#otherwise the jig is up

[mytortoisegotstuckinatupperware]

To my homies that struggle with eye contact (same): mirrored sunglasses. I’m a dog walker in the height of summer, so I bought cool non-cop looking pair and it has saved me from embarrassment so much.

I only occasionally have to talk to the dog owners (perk, the dogs don’t care where I make eye contact. In fact, they often prefer I don’t). But the humans can’t tell when I’m wearing the mirrored sunglasses.

[pricetagged]

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

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

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[creekfiend]

something that's important I think is that everything that's good for human children to do is also good for human adults to do because actually they're things that are good for all humans to do. things like

recess

making up stories

arts and crafts

clambering

dig a hole

learn new things

build stuff, with blocks or otherwise

prepare and cook food with family

sing a little song

humming

coloring

side walk chalk

rhymes and tongue twisters

jig saw puzzle

bounce a ball

chase

dress up game

face painting

skipping, hopping, jumping etc

cut your own hair or someone else's hair bad

wear clothing items that don't go together

draw on the wall

friendship bracelet

casual silly low-stakes competition like "who can win at red rover" instead of deadly serious high-stakes competition like "which of us gets to have a kajillion dollars and exploit everyone and which of us can't afford their medication"

juice box

[lirotation]

Astarion in Cyberpunk AU

POV: How you met him in Night City =P

You’re just another low-tier merc in Night City's meat grinder, same as any other. Sure, you smoke, you chug whatever synthalcohol gets your synapses sparking, maybe pop a little Black Lace now and then for kicks. But one thing you don’t do? Pick up joytoys from Jig-Jig. Nah, choom. Not your scene.

Until tonight's clusterfuck.

You were on a gig, dressed to fool the corpo crowd—chrome hidden under slick, expensive synth-leather. Playing at being one of Night City's untouchables. Then your optics lock onto him.

A joytoy, but not just any joytoy. Lux-grade. The kind of beauty that made your targeting systems glitch and your tits perk up. Picking him up wasn’t the plan—never the plan—but here you are, trying to blend in, figuring if all these suits are doing it, maybe you should too.

Preem bastard had a silver tongue worth more than his chrome, smooth like pre-War whiskey. He leaned in close, casually dropped the very intel you need - an exclusive corpo mixer, one hosting Kong Tao mid-level procurement officer - your target - fresh from Guangzhou. The two of you hit it off, chatting over overpriced drinks at the bar, and one thing led to another. His place.

Then you wake up.

Your choom on the other end of the link, screaming. Your brain feels like it’s been through a shredder. You’re sprawled out on some piss-stained mattress, butt naked, weapons gone.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

You’ve been played. Conned. During a job, no less. Just your fucking luck.

Gotta escape before they rip you open, gotta figure out where the hell you are. But one thing’s for sure—you’re gonna find that pretty bastard, and when you do, he’s got a world of hurt coming his way. _______

Your head’s pounding, but you’ve been in tighter spots before. You force a reboot, running a quick scan. Typical corpo blacksite flophouse—The stink of blood, sweat, and bad decisions clings to the walls.

You find a rusted shard of metal and grip it tight. Better than nothing. You rigged the lock and slipped out of the room, the sound of your bare feet drowned out by the buzz of cheap fluorescents overhead.

The hall’s empty. Nobody watching the cams—amateurs. You find a storage room with your gear dumped in a corner like garbage. Your Militech pistol? Check. punknife? Check. Even your boots. Slipping them on feels like hugging an old friend.

Now clothed and armed, you should be bailing, cutting your losses. But the faint sound of muffled screams crawls under your skin, pulling you back into the fray.

You creep closer, the door half-open. Inside, him.

The joytoy. Astarion.

Strapped down like a Maelstrom test subject, neural wires spiderwebbing from his temples into some black-market brain-dance rig. The machine's whining like a dying cat, each pulse making him scream. Some chrome-headed ganger's working the controls, grinning like he's watching prime-time BD entertainment.

“Picked yourself a zero, didn't ya? No creds, no dirt—just a fucking merc with nothin’ to give. You are lucky boss is not in town.” the ganger sneers, twisting a dial, “What good’s a pretty face if it doesn’t deliver?”

Astarion convulses, tears streaking his otherwise flawless face, “I—tried,” he whispers.  "Please, give me another chance.”

Something snaps in your gut. You’ve seen people broken, but this guy? He’s built to endure. Still, this is next-level fucked.

Your blade whispers through the air, clean and silent. The ganger drops, and you catch the falling remote and cut the power to the rig.

Astarion slumps, breathing shallow. You free him, pulling the wires from his skin. He flinches but doesn’t resist.

“Can you walk?” you ask, dragging him to his feet.

He groans but nods. “I’ve had worse.”

The two of you fight your way out, bullets and curses flying. By the time you hit the street, you’re out of breath and out of ammo, but alive. Barely.

You lean against a wall, wiping blood off your hands. “I should fucking gut you for this,” you say, leveling him with a glare.

Astarion chuckles, though it’s more pained than amused. “I’m flattered. But I was under orders, if that softens the blow.”

“Doesn’t,” you snap.

Still, you don’t hurt him. Just turn to leave, figuring he’ll disappear back into whatever pit he crawled out of. But when you glance back, he’s trailing behind you.

“What are you doing?” you snap again, tired and still on edge.

“I have nowhere else to go,” he says softly, eyes downcast, his voice a quiet plea.

“Not my problem,” you grumble, turning to keep walking.

“Wait,” he calls out, stepping closer. When you face him again, the vulnerability in his posture is tinged with a familiar, deliberate charm. His lips curve into the barest hint of a smile. “I could… make it up to you.  I’m quite skilled at certain things”

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That so? You think I’m just gonna take you in because you bat your lashes?”

“Not just because of that,” he murmurs, tilting his head just enough to catch the faint light. “I can be useful. I wasn't lying before, you know? the mixer? I can get you in.”

You pause, damn it he is beautiful. He shifts closer, his voice dipping into something silkier. “Let me stay, just for a while. I’ll keep out of your way. Or,” he adds, his smile sharpening ever so slightly, “if you’d rather, I could be very in your way. Whatever you prefer.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Fine. One screw-up, though, and you’re out. Got it?”

“Crystal clear,” he purrs, bowing his head slightly. “You won’t regret this. I promise.”

As he falls into step beside you, you mutter under your breath. “Already regretting it.”

His soft chuckle is barely audible, but it lingers all the way home.

[ameliathornromance]

“Is that him there?”

Wind blasts through the train tunnel, past you and your Orc Boyfriend. Your Orc, raised an eyebrow and followed your finger pointed.

The person you were referring to, a human male with waterfalls of black hair, curling at his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot and contoured with black rings, matching his dark hair.

The phrase, ‘Love, not hate’ tattooed above his left eyebrow. His scowling at passers by, wrinkled nose and judgemental stare opposed the important sentiment he decided to ink his face with. Sitting on the bench, he jogged his knee to an invisible jig, chain around his neck swaying.

Your Orcs’ eyes flicked from the phone screen in his hand, to the suspect and back to the screen. “Yup.” He tucked the phone away in his jeans pocket. “Now, let me handle this.”

“No,” you put a hand against your Orcs shoulder, stopping him from moving towards the subject. “We talked about this, you always come on too strong. And this isn’t too dangerous is it? It’s just an escort job.”

The Orc wrinkled his nose at you, “don’t say it like that, you make it out to be that we’re some kind of prostitutes.”

You rolled your eyes, “you knew what I meant. I’ll go and make contact, you hang back behind me and step in if it gets to be too much!” And without waiting for a response, you approached the man.

“Hey, Mr Mimac.” You started gently. The last time Mr Mimac had been seen was three months ago in Monaco… Snorting some kind of white powder, surrounded by Fae show girls and gambling away all the money his… ‘law abiding’ father had given him as a 21st birthday present.

God knows if he was on anything now.

But that’s why you and your Orc had turned up. Your duo went by many names in underground spaces: Good & Bad Cop, Brains and Brawn, Summer and Snow – fitting really, considering both of your conflicting appearances & approaches.

Orcs and Humans don’t normally get together like the two of you do. But it’s good to have a balance on perspectives, isn’t it?

Even if you disliked the brashness and ruthless behaviour of your boyfriend, you couldn’t deny that it paid off to have a scary guard dog with you wherever you went. It made you feel safer, especially when dealing with things like this.

Mr Mimac Junior didn’t even spare you a glance, eyes still glancing around the stations platform in the same critical gaze. “We’re here on behalf of your dad, he’s asked me and my partner to bring you back to him. He’s very worried about you.” You explained as delicately as possible.

“Fuck off…” The Junior turned to you, his scowl deepening. “I don’t care what my father asked you to do.” His voice slurred slightly, a strong chemical smell hit you like icy water.

You opened your mouth to respond, try to ease him into coming with you. But there was no time.

“Alright,” your Orc Boyfriend spoke up from behind you. “The lady asked quite politely.” He growled.

Still, Mr Mimac did not move. He sent a glare at your Orc, “so? I don’t take orders from anyone, do you know who I am?”

Uh oh.

“This is how it’s going to play out, hm?” Within an instance, your Orc was in front of you, hands leaned on the benches arm rests, bent down to the Juniors height.

The man’s eyes widened, leaning as far as he could before hitting the tiled wall behind him.

Any trace of irritation had gone from Mr Mimac’s face as your Orc continued, “My lovely lady may be polite, but me?” Your Orc Boyfriend drew a sharp breath, air between his large tusks. “I’m not so nice. You’re going to do what the lady says, otherwise your father is going to get a bloody pulp of flesh, and when he asks why you turned up in that state, I’m going to say that you were refusing to co-operate and I had to use some light force… I might just have to even break that pretty little necklace you have,” your Orc flicked a dangling diamond chain from around the man-child's neck.

You stifle a sigh, covering your forehead and blocking your eyes from the scene.

“Now, you’re going to apologise and come with us quietly.” Drawing himself back to you his full height, your Orc looped his thumbs through his belt loop, waiting for the Human to respond.

The man’s eyes darted to you, then back to your Orc. “’m sorry.” Mr Mimac squeaked.

“Better.” Your Orc jerked the Junior standing, the three of you marching out of the train station.

*

Mr Mimac Senior thanked you both profusely as his son was led away by his mother. Mimac Senior handed you a briefcase and sent you both on your way.

Getting back into the car, you cracked open the briefcase. Taking a stack of bills, you examined them carefully as your Orc Boyfriend turned the ignition and turned the car around.

After checking the bills authenticity, you snapped the case closed. The clicking of the cars indicator punctuated the air.

“I told you I could handle it.” You said, quietly.

“You did. He was just behaving like a jackass.” Your Orc replied, checking the lane before pulling out of the drive way. “I’m not going to let anyone talk to you like that.”

Despite the point being lost on your Orc, you couldn’t help the smile on your lips. “Thank you.” You meant it, how could you not? He was only looking out for you. “I feel bad, you’re always doing the dirty work. You should get some time to sit back and handle the easy stuff.”

“You shouldn’t feel bad. Remember what we agreed? I get my hands dirty, you keep yours clean and deal with business.” The car stopped at the traffic lights. "You’re smarter and better at negotiating.”

Engine humming, the streaking of red light illuminating his appearance, your Orc turned to you. “I love you, you know." He held his hand out to you.

You took it, intertwining your fingers with his. “I love you too.”

[bromfieldhall]

Caught In The Act

Colin catches Penelope doing something he thinks she shouldn't - especially when she's a fair few months pregnant..

Rating: General

Part of Love and Life Collection

Look out for a little nod to fellow CS fans in this one

CAUGHT IN THE ACT

“Penelope…what are you doing?”

The red-haired woman froze at the sound of her husband���s low, clipped voice and closed her eyes briefly in dismay.

Of all the rotten luck.

She had thought that he would be out with his brothers for a while yet.

They were staying at Aubrey Hall for a couple of weeks as Anthony and Kate had returned earlier than planned with their newborn, Edmund. The men had ventured out for the evening to wet the baby’s head and she’d not been able to sleep without Colin by her side.

Rather than staring at a blank ceiling, she had decided to read for a while, hence why she’d crept down the stairs in her nightwear to look for a book in the well-stocked library.

Slowly, she dropped her arm and straightened up, then twisted slightly to look down at her husband. He was staring back up at her and, to the casual observer, they would think that he was perfectly calm and at ease.

But Penelope knew better.

The thumb and forefinger on his left hand were furiously rubbing together in agitation. It was the only movement of his otherwise rigid posture. His normally full lips were tightly pressed into a thin line, but it was his eyes that were the real giveaway. Instead of the usual warmth that she had more than once waxed lyrical about, they were dark and stormy - with just a hint of fear.

“Colin! I did not think you’d be back so soon,” she said, pasting a bright smile on her face.

“Clearly,” he retorted brusquely.

He dared not say more in case he wouldn’t be able to stop the flow of words. He still hadn’t quite got over the shock of seeing his pregnant wife halfway up the library ladder, reaching out precariously just to grab a blasted book. He swore his heart had stopped for a moment only for it to jump start into a rhythm that would rival the beat of the most energetic jig.

Penelope cleared her throat a little and tried again. If she acted as though nothing were remiss, hopefully they would not have the confrontation she knew was coming.

“I was just looking for something to read while I waited up for you.”

“And you could not find anything nearer the ground?” he questioned dryly.

The guilt she had been feeling quickly turned to annoyance at his words. That was nothing, however, to the irritation that heated her blood when Colin suddenly held out his hand to her with long suffering sigh and expectant look.

As though she were incapable of getting down from the ladder all by herself!

With a huff of frustration, she turned back to the shelves and quickly grabbed the novel she’d been after. Then, before he even had time to register what she’d done, she moved down a couple of rungs and shoved the book into his outstretched hand.

Ignoring his splutter of indignation, she continued her descent grumbling all the while.

“For goodness sake, Colin, we have spoken of this. You agreed to not be so…you. I am pregnant, not incapacitated…”

Unfortunately for her, she missed the last but one rung in her haste to get down and let out a little shriek of surprise as she slipped.

Colin immediately dropped the book and grabbed her firmly by the waist. Lifting her down, he set her on her feet none too gently then spun her around to face him.

If she had thought his eyes were stormy before, they were swirling like a positive tempest now. For a moment his grip tightened on her and she hoped he might pull her into his embrace, but he didn’t. Instead, he let her go and took a step back, leaving her feeling bereft and a little shaken still from her slip. Without a word, he bent down and picked up the book then held it out to her.

“Colin…” she began imploringly.

“Not now, Penelope,” he cut in curtly, then pressed the novel into her hands. “I am tired and off to bed. Enjoy your book.”

She stared after him as he turned on his heel and walked out of the library, then let out a shaky sigh. Really, all this was of her own making. Be careful what you wish for, they say, and they, whoever they were, were right.

Ever since she had found out that she was expecting, Colin had seen to her every need. Indeed, he had been so attentive of her, that it had begun to feel a little stifling. She was very well able to look after herself as she’d reminded her husband quite sternly one evening when he’d insisted on taking her arm just to help her into bed.

He'd looked so hurt by her words but she’d been too wrapped up in her own indignation to offer an apology. Instead, he’d offered his own and assured her that he would be more mindful in the future.

That had been five days ago and he’d been true to his word.

Of course, he had still been there for her when she needed him, but she could tell he was restraining himself at times. That fact had then fuelled her guilt for asking it of him which, in turn, had made her irritable and prone to snap.

It was rapidly evolving into a vicious circle that she had hoped the unexpected time away from home would ease somehow.

And it had to a degree – until tonight.

But, Lord, he was angry with her now and rightly so. All because she wanted to prove a point. In truth, she’d given herself quite a fright when she’d missed her footing and Colin had obviously had one too. It was no wonder that he had walked away.

Placing a hand over her slightly swollen stomach, she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

First, she needed to apologise, then they needed to talk.

The room was dim when she entered quietly. The only light came from candles on each of the small bedside tables left burning for her to see her way. Her heart warmed to know that even in his ire, he still thought of her wellbeing.

She quickly took off her robe then dropped it and the book onto a chair before slipping into bed next to her husband. He was on his side, turned away from her, but she moved closer and propped herself up on her elbow to try and see his face in the warm glow of the flickering candlelight. His eyes were closed, breathing even and yet it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since he’d left her downstairs.

It was quick even for him to have succumbed to slumber.

“Colin?” she murmured softly.

Silence.

“Colin?” she tried again, a little louder.

Still nothing.

She reached out and touched his shirt clad arm, giving him a slight shake.

“Colin.”

“I am asleep,” he finally muttered grumpily without opening his eyes.

Despite herself, Penelope couldn’t help a rueful smile.

“Colin, please, I wish to talk.”

Her husband sighed and opened his eyes, turning his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder.

“Can it not wait until tomorrow?” he asked with a hint of frustration.

Penelope inched back a little and tugged insistently on his arm, hoping that he would roll onto his back where she could see him better. He went with her urging easily, which she took as a good sign, even though it was clear from his tone that he was still irked from what happened in the library.

“No. I wish to apologise,” she told him in a rush. “It was foolish of me to climb the ladder as I did and even more foolish of me to not take your hand when you offered. I-It…When I slipped, I…”

She stopped and shook her head, unable to finish her thought but Colin could tell from the glint of tears in her eyes that it had scared her as much as him.

Suddenly, all his indignation melted away. He hated seeing her upset, even if it had been bought on by her own stubbornness.

“Come here,” he murmured, lifting his arm in invitation. She immediately cuddled up to him and laid her head on his shoulder, hand coming to rest on his chest. He ran his hand up and down her back soothingly and felt her slowly relax against him.

“I do not wish for us to continue like this,” she told him softly after a few moments of quiet.

Raising her head to look at him, he could still see the tears glistening, threatening to fall.

“Neither do I, Pen,” he assured her earnestly, staring deep onto her eyes so she knew it to be true. A lone tear escaped and he gently brushed it away with his thumb before it had a chance to roll very far down her cheek. “Perhaps we should consider a compromise, yes?” he suggested, giving her a small, encouraging nod. He started to smile, trying to lighten the mood. “I shall limit the amount of times I ask if you are well to only…say…ten a day if you agree to stay with your feet firmly on the ground until the baby is born.”

Penelope let out a laugh and sniffed as she wiped at her eyes.

“Maybe six times?” she countered hopefully.

“Eight and we have an agreement,” he told her with a grin.

She laughed again and nodded.

“Deal.”

“I believe it’s not truly binding until we have sealed it in some way,” he remarked, quirking a brow and tapping a finger on his bottom lip.

He gave her his best charming smile by way of further encouragement but Penelope was already moving in to capture his lips with a little giggle.

It was a gentle kiss at first, but then it deepened as Colin’s hand came up to cup the back of her head, his other arm snaking around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

Suddenly, Penelope broke away and pulled back from him with a gasp, her eyes wide.

“What is it?” Colin asked urgently. “Do you need a chamber pot?”

Although she hadn’t really suffered with sickness much due to her pregnancy, there had been the odd time it had reared its wretched head and he assumed this was one.

He went to get out of bed, but stilled when Penelope grabbed his hand and placed it palm down on her stomach.

“I think the baby moved,” she told him emotionally, her voice barely above a whisper. She stared at him, her expression one of joy and wonder, then moved his hand slightly to the left. “There…can you feel it?”

He couldn’t. It was likely still too early but that didn’t stop the indescribable happiness he felt knowing their child was growing well.

“No, but I’m sure it will only be a matter of time,” he replied, his voice as quiet as hers. It was if any louder and it might break the spell of the precious moment. She moved his hand again, wanting him to share what was happening even if he couldn’t physically experience it for himself yet. “What does it feel like?”

“Butterflies,” Penelope replied with a brilliant smile, then leaned in to give him a brief kiss before adding softly, “and our love.”

Love indeed, he thought happily and it was their love that would always see them through, even if they were at times at odds.

He claimed a kiss. Then another. And another. Soon the air was filled soft moans and whispered endearments as their bodies came together and they headed for completion.

Once spent, Colin blew out the candles then settled down behind his wife and drew her back against him, hand splayed over her stomach.

“Are you well, Pen?” he muttered sleepily into her hair.

“Very well,” she replied, smiling to herself in the darkness.

He really couldn’t help himself and she suddenly realised that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[koolades-world]

Behind the Scenes

All it took was the watchful eye of your best man.

“How was yer day?” Mammon took your bag from you as the two of you began the walk home from RAD together.

“Uneventful mostly, but not bad. The fact that you were there during Seductive Speechcraft today was more than enough to turn my day around.” You turn and smile at him.

“What’d ya mean?” He glanced over at you.

"Just a bad day. Having you at my side make it better." You try to deflect.

"What happened?" He reached out to grab your hand, which you took.

"A couple things." You avoid his gaze.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Mammon stopped you in your tracks by standing in front of you. He looks right into your eyes, and holds your chin in his hands.

“You’re so caring Mams, but I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” You place a hand on his arm, trying to continue walking. He stops you, holding you close.

"Ya've been havin' bad days for a while now. What's the root? Ya can't hide this from me." You sigh, realize the jig is up.

"There's been this demon at RAD who's been picking on me. Today he stole my Potions homework, shouldered me into my locker, and almost drowned me in the bathroom. Thankfully the professor let me off since I never forget my work at home, but next time I might not be so lucky." You admit.

"He what? Forget the whole homework thing, I'll kill the bastard. Who did this to you? You gotta tell me about this stuff. Where does it hurt? Tell me the truth." Silently, you lift one of your sleeves to reveal the bruise you got from being slammed into the locker and pull down the collar of your uniform reveal the outline of fingers on the back of your neck. You wince at the memory. “What were ya planning to do? Suffer in silence? Mc, I don’t tell ya enough that I love ya.” He cupped your face in his hands, speaking to you gently.

“Usually when this happens, I just use a spell to cover it since I'm not good enough at healing magic yet. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not telling you and I’m sorry for worrying you, but he…” You trail off, glancing around. “I don’t think I should even be telling you this.” Mammon looks at you, then around the both of you as well.

“Ya know damn well ya can tell me anythin’. Fuck him. If ya want, ya can wait until we get home.” Mammon knew whoever this demon was wouldn’t dare to both you while he was around.

“I want to wait until we get home.” You said. That was the only thing you had been sure about that entire conversation. Mammon, instead of letting you walk, opted to carry you, insisting it was for your own good. You couldn’t shake the feeling of paranoia, that he was somehow listening and that you said too much.

One you both arrived home, Mammon sat you down in the living room and called over everyone that was home. In a matter of minutes, Levi, Satan, and Asmo were gathered around you, concerned at how oddly serious Mammon had approached them. While you sat silently, Mammon explained. You could see the rage blossoming on Satan’s face, and the horror on Levi and Asmo’s.

“Sweetie, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Asmo cuddled you in a similar way that Mammon did when he found out.

“I was afraid…” You search their faces for their reactions.

“What did he say to you?” Asmo asked.

“He told me he would hurt my family if I told anyone. Not you guys, my human family. I haven’t seen them in so long and I didn’t want anything to happen to them. I really miss them. He said it would be fun to…” You couldn’t continue. A silent tear makes its way down your face. Mammon wiped it away.

“You don’t have to continue.” Asmo pulled you in closer to him.

“What’s his name?” Satan speaks up for the first time. His face was a little red and his eye has begun to tick, but looked eerily calm otherwise. To the untrained eye, it may have looked like he was calming down, but that couldn’t be more wrong.

“Please don’t hurt him.” You begged them.

“Why?” Levi, who had also been silent, nervously asked.

“He must have a reason for acting the way he has been. He probably has a family, and friends. I don’t think he deserves to be hurt, just maybe talked to.” Asmo gripped you hand tighter at your words and swept some hair out of your face.

“We’ll see what we can do, honey.” Asmo exchanged glances with his brothers. “How about this? We take you to Purgatory Hall to spend time with whoever’s there right now while we go talk to Lucifer, Belphie, and Beel.” He asked you.

“Can’t it wait? What if he’s listening?” You pleaded.

“I can assure you if he is out there and dares to act on his threats, I will see to it personally.” Satan’s tick was stronger and more noticeable.

“Anyways, I trust Sol with my life! If there’s anyone I would let look after you, it’s him.” Asmo told you.

“Ok, if you’re really sure. I trust you. Thanks guys. Can I have a hug?” You rose from your stop to be swarmed by the four demons around you. They took care to not hurt you more. You felt safe in the middle of them.

All of them personally went with you to drop you off at Purgatory Hall. Simeon answered the door, and as soon as he took in the scene, his usual smile faded and called for Solomon. Mammon explained the situation, to which they promptly agreed to help. As Asmo transferred you to Simeon, you heard Solomon asking them to save him a piece. It send a sharp shiver down your spine. As soon as the door shut, their facades dropped.

“They never told us his name. Even if it means I have to check every student at RAD, I will. After all, there can only be so many who meet his description.” Asmo chuckled. Satan was still doing his best to hold in his explosive rage until they were far enough from Purgatory Hall.

“Levi, take Satan somewhere to decompress for a while. We’ll reconvene here once we find the others.” Mammon took out his DDD and began making the calls he needed. Asmo also took out his DDD to check as many Devilgram accounts as he could to see if anyone looked particularly guilty.

As soon as Lucifer found out, he practically flew out of the place to meet up with his brothers. It was easy to see the similarities between him and Satan at this point. Belphie and Beel weren’t far behind. It was rare to see them both so agitated. The three of them quickly went in to see you, to see for themselves that you were ok, and to ask for the name of who has been bothering you. After much coaxing, they finally got it. Lucifer made Simeon promise to heal you, and with that, they vanished again. You didn’t know what to think, and hoped they would adhere to their promise.

Once they found him, they didn’t know what to do first. Question him or get straight to what they were there for: to make him pay for what he did. Each of them had their own idea, that they would never dare tell you. While you were safe and sound at Purgatory Hall, the brothers were having the time of their lives. It was a side of them they would never let you see; the side of them that truly reveled in misery and pain.

That demon vanished.

About a week and a half later, he reappeared a changed demon. He apologized for everything he did and remained out of your way from then on. He seemed physically fine, but was a different demon altogether. He was much nicer, and quieter. His friends avoided you like the plague, afraid of something you didn't understand. In fact, after that, everyone treated you like gold if they didn't already. You weren't stupid. You knew the brothers did something but nobody dared tell you. It was a little uncanny as everyone outside your household was pretending nothing had happened in the first place.

But the brothers were kinder, if possible. They kept bringing you small trinkets and gifts, like flowers and anything they thought you would like. They checked up on you more frequently and took you out more frequently. They always made sure you had everything you wanted even if you didn't ask for it. They even arranged for you to see your family in the human world with one accompanying you, although you suspected the others were watching from a distance. It was still chilling to think about what they did to that demon to make them stop so suddenly upon their return, or where they even went, but you settled on never knowing what they did. You just took their gestures at face value and appreciated them for it.

The brothers were glad you were recovering from everything. Anything you refused to tell them, they got out of the perpetrator. Simeon was an amazing healer, and even Lucifer wasn't sure how he brought him back together, mentally and physically. You could never find out.

errrr i don't really like this </3 the concept was more fun but I can't scrap it after how much i put into it

i kinda wanted it more ominous with less words but i think I need more writing practice for that lol

[sakascal]

Infernal Intrigue and Heavenly Escapades - Chapter 1: Two Demons and an Angel

Actually, the entire story is already posted - per the rules of the Good Omens (Small) Big Bang - but I thought I'd make a post per chapter here anyway. I had a ton of fun writing this thing, it was a lot of hard work and I'm extremely happy with how it turned out. So, why not give you excerpts of every chapter individually, even though the whole thing is already up? Look, I'm just really proud of this, so bare with me. 😁

This was written for the Good Omens (Small) Big Bang. The story came into life with just an image in my head: Aziraphale coming across Crowley disguised as an angel up in Heaven. It wouldn't let me go, so I knew I had to write something using that. All the rest just kind of spiralled out from there - or escalated if you will. 😄

The art for this story was created by the wonderful and talented Garden Variety Demon (still incoming, I will post the links once I have them).

Rating E (you'll have to read through almost the whole thing first though)

Total Number of Words 67k (this chapter has about 8k)

Summary

It's 2001 and Aziraphale is in Heaven for a dreaded Performance Review. On his way out (finally), he comes across an oddly familiar looking angel...

or:

The jig is up. Someone - a lower-ranked demon - noticed Aziraphale and Crowley working together. And they have evidence. How will our heroes cope?

Excerpt:

He heard a ding and one of the lifts opened.

Apparently, others were allowed to use them. He bit his tongue in order not to grumble.

Two angels stepped off, one chatting amicably - which was a rather strange sight. Angels didn’t chat, normally. The other - Cambiel if he wasn’t mistaken, another Principality - smiled rather strained at them and walked off into the direction Aziraphale was coming from. Off to report themselves, apparently. He nodded at them as they walked past but got no reaction. Not that that was surprising.

His eyes were drawn back to the strange angel for a moment. They seemed a bit lost. Which was also strange. And they seemed oddly familiar, though he couldn’t quite name them. But his missives were slipping again, so Aziraphale looked down and tried to shift the whole mess in his arms as he walked on towards the main entrance and closer to that strange angel.

“Now if I were a bunch of files on Suffolk, where would I be hiding…” he heard an incredibly familiar, raspy voice as he walked behind that odd angel.

‘No, no… It can’t be–’ Aziraphale thought as his head whipped around. This time the missives did fall, but he hardly noticed.

The slim figure was covered in hideous clothes. White balloony trousers with gold pinstripes, Aziraphale thought he remembered those being called parachute trousers, but he wasn’t certain. White boots with golden plateau soles, that would make him at least half a head taller than Aziraphale. A white sequinned waistcoat, and if he wasn’t mistaken those were star constellations stitched onto it in golden sequins. Over an otherwise bare chest. He could make out - beautiful - curly chest hair but decided not dwell on it. A sparkly thin metallic tie, that was awfully familiar, even if it was golden now and not silver. A golden snake armband curled around his biceps. Gold rimmed sunglasses covering eyes that he knew could crinkle beautifully in mirth. Hair slicked back and held by too many golden hair clips, pulled together into a low ponytail by a sparkly, golden barrette which was also decidedly snake themed. Matching the golden snake tattoo on the side of his face. There was too much pomade, or whatever else he had used to get this wet-like effect, in the hair - but it was still easy to tell the colour of it.

“Oh, you dropped something there, mate,” the ‘angel’ said and knelt down to pick up his missives.

Aziraphale followed suit quite hastily, and grabbed the other’s arm.

The hair was red. Undeniably, vividly red.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, insistently, and quite shocked, at Crowley.

Read On AO3

Thank you to the Whickber Street Writers Association for being such a wonderful group of beautifully insane people. And to my wonderful beta readers @angie-words, @playdohangel and @sixshotsinatumbllr for all the help making this better, fixing the pronouns and various grammatical errors and fun reactions and comments! 💜

Kudos, comments and shares are very welcome here (and what we writers live on 😊).

[benny-the-spaceman]

DO YOU HAVE ANY LEGO MOVIE 1&2 CHARACTER HEADCANONS!?

HI ANON. YES. YES I DO.

A LOT ACTUALLY. I'll leave it the characters I do the most with for now BUT YES ANON I HAVE MANY HEADCANONS

Emmet:

Wasian (specifically japanese and white [totes not projecting])

Everything he likes is the most average response possible (basically canon) and people do use this constantly. If you want to know the most basic, agreeable sandwich to buy for someone you don't know, ask Emmet.

After TLM2, Emmet takes up gardening as a hobby. Of course he always had planty, but now he has an entire front garden. His favorite flowers are sunflowers and daisies.

Emmet is a surprisingly good singer! He doesn't sing much unless someone asks him too though. He was definitely in choir during high school.

Speaking of high school, Emmet was on the wrestling team. He never medalled or anything, but he was there.

Emmet has tried to learn other languages. That's the end of that conversation. He's monolingual.

The type of guy to make the most awkward jokes. Not in a weird way, just in an unfunny way. He tells those rly boring jokes that u at most half chuckle at but otherwise u just kinda stand there awkwardly and the conversation falls flat.

This isn't to say he *isn't* funny, he's just not funny when it comes to jokes. When he's just naturally speaking he's very entertaining to have conversations with.

Emmet is the master of pointless small talk.

Emmet's favorite food is waffles with whip cream and strawberries!

He secretly doesn't have his ACI certification but still handles concrete anyway. Tsk tsk

He's been in charge of a lot of reconstruction efforts after armamageddeon, really putting that construction background to use.

Emmet is wicked good at monopoly and uno but no one knows why.

He's tall and buff. this man is like pushing 6'7" and is jacked, that's hidden under a bit of chub though.

Emmet is a heavyweight drinker. No one knows why this is either. He can keep going for ages and he'll still act completely sober. Doesn't really like drinking though.

Benny:

Vietnamese

Youngest sibling haha, point and laugh

Not young though, this guy is like in his 50's

I am a firm believer in non-conventionally attractive Benny. Hair's a tangled mess, horrible fashion sense, you name it. Also he smells bad. No one has or probably will dissuade me from this. Sorry to mars specifically

Often spends days at a time working on projects, often with little to no sleep. When he focuses he *focuses*. This ties back to the previous statement about him.

Absolutely stacked education. Phd in aerospace engineering and a certified welder, mahcinist, pilot, and avionic technician. He does it all.

He may be smart but he is not a good cook. If he serves you glop do not eat it you will get the worst food poisoning of your life, Lord knows how he survives.

Has a pet miniature automated mirror cart named Castor. This is how he gets food and drink during his several day work periods.

Metalbeard is his best friend! They have Tuesday draft reviewing sessions where they show their latest ideas and critique each other. Despite the major differences in what they do, these critique sessions help both of them improve.

They also have tea parties with Unikitty. Unikitty tends to convince Metalbeard to participate in shenanigans and Metalbeard tends to force Benny into those same shenanigans. When those 3 are together it's an omen.

Metalbeard:

He's my favorite. The URL wouldn't make you think so but he is.

Wicked good dancer. The robotic body does not hinder his ability to do a fun little jig.

Metalbeard has had 3 ships, his parent's old ship, the first ship he built himself, and the sea cow.

He's stubborn as a mule. Once his head is set on something you will not convince him out of it.

Does not have any official education. He's a 15th century pirate for crying out loud.

Swears...Surprisingly little? He's a pirate so you'd expect him to have a pretty bad sailor mouth but no. He's pretty tame in that regard.

His favorite food is pineapple

Not a big risk-taker. Firm believer of calculated decision making. I mean it's in the rules of the sea: Always abandon a lost cause. He isn't looking for fights all willy nilly.

Old as shit. I covered it in my thread on Metalbeard's ship but based on the age of it he's several centuries old.

Unlike Benny, Metalbeard is quite good with and also quite likes newer technology. His 15th century currack has a steampipe coming out of it for a reason.

Knows Spanish and Portuguese.

When he was younger, he used to go fishing with his parents very often. He doesn't get to go as much now, but he tries to go fishing with them at least a couple times a year.

The one thing he misses the most about having his limbs is swimming. His present-day body being made of wood and metal doesn't it make it very amicable to swimming. He'd kill to paddle around in the ocean again.

Unikitty:

Incredibly mischievous. Has a habit of roping people into little pranks or games.

Eats mostly sugar

Misses her homeland often. She doesn't talk about it much, but she wishes constantly to have Cloud Cuckooland back. As much as she tries not to hold it against GCBC and Lord Business, she does.

Surprisingly strong. She can lift Metalbeard in his full robotic body like it's nothing.

Impromptu cuddles are her jam. If Unikitty is rushing towards you, it's a 50/50 shot of whether if she wants a hug or if she wants to tackle you like a linebacker.

Has a diary that she does not let anyone touch. Except Wyldstyle.

Her, Wyldstyle, and Mayhem have girls nights where they mostly just hang out build stuff together. They more or less are used for talking about their feelings, Wyldstyle started them after she realized none of them had particularly good outlets for their emotions.

Unikitty's tail is edible.

Sometimes Unikitty will glow if she's having a good day.

Unikitty can speak every language. She was just born that way.

Sometimes Unikitty feels as if people don't take her seriously, mostly on account of being a cat. This does bug her a lot but she tries not to let it get to her.

Unikitty's favorite thing to do is make people happy (:

She gives Benny haircare tips constantly and he ignores most of them much to her dismay.

Business:

Mr. Money Launderer

Wears really stupid graphic t-shirts with dad or golfing or fishing jokes on them.

His first name is Jolly! (I stole this one from superpeeboy, lol)

Cares A LOT about his appearance and is very meticulous. Wakes up at least an hour early to get ready.

OCD king. He really should do ERP therapy but he won't because there's absolutely nothing wrong with him how could you dare imply that.

Cheats at golf.

Gets all of his clothes ironed and drycleaned.

Absolutely not gay. Never. He'd never be gay. He doesn't know what you're talking about. He's normal. Not to say being gay isn't normal but he's not that. Totally. 100%. He isn't in denial

Does the white mom thing when they go to a restaurant and are like yknow what? I'm gonna be *bad* today.

Says he's 50 years young (I also stole this from superpeeboy)

Picky ass eater. Doesn't like spice and also really likes how mayo tastes but don't put too much mayo and his sandwich shouldn't have too much bread and why is the steak cooked so little and why does the meal have flavor but also why doesn't the meal have flavor.

Also here's some other posts of mine related to hcs I have. I really like. making headcanons.

How Masterbuilders Draft

Emmet Construction Certifications

One of My Favorite Post Chains Ever Please Look at All the Reblogs on This

Metalbeard's Ship

Emmet's Internal Clock

.

[kremlin]

it is really, really funny to see these bush-league never-was dumbfuck crypto losers go out and spend $300k of borrowed money on gray market A100s in an attempt to mine cryptocurrency (which they will have no success with) just solely on the premise that those things are called "GPUs"

i was reading one account of a guy on reddit with a throwaway account freaking out because he bought SXM socket A100s which, like, it was pretty clear his thinking was that because he could manage to put together a embarrassing gamer PC, he would have no trouble with this. even experienced datacenter techs will avoid SXM if they possibly can, that shit is meant to be installed by the vendor, doing it yourself (especially on 300% marked up gray market hardware) is completely bonkers:

if you ever had an AMD cpu back in the day (i remember way back when i had a top of the line phenom 2 lol) you might remember pin sockets:

you had to align all of these incredibly fucking fragile gold pins right above their corresponding hole on the socket, you had to drop it in just perfectly and if you didn't, you absolutely could not nudge it in place otherwise you'd bend a pin and the whole thing is fucked

(i remember fucking one up & freaking out, i had worked at a grocery store all through summer in middle school to buy it, i took it to a jeweler who couldn't fix it, eventually found the pinout, and the pin i bent was unused, by the grace of god)

anyways, SXM is this but a billion times worse. the vendors that sell the server packages have special jigs they use to align them properly, trying to install freehand is just, rofl

and that isn't even the end of the story, if homeboy gets past seating it without fucking a pin up, he'll 100% not torque the cooler down properly, it won't be flush, and the thing will cook itself the moment its powered on

not that any of this matters though, even if all done correctly, the core concept would not work. if you try and run vertex CUDA mining routines on these ""GPUs"", it'll be like trying to make pesto with your garbage disposal. that is how little foresight these people have. lmfao.

[cryptomiracle]

✯sharpsh××ter✯

outlaw masky(tim wright) x fem!bounty hunter reader pt1

sharpshooter - by M

synopsis: it's 1891, you're a bounty hunter & you've been tracking down a certain outlaw with a hefty reward on his head for two years, but when you finally catch him, you realize you may be way in over your head.

a little jig for you to listen to while u read :)

WARNING(S)!!

This is only part one!

Guns

Reader is kinda money hungry/money motivated

Alcohol

Psychical fights

Cursing

I'm horrible at describing terrain LOL

Pronouns aren't used on reader until part two, although words like wife/lady are used.

(this is supposed to be from a second pov)

Pet names (sweetheart, doll, honey, darlin' etc)

Reader isn't aware that tim is masky (it's explained later)

Breaking of bones

Mentions of crimes / crimes being committed (murder, robbery, etc)

This is more than likely inaccurate to that time period

Although the warnings may say otherwise, this is really just a silly little fanfic

✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷

*BANG*

the saloon doors slammed open, followed by the sound heavy footsteps, along with the jingle of spurs.

You could hear as the footsteps got closer and closer, the feeling of anticipation caused your blood to pump faster.

you looked up from your glass, and looked at the bartender, whose hands were shaking ever so slightly.

???:"I heard you been lookin' for me"

you heard a deep voice come from beside you

You quickly downed the rest of your whiskey before you slowly cut your eyes to where the voice was coming from, to see the one and only...

Tim wright

✯(Age: 28

Bounty: 5'000

Crimes: multiple counts of robbery, extortion, and forgery)✯

you: "and who might you be?"

you looked down at your empty cup

you knew damn well you had been asking around town about him, but you decided to play it safe.

tim: "don't act like you don't know.."

he roughly knocked your cup out of your hand, causing it to hit the floor and burst

you turned your head to face him, annoyance apparent on your face.

you: "you wanna take this outside?"

your eye slightly twitched

tim: "what? you scared to lose in front of all these people?"

Leaning against the bar, he chuckled as he looked around the room

You leaned closer to him, your face inches away from his

you: "I didn't mean a fist fight, Tim"

you backed away slowly, and placed your hand on your gun holster

You watched as the realization hit him

He slightly hesitated before replying

tim: "alright.."

he sighed as he stood up from his seat and made his way to the exit, he paused in front of the door before speaking again

tim: "you comin' sweetheart?

you got up from your seat as well, hand still on your gun.

you saw the distressed faces of the people in the bar as you walked by.

tim: "ladies first"

He took off his black, dusty hat and held it on his chest as he bowed and he held the door open for you

you only gave him an unimpressed look

you: "you go right ahead"

he sighed unenthusiasticly as he stepped out.

you followed him, staying close behind him to make sure he didn't try to run off, which you doubted he would do.

You took a moment to look up at the night sky, which was littered with stars.

when you brought your attention back to him, you noticed he was staring at you, his brown eyes glistening under the full moon.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

You started to speak, attempting to ease the tightness in your throat

you: "on the count of five.."

he pulled back his coat to reveal a revolver

He placed his hand on it gently, he had this dangerous look in his eye, one that told you he would eat you alive if you weren't careful

everything went deafeningly silent, the only sound coming from your short breaths.

1..

2..

3..

before you got to four, you saw him reach for his gun

You quickly drew your colt, and shot him in the thigh.

He yelled as he fell to the ground, and fired a shot.

The bullet wizzed past you, luckily not hitting you.

tim: "DAMN!"

he winced as his blood spilled out unto the ground.

you walked over to him and knelt down in front of him, you looked down at him with a slight grin.

you: "cheater.."

you whispered to him

You twirled your gun around, so that you were holding the barrel.

You then hit him in the head with the handle of your gun, and watched as sleep overtook him.

✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷

He slowly gained consciousness, and squinted his eyes, the brightness of the sun temporarily blinding him.

the sound of hoofs clacking ringed in his ears.

He took in his surroundings, only to realize he was not where he once was.. instead he was in the middle of the desert, the only signs of life in his field of vision other than himself being a few cacti here and there, along with a bit of dry grass.

He turned his head to the right, ignoring the pain in his head and saw his horse.

He followed the rope that was tied to his horse to see the torso of an unfamiliar horse, along with a pair of boots, and the bottom of skirt flopping up and down in front of his face

He felt anger overcome him as he remembered what had happened the night before.

tim: "mmph!"

He squirmed as he tried to say something, but it came out as a mumble because of the gag in his mouth.

you: "good mornin' darlin!"

You said in a cheery tone of voice, only fueling the anger that was bubbling up in him.

you: "how'd ya sleep?"

masky/tim: "MMHP, MMMMM"

He attempted to speak once more.

you: "oh, right"

You reached around and pulled the gag down to his neck.

tim: "YOU M0THERF#CKER"

Taking no time to catch his breath, he instantly yelled at you, rage evident in his voice.

you: "sorry to tell you this, but there's a slight chance you may have a concussion"

you cut your eyes toward him

you were clearly trying to get a reaction out of him,(and it worked) you knew you didn't hit him hard enough to give him a concussion.

tim: "D#MN YOU TO HELL!"

after a few minutes of him cursing at you, you got tired of it and put the gag back in his mouth.

And yet he continued to yell, although it was intelligible.

hours went by, the sun was starting to set and you knew you'd have to rest for the night.

Tim had stopped yelling awhile ago, which would be worrying if you didn't have him bound, and wounded.

You slowed down in speed as you approached a plateau, you decided to settle here for the night.

you hopped off your horse and tied the horses to a log, to keep them from running away.

you then pulled tim off the back of your horse, causing him to hit the ground face first.

tim: "hmmp!"

he groaned

you rolled him over, and set him up against the same log you had your horses tied too.

you: "I'm gon' get some firewood, don't move.."

He thought about attempting to run, he really did,, but he decided against it.. figuring that if he were to successfully escape, he'd have to plan it out.

you left him there to look for anything flammable you could find, luckily when you came back he was where you left him.

you: "I figured you'd try to run off while I was gone"

He groaned.

you lightly grinned at him before removing the gag once more.

tim: "I would have, if it weren't for the HOLE IN MY LEG."

you laughed as you noticed a vein in his head pop out.

You put the various sticks, and grass you found on the ground and made a fire.

you set across from him, leaning against the hard wall of the plateau.

tim: "who are you anyway?"

he huffed, although you could barely see it, he had a slight curious glint in his eye

you: "now why would I tell you my name?"

tim: "well, how are we supposed to become friends if I don't know your name?"

you: "so you think we're gon' be friends?"

You chuckled, the audacity of this man? To think that the two of you could be anything even close to friends was a very strong reach. he was up to something you just couldn't figure what it was he was up too.

tim: "oh, I think we're gon' be a lot more than friends.."

He cooed as he leaned back into a more relaxed position and gave you a serious, yet sly look.

That's when you realized what he was doing

Tim was a very handsome man, that you couldn't deny.. but you couldn't allow yourself to fall for his tricks, nor his advances.

You felt your cheeks slightly heat up as you paused for a minute, deciding on what to say.

The silence was heavy, and awkward.

But only on your part, Tim on the other hand found enjoyment in your slow reaction.

you: "we're goin' to town tomorrow so I can turn you in and finally be rid of you"

You said bitterly, as the heat in your cheeks dissipated

He sighed in discontent once he realized that his charms wouldn't work on you so easily

you stared down at the fire, and watched as the flames grew higher & swayed from side to side, almost as if they were alive.

Surely enough you drifted off to sleep, the moon shining brightly above the two of you.

You felt eyes on you the whole night, you weren't exactly sure if they were his eyes or something else, either way you didn't sleep very well that night.

✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷✯✷

you felt lightheaded as you awoke slowly

your eyes shot open as you realized that tim wasn't where you left him

You quickly gathered yourself, and stood up.

You looked around, the horses were still there so you knew he was on foot.

You packed up the few things you had out, then you untied your horses and started following tracks he had left behind.

you didn't exactly know how he got free, all you knew was that the rage that had been building up over these two years of chase, was finally bubbling over.

You had spent two years chasing after this assh#le, you weren't gonna let him get away that easily.

you: "c'mon!"

you pulled on the reins, causing the horse to run faster

You followed after the messy tracks he had left

you felt the breeze blow against your face, causing any stray hairs to fly back.

Soon enough, his blurry silhouette came into view.

You felt sweat drip off of your forehead, heat radiating off of the golden sand.

He started to pick up his pace as he heard the sound of hooves clacking.

Despite his attempt at running away, you caught up with him, blocking his path as you pulled your horse in front of him.

You hopped off of your horse, and tackled him to the ground. He yelled a mixture of different curse words as his body roughly hit the ground, you raised your fist, then brought it down in one swift movement.

You watched as blood started to spill from his nose, he began to squirm under you, trying to break free.

You used your weight to keep him down, before hitting him once more with your right hand.

You raised your left hand once again preparing to punch him, but before you could he had grabbed you by your hair and pulled you off of him

He took no time to jump on top of you, and wrap his hands around your throat.

He squeezed tightly, you could feel the air in your lungs be forced out as a burning sensation overtook your body, you attempted to break free of his grasp you kicked, and punched, and scratched, but to no avail.

You looked up at him, your vision becoming blurry, you couldn't quite make out the expression on his face, all you could see was the blood dripping from his possibly broken nose

You then remembered the bullet wound in his leg.

You pulled down the bandage you had previously put on his leg and dug your finger into the hole as hard as you could.

He yelled as his grasp around your neck weakened, you took that chance to push him off of you and onto the ground.

You both just laid there for a while, trying to get over the throbbing pain you were both experiencing.

You groaned as you sat up, leaving an imprint on the sand.

You turned to your side, and looked at him intensely.. he only turned his head and looked back at you with an amused look on his face, followed by a chuckle.

tim: "you know.."

He started to speak

Before he could finish his sentence, you roughly kicked him in the stomach, the heel of your boot digging into his gut.

he mumbled something unintelligible as he rolled onto his side, while clutching his stomach.

you fully pulled yourself off of the ground, you stood tall over him, the sun gleaming behind you, casting a blinding glow around you.

You pulled your gun out of it's holster, and pointed it straight at his face, he looked up at you, with a look in his eye that gave you nothing but goosebumps.

You swallowed that lump in your throat, and started to speak.

you: "you try to run off again.."

you paused, only adding on to the pressure that was weighing heavily.

you: "and I won't hesitate to put a bullet in your head."

venom seething from your words, you roughly grabbed him by his arm and pulled him up off the ground.

You grabbed some spare rope from your bag, and tied him up once more.

This time, you tied his hands behind his back, and his feet.. tightly.

You stowed him on your horse, and started on your way to the nearest town.

✯⁠✯⁠✯⁠✯⁠✯⁠✯⁠✯⁠✯⁠✯

i will be reading over this to check for any mistakes, if you spot any please do tell me!!

[ironmandeficiency]

drinking songs

pairing: established dwalin  / fem!dwarf!reader

word count: 1607

summary: you got drunk off your ass at thorin’s coronation banquet, and now it’s up to your dearest dwarf captain to get you back to your rooms.

a/n: song snippets are from "rattlin bog” by the irish descendants. i have become dwalin trash, mostly thanks to @fromthedeskoftheraven

the captain of the guard was enjoying himself, truly. it isn’t every day that thorin is actually happy, that his cousin is able to swing his arms around the shoulders of his nephews with joy oozing from every pore.

peace is seldom found in the line of durin.

his eyes flit around the room, observing every shift of the light and tracking the positions of his family and friends. the boys are hanging off thorin with rosy cheeks, smiling wider than he’d seen in years. bofur is dancing on one of the massive tables, flute in hand, deftly avoiding plates and goblets while doing a jig to his own music. nori’s pulled ori into dancing along, the brothers almost tripping over each other in their laughter. balin and dori are watching said merriment from their seats at the royal table, casually drinking from their goblets with matching grins.

dwalin respects the duties of his station and would never stray from his responsibilities during a royal banquet or otherwise. it doesn’t matter how entranced he is with the way you’re going toe to toe against the others with the mead, the way errant drops of the beverage drip down your chin and neck. he’s not going to abandon his post and allow himself to sweep you to your feet, beckoning you into the energetic dances of celebrating dwarrow.

but he can damn sure wish to.

he doesn’t know how it started. all dwalin knows is that it happened, is still happening, and probably won’t stop happening anytime soon. he fell beard over boots for you many moons ago, the dam sent by dís to accompany them on the quest, your presence the only reason his dear cousin let her sons join the company.

it could have been the battle cry released from the pit of your soul when you downed a warg headed straight for him. or maybe it was the vicious glint in your eyes when you ripped the leg off a mirkwood spider with your bare hands, then promptly used it to skewer two others. it could even be the doting care you gave to every member of the company, your innate kindness off the battlefield a delightful contradiction to your ferocity on it.

those and many more were the reasons he, with some encouragement from his closest friends and family, found the courage to ask to court you while they were in laketown. it was why his eyes kept focusing on the courting bead in your hair that marked you as his, no matter how many other eyes followed you around the mountain.

mahal’s sweaty balls, dwalin was in deep.

even in the safety of the mountain, there were so many strangers that he couldn’t let his guard down. that was his excuse for not celebrating and he would stick to it like the honey in your beard when you ate the little honey cakes at the shifter’s cabin.

he spotted bofur taking your hand, pulling you onto the table to join him in whatever foolish drinking song that was being chorused around the table.

“ho, ro, the rattlin' bog the bog down in the valley o real bog, the rattlin' bog the bog down in the valley o!”

an obnoxious cheer cut through yours and bofur’s song before you continued with wide smiles and mead dripping from your beards. 

“in the nest, there was a bird a rare bird, a rattlin’ bird the bird in the nest and the nest on the limb and the limb on the branch and the branch on the tree and the tree in the hole and the hole in the bog and the bog down in the valley o!”

it was an absolutely foolish song, albeit rather catchy. while he would never lower himself to singing along, he caught himself tapping his boot to it. the faster you sang, the more every other dwarf struggled to keep up. even bofur was occasionally lowered to simply making syllabic noises that didn’t quite make sense, though his current inebriation could be partly to blame.

you jumped off the table in a hurry, headed straight for him. if he were a betting dwarf that needed the gold, he would bet that you were going to try and pull him into your cheerful little song and dance.

“come on, ya big oaf! you’ve got to join us!”

“oh no no, dearie, you know i don’t-”

“correction, you didn’t dance! now you do!”

dwalin’s long-suffering sigh meant nothing to you. you’ve known dwalin nearly your entire lives, there wasn’t a moment spent under this mountain or another where he could successfully said no to you.

your strength in pulling him into the growing crowd, no matter how close to inebriated you were, shouldn’t have surprised him. his feet weren’t cooperating with the rest of him as he stumbled after you, the way he’s done since you were both wee pebbles.

he’s just glad he wasn’t asked to join you and the miner in the singing.

once you succeeded in pulling dwalin to the edge of your impromptu stage, you jumped right back into the song with ease. your drunken crowd was stomping their feet and banging meaty fists on the table. one of dain’s men had a banjo and was playing along with the steadily increasing tempo of the song. the increase in speed seemed to not affect you in the slightest and dwalin was gobsmacked.

“the rash on the tick, on the tick on the louse, on the louse on the hair, on the hair on the worm, on the worm on the feather, on the feather on the bird, on the bird in the egg, in the egg in the bird, in the bird on the nest, on the nest on the limb, on the limb on the branch, on the branch on the tree, on the tree in the hole, in the hole in the bog, in the bog down in the valley-o!”

you launched yourself off the table, still shouting the lyrics with a speed that rivaled the rabbits pulling the brown wizard’s sled. dwalin caught you with a wide grin. he almost didn’t catch you when you jumped into his arms, but his instincts were ahead of his brain.

with that one last line, ringed fingers tangled in the warrior’s beard, pulling him close so you could connect his lips with yours. it was a sloppy, rough kiss with just a little tenderness but overflowing with passion and impatience and devotion. hoots and hollers rang around you both, the loudest ones belonging to members of the company.

it was a very forward display of affection for two dwarrow who only recently started courting, but propriety could get shoved up the drake’s ass for all he (and you) cared.

he tempered your kisses, untangling your fingers from his beard before placating you with smaller pecks all across your face. “alright lass, it’s time for you to get to bed.” there was an affection in his voice that he couldn’t keep at bay when he was around you.

“rather forward tonight, are we?” you couldn’t help but tease your dear warrior. the sight of his cheeks wearing even the most faded tint of ruby was a reward that far surpassed the value of the treasure only a few rooms away.

dwalin rolled his eyes fondly at you. “not quite, kurdel,” maybe one day though. he wouldn’t even entertain the idea of doing anything untoward when you were giggly and rosy-cheeked from the spirits. “need to get you to sleep. ‘sides, it sounds like your voice is gettin’ hoarse.”

the resulting pout you gave him was very unconvincing.

a hiccup escaped your lips as your betrothed hoisted you into his shoulder, carrying you out of the grand hall like a very cherished sack of potatoes.

in the morning you were definitely going to regret the way you drank close to bombur’s weight in mead. it wasn’t a concern now, however, when drunk you had the best vantage point of your lover’s ass.

you could continue your singing after all, especially with the best hand drums this side of the misty mountains right there. deft hands began to tap an encore of your earlier performance. you were so distracted by this task you didn’t notice dwalin stop walking or his slight chuckle at your antics.

dwalin paused outside the door to your rooms, an impatient sigh falling from him. “are you quite finished, love?” just to spite him, you hum and give his buttocks a few more taps just because you could. “i’m done now,” you answer.

his grunt of acknowledgement made you giggle as he opened the door to your rooms, your intended making a beeline for your bed. he unloaded you with all the care a lover would give and once you were sobered up, you’d look upon the moment fondly. he was gingerly guiding your body as he removed your outerwear, leaving you in your pants and a loose tunic.

but that moment was not now, so you instead chose to grab up at him in a silent attempt to get him to lay with you. he should learn to say no to you eventually.

“if i lay down wi’ ye, there will be no funny business. understand?” he’s already ridding himself of his own boots and heavy armor, getting himself ready to crawl into bed with you. balin would definitely have his ass for this in the morning, but dwalin couldn’t find it in him to care when you were gazing at him with love in your eyes.

[discount-shades]

Dead or Alive: Family

Dead or Alive: Sugar and Jake 

A/N: Someone asked if I was going to write about when Sugar told Jake she couldn’t have kids so here it is. It got away from me a bit…

Pairing: Jake Seresin/Reader 

Warning: Trigger Warning: Abortion, Fertility problems, Western themed violence. 

Word Count: 1200 ish

Summary: Some updates on Sugar and Jake after they leave the Dagger Gang.

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Frozen, you stare at the sheets before you. A smear of blood blemishes the otherwise snowy white bed linens. Another month and you were not pregnant. Blinking back tears, you pull out the sanitary belt from where you had tucked it in the back of the drawer before dressing for the day. Your time of the month was only a few days late and as much as you fought against it, as much as you tried to squash it down, you had hoped that this time it would be different. 

Angrily you began to strip the bottom sheet off the bed. You had just put fresh linens on yesterday. Now you had to spend an hour washing and ironing it all again. You dump the sheet in the wash bin on the porch and begin filling it up from the pump by the back door. 

Jake had been away last night. He had spent the evening on guard duty at the local jail cell. You shake your head ruefully at the change in circumstances. Move a few states east and Jake would be the prisoner that needed guarding and not the deputy holding the keys. 

You will never forget the day that the sheriff had arrived at your door. Jake had volunteered to ride in a posse a month earlier and had helped apprehend a man accused of murdering a gold miner a few towns over. You weren't sure of the details, you only know that Jake had saved the sheriff's life. 

When you answered the door the sheriff had held up wanted posters with Jake’s and your real names without saying anything. As you stared into eyes the uncommonly accurate likeness of your own poster you had felt your stomach drop to the floorboards. You tore your eyes away and gazed at the blue sky and the California mountains towering over the small farm you and Jake had built. The dirt road trampled into the dirt led to the idyllic little town you had settled beside. Everything you had ever wanted was right here and you had brushed aside a tear, sure that the jig was up.

You clutched at Jake’s hand as the sheriff spoke. “Before these came in I was planning on asking if you wanted one of these officially.” He had held up a shiny, sliver deputy’s badge to Jake. “I did some thinking and the offer still stands for Mr. Smith.” He used the fake name the two of you had been living under. “Or I’ll allow Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin and his wife one week to leave town, if that is your decision.”

He handed the badge to Jake. “If you want the job Mr Smith, I expect to see you tomorrow and I’ll read you in.” He passed you the posters. “If I do not see you tomorrow I will be back in a week to arrest the both of you.” With a final look that ensured that you and Jake understood his meaning, he tipped his hat and walked away.  

That was seven years ago now and the only thing that had changed was the sheriff was now talking about retiring and had been encouraging Jake to run for sheriff when he did. Your mind returns to the task at hand and you grab the soap and washboard and begin to scrub the stain on the corrugated washboard. Once the mark is as clean as you will get it you wring out the heavy sheet and hang it on the line. Maybe you won’t bother ironing it again. Jake won’t care and no one else would notice if your linens had wrinkles.

After milking the cow and collecting the eggs you head inside and start on breakfast. Jake should be home soon. You are just finishing breakfast when he canters up on the pinto horse he had taken to riding since retiring Jet. The old black gelding now spent his days teaching manners to weanling foals and napping in the shade. You turn to smile at Jake as he walks through the door but your lower lip begins to tremble when you see the look on his face.  He knows what the sheet hanging on the line means. 

Forcing an overly cheery greeting past your lips you turn back to the stove so you don’t have to see the disappointment in his eyes. “It’s scrambled eggs and bacon for breakfast today.” You begin to plate the food, hoping that the familiar routine will calm your emotions.

Jake’s arms wrapping around you finally slows your movements and you lean back into his chest. “It’s never going to happen.” It is easier to speak the thought that has been sitting in your mind for years if you do not have to look him in the eye.

“You don’t know that.” His lips are soft as gently kisses your temple. “It might still happen.”

“No,” You sigh, finally ready to confess the secret you have been keeping from your husband. “It won’t.”

Turning in his arms you look up into his green eyes. “I was pregnant before.” You watch his eyes widen in shock but he doesn’t let you go, in fact he tightens his grip on your waist. “It was before us, I was barely 18.” You continue waiting for him to push you away.

“It was before the quickening, but it had recently been made illegal so a doctor wouldn’t do it.” You can’t read his expression and don’t know if you should continue but find that you are unable to stop. The secret has been eating at you for years. “I tried tansy, pennyroyal, gin, hot baths… but nothing would work, eventually the madam where I was working made it happen.” You brush a tear away and drop your gaze, unable to meet his eye anymore.

“There was an infection. A doctor did treat me for that, and he said I might never be able to get pregnant.” You watch Jake’s chest as he takes a deep breath and sighs it out before pulling you in for a hug. He gently cradles the back of your head as silent tears slip down your face. 

“So it will just be you and me then.” His chest rumbles under your ear at his words and you pull back to meet his eyes sniffing. 

“Are you ok with that?” You search his face as he smiles sadly down at you.

Jake gives a little shrug. “I can imagine my life without children.” He gently kisses your lips. “What I can’t imagine is a life without you, Sugar.”

“You would have been a great father.” You say thinking about seeing him interact with the local school children. 

“And you would have been a great mother.” You brush a tear away at his words but your heart feels lighter at his easy acceptance of your past. You no longer have to pretend that you are expecting to get pregnant. You no longer have to fake anticipation and hope that you have long given up on. 

“I guess it’s just the way it goes sometimes.” You are finally able to bring a small, sad smile to your lips. “Some things are not meant to be.”

[cottoncandyswirl828]

Zuma Appreciation Week: Day 7 - Ryder and Zuma

Ah, what could be a better way to round off Zuma Appreciation Week than a tribute to the age-old friendship between a boy and his dog. We don’t really get to see Ryder just hanging out and bonding with the pups anymore, which is a real shame since the bond Ryder has with his pups is clearly a strong one. They all share such a sweet connection with each other and let’s face it; we’re all a little jealous of Ryder for having six adorable talking pups that he gets to spend all his time with. That boy is living every dog lover’s dream. Zuma Appreciation Week has been a lot of work but also so much fun to do, I’m really glad I could do this, so let’s end this on a high note, complete with some headcanoned backstory.

“You won’t get away with this, Moby!”

“And what makes you think you and your little Paw Patrol can stop me?”

Moby swam off in his Moby-mobile, taking with him the magic clam shell of Puplantis he had stolen, with Ryder and Zuma in hot pursuit.

“Hahaha! Without the magic pearls, Puplantis will crumble. Then the mer-pups will have to leave and I can have Puplantis all to myself! No more annoying singing or dancing or big celebrations, just me and my inventions!”

McSquidly gave a squeak of annoyance.

“… And McSquidly too.”

“Not if we have anything to say about it!” Ryder declared, as he and Zuma followed Moby into a system of underwater caves. “Zuma, see if you can find a shortcut so you can get ahead of him, then we’ll have him surrounded.”

“Aye-aye! Ruff! Sonar!”

Using his pup pack’s sonar device, Zuma quickly mapped out the cave system and found a series of tunnels that could get him in front of Moby.

“Bingo.”

Ryder and Zuma split up, with Ryder continuing to pursue Moby as Zuma slipped into a tunnel that Moby had failed to notice.

“Come on, McSquidly, we’ve already shaken one of them, just have to lose the other and we’ll be home free.”

A sharp turn caused Moby���s vehicle to hit the cave wall. Not enough to damage it, but enough to shake McSquidly from his perch on top of the sub, causing the squid to reach their tentacles over the windshield of the Moby-mobile.

“McSquidly! I can’t see!”

The Moby-mobile started to swerve wildly out of control, banging against the walls and ceiling of the cave as Moby continued to try and steer blindly.

“That’s far enough Moby- Woah!” Zuma popped out of the side tunnel, blocking Moby’s path which led to the two vehicles colliding. Zuma was more than grateful that Ryder had built their vehicles to be able to withstand heavy blows, otherwise that crash could’ve been pretty bad for him.

“You again? Where did you come from?”

“The jig is up Moby! Now hand over the clam shell, it doesn’t belong to you.”

Moby growled as he looked between Ryder and Zuma, realizing he was trapped between them. Then a sudden rumble shook the cave.

“Ryder! My sonar says the caves are starting to collapse, we gotta get out of here!”

Rocks started to fall from the roof of the cave, causing a small opening to form. Moby smiled as he saw his chance to escape.

“McSquidly! Ink ‘em!”

McSquidly nodded and shot a cloud of ink at Ryder and Zuma, blinding them. Meanwhile, Moby slammed his vehicle into the crack in the ceiling, making it big enough for him to escape but causing more of the cave to collapse in the process.

“And for good measure…” Moby used his sub to push a large boulder over the hole he created, preventing Zuma and Ryder from following him.

As Moby made his escape, more rocks came tumbling down on Ryder and Zuma, landing on Ryder’s sub and trapping him in a pile of rubble.

“Ryder!”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. You need to go after Moby and get the clam shell back.”

“No way! I’m not leaving you here in a crumbling cave!”

“But Moby’s getting awa-”

“Moby can wait! You can’t! This cave is coming down fast, if you stay here, you’ll be crushed!”

“So will you. I’ll be fine, just get out of here.”

Zuma sighed, he should’ve known it was less about catching Moby and more about getting him out of danger.

“I’m not leaving this cave without you! Either both of us get out of here or neither of us do! Now let me get rid of those rocks.”

Zuma used the claw arms of his sub to lift the rocks off Ryder’s sub, while using his own sub to block any more rocks from falling on Ryder.

“Be careful, Zuma!”

Once all the rocks were cleared, Ryder tried to start up his sub, but one of the larger rocks had crushed one of the sub’s propellers.

“Dang it. Go on without me, I’ll only slow you down.”

Instead of arguing, Zuma just grabbed Ryder's sub with one of his claw arms and began dragging him through the cave.

"Zuma! You won't make it out in time with my sub weighing you down! Please, just leave me, I can find my own way out."

"No way! If I was in your position, you wouldn't have left me, so I'm not leaving you!"

The caves were beginning to completely collapse at this point. Zuma had to swerve and dodge falling boulders as he towed Ryder through the cave, doing a double-take every time there was a near-miss to ensure Ryder hadn't been hit.

The cave entrance was finally in sight, but rocks and boulders were quickly piling up, threatening to block their way out.

"You won't be fast enough to get out before the entrance is blocked if you keep towing me! You have to let me go, I'll call for back-up and Rubble can-"

"NO! We can make it! We just need to keep going!"

"Zuma, I promise I'll be fine, just-"

"I'M NOT LEAVING YOU TO DIE IN A CAVE LIKE THEY DID TO ME!"

Zuma pushed his sub's engines to their absolute limit, shooting through the water faster than he'd ever dared to go before and making it out of the cave right before the entrance was blocked completely.

Zuma sighed in relief and let himself relax into the seat of his sub. "See? I told you we'd make it out."

But Ryder gave him a weird look that Zuma couldn't quite place, he seemed... Sad? Worried? Sympathetic? Zuma couldn't find the right words to describe it.

"Zuma... What is it you said about being left in a cave to die?"

"Oh, just a bad memory from my puppyhood is all. You don't need to worry about it."

Ryder wasn't at all convinced. He got out of his sub and gestured for Zuma to do the same, which he reluctantly did.

"That cave you were left in... Was it the same cave I found you in?" Zuma was quiet, but he nodded.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Zuma thought for a moment, and an awkward silence passed between them.

"... I used to live in a shelter for strays. The shelter was pretty understaffed so we didn't get a lot of outdoor time, but one day we were all taken to the beach for a beach day. It was actually the first time I'd ever been to a beach, and I had so much fun. There was so much space to run and play, and I wanted to explore everything, so when I found the cave I just had to see what was inside. But, then there was a cave in. Everything was suddenly pitch black, and I could hear people shouting from the other side. When they realized I was the only one inside, they just... Left me... Said that one tiny pup just wasn't worth the effort to move all those rocks... So they just left me in the cave and went back to the shelter."

Zuma was starting to cry at this point, and Ryder wrapped his arms tightly around his pup.

"I… I just couldn't leave you in there! All alone in a dark cave. I didn't want you to think I didn't care, or that you weren't worth the effort. And I... I didn't want to be alone either. I didn't think I could handle being in another crumbling cave without you there. I was just too scared."

Zuma wrapped his front paws around Ryder’s neck, whimpering and nuzzling his chin as much as their scuba masks would allow.

“Hey, it’s okay, Zuma. Everything’s okay now. And even though you were scared, I’m very proud of you for being brave and for not giving up.”

“You’ll always be worth the effort, Ryder, even if it means being in a dangerous spot, it’ll always be worth it.”

“And you are too, Zuma. Those people made a huge mistake leaving you behind, because they missed out on an amazing pup. You were more than worth the effort it took to find you in that cave. If I could go back in time and do things differently, the only thing I would change is I’d adopt you sooner, before the whole cave disaster happened.”

Zuma smiled, wishing he could wipe the tears from his eyes. “Thanks, Ryder. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime, Zuma.”

A beep sounded from Ryder’s pup-pad.

“Ryder!” Chase’s voice called from the other end, “I found Moby and got the clam shell back!”

“Great work, Chase! We’ll meet you back at Puplantis.”

Zuma blushed slightly in embarrassment, he had almost forgotten about Moby and the clam shell.

“Glad Chase was able to catch him after I let him get away.”

“You didn’t ‘let’ him get away, you saw there was a more immediate danger and took care of that first.”

“Well, maybe next time don’t be so insistent on being a martyr.”

“No promises.”

[rumbelleshowdown]

-

Author: pomegranate seed

Group: D

Prompts: True Love’s Kiss. Skinny-dipping, secret relationship. Voyage.

-

Two Tickets to Paradise

“Actually, I've got something that might interest you,” detective Weaver said. 

Lacey stopped sipping her beer, her eyes glowing with interest as Bob Seger droned from the tinny speakers overhead. Setting the bottle down on the sticky bar table, she sucked her teeth. “Like what?”

He wet his lips as he reached into his jacket for the envelope, relishing the curiosity written all over her face. He waited until she was practically squirming before setting it down in front of her. “Like this.”

Lacey furrowed her brows and studied the envelope. Her mouth twisted into a smile she was trying and failing to suppress before a loud about escaped her. “...Bon voyage?” She read aloud. “What the hell is this?”

Detective Weaver sighed, his shoulders slumping in a crestfallen slouch. “Tickets for a cruise,” he muttered, slapping his hand over them so he could drag them back across the table and away from her scrutiny. 

“No, hang on!” She laughed, swatting his hand away. “I'm still looking!”

Weaver grumbled and let her take them back. Lowering  his head in the dimly lit venue, he could feel his cheeks warm with embarrassment. What the hell had he been thinking? Asking Lacey French to go on a cruise with him?

“Where did you even get these?” She asked, still giggling. “I didn't realize you knew how to book shit like this. Did your grandson have to help you out?”

Weaver rolled his eyes. In truth he was beginning to get more than a little self-conscious about his age–but she didn't need to know that. After all, he hadn't caught Lacey French's eye by being meek and self-conscious. He'd done it by playing the bad cop who didn't give a damn if she liked him or not–so long as he got the information he was looking for.

“They were a gift from the precinct,” he muttered. “For thirty years on the job.”

Lacey snorted. “ Dude, you really need to fucking retire.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, putting on his best scowl. Sure, he could retire. Gods knew he should. But for what? His blasted job was all he had.

Well–his blasted job, and these clandestine nights spent with his former suspect-turned informant-turned… lover? Girlfriend? 

Gods, fifty-six-year-old men don't have ‘girlfriends’, Weaver scolded himself. And whatever the fuck this was, it was a violation of protocol. A conflict of interest. But the fact of the matter was that at the end of his shift, Lacey French was the only person he wanted to go to, to talk to, to be with.

“Are you interested or not?” he snipped. “Otherwise I'm giving them to Hen–”

“Of course I am!” She said, looking the tickets over again. “There’s free alcohol!”

Weaver shot her an admonishing look. He hated the water, hated boats and waves and salty air–but something about the idea of ten days alone with Lacey to do nothing but talk and drink and fuck in relative peace had called to him. 

Pathetic old bastard. Chasing a pair of nice legs in a short skirt.

He ought to be giving the tickets to Henry and that new wife of his–what was her name again? Jocelyn? Jessica? Julia?

Oh, who was he kidding? He and Lacey French deserved each other. They'd down their drinks, share a fumble in the bathroom or the back seat of his car, and then take things back to his miserable flat, where he'd wake up the next morning alone.

“Whale has an amazing video of Ruby doing drunken karaoke to Pat Benatar from the cruise they took last year,” Lacey snorted. “She was doing the little shoulder jig and everything.”

“Well,” Weaver said, smiling as he watched her sip her drink. “That could be you–” he winked, “showing a captive audience your best Joan Jett performance.”

Lacey glanced up at him with a sly grin. “Fuck off,” she said, reaching across the table to give his elbow a shove.

He pulled away before she could reach, and her crystal blue eyes sparked with mischief. Weaver could feel his smile widening, his chest swelling with warmth, and gods–he really did love her, didn't he? 

That was the crux of the thing. If he wanted to be with her–truly–he needed to leave his job. But it was a fool's wager to think that Lacey French–who made a joke out of everything–actually returned his feelings. Tilly would tell him to just talk to her about this. He knew that much. But he also knew that Lacey would laugh and make a comment about him going all soft on her before changing the subject.

She couldn't possibly be content to keep meeting in secret at odd hours in places like this though, could she? Gods knew, he wasn't.

He picked up his glass and took a long sip, as if it were large enough to hide himself behind.

“I'll tag along,” Lacey decided at last. “If–” she stuck a finger up, “You promise to sneak out to one of the pools at night and go skinny-dipping with me.”

Weaver almost choked on his whisky. “You want me to commit public indecency?”

Lacey took a swig of her beer before peering over the rim of the bottle at him. “You don't give a damn about decency and you know it,” she challenged.

“No one needs to see my bare arse, Lace,” he dismissed with a scoff. “There'll be enough people gagging already from seasickness.”

“Oh, come on!” She laughed. “It’s a great arse.”

He tried to ignore the flash of heat in his cheeks. This was, of course, what he liked about Lacey French. The way she wasn't afraid of him, the way she teased him, pushed him out of his comfort zone, broke up his otherwise miserable routine.

Surely that was worth pursuing, wasn't it? 

He didn't expect that they'd share true love’s kiss or anything on a god-forsaken boat in the middle of the Atlantic–but maybe the chance to be with her without all the usual distractions would make that question a little easier to answer. Maybe she'd give him some kind of sign that she felt about him the same way he felt about her.

Weaver knocked back the last of his drink and wet his lips. “You, Miss French… have a deal.”

-

[ijustwanttoreadfanfiction]

Friendly Sex - Chapter 5 - The Cafeteria

I have flashed my creative licence in this chapter and borrowed some dialogue from The Duffers Brothers, because let's face it we all fell in love with Eddie in the cafeteria and the woods scene, but I have slightly re-jigged the context. We also have a flashback. Here be smut and feelings.

Chapter warnings: (MDI) 18+ only, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, p in v sex, dirty talk, swearing, consensual use of the word slut again, mentions of drugs, spit as lube, slight pain during sex? I am terrible at warnings

"It's a promise "

Eddie's words were ringing in your ears as you selected your outfit for the day. Not that you were picking an outfit to catch Eddie's attention, just like you hadn't intentionally put on a lacy baby pink underwear set. It just so happened to compliment your outfit, an off the shoulder baby pink sweater, paired with a simple black skater skirt and your converse, cute and practical that’s all.

"Sprout, hurry up and get your butt in the car or you're going to be late!" Your Dad calls up as you finish applying your lipstick, it was a little beat up from Eddie's antics but still usable. 

Taking the stairs two at a time, you grab your purse, jumping into the idling car on the drive.

"Little overdressed for school aren't you kiddo?" Your dad asks after a couple of minutes

"Uh - they're taking some random pictures of the seniors for the year book today." You reply absentmindedly, flicking down the vanity mirror rooting through your bag for your compact blush.

"Sprout, I may be old but I'm not dumb, are you dating?" 

You pause in your search, you hated lying to your dad, but if you were being technical about it you weren't dating. Having casual sex with the local outcast, sure, but definitely not dating. 

"No Dad," you laugh uncomfortably, "I'm not dating, there's no one I want to date, well apart from Steve." You add, checking over your appearance in the mirror one last time as he pulls into the school parking lot. 

"Ok kiddo, I believe you." His tone said otherwise. "Am I picking you up after school?" He asks as you climb out. 

You go to respond but the air is suddenly filled with the sound of heavy metal and the screech of tires, Eddie, you stare as he spins the van recklessly into a parking spot earning the glare of some jocks nearby.

'I do whatever I want to, to ya

I'll nail your ass to the sheets

A pelvic thrust and the sweat starts to sting ya

I fuck like a beast!'

"Sprout, you ever bring a boy like that home, I'll send you to live with your mother permanently." Your dad says watching Eddie in clear disapproval.

"Uh huh." You mutter weakly, holding onto the car door tightly as Eddie kills the engine.

"So am I picking you up?" He asks again.

"No- uh, I'm going to watch Rob's practice." You reply distractedly.

Eddie spots you from the other side of the car park, a shit eating grin spreading across his face sending a shock of arousal through your body. "Bye Dad." You say quickly, shutting the door and heading off in the opposite direction.

"Hey dingus!" Robin hails you from Steve's car which has just pulled up behind you, Dustin and Mike squeezing out from the back; Hellfire Club t-shirts emblazoning their chests like Eddie's little minions. How they all managed to guilt trip Steve into giving them a lift everyday you'd never know. 

He raises his hand in greeting, a smile on his handsome face, you wave back your heart doing its usual sputter.

‘It’s going to be a long day.’ You think to yourself.

The cafeteria was a hive of activity and noise, Robin talking at the speed of a freight train as you grabbed your food trays, barely allowing you time to add in sympathetic noises. 

“I mean, am I really that invisible?” She asks you desperately.

“Of course you’re not Rob, maybe she was just focusing on the class.” You offer supportively, heading to your usual lunch table.

“Focusing on the back of Dan’s head more like.” She grumbles, taking a vicious bite out of her slice of pizza.

“Didn’t you say she laughed at your David Bowie joke last week?” You ask, remembering how excited she had been.

“She was just being polite.” Robin mutters miserably you can tell it’s going to be an all-lunchtime funk, so you busy yourself with picking the orange segments out of your fruit cocktail.

“ …sodomy, suicide and even murder!” You glance up quickly hearing Eddie’s voice ring out from a couple of benches over, the usual gang laughing at his antics as he climbs up onto the table, talking loudly so it carries across the cafeteria. 

“-but - as long as you’re into band, or science, or paaarties -” He sneers surveying the various cliques, before rounding on the jocks, “-or a game where you toss balls into laundry baskets!” He yells, making the whole cafeteria fall silent. 

You see Jason Carver stand up, looking pissed. “You want something freak?!”

Eddie sticks his tongue out, making devil horns with his fingers, and you can’t hold back the laugh that escapes you, it draws his attention and he winks quickly; shaking your head with a smile as he jumps back down carrying on with his rant the words drowned out by the return of the usual noise.

“Since when did you find Eddie Munson so funny?” Robin asks you suddenly, you realise with a jolt that she’s been watching the entire exchange, you shrug nonchalantly.

“I don’t, it’s just, he's got a point.” You mutter, shoving some fruit into your mouth.

“Mm, fair,” she agrees with a nod “,but not about band though.” she adds quickly, which launches her into another frenetic monologue about band practice tonight and whether she can get Vicki to laugh properly this time.

You zone out completely, eyes on Eddie, who is staring intensely at you as he chews on a pretzel, you raise an eyebrow at him in a silent challenge, watching a grin creep across his face. Biting your lip coyly, you pick up a piece of syrupy fruit with your fingers, tongue laving at the sticky juice running down your hand; it’s a dangerous move so close to Robin, but it’s worth it to see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, you smirk in satisfaction popping the grape into your mouth.

“I’m gonna get rid of this.” You say to Robin, picking up your tray. 

“Yeah, I should get going, I've got “Mrs. Clickity Clackity next period, why didn’t I drop history when Tammy left?” She asks with a groan, handing you her own tray, swinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Because you’re a glutton for punishment. I’ll see you at 5.” You call as she walks away.

The tray station is just behind Eddie, you can feel his eyes tracking you as you move across the floor, swinging your hips a little, making sure to pick a low shelf knowing that it would give him a flash of your panties as you bent over. Feeling accomplished with all your teasing, you turn to leave only to walk straight into his chest.

“Oh! I’m sorry sweetheart, please excuse me, I didn’t see you there!” He chimes innocently, placing a hand on your hip to steady you.

“Whatever, Munson.” You say coldly, playing up to your supposed indifference towards him, you feel him quickly slip something into the waistband of your skirt with a pointed look, and then the exchange is over. You push past him, adding  “Just watch where you’re going next time, jerkoff.” for good measure, as he bows out of your way.

You wait until you’re back at your locker to read the tiny scrap of paper.

‘16:15, the picnic bench. E.’

The sky was overcast by the end of 8th period, a slight chill in the air making you regret wearing a skirt as you picked your way through the overgrown path to the picnic bench. Funnily enough it was at the bench where you and Eddie had your first proper encounter nearly 3 years ago, you were a clueless frightened sophomore looking for some weed to ease your panic attacks, making covert enquiries the same name had come up each time; Eddie Munson. 

You had approached him tentatively in the corridor unsure how to go about it, tapping him gingerly on the shoulder as he shoved pristine looking textbooks into his locker, he jumped, turning quickly like he was about to punch you.

“Jeeeesus, where the hell did you sneak up from sweetheart?” He gasped, unclenching his fists.

“I-i’m sorry!” You squeaked, taking a step backwards.

“Hey, you’re fine, it was my fault.” He said soothingly.

This was a bad idea, you probably didn’t have enough money, or he’d just laugh at you, or worst of all you’d get caught by your dad.

“You ok?” He asked, reaching a hand out, but dropping it as you flinched slightly “You need something?” He pressed, emphasis on the word ‘something’.

You nodded sheepishly, eyes darting at the passing people in the hall.

“You know where the old picnic bench is in the woods behind the gymnasium?” He asked quietly.

You shook your head, biting your lip, cheeks burning. He sighed pulling a sheet of paper from his locker sketching a crude map for you to follow. “Meet me here after last period, we’ll get you sorted out.” 

Eddie was sitting at the bench when you arrived, a battered tin box open on the table.

“Take a seat.” He offered, you perched lightly, legs jiggling with nervous energy. “There’s nothing to worry about, okay? No one ever comes out here. We’re safe, I promise” He said with a reassuring smile.

“Okay.” You replied quietly, watching with interest as he pulled out various baggies.

“So I'll do you a half ounce for, uh… 20. What do you say? It’s plenty of bang for your buck, should last a while.”

“A half?” You asked, feeling stupid, thinking you’d just be buying some pre-rolled joints.

“Wow, you really are green around the gills huh sweetheart?” He said with a small laugh, but it wasn’t unkind. “Look you can tell me to mind my own business, but, what do you need this stuff for anyways? I mean it’s not meth but a sweet little thing like you, you sure you wanna do drugs? He asked seriously.

“I - i, uh get these panic attacks, thought it might help.” You mumbled pulling on your sleeves nervously.

He nodded in understanding, expression softening.

“Ok well, seeing as it’s your first time and you’ve opted to score from me, an excellent choice by the way,” He said with a grin. “I'll do you a deal; twenty-five percent discount for the half, that’s fifteen bucks.”

“Yes, thank you.” You muttered with a small smile back. “If I give you $25, would you teach me how to make them - please?”

You had spent the next hour with Eddie, watching intently as he rolled joint after joint, telling you about the different kinds of weed, the best papers. Giving you a standing ovation when successfully made your own, even if it was overly fat and wonky, staying with you as you took your first hit with trembling fingers, rubbing your back when you choked on the unfamiliar smoke. You had left the clearing that day promising him to go slow on the supply, and to come back to him when you needed a restock, he would only take $15.

Unlike your first meeting, Eddie wasn’t already there waiting for you. You sit on the tabletop, legs swinging idly, leaning back on your elbows to stare up at the birds flitting to and fro.

You hear the snap of a branch and suddenly Eddie’s face is hovering above your own,standing between your legs, making you squeak in fright.

“Eddie, you fucking psycho!” You shout, trying to punch him but he grabs both your arms hauling you up against him.

“Ah, ah, play nicely sweetheart.” He coos, nipping at your left ear lobe.

“That was a real dick move, you know that?” You grumble still trying to tug your arms out of his grasp.

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings princess, there could be anyone out here. “ He smirks devilishly, so you simply glower at him.

“Aw, now don’t look at me like that baby, especially after that stunt you pulled in the cafeteria.” He warns, mouth descending on your neck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You breathe out shakily, trying to stop yourself from pressing forward to chase him, as he pulls away with a disbelieving look on his face.

“Really? That little show and tell you did with the fruit cocktail and the tray, you’re lucky I didn't fuck you there and then.”

You gasp sharply, hips bucking unconsciously at the thought. 

“Such a little slut.” He laughs in awe, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, finally releasing your arms, you immediately tangle your hands in his hair, while he moves to grope at your ass.

“Jesus, I've been thinking about this all day.” He groans, dragging you closer to the edge of the table to grind his pelvis against yours, hissing as you leave a trail of bites along the straining column of his throat. He picks you up suddenly, your legs automatically wrapping around his middle.

“Ed’s I swear to God if you drop me.” You say threateningly, clinging tightly to his shoulders, but he simply sits on one side of the bench, back to the table with you straddling his lap.

“Oh shut up you little brat.” He taunts, pulling on your hair slightly in order to slam your mouth back to his, free hand kneading the flesh of your ass under your skirt; rings sure to leave bruises.

You can’t help but rock your hips, tongues clashing, hands pinching, nails scratching. He breaks apart from you to pull your sweater over your head, eyes sparkling in delight at your lace covered breasts. 

“This is a very pretty bra, baby.” He murmurs, placing a few open mouthed kisses to the pushed up mounds, “I think it matches your panties?” He asks with a smile, you nod wordlessly, feeling his hand go back under your skirt, exploring fingers trailing over the delicate fabric. “Did you put this on for me princess?”

“Yes.” You whine quietly, as he slips the fabric to one side, the chill air making your pussy clench.

“Such a good girl.” He praises, swiping a thick finger through your wetness before slipping into you with ease, making you shift up against him, head buried in his neck. He’s almost cradling you as he works his finger into your soaked cunt, placing kisses anywhere he can reach, murmuring encouragement until you shiver in his arms.

“You cold?” He mumbles, forehead pressed to yours, you nod gently which turns into a whine of protest as his finger slips from your tight heat. Shifting about awkwardly, he slides his jacket off, before helping you into it using the collar to bring you back to his warm lips. “Gotta look after my girl.” 

Your heart skips a beat, my girl, keening softly against his mouth, you unbuckle his belt finding he’s gone commando today, his cock hard in your fist as you pump him slowly but firmly, the tip glistening with pre-cum. He lets out breathy little moans at your touch, before pulling your hand away, hurriedly extracting a condom from his jeans pocket, you play with your clit as he rolls the condom on; both of you staring at the other pupils blown wide.

“C’mere sweetheart.” He pleads softly, holding his cock up so you can sink down, you let out a pained hiss, the stretch at this angle stings, your pussy not used to the intrusion so soon after the last time. 

“Ed’s, i-it’s, ah!” You whimper, nails digging into his back, tears springing in your eyes.

“Slow down baby, it’s ok, I've got you, you’re safe.” He lifts you back up slightly, spitting into his palm spreading some over his cock, the rest he rubs into your cunt, thumb circling your clit as he lets you lower yourself back down at your own pace.

“Oh!” You hiccup, there’s still a stretch but his ministrations on your clit cause pleasurable little sparks that shoot up your spine.

“That’s it sweetheart, nice and slow.” He encourages, his free hand stroking up and down your back, you move with a bit more purpose pulling him in for a needy kiss, as you take his cock fully.

“Oh good girl, shit.” He pants, feeling you seated completely, his spread legs trembling underneath you as he tries to hold back from thrusting straight away. 

“‘M’ok now.” You say quietly, starting to ease yourself up and down, the spit and your own arousal from Eddie’s movements on your swollen clit helping you to glide.

“You sure baby?” He asks.

“Yes, Eddie, please move.” You whisper, and his restraint snaps, hips moving up to meet yours, using his strength to lift you by the ass bringing you back down on heavy thrusts, your arms braced behind you on his thighs. It’s intense, your lips staying connected by a thin trail of saliva, foreheads pressed together, swallowing each other's moans.

“Sweetheart, i’m - fuck - i’m not gonna last.” He chokes out, squeezing his eyes shut tight, teeth clenched in concentration. 

“It’s ok Ed’s.” You say, sucking on his neck with a dreamy sigh. “You can cum.”

"FUCK!" He slams his fist into the wood of the bench, and it's one of the hottest things you've ever seen, his hips pulsing upwards drawing out his orgasm. You move to get off of him but he holds you steady, cock still seated inside you, circling your clit with intent.

"Come on baby, I wanna get you there too." He growls, biting your bottom lip, your body wound too tightly, hanging off the proverbial cliff, hands braced on his chest. "Give into it princess, my sweet little thing." Your eyes snap to his in recognition, harking back to your first meeting, and it takes you by surprise, tipping you over the edge, back arching into his touch as you cum.

You allow yourself to be held, Eddie’s arms smoothing over your thighs and lower back, you press your head into his collarbone and feel his heart racing. 

“That was something else.” He sighs, moving a strand of hair behind your ear.

You smile breathlessly, checking your watch. “Shit, I gotta go, Robin’s got practice and I said I’d watch.” You say regretfully.

He nods in understanding, holding your gaze, fingers still tracing over your thighs, before you can stop yourself you kiss him, it’s slow, delicate and filled with a significance you weren’t ready to discuss. You catch yourself, feeling like you’ve just stepped over some invisible line, you practically jump off of him, stripping his jacket off in haste and throwing it to him.

“I’ll call you later.” You shout, jogging out of the clearing, pulling your jumper back on as you go, leaving Eddie half dressed and utterly bemused.

Taglist: @avalon-wolf @eddiemunsonsgf2