The cardboard could barely hold the boxes contents, wanting to burst at its seams as it held every shred of George Weasley that was in your flat. You wanted your flat to be a George Weasley free space, but a part of you wanted to keep the magic of your relationship alive. He couldn’t miss his quidditch jumper from Hogwarts, could he? It had been years since you graduated, he wouldn’t remember that you had it, right? So, his jumper hung proudly in your closet like the status of your relationship hadn’t changed.

As you leaned against your kitchen island, sipping quietly from your coffee mug, you stared at the cardboard box, hoping that the intensity of your gaze would make the box combust into flames. But it stayed still. Unaffected. George’s things teemed out of the box, miscellaneous shirts and jumpers and trinkets piled high. You caught yourself smiling as you shook it off, reminding yourself of the status of your relationship, cringing as you did so.

The night of your break up played on a constant loop, like a movie trailer. When you woke up, it was the first thing on your mind. When your head hit the pillow, it was the last thing you thought of when you closed your eyes. It was a sick cycle.

“I can’t change my work schedule to fit yours, George. I’ve done it in the past so often and I can’t anymore. I’m finally on my own two feet and I need to keep the ball rolling,” you explain to George as you sit at his kitchen table as George paces the living room, back and forth, pulling at his red roots, trying to formulate a response. “Admit it, George. We can’t m-”

“Don’t you say what you’re going to say, (Y/N). Don’t you bloody dare,” he speaks as you sigh, rubbing your face with your hands. You didn’t want to have this conversation with George, but it was unavoidable at this point. You had just gotten a job as a full-time Healer, working in St. Mungo’s, your dream job. But the busy work schedule that you had was failing to align with George’s schedule working the joke shoppe that just seemed to do better and better every day. “We can work this out. We can’t just give up at the first sign of hardship,” George laughs as you give him a knowing look. You had been trying to make it work for a month, but things simply weren’t working. When you did see him, it would be for two hours and the two of you would be so exhausted that you would talk for five minutes before going to bed. “(Y/N), I don’t want to be the one to suggest this, but I can support us. The both of us. The joke shoppe is doing so well and with the booming business, I have enough money for me to sell this flat and we can buy a home together. Start a family. What we’ve always wanted to do!”

You rise from your chair at the thought of quitting your job. Something you had worked years and years towards and George dared to bring up the suggestion of you quitting a month and a half in. “I am not quitting,” you say very sternly, making George sigh, knowing he shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. “I have worked my ass off to get where I am right now and I’m not going to sacrifice that for the sake of our relationship!” you exclaim.

But that was wrong of you to say; it just put wood on the fire. “So how far would you go for our relationship?” George challenges, folding his arms across his chest as you gulp. “Because Godric knows everything I have done for the sake of us.”

And he was right. George shifted employees and his own work schedule so he could have an extra hour with you some nights. He would close the shops on holiday weekends, which was prime for sales, so he could take you on romantic getaways. George told you to move in with him when you struggled to find a flat of your own. He helped get you through Healer school. George put you before him in the relationship and you knew that. You felt guilty now. You shouldn’t have said what you did.

“I didn’t mean it like that, George,” you sigh, admitting defeat as George scoffs. “I meant that I can’t give up my dream. Just when I finally got it. And I don’t want you to give up yours. It’s not fair for the both of us,” you try to tell him as he shakes his head, knowing the direction the conversation has turned and he doesn’t like it one bit. So much so that you can see his eyes become glassy as he turns his head away from you so you didn’t have to watch him break down. “George, I love you. The life you have given us has been nothing short of wonderful.”

“Stop it, please,” he manages to croak out, turning towards you, his chocolate brown eyes pooling with hot tears. The sight makes your heart shatter as you suck in a shaky breath, swallowing the lump in your throat. Tears were impending. “I don’t want to let you go. I can’t let you go. Not like this,” George holds your face in his hands, brushing your cheeks with his thumbs, gazing into your eyes with so much love he could burst. You let go of a shaky sigh as you lean into his touch and close your eyes, savoring the way his large hands held your face with such ease. “I’m not letting you go, (Y/N). I’m going to love you forever and ever and there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

You open your eyes and give George a sad smile as he sniffles. You reach up and press your lips to his, your kiss mixing with both of your salty tears. This love that you possessed for each other was greater than anything you have ever known. But the universe was trying to tell you that this wasn’t working. For the both of you to live the lives you always dreamed out you had to let the other go. No matter how hard it was going to be.

The two of you pull away from your sweet kiss before you speak, “I’m never going to stop loving you, George. Nothing will change that. But for now, we need to let go. For both of our sake’s.”

The memory is interrupted by the buzzer going off in your flat. “Shit,” you huff as you scurry over to the intercom. You buzzed him in as you writhed your hands in anticipation, pacing your living room floor. Your eyes dart to the box. Should you move it? Keep it close to the door? If you keep it next to the door does it say you want him out for good? What if you put it on the table? Is that more of a welcome in? Should you let him come in?

Too many thoughts clouded your mind before a gentle knock sounded on the door. Your heart froze and you stopped in the living room. “Bloody hell,” you breathe out as you look at yourself in the mirror, checking your hair and smiling to see if anything was in your teeth. “It’s just goodbye, (Y/N). Just goodbye,” you tell yourself before you walk over to the door, undoing the latches and locks.

When you swing it open, George stands there, fresh from a shower it looks like. His hair is slightly damp, hanging on his head rather than spiked up and slicked back like it usually was. Like you loved it. A gray t-shirt hung on his body, clinging on his arms, the front tucked into dark wash jeans. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he huffs with a small smile. “Work was crazy and I had to take a shower before I came over. I hope you don’t mind,” he speaks.

You gulp, trying not to blurt out how good he looked right now, the scent of his cologne making your body tingle as if it was some sick love potion. “Not at all,” you manage to say instead, thankfully. “Uh,” you tremble before looking down on the other side of the door to the box that taunted you. Picking it up from the floor, you extend it out to him. “This should be everything.”

George takes it from your arms and huffs, “Great.” He holds it in one of his arms with ease, his biceps flexing under his gray shirt as you watch, eyes hungry. This was some kind of sick joke, wasn’t it? With his other hand, he rummages through the piles, making sure he had everything. “Uh, my quidditch jumper is not in here?” he asks, but it was more of a matter of fact.

Damn it. You had been caught. You had to come up with something, quickly. “Oh! Yeah! I forgot!” you try to act surprised. “It’s, uh, I washed it. Yeah, um, it’s in my room,” you close your eyes and shake your head. “One minute. You can come in if you want,” you open the door wider as George smiles and makes his way in your flat as if it were his first time here when in reality, he did have his own set of keys. You shut the door and watch him awkwardly stand into the living room, watching you. “Alright then.”

You scurry into your bedroom and push open your closet door, shuffling through the hangers, finding George’s quidditch jumper proudly hanging in the back in it’s crimson and gold glory. Plucking it from the hanger, you sigh in defeat. So much for that endeavor. You flip around to run back into the kitchen where George was waiting, but you were startled to see that he had followed you into your bedroom. “Oh,” you jump.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckles. “I didn’t know if I should have followed you or...” he trails off, awkwardly as you gulp and nod your head. “Seems like you found it.”

“Yeah, here it is,” you hand it to him, trying to savor the feeling of the knit material in your fingertips. It would be the last time you felt that material for a while. “Sorry about this mix up,” you tuck your hands into your sweatpants pockets, rocking back and forth on your heels.

George smiles and shakes his head, “No need to apologize. Honest mistake,” he speaks as you nod your head with an awkward chuckle. Yeah, honest mistake... “I’ll, uh, I’ll head out then, yeah?” he asks with raised brows.

You nod, “Sure. Yeah. Yeah.”

The two of you start to make your way out of your room, but George stops in his tracks when something catches his eye. You stop and follow his line of sight that landed on a framed picture of the two of you from one of your first holidays together. In the photograph, George held up the camera at the two of you, his arm wrapped around you tightly as you leaned into his chest, cuddling into his tall figure. The both of you were mid-laughter, the beautiful beach behind you, the sun fading the back. George smiled softly at the photo as you watched his face shift, your heart fluttering at his reaction. “That was a good holiday, wasn’t it?” he chuckles, walking towards your dresser where the frame stood proudly. It had been two weeks since the break up, but you didn’t bother taking any photos out of the frames yet. You couldn’t bare it. That would mean George was gone for good.

You smile softly and walk next to him as he gazes at the photograph, all the memories resurfacing of the beautiful beach and the small cabana George had gotten for the two of you with the graduation money he had saved up. “It was,” you recall. “It was like a dream, honestly. We were so young back then,” you say in disbelief. It was true. You were both just eighteen in that picture and now here you were, twenty two, post-break up. The two of you had grown up so much since that holiday. You wish you could jump through the picture and tell your younger self to relish in every moment you had with George because each moment was beautiful.

George laughs, “We look so young. Merlin...” The two of you chuckle at the photo. “We were so happy,” he sighs before looking at you. You don’t dare peel your eyes from the photograph, knowing that if you look at him right now, you’d melt and give into him. “Look at me please,” he speaks just above a whisper.

Shaking your head, you speak, “I can’t, Georgie. I can’t bear it.”

His heart flutters at your nickname for him. “I want to take a look at your eyes. A good look. One last time and I promise I’ll go.” George reaches out and touches your hand gently, as if you were made of glass and the slightest touch would break you. “(Y/N).”

With a gulp and mustering up all your courage, you turn your gaze to his and your heart melts at the sight. If a look could speak. His eyes were so sad, but filled with so much longing and love and adoration. The face you loved so much, full of so much tenderness, staring down at you. He made you feel like you were the only person who mattered. Because to George, you were.

The two of you are just looking at each other, absorbing each other’s features as much as possible before one of you dares to speak up. Slowly, George reaches up and cups your face, like you were so used to. “George,” you sigh out breathlessly as you lean into his touch, tears welling up in your eyes. You can’t believe you had to let him go. “I just want to be happy again. With you.”

George gives you a sad smile, “I do too, angel. More than anything. It’s my only wish. Even if it’s just for another day.”

His words make the wheels start churning in your head as you lick your lips before saying, “Then let us have one more day. One more night together. I don’t care if it’s temporary. I just want one last memory with you, Georgie.”

George’s eyes search yours as you desperately hold onto him, needing him, wanting him, yearning for him. George brings your face to his, connecting your lips in a kiss that was unlike any other kiss you’ve ever had. It made the hair on your neck stand up. Your arms wrap around his neck as his wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The kiss is full of urgency and desire, as if you didn’t take each other right now, there wouldn’t be another opportunity for this.

You break apart from the kiss to pull George’s shirt over his head as he does the same to you only to reconnect your kiss. His lips move against yours, hungrily, passionately as you moan gently into his mouth. George grabs your thighs and hoists you up as you wrap your legs around his torso as he walks over to the bed, laying you down gently, kissing your lips, neck, and collarbones. His lips leave trails of wet kisses as you run your finger through his still damp hair, tugging on it gently. “Please, George, please,” you whine as he kisses the valley between your breasts.

He pulls himself away from your chest to kiss your lips again. “Anything you want, angel. Say the word and I’m all yours,” he tells you, brushing your hair gently. You grab his face and pull him down to connect your lips again, his tongue slipping into your mouth as you arch your back, pushing your chest into his. His tongue massages yours as his hands unclasp your bra, throwing it to the floor.

“I want you to make love to me,” you mumble against his mouth as George smiles softly, his heart fluttering. “I want you to make love to me, Georgie. I want to remember this night for the rest of my life.”

“Anything, angel. Anything you want,” he repeats himself as you both breathily laugh, reconnecting your lips, stripping the other of their remaining clothes. Soon enough, the two of you are naked and George breathes out, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

You connect your lips again before you place kisses along George’s jawline as he hovers over you, lining himself up to your entrance, pulling your legs farther open as you wrap them around his torso. George runs the tip of his hard dick up your wet pussy as you bite down on your lip with a sharp inhale. “Please, baby, please,” you beg him which only makes George obey you, pushing his whole length into your aching core as you both moan out in satisfaction. He fills you up in a way that is so familiar and delightful as you dig your nails into his biceps. “Shit,” you moan out as George starts to move, thrusting in and out of you slowly.

“Fucking hell,” George groans out. “You feel fucking incredible,” he breathes out, his hips moving smoothly against yours, pumping his hard cock in and out as your walls tighten around him. “You like that, baby?”

With a whimper, you moan out, “I love it, baby. Keep going, don’t stop. I love the way you fuck me. Fuck, George.” George continues to thrust in and out, picking up his pace, going in deeper as your eyes flutter shut. Your nails dig deeper into his shoulder as you groan, “Right there, baby, right there. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

Your praise makes George push your legs open wider so he can push impossibly deeper into you, before hoisting one of your legs over his shoulder, making the both of you cry out in euphoria. “Shit, I love the way you feel wrapped around me. Say my name, baby,” George groans.

“Oh, George, fuck, baby,” you moan out louder, head tossed back against your sheets as George buries his face in your neck as you hold onto him. He pounds into you deeper as you are panting in a state of nirvana. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you dig your nails into George’s flesh as he presses love bites into your neck.

He looks at you and speaks, “Look at me, angel. I want you to cum looking into my eyes, baby.” You peel your eyes open and look into his brown eyes, dark with a mixture of lust and love. “I love you, angel.”

As he continues to thrust, you feel the familiar knotting feeling in your stomach as your jaw drops. “I love you,” you breathe out, looking deep into George’s eyes. “I love you so much, baby. I love you, I love you.”

“I love you, I love you,” George repeats as you reach your climax, crying out his name in pleasure, head rolling back as you clutch the sheets, coming all over his dick. Shortly after, George finishes, moaning out your name, the both of you a symphony of moans and heavy breathing.

The two of you come down from your highs as he pulls out and lays on the bed next to you, chests heavy with the rise and fall of incoming and outgoing breaths. You run your fingers through your hair before rolling onto your side to face George who stares at the ceiling. A small smile is on your lips as you place a hand on George’s chest. He turn his gaze to you and a toothy grin is on your face as you giggle, George pulling you close to him with a breathy chuckle. He places a kiss to your temple. The two of you cuddle next to each other, naked underneath your sheets, happy to be resting in each other’s arms.

That is until George speaks, “You didn’t really wash my jumper did you? You were trying to keep it in hopes I didn’t notice, weren’t you?” You can hear the smile in his voice as you roll your eyes. “You were!”

You sit up, “I was not!”

George laughs, “You cheeky little thing! You were trying to steal my clothes from me after we broke up!”

The two of you are in a fit of laughs, laying next to each other, enjoying the feeling of skin on skin next to each other. You rest your head on George’s chest as he rubs your back. “I wish we could be this happy all the time,” you confess as George sighs, wishing the same thing. But the two of you knew that this wasn’t working anymore. The break up was for the best.

“I do too, my love,” he agrees. “But I don’t want to focus on what we wish could happen. Let’s just enjoy tonight while we have it, okay?” he speaks as you nod, cuddling further into his touch. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Minutes later, the two of you had fallen asleep, entangled in each others arms, the last words on your lips being confessions of love.

The morning comes as quickly as you fell asleep. You stretch your arms out and pat the area of the bed next to you, searching for George. But you quickly realize that your George wasn’t there.

In his place was a piece of parchment that had scribbled onto it, I didn’t want to leave before you woke up, but work calls sadly. Thank you for last night. It was the best night of my life. I love you, (Y/N). I always have and I always will. That will never change. You are my angel. Love always, Your George. P.S. You can keep the jumper. It looked better on you anyway.

A few feet away from the note was the jumper on the edge of the bed, laid out in it’s glory as a small smile made its way onto your face. You reach over and pull the jumper onto your naked body, inhaling the fabric that smelt so much of George, making your heart flutter. “Maybe someday,” you whisper. “Maybe someday, my love.”

#Fred and George #george weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #george weasley #george weasley x #george weasley x reader #george weasley x reader imagine #george weasley x you #george weasley x y/n #george wealsey x fem #george weasley x fem #george weasley x fem! reader #george weasley x fem reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter Smut #harry imagine #george weasley smut

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mappinglasirena · 3 years ago

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Having seen the end of Picard season 2... are you okay?

That is an incredibly sweet thing to ask, thank you <3 (And sorry for only replying now, I always miss my Ask notifications 🙈)

Um... a bit of personal stuff and some season 2 opinions after the cut.

I’m okay, mostly. It will probably come as no surprise to anyone following my main blog that the end of season 2 left me somewhat heartbroken.

This blog has never been about plot or character analysis (apart from the occasional Extrailervaganza), so I’m not going to go into it in too much detail here. At some point, I’ll probably do a full write-up on my main blog, but the main gist is that I fell in love with Star Trek: Picard because it was different from the other Trek shows. I loved the new, non-legacy characters, I love La Sirena with all my heart, and I thought their approach to examining the Federation and Starfleet from an outside perspective was daring and much needed. By contrast, season 2 felt very different to me. From the start, it skipped over a lot of character development and reconciliation with Starfleet, and it dropped us into a new status quo that, in my opinion, didn’t follow naturally from season 1. And the development of the season only widened this disconnect for me.

I am glad for everyone who found the ending of season 2 meaningful and who enjoyed the character arcs we saw this season. Opinions differ, and that is okay! Personally, I felt that while some of the endings fit the characters established in season 2, few of them felt like they worked for the versions of the characters we got in season 1. And since I already found the jump from season 1 to season 2 jarring, seeing these endings has left me feeling very disillusioned.

Again, I don’t begrudge anyone who enjoyed this season. There was a lot to enjoy, and I’m not here to tell you how you should read characters or which parts of the story you should prioritize. This is merely how I personally felt after watching season 2.

Unfortunately, this season finale has happened at a point in time where I really, really could have used something uplifting. There is a lot of stuff going on in my personal life right now that makes finding motivation to do anything creative or fannish very hard to begin with. So, while I was hoping to get through these weeks by leaning on a show that has given me so much joy in the past, I am instead left with (almost) all my favourite characters unceremoniously written out of the franchise. This might also be a reason my perspective is extra bleak at the moment. If I were in a better place, I would probably be writing fix-its or happily working on “Picard season 1.5″, i.e. “let’s build out the story for the characters we got in season 1″. Instead, I am finding it hard to get back into this world at all.

I’m sure I’ll get back to it in due time.

Season 2 gave us a ton of truly beautiful shots of La Sirena, as well as some fascinating new details to analyze and pick apart. And whatever you might think about the writing this season, you can’t argue that the people working on this show didn’t give it their all. The sets, the visual effects, the costuming, the acting - there were incredible amounts of pasison and skill on display in these ten episodes.

I want to honour all the hard work the various creators put into the season, and I want to celebrate the beauty they gave us. And eventually, I’ll get back to a place where I can do just that. I’m just not there yet.

My personal life should move into slightly calmer waters in a couple weeks or so (knock on wood), and then I think I’ll start a rewatch of season 1, to get back into the mood for exploration and mapping and squeeing over this stunning little world of ours. I will definitely discuss the season 2 version of La Sirena, both her prime-universe alterations and everything we know and learned about the CSS La Sirena in the alternate timeline. But I think my heart is always going to live on the season 1 version of this ship, captained by Cris Rios, with his crew of five unruly holograms, joined by a bunch of loveable misfits with deeply compelling characters.

On this blog, I probably won’t go into any discussions of my hangups with season 2 after this. For that, you will have to endure the chaos that is my main blog 😋 But if you give me a few weeks to recover and find my joy again, I’ll hopefully be able to return to celebrating our beloved little speed freighter and her Motley Crew. I’m already planning how to put my latest new hobbies (GIF-colour-grading and 2D animation, because why not?) to use to bring you all the stunning views and fascinating new info we got of La Sirena in season 2.

And in the meantime: My ask box remains open! I’ll try to keep more of an eye on it so I don’t miss any questions, but it’s definitely still open and I’m always happy to bring out the screenshot collection to answer questions! Yes, season 2 questions as well.

Which exit did Raffi and Rios use to drag [spoiler] off the ship after Agnes [spoiler]? Does CSS La Sirena have holo emitters throughout the ship? Did I actually say on twitter that we got confirmation of the bunk beds in the new crew quarters?

These questions and more will eventually get answered on this blog! But if you have a burning need to know about one of them now, don’t hesitate to drop me a line, and I’ll do my best to answer in something resembling a timely fashion. External motivation is always helpful when the intrinsic motivation has crumbled due to Life(tm).

I want to end this semi-coherent (and, of course, way too long) ramble by saying: I am so, so grateful for all the wonderful people I have met through this project and this show in general! Your enthusiasm and passion continues to inspire me and make me feel so happy to have embarked on this slightly insane adventure.

Whatever your opinions might be of season 2 or the writing of PIC in general, whether you’re a die-hard Starfleet fan who burst into tears at the sight of all the uniforms in episode 1, a casual fan who's just here for the compelling characters and stunning visuals, or a season 1 afficionado who feels disillusioned by the last few months and is looking for some remnants of the show you fell in love with to hold on to, I hope you will feel welcome here on this blog. Having all of you around really means a lot to me.

So, pull up a bench (or a crate, or go nick a chair from sickbay, I’m sure Emil won’t mind), grab some cake from the replicator, and join me in relaxing in the mess hall and having kind discussions, until I rebuild the energy to go running around this ship yelling about floor plates. There is always room for more ;)

#star trek picard #la sirena #about the project #about the author #picard season 2 #not mapping #i'm going to be okay #truly #it's just been A Bit Of A Month

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years ago

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I'm OBSESSED with your writing and your stories, I'm so glad I found your blog, now I always have something new to read!! ❤️❤️❤️

I remember watching you blitz through the blog, leaving likes on a lot of the stories. It really made my day! Now, who knows how many months late, I bring you some silly Witchers and their mutagens.

Kaer Morhen’s Open Door Policy

When Jaskier was invited to Kaer Morhen, he’d thought the open door policy that Geralt mentioned meant that anyone was welcome to stay for the winter. It warmed his heart that the Wolves were so welcoming and generous with their winter lodgings. What Jaskier didn’t anticipate was that said open door policy was a literal thing. He arrived in Kaer Morhen with Geralt, they were stomping snow off their boots when someone rounded the corner at some speed. Slowing down, the man made a beeline for them.

“Lambert,” Geralt greeted before he was veritably bowled over in a hug. If Jaskier squinted, he could have sworn Geralt was given a long sniff and maybe even a lick, perhaps over the lips. But surely he must have seen wrong because Jaskier himself wasn’t given such a greeting.

Two more figures appeared and introductions were made to Eskel and Vesemir. It was quite nice really, even if a lonely winter with just the five of them. However, if gave Jaskier a chance to get used to the ways of the keep. Mostly, it was learning to leave doors open a crack and how to keep the hinges well oiled at all times. If he didn’t, it was guaranteed someone would turn up.

At first Jaskier had thought it was because he wasn’t trusted, not an accepted member of the pack. But that thought was quickly thrown out the window, especially when he was dragged into the cuddle piles in front of fires. Those were rather nice, if a little too warm and sweaty for his liking. Yet, every single time he forgot about keeping a door open, whenever it snicked shut behind him or clicked open as he stepped through, within ten seconds one of the other residents appeared. Usually it was Lambert, rounding the corner at quite a pace even as he tried to make it look like he hadn’t dropped everything and run. It was rather offensive in a way, at least that was what Jaskier thought until he was sat quietly in the library, Lambert browsing for something when his head snapped up all of a sudden and he was off at full pelt. That wasn’t the first time Jaskier saw him running. On more than one occasion Lambert almost bowled him over in corridors as he rushed towards whatever he had heard.

“Doors,” Geralt had explained quietly one night. “If we hear a door open or close, there’s this overwhelming urge to go see who it is, what had happened.”

Now that Jaskier knew, he paid more attention. Any door had Lambert running. Much more sedately, Eskel would usually follow, lumbering towards the source of the noise and trying desperately to look like he wasn’t doing exactly like Lambert. However, he had a weakness, as Jaskier discovered. The cupboard doors in the kitchen. If Jaskier, or anyone else for that matter, happened to go and look in one, Eskel was bound to bumble into the kitchen within a short space of time, looking bashfully hopeful. It was cute, Jaskier even started indulging and giving Eskel snacks because the way he softened and smiled at the offering was far too endearing.

“You’re only encouraging him,” Vesemir grumbled as he watched Jaskier hand Eskel half a slice of honey coated bread. Rather than argue, Jaskier gave Vesemir the other half, not commenting on how the old Wolf appeared for seemingly no reason in the kitchen. The treat certainly silenced him.

For a first winter, it was a good one. Jaskier was satisfied when he left that he was getting the hang of the odd open doors policy. It was the next winter that proved to test his patience. As well as the Wolves, there was a Cat there too. Haughty and aloof, Aiden spent most of his time perched up high somewhere. He slowly warmed up to Jaskier though, cautious at first. However, Aiden seemed to be rather fond of the open door policy, only ever opening or closing a door when he wanted attention. And that was rather frequently. More than once a day Lambert would go running because Aiden slammed a door somewhere, wanting to play.

It was all very well until Jaskier had to use the privy. That was one door that the Wolves learned not to run to. Even though Lambert still twitched, head swivelling it its direction before grumbling and returning to what he was doing. Jaskier was trying to just have a peaceful moment to relieve himself, a considerate two stalls down from an occupied booth when he heard someone else come in.

“Lamb?” Aiden’s voice drifted through the air, a little plaintive and lost.

“What?” Not all that unusual for Lambert to sound irritated.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier’s eyebrows shot up at the question. What could Lambert be doing in the privy other than the obvious one of four things?

“I’m taking a shit.” Well, that answered which of the four it was but Jaskier could heard the sounds of a body leaning heavily against the door.

“Oh.” Aiden sounded almost disappointed. “I thought I heard some rustling like a snack being opened.”

“I promise I’m not fucking eating while taking a shit. Who eats in here anyway?” Grumbling, Lambert scoffed. “Don’t tell me, I bet it’s Geralt.”

Jaskier couldn’t hold his tongue anymore. “Geralt most certainly does not eat in the privy.”

The sound of a body moving and Jaskier knew Aiden was stood outside the door to his cubicle. “Jaskier. You’re in there.”

“No I’m not.”

For a moment there was confused silence before Lambert growled. “I swear Aiden, if you don’t leave us alone-” his threat was lost as Aiden moved back to Lambert’s door and there was an odd scratching sound. “No. Aiden. Don’t you dare. You can’t sit on my lap here! Not again. We almost broke it last time. Get out. Get out!”

The sound of a door being kicked shut and a huff from Aiden gave Jaskier a good idea of what had jut happened and he was scared to go out. However, not a minute later another voice joined the fray.

“What happened?” Eskel asked.

Jaskier buried his face in his hands in despair. So much for a peaceful piss.

The whole door thing was becoming quite ridiculous. Especially with Aiden slamming them to get Lambert’s attention. And then being offended whenever he encountered a closed door. Those were all gently knocked on and a head poked through if there was no answer. It meant nothing was private and Vesemir had to use a broom to get Aiden off the top of his wardrobe one evening when the Cat had gone missing all afternoon. He seemed to have no respect or care for anything, not when it came to prime napping spots.

It got to the stage that the common areas had their doors removed and Vesemir started hanging heavy furs in their place. Which did actually make the rooms warmer and there was no more needless running around. Though Eskel still bumbled into the kitchen in the hopes of a shared snack. Jaskier had rapidly cottoned on to the fact Vesemir fought such an urge in a novel and simple way. He was almost always either in the kitchen or within sight of it. So he could see if there was an opportunity for a snack without having to move. The old Wolf was clever, Jaskier had to give him that.

Some days, Jaskier did crave a bit of silence and solitude. Those were rare and far between days but they did happen. When they came, he took to wandering through the crumbling corridors of Kaer Morhen, trying to imagine what it had been like in its glory days. Quite amazing, he should think. So lost was he in his musings, Jaskier didn’t notice until too late that the floor wasn’t solid below his feet. It gave way and he fell with a yelp, landing awkwardly on his ankle. The pain was quite blinding, rendering him into a whimpering mess, throat tight and unable to call for help. Even when he managed to gather himself up, it didn’t seem to help. His voice just didn’t carry and the Wolves probably couldn’t hear him. It was cold, dark and Jaskier was in pain which made it difficult to think. There was a door not far from him and, in a moment of sheer desperation, he pulled himself towards it on shaking arms. Near enough, he reached for it and, with all his might, slammed it shut. It bounced open from the force and echoed through the room. Mustering up a little more energy, Jaskier shoved it again and the crack of door hitting frame made him wince. That would have to do. Jaskier managed to lie down, pillowing his head on his arms, shivering.

His hopes were answered when he heard the steady stomp of running feet skidding to a halt.

“The fuck?” There was the sound of a deep inhale as the area was scented. “Where you got to bard?”

“Down here,” Jaskier called back and squinted towards the hole he had fallen through. “My ankle.”

“Why would you do that? Wait. Never mind.” Lambert turned away and, a hand cupped against his cheek and lips he let out what could only be called a howl before his attention was back on Jaskier. “What did we tell you about wandering off?”

More feet, more people and Jaskier teared up in relief. He watched as Aiden hopped down the hole and took stock of the damage. A soft cry of pain left Jaskier as he was picked up and his ankle was jostled. In a few, seemingly easy, jumps, Aiden was passing Jaskier over to Geralt who cradled him against his chest. There was a still body-warm jacket draped over Jaskier and he burrowed into it, finding Eskel’s scent mixing with Geralt a comfort.

In the infirmary he was patched up, fussed over and, in the end, bundled into a pile in front of a fire where the others snuggled protectively up against him. By the next morning all the doors were back in place and Vesemir ground his teeth when Aiden slammed the kitchen one for Lambert’s attention.

#geraskier #lambden #geralt of rivia #jaskier #lambert #aiden #eskel #vesemir #wolves of kaer morhen #tldr: witchers have traits of their schools

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angryschnauzer · 4 years ago

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Do You Want Some Hunny

Summary: Your roommate brings you to a Halloween costume party and your costume is Winnie The Pooh, and you find another resident of the Hundred Acre Wood there who shows you just how well Tiggers can bounce.

Pairing; Henry Cavill x Female Reader (Moodboard disclaimer: Usually i keep any physical images of women out of my moodboards, but i couldn’t find a shot of the shorts without a model in. It is mentioned in the story that the reader purchased the shorts and they/she were not the same as the model)

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Crackfic, Smut, Public fingering, Oral Sex (female recieving), unprotected sex, Creampie.

I do not operate a tag list, but please pop over and follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications. You’ll then get an alert every time i post a new story.

Masterlist can be found on AO3, Link HERE.

Do You Want Some Hunny?

You hurried along the pavement, trying to keep up with your roommate as she stalked ahead in her sky high heels, somehow managing to not get them caught in the trim of her Morticia Addams costume. You had opted for your Red Converses that matched your costume and yet still you were having to trot behind her. Fighting against the wind that whipped at your bare legs, you clung to the long parka coat you’d thrown on over your costume, cursing the fact that what you’d chosen at the last minute from an urgent amazon prime order had been more designed for warm climates.

The Winnie The Pooh ears you’d had left over from a trip to Disneyland a few years back were what started it all, a red t-shirt borrowed from your roommate that seemed a lot longer on her than you, and the only thing missing was something yellow to wear with it. You hadn’t wanted to wear a skirt, so had opted for a pair of velvet yellow shorts, however they were a lot shorter than had appeared in the photo, and were very much hotpants rather than shorts. Anyway, they had arrived just a few hours before the party, so it was them or forgo a costume, and not wanting to be a party pooper you decided to go with it.

Following ‘Morticia’ up the porch steps, your heart sank when you saw everyone else’s costumes as they milled around; it was all spooky, dark, and horror movie costumes. Nothing as cute or fluffy as Winnie The Pooh. The host called out to your friend - her girlfriend - and you smiled as you watched the other woman who’d slicked her hair back and had drawn on a mustache to look like Gomez Addams embrace. ‘Gomez’ turned to you and grinned;

“Thanks for coming, i was worried people wouldn’t want to come, let me take your coat”

Shrugging your jacket off you handed it over and fidgeted as she glanced over your costume, you tugged at the shorts;

“Yeah, it was a last minute costume… not very Halloweeny like everyone else”

Gomez winked at you;

“Oh you’re not the only resident of the Hundred Acre Wood here tonight, c’mon, let me get you a drink seeing as my love has wandered off to behead the roses again”

Two hours later you were pleasantly buzzed from a couple of beers, and had been introduced to the other Hundred Acre Wood escapee that was at the party - Tigger - who tended to go by the more human name of Henry.

Six foot of pure muscle was now animatedly installing the virtues of PC gaming having discovered you were starting to learn how to play yourself, all whilst dressed head to toe in a Tigger Onesie. On anyone else it would have looked absurd, but with the zipper undone just enough to show off an inviting patch of chest hair he managed to pull it off. And it wasn’t the only thing you wanted him to pull off. Your attention wandered to his hands and how he was able to circle a beer bottle with his fingers and your words faltered as you explained how you were the hosts girlfriends roommate, instead turning the question back to him;

“So, how do you know Gomez?”

“We’ve been working together on a production here, she’s let me stay in her guest room whilst we’re on a break from shooting”

“You’re an actor?”

He actually blushed at that point;

“Yes… and its quite refreshing to talk to someone that doesn’t immediately recognise me”

Before you could say anything a shout came from the living room;

“Come on! Movie’s about to start!”

Henry led the way and you discovered most of the seats and spots on the sofa’s were taken, finding a single soft chair as he flumped down into it, his legs spread. You paused for a moment before he took your hand without even thinking and pulled you onto his lap;

“There’s enough room for two”

The room was cold, so as the movie started you found yourself snuggling up to the warmth emitting from Henry, envious of his onesie. The room was dark and the massive screen was at the furthest point of the room so everyone’s attention was trained away from the two of you. The movie was one of those modern creep-fests, with ghosts creeping around and the stars oblivious of the entrance to hell they built their cottage on, and with every scare you clung to Henry tighter, his strong arms wrapping around you. Soon you weren’t even paying attention to the movie, your nose hooked under his chin and you let out an involuntary shiver as you were surrounded by his scent.

“Cold?” he whispered

“A little”

He reached and grabbed a blanket that had been tossed over the back of the chair, pulling it over the two of you and it suddenly felt like you were in your own little cocoon. With the warm fabric up to your shoulders you shivered again when Henry slid his hand down beneath the blanket, a grazing touch against the curve of your breast and you found your body arching for more of his touch. He turned to look at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as his gaze consciously focused on yours, licking your lips you gave the smallest nod as he pressed forwards. The kiss was silent and as his plump lips caressed yours you sank into his embrace, his hand finding the edge of your top and slipping beneath the fabric, moving to cup your breast through your bra. As his thumb brushed over your nipple you let out a tiny gasp, but it was enough for his tongue to slip inside your mouth.

The kiss deepened and you shifted on his lap, suppressing another groan when you felt him starting to harden beneath you and even through the thick fabric of his onesie you could tell Tigger had a lot for you to bounce on.

Henry however had traced his wandering touch down your body and was toying with the edge of your shorts, a featherlight touch over the inseam had you gasping against his lips. His voice was low as he spoke, barely a whisper;

“Does Winnie want me to play with her Hunny Pot? I bet you’re delicious”

“Henry!” you shushed him; “We can’t, not here!”

“I wasn’t going to eat it, i was just going to taste it… for now…”

Slipping a finger beneath your shorts he hooked them to the side along with your panties, his thick digit swiping through your folds and seeking out your clit, rubbing firm tight circles against it before letting the elastic snap back into place as he brought his finger to his mouth, humming as he tasted you.

Just at that moment there was a pop and the power went out, the movie shutting down and the emergency light in the hallway the only illumination. Gomez stood and said she was going to call the power company, returning a few minutes later with the bad news that a car had taken out a utilities pole down the street, knocking out power for at least a few hours. A suggestion of heading out to a local bar was floated, with general agreement, but hidden by the noise of everyone else your groan of disappointment was both heard and felt by Henry;

“Lets stay here” he whispered; “Come up to my room. We can… snuggle…”

“Just snuggle?”

His wicked grin told you he wanted to do a whole lot more, and in the melee that followed as people searched for their coats by the light of their phones, Henry was able to lead you through the house and up the back staircase, grabbing a couple of halloween lanterns as he went.

Pressed into the mattress you were buck naked as Henry pressed kisses down the valley of your breasts and across your stomach, before disappearing between your thighs. You ached to run your fingers through his hair however he still wore the Tigger Onesie, and what made the situation seem so surreal was that all you could see from between your legs was the top of Tigger’s head.

Henry’s tongue worked utter magic on you as he slid two thick fingers into your tight hole, sucking on your clit until you were bucking beneath him, clawing at whatever your hands could reach before he suddenly pulled away;

“Fuck, that pussy tastes amazing… but i wanna be inside you…”

Kneeling between your legs he unzipped the onesie all the way, his dick springing out from the open zipper.

“You were going commando?”

He grinned at you and winked;

“I was enjoying hanging loose and free until you walked into the party… from the moment i saw you i’ve been sporting a chubby…”

Fisting his dick he lined it up with your entrance and pushed in, the both of you gasping at the feel of skin on skin and the stretch of his fat cock filling you. Setting off slowly he rolled his hips, finding that delicious spot deep inside you almost immediately;

“Fuck, Henry…. Please, harder…”

“You asked for it Winnie… just watch this Tigger bounce!”

He started to pile drive into you, fucking you into the bed you were sent to heaven and god turned you around and send you straight back down again, Henry pushing his legs further apart to get even deeper, the slapping of his balls against your ass and the thick root of his dick rubbing against your clit almost overstimulating you already, trembling around him as he fucked you even harder;

“Are you gonna cum for me, soak me in your hunny?”

“Yes… keep… keep doing that…”

Just a few more thrusts and you were cumming hard, your body gripping him tight as he slowed his thrusts. As you lay trembling with aftershocks from your orgasm, he pressed kisses to your neck and chest, muttering soft praises before he carefully pulled out;

“I’ve gotta take this off before we continue…”

“Conti…. Oh… you haven’t cum yet…”

“Nope… hope you’re ready for round two”

You watched as Henry finally stripped himself of the Tigger Onesie and you got to seem him in his full glory for the first time; dark brown curls, wide shoulders and incredible arms, a chest you just wanted to lay your head on and sleep. As your gaze unashamedly travelled further, you clenched as you followed the thick trail of hair down his stomach to his crotch, his dick still standing hard and proud, before taking in the thick thighs;

“I wanna ride you…”

He laughed, a deep rich cry of happiness as he climbed onto the bed and kissed you before rolling onto his back. Holding his dick steady he watched as you straddled his waist and positioned yourself over him, before slowly sinking down. When you were fully seated he held up his hand;

“Wait a sec…”

Grabbing your Bear Ear headband he lifted it onto your head;

“C’mon Winnie, work that Hunny Pot for me…”

Just at the moment the bedroom door opened, and in the faint light of the halloween lanterns you saw Morticia and Gomez look in shock then laugh;

“Yeah, Tigger and Winnie are fine…”

The door clicked shut and you felt a light smack on your ass, bringing your attention back to Henry. Resting your hands on his chest you rolled your hips and gave it all your worth, giving him the full rodeo. Soon you could feel him start to tremble beneath you, and he quickly sought out your clit, rubbing circles against the tight bud with his thumb as you started to cum, your walls squeezing him tight and setting his own orgasm off as you milked him dry.

He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest, pressing kisses to your face before you rested your head on him.

When you woke the pale light of November 1st was creeping in through the drawn curtains, and for a moment you forgot where you were. Then the heavy muscled arm of the beast you bedded the night before pulled you closer, the warmth of his chest pressing against your back;

“Morning Winne”

“Tigger…”

His hand slid down your stomach, brushing against the patch of hair;

“Hows your hunny pot this morning?”

You hooked your leg over his as you turned your head to look at him;

“Ready to be refilled”

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill smut #henry cavill fanfic

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