#paddle vessel

[daisywithnomakeup]

Bendigo Easter Long Weekend - Murray River

Continuation of my previous post. Down at Echuca, day 2 of volunteering, 2023. Little fun fact: The Murray River is the only river in the world that has its own flag. I got to volunteer on PS Pevensey which starred as PS Philadelphia in the Aussie miniseries "All the Rivers Run". More history on the Pevensey under the cut.

[ltwilliammowett]

A merchant vessel and paddle tug by a harbour at moonlight, by Adolphus Knell (active 1860-1890)

[rakshaspeaks]

Ok I’m dumb as shit but I genuinely just realized, is Sam supposed to be the main character?? Bc I did not get that at all the first time around 😆

[seashorepics]

Day 20: The History and Construction of the Waverley Paddle Steamer

The Waverley Paddle Steamer is one of the most iconic ships ever to sail the waters of Britain. Built in 1947, it is a celebrated symbol of maritime engineering and a cherished link to the era of steam-powered vessels. As the last seagoing passenger-carrying paddle steamer in the world, its legacy is deeply intertwined with the history of shipbuilding in Scotland and the broader narrative of…

[pseudowho]

It was in the corridors of Jujutsu High, that Nanami Kento first learned that one of the First Years had gone missing.

Whispers of varying voice rose and fell along the wood-panelled walls as Kento walked with a growing unease. Rumours rose on both sides around him, as if in some uncanny valley.

"...off the rails..."

"...not answering calls apparently..."

"...unauthorised? Gojo's not here..."

"...gone rogue. Sukuna's vessel?"

Kento paused, outwardly unreadable as his blood ran cold, with his hand upon the doorknob. Balanced on a knife edge, he moved again, slow and considered, stepping out before closing the door behind him. His feet paddled madly beneath still water, and Kento pulled out his phone, typing fast.

His phone to his ear. A pause.

"Hi, Fushiguro-kun? Do you know where Itadori-kun is?" A pause. A single flat command. "Tell me, immediately."

Another pause; a nod, a pen and paper not required.

Kento waited until he was completely out of the line of sight, to begin running beneath Jujutsu High's tree-lined torii gates.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Scum.

Yuuji's red boots skid, bloodslick, and he stumbled around a corridor with his breath loud in his ears.

--execute him already--

He wasn't experienced enough for this; but he knew that when he came, hoping to earn his own goodness as proof, to those who determined his worth based on the monster he contained.

--better off dead--

And maybe I am, Yuuji thought, slammed by flailing bestial limbs into concrete, that crumpled like wet paper beneath his body. Slumping down against the wall, Yuuji accepted that the only dignity he could afford himself, would be to choose a good death for himself, as the boy he was, fighting to save lives, instead of the beast within, fighting to take them.

"Itadori-kun. Move behind me. I'll take it from here."

Yuuji looked up from the floor, slow and stunned. Kento stood before him, stony-faced as he bound his spotted tie around his fist, alight with swathes of blue fire.

"...Nanamin...I--"

"I'll scold you after. Behind me."

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Yuuji's eyes were downcast, and chunks of rubble shook from his hair to his thighs, when Kento slammed his car door. As Kento stepped into his own seat, Yuuji caught the tail end of a conversation.

"...coming home to ours. Gojo knows. He's got it handled with the school. Yes. Alright. We won't be long."

The car rumbled to life. Yuuji's fists clenched in his lap, his face twisted with pain, guilt, the crushing weight of failure and embarrassment. Kento allowed him this, for a few minutes, driving seamlessly through the Tokyo evening traffic.

"Are you going to explain what you were doing, Itadori-kun?"

Yuuji was silent, gagged by the sheer volumes he could speak, all fighting for precedence. He heard the faintest sigh from Kento.

"Yuuji?"

Still, nothing. Kento's hands gripped the wheel a little tighter.

"I see. We shall talk after dinner."

"...you can just drop me back to the school--"

"We shall talk after dinner."

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Your hands worried the baggy sleeves of your cardigan before you heard the front door unlock. You stopped, plastering on a smile, and walking over to greet Yuuji as the door clicked open, Kento guiding Yuuji in and shutting the door behind him.

Yuuji's eyes never left the floor to accept your smile. He was thoroughly reduced, hidden behind cloud. Your eyes flicked to Kento, sensing his fixed cool anger, and you redoubled your efforts for Yuuji.

"Busy day, huh? You hungry? I've made lots...come on."

You sat together, tense in silence. Kento ate, robotic and clipped. Yuuji pushed the food around his plate, utterly silent. Kento pressed a napkin to his mouth, lowering it and clearing his throat. He repeated himself.

'Yuuji. Are you going to explain what you were doing?"

Silence. You placed your knife and fork down, your throat thickening with impending confrontation. Yuuji squirmed in his seat as frost formed beneath Kento.

"...I just...just wanted to be useful."

"Useful?"

"...just...wanted to be better than they say I am."

"They?"

You felt Yuuji's stress climbing, racking exponentially with Kento's insistent dig for clarity. You opened your mouth to try to soften Kento's blows before Yuuji blurted.

"Anyone who matters at Jujutsu High thinks I'm scum. Thinks I'm--I'm-- no better than--than him." Yuuji snapped, gesturing to the slits of Sukuna's other eyes on his face, and shoving his plate away with a clatter. Kento bristled, the frost thickening.

"Control your temper, Yuuji--"

"Oh yeah? And why should I? I could have died a good death there-- trying to help people, if you hadn't--"

Kento slapped his napkin down on the table, moving to stand, and you felt yourself shut down beneath the gravity of his rage, knowing it was all concern, but terrifying nonetheless, and you felt the escalation as Yuuji stood, too, facing Kento with combatant teenage fury--

"And who, exactly, were you helping, Yuuji? Were you helping the sorcerers who would have come to rescue you, if I hadn't? You call that a good death, giving the higher ups exactly what they want--"

"--well they can fucking have what they want, then, can't they, nobody gives a shit about me anyway--"

"--language, Yuuji--"

"--nobody fucking cares--"

"I care."

Yuuji's face crumpled, his anger burning out hot and fast. Transitioning from man to boy again, his sleeves rubbed the rage tumbling out as tears.

Kento's chest heaved with the fever-pitch of battle. He turned on the spot, one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair, as he stared up at the ceiling, calming himself. He turned to Yuuji again.

"I care. And I need you safe. And while I cannot fathom the stress you are under, I am so disappointed with you, that you view yourself with the same ill-regard as those with such pithy, ignorant understanding."

Yuuji's hands hung limp at his sides, now, the tears falling freely. Kento rubbed one hand down over his own face, appraising Yuuji with ruffled impassivity.

"...finish your dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

A sigh, weary. "Then go and get cleaned up, and go to your room."

"I...dont have a room, here."

"You do. Third door on the left."

A heavy pause. Slow footsteps carried Yuuji away. Your head rested on steepled fingertips, your dinner churning in your stomach as you bit back nausea.

You thought of all of the words you could say to Kento, but dismissed them as soon as they came into your head; all too visceral, none of them helpful, and maturity held your tongue.

"...you get cleaned up, too. I'll tidy away dinner."

"No, no. You cooked. I'll tidy--"

"Nanami Kento. Do as you are told."

Kento was silent, stewing. Eventually, he stood, walking away down the corridor. You heard two showers, running. You left spare pyjamas in Yuuji's bedroom.

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A gentle three knock-knock-knocks sounded at Yuuji's bedroom door, and he sat up fast in his borrowed pyjamas, wide eyes tired in a tearstained face. He sniffled.

"Y-yeah, uh...come in."

You peeked your head around the door, smiling. Yuuji offered a watery smile in return.

"Alright, kiddo?"

Yuuji swallowed thickly, nodding, resting his chin on drawn-up knees. You sat at the end of his bed, pressing a mug of hot chocolate into his hands, and he felt it balm his soul before he had even drunk it; the act of receiving it, so much more significant than its imbibement. You let him warm in the gesture for a moment.

"...he cares about you, Yuuji. A lot. You know that, right?"

Yuuji's mouth puckered, and he shrugged his rejection, churlish. You raised one eyebrow at him, a gentle, chastising challenge, and Yuuji blushed.

"...yeah, I guess. I mean...I...I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do."

You smirked, eyes twinkling. "What gave it away? Was it the running to save you in battle? Or the bringing you home for dinner?"

Yuuji's mouth was obscured, buried in his knees. He paused. You didn't manage to hear the words muffled by his legs, and you tilted your head to one side.

"...sorry?"

"It was--...was when he said he was...disappointed with me."

[starful-emporium]

that finale made me so emotional. i cried at all of their scenes in Ankarna's realm. anyway, here's some bad kids senior year head canons.

Kristen: Her wish for a sister is filled by Bucky, crying in her room late at night and praying together. After talking to Jawbone they learn that there are grounds to remove Bricker and Cork from their parents' home. Kristen is the only one given the option of emancipation--instead, she asks Jawbone to adopt her as well.

She falls back onto old patterns with Tracker. But they're a little older and wiser, so they see it happening and take a step back. Not a break up, but a readjustment. With her academics finally not reliant on deadlines, Kristen dedicates herself to her pantheon. They work with Lucy to bring Ruvina back to her sister, and Kristen finds herself in awe of the dedication she sees.

Fig: She puts all her time into the Bottomless Pit, something it desperately needs. Often she tells Sandra-Lynn she's sleeping at Gilear's, and vice versa, and stays with Ayda instead. On her 18th birthday her parents sit her down and explain that she can live with Ayda officially, if she wants to. Just as long as she remembers she'll always have a room with both of them.

She brings Sandra-Lynn on Complicated Women, first to interview, and then as a permanent guest host. They talk about womanhood as something living and changing and queer and complicated. It's her mom who encourages her when Lola Embers drops Ruben. They rally all the rock-hating souls and cordon off part of the recording studio. Fig never goes in there, but from what she's heard, his music has gotten better in the absence of Kipperlilly's judgement.

Fabian: Somehow, he ends up being the one to train the new dog. The Hangman is jealous to a ridiculous degree, so he spends a lot of time managing that. He starts looking into a sea-worthy vessel for after graduation, spends hours at the Compass Points Library learning how to navigate. Learning sea shanties is part of all that, of course, and has nothing to do with the way his baby sibling stares at him while he practices.

Mazey teaches dance to kids while he finishes school. She's so kind it almost hurts, and Fabian has no choice but to learn to accept love. He "lets" Gorgug skip Bloodrush under the condition of weekly movie nights, which only sometimes are expanded to the rest of the Bad Kids. The radio in his room crackle to life sometimes, with little messages from Bill when he's close enough to the material plane.

Riz: Appointed as vice president, he quits all but the AV club. He makes a bedtime pact with Sklonda, and for the first time in a very long time, they are both getting enough sleep. Someone mentions ace and aro identities to him, and he's awake enough for it click.

He finds a new scholarship for Aguefort students, and it looks scam-y so he does some investigating. It easily traces right back to Seacaster gold and Fabian. He's thankful for the cover and accepts the money with an understanding that they won't talk about it. He doesn't check, but the scholarship is offered every year after that.

Adaine: She spends the summer with Aelwyn tracking down their mom. She doesn't need revenge, but she needs to know her mom will never hurt anyone ever again. She feels Ankarna in the hot sun and wonders if that's the difference between revenge and justice. They take the long way back to Solace, the Hand-van paddling across the ocean.

When school starts, she works with Kristen to turn her inheritance into resources. Student who can pay for some of their components still do, but everyone gets what they need to learn. On the first day of class, she's asked about her summer prophecies, and tells off Tiberia for relying on her for lessons.

Gorgug: His senior year MCAT is signed on the first day by Lydia, who's teaching barbarian classes for the year. She gives him permission for independent study, and Henry gives him a shop key so he can do classwork whenever he wants. The rest of his time is spent perfecting Barbificer skills and creating a program to run at Aguefort the next year.

Mary Ann offers her quokky pet skills to help remodel his homonculous. The result is much cuter and more functional than before. She still names her highest level pet Cloaca in honor of the original, much to Gorgug's chagrin.

After graduation, the Bad Kids move in trios and pairs, and they always reconvene on the Summer Solstice, the anniversary of Ankarna's resurrection.

Kristen splits her time between Solace and Fallinel and Mountains of Chaos, the places where temples to her pantheon stand. Adaine and Riz rent an apartment in Bastion City, where they both continue school. Gorgug stays in Elmville, teaching at Aguefort and working on the side to start his own school. Fabian takes to the sea, bringing Fig and Ayda and Mazey with him.

They save the world again, a few times, but only when they want to.

[remusjohnslupin]

Two elves clad in white steered it with black paddles. In the midst of the vessel sat Celeborn, and behind him stood Galadriel, tall and white; a circlet of golden flowers was in her hair, and in her hand she held a harp, and she sang. Sad and sweet was the sound of her voice in the cool clear air. — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, "Farewell to Lórien"

[sashiavi]

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚆𝚊𝚜 𝙰 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚃𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 𝙷𝚊𝚍 𝙰 𝙵𝚒𝚝 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚝𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚜𝚔 </3 | 🫶 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝙸𝚏 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 ���𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚈𝚘𝚞 ♡♡

•··········🍑···········• •··········🍑···········• •···········🍑··········•

𝙰𝚕𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚖 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝙺𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚑

♡𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗♡ You and Alhaitham Punish Kaveh

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: | ¹⁸⁺ | ˢᵐᵘᵗ | ᵃᶠᵃᵇ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ | ᵏᵃᵛᵉʰ ᶜᵉⁿᵗʳᶦᶜ | ᵗʰʳᵉᵉˢᵒᵐᵉ | ᵖᵒˡʸ | ᵖᵘⁿᶦˢʰᵐᵉⁿᵗ | ᵒᵛᵉʳˢᵗᶦᵐᵘˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ | ᵃˢˢᵘᵐᵉᵈ ᶜᵒⁿˢᵉⁿᵗ | ᵘˢᵉ ᵒᶠ 'ᶜᵘⁿⁿʸ' ᵃˢ ᵈᵉˢᶜʳᶦᵖᵗᶦᵛᵉ ʷᵒʳᵈ | ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ².⁵ᵏ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Oh, poor little Kaveh.. He deserved it, really.

For always paddling along, voice cracking with every flourish of his arms as he complained on and on about the Nth horrendous client he'd picked up that month. For causing a scene at the front door, scowling deep and poking Alhaitham in the chest with his pointer finger, scolding the man for leaving him out without a key again. For arguing with you on the public notice board about your thesis a g a i n.

For looking so pretty all the goddamn time, leaving poor You and poorer Alhaitham to fend off the aching, pooling swamp of hot arousal. Kaveh had a grip on you, always managing to cause a fluster, a kickstart of your heart, sending the poor organ into overdrive. 

It all finally boiled over.

On one seemingly lazy afternoon, there sat you, nearly dozing into the pages of a book in the warm beam of the sun through the stained glass. Nearby, Alhaitham crosses his leg over the other, reaching over and hooking his fingers around the vessel that held his tea. All was peaceful.. Until it wasn't.

The rough metallic jingle of keys scrapes against the front door before the wood scrapes open and closes with a hearty thud. The bossy footsteps of Kaveh waddle through the front room, clearly laced with irritation.

“Afternoon Kaveh-” You start before being immediately cut off.

“Take your shoes off before entering, Kaveh.” Alhaitham chastises without even lifting his eyes from his page. A scoff resounds through the room.

“Please, with the day I’ve had you ought to cut me some slack you know? I come home and you're sitting around, do you even know what I do in a day?” Here he goes.. Again.

“I get things done when I’m supposed to. Now, go entertain yourself elsewhere, we’re reading.” At this point, Alhaitham was purposely riling him up. Surely. 

“You know what, you’re probably not even reading anything all that substantial.” Kaveh flicks his draping cape over his shoulder and begins marching through the hallway. Alhaitham instantly snaps his head towards you.

Welp. That was it. If Kaveh was going to act< like a Brat, then they would treat him like a Brat. 

•·····················••·····················•

Almighty Archons, please just have mercy and smite him already. Kaveh couldn't even remember how he had gotten himself into this position. His knees sting and ache as they press into the scratchy Persian rug Alhaitham had ever so graciously brought into the home. The pattern clashed with everything in sight, he nearly ought to voice it. If his mouth wasn't occupied at least. His jaw aches as he engulfs the soft heat of your pussy, tongue ever so eagerly pressing past your entrance, nose digging into the swell of your clit. Kaveh itches to rake his hands over your plushy thighs, to sink his fingertips into your skin, press your pretty self into the divan below. He nearly attempts it, almost forgetting the poor state of his wrists.

Kaveh’s dainty, milky wrists scrape against whatever barbaric binding Alhaitham decided to wrap him up in. His poor joints sting in apprehension, throat nearly whining as he attempts to pull against it. He barely manages to focus on the sensation, not before a firm hand wraps its fingers through his hair. The digits wind their way through the strands of his locks, twisting dangerously close to his scalp. A pressure builds, the fingers tug hard, carding his head forward, forcing him to bury his face deeper into the sweet, wetness of your pussy. Kaveh can't help but moan out loud, keening airily into your core as Alhaitham’s firm grip tugs him hard. 

“Don't get distracted now.” Alhaitham’s voice burns in his ear, ever so leveled in order and authority. A hot shiver spikes through Kaveh’s neck, tingling down his arms, barbed in an aching sting. He engulfs his mouth over the sweet bud of your clit, his neglected cock twitching hard as you moan out. His pretty face mashes into your cunt, dribbling sweet slick over his cheeks and down his chin. Poor Kaveh could barely keep his eye on you, bleary and tearful pools of carmine nearly falling cross-eyed. Your hand comes to join Alhaitham's, caressing over the strands of hair that fall over his forehead with a newfound softness, completely unlike the tight pull of the other man. 

“..s’ a good boy… isn't he..?” Your soft voice breaks through the sticky sounds of Kaveh's tongue against your cunt. 

“He's enjoying himself..” Alhaitham rasps back. Throaty moans dribble off of Kavehs tongue as he eagerly laps and kisses at your puffy little clit. His cock jumps and aches at every little noise you make, the squirmy crane of your hips, the hot press of your thighs against his ears. He bucks his own hips into nothing, fucking pitifully into the air, yearning for any little sense of friction - One touch and he was gone, he was sure of it. 

A hand pulls him back by his hair, fingers twisted through his locks, stinging hard on his scalp. The movement is sudden, snapping his neck backwards, pulling him off of your sweet, gooey pussy. Kaveh’s achy tongue lulls out with a whining moan, a sticky dribble of slick and saliva follows him, stringing from his tongue and down his chin. His carmine eyes go into orbit, rolling prettily, barely focusing on the hot, stern scrunch of Alhaitham’s face peering down at him. Kaveh pants, licking at his slick swollen lips. 

“Enjoying himself a little too much..” Alhaitham's eyes squint. His other hand comes to cup at Kaveh's chin, fingers squishing his cheeks together, nearly slipping at the wild concoction dripping from his lips. Kaveh's neck cranes in Alhaitham's firm hold, pulsing an ache through his ears and behind his eyes. He breathes hard, rivulets of his broken voice barely peeking from his throat.

“Open. Tongue out.” If poor Kaveh's head wasn't absolutely swimming he'd have a comeback for Alhaitham's tone, maybe tell him to use his manners for once. But silly Kaveh just follows, lulling his tongue out just as Alhaitham instructed. 

The moan that gargles from Kaveh's mouth as Alhaitham spits a hot glob of saliva on his tongue should be embarrassing. If it weren't burning hot already, his face would flush red, perhaps he'd even cry a little. Kaveh couldn't care, not with Alhaitham's piercing gaze, gritted jaw tensing down at his pitiful self. Not with your pretty self laid out in front of him, decadent and sweet like sticky pudding, ever so tempting. Alhaitham breathes through his teeth above him.

“Gods… You're all dumb already huh? Didn't take much, Kaveh” Alhaitham's grip tightens on Kaveh's chin, stinging his cheeks, pressure ringing hard in his ears.

“Be nice to himmm~” He barely hears you whine. You shift up, fingers curling over Alhaitham's own, easing up the hot prickling tenseness tethering behind Kaveh's cheeks. His eyes barely roll in relief before your lips are on his, tongue lapping eagerly into his mouth, swirling the sticky mess of everyone between the two of you. 

Kaveh’s brain swirls in a whirlwind, half delirious and barely aware, his body screams and aches but his cock just leaks, begging to be touched. Once again, he hardly recalls the exact way he ended up like this. Hands pressed hard into his lower back, steadily going numb under the pressure of his weight. His fingers tingle with spiky pins and needles, the binding on his wrist digs into the soft untouched skin of his back. His chest heaves in his peripherals, glazing into his vision as he stares up at your pretty naked form, straddling him down, pinning his hips to the divan below.

Your pretty pussy dribbles on the tip of his cock, sliding up and down over and over, catching his pudgy head against your clit. Kaveh can't help but watch on, throat never quiet, hiccuping short breaths and whines as you grind on his length. Alhaitham's footsteps trek over the hardwood floors of the house, steadily coming closer. Since when did he disappear? Gods. Kaveh was out of it. 

Through his bleary vision, Kaveh watches Alhaitham hand you something, not before cupping your chin and kissing hard against your lips. Kaveh whines at the involuntary wriggle of your hips, spurred on by the searing kiss of the man above. His head tilts back, eyes shutting with a soft exhale. His chest jumps with every slow breath he attempts to make, shoulders twitching in anticipation. It goes quiet, a short scuffle of feet on the floor and then stillness, it was uneasy, a foreign calm before the storm. Gods, was there a storm.

Kaveh's head snaps upward, eyes wide, lips tensed hard under the pressure of his teeth. His pretty cock tenses and aches, drooling milky strands of pre right onto the folds of your cunt. What was this feeling? A hot buzz, pressed right into the sensitive underside of his cock, nestled sweetly against his pretty pink head. Your hand presses the device against him, rubbing it in little circles, massaging the sticky curve of his cockhead.

What even was it? Some godforsaken contraption Alhaitham had managed to procure from Fontaine? Gods.. He couldn't care - Not with how wet and sticky you feel on him, rubbing his leaking cock with your pussy. Not with the sweet, sweet buzz of the device shooting achy zaps of pleasure through his sensitive tip. Kaveh's hips squirm, both keening into your sweet wetness and away from the stinging vibrations.

There's a slap to his inner thigh, easily followed by a high yelp from poor Kaveh. Large, warm palms pin his thighs to the divan, a head of grey creeps over your shoulder. There's a glint in Alhaitham's eyes and an unamused tilt to his lips.

“Don't go running away now..” He chastises, nipping into your neck from behind, kissing into the naked skin.

“Jus' too good.. huh Kaveh..~” Your voice crumbles from your lips, soft and breakable. Your hips speed up to prove a point, sliding his length up and down your milky pussy, pressing the vibrator hard into the plushy divet of his cockhead. He watches his cock spurt thick globs of pre, mixing into the sweet mess you've already made on his lap.

“P-Please-” Kaveh manages, his tone cracked in half, barely able to formulate a proper word. His hips buck upward in little fucks, poking your clit with his length. His mouth gapes open and closed, undecided if he wants to lul his tongue out or bite through his glossy, swollen lips. 

“Yeah..? Please w-what..” You speak again, head tilted down, one hand pressed to his chest, the other, circling the device up and down the pretty fold of his tip. 

“Please..! S'too much.. want it in~” Kaveh lulls his head from side to side, openly moaning out, chest stuttering his breaths. A hand wraps around your own from behind. And Kaveh cries. A quick click and the device buzzes harder, pressed firmer into his gushing cock, prickling hot static right into his groin. His eyes lock on his cock, device overtaken by Alhaitham, switching between a firm press and a cheeky massage on his length. Your hips move harder, coating his tip in your sweet cream, dribbling it down his length. Kaveh nearly throws his head back, but fuck, he can't stop watching.

Kaveh's cock pulses hard, throbbing and stinging as Alhaitham bumps the buzzing vibrations up another notch. He openly cries out, eyes doughy and criss-crossed, face surely flushed red. 

“Cant-! Need it in.. In! S'too much-” Poor Kaveh babbles out, shamelessly fucking his cock through the folds of your cunny, surely spreading the buzzing vibration to your clit. He somehow manages to hold in a screaming keen, his last ounce of resolve finally breaking down.

“Im- cum… in! Gonna-! Ahn~” Kaveh spreads his thighs and thrusts, leaning on his elbows, throwing his head back with a sob as he creams all over your pretty pussy. The hot press of the vibrator never lets up, rubbing up and down his spurting length, coaxing him through the hot pulse of his orgasm. His ears ring, barely making out a voice of someone, babbling sweet praises while he cums himself stupid. The God's have mercy on him for a moment, easing up the aching vibrations on his cock. 

It doesn't last long. Kaveh's half hard length easily slips into the sweet hug of your pussy with a little push. His ears burn red, messy cock still spurting pretty rivulets of hot cream right into your warm cunny. 

“Can't! Too much!” He's sure he'll start sobbing. 

“Thought you w-wanted it in me, Kaveh~” You say with a breathy giggle, grinding your hips against his lap. 

“Can’t even take what you begged for..” Alhaitham's rotten tone cuts through his brain. He watches the man start the device up again, now pressing it right into the perky nub of your clit. You keen airily, grinding down on Kaveh's sensitive cock with a newfound vigour, subjecting the poor man to a never ending sting, engulfed in achy pleasure. He moans out as well - Though he wasn't sure he ever stopped - jolting from the ever present vibrations now buzzing through the soft gushy walls of your pussy. 

Kaveh's wrists ache, his stomach twinges every time he flexes his hips, his lips sting from the hard impression of his teeth. Pliant and pretty and ever so stuck in place. Pretty tears glob down his cheeks, eyes closed, rolled into the back of his skull. His throat crackles in a constant stream of whimpers and whines, battered by his voice refusing to shut off. Your hips rock on his faster, voice keening higher and higher. Kaveh can't help but crack his eyes open, watching your pretty form come undone on his pathetic spent cock and the buzzing device. 

Your pretty pussy clenches on him, fluttering hard as you cream right on his length, easily coaxed by Alhaitham behind your form, twiddling and touching you in all the right places. He moans along with you, whining at the hard pulse of your walls on his leaky cock. Gods he ached, in so many places - And yet he found himself sickeningly craving more. More, more. More Alhaitham more you.

He almost protests when you jump off of him, coming to kneel by his head, wiping the sheen of sweat off of his forehead, teasingly nosing into his cheek. He graciously accepts a tender kiss, lapping into your mouth before pulling away with a start. 

Large palms slide up the back of his knees, slowly bending them, pressing his thighs into his chest. Alhaitham licks his own lips, bumping the thick, pudgy head of his cock against Kaveh's pretty, slick hole. Gods, did he want more.

Helloooo~ long time no seeeee ~ ~ A little smth smth for you 😘

I'm hopefully back? Doing my best 😔😩 it's been a while sksk

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always, Always Appreciated! I'll Kiss You fr *mwah*

♡ᵀᵃᵍˡᶦˢᵗ♡

@madsw9 @pvbbyb0y @heath-sama @shiningpaint-marbleheart @the-massive-simp @tericula @a-random-weeb

ᴵ ᵍᵒᵗᵗᵃ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵃⁿᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ˡᶦˢᵗ ;; ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ˡᵐᵏ ᶦᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʷᵒᵘˡᵈ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵃᵈᵈᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᵈᵉˡᵉᵗᵉᵈᵎ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Do Not Translate Or Repost - Property Of SashiAvi ♡

[ghcstao3]

siren ghost and sailor soap?

sort of inspired by the pirates of the caribbean sirens scene because it’s one of my favourite things of that series. also i got a little carried away

-

Over the many, many years of traversing the Seven Seas for his life’s work, Soap has become intimately familiar with the abundant myths and legends about the ocean and what lies beneath.

Of course, most of these hold no truth. Most of these are only mere stories to quell the anxieties of sailors, or to provide reasoning to strange occurrences seemingly otherwise unexplainable.

Sirens are, unfortunately, the exception.

Ruthless, ravenous creatures—they’re the worst fear of any sailor who knows the worth of his own life, and like most things that make mortal men afraid, they’ve been transformed into weapons.

Soap only knows that sirens are real because of what happens to many prisoners at sea—from the brig they’re moved to rowboats without paddles, abandoned and forced to sing until the sirens appear to lure them into the water, where flesh would be torn from bone with razor sharp teeth.

It’s a terrifying sight. The creatures are like sharks called to blood with the way they appear, like piranhas with the way they feast.

It’s horrifying. Fascinating. And Soap has vowed to never let himself end up on one of those boats.

But alas. Fate has other plans for him.

Soap had been reluctant to join the crew of Captain Philip Graves when presented with the opportunity, but the pay promised had been good, the work simple, and the destination somewhere he’s never been.

But what Soap hadn’t realized is that Graves likes to take prisoners. He likes to engage in unfair combat with other ships, and operates almost like a pirate, though not explicitly enough to be considered one himself.

Soap realizes his mistake far too late when he wanders down to the brig one night, otherwise unable to sleep. They’re two weeks into their voyage by now, and Soap knows there’s people in the jail—but he hadn’t known the state of them.

Most already without a secure amount of food outside their makeshift cell, they’re emaciated, wasting away in the hull of the vessel. They’re barely responsive when Soap knocks on the bars of the hold and pokes someone’s damp shoulder. Someone weakly latches onto Soap’s sleeve and begs for nothing in particular, and he feels awful for not having known about this sooner.

So he begins sneaking them food, brings them drink. Squirrels away what extra he can without anyone noticing he’s stopped finishing his meals.

Except someone must notice. Because, nearing the end of their journey, Graves is waking him in the dead of night and pulling him into the Captain’s quarters.

Soap swallows the pounding heartbeat in his throat as Graves slowly crosses the room to take a seat at his desk. He’s never liked the man, not one bit—but this just feels unnecessary. Taunting.

“A little bird tells me you’ve been keeping our prisoners fed,” Graves drawls. “Even though, from what I recall, prisoners are the enemy. I don’t suppose you really have been helping them out, have you, MacTavish?”

It’s a trap, Soap knows. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to tell Graves’s question isn’t really a question at all. Graves has his answer, and waits on Soap’s response if only to entertain him with the idea of escape.

Soap knows just as well that there’s hardly a point in trying to lie.

He lifts his chin as he looks straight into Graves’s eyes to tell him, “I have been. They’re still people.”

Graves chuckles lowly, rising from his seat. He rounds the desk, sitting back on its edge with his arms folded across his chest.

It might be intimidating, if Soap were anyone else. If he were a lesser man.

“Well, then—since you like ‘em so much,” Graves says, “surely you won’t mind joining them.”

Soap supplies Graves with no visible reaction. He doesn’t fight as Graves calls for his men to throw Soap in the brig, doesn’t put up any fuss as they try to cajole him.

If Soap has to be imprisoned for doing what’s right, then he at least won’t let Graves have the satisfaction of knowing Soap’s internal panic.

Because Soap knows what Graves plans to do with his prisoners. He’s known all along.

He predicts they’re maybe a day from port when they’re shoved off the ship and ordered into the decaying rowboat, left to drift away—not too far, however, as they’re still tethered to the ship. Because once all prisoners have been drowned, the boat will be reeled back and used again the next time Graves and his crew venture out to terrorize the waters.

No one has the energy to sing, to lure their cruel punishment to them. Soap’s half-convinced some of the others might just jump into the water on their own.

But they have to sing. Especially when a bullet ricochets off the boat and splinters the wood as encouragement.

Despite his time spent out at sea, Soap isn’t overly familiar with many shanties. He just follows along with whatever is mumbled in a weak tune, dreading as the volume builds with a second bullet, and the water below begins to churn. Glancing over the edge, Soap swears he sees the flash of a tail.

The first one appears shortly, singing along to the song like she’s entirely familiar with the melody. Soap feels the pull, though perhaps not as strongly as he imagined he would, if ever he ended up in these circumstances.

He wonders, briefly and distantly, if it has to do with the fact that he’s not really all that into women.

Soap snorts. Wouldn’t that be something.

But as more sirens appear, the pull grows stronger. Soap begins to feel swayed by the song, gone from muttered and off-kilter to something beautiful, hypnotic. The boat bobs with the weight of their new company and the prisoners that rush to the sides to get a better look at the sirens as if they aren’t the dangerous creatures they’re known to be.

Still, though, Soap isn’t completely compelled to join them in the water. He stays put in the centre and grounds his teeth—though he does gasp and reach out when the first prisoner is pulled under, and red soon blossoms across the surface of the water.

Then he appears.

The whole world seems to disappear for just a moment, when Soap looks into big, brown eyes.

The siren’s voice is deeper than the rest, soothing, and though Soap’s hindbrain screams at him that hidden behind the enchanting exterior, the porcelain skin and the straw-blond hair, there lives evil—he can’t help but lean in.

As Soap gets closer, the boat continuing to rock as more prisoners fall victim, the siren’s singing pauses just long enough for him to offer Soap a smile, saccharine, close-lipped. He reaches out an arm to Soap, calloused fingers caressing Soap’s cheek, cupping his jaw.

Soap can’t help but melt into the touch, its simultaneous warmth and coolness, subconsciously chasing it as it retracts, eyes fluttering shut with a short, pleased sigh.

But with the singing fading from the others, Soap’s eyes suddenly snap open. The siren still holds him, still leads Soap with that gentle touch and deceptively kind gaze, but Soap resists. He doesn’t know when he’d gotten to leaning halfway over the edge of the boat, but he scrambles backward to the opposite side, as far as he can get from this siren.

Soap comes to the startling realization that he’s the only one left.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” the siren croons. He props himself up on the edge of the boat, arms thick with corded muscle to show the real power of this creature. He leans forward, the boat tilting with his added weight. “I don’t bite.”

Soap glances nervously about the empty rowboat, gaze accidentally straying the bloodstained waters that surround them.

“I beg to differ,” Soap says weakly.

The siren laughs softly before slowly sinking back into the water. The boat sways. Soap shakes.

Everything goes silent for a suspiciously long moment before there’s a disturbance in the water and the siren appears at the side of the boat where Soap has taken refuge. He’s singing quietly again and Soap feels that pull, so he moves away, screws his eyes shut, and jams his fingers in his ears in an attempt to block it out.

It doesn’t work, not when the singing gets louder, and Soap’s attempt is rendered useless.

“Shut up,” Soap growls. “Please just shut. Up.”

The singing does cease, though only to make way for a deep, full laughter that is somehow tugging on Soap’s conscience with more force than any melody so far.

When Soap blinks his eyes open, the siren is perched on the edge of the boat, arms splayed one on top of the other, his head resting over them. He’s smiling, even once his laughter has died down, a glint of something in his dark eyes—maybe not quite sinister, but certainly mischievous.

“They’re not letting you back on that ship, you know,” the siren says, as if it isn’t obvious. “So you can either come with me—“

“And what? Be drowned? Eaten?” Soap snaps. “Thanks, but I’d rather rot right here.”

“Suit yourself,” the siren hums.

To Soap’s surprise, he actually disappears back into the water. And despite the waves—the ocean seems to have finally calmed.

Maybe Soap did have the tiny, illogical hope that he’d be brought back to the ship. Maybe Soap did have the tiny, logical hope that this siren would just put him out of his misery.

Either way, now he just sits in silence, listening to waves lap up against the hull as the rowboat rocks lazily with the current. Though the peace surely only stretches on for a few minutes, it feels like hours.

Stupidly, Soap goes to inspect the depths. To make certain he’s really been left alone.

Because that’s when he’s pulled in.

Soap barely has time to yell out before his mouth is filled with the overwhelming, stinging taste of salt, unfamiliar arms wrapping securely around his frame so he can’t wriggle free. His shouts are muffled by the water, and he feels the cold soak into his bones as he’s dragged deeper and deeper. The light fades, or maybe it’s the lack of oxygen.

The last thing Soap sees is the siren’s grin, all fangs and malice before everything goes black.

But then, after an unknown amount of time—Soap wakes up to the slow drip, drip, drip of water on a stone floor.

He’s in a cave.

He’s in a cave, and there’s a light source somewhere, and the siren is watching him.

Soap coughs, clearing water from his lungs. He chokes out, “Why… what did you—“

The siren shrugs. “I don’t eat people I like.”

Soap frowns, still coughing. “You…”

“Call me Ghost,” the siren says, then dives into the pool he’d been wading in at the entrance of the cave, and swims away—long, elegant tail flicking behind him as he leaves.

And while many, many thought swirl around Soap’s head as he gradually gathers his bearings about the situation, the clearest of them all is also the simplest; what the hell kind of a name is Ghost?

If only he could guess.

And if only he could know what’s meant to happen to him next.

[edenspoem]

ROBINS EGG BLUE

⤹ . moments with domestic!ellie x pregnant!reader

WC; 1.07k

⤹ . content; fluff, lovey–dovey, may cause baby fever or heartwarmed tears to swell, reader discretion is advised ౨ৎ

pregnancy is infuriating as not being able to comb your hair thoroughly. there is always a fat fucking knot to stem the fluid moment thereof– just as there lies a fat, fleshy boulder fastened to your stomach for a gruelingly long nine months. the bulge of your belly button has witnessed most of three seasons, and you weren't buoyantly idling around for the fourth to appear. this baby– this little devil, needs to get the hell out of dodge.

from the chagrin of a pair of jeans failing to button at the hips, straining the seams as you pull that fly parallel to your mother yanking the poor hairs from your scalp with a paddle brush– to the fleeting aggro nearby popping a blood vessel you feel when arguing with your wife, ellie, about some nonsensical, fruitless or futile dispute about what wallpaper pattern best suits the small dimensions of the nursey– pink and pearl striped with roses or robins egg blue and beige striped with roses, ellie continuously states "they're basically the same baby, i don't see what all the fuss is about." or whether ellie should throw in a batch of dino nuggets or regular nuggets cause the taste totally isn't the same, the shape definitely impacts how salty it is to your tongue, illogical banters.

but ellie will still be your loving, selfless, fond, and doting wife. your number one. apple of your eye. stupid auburn–haired heartthrob. you name it. through thick and thin of your expanding belly, she will always be the first palm to greet your baby in the morning, plastering her blanket–hot hand just beneath your navel and pressing her sweat damp fingerprints dimpling into your stomach, bending her index lightly into the petunia purple stretchmarks that vertically dip into your hips, waiting for minutes in the virgin sun morning for your baby to kick. literally, she has abandoned her old forenoon routine just to feel that first thump on her hand. and when it finally does happen, a little pounce vibrating beneath her palm lines– her fingers twitch lightly and a smile immediately crafts upon her rose lips, purring excitedly upon the fringe of your ear, words that only your snoozing brain with hark, "huh, see? he knows who his mama is– told ya."

but, ahh, stretchmarks.

she adores those little lightning marks lacing your belly– you on the other hand, thought the contrary, to which that husky fry would remind you, "ts' cause y'gotta baby growing in there, yeah? ours." flowing past the pouty berry lips so adamant on plowing kisses to the span of your scruff, ghosting them dry over the fine threadlike hairs with a pitched promise to never let you– or your belly go.

or, goddess, that one time ellie insisted you sit on the couch while she played her acoustic guitar, denting her fingertips with the strings as she plucks, subtly leaning the bay oak instrument closer to your belly so the baby would pick up those hollowed notes vibrating through the air. the fattest smirk would mushroom those cheeks to hug her nose– grooving those nasal lines to encase the thin curve of a smile, deepening at the corners. you even recall the dorkiest shit ever, how it carried to your ears out of the blue and left you pinching brow lines of amusement, "gonna' play this lil' guy guitar everyday– hey, d'ya think if i do that, he'll come out already knowing how to play?" spoken on a smokey chord, glancing up at you through lashes slightly downturned due to her facing the belly, directly. you told her with a sigh, "ellie, that is not how it works." dumbly smirking back, and she replied, "what? c'mon, maybe if i play electric, he'll be born a rockstar!" squeezing her voice with silly enthusiasm. a roll of your head cracks your neck, dangling back to barb, "you are ten times the idiot than you were yesterday." cause, well, she's constantly spewing the dopiest ideas. next thing you knew, she was rasping, "m'your fuckin' idiot." that cheesy motherfucker, slinking her guitar off the round of her thigh and stowing it at the sofa's footing, lurking forward on all fours to tackle your belly with bespattering kisses, moist and fiendish as ever.

infuriating was the task of putting socks on. fucking socks. the effortless effort that would usually clock you under ten seconds, moreso felt like ten eons. "ughh!" you would grunt from the depths of your compact lungs, extending two zombie arms over the blockage of your portly belly, perking the ears of ellie who was just in the abutting room, walls thin enough to bombard with sound. she whips around the door trim, leaning her lank weight away from it and cocking her head, distinguishing the predicament you had landed two feet in. a dry chuckle sounds from yonder the room, trailed by her honeyed resound, "need sum' help babe?" which, to her, falls to strike as a question– au contraire, soft, padded footsteps of feet who already had socks on, lucky them, carries ellie over and at your side, crouching with her knees splayed apart like bird's wings, raising hands to politely creep fingers under yours, prying the cottony ball from your grasp and craning it to her chest, sidling in her squat so that she would be an eyeshot vis–à–vis to you, at your beckon practically.

you remained silent, doused in the soft moment before you, yet a little embarrassed you couldn't do it yourself. a raspy, "here's one.." croaks from her throat prior to a hand cupping the ribbed underside of your ankle, tamping it gently into her chest so she could unfurl the sock and roll it up your foot, hedging your toes first with the linty fabric and laying it up the heel, letting the band snap in place– and her fingertips lingered at the ankle, caressing the nub for only a twinkle in time. "and the second one.." she scoops up the other foot, repeating the same tedious tenderness she gave to your other, gliding her hand from your ankle to your knee as she stood up, plating a pressure to the top of your thigh as she leans in, lips first, uttering, "there you go," smacking a puckered kiss to your stagnant lips, whispering upon them, "m'comin' to the bathroom with you. wanna hold him for a bit."

not even wild wolves could tear ellie from your baby, her baby.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Burnt Bread

Éomer x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: fluff, physical & emotional hurt/comfort, family issues, established relationship, alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

After being left to fend for yourself in your father's bakery, you end up making a massive mistake that earns his ire. Fleeing, you find comfort with the one person who you're utterly safe with.

A/N: Dedicated to @firelightinferno

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“I’m leaving. Watch the shop.”

You glance up from the sticky dough beneath your hands and find your father near the door. He sways on his feet slightly as he attempts to tug on his coat. “I’m leaving” is just another way of telling you that he’s off to drink, and by the look and smell of him, he’s already started for the day.

It wasn’t always like this, and it’s only become worse over the years. Following your mother’s death, your father’s reliance on mead has become a crutch, a vessel for his loneliness. It doesn’t matter that you are alive and here for him.

While you don’t entirely resent him for falling into this state, the frequency of it does worry you. Worse, it’s driving a wedge in your relationship with him. He’s becoming distant and detached. His frequent disappearances leave you alone to take care of the shop and everything that goes along with it. It’s not difficult, and you enjoy the work, but when the shop is busy, you can’t always keep an eye on things.

You’re starting to grow tired of this, and you don’t want to feel resentful of your father. You’ve always loved him, even on the days when he comes home stumbling.

“For how long?” you ask flatly, trying not to sound upset that he’s departing yet again. This is the fifth day in a row your father has left the shop in the morning to drink. You fail, a little indignation creeping into your tone.

Your father hears it because he scowls in your direction. “Don’t know,” he mutters, as he teeters toward the door.

There is no final goodbye or backward glance. The shop door slams shut, and tears begin to form in the lower lids of your eyes. Brushing them away with the back of your hand only dusts your cheeks with floor.

This constant distance is tiring.

Putting all your frustration into kneading the dough on the table, a little bit of that steam begins to cool. Once you’ve had enough, and your arms ache, you cut and shape the dough, setting it aside to rise.

The bell above the door rings as the first customer of the day steps inside. And then it begins.

This is why you miss your father in the mornings. Everyone loves seeing your face. They appreciate your kind smile and helpful attitude. Most days, your father is nursing a hangover and keeps to himself, leaving you to take care of everyone that walks in. But without him, you’ll need to do both.

The front of the shop quickly packs with people. You’re so busy taking orders and wrapping bundles of freshly baked bread, that at first you don’t smell the slight hint of char in the air. It’s only when you finish helping a customer that you catch a whiff of it.

The older woman’s nose crinkles in confusion, and while she says nothing, her reaction gives you pause. Inhaling, you consider the scents in the shop, grouping them into different categories. There’s sugar, butter, and—

Your eyes widen, and then you’re rushing to the large stone oven at the back of the shop. “Oh no. No no no no.” Grabbing the large, wood paddle off the wall, you hurriedly scoop up and toss the bread onto the nearby table.

Some are perfectly toasted but others, like the ones closest to the fire, are charcoal. You slide the paddle in and retrieve a loaf that is entirely on fire. In your surprise, the paddle and bread fall to the floor.

They both clatter loudly and you drop to your knees, using your apron to smother the burning bread. The tears fall easily, and the heat from the apron is hot and irritating, but you put it out. You’re so absorbed in trying to salvage what you can, that you don’t realize where the wide part of the paddle is.

Your hand goes out and connects with it. You jump back with a light cry, cradling your palm. The paddle is wood and not metal, which is some comfort, but your left hand is throbbing.

The bell above the door rings, and you glance up, eyes wide and frightened like a deer.

“What is this?” comes the sneering voice.

Your father is back, and you can smell the sourness from here. He half-sways, half-limps around the counter to where you’re kneeling. His pupils are wide, and he has to lean on the countertop for support. That yellow gaze roams over you, to the burnt bread on the floor, and then back to you again.

“You stupid girl,” he whispers. Then, much louder. “You stupid stupid girl!”

This is the part of him you dislike the most. When he’s deep in his cups, all kindness is gone.

“I’m so sorry, father. We were busy and I didn’t realize—”

“Do you know how much you’ve cost us? This is two dozen loaves.” He picks one up and throws it at your face. His aim is terrible and completely off. All you have to do is bend a bit and it sails right over your head.

“Father—”

“Do you do this to me on purpose?”

“Father. Please—”

“Every day I have to look upon your face and see your mother. A daily reminder that she is gone!”

“Please,” you beg softly, staring down at your hands.

“Get out!”

You bolt up and rush out the door, nearly knocking over an elderly woman about to walk inside. You run and run until you pass through the gates of Edoras, stopping only when you make it to the burial mounds of the kings. You fall to your knees and then onto your back, staring up into the sky.

It’s morning, but overcast, the clouds a stormy gray like they’re ready to cry and join you in your sorrow.

There is only one person who could give you comfort, but he is not here. He is gone, expected back today but you’re not sure when. Even if you were to wait for him, you’re in no state to greet him. Éomer should see you happy when he returns, not tear-stained.

No one holds vigil at the burial mounds. This will be your respite. This will be your chance to slow your racing heart and dry your eyes. Once you’re calm, once you’re no longer wishing to flee from this place, you’ll hold vigil at the gates until Éomer arrives. Going back to the shop to face your father is out of the question.

The grass is a soft bed beneath you. Closing your eyes, you press your hands against the earth, splaying your fingers wide, focusing on the individual blades of grass under your palms. This will be your anchor until you can find a bit of peace.

“What are you doing on the ground?”

Your eyes snap open and you turn your head to the right, meeting the amused smile of the man you love.

“Éomer,” you breathe, sitting up to grab at the front of his leather armor. It doesn’t matter that your hands sting, you pull him down onto you wanting his closeness.

His gentle laugh is perfect, and when your mouths meet, everything slips away. Éomer settles between your legs, his forearm resting by your head while his other hand reaches back to grab. He meets bare thigh, and the contact is exactly what you need.

Éomer is real and whole and with you.

The kisses that start with soft excitement quickly become deep and heated. There is a slight harsh bite to his breathing as the two of you presses closer. Your hands slide up to wrap around the back of his neck, but as they crest over the lip of his armor, the tender flesh on your palm screams out.

Hissing, you draw back, clutching at your hand.

Éomer stills and then pulls away from your lips. His head tips downward, glimpsing the burn before you can hide it from view.

“What happened?” he asks, his tone tipping toward concern.

“It’s nothing,” you murmur, as the memory of your father comes roaring back.

“It’s not nothing,” he replies firmly, his brow creasing. “Show me.”

Slowly, you unfurl your fingers, revealing your palm. Of everyone in your life, Éomer is the safest.

Éomer’s mouth forms into a deep frown as he clutches your wrist, drawing your hand closer to his face as he inspects the burn. “Did someone do this to you?”

You shake your head. “No. Just grabbed some hot bread. That’s all.”

Éomer sees right through you. “You’ve been crying.”

“It hurts.”

Éomer sighs, gently guiding your hand down to your chest. When he releases your wrist, Éomer reaches out to trace the backs of his knuckles against your cheekbone. “You can tell me if it was your father.”

When the tears start to accumulate in your eyes again, Éomer leans in and lowers his voice. “Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head. “Not with his fists.”

Éomer’s exhalation is shaky, like he’s trying to calm his own anger. “You’re coming with me.”

“Éomer—”

“You are coming with me,” he repeats. “We will talk, and I will tend to these burns.” When you open your mouth to argue, Éomer shakes his head. “Don’t be stubborn.”

He slowly sits back on his heels and helps you come to sitting. Then he’s on his feet, bringing you with him. Éomer;s horse, Firefoot, grazes nearby.

Éomer’s hands lightly brush away the blades of grass that cling to your skirts. “Would you like to walk or ride back?”

You love Firefoot dearly, but you’d rather take your time arriving to Edoras’ gates. You’re still not calm, and a slow walk with Éomer at your side might just help you find some peace.

“Could we walk?”

He nods. “If that is what you wish.”

Éomer leads Firefoot by the bridle with one hand, and with the other, he clasps yours. He does not push or dig around, but instead moves at the pace you set. Éomer knows your signals without you having to say anything. Instead of inquiring about your father or what happened, he talks about his time away. It gives you a chance to shift mindsets, to focus on him and nothing else.

When the two of you are in his private room, Éomer guides you over to the hearth. He lays out a small nest of furs and gently helps you down on them, taking care not to accidentally brush against the burn. Once you’re seated, Éomer moves to a far corner of the room to remove his weapons and a few heavy pieces of armor. Then he comes back to you, sitting beside you in front of the fire.

“Show me your hands.” Reluctantly, you present them. Éomer frowns down at them. “Tell me again your father didn’t do this to you.”

“He didn’t. I promise.”

Éomer sighs heavily and his hands wrap around your wrists. He gently guides your hands closer, inspecting the burn. It’s only on your left hand, and Éomer slowly releases the one that’s fine. “I’ll have someone fetch some ointment for this and bandages.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It is. I’ll take care of it.”

You snort and Éomer’s mouth quirks up into a smile. “Think I’m incapable?”

“A strong warrior like you capable of such tenderness?” you tease.

His smile softens. “What about all the times I’ve been tender with you?”

Your cheeks heat with the memory. “Not in that way,” you mutter, trying to hide your embarrassment.

“Would you prefer that as well?”

“Perhaps later,” you breathe, heart quickening in your chest.

Éomer lifts your wrist to his mouth, placing a kiss on the pulse point. “I’ll return shortly.”

When Éomer acquires the correct ointment and bandages, he sets to work. He cleanses his hands, scrubbing his nails and between his fingers before he begins. Then, with purposeful slowness, Éomer lifts the injured hand and begins rubbing the ointment into the surface-level burns. They likely won’t blister but they’ll sting for a week or more.

Once the ointment is applied, he unwraps the bandages, guiding it over and around your hand to keep the ointment in place. He ties off the extra and cuts it off with a clean blade, tucking the little bit left into the wrappings. Éomer is overly cautious but it’s sweet.

He is always so gentle with you.

“You spoil me,” you murmur.

“I enjoy it,” he replies, turning your hand over to double-check his work.

A soft sadness creeps in. “One day you won’t.”

Éomer glances up. “How so?”

You shrug as if the words don’t mean anything. “You’ll marry a princess. She’ll beautiful and fair. The people will love her.”

Éomer shakes his head. “Why would I ever want such a thing when I have one right here.”

“Don’t tease.”

“I’m not.” Éomer kisses your fingers and gently guides your hand to your lap. In a move so delicate it momentarily steals your breath, Éomer cups your cheek and leans in close. “All I ever want. All I ever need. Is right here.”

Éomer stands before the back door of the shop your father owns. He’s still fuming, but not nearly as much as when he saw your hand. For some time, Éomer has wanted to give this man a piece of his mind. You are precious, and more importantly, you don’t deserve his ire.

The man is a drunk, and everyone knows it. Most show him pity because it all started with the death of his wife—your mother. But that was many years ago, and any pity Éomer felt for the man has long since evaporated.

Squaring his shoulders, Éomer pounds on the door like he’s trying to splinter the wood.

You are still in Éomer’s chambers, curled up in the pile of furs he created in front of the fire. You are sacred to him, the woman he wants above all things. One day, you will be his, and will no longer have to answer to your father.

The drunkard swings open the door. “What?” he growls before he realizes who stands before him.

His eyes widen, and he straightens up, smoothing out the rumbled apron. He fumbles over his words and Éomer holds up a single hand, silencing the man.

“I’m not interested in excuses.” Éomer takes a step into the shop, towering over the man. “If I ever see her in tears again because of you, understand that my next visit will be much less pleasant. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

Éomer wants to stay more, but he draws back his rage. He nods curtly, and exits, only wanting to return to you.

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @firelightinferno @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado

[vonnart]

· 3 · The Fog Brewer ·

Throughout Drawtober, I will be posting a narrative as if I partnered with Fromsoft to create a Halloween flavored game till the end of October! 🎃

So, to continue on from the previous post...

“The fog only thickens as you continue your way through the forest. As if a mirage, you come across a tall iron cast wall, going as far in each direction as the eye can see, only at a slight curve. The fog’s origin seemingly coming from the other side as it appears to pour over the top. You follow down the wall until a staircase becomes visible on its edge. The stairs are wooden yet not worn but certainly slightly eroded from the strange moisture in the air.

Once you climb to the top, the realization hits all at once. It wasn’t an iron wall but a massive cauldron, embedded deep in the earth carrying a lake’s worth of bubbling liquid. There are some dead trees and rubbish floating but nothing that could be considered alive. The fumes are rather pungent and it becomes clear that these water’s are not meant to be touched.

Just then, You hear a faint humming and through the distance you make out the voice is coming from a vessel, paddling through the lake. The front of what appears to be a boat is covered in years of hardened wax from the multitude of excessive candles lit on top.

To see better, you step forward onto what seems to be the remains of a dock but it shakes and begins to fall apart. This causes a rippling on the water’s surface, alerting your presence to her. She quickly positions herself to face you and swipes her paddle hard into the water, sending a vertical wave your direction. With some quick maneuvering, you manage to jump on to one of the massive dead trees floating nearby. Shortly after, a brightly colored glass potion bottle is being hurled at you. This assault has no signs of slowing down so you being to plan the counter attack.”

Read the actual post drawings to learn more about their techniques, unveil her second boss form and see how to defeat the "fog brewer".

(Stay tuned for the next boss battle)

[st4rbe0m]

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ KISS THE GIRL - PSH

🫧 now playing - kiss the girl from disney’s The Little Mermaid 🫧 contents - the little mermaid au, no gendered implications but the word 'maiden' is used, implied kissing 🫧 wc - 0.9K 🫧 a/n - i hope this compensates for the lack of body search updates recently :( i need to structure that story out a bit more, so it'll be a while. might make a mini series out of this however teehee >.<

masterlist

Sha-la-la-la-la-la, My oh my Look like the boy too shy Ain't gonna kiss the girl

The blue luminescence of the algae around them, surrounding the boat in a surreal bubble, made the breath in Sunghoon’s throat hitch in awe. You were right in front of him, hands on the pair of paddles opposite to his own, making no move of their own, as your eyes blown wide in awe of scenery peered around. The way the drooping willow branches of the cove swayed in an almost rhythm like manner, creating a music of its own. The fish seemed almost animated as they playfully swam along the quivering currents of the water, the boat stalled and rocking almost like a crib, gently. The reeds whistled, adding the percussion to the music of the ocean, while the crabs and the seagulls perched along the rocks of the shallow alcove seemed to scuttle along, adding a tapping beat to the environment. Almost like this endeavor was planned. Almost. 

Sunghoon doesn’t really register how quickly this stranger, whom he’d found on the beach with no voice of your own, and almost seemingly no knowledge of his importance or his duties, had easily slid into his life, like the puzzle piece he’d been missing ever since he went aboard his ship on his birthday. The day he was knocked off the very vessel, and only had an angelic voice and a fleeting memory saving him from being pulled under by the unforgiving waves of the sea. 

The boat was swaying gently in the water as you both rocked along with it, eyes swallowing in all the beauty of the escape Sunghoon had found during his lonesome adventures to escape from princely duties. A hidden cave, with a shallow pool of water and a welcoming alcove hiding the both of you away from prying eyes. After all, the rumors and gossip about town would multiply with a frenzy, if any citizen were to come across the adoration on the face of their beloved prince, as he gazed upon this strange maiden. The mood around them was so tender, so fragile and so, so beautiful. Yet to Sunghoon, the only beauty he could focus on was the one right in front of him, only on the way your head was tilted up and looking around, like you were seeing everything that existed above the land for the first time ever in your life. The way your lips parted softly and exhaled a soft sigh of satisfaction, like a thirst to see everything was being quenched slowly. And how soft your lips looked, glowing under the moonlight that entered through the cracks above. The plump curve of your cupid’s bow, and the dip of white where your teeth bit into your lower lip in fascination.

If the ambience wasn’t already perfect, the buzzing of the fireflies, that illuminated the air around you both with their bright, yellow glow just made your heart leap in joy, and the smile that grew on your face made Sunghoon’s heart flip in his own chest, like the marine creatures surrounding you both, almost like they’d choreographed their own dance to celebrate the union of you both. The frogs that sat with their little webbed legs stuck on to the paddles of your boat, and the wonderful, colorful fish, creating a haze of flurried colors under the dark water. It was all absolutely delightful, as you both chuckled at the behavior of all the animals around you. One of the frogs on the paddle decided to leap in a move of its own, elegantly diving into the water with a plop. But as graceful as the move was, it ended up with a small splash of water ungracefully landing on Sunghoon’s cheek, which made you giggle in amusement. Bringing the fabric of your sleeve to your palm and shifting close to wipe the cold water off his face, your eyes met the warmth in his brown ones, making you fall harder for the enigmatic and handsome prince. The human you’d found yourself to be so captivated by. Prince Park Sunghoon, royal heir to the throne of the island country, Telmarina. 

Sunghoon’s heartbeat was thundering in his ears due to the proximity between the two of you, and if he didn’t already feel that magnetic pull that was urging him to push his lips onto yours, the urge just got stronger as he looked at all your features with such intensity, as to almost memorize them. You could feel his shortening breath on your face now, which just created a chain reaction to your own flusteredness. His eyes, which were settled on yours, hesitatingly shifted, and then dipped to your lips. And it seemed that you did too, as the pink tinge of his lips seemed to call you like a siren. Leaning in slowly, almost gravely, both of you inhaled as your lips almost touched to fulfill what you both had been yearning for this entire time.

That was until the solid wooden flooring of the boat under both of you seemed to disappear, leaving you both plunging into the cold water of the lagoon, icing the blood in your veins and leaving you both in a shocked state, floating in the water. Laughing at the state of both of you, the kiss that almost happened seemed to slowly leave both of your minds, and Sunghoon swore that if you listened close enough, you could hear some sort of disappointed groan coming from the rock where the crab and seagull sat. And holding out his hand for you to take as you both swam up to land, you both almost ignored the dark slithering eels that swam away silently from the scene, ready to report to their masters of the success of their devious plans.

[ltwilliammowett]

Wreck of the Comet, Kingston, Lake Ontario

A beautiful side-wheel steamer, the Comet was built in Kingston in 1848 and sank on May 14, 1861, after colliding with another ship. The most notable features of this wreck are the twin paddle wheelers on either side of the vessel that remain fully intact. The Comet is about 53 metres long and lies about 25 metres below the surface. Although much of the ship has collapsed, the intact wheels on either side create an almost other-worldly effect.

[captainkurosolaire]

~ Th' Cat Voyage ~

<Onward! Haul Wind! No Avast! Go, my mighty sea-vessel, Queen Bubbles! We shall conquer our grand horizons! By marking these lowly-hooman-territories, ba-ha-ha!> (Paddles with tail-desperately propelling and mewls valiantly)

[greycloudsinwinter]

Hi can I request yandere Maegor the cruel x gender neutral reader escape in successfully reaction and then being found after a while in a style of a dialogue with a little bit of smut. ❤️

YANDERE MAEGOR X SUCCESSFUL ESCAPY READER OR SO YOU THINK

You ran . As fast as your legs could take you almost falling down the stairs only two pockets full of coins and the clothes you wore with you. You couldn’t be with him . the way he would torture those he got to close to you even his own wives it terrified you.

And after that night where he shoved you against the stone hall. the ways his lips smashed against yours. Then his tongue demanding entrance to which you did not want to give ,so to force you to open your mouth he bit down on your bruised lip making you gasp. He grunted in satisfaction as his hands made quick work of moving higher up your thighs.

The mere thought of that night still makes you feel sick. You hated him. despised him .but lucky enough he was too devoted in his own fantasies yo realise that you had made a plan to escape right under his nose .

You found your self pushing your legs to the limit as you mad your way down to the dock. The small vessel waited for you there . You brought the boat from an old fisher man that was more then pleased to receive a bag of coin for the busted up little boat and paddles.

You still remember Maegor’s words from that night ‘you can’t escape me little flame’ it haunted you . But as you stepped one foot into the boat you found some relief.

And that’s when it happened…

The golden cloaks .

The sounds of yells.

A roar of a mighty dragon.

Maegor laughing.

He found you .

now you could never escape…