#mr. pail

[hee-blee-art]

some busts of ringleaderverse characters

[aclue-aclue]

Blue's Alphabet Book for gameboy color

[zeldahime]

Highway to Pail Day 20

[Day 1] [Prev] [Next] @do-it-with-style-events

February 20: A good magician's assistant is hard to find. They're highly sawed-after.

There were a number of very clever tricks Aziraphale had observed stage magicians do that he rather admired but could not add to his repertoire. Many of the most impressive contraptions and tricks were actually performed by assistants, slender and flexible people who contorted themselves within cabinets and boxes while the magician demonstrated the illusion.

Except one memorable night, Aziraphale's act had always been a solo one, and Crowley had made it quite clear he didn't intend to join him on stage ever again.

Then one week, Mutt had contracted the flu, and he and his spouse Calico were scheduled to perform at a charity event, and Aziraphale was just thrilled to be asked to be, as it were, something of an understudy to poor old Mutt and perform in his stead.

"I'll do the hard parts," Calico had said on the phone, "but I think we should go through the way the cabinets work before we go up."

"Oh, yes, that's a very good plan," Aziraphale agreed. "I wouldn't want to accidentally poke you or stick you through!" As this was a telephone conversation, Aziraphale could not see Calico's grimace, nor their clear expression of "what have I gotten myself into?"

They made arrangements to meet at the local church where the performance was to be held in the afternoon before the event. Before leaving, Aziraphale left a note just in case Crowley decided to come by, letting him know that he was performing and when to expect him back. Otherwise, however, he shoved thoughts of Crowley and the last two times he'd performed magic on stage down, determined that this time would be a success worthy of the Marvelous Mr Fell!

Aziraphale wasn't close to Calico, but had known them from their teenage years, long before they had chosen that name; they were exactly the bookish kind of young person who would wander into Soho looking for a community and then retreat, overwhelmed, into the nearest stack of shelves, and so had been into the bookshop a few times, quickly scared off by Aziraphale's glower before it became clear they were more of a shy child than a potential customer. Aziraphale had been at one of their first drag shows and had blessed their wedding, though he had sat on the groom's side. They weren't close and they had never performed together, but neither were they strangers.

Aziraphale's costume and Mutt's both tended to a slightly Edwardian sensibility, though from very different directions, so his and Calico's costumes did not clash as badly as they might have if Mutt and Calico's act had been more modern. They wore a dress inspired by Victorian circus performers, with a tight bodice and a knee-length ruffled skirt, in a light lavender to both compliment and contrast with Mutt's usual navy-dark attire. When Aziraphale arrived to the church, however, Calico had not yet changed, still in brightly-patterned leggings and a shirt that would not have looked out of place on the cover of one of Crowley's bebop albums, still positioning the cabinets and making sure everything was up to their standards.

"Mr Fell, wonderful," they said when they saw him, suddenly smiles but nevertheless all business. "Here, stand over... yes. I've just finished putting together the crushing illusion—let me show you how it works."

The pair of them talked and demonstrated and practiced for a few hours, going over several tricks that Calico had ready, arranging a set that would show them both to their advantage. Aziraphale's sleight-of-hand and misdirection tricks would lead naturally into the tricks where Calico vanished, and thence into more complicated illusions. All ones where Calico was in control, of course; Aziraphale knew very well they had no way of knowing he would change the laws of physics to keep them safe on that little church stage.

Eventually, it was time to change, then to put on a show. The Marvelous Mr Fell and his daring assistant Calico Jones wowed and amazed the audience with their prestidigitation and jiggery-pokery, their conjuring and illusions! The prestidigitation less than the illusions, it has to be said, but Aziraphale thought the turning of a turnip into an inkwell did set them in the mood for the crushing trick, at least, which was quite the crowd-pleaser. He rather thought their act must have inspired a number of contributions to charity.

When he tried to help Calico pack up, however, they were unusually reticent to accept. "Go out and talk to your partner first," they said, "I think he might be mad at you. He's doing that sexy lean against his car, the one where you can feel him glaring a hole through you even though you can't see his eyes."

Crowley!, Aziraphale thought, then partner?, then oh dear.

"Ah, thank you my dear," Aziraphale said with a perfectly cherubic smile to Calico, "and my best to Mutt, if I don't see you again before you leave." He knew he wouldn't; he was going to be sneered at sarcastically for having done magic in a church, because he was an angel and Crowley was a demon and they must have some standards, then taken out in the Bentley for a pleasure cruise where he would complain about the speed, and ultimately end the night quite drunk on some very nice wine.

And Crowley was going to hear all about his show.

Author's note:

The last three days have been a black hole, productivity-wise, and I had to sink all my energy into my job (ugh) and grad school (double ugh) but I did finally finish this!!!

The crushing trick is this one, which is really neat. I loved how the assistant is in control of the trick the entire time. Warning for some seriously objectifying language in the video though; pretty much the entire video up until they reveal the trick talks about the assistant like she's a sex doll.

Calico is Mutt's unnamed spouse, in case it's not clear enough. They're played by British comedian Andrew O'Neill, who also uses they/them pronouns. I wish we had even one line from them when they're not under the Jane Austen Ball Spell, to get a better idea of their voice, but I think I like where I got with them.

I love how Aziraphale just ditches them to go out on a date with Crowley at the end. I wasn't planning on that! He's just a bit of a dick!

[weremustelidae]

sorry i'm still thinking about "a variation of food"

[skeletonpete]

'Tater Skins: Super Impulse Poptaters Offer an Array of Fan Favorites

Hot Mash… Super Impulse, famous for their line of impossibly small replications of iconic toys, games and products, showed off a basket full of their Poptaters at the recent Toy Insider Sweet Suite Event. Poptaters are a mash-up of Hasbro’s Mr. Potato Head, and the world of pop culture personalities. A bit bigger than SI’s usual licensed collectibles, Poptators feature characters from fandoms…

[mailsinmailshere11]

Now these are just cute

[gkp2022]

GPK Fusion - Mr. Boone Wiseman

[barefoot-joker]

Snake in the Garden~Yandere! Lucifer X Reader

Hey, guys! I hope you all are well! Today I bring you a Yandere! Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel) story. I do apologize if he's OOC, I tried to make him a bit suave. I hope you enjoy and have a great day/night!

Words: 2105

Warnings: Snakes, Kidnapping, Swearing

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

I hummed as I slipped on my straw hat and sandals. Today was gardening day and I was very excited to be outside. My garden was my passion. It was something to look forward to each day after work. It was especially nice in the eighty degree weather we were having, cool breezes making it bearable to be outside. 

Grabbing my metal bucket with my shears, trowel, and gloves, I made my way out the back door of my house. My neighbor Terry was sitting on his porch rocking in his chair, basking in the sunshine. When he saw me he waved. “Yello, Y/n! Enjoying the day?”

“Of course! How about you Mr. Johnson?”

“Oh you know, just taking a sunbath while the wife is out grocery shopping. If you catch my drift.”

“Perfectly.”

“Well have fun, little lady!”

“Will do, thank you!”

I gave a simple wave and headed towards my small garden. It wasn’t the most spectacular thing, only having five or six rows of vegetables, but I was so proud of my little paradise. I set my bucket down and walked down the row of beans, inspecting each one. My humming continued as I began picking and gently setting the vegetables in my pail. As I was working I heard something hissing. Confused, I looked around and didn’t see anything. I turned back to my work. It was silent for a moment until the hissing continued. I glanced around when suddenly my eyes caught sight of something white in the bushes. I stood up and walked over, pushing the foliage to the side. I gasped when I saw a white snake, its pale pink underbelly had a large gash. I slowly reached down and stroked its back. The snake turned its head, the red eyes staring me down. “Hey there, little fellow. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt ya.”

As I continued to stroke its back, the snake must have understood my message. “Let’s get you patched up, little guy.”

I gently grabbed a hold and made sure to cradle him close. Walking back inside, I set him in my kitchen sink and went to grab supplies. I made my way to the bathroom where I grabbed some gauze and disinfectant from a cupboard. I then returned back to the kitchen. I lifted my scaly friend to flip him over and started to rub some disinfectant on his gash. I grabbed some paper towel and dabbed it dry. “Almost done, little fellow.”

Ripping off some gauze, I carefully wrapped it around the wound. Tying it off, I sealed it with a kiss from the fingertips. “And, all done! Not my best work, but it’ll do.”

The snake’s tongue flicked out in appreciation. “You know what? I think I’ll name you Red. You know, after your very beautiful red eyes!”

The white snake hissed and slithered closer to the edge of the sink. I picked him up and cuddled him close as we walked back outside. When we made it to my garden I gently let him down before I went back to work. Red stayed the whole time I was outside, slithering alongside me. When it was my time to head inside, I said my goodbyes and watched him slither back into the bushes.

After my run in with Red I would see him every time I entered my garden. I would lay out some greenery for him to eat and some water to drink all the time. He would even wrap himself around my arms as I worked. One day as I was preparing my small table, Red came out of the bushes as per usual. He slithered up my leg and I couldn’t help but giggle. “Red, that tickles! Stop! I have to get this ready!”

He just stayed there. “You silly boy.”

I caressed the top of his head and set up my nice (favorite color) tablecloth. Just as I was placing two mugs down, I heard a male voice call my name. Red slid off my leg and curled down by the table leg. I turned to see my boyfriend s/o standing at my back door. “S/o!”

I ran at him and gave a big hug. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Me too. We’ve been planning this little lunch date for a while.”

I led him over to the table and we sat. “I made us some tea. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not, honey. You know I’m down to try anything.”

We both took a sip from our cups. “So, how has your garden been going?”

“Pretty well actually. All of my vegetables have been thriving, which is nice. I even met a new friend!”

“A new friend? Well I’d love to meet them.”

“Hold on one second.”

I leaned under the table and gently picked up my snake buddy. “This is Red. Isn’t he gorgeous? I’ve never seen a snake with a pink underbelly before.”

“Me neither. Can I see him?”

“Of course!”

I started to hand him over when suddenly Red struck forward and sunk his fangs into S/o’s hand. “Ow! God dammit that hurt!”

“Red!”

I set him down and gently took my boyfriend’s hand. “Are you alright?”

“No, your fucking snake bit me!”

I sucked on my teeth. “It does look bad. Here, let’s take you to the clinic.”

We stood up and walked to my car. I had him sit in the passenger seat while I drove.

Hours later I had dropped off S/o at his apartment. We had gotten him some antibiotics and luckily Red wasn’t poisonous. Thank god. I sighed as I slipped off my shoes and walked into my living room. I was looking at the floor when suddenly I let out a gasp. Standing staring at some of the photos on my wall was a short man, his back towards me. From what I could see he wore a big white hat, white and red jacket, white puffy pants and tall black boots. At the sound of me entering, the man turned and I couldn’t help but let out another gasp. The stranger had white skin, short blonde hair and red circles on his cheeks. His red eyes were quite striking as they seemed to stare into my soul. “Ah Y/n, you’re back! Jolly good.”

“W-who are you?”

A black cane with an apple on top magically appeared and the man gave a theatrical bow. “How rude of me. My name is Lucifer dear, but you’re probably more familiar with calling me Red.”

“R-red? But you’re a person and he was a snake…wait a minute. Lucifer? As in the Devil?”

He let out a dark chuckle and I stepped back upon seeing the two rows of sharp teeth. “Exactly!”

I gulped and ran off, trying to head for my front door. I screamed when he appeared in front of me, but this time dressed in green. I bolted towards my back door but he reappeared, this time in red. A few more Lucifers in different colored clothes surrounded me, parting to let the original through. “Look Mr. Satan sir, I didn’t summon you, nobody sacrificed me, nothing like that! Why don’t you just return to Hell and forget this ever happened!”

His cane came up under my chin and lifted my head to look into his eyes. “And forget the lovely lady that helped me? Not a chance! I was lucky I stumbled upon you that day. You see, I had gotten into a fight with a contractor and he got quite a few hits in. I got away with a stomach wound and that’s when I slithered into your life. You patched me up and made me whole!”

His face got closer to mine as he told his tale, our noses almost touching. “You’re so intoxicating, dear. Just like the apple I offered to Eve.”

My breath hitched as his lips got close. “Okay, I helped you. Now why can’t you just go away?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not? Please, leave me alone.”

A few tears collected in the corners of my eyes and he was quick to wipe them away. “I’ll explain in due time. But I’ve wasted enough time. We need to get going.”

“Going?”

“Yes! You’re coming to Hell with me!”

My eyes widened and I attempted to flee. His arm wrapped around my waist and with the other he waved his cane in the air. Golden dust began to accumulate on the floor, swooshing around and around until a portal formed. The arm around my waist forced me to walk with him. He threw his cane into the air and like magic it disappeared. “Now this may cause a slight headache but I’ll be sure to tend to it when we arrive.”

“No please-”

“In we go!”

He forced us to jump forward and I let out a shriek. I tightly closed my eyes and my stomach lifted into my throat as we fell. This feeling stayed until I landed on something soft. My body was tense as I slowly opened my eyes. It seemed we had landed in a foyer of sorts. The large marble fireplace had a roaring blaze going and from what I could see out the large Victorian windows it was night outside. The dark red clouds swirled like my nerves as I watched Lucifer fluff his jacket. He turned to me and smiled. “I apologize if I frightened you, my dear. It wasn’t my intention. I know first time portal jumping can be quite tedious.”

He adjusted his hat before sitting next to me on the deep red velvet chaise lounge. “Now then I know you skipped lunch since you took your little boy toy to the hospital, so how about some dinner? I can cook a mean steak!”

The situation was starting to be too much to handle and I couldn’t help the sobs that wracked my body. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay. Shh, shh. There, there.”

Lucifer wrapped his arms around me in a hug and I could feel his claws combing my hair. “It’s alright, little apple. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

He just made me cry harder. “I just want to go home!”

“This is your home now. I know it’ll take some getting used to, but I promise if you give Hell a chance you’ll forget all about silly Earth and that wretched boyfriend of yours.”

His claws dug in a bit when he brought up S/o. It made me shudder. “But he doesn’t matter anymore. I’m here for you and that’s most important.”

He pulled away slightly to wipe at my eyes, his touch gentle compared to before. “You know what will cheer you up? A nice cup of spiced hot cocoa! I’ll be right back.”

He stood and made his way towards the white door. Before leaving he gave me a smile. “Don’t go anywhere.”

The door shut softly. As soon as he was gone I quickly looked around trying to find an exit. I spotted a door opposite me. I ran to it, threw it open, and rushed out of the room. My legs carried me far as I dashed through the spiraling halls, rushing down a grand staircase, and arriving at what I assumed was the front door. I yanked them open and before I could step out an angry hiss made me pause. Two large golden snakes sat on the doorstep and stared me down harshly. I slammed the door shut and urged myself to breathe slower. “I see you’ve met David and Goliath.”

My head shot up to see Lucifer standing there without his jacket, a faint smirk on his lips. “Why the heck do you have giant snakes on your property?!”

“To protect us. Being the rulers of Hell comes with a target on your back.”

“What do you mean rulers?”

“I brought you here for a reason, Y/n, silly goose!” 

He began walking towards me. “I intend to court you and make you my Queen. I’ve been alone for seven years. My wife and I split and my daughter and I don’t have the best relationship. However, I intend to rectify that, my sweet apple. You and I are going to be together forever.”

He stopped in front of me and held my face in his hands, thumbs gently rubbing my cheekbones. My heart sank as I realized I wasn’t getting out of this any time soon and the look of adoration in Lucifer’s eyes made that fact.

[dingodad]

I retire to my heavily processed photograph of Andrew Carnegie's study, painstakingly retrieved from a google image search. ... It was also very thoughtful of you to switch the layer mode of your coat of paint to the overlay setting, so it would not obscure the details of Mr. Carnegie's lavish room.

deeply cornplate post about a theory i feel is already pretty much explicit without needing to do any further digging but i guess this whole bit about hussie getting his house from google / ms paint repainting it to look like the felt mansion foreshadows the implication (foreimplies?) that caliborn just stole his green moon from the black queen and made it green. paint even wearing the dress that signifies snowman's position in the gang... feels like combining this with caliborn's vow to paint in calliope's blood turns the pail of green blood into a whole other thing though

[bump1nthen1ght]

Fair Winds, Following Seas (M!Reader x M!Siren)

Pairing: Male!Captain!Reader x Male!Flirty!Siren

Genre: Pirates, Pining, Flirting

Word Count: 2257 words

Warnings: N/A

Summary: As a captain of a feared pirate crew, not much terrifies you. Not even keeping the company of a man-eating siren. 

Based on this request: (A/N: WHELP I clearly misread this request haha, a more accurate version of this request can be found here, but for now enjoy this piece!) May I request a flirty male! siren! reader with a male gruff pirate captain? I'll leave the details up to you! Love your works by the way, take all the dang time you need. :3

One of your favorite things about being captain is being at the helm. With nothing but an endless ocean in front of you and a steady grip on the wheel, you’ve never felt more at peace.

Except for right now, with an incessant rapping on your shoulder.

“Yes, Mr. Brightley?”

Your nervous, newest third mate jolts at your voice, probably just having worked up the nerve to approach you in the first place.

“U-um, the lookout has spotted a stranded person sitting out on the rock.” His shaky hands point out on the horizon, where a large outcrop stands solitary amidst the waves. The kind of rock that could sustain no other life than a seagull and crustaceans.

Your brow furrows.

“Really?”

“Yes, captain. The crew was wondering if we should stop and help them-”

“What do they look like?”

That stops Mr. Brightley in his tracks.

“Uh-”

“Check for me, will you?” You nod your head to the nearby telescope. Your ship is slowly riding the waves, the rock just within viewing distance.

Mr. Brightly shakily takes the scope, extending it and trying to catch any general features.

“Uh, long black hair, tan-” Brightley’s free eye squints, “It looks like they're wearing a sheet?”

You sigh.

“Tell the crew to get the rowboat ready, I’ll go and check this out.”

—

Your younger crew looks at you like you're crazy as you insist on going out to the rock by yourself, bringing nothing but a rope, a ladder and a bucket of fish with you. You told them you’ll be back in a few hours, another baffling fact.

As you row through the crashing waves,  a beckoning, melodic voice calls out to you.

“Oh, my savior!” The tenor calls out in fake falsetto, white linen flowing around his nude figure like Aphrodite. “I’ve been stranded for days. I thought I was a goner.” You throw a rope up the side of the rock, a snake-like hand grabbing it with precision. 

His face is beautiful, practically carved out of marble. His warm brown eyes are that of a doe, all innocent and alluring. “Whatever can I do to repay you?”

“Cut the crap, Harris.” 

You toss the pail of sea sweater directly into Harris face, the sheet wrapped around his chest going sheer. Harris just tosses his hair, water speckling like a rainbow as false skin fades into green scales, those doe eyes glowing a bright yellow and his demure smile becoming full of sharp teeth. He still resembles a human, a handsome one too, but this form is much more real.

“Ah, you always know how to make my day, Captain.”

Harris knots the rope around a sturdy rock, foregoing your rope ladder entirely and diving into the water with perfect precision. You roll your eyes.

“Showoff.” Haris flips back his long hair, now dark and tangled with sea water, as he pulls himself up onto the rowboat. His triceps flex and he gives you a wry smirk “You know you could send me a letter, like a normal friend does. Don’t have to do-” You gesture to the giant rock, to the diaphanous sheet now barely hanging off his hips, “-all this.”

“Nonsense, Captain.” Harris leah's over and sends a wave to your crew, most likely absolutely gobsmacked at this point. “These meetings are special! Special things deserve some drama.”

Harris flops his body over your legs, hand thrown over his forehead like the cover of a bodice-ripper. The sheet wraps around his waist, somehow making his sharp v seem all the more pronounced.

You scoff, setting your large oars aside and giving your arms a break. The sun is bright today, reflecting off the wear and right into your eyes. Sweat has begun to pool onto your brow.

A calloused, scaly hand runs up the side of your face, drawing your attention. The tips of Harris’ claws just graze your skin, lingering over a strip of puckered skin right by your jaw, no bigger than an inch.

“Is this new?”

You hum, remembering the scuffle at the bar they gave you the scar. It wasn’t even a good enough story to tell, the mark itself easily covered up by some facial hair, if you wanted to.

“Well, it makes you no less handsome.”

Harris sits up on his elbows, eyes dangerously darting across your lips. His tongue, long and black, darts in between his teeth.

You throw your thighs up and even Harris’ strong core isn’t enough to keep him steady. He falls off of you, quite ungracefully.

“Hey! Watch the merchandise, these looks are important, y’know?”

Harris brushed back his hair, showing off the sharp cut of his jaw and his perfectly pushed up cheekbones. They glimmer green and gold in the sunlight.

You grab a fish from the bucket and throw it in his face. Harris catches it between his teeth. He gives you a wink as blood and bone crunch under his fangs. 

“Hope you like mackerel, cause that's all you're getting.”

Harris pushes your knee in jest, lips so pouty, but graciously accepts the heaps of fish you give him. You’re lucky you're almost completely nose-blind, as you're sure the boat reeks of fish guts and brine at this point. 

“Now tell me Captain,”” Harris says, still picking flesh from his teeth, “-what ya been up to?”

“Nothing much.”

“You always say that.” Harris whines, stripping flesh clean of the bone with one bite. “Must I pry out every battle and plunder you’ve gone through? You’re a fearsome pirate Captain, brag a little.”

“This coming from the man who's been inside the Marianas Trench and didn’t tell me until I knew him for a year. ” You pull out a fresh orange, thankful you didn’t get any of the fish-stink on your hands. “Pot calling kettle black, Harris.”

“Ugh, you’ve seen the Marianas Trench once you’ve seen it you’ve seen it 

hundred times.” Harris throws a fish bone over the side, crossing his arms and leaning on your seat. “Now, suck it up and tell me about a ‘port’ of some sort!”

This was how it always went with Harris. For a siren, he was weirdly fascinated by your land-locked tales. You’d think he’d hate human stuff, given you met when rescuing him from a fishing net.

“Meh. Some sirens are shitty, some sirens are good. I’m sure humans are the same. I mean, you seem pretty cool.”

The next time your paths crossed had been accidental. Harris almost lured one of your men over the side. But after that snafu, he agreed to let the poor soul go in exchange for another story, something exciting like you had distracted him with when cutting him free. 

After that began the trade; he told you about his underwater escapades, you told him about your land ones. You seemed to be like magnets, paths always crossing in a wide wide ocean. 

“Ooh, like this.” Harris lunges forward, clawed hand going for your neck. After years of this, you don’t even flinch. The claws pull at the lace of your new necklace, pulling out the mother-of-pearl pendant ensconced in gold in the center. “I bet this has a story. Where did you get this from?”

“Hmm, just a bet gone right at a port bar. The one I told you about, with all the seashell decorations”  It was a common haunt of you and your crew, your face well known and respected. “Stupid bastard just wouldn't stop playing. He must have been a stupid noble or something, trying to make it on his own. Too much gold and not enough sense.” You look at the pendant, seeing the faint colors shimmer in the sunlight. “He only quit after he lost this, must’ve been an heirloom cause he got real red in the face afterwards. Lunged at my neck with a fork.” 

“Oh! Oh! Did you stab his hand into the table? Did you grab him by the collar, hold your sword up to his neck and say ‘Unhand me, fool, or I’ll wear your guts for garters’?”

You raise your eyebrow.

“You’ve been reading too many of those romance novels. No, I punched him and he was out like a light.”

Harris flops down, a pout.

“Well, what about the gold?”

“Spent most of it that night. Well, the crew did. I think they bled that poor tavern dry.” You laugh, fiddling with the pendant. That had been a fun night. “I held onto the rest.”

“Well surely you spent some of it. Didn’t you party with your crew?”

“Nah, I love the lads but they make poor company when drunk.”

“Hmm, so you prefer the company of others.” Harris wiggles his eyebrows, leaning forward and an elbow. “Anyone in parti-cu-lar?” Harris gives an exaggerated wink, scrunching up his cheek and all.

You aren’t moved by the performance

“Like I said, too many romance novels.”

“Oh come on!” Harris grabs another fish, ripping its head off with one movement. “Do you know how small the eligible siren population is? There's only about 500 of us, and you’re lucky if the siren you're courting isn't an ex's ex of an ex. There’s like, thousands of you humans-”

“More like billions-”

“-and you’re saying no one comes to mind? Not even a young ingénue waiting for their fearsome captain to come back from the sea? Or pining over that rugged lover they took one night, who blew their stockings right off?” Harris takes a bite of the fish, spitting out pieces of bone over the side. He leans forward further on his elbows, chin just inches from brushing against your thigh. “You’re telling me they don’t just throw themselves at you, Captain. You? Surely there must be someone who caught your eye.”  Harris gestures to your whole body. 

You exhale through your nose, staring right into Harris' deep yellow eyes. You’re no artist, nor a writer, but you wonder what the right words would be to describe him.

Someone with big eyes, with that aquiline nose. Whose eyes are like the sunset on the water, clear yet vibrant. With a black tongue, sharp teeth and even sharper claws.

“Nope, no one.”

Harris rolls his eyes, shoving your thigh with a half-strength push. 

“Fine, keep your secrets. I’ll pry you open one day, Captain.”

Fortunately, the conversation quickly drifts from your love-life to his recent misadventures. Mostly boring, according to him; Riding the gulf stream all the way to Iceland, helping a whale calf back to its mother, and sinking an English ship with some siren buddies.

“All Royal Navymen, so not the tastiest meat. But my god, do they make interesting sport.”

You show him the scar on your side you have from when such a Royal Navyman had grazed it with a bayonet.

“Lost lots of blood. But I walked away with my head intact, can’t say the same for him.”

“Not that he had much to begin with.”

That gets a laugh.

Only the setting sun can cut your meetings short, the night at sea bringing a deathly chill you’re ill equipped to deal with. Harris offers to pull your rowboat back to your ship, knowing how the sun tires you to the bone.

Curious crew members flee from the side as Harris draws closer, his handsome face poking out above the water. You’re sure some of them have already stuffed cotton in their ears, terrified of Harris. It takes your second hand, Ricky, to let the rope ladder down after you call everyone else cowards.

“I see what you mean about your crew, Captain. Who’d be afraid of little ole me?”

He presses a finger to his cheek in faux innocence, smile still filled with teeth. You splash some more water in his face.

You hop onto the bottom rung of the stepladder after typing up the rowboat, sluggish crew still too afraid to approach the side and pull the boat up. You turn back to Harris, who lingers in the water.

“Well, Farewell Captain! May your adventures be plentiful, so I have something interesting to listen to next time”

Harris propels himself upward, giving a dramatic bow half-way out of the water. You can’t fight the smile. Such a drama queen.

“Hey Harris?” You call back, now hanging off the ladder with one hand. The other gestures for Harris to come closer.

“Yes?” Harris asks, leaning up with brows furrowed.

His lips are just as salty as you’d expect. With only a three second peck, you’re already fiending for some water. It’d be harder to pull away, otherwise.

Those eyes are blown wide open, cheeks flushed an unnatural color you’ve never seen before. It’s a brand new expression on Harris, it shoots a pleasant bolt down your spine.

“Until we meet again.”

You tap the side of the rope, quickly yanked up by Ricky. You shoot only a glance back and see Harris, jaw dropped open like a guppy.

By the time you’re back on the deck, he seems to have dived back in the water, and your crew are pulling cotton out of their ears.

You give Ricky a pat on the back and he gives you a knowing smile. He’ll never let this go, that’s for sure. 

You saunter off into your quarters, Mr. Brightley and the rest still as befuddled as before.

“Absolute madman, he is.” Mr. Brightley says, wondering how he’d fit all your escapades into his letter to his sister. Hopefully her Captain was more sane than his.

[razorblade180]

9 days of Lancaster Day 8: Beach Day

Ruby:Jauuuuuune! You ready for next week’s team environmental bonding training!? AKA, the beach!?

Jaune:Umm, yeah. I’m sure it’ll be fun.

Ruby:..Don’t tell me you can’t swim?

Jaune:I can swim fine. Although if I’m honest I’m probably build a sandcastle or something. Maybe read.

Ruby:You sound like Blake. I need you amped! We gotta wipe Yang’s smug look off her face in volleyball.

Jaune:As long as Nora’s on our team.

Ruby:Obviously. Hey, are you already done packing? I didn’t even see you shop.

Jaune:Ren got most of the travel stuff like sunscreen.

Ruby:You owned beach clothes already?

Jaune:I mean…sorta? I have trunks and y’know, a cozy top.

Ruby:Like a divine shirt?

Jaune:More like a…beach hoodie.

Ruby:Jaune, it’s gonna be in the triple digits when we go.

Jaune:I’ll live.

Ruby:Yeah in an emergency room! What’s with you? Do you have a weird scar or something?

Jaune:No. I…*rubs arm* I don’t know. Being shirtless really isn’t my thing. Never had the confidence.

Ruby:Really? I mean i get it; especially before training but you look good! Nora calls you Mr. Muscle.

Jaune:Hehe, yeah it’s a wild thing. I know it’s in my head but after getting picked on when I was younger I kinda became self conscious. Hoodies have always felt cozier after that.

Ruby:….Wanna make a deal?

Jaune:A deal?

Ruby:I actually have been trying to gain more confidence in myself and shake off some awkwardness. I was planning on wearing this older one piece I own. But, there’s also a part of me that wants to try a bikini for the first time. If you step out of your comfort zone then I will do it too. We can be awkward together.

Jaune:I bet you would look nice in a one piece though.

Ruby:….

Jaune:..Yeah, that didn’t sound quite right coming from your boyfriend in this situation.

Ruby:I got the sentiment, but yeah. Not your finest moment. *holds his hands* Let’s take the plunge together. We can even be a little gross and get matching outfits. *smiles*

Jaune:Haha. That would be something, wouldn’t it? I…eh, why not? Sure, let’s try.

Ruby:Yussss!

xxxxxx

The fateful day arrived. After lots of second guessing himself, Jaune stood on corse hot sand underneath a recently planted umbrella . His hoodie was nowhere in sight and his new white swimming trunks fit nicely. All he knew about the design was the at the right leg had a gray pail pouring water out of it like one of those watering buckets.

???: Nora might be onto something with Mr. Muscle.

He turned around to see a red reaper holding her beach bag. More importantly, on her was the bikini she picked in secret. It was the average cut for a standard bikini, with the top being green on the straps and upper rim. Meanwhile, the cups and bottom were bright red with a few yellowish specks. Jaune quickly realized Ruby was a red as the strawberry design she chose.

Ruby:S-So? Any thoughts? How do I look?

Jaune:Edible.

Ruby:!?

Jaune:That’s not- I mean- *covers face*…. You look really nice. Man this hasn’t been my week.

Ruby removed the boy’s hands to get a good look at him. He wasn’t as cut as her but man did he bulk up! Not too much though. Jaune was still pretty lean and Ruby found that wonderful. She moved her arms under his own and gave a gentle hug while her fingers traced his back.

Ruby:If ya ask me, you look, feel, and smell good. I’m one lucky gal.

Jaune:*red* Thanks. I’m pretty lucky too. *hugs her*

Ruby:Well your luck isn’t over. I kinda need your help. *pulls out sunscreen*

Jaune:..You’re really trying give me a heart attack.

Ruby:Hahaha!

[honeysickledream]

'Overgrown' | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader | Chapter Four

[photo cred: me (@honeysickledream) | dividers by @/saradika_graphics]

NSFW (18+, minors and ageless blogs DNI)

tags / cw: fluff, some slice of life stuff, brief mentions of midwifery tools and herbs, more relationship development, mention of side-character's pregnancy, self-doubt, Simon is inexperienced and nervous (so is reader but she's hiding it), smut, masturbation, fingering, oral (f!receiving), coming untouched | let me know if i missed anything!

w/c: ~2.5k

a/n: Yay, things get kinda smutty! and we get a view into Simon's mind during it (someone give this man reassurance). 10 points to you if you can pinpoint exactly where my brain swung to the sex-repulsed side of my confusing ass sexuality.

Chap 1 | Chap 2. | Chap 3. | Chap 5. | AO3

A comfortable, happy week-and-a-half had passed. Simon had taken on many of the chores, namely laundry, wood-splitting, and keeping the larder stocked. He even promised to handle the garden when it came back to life in spring, most of the plants now dormant as winter approached. Along with him handling the most annoying, time-consuming chores, a nice routine had caught on quickly.

Each morning you found Simon in the kitchen, tending the open hearth as he waited for the pails of water to heat for baths. You made yourself tea, refreshing his if he asked you to, and went about making a simple breakfast. Sometimes he’d get up and just stand beside you as you cut potatoes, some kind of cured meat, and whisked together eggs while the iron skillet heated over the hearth. Before you left to make your three-mile journey to the town, Simon asked when you’d be home and if you wanted anything specific to be done. Your answer was always the same: home around sunset but a courier would be sent if you were going to be late, and you couldn’t think of anything specific for him to do. While you worked, he was on your mind, especially during those long stretches when a mother’s labor slowed naturally, or when you went about chores or waited for a mother and her babe to be available for a check-up. Before the agreement to work things out, you’d only thought of him sparingly and often in contempt. Now? Now you wondered if he was safe in the cabin, warm enough to comfortably go about whatever chore or repair he’d set his heart at. Anticipatory dread settled coldly in your heart at the thought of his mercenary friends snatching him from you for a mission without allowing him to say a simple goodbye. He was always home when you returned at sunset, though. Always in the kitchen, ingredients for that night’s dinner laid out, sometimes even prepared if it was a simple meal he wanted. As the two of you cooked and ate dinner, stories were shared. He often told ones from after his father’s passing. Price, Gaz and Soap played major parts in the chaos each story, and he promised to introduce you to them all within the next week if you wanted. He made sure to stress if you wanted because, according to him, they were all a handful and a half. You didn’t tell him that you’d already met Price, at least briefly. You’d been at the tavern he and his wife owned and lived in to confirm Mrs. Price’s second pregnancy and to accept the role of primary midwife. Price had introduced himself after you nearly took his head off with your medical case when he barged into the bedroom during his wife’s check-up without introducing himself. You thought your reaction somewhat acceptable: he could have knocked, or just waited outside the door like most people did.

Telling Simon any of that would be a breach of trust, and would spoil the good news, which you knew better than to do. The stories you told were childhood stories, always happy and full of pranks. Your brothers were annoying pranksters, sometimes outright assholes, who somehow managed to end up on your good side by the end of the day. Your sisters were compassionate, your strongest supporters, and always eager to get revenge on the boys. Your parents rarely made appearances in your stories, the bitterness towards them still strong. You and Simon did your nightly routines separately, never taking more than an hour to get ready for bed before convening in the parlor. For the first few days, you tried to teach Simon how to knit and embroider—he could sew your tattered hems or loose sleeves beautifully, but the moment he tried to embroider? He fumbled about, growing frustrated and giving up. He was only slightly better with knitting. One night he’d wanted to show you how to string a bow and it went about as well as could be expected. Somehow you’d lost grip of the bow and it snapped, hitting Simon square in his nose. You’d spent a solid hour panicking, fretting over him as you dabbed the blood slowly dripping from his nostrils, entirely missing the way his pupils dilated at your worry and closeness. No bones had been broken, no teeth chipped or anger to be had. That night was when you both agreed to stick to activities that wouldn’t lead to injuries, such as card games. He always won. No matter how good your hand was or the tricks you tried to pull, he won. And he was a braggart about it too, laughing and cheering as if he’d won a fortune, but you didn’t let his bragging annoy you too much. Seeing him laugh and smile so often was worth the minor dings to your pride. At the end of every night, he walked you to your bedroom which was right across from his. He gave your left cheek a peck, wishing you a good night, and waited to slip into his room once you were in yours. Your skin burned where he’d kissed, keeping you awake for hours as you tried to still your racing heart and pull your mind from wandering down a certain path. But it wandered anyways, getting away from you quickly. You imagined him slipping into your room after hearing you toss and turn, sighing in frustration as sleep failed to come to you. In your imaginings he’d sit on the edge of your bed while cooing at you for being so worked up over such a little peck, his hand sliding between your legs in place of your own. He’d toy with your clit, rough pad of his finger rubbing gentle circles at first only to pick up speed as your hips bucked and all you could do was beg and moan his name. Your mind cleared some once you came, disappointment taking over your desire when you realized your imagination hadn’t warped reality and brought Simon to your bed.

A copy of ‘The Byrth of Mankynde’ rested in your lap as you examined the text and images on the yellowed pages in the firelight. Before today, you’d never seen the likes of it before given that midwifery wasn’t a profession that was often discussed in books. Maybe an occasional mention of a midwife in the published notes of some physician reporting about this procedure or that, but a full book dedicated to it? You were half-tempted to keep the copy for yourself but then the sneering face of the town’s head midwife flashed in your mind. That resolved you of the temptation quickly. She was a nice enough woman until something went wrong or someone acted silly when they weren’t meant to, then there was hell to pay. She’d only loaned you the copy (you weren’t sure how she managed to get one) because you’d gotten through your roster in such a timely fashion that you finally had a few days off. Reading it still managed to feel like work, though. The fear that you would be tested on your knowledge of the book had lingered in the back of your mind since morning—it was late evening now—as you traced sketches of tools onto thin paper and tried to find ways to memorize steps you’d perfected ages ago. You looked up from the book when you heard the floorboards creak under Simon’s heavy footsteps. He had a towel around his neck to keep the water dripping from his hair off his loose linen shirt. He stopped by your feet and just…stood there with an expectant look. “What is it, Simon? I can’t read your mind.” He huffed and you grinned at the sight of a pink tinge blooming on his cheeks. “Just want to sit beside my wife,” he muttered, but you didn’t move an inch. You loved it when he called you ‘Wife’. The word, the emphasis he used, made your heart flutter and a dreamy film seemed to coat your mind. Wife…you were his wife and happily so nowadays. Sometimes it didn't feel real at all. He carefully lifted your legs out of the way and plopped down beside you on the settee. You didn’t miss how his thighs tensed under your heels when you slid them across his lap to get comfortable again. “Good book?” “Fairly,” you said as your attentions fell back to the worn page illustrated with small bottles of tinctures and solutions. The lack of ‘dittany of Crete’ as a useful herb for midwives or for all women, made your brows furrow. Simon laid a hand on your shin, fingers pinching and rolling the thick cotton of your skirt. The faint touches you’d grown fairly used to, no longer startling when he found a way to brush against you or guide you with a soft but firm hand. Still, your spine tingled at the contact and it was always hard to not break out in a smile. “Did you have a good bath?” you asked, turning the page. “Mhm. It was nice, managed to work the knot outta my shoulder. And I should be done with the new bookshelf tomorrow.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Maybe we could put it in my room. We could start movin’ a few things into there, if ya wanted.” The book held no interest suddenly, not as the implication of Simon’s words hit you like a sack of flour. The bookshelf being his bedroom would mean you’d have to sneak in if you wanted to find something to read in the morning…but if you made his room yours, there’d be no sneaking. Of course, the option of continuing to stack books on random surfaces, forgoing the bookshelf you asked him to build and the topic of sharing a bedroom—such an intimate space—still existed.

But you were now fairly happy as husband and wife, so the subject was bound to come up eventually. You’d certainly given it enough thought as you stared up at the canopy, hand between your legs, thinking about how nice it would be to have Simon pleasuring you rather than your own tired hand. And when you woke up cold and alone in the mornings, you lingered in bed as you imagined what it would be like to wake up to Simon pressed against you to give you his warmth. You closed the book carefully, “We could. I’d like that.” A thick silence fell between you for moment, then another. Simon then cleared his throat and asked lowly: “Would ya like to share my bed tonight?” The barest hint of nauseous formed in your stomach as you stared at him completely dumbfounded. The sharp look in his eyes told you he was being serious. Within the next breath you had straddled his lap, the tip of your nose barely pressed to his. Damn the loneliness you felt every morning and night, you wanted Simon madly--you wanted your husband. “Take me to bed, Simon,” you whispered against his lips, and then kissed him.

Nothing compared to the image before him: you lying naked and posed on the bed, waiting so patiently for his mind to start working again. He’d stopped being able to form thoughts when you’d shed your dress and underthings swiftly, dropping them on the tattered rug to stand bare before him. Pride and shyness mixed on your face as he starred at you nearly slack-jawed and confused as to what he’d done right in his life to be so blessed. Simon didn’t deserve you, he truly believed he didn’t. The kindness, humor, and patience you had in spades threatened to break him every day. He feared one touch from his sinful hands tonight would cause you to crack, and he had to remind himself that he hadn't broken you after all his little kisses goodnight and the faint touches against your back. You crooned his name and his cock twitched in the confines of his trousers. That was another he loved about you: the way you spoke his name. He wanted to hear you moan it, wanted you to beg him so sweetly but his body wasn’t moving. He kept telling his feet move and kept trying to will his hands into rest on your thighs and part them, but they wouldn't listen. He flinched when you grabbed his hand and tugged him closer. Bold--that was another thing, you could be bold and it was refreshing. You guided his hand between your parted legs as you told him what to do at first. Simon marveled at how wet you were already and the way you sighed contentedly as he carefully toyed with your clit, sometimes speeding his movements and changing the pressure, making note of what made your breath catch and your muscles tense. He placed your legs over his shoulders as he knelt between them. He did everything you instructed him to do, and happily, too. The structure made it easier for him to breathe and move, calmed his nerves enough for him to not make a mess of his pants at the first taste of your cunt or when he slowly pressed a finger into you. The way you felt was addicting. All slick and smooth around his finger as he crooked it against that spot that had you clamping your thighs against his head and grinding yourself against his lapping tongue. He groaned against you, rocking his hips against the edge of the bed to relieve the burning, coiled tension that grew stronger with each sound you made. His efforts doubled, both for your pleasure and his, when you told him you were close. His free hand pressed to your lower belly, held firmly in place by yours as he worked his tongue against your clit and moved his finger faster. He came moments before you did, desperately fighting the almost blinding pleasure that tried to lock up his muscles, and then he saw the second prettiest sight of the night: your back arched off the bed, hands grasping the sheets as you cried out in pleasure. Simon climbed onto the bed and collapsed beside you as a sudden ringing filled his ears and white spots danced along the outskirts of his vision. Your hand carded through his hair and he could faintly hear you praise him. Had he had energy left, he would have faked some preening gesture to make you laugh. Instead, he threw and arm around you and buried his face against the junction of your shoulder. “We need to get cleaned up,” you whispered into his hair. “You can’t fall asleep is those trousers.” “Mm…I can,” he grumbled. You laughed and swatted his shoulder. “At least take them off if you don’t feel like you can make it to washbasin.” He rolled onto his back and undid the front ties of his trousers, then lazily shoved them off. “Better?” he asked when you curled up against him, your cheek resting over his heart. You yawned. “It’ll do.” The room fell into silence and for the first time in ages, he didn’t mind it one bit. He knew by your stillness, the deepness of your breaths, that you were fast asleep. Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head and whispered the three words he feared he’d never be able to say to someone.

A/n: I was so damn tempted to just do a fade to black but I did whatever I did instead. I think from here on out, chapters will be more slice of life bits (some nsfw included), maybe some drama here and there. Been toying with the idea of giving Price and his wife a bigger part in the series, too. If any of y’all have ideas for what should happen next (or if you have questions about the series), send me an ask because my brain is about as smooth as a salt flat atm.

[aclue-aclue]

"Steve and Blue had such a good time together, that Steve wanted Blue to stay"

Blue's First Holiday is 22 Years Old Today!

"But Steve wanted Blue to stay

It remains one of the best cartoon origin stories idc.

[starlight-starwrites]

a real bed

arthur morgan x female reader

summary: You’re tired. Arthur’s been gone. When he leaves you to spend another night alone, he works to make it up to you and show you exactly what you deserve. wc: 3.4k warnings: TB-doesn’t-exist au, some light/non-graphic smut note: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY @margowritesthings​​! I loved the princess treatment prompt, I hope this is full of the fluff (and smut) you were looking for! thank you to @rdrevents​​​​​ for hosting the valentine gift exchange!

“Carrots are done,” you slide the last of the vegetables into the pot and wipe your hands on your apron.

Pearson grunts, and you accept it as the most you’ll get for a thank you. “Stew is going to be light on the meat again. Where is that man of yours?”

“He’s not…my man.” You don’t look at him when you say it, heat flaring in your face at the words. You know who he refers to, but you and Arthur still felt new. It was no secret, you admit, and after years of pining it was nice to have your affections returned. But as you fill a pail of water for the girls’ washing up, craning your neck to look over the short bridge to Shady Belle, you can see Arthur’s horse is still missing. “I don’t know where he is.”

He’d left yesterday evening after a short visit and even shorter dinner. Things were rough for the gang, but you felt it was always the roughest for Arthur. He surprised you leaving so soon after returning, and when you asked if he wouldn’t stay for the night he only smiled and said you could have the bed to yourself like you would enjoy it. You kept your mouth shut. Kissed him goodbye. Watched him ride away and disappear into the trees.

Pearson calls your attention back. “He hasn’t been hunting much.”

“Arthur’s been hunting as often as he can. He always brings back something,” you snap. You rub at your raw hands, the filled pail pushing the metal handle into your skin.

“Brings back more than most,” Pearson backtracks as soon as he hears your tone. You understand his frustration - hungry people don’t treat the camp cook too kindly - but you won’t let him blame Arthur.

You take a second pail and dip it in the water barrel to fill that one too. “If you need meat, send out Bill. He’s been sitting on his ass all day.” You stare at the man currently sitting at the table sharpening a knife.

“Bill can’t hunt for shit.”

“I can hear you,” Bill looks up with a scowl that might have made you afraid once.

“Then maybe he should practice.” The look you shoot him fixes him to his seat as you storm from both of the men, pail in each hand.

You’re tired of hearing excuses for people. Tired of feeling like only a few are doing the work for everyone. Tired of how the humid heat of Lemoyne dampens your dress with sweat. Tired of wearing boots that have long outworn their use. And tired of hearing Miss Grimshaw’s grating voice from all the way across camp.

The girls seem to catch on your sour mood and don’t say a word as you drop the buckets of water and silently take the wet clothes to the line. You pin up shirts and sheets along side Mary Beth thinking about another lonely night and how you would kill for a chance to sleep in a real bed, tucked in Arthur’s arms.

It’s a nice daydream that carries you through the chore so that by the time you return to the front of the house and see Arthur hitching his horse to the post, your first reaction is elated relief. He spots you first, pace picking up as he approaches. He doesn’t make it before he’s waylaid by Pearson.

“Mr. Morgan! Good to see you. Camp provisions have been looking a little light recently, think you can restock?”

You want to throw something at him.

Arthur barely grunts before he’s ruffling through his satchel. “It ain’t much right now, but…” he pulls out a few cuts of meat. You think maybe rabbit. “Here. See if you can’t do something with this.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan! I’ll try and get this in the stew for tonight.”

You stand at Arthur’s side, once again impressed that no matter what, he always has something. You lift a hand to touch his arm when he speaks again.

“See that you do. I’ve got somewhere to be, so you’ll have fewer mouths to feed.”

Pearson’s already off to prepare the rest of dinner, but Arthur’s words strike your heart.

“What? You’re leaving again?”

He watches your hand draw back, your face fall. He nods. “We’re going out into Saint Denis tonight.”

You swallow, look at the ground. Of course. Work never ends. “Who’s goin’ with you?” At least you hope it’s someone you trust. Someone like Hosea, or Charles, or—

“You,” he says, like it was obvious. “We’re going out to the city.”

It’s the second shock of the night. “What? Arthur, I don’t really think I’m up for a job right now. It’s been a long day, and you’ve only just got back—”

His laugh is low, and his hands hold you by your upper arms. “It’s not for a job.” His hands move up and down your arms, comforting and pulling you closer.

“Got an errand to run and then…dinner. I got us a room.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. The dream from earlier suddenly feels possible. You grasp his forearms as he holds you. “A room? With a real bed?” He nods, eyes still smiling down at you. He looks as tired as you feel, and you take hold of his lapels. “Yeah, princess. With a real bed.” His hands slide over your back in an embrace. It eases something in you, the stress of camp, of surviving, of watching him leave. You don’t think about how your feet hurt or how rough your hands are. You think of this, being in Arthur’s arms, that reassuring feeling that no matter how bad things are, he still takes care of you.

You don’t have to think about it, you were ready to go as soon as he said the word ‘room’. You’re glued to his side as he walks you back to his horse, and you let him lift you up to the saddle. A trip to town for a night off sounds like heaven, but there is one thing you’re curious about as Arthur mounts up behind you.

“What exactly is the errand?”

.

You don’t know what you were expecting. Perhaps shopping for supplies, an exchange where Arthur sold some goods. Things that you had seen before. The building looks like a green house, the front filled with gorgeous ferns and flowers. Your eyes are drawn to the ceiling fan above as Arthur ushers you in, the fading sunlight filtering in through the glass casting shadows on figures and hats and frames lining the walls. An ecstatic and slightly accented voice pulls you from your observations.

“Ah, Tacitus! I am so glad to see you. And you, my dear, you must be Mrs. Kilgore, it is an absolute delight to finally meet you!” he takes a breath to lift and kiss your hand. The man barely gives you a moment to open your mouth, already talking a mile a minute. Though Arthur had told you his name is Algernon Wasp and to expect your alias, the eccentric seems so excited he all but forgot to introduce himself.

There is a dress, and it’s a wonder you’re here, and the corset gave him such trouble to make, but he is absolutely thrilled with how it turned out, and how do you like it, but oh, you can’t really say that it’s beautiful if you haven’t tried it on, and he really needs a model to know for certain it’s finished, and yes, yes it has to be you…

In any case, being stuffed into a strange man’s corset by Arthur in the back of green house is not exactly the sort of errand you had expected.

Algernon admits that the dress was not made entirely by him, but he really is the true artist behind it. The corset itself is cream, embroidered with flowers and embellishments in a deep navy blue to match the heavy skirts. He talks from the other side of the curtain while you direct Arthur on how to properly lace the corset. Both of your voices are low, movements slow. His hands linger where they can, and too often you find yourself leaning back into him. You can feel the warmth of his palm despite the layers fabric, and when he finally ties the ends, you hold his hands where they rest on your hips.

You don’t know why you’re here, wearing this dress that is worth more money than you’ve ever owned at once, but if Arthur wanted you here for the silly friend of his who rambled about duchesses, baronesses, and contessas then you would be here, looking like you could fit right in with them.

“How goes it? Please tell me you haven’t torn anything, Tacitus.” Algernon’s voice breaks you from the moment, and Arthur’s hands slide away. You pull back the curtain, taking in the dress once again. “Oh a muse indeed! You are perfect, would you look at that. What do you think?”

“Well, I…it’s gorgeous.” You can hardly take your eyes off it. The bodice has the finest stitching you’ve ever seen, the skirt like silk beneath your fingers. “But what does this have to do with me?”

“Why, it’s yours!”

You shoot a quick glance behind you to catch Arthur’s eye, thinking that perhaps when he had said the man was cracked he wasn’t exaggerating. But Arthur never meets your eye, his own gaze fixed on the clinch of the corset around your waist.

“I’m…not sure I can afford this…”

“Nonsense! Your husband has already covered it. In fact this is my payment for the favors he’s done me. I have never worked without a model before, but when I saw you, I just couldn’t say no!”

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you say in confusion.

This time Arthur does meet your eye, and you can see he’s bashful.

“Of course not, my dear! I mean the pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“No, no. You’re right. Pictures hardly do them justice. The drawings, illustrations of pure emotion. I’ve never thought of sketch work to be so…moving. But these! Your husband is quite the artist!”

“Oh, I know,” and you think of what sketches he has of you in that journal of his that he would show this man. In hopes that he would make something for you. Something so fine you fear you may never have an opportunity to wear it again. Algernon is back to rambling about art, but you only hold Arthur’s stare in the mirror.

“Oh, but I know how busy you both must be! Please, don’t let me keep you again. I am no longer sorry to see the garment go when I see just how exquisite you look. Enjoy your evening! As always, it was a pleasure!”

And you find yourselves back outside, slightly stunned on the doorstep.

“Well. I believe I promised you dinner.” Arthur offers you his arm, and you easily lace your own through his.

“I believe you promised me more than dinner. Though I have to say I did not expect the new dress,” you quip. You tug on him a bit as you walk your way to the saloon where Arthur reserved your room and speak sincerely. “Thank you, darling. You didn’t…have to go to such trouble for me.”

“I know trouble. Trust me, this ain’t it.” He drops the teasing for a moment to look at you, and answer just as sincerely. “You look beautiful.” You feel warm, and not from the Saint Denis weather. “Besides, you’re not the only one who’s going to play dress-up.”

You let out a sound of delight. “You still have the suit Josiah picked out?”

“Oh, sure,” Arthur sounds none too pleased, “I still have it.”

“Arthur Morgan,” you sigh, “you really know how to treat a lady.”

.

On your way in to return to your room, you barely had a moment to look around and appreciate the finer details. Now, you lean into Arthur’s side as he speaks to the bartender and take in the establishment. The Bastille Saloon is still a saloon, but the patrons are dressed as finely as you are now, the furniture made of quality. You don’t see broken glass on the floor or scuffs made from idle knives and rowdy brawls. The tables have tablecloths. The piano is a grand one. The couple next to you are speaking French.

“And whatever the lady wants.”

You blink in attention, and turn to face the gentleman behind the bar. He’s wearing a tie. “Oh…I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” you say to Arthur.

You like the way his lips curve into a smile; it’s a crooked thing, and you may have once thought it teasing, but now you notice he’s fond by the crinkle of his eyes, he’s pleased by the way he leans toward you. Your arms hold tighter to the crook of his elbow, shocked at how just a hot bath and fancy clothing can change both your demeanors entirely.

Tonight you really were a distinguished lady, on the arm of the man you love. You never doubted Arthur to be a gentleman, but you still giggle when he pulls out the chair for you. He takes the seat next you, not across, and you scooch closer.

“Are you sure there isn’t some job?” you lean in to ask with a smile. You wouldn’t mind it if there was, so taken up with the dress, with the restaurant, with Arthur.

“No, darlin’, there’s no job.” He takes your subtle accusation in stride, leaning in and setting a gentle hand on your knee. “Why? You want there to be one?”

“No. Just don’t get why you’re doing this, is all.” You don’t want to sound ungrateful. Or suspicious. Your hand covers his under the table, aware of the impropriety, but too happy to care.

His eyes soften and fingers curl around yours. “Because you deserve it. Because you…deserve better.” The words are unspoken, but you know what he’s saying. He believes you deserve better than living with outlaws, than a campsite that moves every few weeks, than an old rickety cot and Pearson’s stew. He believes you deserve better than him.

You shake your head slowly, not looking away from his eyes. “You know what I want.” It’s a whisper, a spoken promise that you feel the same. No, you don’t want to live in a camp of outlaws for the rest of your life. But you’re sticking with him until the both of you can get out. Find what you want. A real bed. A home. A life.

Arthur looks like he’s about to respond when two plates are set down before you, and you gasp. He ordered prime rib with healthy helping of some of the best looking potatoes you’ve ever seen. You don’t think a meal has ever smelled so good in your life.

“Christ alive.”

Arthur laughs at your shocked reaction.

“What? I don’t think I’ve seen a steak this big.”

“You help prepare food with Pearson all the time,” his voice is a drawl, amused and pleased you’re impressed, and he doesn’t hesitate to start cutting into his meal.

“Not like this.” You know you’re staring, but you don’t even know where to start. “Arthur…if you just wanted to get me in bed, you know you don’t have to do all this.” Your words are crass, but you try to keep it to a hush. His treatment of you this afternoon has got you thinking of one thing, and quite frankly, you are very much looking forward to getting him back upstairs.

The way he chokes on his first bite is worth it. “Now I ain’t uhh…You know, well, um.” He gives up to plead with you. “Princess.”

You laugh at his stammering, put your hand on his knee. “Don’t you start. Because you did promise me dinner, and I intend on absolutely polishing off everything, and I expect you to do the same. And then, and only then, am I going to drag you upstairs and make very good use of that bed. No matter how many princesses, sweethearts, or darlings you use.”

And maybe the two of you are sitting too close that you keep bumping elbows, and no matter how finely you dress you still don’t quite fit in with the upper class, but you’ve never shared a finer meal someone.

And you’ve never seen Arthur eat so fast.

.

When Arthur took you to the room upon arrival in Saint Denis, the first thing you did was flop to the bed. It was large and well made with thick blankets and would fit two people comfortably.

Now that you finished dinner and are retiring for the night, you don’t even make it there. Your back is pressed to the closed door, Arthur’s mouth covering yours before pressing hot kisses down your neck, across your chest, and over the tops of your breasts pushed up by the corset. You tug mercilessly at the suit jacket he wears, only feeling slightly bad before he lets it drop to the floor.

You can feel the grip of his large hands through the material of the dress - one holding tight to the thigh you hiked to his side, the other roaming over your body before finding its place to cradle your head. Directing your mouth to his then away so he can place more kisses under your jaw. With every certain touch, with every meaningful place of his lips, your heart swells. He whispers every name he’s given you between each kiss, and you find yourself sighing out his, unable to say the words to ask for what you really want.

He has treated you so well all day, and you knew, you knew you would end up here at the end of it, in his arms and in his heart. You were ready to do whatever he wanted. Instead he takes hold of you and gives you everything you want without you having to say a word.

His hands find their way under your skirt, fingertips trailing sparks over your new stockings and to where the corset ends. Every single thing today has been a gift from him, and this here too is another. You can’t keep up, but you’ll let him take, you’ll let him give, you’ll let him have it all.

His bare chest is hot under you palms, your own breasts pulled from the confines of the corset just as you make it to the bed. It’s where you wanted to be all day, and it lives up to every hopeful wish. Arthur handles you, moves you were he wants, and even still it feels like he serves you.

His kisses are like the warm glow of a fire—you chase the feeling, chase his lips, and he gives into every whine from you. You reward him with your moans. He travels the map of your body and disappears under your skirts. His hands and mouth never part from you, and you scramble to take hold of yourself, take hold of him, take hold of the sheets beneath you.

Neither of you say it often, but you both know. Tonight, I love you is said with every touch of his skin to yours. I love you with every kiss. I love you as he wraps you around him. I love you as your hands come to cradle his head.

You pant heavily, still partially confined in your clothing, and as soon as Arthur’s lips return to yours, the frantic grabbing for one another’s affection subsides. He’s steady and reassuring, both of you content to sink into each other until you can’t be any closer. Your kisses turn slow and sultry. His shoulders shudder in your embrace, his hips solid between your legs.

It’s you and him and this bed and the way he calls you mine. It’s rare these moments you get with him, and you soak it up, relish in the way he lets himself love you. In return, you let yourself dream of the future in which you and Arthur share a life, a home, and a real bed.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both worlds (part 22)

Part 23

Tw: Monty being a creepy lil shit, mans can't take no for an answer, short chaprer

Tell me what y'all think of the series so far i loce reading the comments and anon asks plpplsplps thanks

"(name)-" Yves's eyes were blank when you hung up. He slowly puts his phone down on his desk. He starts disassembling it, pulling the battery out and carelessly tossing it to the side of his laptop. You're not going to call him again.

He drummed his perfectly manicured fingers onto the table. Yves sighed heavily as he massaged his forehead. He extended his hand to grab a luxury bottle out from a metal pail of frosty ice.

He uncorked it and poured his champagne flute full of alcohol. It was filled to the brim, but Yves is skilled enough to pick it up without spilling a drop.

He walked up to the massive, crystal-clear window that allowed him to see the skyline and the city from a bird's eye view. The sky is dark but devoid of clouds. It's picturesque, but its beauty means nothing to Yves now. You aren't here to appreciate it with him and neither will you appreciate it from the pictures he sent.

He stared past his reflection as he sipped on his drink.

In his vast, lavish hotel room, he is the only occupant within it. Yves doesn't see the need to switch all the lights on. Just enough to see, but it made his room rather dim and ominous.

He continued staring out into the distance wordlessly and unblinkingly as he drank from the special glassware.

Silence envelopes him like the deep ocean. He wished that it also engulfed his mind. But alas, a man can only pray to receive such mercy.

__

The three of you laughed at a joke Evangeline said. She seems to be quite the comedian, her brain spins fast to think of witty sayings and comparisons.

The rain somehow worsened since, stuck in traffic and with nothing to do, you, Evangeline and her father resorted to singing along to songs, albeit off key with cracking voices.

Perhaps Mr. Jones was having a bit too much fun. So much so that he didn't pay attention to the road ahead of him.

You and Evangeline were forcefully jerked forward upon impact of the front to the bumper of someone's car.

Mr. Jones gloved hands were gripping tightly on the steering wheel and his hat is not on his greying head.

He turned to check on his daughter and his client.

"Is everyone okay?" He asked. Evangeline nodded and you did so too. You felt a bit sore where the seatbelt wrapped around your body, but otherwise, you're unharmed.

"Oh no... I hit someone..." Whined Mr. Jones. "I hope they're alright." His voice has much more guilt than fear or annoyance. He quickly pressed the emergency button with the triangles to signal the surrounding cars to move around him.

Among the downpour, you heard a car door slam shut. Followed by incessant knocking on the window at the driver's seat.

Mr. Jones gulped as he rolled down his window.

"Hey, what the fuck!? You just hit me!

"I am so sorry, Sir--"

"It'll cost me an arm and a leg to repair it, my paycheck isn't going to be ready until next week! I can't drive around without my bumper- look! The entire thing is gone!" The stranger with a sickeningly familiar voice but unfamiliar accent ranted at the older male.

"I-I'll give you my details. My deepest apologies sir, I will cover all the damage incurred. I am so sorry for this." Stammered Mr. Jones. He rushed to pull out a pen and a notepad.

"Yeah, you better! Today cannot get any worse." He grumbled to himself. He's standing under the rain, getting more and more drenched by the minute.

The man stuck his head into the car to avoid the pouring rain. But immediately snapped his neck to the back seat.

You and Evangeline had blood drained out of your faces. Montgomery's eyes lit up so bright that you thought he was actually illuminating the car.

"Hi Darlin'! Fancy meetin' you here!" His southern accent returned. You gave him an awkward wave.

"And yer friend too! Hello! Thanks for givin' my sweetheart their lunch." You looked to your friend, she has the most natural and confident smile on her face.

"Glad I could help, Sir."

"What are ya doin' in a fancy car like this?" Montgomery turned to you. "And where are y'all goin'?"

You struggled to answer. You don't know what to do.

It's times like these you wish Yves is here.

"We are going to my house for a little playdate." Evangeline answered for you.

You let out a discrete sigh of relief. But then you considered the possibility of him tailing you three. Your muscles started to tense up again.

"Well, ain't that fun. I'm goin' to the mechanic to get my car fixed 'cause of him!" Montgomery replied with a snark. Mr. Jones apologized once again as he handed Montgomery a piece of paper with his details on it.

"I'm sorry, Sir Montgomery. It was our fault, we were distracting dad and caused him to hit you." You appreciate that she is keeping his attention off you.

"Your daddy, eh?" He looked around the well-kept interior of the car. "Must be nice to be this rich." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"I wouldn't say we are rich. We definitely are comfortable though. I'm grateful to have such privileges and stabilities!" She beamed, you don't know if she's ignoring Montgomery's obvious spite towards her financial status or she's oblivious to it.

Montgomery visibly rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to you. "(Name), baby!" He addressed you in a sing-song voice.

"Why haven't ya' called? And, I missed ya' to death. Where were ya'? I hope you ain't skippin' school." You stammered and stuttered, you squirm under discomfort. You don't want to be around him any longer.

"Sir Montgomery, I suggest heading to the mechanic soon if you want to make it before it closes." Mr. Jones scribbled on something. "Here. Please accept this." He handed Montgomery a cheque. His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Thank you." He stored the cheque somewhere that it wouldn't get too wet.

"As for ya, my sweetheart. What time will ya' be going home? I'll give ya' a lift back." He now stared at you, not caring that droplets of rain dripped down from his eyelashes and into the car.

Evangeline hooked her arms around yours. "They will be staying over. Isn't that right, (name)?"

His facial expression darkened. Montgomery did not like how she was touchy with his partner.

You meekly agreed.

"Well damn. Gimme your number then, sweetheart, I'll call ya."

Since you have two witnesses and you are in a car, you straight up told him no. You said that you're not comfortable with him contacting you and you never agreed to be in a relationship with him.

You thought that would be enough to either send him to a fit of rage or quit.

But instead, he rolled his eyes and huffed. Pretending that this is just a trivial matter.

"Can you cut the hard-to-get act just this once? It's rainin' cats and dogs out here, I wouldn't chase you any less if ya' handed me your phone number. In fact, I'd pursue ya even more!"

Horrified, you looked to Evangeline.

"Sir. (Name) is serious. They're not comfortable with you, they're not in a relationship with you. Please stop, you're being a creep!" She defended you.

"Shut yer' trap! You don't know squat about our love!"

"Don't speak to my daughter like that!" Mr. Jones finally came to her aid.

"What the- You should smack some sense into her! Talking to people like that--"

You interrupted the argument telling him that you are not giving him your phone number or any other information about yourself.

He threw his hands up in the air in exasperation and gave up for the time being.

"Fine. You ain't wanna give it to me? I'll find out my damn self, I'll prove how devoted I am to ya'." He grinned and winked at you. Which made you want to vomit.

Evangeline is baffled how Montgomery isn't taking anything except his car bumper seriously. He's barely angry that you humiliatingly rejected him in front of two people, but instead sees it as a couple's game. Just mildly annoyed that you're making him work for your basic information, but otherwise determined and playful about it.

"Mark my words, I will win this challenge and take my prize!" He declared to you. "Have fun at your tea party with goldilocks over there. I'll see you tomorrow, honey."

Montgomery waved and then returned back to his car. The brake lights lit up before he sped off to the nearest mechanic.

You began hyperventilating, which led Mr. Jones to hand you a brown paper bag. Evangeline tried to console you by putting your hair and squeezing your hand.

Why do these things always happen to you?

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot Pt 2

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 4,760

It’s Snoggletog and you’re very, very tired. You’re definitely weird about it. So is Hiccup, but, as you’ve figured, he’s always a little weird.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse

<Previous - Next>

There were a lot of things they didn’t teach you on-screen- a lot of things you had to learn the hard way on Berk.

As it went, the warriors who were deemed the most respectable on the island lived up by the Chief’s -the ones who belonged to the families of the highest repute, who did the best in battle, who were good at keeping vows, who did the best posturing and bartering and who kept to themselves- keep ‘em close and all that.

 That’s what you heard, anyway- it was awfully convenient. All the Dragon Riders lived up by the forge. You weren’t sure why that surprised you, but eventually it kind of made sense. The Riders were the main characters, after all- the cool kids and whatnot. It annoyed you a little bit, though.

Choking down a yawn, you glanced off to the side at a carved extrusion, a norse knot embedded into its face. It  ended just as it ran into what you could only call a large porch rail with an odd-looking ball at the helm of it, a rotund mouth carved into it and two obtuse eyes mounted along one side. 

There was a chip in the wood, a long gash where part of the grain had fallen off, exposing older also-wood. You wondered how long it would take for something to crawl in it- if the burning and treating had sealed it down to the middle or if it would rot, if they would get it fixed before the next big storm, if it even mattered. 

You resisted the urge to shake out your shoulders.

You didn’t spend too much time up there, but, well, today you’d been caught. You wished you hadn’t been, but you had. By one Mrs. Thorston, in fact. 

You hadn’t all asked why she’d needed you specifically to do it, much too tired to care for anything but the call of your bed, all hay and dead grass and sometimes bug, but the busybody had carried on anyways, more than willing to go on- on and on in a way your hazy mind could hardly keep track of. It was almost unbearable. 

Though you did give in and you sighed.

First, to tend to, there was the Jorgenson clan, The Ingermans, and the Hoffersons- Of course, most important of all was the Chief, saddled with his poor runt of a sun, who was too much of a waste to keep from shirking his most important responsibilities -the ones involving caring for his father, of course- and chasing after dragons, another job of his which he’d been lacking at,and boy, what an oxymoron that was. 

She was so sure of how the burden of his son must have weighed heavily down on his father’s already bulky soul, talk of which bringing an odd blotchy puce blush to her thin face, talk of it had tired you out quite easily. If she didn’t take too kindly to you bringing up her husband- well.  

Snotlout was off and the twins were terrible, so they couldn’t do it- and by twins, she meant her daughter. Her son was missing, but he was too much of a gem for the work, anyways, and, of course, since you were there, that must have meant you were free and therefore had freely volunteered, because there were tasks that need doing doing, of course- so, of course, without the time to get a word in edgewise, she’d wrangled you into bringing water -pail by pail- to all of the clan homes, so that they could all have the luxury of hot water for laundering and bathing that night. 

That was a very long-winded way of saying that you’d just been made to bring up said water for said Chief. And his kid. Who was absent.

“What’re you here for?” The Chief asked gruffly, looking very intimidating and large. Very large- and huge.

You still hadn’t figured out how to say his name in Old Norse. Everyone else just said ‘Chief.’ It must have been a respect thing-  Still, you’d asked around and had been left with no real answers, just scandal, all upturned noses and confused, disturbed scowls, slightly turned shoulders and some distance. Which... Well, you couldn’t bring yourself to be hurt by it all, especially not in a place as crowded as Berk.

In the end, you’d decided you’d just wait for someone else to say it first.

“Water,” With shaky, sore arms, you held out a bucket. It was a flimsy one, especially heavy to you, who was a normal person with a normal amount of muscle mass, unlike everyone on this cold, godforsaken island.

You waited a very, very long moment, your arms still straining, soreness traveling up to your shoulders, pulling at your muscles and back, fingers reddening as gravity worked to cut off your circulation as if you’d just finished a trip to the grocer’s, the feeling worse than any plastic bag could ever be.

After the Chief failed to react, you slowly let your arms drop.

Your bucket swang back, the water inside arcing and sloshing, yanking against your very worn arm socket.

You pursing your lips and pointed backwards, your thumb half over your shoulder, aimed towards where you knew was the basin, the one you’d lugged up the hill, which you knew was theirs, pressing a thick indent into the grass by their house pathway because Mrs. Thorston had pointed it out with no small amount of fanfare.

You were supposed to bring it in but you’d left it there, mostly because you weren’t sure if the guy was home and you’d gotten quite the cold feet after poking around the front yard for a bit.

“That was, ah…” said the Chief, who seemed very gruff and confused and rightly so, “Very nice of you.”

You wondered if it was normal for him to be so hesitant and gruff, brows crinkled, eyes slightly bagged, old enough for all his frowns and furrows to be written in lines. If so, It seemed his interpersonal communication skills might have been somewhat lacking. If not, well, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel slighted at all- You didn’t want to be here, either.

Really, you just wanted this whole thing done and over with- you hoped the Chief did too. It hadn’t been much of a task before, but now, well, it took you a great deal to keep all your complaints bottled up inside.  Still, if you spoke, you’d have to say it all at once- you couldn’t bear to wait another moment, not so much because you were restless, moreso because you were sure you’d fall flat to the ground right then and there.

You paused for a moment longer, thinking. Mrs. Thorston- you were sure she’d given you something else, packed you full of words to carry alongside water, and yet you couldn’t quite remember which ones. Surely not all of them? Not the things she’d said about Hiccup, definitely- but then, maybe the ones about her son? Or- no, not her husband, but maybe the Chief?

Words, words- How much to say, how little to give? If giving some was bad, then giving ‘most’ must have been better. It was a dilemma that exhausted you even further. 

“Mrs. Thorston said to tell you she sent me-...” You grumbled. Much too stirred to do much thinking or stopping, you festered something breathy in your chest, rearing, your tongue leashed only just barely by the thought of conscience; a fraying, snapping thread.  “-And that she’s free at sundown, something about her husband being out, which I thought was weird-”

“Alright-” The Chief said, still looking quite grumpy. 

You continued speaking, letting, the words come to you, speaking with more just-rightness than- well, “-She wanted me to put in a good word and I’ve not been paid at all, she just talks too much to get anything else in edgewise and I just got cold feet trying to say no. Honestly, I don’t know, I’m tired and just kind of want to go now.” 

Then you turned around. As you spun, your bucket swung, and you could feel it, though you lived it more through your arm and the shift of your spine a lot more than you felt it in hand. It was almost vertigo- you dropped it quite roughly, easily, the bottom of it landing without clatter onto the surface of one large, wooden step.

You paused.

Like something slowly, slimily creeping up from your belly to your spine, you thought.

You were forgetting something- but no, you’d said all the appropriate words- and then some of your own.

For the moment, you decided to just wait, hands going from the red lines in your palms back to the face of the colossal, wide man way up high in front, seeing-not-seeing. It would come to you.

You waited a moment longer, staring and blinking. Why were you even up here at all? There was a reason, of course.

…

…Ah. You’d lost track of it before, the slightly pointy end of it barely even tapping at your leg past cloth, but-

“Wait!” You declared, turning back, feet shuffling.

The boss was halfway lumbered back into his home, his door nearly half-closed. 

He looked back down at you with a look, something exhaustive- a very strong ‘what now?’ 

“This is for your son,” You held out a crummily wrapped paper package with one arm, which was considerably less shaky now, considering the fact that this parcel was a great deal lighter, “It’s thanks for helping me out earlier, I think. Also, could you ask him to stop staring? And blowing things up. It’s getting kind of creepy. Goodbye.” 

You forced a large, strained smile. There were a handful of expressions that cycled across his face before he’d thought to respond, though now that you’d completed most of all your important tasks, you found you weren’t in the right mind to decipher them.

“...Goodbye.” The Chief said. You took that as permission to leave, arms swinging. Your legs were stiff as they walked, moving as fast as you could force them while keeping an even walking pace.

You left the bucket there.

You needed to get yourself something new- a coat, maybe, or some boots, so you didn’t have to deal with the feeling of cold ice-slush, seeping through your trousers and assaulting your now numb, ice-cold ankles.

Slogging through the snow was annoying, especially when you were living in an era pre-snowpants. Someone was going to have to salt the paths or something because this was getting ridiculous.

Where they were most frequented, in the worst parts, it was all nasty, brown and grainy, full of sheep dirt and human food-garbage- or, at least what you hoped was just human food-garbage. 

You were out of it now, the snow below your feet mostly powdered, untouched and downy and yet you could see the evidence of your previous forway staining your knees. 

You stamped your way down the path, arms full of loose, half-trailing cloth, all beiges, neutral greens and other dull colors, soles occasionally beating against slippery stone surfaces and gravel.

Nearing the end of one hut, where there was enough room to make a path, around the corner, you spied something- green eyes, dusty brown hair, a full, furry coat, a head of yellow-blonde straw hair, two magnificently polished, spiked shoulder pads and- it was Astrid, her back to you, angled just so that you could see the wide slab tray full of Yaknog she carried with both hands.

You grimaced as she turned, moving so you stayed out of her view as if you were attempting to dodge the odd gaze of a vicious dinosaur -a tyrannosaurus rex or a pterodactyl, maybe, green leather and- well, a lot of dragon things- and ran off before anyone but Hiccup could see you.

He had been ready to unload for a while, you were sure.

“I just…”  You watched as a head of dirt-brown hair buried itself into dusty, freckled hands, words spilling out of a mouth that was just out of view, worse than a wooden dam that had just been split down the side. “Toothless hasn’t-…I’m a little worried.”

It had come practically out of nowhere- you’d only just asked how he’d been, though that had been preceded by a good amount of lonesome moping on his part- he hadn’t seen you yet, then, but... With his bagged eyes and frazzled mop, you couldn’t ever be made upset by his… upset.

He looked like he was stressed… To the extreme.

You shrugged ungainly, shoulders bobbing, carving a groove of wet, snowy dirt into the ground with the scuffed toe of your boot as you turned and walked absentmindedly around the side of Hiccup.

You craned your head to a degree that felt nearly unnatural as you looked back, “I dunno, do they usually do this? I mean, I don’t remember seeing a lot of them last Snoggletog, but also I haven’t… been here that long.”

You were kind of confused- or, well, you had been last winter. You had seen a few of them buzzing around but you’d chopped that up to a fault of your own memory and not- well, whatever this was. 

After some minor deliberating, you figured the Red Death probably wouldn’t have been as much of a tyrant if it didn’t make them work through the holiday, if it -she- was considered a tyrant, that was- you weren’t an expert on the draconic mind. And boy, that must have been a bummer- birth and no child leave.

You sighed, arms tensing as a chill threatened to run down the small of your back. 

“Maybe, I mean-  I would be worried too.” You look down at your basket’s wicker borders, all knotted hay and cradled cloth, blinking with the deep desire to be left alone. You half-wondered why trouble always found you when you were doing laundry, “But also, they’re probably off having babies or something.”

“Having babies…?” You looked up just in time to catch the words as they left his mouth, brows furrowed oddly. 

You hoped you hadn’t been too on-the-nose, which was, well, a dying hope; “I mean, yeah. I guess. What else?”

It was as if attempting to breathe while coughing. You felt both an intense pressure in your sternum and an exhale of something that was probably both a yell and a wheeze, though you couldn’t hear it any more than you could feel the stringing of your vocal chords, the tail-end of some force leaving your chest like the exorcism of a demon or some full gust of air.

You felt a stiff, torso covering pain against your chest, which had been paired with quite the vertigo unlike any other you’d felt. It grew as you’d finally been able to draw in breath, feeling the sharp dipping of dull points against your stomach, the lack of land below your feet, feeling deeply the urge to writhe and kick and shout and yet your limbs, stuck immobile, stayed, your bones stuck frozen not unlike the thick feel of intensely vibrating metal, a thick mallet on a human-sized gong

Where had you been?

You remembered the wood of the ramps beneath your feet, the shifting of your weight as you leaned back slightly, mindlessly, cautiously walking, soles occasionally stuttering against slick wood, weary incase you once again fell on your aching ass. The sound of the sea rushing, crackling ice, frigid salt, a cold-burnt nose- You must have been by the stables, then.

Now, you weren’t sure what you were seeing, white mixing with it all. Your vision was both shocked to focused, in fine detail and blurred just the same.

There was something else, the feel of quickly shed dew, roughly pressed into fur, what should have been soft in texture tearing against your skin at the speeds you were going, made all the worse by the frigid chill. There was something beneath the fur, increasingly damp, something solid, flexing, slightly warm. 

You weren’t sure if that was the result of hypothermia setting in, not after so many hours out and about in the morning, rapid gales ripping the heat from your body, making your back feel as if you had just fallen into some violently-jagged-iced waters.

Perhaps in protest, something sharp and knocked into you with startled violence. You tried to resist the nearly impossible urge to struggle and wriggle and fight back- and failed dearly. Like a paper pressed to the flat of a palm, the only thing keeping you anchored to the face of the rock was the force of the wind- it was both an intense force and a finicky one. 

As the wind blasted past your ears, rendering your drums obscenely sore, you had to wonder- was this something that had happened in the show? The movies? Or not at all?

If it was, well, it had probably been too much to hope for that it would have been more comfortable… and that you wouldn’t have been involved. 

You groaned as deep as you could, back rolling over stone. 

It was uneven, something that you registered should be not so nice against the back of your skull, uneven as it was, but the tiredness buzzing against your bottommost lids, the growing fade in the corner of your consciousness- it all made it feel everso tempting.

There were no blankets here, and so you felt a measure too out in the open, bare despite your heavy layering. Still, especially with the light blocked from your eyes past the heavy feel of the meat of your arm, draped over your forehead, it was almost pleasant.

The last few hours had amounted to what was probably the worst ride of your life, spent tangled up in Meatlug’s paws, Hiccup’s leg wedged against your gut the whole time, the two of you shouting directions at each other as you tried to simultaneously hold on and figure out some bare semblance of comfort.

The landing hadn’t been too nice, either, Meatlug figuring to just drop the two of you against hard rock, leaving you unbelievably close to the edge of the cliffs. Also unbelievably close to tumbling to your death in the ocean. At least it was over now.

Unfortunately, there was no way for you to have known that, on Berk, at that exact moment in time, a very large, very meaty Gronkle would burst past, a very skinny, very scrawny Viking on its head, you stolen away with him, swept away to the dragon breeding grounds, shouting and screaming for your life.

“...You were right.” You heard Hiccup say quite openly as you shifted your shoulders, which did little more than adjust the fabric draped over your shoulders, though that was all you needed. 

Hiccup had already gotten to his feet, it seemed, and, by the sounds of it, had begun looking awed-ly around him at all the dragons and their nests, the crowing and churr-ing and caw-ing white noise to your tired ears.

 You turned over onto your side, hoping maybe to catch a few extra minutes of sleep.

The air felt thick and the corners of your eyes were blurry as if you’d just been drawn into-... something.

Hiccup gave you what you could only call a smile as he tried and failed to look… Normal? His brows were oddly cinched, lips pulled back in the most awkward way, teeth bared oddly. 

His elbow rested against the edge of a heavily singed, nearly completely burnt-to-black fence post. Some part of it must have been burning still, small tufts of smoke rising and mixing with the wind just behind his elbow, small bits of wood coming off in flakes and chunks along the side. His pupils were twitching back and forth as if he couldn’t decide whether or not to pay attention to you or figure out what was going on with his elbow, whose sleeve was beginning to darken oddly.

You blinked tiredly, feeling quite limp as you stood watching with loose arms.

You were nearly certain you’d collapsed and were having some sort of fever dream. Quite honestly, you weren’t sure what was real or not anymore. With Snoggletog just around the bend, you’d been pulled left and right, putting things up, herding, mending, working overtime. 

His face dropped and he startled, frantically patting at his sleeves, stumbling backwards until he fell back over the still swaying tail of his dragon, who was still quite violently trying to kill another- it was nearly murder, the way he glared, clearly off kilter, throat undulating and flashing oddly through skin as he shot plasma at the larger beast. It was like watching a drunk try to shoot a duck. 

You shuffled slightly, boots feeling stiff in the snow.

Everything behind him was a little bit on fire. It was  a bit… You rubbed your eyes, with the edge of your sleeve, grasping it in your fist as you brought it up to your face. 

It was as if the dragon raids had returned, except… in the day, and it was merely only two causing most of the ruckus.

“Thanks.” You said, with a slight rasp to your voice, feeling quite confused. 

“Happy to help.” Hiccup gave you a shaky thumbs up from where he lay on the ground before grunting pitifully as Toothless, in his distraction, sat down heavily on his chest.

You tapped your fingers, tracing them against a smooth and slightly pointed shining purple and dotted magenta, hard keratin feeling both dry and dusty.

Below you, the sounds of hundreds of baby dragons crowed and cooed and cawed, jumping and fumbling around the deck of an old wrecked ship, held up by the ends of many topes grasped by a whole entourage of Berk’s dragons.

You pursed your lips together as you resisted the urge to whistle- it’d be quite difficult at this height with the wind forcing back your words and blowning your breath back at you.

The dragon you were riding, a self-important purple Nightmare, flew closely to Hiccup on Hookfang, slowly bobbing up and down through the sky with the beast of its wings, giving way to a feeling similar to that of a carousel, the way it felt to sit mounted on plastic saddle, swaying with the rhythmic bobbing of machinery, colorful lights and jaunty mechanical music.

You also fought the urge to shift, to adjust yourself and risk unbalance- with the way the scale was rubbing against your thicks, you were sure you were starting to get saddle rash, even though you two were going saddleless.

“How come your pen’s empty?” You shouted quite suddenly, sound patchy under gale and air. Immediately after, you regretted your decision. 

You were sure Hiccup probably hadn’t even heard you, but the situation was becoming quite awkward and you found it hard to resist. You needed no extra help to make it that way- that was to say, it was still kind of tense between the two of you. 

After some odd dream or a memory with Hiccup in it, you weren’t quite sure, you’d woke up to quite a similar reality. You were sure he’d assumed you were dead, with the way he’d been shaking your shoulder- and at the moment, you’d rather be, if you were going to be frank. 

You were still quite embarrassed.

Hiccup also hadn’t found Toothless yet, which was a bummer. He’d probably show up later.

“What?” Hiccup shouted back. This was so awkward. You could have been sleeping by now if you hadn’t been dragon kidnapped. Or was it dragon-napped? You weren’t a dragon, but you ‘d been kidnapped by one, though the word didn’t really have the same feel to it, saying it all out loud.

“Yeah, you have that pen near your house?” You tried again, ”I don’t know, I always see it empty. I kind of always keep expecting something to be in there and I don’t know why.”

 You almost regretted not sitting behind Hiccup. He’d offered, earlier, except he’d seemed pretty nervous about it, which made you uncomfortable.

Proceeding a heart grumble, your dragon began to jostle slightly, drifting a tad closer to Hiccup and Hookfang.

Your stomach swooped lightly as it did.

 Maybe it was being considerate- or maybe it was because of the close quarters, the way he had to squeeze between the others to keep ahold of his portion of the boat- it didn’t do much to change your trajectory, anyhow. 

You might have been slightly guilty in that you had positioned your dragon quite the ways away from Hiccup on purpose, your spoken word an accidental given permission to take the room you’d so eagerly sacrificed in the name of sanctity. 

“Oh, Right,” He sighed in a fake way with his mouth closed, looking in the opposite direction, “It’s more of an honor thing, I think. We were always too high up to have any sheep or anything -the higher they are, the easier they’re… Stolen, but- it just felt right to have it, since my Dad’s, uh, Chief.”

He coughed that last bit oddly.

“Huh,” You leaned against your dragon's neck, propping your head up with one elbow as you struggled not to nod off mid-air, “Have you ever thought of starting a garden or something? The space is open now. It would be nice.”

“Uh,  I dunno. Maybe.” He said. You pinched yourself as you two settled back into awkward silence, your shoulders threatening to bob. It wouldn't due to fall off, especially not at this height.

You guessed he hadn’t had the time, or Stoick had forgotten to give it to him earlier, which was a bummer. You’d spent a lot of time on it. Or you hadn’t. You were too tired to think.

“Hiccup,” Stoick scolded gently- or as gently as he could, with a voice as rough as his. He was more urging if not a tad gruff, loud enough to be easily heard over the sound of manly Viking chatter and holiday merry.

He towered above his son, though not in a way that was menacing, the lines of his face not so hard in that moment. The warm feel of lantern and torch light was soft against his skin, the gentle feel of cool shadow rounding his edges. 

“You made this for me?” Hiccup asked, some freckles becoming quite invisible against the growing blotchiness in his face, embarrassed red patches bleeding over skin as he pulled open the little brown paper package, prodding at it with slightly boxy, freckled fingers.

It wasn’t that bad, was it? You let your head fall to the side slightly, still feeling quite drowsy. …Whatever.

You’d made quite the effort, carving out a small box with clumsy fingers and a dull knife.  Inside, you’d included a very sketchy portrait of Hiccup. Portraiture was a big deal here- you’d figured it a little while ago. You were quite proud of your work, and perhaps a tad cocky- you knew it was much better than Bucket's, even if it was a tad cartoony. 

You might have even been brash enough to call it the best, though to be quite frank, the Vikings here weren’t at all artistically talented, so it wasn’t too hard of a position to achieve.

“T-thanks?” Hiccup managed to cough out, stumbling forward by one squeaky foot, shoulders jerking as he received a very hearty, congratulatory slap on the back. 

“Ough,” You grunted as he dropped backwards, landing roughly along the side of a thin bench, one of the many lining the long dining tables in the Great Hall. 

 “Yeah…” You said after a long moment of shuffling and clumsy maneuvering so that your arms lay on top of the nearest table’s surface, dropping your head, “No problem.”

 You turned your head, doing a sort of pathetic roll off the side of the table, laying flat against the bench.

Your cheek pressed deeply against the crux of your elbow, face aimed towards the dark underbelly of shadow under the wooden tabletop, in a way that allowed you to hear the shuffling of the boots of the people around you quite intensely, though your ears were most definitely deaf to that and the loud yelling and cheering of your peers.

You were dead set on taking your very well earned, very long, very nice nap.