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fuckzachariah · 2 years ago

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aleburton:

Let. Her eyebrow hitched. Nothing more, nothing less. She lowered her gaze momentarily, focusing instead on a hand of cards that had not been tended to in front of her as an internal chuckle passed through. He was right. Letting her go may not have been the most accurate depiction of what had occurred between them. And yet, it felt as if he had done just that. If different choices were made, where would that leave them? If he hadn’t fallen victim to his dependency, wasn’t easily as riled, or swayed toward physical aggression? She supposed the same questions could be directed to her. She was just more discreet. Better at hiding her imperfections. Or perhaps, Zach’s simply veiled hers. His were distinct, bold and in your face. As he spoke once more, calling her by her last name, she looked up from the table. She tucked a single manicured finger between the corner her lips. Her fawn eyes invited him in, untouched by the tablet she had consumed. “It’s a little late for that isn’t it? By about a year,” she quipped with a stifled grin.

The familiar knockout returned, balancing on her four-inch heels. Alex glimpsed at them beneath the table. It was rare to catch her without her own. She adored a good pair of Louboutin, Valentino, or Jimmy Choo heels. She was poised in them. Confident. Having been under the impression she would be spending a casual afternoon in with Zach and Amanda, she left her heels at home, opting instead for a pair of Prada sandals. Nevertheless, Alex was Alex in whatever she wore. She watched as the nameless brunette reclaimed her seat beside Zach but not before gently sinking her fingers into his thigh on her way down. She blinked, recognizing what she presumed to be jealousy but diluted. A shadow seemed to darken the auburn halos of her eyes. Rather than prow across the tabletop to splinter each one of her fingers, she smiled instead. Blink and you’d miss it. She looked at him like something devious. Friends. This should be interesting. Whoever she was began to speak, pointed in her direction. Alex considered pretending she didn’t exist, outwardly disregarding her attempts to connect. But that wasn’t very kind, and they were trying to be better people, right?

She tipped her head inquisitively. It seemed she had been around long enough to hear about Alex, but not long enough to have met her. Her eyes narrowed, forced but polite laughter parting through her lips in response. She was still focused on where they had encountered each other before. It clicked a moment later. The unrelated tip of risking her head sent her to six months in the past. Midsummer Night’s Dream. She’d been with him that night. Right before they tiptoed off to the coat closet. She glimpsed around the table, both Zach and Ryan cutting in as if there were nothing to hide. Tasha. Alex folded the name over and over again inside of her mind. “And I’m sure you’ve heard nothing but stellar reviews,” she cooed, the syllables rolling from the tip of her tongue sickly sweet. Was she truly being playful or had the Xanax begun to speak for her? Luke shifted his weight, leaning across the table to provide Ryan with a number of cards. He held up the deck, offering to deal to both Alex and Eden. She shook her head to dismiss him, carting her attention back to Zach and his friend, Tasha, “I think I’ll watch instead.”

Eden’s hands floated to Alex’s hips, squeezing them softly in amusement. She knew what Alex was doing. What she was capable of. “Since you’ve heard so much, I’m sure you also know I’ve been missing in action for a while which means I also missed how the two of you met.” Her hand continued to carefully balance her head; her teeth sinking softly into the tip of her finger as she pried. She could feel the sedative bursting into her blood stream, causing her olive skin to prickle. “Surely, the first time wasn’t at Midsummer Night’s Dream. You looked far too cozy for that.” She wondered if after they had finished their merciless tryst if he had gone back to her. Explained why he was disheveled. Why he had perspired through the luxe threads of his button-down shirt. Why his forearms had been speckled with blood. Why he couldn’t possibly muster another ounce of strength to fuck her – if she had asked for it, of course. Alex had sucked him dry in every sense.

Eden sloped back in the chair, beckoning a passerby to bring them two flutes of champagne. Just what she didn’t need. Something to loosen her tongue further. Two glasses were placed before them, glistening with lacquer gold. Alex erected her posture; her chest obtruding. Though she thought herself to be wildly underdressed for the occasion, her clothing still complimented her figure. Her tight white tank was snug against her breasts; an inch or two of her midriff exposed, revealing perfectly sun-kissed skin. Innocent enough, but the right amount to make you wonder what was contained beneath it. What might happen if she spilled just a touch of champagne onto the threadlike fabric. She captured the dainty glass between her fingers, lifting it toward her lips. Minds were free to wander now. Just as Zach, Alex was fair game now. How many of his friends would make advances toward her once they got her alone? How many wanted what he had? What exactly was it about her that had him tripping over himself time and time again? Whipped.

There was a distinct shift. Alex when they were alone, rigid and apprehensive with a little give for lightheartedness when she needed to keep him on side; Alex now, swathed by unfamiliarity and piqued in - what was that? A challenge? Her backbone arced beautifully into the table, face slack in all the right places and sharp in worse ones as she tucked an upturned nail between her teeth and adopted an enticing slink to her timbre. He blinked, rattled from his relaxed stance into attention. Perhaps, if he cared to dissect it more, he’d recognize all this as a red flag. But he didn’t - he chased the anticipatory burbling occurring in the pit of his abdomen at this fresh version of her that’d been unsheathed. “Nah,” he quipped in return, dropping his grin to the deck of cards in his hands. “I wouldn’t give you the same advice when it comes to me.” And it was true - or it had been. Though she’d been eager to make him wait for her back then, he possessed an ability to read her tells perhaps better than any other man could, and so coaxing her to bend for him had only taken a few short weeks.

He’d adored sinking his teeth into the version of her who’d fought not to want him. But this version did want him - her tittering, quiet jealousy was enough of a tell - but they couldn’t have each other. Didn’t that make it all the more sweet? Alex seemed to have sized Tasha up in a matter of moments, deeming her worthy enough to croon to but not enough to crush. Or perhaps the playing field was just far too unfamiliar for such rash behaviour. Tasha clicked her tongue, a habit she seemed to have adopted from Zach, and grinned. “Objectively stellar? Not at all. But in my eyes? Absolutely,” and her eyes glittered as she said so. “Because I love a take no prisoners type bitch.” Zach tsked on impulse, tipping his chin to one side as though stung. “Watch it, Tasha,” he warned. She shrugged happily, setting her cards down. “I fold,” she said, and it seemed to be in reference to more than just the game at hand. She met Alex’s narrowed, unreadable gaze. “I’m not trying to raise hackles. Aubrey’s still growing back her bald patch, and this hair cost close enough to a rack.” And yet, once again, she broke out into a grin as though enjoying teetering on a knife’s edge.

And maybe she was. She had played a similar game, once, with Aubrey. Though Zach had turned a blind eye to it, tension had undeniably prickled and perhaps at some point erupted between the two best friends following the moment Aubrey had recognized the girl she’d introduced to Zach was more than willing to try steal his affections out from under her. Perhaps Tasha had the impression those affections were easily won, but she failed to consider that she’d caught him at his most vulnerable. An endless stupor of both the drugs and pining after a girl he couldn’t have. Sure, he’d historically been relatively easy to crawl into bed with - show enough emotional resolve and he’d endeavour to crack it between his back teeth every time - but taking his heart was a feat only one had ever achieved. And if you asked Alex, that was easy, too. A lifelong challenge for some but summoned with the snap of two fingers for another. No wonder Aubrey hated her so much.

Alex began to pry their kinship open with deftly sharpened nails, showing her technique by sinking her teeth deeper into the pad of her fingertip. He had half a mind to intercede the interrogation, but he found himself silenced, entranced by the minimally phallic display. He couldn’t fault her - though he was sure it was a power play, it was one she was winning. He drew his eyes up painfully from her plush, parted, heart-shaped lips to her equally intoxicating gaze. His eyes shone with a wicked knowing. An understanding neither had to verbally acknowledge to address it was there. She may as well have been tracing her pointed foot up the inside of his shin, turning her toe on his inner thigh. He raised the bet and leaned in, resting his elbows on the table. Her inquisition was, as he saw it, another attempt to deduce the threat level and better plan her attack. He sought to tread carefully.

“Aubrey needed new friends after getting kicked out on her ass, and Tasha likes adopting strays,” he taunted in a dismissive tone. A sharp crack came down on his shoulder, Tasha kissing her teeth with disapproval. He laughed and leaned away. “What?” But before she could defend herself, Sarah cut in. Several heads lifted in mild surprise. “They’ve been close forever,” she offered politely, a small smile on her face. “Tasha told me they met in high school.” Zach’s eyebrows jumped. This was genuinely news to him. “I only tapped in as a last reserve, Winthrop. When she first got cozy with y’all, I wasn’t interested.” He looked at Sarah, who giggled behind her hand, then back at Tasha, mildly intrigued beyond his better judgement. Alex knew this better than anyone - rejection served as little more than a challenge to him. “And why, dare I ask, was that?” he half-smiled. She full-smiled in return. “You weren’t as famous then.”

Though the table responded with appropriate ooohing, she wasn’t finished. She turned her attention back to Alex, apparently undeterred. “Luke parent trapped Aubrey and Z backstage at his LA show, and I was with Aubs, but subbing in on backing vocals for Luke. Then, I dunno man, ten drinks later Zach told me he was looking for backing vocals on a couple of the album tracks and, you know. Dot, dot, dot.” Zach had remained dutifully silent as she’d spoken, wary of any gory details she might share for incitements sake. He wasn’t one for divulging details on his best days, having kept his cards close to his chest since he was just a kid, but she hadn’t stung him too much with the indulgence. Despite her lewd allusion. His eyes flitted to Alex’s as he swallowed the final swig of his second bottle. Her gaze was enough to see him through the itching for something stronger. He leaned back in his chair to grab another. “What about you, Alex? How did this,” Tasha gestured between Alex and Zach, “fairytale start?”

#para

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galayugmagay · 2 years ago

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Divine Justice (a mob/Zhongli rape revenge ficlet)

A series of rape-slays plagues north Liyue.

When the 8th body is found on a paddy at Qingce, Zhongli starts investigating.

He roams the lands he nourished, gathering memories from stone to track down the assailants. The culprits - a gang of treasure hunters - follow his steps, first in trepidation and later in lust as their lurid minds focus on the thickness of his behind.

The seeker has become the target, and the closer Zhongli gets to the truth, the smaller the distance between his back and the perpetrators.

Unbeknownst to the gang, however, Zhongli DOES know he's being trailed. But he decides to humor them anyhow, pretending to be powerless as they inevitably corner, bind and gag him. He makes a show of fear and struggles as they cut through his clothes with little care for how the blades slice his 'skin.'

He deceives them into getting their fill, wincing and whimpering at every violation of his body.

When he cries, it is not from the pain he endures but from the thought of the victims - mostly teenage girls and young boys - who were truly powerless against these cruel men.

When the assailants tire from their exertions and a rope is looped around his neck, Zhongli metes out divine justice.

The stone rumbles under them. Phallic pillars shoot out from the ground, piercing each rapist through the very orifice they intruded in their victims.

For each rape a hunter has committed, the pillar is a handspan longer. For each murder, two.

By the time the earth calms, most of the hunters have choked on the rock sticking out of their mouths. It doesn't take long for the scum to fall limp around their pillars of stone.

The last two, new recruits who have only ever partaken on Zhongli, are crying in pain. Blood runs down their legs at the forced intrusions, but Zhongli knows they will live.

He undoes his own bindings and looks down at them with cold scorn.

"Let this be a warning to all: Rex Lapis may have perished, but the stone remembers. It will never forgive, and it will never forget."

With a wave of his hand, Zhongli summons the pillars out of the two's bodies. He spares them some dignity, turning back and walking away before the two are bound to evacuate.

A few days later, two men limp to the closest Millelith and confess to their crimes. They tell of a new adeptus that roams the lands, one who exacts an archon's revenge, and points them to the cave

But when the Millelith explore the site…

There is neither rot, nor blood, but a far more sinister warning.

Ten men immortalized in stone, pierced by pillars so long their toes do not reach the ground.

The only hint of their demise lies on a stone tablet, inscribed with the very words the new Adeptus imparted.

-----

Crime plummets, but it never disappears. Every few years, a new body joins the grotesque statues at the Cave of Warning.

No one - not even the adepti that kept Rex Lapis company for centuries - could find the Adeptus of Revenge. They don't even try to look after long.

As for the consultant of Wang Sheng Funeral Parlor…

Well, he disappears for days, even weeks, on end. So what if a new body is added to the cave, or if a new criminal surrenders to the Millelith, not long after he returns from his trips?

It's surely all coincidence.

THE END (xposted from Twitter)

#ficlet #twtfic #genshin impact #rape #zhongli

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cappymightwrite · 4 years ago

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So I’ve just read your meta on the TWOW Alayne I sample chapter (it’s amazing btw!) and I noticed something while reading it that I wanted to share and see if anybody else has noticed - nearly every man Alayne dances with during the feast could be taken as a reference to Jon or the Night’s Watch.

Ben Coldwater -> Snow is, obviously, cold water, and Ben is a sneaky Benjen reference

Andrew Tollett -> most likely related to Dolorous Edd Tollett, Jon’s old steward and good friend

Ser Byron the Beautiful -> GRRM has described Jon as a Byronic hero

Ser Morgarth and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse -> these men are more dubious, I’m not really sure of the link with Morgarth. Shadrich is a callback from Brienne’s AFFC plot though, and a sign that Sansa’s cover isn’t as secure as she and Littlefinger think it is

Ser Albar Royce - a reference to Waymar Royce, he of the many Jon parallels and Sansa’s old crush, though she finds his cousin(?) stout and dull

The Sunderlands - their family are the lords of the Three Sisters. In ADWD, Davos is told a story on Sweetsister about Ned having to sneak across the Bite during Robert’s Rebellion, to get North and call his banners. A fisherman helped him but drowned when a storm caught their boat - but his daughter got Ned safely to the Sisters. The prevailing story on the islands seems to be that he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly, whom she named after Jon Arryn

Uther Shett - I was half-convinced this guy also had a relative on the wall, because his name (insulting pun aside) seems to be a reference to Chett, the prologue POV of ASOS who had a grudge against Jon for losing him his position as one of Maester Aemon’s stewards in favour of Sam

Ser Targon the Halfwild - Jon will likely be half-wild when he comes back from the dead, but he’s already been described as ��half a wildling’ multiple times. Also Targon = Targ-Jon?

Ser Roland and Ser Wallace Waynwood - both are described earlier in the chapter as long-faced with brown hair, which are also Stark features. Alayne thinks of them as “horsefaced”, probably an Arya reference that also calls back to her and Jon’s shared Stark look. Wallace is even the same age as Robb, and thus Jon, would be.

So though Jon wasn’t mentioned by name in the chapter, I think he was very present... not just lemoncake-wise ;)

Thank you! :D Haha for a moment there I was like...wait which meta? Had to take my mind back for a sec there because I've written quite a bit since then! But yeah, doing deep dives into certain chapters is really fun — my next one that's in the works is Jon XI in A Dance With Dragons. Great to hear you enjoyed my Winds one :)

Ooooh that is really interesting and a mighty fine catch! Definitely the vibe I got whilst reading that chapter, after having analysed Alayne II, AFFC (which chronologically precedes it), is that Jon's presence or references to him are made subtly throughout the chapter(s) — especially whenever Winterfell is alluded to because Jon is the "Snow of Wintefell", the "blood of Winterfell", etc. But also vice versa, Sansa is very much connected to Winterfell in Jon's chapters as well — "Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa."

But let's take a look at those names you listed below the cut! Big post ahead, so buckle up kids!

So, I hadn't noticed the significance of those names on my reading, but I can well believe what you're suggesting because it plays very much into how I interpreted the subconscious goings on of that chapter — that you have these rememberances/reminders of Winterfell and Sansa's Stark idenity at crucial moments within the chapter’s narrative pacing, especially prior to moments with Harry the Heir. Not to sound too crass, but it's sort like a marking of territory, and this is made even stronger by that goddamn phallic as hell Giant's Lance lemoncake (aka Jon's peen). It's all quite neatly buried, but when you start matching up the imagery...I mean, I guess wolves are territorial beasts, so...checks out? (George...why are you like this?)

It is interesting that we get that iconic entrance of the Giant's Lance lemoncake prior to these dance partners, i.e. a claim has been staked essentially, and it ain't from Littlefinger, which is what could be interpreted on first inspection. And let's not beat around the bush, as uncomfortable as it is (because Sansa is ONLY 13/14!!), this is a sexual claim being made owing to the phallic symbolism and the general tone of the chapter being about Alayne's betrothal/marriage:

And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar.

For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out.

I legit just snorted re-reading this: "splendid subtlety" MY ASS! What follows is a whole lot of gift-giving, which come to think of it, in combination with this bloody big cake...well, it reads quite a bit like a wedding breakfast to me, followed by dancing, in addition to a possible nod to a Stark bridal cloak, masked by the Arryn colours:

There were gifts as well, splendid gifts. Each of the competitors received a cloak of cloth-of-silver and a lapis brooch in the shape of a pair of falcon’s wings. Fine steel daggers were given to the brothers, fathers, and friends who had come to watch them tilt. For their mothers, sisters, and ladies fair there were bolts of silk and Myrish lace.

Because if we compare this "cloak of cloth-of-silver" with previous descriptions of Sansa's maiden cloak, we see this obvious recurring inclusion of either silver or grey as one of the Stark colours:

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain.

A maiden's cloak. Sansa's hand went to her throat. She would have torn the thing away if she had dared. – ASOS, Sansa III

"[...] and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back...why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright [...]" – AFFC, Alayne II

This is all very in keeping with the theme of the chapter, which is meeting Alayne's betrothed, Harrold Hardyng, so obviously a future marriage/alliance is very much a prevalent theme here. Furthermore, the mention of "Myrish lace" for the "ladies fair" does somewhat remind me of Alys Karstark's wedding garb:

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. – ADWD, Jon X

I think some other people have mentioned before how even though Jon makes a conscious comparison between Arya and Alys — "reminded Jon so much of his little sister" — the romanticised, flushed cheeked imagery very much points towards a subconsious allusion to Sansa (ETA: anyone spoken on this got a link?). With that in mind, we could see this as foreshadowing of not only Jonsa, but a Jonsa wedding, and Sansa as Queen in the North — "a frosty crown" "Winter's lady" — with Jon as her king/consort. In my current Jon chapter analysis I've been working with the idea that actually as soon as Jon starts romanticising a girl, which is notably different from just noticing someone's physical beauty (e.g. with Val), that is when the subconscious comparisons to Sansa really jump out.

But anyway! Onto those names...or rather, Jon Snow stand-ins.

Rising, [Ben Coldwater] offered Alayne his hand. “Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?”

“You’re very kind,” she said, as he led her to the floor.

He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

If I've counted that right, that's 14 men? Alright, here we go.

First up...Ben Coldwater

I think you're right that Ben Coldwater feels very much like a nod to Ben-jen Stark, who is referred to as Ben a few times I think, and Jon Snow (cold water = snow), both men of the Night's Watch. House Coldwater also traces its lineage back to the First Men, and are sworn to House Royce, who are also notably descended from the First Men, have previously married into the Stark family and still maintain close connections to the current house through Ned's fosterage in the Vale. So, through the Royces, we see another possible connection to the Starks and Jon Snow...Jon Snow who was named after Jon Arryn.

I would also add that we have Ben make this inquiry prior to his dance with Alayne:

“Are there no singers?” asked Ben Coldwater.

I don't know, maybe I'm reaching but...singers feature quite a lot in connection to Jon, for instance:

Mance Rayder, who infiltrates Winterfell disguised as a singer called Abel, an anagram of Bael, aka Bael the Bard;

Bael the Bard and the Blue Rose of Winterfell — a story told to Jon by Ygritte, which very much evokes the tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna;

Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon's real father, was a notably skilled lyre player, whose singing supposedly made Lyanna cry — "The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle," (ASOS, Bran II). He is also theorised to have written the song Jenny of Oldstones, possibly for the Ghost of High Heart, Jenny's friend.

Ygritte — when Jon starts to find her more attractive, when he starts to romanticise her, he observes that "sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him," (ASOS, Jon II).

Val — again, we start to see Jon begin to warm to Val, to see her in more of a romantic + typically feminine light, because of her singing to the baby Monster: "I have heard you singing to him," (ADWD, Jon VIII).

Sansa — oh, my sweet Sansa...when remembering his family, not quite in his dying moments, but a little bit prior to that, Jon thinks "Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow," (ADWD, Jon XIII).

I think it's clear that Jon loves a good song and you know what? He'd probably be asking about the lack of singers too! One final detail perhaps worth noting is the seat of House Coldwater:

[...] the Coldwaters of Coldwater Burn [...] – TWOIAF, The Vale

Obviously, the "song of ice and fire" is not a person, but more the elemental and destructive forces of the Others and the dragons, yet nevertheless, through Jon's parentage, as well as his actions (burned hand, etc.), plus his personality to a certain extent (hot-headed then repressing emotions) you do have this duality of hot and cold, of fire and ice...Coldwater Burn? Could be something.

Ser Andrew Tollett

So, like you said, the name Tollett immediately puts us in mind of Eddison Tollett, also known as Dolorous Edd, who is like Jon, a black brother of the Night's Watch. And he is a good brother to Jon, voting for him in the election for the Lord Commander, as well as becoming his loyal steward for a time, before being sent on a mission to Long Barrow. Interestingly, Dolorous Edd, as well as the Tolletts in general, do have a bit of a Stark vibe to them...

Like a typical Stark, Dolorous Edd is described as having a "long face" (ACOK, Jon III), a face like a mule's to be exact, but also notably a horse's as well:

"[...] Me, I have the mules. Nettles claims we're kin. It's true we have the same long face, but I'm not near as stubborn [...]" – ADWD, Jon XII

He only wished he had time to kill Tollett as well. Gloomy horsefaced fool, that's what he is. – ASOS, Prologue

He is given the nickname Dolorous Edd (dolorous = mournful), and is referred to several times as being "dour" (ACOK, Jon II, Jon III, ASOS, Jon V, ADWD, Jon XII, XIII), an attribute not entirely out of place when we consider some notable Starks and their disposition, as well as their house words:

He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. – AGOT, Tyrion II

Winter is coming. The Stark words had never sounded so grim or ominous to Jon as they did now. – AGOT, Jon VIII

I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. – ACOK, Catelyn VI

Ned was shorter and plainer of face, and so somber. He spoke courteously enough, but beneath the words she sensed a coolness that was all at odds with Brandon, whose mirths had been as wild as his rages [...] And after the war, at Winterfell, I had love enough for any woman, once I found the good sweet heart beneath Ned's solemn face. – ASOS, Catelyn V

So, not unlike Jon, Arya and Ned, Dolorous Edd has a "long and solemn" face (AGOT, Arya I), as well as a "dour" personality. Furthermore, even House Tollet of Grey Glen's sigil and words have Stark vibes, since according to semi-canon sources, their shield is "pily grey and black" and their words are "When all is darkest," which arguably carries the same ominous, Long Night warning of "Winter is coming". In addition to this, like the Coldwaters, the Tollets are sworn to the First Men descended Royces.

But beyond this, if we take a look at some legendary and historical Tolletts...we actually have two notable names:

Torgold Tollett — also known as Torgold the Grim, though ironically, because he was famous for riding into battle laughing, and naked from the waist up:

The songs say that Torgold knew no fear and felt no pain. Though bleeding from a score of wounds, he cut a red swathe through Lord Redfort's staunchest warriors, then took his lordship's arm off at the shoulder with a single cut. Nor was he dismayed when the sorceress Ursula Upcliff appeared upon a bloodred horse to curse him. By then he was bare-handed, having left both of his axes buried in a foe's chest, but the singers say he leapt upon the witch's horse, grasped her face between two bloody hands, and tore her head from her shoulders as she screamed for succor. – TWOIAF, The Vale

Ser Jon Tollett — In Fire & Blood, Jon Tollett is recorded as a member of King Maegor the Cruel's Kingsguard. After the king's mysterious death, his successor, King Jaeherys I, offered Maegor's surviving Kingsguard a choice between execution or taking the black. Jon Tollett chose the latter. This somewhat parallels Ned's decision to take the black, to a certain extent.

You could argue that there are more than a few similarities, or future foreshadowings, between these Tolletts and Jon Snow...

Ser Byron the Beautiful

Like you mentioned, Jon Snow has been described by GRRM as a "Byronic, romantic hero". I'm so annoyed with myself, because I had written up some good stuff on how Jon really does possess certain Byronic traits but as I was inserting a gif it ended up deleting most of what I wrote...so I'm still a bit bitter over that, but will rewrite it at some point soon. Take my word for it though, Jon Snow is 100% more of a Byronic Hero (a la Byron's own Manfred), than Sandor Clegane, for example:

GRRM: “Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love.” [source]

Ser Byron, as well as being described as beautiful, is also notably very gallant, the perfect knight:

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders. – AFFC, Alayne II

We all know that Sansa appreciates a bit of genuine courtesy, and in fact, she's taught Jon well in that regard:

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. – ACOK, Jon III

I think this Jon stand-in does rely mostly on Jon's connection to the Byronic Hero. So, if anyone is still a bit dubious on that (because Rochester and Heathcliff are trash), just hang in there for my eventual meta on the subject, which focuses on Lord Byron's OG Byronic Hero, rather than the later Brontë/Victorian iterations.

In fact, in terms of Jon's parentage and future romance with Sansa, there's one Byronic tale that may be a particular source of inspiration — The Bride of Abydos. This poem notably includes a romance in which half-siblings are revealed to be cousins...sound familiar?

Ser Morgarth the Merry

Another hedge knight, like Ser Byron, who is sworn into the service of Petyr Baelish. I've got to agree with you here, red-nosed Ser Morgarth's connection to Jon is quite a bit harder to decipher! I have done a little digging though, and it is possible that the Garth in Morgarth is a reference to several Garths that appear in Jon's chapters, as well as Garth Greenhand, the alleged ancestor of legendary House Stark founder...Brandon the Builder:

Garth of Oldtown

Garth of Greenaway

Garth Greyfeather

All of these Garths are rangers/members of the Night's Watch at the same time as Jon, though I think by Dance it is presumed that they are all dead, or at least missing — in fact, Garth of Greenaway kills Garth of Oldtown. Garth on Garth violence!!

Haha, oh god...I think I just got the pun...Morgarth = More Garth! More Garths the merrier! Get it?! More Garths everybody!

George, I hate you.

Ok, so that's what that is. It's literally just a dumb pun, yet it also connects Morgarth to the Night's Watch Garths, and therefore Jon.

Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse

I think you're right that Ser Shadrich's presence connects us to Brienne's quest, as well as foreshadowing potential shit hitting the fan at the tourney of the Winged Knights. But he also notably makes some interesting remarks, both to Brienne and Sansa, which we can connect to Jon Snow's secret Targaryen heritage:

"Where?" Brienne slapped another silver stag down.

He flicked the coin back at her with his forefinger. "Someplace no stag ever found...though a dragon might." – AFFC, Brienne III

On the surface, in response to Brienne's questioning about the whereabouts of the Stark sisters, Shadrich is talking about a monetary bribe. However, beneath that explicit meaning, is an implicit reference to a stag (Joffrey) failing, where a dragon (Jon) will succeed. Others have talked about this line in more detail elsewhere, but it seems like a pretty good allusion to the foils, Joffrey (a prince who is really a bastard) and Jon (a bastard who is really a prince).

In this exact Winds chapter, however, we also see a conversation between Alayne and Shadrich, which hints at his possible plans to uncover and abduct Sansa Stark in return for a lucrative reward:

“A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that’s not likely, is it?”

This "stumbl[ing] on a bag of dragons" could also be seen as an implicit nod towards stumbling upon Jon's Targaryen heritage later in the novel, something that is more "likely" than anyone would expect. That claim might be a reach, were it not for the implication that when Shadrich talks about money, i.e. dragons...he isn't actually talking about gold coins, he's talking about Targaryens, but more than that...he's talking specifically about Jon Snow.

Ser Albar Royce

"Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir." I think like Ser Morgarth, the physical appearance of these stand-ins doesn't always play a factor, because it would be kind of unnerving if they all had solemn long faces... So, what is important here is, like you say, the name Royce and his relation to Ser Waymar Royce, Sansa's first crush, who just happens to resemble and parallels Jon quite a bit:

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. – AFFC, Alayne I

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned. – AGOT, Prologue

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. – AGOT, Bran I

"They're not my brothers," Jon snapped. "They hate me because I'm better than they are." – AGOT, Jon III

Although, it is worth noting that the Royces, as a whole, do somewhat resemble the Starks in appearance, at least in terms of their eye colour:

Bronze Yohn Royce, the current head of House Royce of Runestone, has "slate-grey eyes" as well as a "solemn face", (AFFC, Alayne I).

Ser Robar, his second son was "comely in a rough-hewn way" (ACOK, Catelyn III), with "pale" eyes (ACOK, Catelyn IV), possibly grey like his father's.

Ser Waymar, Yohn's third son, as mentioned, was "grey-eyed" (AGOT, Prologue).

It isn't as clear whether or not their cadet branch, which Albar belongs to, tend towards grey eyes as well, though we know that Myranda has brown hair, specifically "thick chestnut curls" (AFFC, Alayne II) — typical looking Starks, like Ned, Arya, and Jon, all have brown/dark hair.

As previously mentioned, the Royces are also descended from the First Men, have kinship links to the Starks, knew Ned when he fostered in the Vale, and Bronze Yohn even "knows" Sansa Stark:

"Bronze Yohn knows me," she reminded him. "He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black." She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. "And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw...he saw Sansa Stark again at King's Landing, during the Hand's tourney." – AFFC, Alayne I

His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. She remembered him at table, speaking quietly with her mother. She heard his voice booming off the walls when he rode back from a hunt with a buck behind his saddle. She could see him in the yard, a practice sword in hand, hammering her father to the ground and turning to defeat Ser Rodrik as well. He will know me. How could he not? She considered throwing herself at his feet to beg for his protection. He never fought for Robb, why should he fight for me? The war is finished and Winterfell is fallen. "Lord Royce," she asked timidly, "will you have a cup of wine, to take the chill off?"

Bronze Yohn had slate-grey eyes, half-hidden beneath the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen. They crinkled when he looked down at her. "Do I know you, girl?" – AFFC, Alayne I

They also have the house words "We will remember", which somewhat evokes the recurring refrain "the north remembers" (ASOS, Catelyn, ADWD, Davos IV, ADWD, A Ghost in Winterfell, TWOW, Theon I), as well as a possible remembrance of the Long Night, similar to the Starks’ and Tolletts’ words. All in all, as well as evoking a certain Starkness (and Jon-ness), the Royces seem set up to be staunch allies of the Starks going forward.

All Three Sunderlands

Since these Sunderland brothers aren't given names, we can assume what is significant about them, in relation to Jon and Sansa, is their Sunderland name. As you noted, the Sunderlands are the reigning lords of the Three Sisters, and in Dance, through Davos' pov, we hear about Ned's time there during Robert's Rebellion:

"At the dawn of Robert's Rebellion. The Mad King had sent to the Eyrie for Stark's head, but Jon Arryn sent him back defiance. Gulltown stayed loyal to the throne, though. To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down. They say he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly. Jon Snow, she named him, after Arryn.

"Be that as it may. My father sat where I sit now when Lord Eddard came to Sisterton. Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was open-handed with them as pleased him. By then we knew that Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, though. Robert was the first man to gain the wall, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. 'This Baratheon is fearless,' I said. 'He fights the way a king should fight.' Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true…but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.' " – ADWD, Davos I

This passage has one of my favourite asoiaf quotes of all time..."In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true...but what if we prevail?" Truly iconic. So defiantly hopeful.

But, yes, you're right that this story, and the Sunderlands, connects us to Ned, but more importantly...to Jon Snow. Really, Jon has quite a few Vale connections, all things considered, and he is named after Jon Arryn after all!

Uther Shett

Well, along with his buddy Ossifer Lipps (ass for lips), Uther Shett (utter shit) is an example of George having some pretty lowbrow fun with punny names. During their dance, Uther paid Alayne "slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet"...so not the best partner!

But from one shit to another...I think you're probably right that Uther Shett is meant to recall Chett, indeed, if we take a look at his description in Winds:

The one on her left was no more than eighteen, and skinny as a spear. His ginger-colored whiskers only partially served to disguise the angry red pimples that dotted his face.

His bad skin is somewhat comparable to Chett's boils:

Chett had a wen on his neck the size of a pigeon's egg, and a face red with boils and pimples. Perhaps that was why he always seemed so angry. – AGOT, Jon V

What is also noteworthy about Chett's prologue pov in ASOS, is that we get this linking of literal snow and Jon Snow:

Snow was falling.

He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks. It isn't fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he'd worked for, all his careful plans. It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him [...] The snow's taken it all from me...the bloody snow...

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig. – ASOS, Prologue

This makes any mention of snow beyond this point a bit more noteworthy, especially since Jon is referred to as "the Snow of Winterfell," (ASOS, Jon I), and we also have Sansa's famous "drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses" whilst building Winterfell out of snow scene, also in ASOS, (Sansa VII). So, Chett is very important when it comes to establishing this connection.

Ser Targon the Halfwild

Targon is only mentioned once and it is in that list of dance partners. He's not connected to any particular house, all we know of him is that he is a knight and that he "proved to be the soul of courtesy." This detail is interesting because it sort goes against his "Halfwild" moniker — he is courteous in spite of his half-wildness. Likewise, Jon is also courteous, chivalrous and knightly even, in spite of the stigma attached to being a bastard:

They still think me a turncloak. That was a bitter draft to drink, but Jon could not blame them. He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. And he had made as many enemies as friends at Castle Black...Rast, for one. Jon had once threatened to have Ghost rip his throat out unless he stopped tormenting Samwell Tarly, and Rast did not forget things like that. – ASOS, Jon VII

As mentioned in comparison to Ser Byron, Jon behaves courteously towards Gilly, calling her name "pretty", just as Sansa taught him. He also often refers to Val as "my lady" despite her being a proud woman of the Free Folk. Jon also clearly looks up to and wishes to emulate legendary knights to a certain extent, and behaving with courtesy and honour is very much part of that:

They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." – ASOS, Jon XII

Furthermore, Jon has this connection to the Free Folk, also known as the wildlings, having spent a fair amount of time with them:

"The wildling blood is the blood of the First Men, the same blood that flows in the veins of the Starks [...]" – ASOS, Jon I

"Some of your own Sworn Brothers would have me believe that you are half a wildling yourself. Is it true?" – ADWD, Jon IV

Mully cleared his throat. "M'lord? The wildling princess, letting her go, the men may say—"

"—that I am half a wildling myself, a turncloak who means to sell the realm to our raiders, cannibals, and giants." Jon did not need to stare into a fire to know what was being said of him. The worst part was, they were not wrong, not wholly. "Words are wind, and the wind is always blowing at the Wall. Come." – ADWD, Jon VIII

"A wildling. A filthy, murdering wildling." Cregan's hands closed into fists. The gloves that covered them were leather, lined with fur to match the cloak that hung matted and stiff from his broad shoulders. His black wool surcoat was emblazoned with the white sunburst of his house. "I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first?" He laughed. "If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

"My name is Snow." – ADWD, Jon X

I am not the trusting fool you take me for...nor am I half wildling, no matter what you believe. – ADWD, Jon XI

If Stark blood is also essentially wildling blood, and Jon is half Stark on his mother's side...that would make him "Halfwild" in blood as well as in spirit. And like you said, Targon feels very close to Targaryen/Targ-Jon. So this name is there solely as a hint towards Jon's true parentage — half Targaryen and half Stark. But I think you could argue that the "Halfwild" element could allude to Jon's post-resurrection state as well. I do personally like the idea of Feral Jon™.

Ser Roland & Ser Wallace Waynwood

Like the Royces, and Dolorous Edd, the Waynwoods also bear some notable Stark physical traits, as noted by Myranda in this chapter:

“The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? [...]"

As we know, looking horse-faced, or in Edd's case, mule-faced, indicates a rather long visage:

Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. – AGOT, Arya I

[Arya] even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. – AGOT, Sansa I

Interestingly though, Jon is never referred to as being called horse-faced, although we know he has a long Stark face. You'd think that Chett, in the ASOS Prologue would have made that kind of dig, since he says as much about Dolorous Edd? This is why I tentatively believe that, although long-faced, Jon isn't as apparently "homely" as these Stark looking Waynwood brothers:

Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought.

That being said, I don't think he's as "handsome" as Ser Waymar Royce, or "beautiful" like Ser Byron. But obviously, he's got something going for him because as GRRM says "all the girls love" him, and you know, he's got a good bod probably and if the Giant's Lance cake is anything to go by, as well as all Tormund's small penis jokes...um, well, maybe he's packing, I don't know! (Don't look at me like that guys...it's GRRM not me!)

But anyway! Like you said, Ser Wallace Waynwood is even of an age with Robb, and therefore also Jon:

Robb would be his age, if he were still alive, she could not help but think, but Robb died a king, and this is just a boy.

There is also a teeny bit of Stark blood, though obviously potent stuff, in the mix with those Waynwoods:

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest...it might have been a Templeton, but..."

"Mother." There was a sharpness in Robb's tone. "You forget. My father had four sons." – ASOS, Catelyn V

Shit — "all of whom wed Vale lordlings" — that's probably where all these Stark looking mother fudgers are coming from. So, all in all, I think there's some strong parallels.

And finally...Ser Harrold Hardyng

But let's not forget this bitch.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

Prior to Harry, who notably fits into the Ashford pattern of Sansa's suitors, we have all these Jon stand-ins, or references to Jon. We can actually separate them out into their different functions, though there is some overlap with Andrew Tollett:

Those who reference Jon's Starkness/the Stark Look™:

Andrew Tollett

Albar Royce

Roland Waynwood

Wallace Waynwood

Those who reference his position/location at the Night's Watch:

Because in the Alayne chapter prior to this one, Sansa learns that Jon has been made Lord Commander:

[..] Oh, and the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s.” “Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised. “Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

So, it is interesting that you then have a number of dance partners connected to members of the Watch:

Ben Coldwater

Andrew Tollett

Morgarth the Merry

Uther Shett

This could be read as foreshadowing for Sansa's future journey north, and specifically to the Wall, where she believes Jon to be.

Those who reference his true/uncertain parentage:

Byron the Beautiful

Shadrich the Mad Mouse

The Three Sunderlands

Targon the Halfwild

All these guys get a dance, but when Harry asks? He is denied. It is only after some A+ dragging by Alayne, and begging by Harry that the latter gets his dance. Yet don't be fooled into thinking this is a win for Harrold:

"Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I’ll be all the spice you’ll want."

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

First off, we have this reminder of the betrothal, but there is a lack of certainty there — "should we wed" — and I would argue that's because...they ain't gonna. Remember all that wedding breakfast imagery, including an umcomfortably phallic lemon (wedding) cake, gift-giving and nod to a bridal cloak? Remember how that was followed by several dances with Jon stand-ins?

"[...] It is promised to… another."

Oh, I wonder who that could be? Honestly...GRRM has very clearly, for those who care to really look, stated someone else's claim here, and it ain't Harry's. In fact, it is the very same person who also evokes Valarr Targaryen in the Ashford pattern.

...it's our boi, Jon Snow.

“Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised.

“Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

You "suppose", Myranda? Honey, I'm certain.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #cappy's thoughts #Alayne I Winds #i'm actually so chuffed with myself on the morgarth = more garth #thanks for this ask!#jonsa supremacy honestly

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abbysfrenchbraid · 4 years ago

Note

So today’s my birthday I was was wonder if we could get some strap on birthday sex with Abby please👉🏾👈🏾

Happy Birthday!!! Okay, I just speed wrote this in the last two hours and I had no time to proofread because I need to leave in three minutes but here you go. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: heavy smut, strap on, language

Birthday Sex

The first thing you felt when you woke up was the sunshine caressing your face and bare chest, welcoming you back into consciousness and predicting a wonderful day for you. Then you noticed the heavy arm lying across your stomach and the soft breath on your neck, your lover snuggling up to you in her sleep. You turned your head slightly to look at the beautiful blonde laying beside you. Her braid had come undone in the night and her hair was falling over her freckled shoulders, forming paths on her muscular back and her small, pale breasts.

Abby hummed when you tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gently placed a kiss on her forehead. She pulled you closer and buried her face in the crook of your neck.

“Good morning, birthday girl.”

She slid a thigh between your legs and rolled her hips against you, slowly kissing up your throat.

“How did you sleep, my love?”

You giggled at the tickle of her hair against your skin.

“I always sleep like a baby next to you, Abby. You’re just so big and warm and cuddly.”

The blonde slowly kissed her way upwards to your lips and continued to slowly grind against you until you opened your legs ever so slightly. Abby pulled back and grinned at you.

“Are you ready for your first present?”

“What present?”

You had told Abby not to get you anything and instead wished for her to take a day off work and spend your birthday with you. She got up and stretched, the small muscles on her back dancing in the morning sun and her hamstrings and calves flexing as she stood on her toes to get a carton box off the top of the closet. Both of you had slept naked after a long night of drinking with Manny, Leah, and Nora and an even longer lovemaking session to celebrate the next year of your life.

The soldier sat down next to you on the bed and you sat up, excited to see what she had gotten you. Abby’s cheeks were a little flushed and she looked at you for a moment before dropping her gaze.

“Thank you, baby.” You leaned forward and gave your flustered girlfriend a kiss, then you opened the box and let out a small yelp. “Oh my god, is that-”

It was a black silicone dildo laying on a nest of black straps - a harness?

You looked up at Abby in disbelief. She was grinning, now confident in her choice of gift.

“Got it on that last patrol run with Leah. We found a sex store.”

You carefully took the toy out of the box, weighing it in your hand and testing the flexibility. It looked completely clean and new, without any signs of its age. It was a decent size, definitely bigger than two of Abby’s fingers. You had never used one of these before and were pretty sure Abby hadn’t either.

“Do you know how to do this?”

The wolf leaned forward with a devilish grin. “I tried it on already. It fits perfectly. Now we just have to find out if you can fit it, too.”

Her words hit you like a punch to your lower abdomen and you involuntarily pressed your legs together as you felt something awaken between your legs. You tried to laugh but it sounded shaky and you felt yourself crumble under Abby’s burning gaze. She let you suffer for a moment, then she took the dildo out of your hands, placed it back on top of the harness and pushed the carton aside.

Crawling on top of you, she put her thigh back between your legs and pressed it against you, making you sigh with relief over the friction you had been needing ever since you woke up. Abby gently dragged her tongue along your jaw and bottom lip while she grabbed your leg and pulled it up to her side in order to get a better angle as she grinded against you, finally kissing you with an open mouth. Your tongues began dancing slowly, then faster as your breathing got louder and you grabbed a handful of long, blonde hair and pulled until Abby moaned into your mouth.

It took all your strength to throw the wolf over to the side and roll on top of her, pressing your hips against her and lightly choking her as you sat up and began riding her thigh. You let your hand wander over her chest and toned stomach, dragging your nails down her leg and back up, leaving red streaks on the soft, white skin on the inside of her thigh.

Abby groaned and grabbed your waist, guiding your movements and slightly turning you to the side until your dripping core was right on top of her hot, red center. With a sigh, you dropped your weight on her and started grinding your pussy against hers until both of you were coated in each other’s juices. It began as a pulling sensation in your stomach, slowly building as you looked at your lover, beautifully spread out underneath you and breathing heavily in the same rhythm as you. Abby’s moans slowly started to gain volume and she pressed up her hips against you, grabbing you tight with one hand and raising the other to land on your asscheek with a hard slap. The sting made you cry out, letting your head drop as you rode her harder and harder, both of you close to release. You held on to Abby’s thigh and sunk your fingernails into her toned flesh when you heard her scream and felt her convulse underneath you, the sound of her pleasure finally sending you over the edge. A wave of heat and adrenaline rushed over you and your thighs shook uncontrollably as you fell forward onto your lover’s chest.

Both of you lay in silence for a moment, shaky breath filling the room and the sun warming your naked bodies. You let yourself fall to the side to release Abby of your weight, but she immediately pulled you close and into a loving kiss.

“Someone is hungry today. You didn’t even let me put on the strap first.” She smiled at you and placed her hand over your pulsating mound, making you squirm under her fingers and twitch from the overstimulation.

“Who said you can’t still put it on for me?” You looked up at her innocently and pushed your hips forward into her touch, ignoring your screaming nerves and searching for more.

Abby groaned. “It’s been two minutes. You have too much energy in the morning, babe.”

You pouted for a second until the blonde reached for the box at the bottom of the bed. She got up and took out the harness, pulling it tight around her hips and thighs and placing the dildo in the hold at the front. Staring at her perfectly toned body and the phallic toy that she was probably about to destroy you with, you could feel your dripping wet center become more heated with anticipation.

The wolf kneeled on the bed next to you and let her gaze wander over your naked body.

“You want me to warm you up first? I don’t want to hurt you.”

You thought about it for a second, but you knew you were more than ready and honestly just wanted Abby to fill you up and fuck you until you screamed. Holding her gaze, you slowly spread your legs and moved your hand down your body. When you spread your lips with your fingers for her, her eyes widened and you could see a wave of tension go through her body, small muscles and fingers flexing involuntarily.

“Oh, I think I’ll be just fine. Now can you please come here and fuck me?”

The blonde finally pulled herself together and quickly positioned herself between your legs. She came onto her forearms left and right of your face and you dipped into your own wetness to coat the tip of the toy in your juices. Then you guided the tip towards your entrance and placed a hand on Abby’s ass, slowly pulling her towards you.

When she entered you, the sensation was strange at first, cold and harder than the well-knowing fingers that usually made you cum in minutes or hours, depending on Abby’s mood and how much she wanted to torture you. When she was fully inside of you, she stopped for a minute and let you breathe and adjust, then she pulled out again and thrust into you with more force. Your fingers found yourself in Abby’s hair, twisting and pulling it, clawing at her neck and shoulders as she picked up the pace. This feeling was different than what you had known before, the pleasure originated from much deeper inside you and filled every single cell in your body.

Abby was panting on top of you, a thin layer of sweat under your fingers as you dragged them down her back. She sat up and grabbed your hips, ramming into you from a deeper angle and you screamed out her name, arching your back and trying to find some kind of hold on the wall above your head. The wolf was merciless. She raised her hips and stood tall on her knees, pulled your legs up until only your shoulder blades were touching the bed and held you tight as she fucked you mercilessly, making you cry out with every stroke and grab the sheets until your knuckles were white.

This time, your orgasm came suddenly. You had been so overwhelmed by the experience that you hadn’t noticed it building, your body gripping on tighter to the strap and your breathing becoming more and more rapid until it was suddenly smothered by a silent scream, your body tensing so much you could not even scream anymore. Beautiful chaos was exploding in front of your closed eyes, white heat was soaring through your body and you felt nothing but Abby on top of you, inside you, her hands all over you and her groans filling the room while you melted in her fingers.

She slowly lowered you back down on the bed and pulled out of you, leaving you feeling like a hollow shell only filled by the breath in your lungs and the blood rushing through your veins. Your sweaty lover quickly discarded the harness and jumped on the bed to lie beside you, pulling you into her heated body and holding you tight.

“You are incredible. I just came from watching you come,” she whispered into your hair.

You snuggled up even closer to her and looked up.

“Seriously? I didn’t even notice.”

She snorted.

“Of course you didn’t, you were paying a visit to god for a second there. I hope you’re satisfied for now because I’m absolutely wasted. I hate cardio, man.”

You laughed and lightly pinched her waist.

“You loved it, big girl. What’s for breakfast?”

Abby stared at you in disbelief. “Will you give me a break? God, you’re insatiable. In every sense!”

You pulled up the blanket over both of you and gave her a peck on the lips.

“Alright, 10 more minutes.”

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby x reader #the last of us 2 #abby tlou #abby simp society #abby anderson fic #abigail anderson #smut #anon

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hosierydarling · 3 years ago

Text

A Peace of Rose

I swore I had been asleep but I could feel the nudge behind me. It was both urgent and reluctant, but nevertheless was enough to knit my brow and blearily prise open one eye.

The nudge came again with a whisper, "Sam...I...I can't sleep."

I lazily shook the sleep from myself and pinched the bridge of my nose. "You mean to say our romp wasn't enough...you need more, my love?"

I could almost feel you chew your lip in hesitation. "No it...it's not that. I am sated for now but, it's just..." I felt your fingers curl over the curve of my shoulder, so tender, hoping for forgiveness for waking me. "I just feel so....restless. I need you to do the thing ..."

A smirk played across my lips and I half twisted to face my Rose more properly. "You woke me up to do that?"

Your features were a picture of innocent need. "Please, I always fall asleep much better with you in that way; in fact I know that you sleep better too..."

I smiled again. "Alright Rose, you don't have to convince me. But, no naughtiness...even if you get aroused. I have an early morning tomorrow."

You smiled a tiny contented smile as I pushed back the duvet and slid my silky stockinged legs out. You slid out of bed on your end in your pink gauzy babydoll to assist me in the remaking of our bed. Once finished, you started to disrobe. I couldn't help but to watch you for a few seconds as you started to unfasten your garters from the white lace welts of your stockings.

I smiled fondly and turned away to fetch one of our nylon tubes from storage. I chose one of a nude hue and fine construction so as not to feel so heavy on our sleeping forms. When I returned I delicately laid the tube on top of our bed with the open end towards the foot.

Turning back to you, I saw you were stark naked, mid bend into scooping up your discarded lingerie. I bit my lip and gasped gently at the soft beauty of your lush curves and felt myself begin to stiffen.

I thought 'oh! not yet...not yet' and rushed to select a cock ring from my collection. Swiftly fitting it over my shaft before it got too hard, I pulled my sac through the ring and corkscrewed it down to the base of my genitalia.

You had crept up behind me and purred, "I'm ready."

I saw that you had selected two of our slate grey bodysuits, both with phallic sheathes at the gusset. I knew the very way that you took the time to catch my attention meant that you wanted me to help you into yours. Taking you by the hand I led you over to our dressing pedestal.and helped you to stand atop it.

I gathered the first leg of your suit, rolling it up to the material of the body and asked for your right foot. As you extended towards me I enjoyed the play of silky shimmer of the skin of your foot and the cute playful pink you had adorned your toenails with. I knew that they were going to show incredibly sexy through the sheer grey of your suit. I spread the toe seam over your foot and tugged the nylon up your ankle and calf.

I could feel myself get so hard in my cock ring. My bulbous crest shining red as I helped you dress in the most provocative of fabrics. Easing the left leg over your foot I delicately tugged and smoothed the nylon to cling perfectly over your long legs and the underside of your buttocks.

But...here is where I had to be careful, because you were such a sensitive girl with a very sensitized puss. I gently inverted the penis sheathe so that I could fit it past your lips and into your vaginal canal. But, of course, I didn't want to arouse you unduly; as all of this preparation was merely for sleep, not pleasure.

I cupped your mound to warm you, hoping to dull your senses a little. Teasing open your outer labia, I worked the sheathe material into your folds. I, then, delicately inserted my pinkie finger into the sheathe opening to spread the silk out within you so it did not lie bunched within your lips.

I felt proud that I had managed all of this with only one slight small gasp from you. Looking up at your face with a smile as I could now pull the suit up over your hips to hug at your ass.

You giggled and teased me, " You do such a better job at putting on nylon than I do."

I smirked, knowing full well that you are intimately connected to the diaphanous material yourself. I breathed out, "Liar..."

Pulling the suit up over the plain of your stomach, I asked for you to help me to insert your arms and fingers into the gloves of your suit, to better assist me in readying the suit for fitting over the lush slope of your breasts. I marveled at your slender arms as they pushed open the grey nylon, your fingers sliding perfectly into each sheer digit.

I stepped behind you to ensure that the shimmering material had smoothed appropriately along your spine and helped to ease your pretty tits in place; and draw the the remainder up your decolletage.

All that remained was to hood you, gathering your tresses to fall down one shoulder. I pulled the hood of your suit over your scalp and shrouded your face in perfect silk.

"All set my love."

Leaving you to slide languidly onto the bed, i finished shucking off my stockings and slid out of my robe, bra and panty; letting them drop upon your pooled lingerie like discarded film.

I sauntered over to the stool where we had left my suit and swiftly encased my legs, drawing the nylon up over my thighs. Shifting slightly, twisting the suit into position so that the sheathe could fit over my bulging shaft.

I looked over to see you crawling into the nude nylon tube and bit my lip half dropping long lashed lids and stroked the sheathe onto my cock with the vision of your slate grey form showing against the nude tube as you shimmied inside like a butterfly in its chrysalis against the inside of my eyelids.

I shook my head to clear my own arousal and smoothed the suit up my torso, contorting gently to get my arms within the silken confines. My nipples stood out torturously as I worked the suit to my neck and drew the hood up over my features. Taking another moment to ensure my suit was sitting, clinging to my curves; I delicately padded over to the bed and slid up on my knees. Enjoying your smile through two layers of our beloved nylon, I opened the tube behind you and made to enter.

The feel of your legs against my arms and tits was electric as I pulled myself within the tight cocoon. My knee drew upwards and pushed against the softness of your rump as I pawed my way up behind you, easing into place.

I kissed the nylon clad nape of your neck and nestled my chin against your shoulder.

Our feet worked in unison, caressing against each other to tuck the open end of the tube under itself in closure.

My hand drifted over your hip to cup your mound, wondering at how closed your petals felt despite being stuffed with nylon and being so hot under my palm. My sheathed member pushed against the plump globes of your derriere and began to slowly rhythmically brush and caress against the cleft of your ass...just as you like it.

You breathed out a long blissful sigh and for some reason you were not certain of, you began to suckle on the silk of your thumb. Eyes flitting closed in a state of peace and tranquility.

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justagirlsearchingforamuse · 4 years ago

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A/N: So here is my first twd and first Negan smut, I posted this on ao3 where I will take requests and the link will be somewhere around here but I hope you guys enjoy and have a good filthy fucking time, lol.

The sound of heavy footsteps could be heard in the empty store covered and coated with dust, serene silence had filled the entire store long ago and left it untouched and latex was a scent that remained strong in the store. His eager forest green eyes darted around the store as so many things caught his interest, so many things to play with, so many ways to punish you and the rest of his lovely wives. He had a few other men with him like always, grumpy and always seen as no shit taken kinda guys but with this trip, they couldn't stop grinning and staring at everything that the store had. "Mmh, so whaddya' think guys ... should I pick up a few toys for my girls? ... Give them something to fuck themselves with whilst I'm gone." Negan chuckled devilishly to himself as he crouched down in front of a tall shelf full of many phallic-shaped toys that were now covered in large amounts of dust. A wide box with many smaller yet more pleasurable toys lied in the box, picking up one of the toys, he rubs the dust off of the small silver vibrator, grinning devilishly at the small toy he chuckles. This will be perfect. That's all that Negan thinks of with a sly grin on his lips, he slips it into his back pockets before picking up the dusty old box of toys and motions one of his men over. "Here, take this to my truck, I just wanna have a look around ... see whatever the fuck there is to see," Negan announced, handing the large man the dusty box.

"Of course, boss ...", the man answered carrying the decently sized box out into the driveway, obeying his commands sheepishly almost with a cheesy grin at the mere sight of anything shaped like a penis. Negan grins to himself before sluggishly moving his way towards the opposite end of the store, eager to see what else the untouched store had to offer him. An almost genuine grin always rested upon his lips. But my, my, my did he have some plans for you being his latest wife that he took under his wing. You had taken your time with Negan, you knew he had his eyes on you for quite a while but you weren't going to marry him without knowing something about him, you spent a little while getting to know him. You went on dates here and there even though a good portion of those dates were just you guys driving away from the Saviors and having lunch somewhere else. Or Negan and you spend almost all day in his bedroom, no fucking, no weapons, no zombies just two people in baggy clothes and not a fuck to give in the world as you guys either talked or watched movies. Honestly, you had made your decision when he started opening up to you more or when he started to smile more around you, or when he just seemed lighter and more alive. You thought things might be different. Now here you are, hanging out with one of his wives, a glass of water for you as you both talked about your past lives before hell had became reality. You both relaxed on the couch, she grinned widely at your past with more than one of his wives always holding a glass of wine, honestly, you weren't a big fan of alcohol especially since you didn't have the best past. One dealing with alcoholism and it was your past that you kept buried.

The wives weren't that bad at least not most of them, sure some of them gave you the side-eye or would bump into you purposefully but you weren't big on conflict or drawing attention to yourself so nothing ever came of it. You take a sip of your water, unaware of the mischief that Negan has in store for you and only you alone. Sighing to yourself as one of Negan's wives rambles on and on to you about one of her stupid shitty exes, you can't help but feel Negan slip and slither his way into your mind. You thought about when he would be back, even wondering if he was safe, licking your lips a sigh soon falls from them before you see the wide black doors swing open and there is your husband, Negan. He's grinning widely, forcing it on a little too much as he comes in a tall yet decent sized box, immediately almost everyone's minds wondered what was in the box. "Hey, ladies ...! As you know I always keep my promises and I promised to bring my lovely wives something that they'd enjoy. Just a little token of my appreciation for ya'll ..." Negan exclaims excitedly, moving and rubbing his hands together as the poor prisoner who had to carry it had set it down, opening the box and you could hear glass clinking together. Ugh, alcohol. You immediately rolled your eyes, sighing to yourself before thinking of maybe snagging a bottle of something in case of emergencies, you knew that Negan and mostly everyone there loved alcohol. It's not that you didn't like alcohol especially since you found yourself drinking more often than not due to stress but you just didn't want to acquire a habit that you couldn't get freed of. You watched as all the girls got up to go see what was in the box and the excitement that you could feel in the room as they all began to raid the box for alcohol.

You remained seated on the couch with a glass of water, sighing to yourself before taking a sip, thinking to yourself about your past for a few moments making you swallow your water deeply at the painful memories. "Why don't you go and grab a bottle before they steal it all ...? Oh, my bad ... you know starting to get forgetful, you rarely drink and even then you always complain about how bad it smells ..." Negan chuckles to himself, grinning at you eagerly as he couldn't stop thinking about the small pocket vibrator in his back pocket, all he had to do was do a little convincing and maybe you'd agree to it. You nearly jumped at his sudden appearance, you chuckle at his words before resting a hand upon your chest as you couldn't stop yourself from grinning in front of Negan. He is standing right beside the couch, right next to your body, you sigh deeply before finally responding. " ... I don't have a favorite ... I mean ... eh, I'll tell you more about it as time goes on and if we're still standing. Also, wanted to cut back a bit on my drinking, ya know?" You respond, holding a now empty glass in the palm of your hands, both of your eyes meet for a few moments and you can sense the lust, the eagerness that darkened his eyes. "Yeah, but since you're not doing anything, darling ... I wanted to talk with you in my room, that's if you don't want to sit here and just drink water ..." Negan snickered, taking your hand into his own before you sighed deeply and got up from the couch, his hand still intertwined with yours. You both walk out of the room, the women almost done searching for their preferred bottle of alcohol, his bedroom was a door or 2 down from that room. He opens the door to his bedroom for you with a wide grin resting upon his lips, you enter his bedroom which was neat as always which you always appreciated. "So ... what did you want to talk about? ... Is it good or bad?" You ask, crossing your arms as you couldn't deny that always on edge feeling that stuck like gum at the bottom of your shoes. He chuckles at your question, he licks his lips before sitting down on the bed, rubbing his chin he can't help but like how smart you are, how you question his intentions.

"Awe, darling you always keep yourself on your toes, don't ya? ... I have a very special gift for you, my darling ... it may be small but it does plenty of fucking damage." He answers, a smirk curling onto the sides of his lips, you can sense the mischief in his expression and you expect it to be something that would embarrass you but it also left you eager to find out what it was. "What are you bringing Dwight to fuck me ...? Cause you already know my thoughts on that, love." You chuckle, rolling your eyes with a devilish grin curling onto your lips, Negan couldn't stop himself from chuckling before putting a hand on his chest. "Oh, darling ... aren't you able to murder people with your words? But that's not it, my dear wife ... I'll show you it, I think you'll enjoy it. A lot." Negan chuckles, stopping himself from nearly bursting into laughter at your words, he digs his hand through his pocket and pulls out the small silver bullet vibrator. He then pulls out the remote control he found scavenging through the store, you stare at the silver toy in the palm of his hands for a few moments before biting your lips. "I ... we can use it in the bedroom ... you don't have to ask me twice, ha. I'll enjoy this gift, Negan ... thank you, love." You say, trying to hide the smile that curled onto your lips, you sit beside him and reach out to take it from the palm of his hand before he balls his hand up into a fist. "Ah, ah, ah~ ...! Not yet, my darling ... you must know that I want to do so much more than just use this in the bedroom. ... If anything, I've been thinking of all the ways I could use this little fuckin' toy on you outside of the bedroom." Negan confesses, a smirk resting upon his lips as your mouth becomes agape at the idea that he just explained to you.

"But ... I don't know if I'll be able to handle it. I just have never done something like that, I mean that sounds like it can be so fucking embarrassing. Is that what you want to do? Embarrass me?" You exclaim, your cheeks now a rosy red and your lips pursed together. Negan chuckles before moving his hand onto your exposed thigh, you can feel your stomach flutter with butterflies as you can already see it. You can see you making a fool out of yourself, you can see yourself being branded in the eyes of some as a slut or a whore because of this idea. It mortifies you. "Come on, darling ... you know if things get too messy or too embarrassing I'll drag you off to my bedroom and make it up to you, love. It'll just be for 10 minutes, I wanna see how you handle it. Still, we don't have to if you're not keen on that idea." Negan purrs in your ear, you can feel your body shudder at the lewd and sultriness that drips off of every word, you take in a breath as you can feel his hand travel even higher. Licking your lips, you can feel your cheeks become even hotter and your body is surrendering to all of his charms and you can't stop yourself from being interested in the idea, you can't stop yourself from wanting to see how it plays out. " ... I'm interested in it. But you better keep your promise, if things get too embarrassing or if I draw too much attention then drag me out of there." You exclaim, grasping at his infamous leather jacket and you turn your attention towards him, you could see and just sense the lust and the arousal that darkened his eyes, that influenced his body. He chuckles as his devilish grin grows even wider, he licks his lips before burying his face into your neck, sucking and nipping at the smooth skin.

"Mmh ..." You groan, your fingers tangle themselves in his air and you can feel his hand press against the hem of your panties, igniting this spark of arousal that had you gasping his name lowly. You feel his fingers pull and tug at the waistband of your panties as he slowly pulls them down to your ankles, he then takes the slim and short toy and spreads your legs apart. You can't help but shiver and shudder at the cold feeling of the metal entering you, your walls cling to the slender toy and you can feel Negan's hands pull your panties back up onto your waist. He pulls away from your neck, before pressing a sloppy yet messy kiss against your lips, he savors the messy aspect of the kiss as you can feel his tongue try and pry your lips apart. You grin into the kiss before pulling away shyly, your eyes dart away from his lustful ones, your hands rest themselves on his shoulders. "Come on, let's see how this goes, love." You shyly say, getting up from the bed as you straighten your skirt out, you can feel every hair on the surface of your skin stand tall and your nerves become more visible. Boy, did he make a fool out of you, God the first 5 minutes were mortifying.

You were 5 minutes into it and you already felt your legs were numb, your thighs were soaked and dripping with your juices that struggled to stay in your underwear, your entire body was throbbing and aching with demand. Biting your bottom lip, you found yourself on the balcony where Negan announces whatever he needs to tell the community, you felt the toy vibrate erratically and strongly inside of you causing you to bite your tongue hard. Everyone had given you weird looks, you could barely contain yourself and you were completely redfaced, gripping the railing you were panting heavily as Negan had stood right beside you, shit-eating grin widely on his lips. Him enjoying this was an understatement, fuck, he loved seeing you struggle to contain your filthy fucking urges, he loved hearing those low moans that you let slip when no one else was around. But most of all he loved when you came, how your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, and how your legs shook before an audible groan slipped from your lips, he's surprised at how much control he has over himself. He's surprised he hasn't bent you over yet and fucked you hard, oh wait he might do just that. "Negan ... please ... oh fuck ... turn it down, please ...!" You whimpered, leaning against the railing before a moan was pried from your lips at the feeling of the vibrations becoming even stronger. You felt your body weaken and give in to those strong jolts of ecstasy that traveled all over your entire body, leaving it aching and begging for more. "Not yet, darling ... do you know how fucking hot you are right now? I'm surprised I haven't done this sooner, babygirl. I bet you're just so fucking wet because of a stupid fucking toy, aren't you, darling?" Negan chuckles, his words whispered in your ears as not to alert the guards who remained below you both. Biting your bottom lip, you just want him inside of you, you want to feel his cock throbbing in you, you want to feel his hot cum fill your insides. "P-Please ... I need you so fucking bad, love ..." You whine, clutching at his jacket once again, your eyes pleading desperately with his own, smirking devilishly at you, he grabs you by your chin with greedy eyes. "Beg for it, darlin' ... show me how much you want me to fuck that tight little pussy of yours ..." Negan purrs in your ear, his other hand feeling up your trembling body as you gnawed at your lips, hating him for teasing you even more. "I swear to fucking god, Negan ... please ... give it to me." You whispered, tugging even harder at his leather jacket before you greedily devour his lips, his large slender hands cup your cheeks as he grins into your lips, letting a deep groan slip in between your lips.

"Mmh, darlin' ... show me how much you want it. Get on your knees, baby ... worship my cock and give me a reason to fuck you until you're beggin' for more." Negan chuckles, licking his lips as you waste no time in getting on your knees as your fingers grope and rub against the tall bulge in his jeans. "You better keep your word ..." You mutter beneath your breath as you unzip his jeans, you can hear low and distant snickers from down below, making you nearly roll your eyes at the thought that they were listening. Negan didn't care. No, he didn't give a fuck. As long as they did their damn jobs, everything is gonna be peachy. You can feel his hand cradling the back of your head as you pull his boxers down as well, his thick meaty erection sprang forth, leaking and eager for your warm touch. "Go on ... I'm startin' to get a bit impatient, darlin' ..." Negan coos, a devilish smile planted on his lips before that smile fades away into a long satisfying groan leaving his lips at the new yet familiar warmth wrapped around the head of his cock. Fuck. You lightly suck on the head of his throbbing cock, you wrap your hand firmly around his meaty veiny shaft, you slowly stroke him causing sheer waves of bliss rippling through him. "Damn, darlin' ..." He groans breathlessly, licking his lips, low sucking noises echoed through the large garage, he is savoring and relishing in the idea that his own men are seeing you bend to his very will. Goddamn. You start to move your hands away from his shaft and you wrap your slender fingers around his thighs to keep him still as you engulfed more of his throbbing cock in between your lips earning a light tug at your hair. He's biting at his tongue, swallowing the saliva that had coated his mouth, he could feel the warmth just surround and embrace his throbbing cock eagerly, strong and sustained jolts of ecstasy washed over him mercilessly. "Fuckin' hell, that feels so fuckin' good baby ..." Negan groans, the urge is there to shove your head down further onto his cock but he knows that with patience comes good things. That's if he could handle it or hold himself back.

"That's it, baby ... worship my cock, take my cock in between those pretty little lips of yours like that ..." Negan chuckles before a moan is pried from his lips, you begin to suck him off even harder, causing this energetic sensation to wash over him, of course, it's indescribable but only with thoughts of it being fucking amazing. You begin to slowly move your head back and forth on his throbbing cock, you can feel him twitch and throb in between your lips as you take him almost effortlessly in your mouth. Negan isn't holding back, he's groaning your name and clutching a fistful of your hair as he isn't shy about showing how good your mouth feels around his cock. Little to no time passes before you're bobbing your head at a swifter pace, your head glides up and down his throbbing cock earning deep groans and curses from Negan at the ecstasy that plagues his being. He can feel his body become heated, his heart is pulsating and throbbing in his ribcage as he can feel his entire body fall victim to the ecstasy that you gave him. Groaning deeply, he yanks you off of his cock with a sharp pull of your hair before grabs you by your arms, nearly shocking you before he bends you over onto the balcony instantly. You can feel him nearly rip your panties off of you as they fall to your feet. "Baby, you still want this ...? I promise I won't be gentle ..." Negan whispers in your ear, you grin devilishly at him before agreeing eagerly. "Alright ... don't be shy when I'm up in that tight pussy of yours ... let them hear how only I can make you feel, baby girl ..." Negan purrs in your ear.

He licks his lips before rubbing the head of his cock up and down your soaked slit earning a closed mouth moan from you before he drove himself swiftly into you. "Fuck ..." You gasp at the unfamiliar sensation of Negan's thick meaty cock stretching your walls once more and filling you up to the brim. God, you felt everything in your body just tingle and throb with greed and a need for Negan to fill your pussy with his hot semen, just the thought made your body ache for his cock. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, his thrusts start heavy and rough earning low needy whines of his name leave your parted lips along with heavy breaths that rang through the room. You can see 2 men guarding the balcony with long rifles in their grasps, their backs turned towards you and you know that they're hearing everything, you heard them snickering and smiling to themselves but you don't care. Negan grunts deeply, your walls cling to his throbbing cock and the warmth is even better, burning hot waves of ecstasy tear through him with every heavy and rough movement of his hips inside of you. Tugging at your hair, he continues to slowly move his hips in and out of your heat yet he's struggling to keep himself from moaning like a woman in heat, fuck he'd have to fuck you more often now. It was exhilarating. "Negan ...! I thought you promised me ... anything but gentle ..." You groan, trying to tease him into ramming his cock into you at a much faster pace. He chuckles, heavy breaths leaving his lips before his hand swiftly smacks across your ass causing you to jump at the stinging sensation that spread across your ass. "Don't tease me ... I swear I will have you screaming my name without giving a fuck ... I'll do it over and over again until you pass out. If anything I might as well do that, ha ..." Negan purrs in your ear, chuckling before he begins to slam his hips into you earning a hoarse cry from your lips at how his cock repeatedly hit your sweet spot. "Negan ...! Oh, fuck ...! Oh, yeah!" You cried out shamelessly, pure fucking ecstasy rippling and vibrating through you relentlessly, leaving you clinging to the railing as cries flew from your lips. Negan's grunts echoed through your ears as he continued to pull himself out of you swiftly before slamming back into you relentlessly and mercilessly. The way you said his name, fucking hell, it just drove him to fuck you even harder.

"Yeah, take it ... scream my name, don't ever let me catch you ... saying anyone else's name ... you're mine. Mine." Negan growled deeply in your ear, he's lightly tugging at your hair before he pulls away from your face, his hands are gripping your hips firmly as his hips slam into you harshly. Your pussy is clinging firmly to his throbbing cock and you're only getting wetter, he can taste heaven when he's inside of you, he can feel how amazing, how mind-numbingly amazing it was to be inside of you. Continous waves of bliss vibrate through him as heavy grunts make their way out of his parted lips, quickly the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the area earning a deep blush on your cheeks when you heard the sound. The 2 men stood there, rifles in hand with massive erections and thoughts that were less than pure, to them it felt so embarrassing yet so ... arousing to just hear the sounds you're making. He continues for a little while, your cries of ecstasy echoing through the sanctuary as the night went on, it wasn't too long before your cries became screams. "Oh! Yes! Negan ...! Haah ... Negan ...! I-I'm close!" You cried out breathlessly, clutching the railing as hard as you can, you can feel your stomach coil and sink into your ribs, your body awaiting your orgasm. Grunting deeply, his hand smacks firmly against your ass, leaving a slightly red mark against your skin earning a gasp from your lips before yanks you by your hair, bringing your head further towards his mouth. "Mmh, baby ... cum for me, cum all over my cock ... don't forget to scream who you belong to, darlin' ..." Negan growls in your ear, his words are dripping and soaked in wanton possessiveness that nearly drives you mad. Your mind is screaming and soon you'll be screaming along with it. Negan grunts deeply, his cock throbbing erratically inside of you as he can feel himself tipping and teetering on the edge, biting his bottom lip hard, he slams his hips into you as hard as he can feel himself finally reach his peak. A hoarse and strained cry of Negan's name leaves your lips as you can only describe it as lightning striking you, leaving your body trembling and petrified with ecstasy that vibrates throughout your being.

His semen coats your insides, leaving you full to the brim with his heated cum before you let out a deep breath, you already know that you'll be all that the saviors will talk about. You know that you'll have to try not to die out of embarrassment or perhaps blame it all on Negan and his perverted mind but honestly, you know that they'll forget about it in a week or so. Licking your lips, you feel Negan slip out of you and you can hear the sound of his belt jingling and you begin to pull up your soaked panties, you fix your dress before letting another deep breath leave your lips. "Mmh, come on darlin' ... let's get you cleaned up and I'll get you straight to bed, got a long day tomorrow. But this has to be one of my favorite nights with you, perhaps the most memorable ..." Negan says, rubbing his chin as he wraps his arm around your waist as you both make your way back to his bedroom. "Of course this will be the most memorable to you ... but seriously, I kinda enjoyed it. Ya know, the ... open aspect and the not giving a fuck feeling that I felt as time went on." You say, grinning at him before resting your head on his shoulder, honestly, a bath and bed sounded so fucking amazing after the day that you had. "Glad I could make you happy today, darlin' ..." Negan says, kissing your forehead as he opened his bedroom door, he sits you down on his bed before he goes to the bathroom, he turns on the warm water and pours a glass of wine beside the bathtub. But by the time he came back you were knocked out, curled up with soft breaths leaving your lips. Smiling softly to himself, he gets you out of your dress and puts you in one of his old tee shirts, and lets you rest in his bed before he leaves you to go attend a bath waiting for him. "Man, this one is different ..." Negan thinks to himself before sleeping right beside you or getting as much sleep as he possibly can get.

#negan smut #negan x y/n #the walking dead negan #the walking dead #twd smut #negan x reader #negan x female reader #twd imagine #twd smut imagine #twd negan x reader

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tlbodine · 4 years ago

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The History & Evolution of Home Invasion Horror

Here’s my prediction: In the next couple of years, we’re going to be seeing a sudden surge of home invasion movies hit the market. For many of us, 2020 has been a year of extreme stress compounded by social isolation; venturing outside means being exposed to a deadly plague, after all.

And while many people have already predicted that we’ll see an influx of pandemic and virus horrors (see my post on those: https://ko-fi.com/post/Pandemic-and-Pandemonium-Sickness-in-Horror-T6T21I201), I actually think a lot of us are going to be processing a different type of fear -- anxiety about what happens when your home, which is supposed to be a literal safe space, gets invaded. Because if you’re not safe in your own house...you’re not safe anywhere.

Home invasion movies have been around a long time -- arguably as long as film, with 1909′s The Lonely Villa setting down the formula -- and they share many of the same roots as slasher films in the 1970s. But somewhere along the way, they separated off and became their own distinct subgenre with specific tropes, and it’s that separation and the stories that followed it that I want to focus on.

The Origins of the Home Invasion Movie

In order to really qualify as a home invasion movie, a film has to meet a few requirements:

The action must be contained entirely (or almost entirely) to a single location, usually a private residence (ie, the home)

The perpetrator(s) must be humans, not supernatural entities (no ghosts, zombies, or vampires -- that’s a different set of tropes!)

In most cases, the horror builds during a long siege between the invader and the home-dweller, including scenes of torture, capture, escape, traps, and so forth.

To an extent, home invasion movies are truth in television. Although home invasions are relatively rare, and most break-ins occur when a family is away (the usual goal being to steal things, not torture and kill people), criminals do sometimes break into people’s homes, and homeowners are sometimes killed by them.

In the 1960s and 70s, this certainly would have been at the forefront of people’s minds. Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood detailed one such crime in lavish detail, and the account was soon turned into a film. Serial killers like the Boston Strangler, BTK Killer and the “Vampire of Sacramento” Richard Chase also made headlines for their murders, which often occurred inside the victim’s home. (Chase, famously, considered unlocked doors to be an invitation, which is one great reason to lock your doors).

By the 1960s and 70s, too, people were more and more often beginning to live in cities and larger neighborhoods where they did not know their neighbors. Anxieties about being surrounded by strangers (and, let’s face it, racial anxieties rooted in newly-mixed, de-segregated neighborhoods) undoubtedly fueled fears about home invasion.

Early Roots of the Home Invasion Genre

Home invasion plays a part in several crime thrillers and horror films in the 1950s and 60s, including Alfred Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder in 1954, but it’s more of a plot point than a genre. In these films, home invasion is a means to an end rather than a goal unto itself.

We see some early hints of the home invasion formula show up in Wes Craven’s Last House on the Left in 1972. The film depicts a group of murderous thugs who, after torturing and killing two girls, seek refuge in the victim’s home and plot the deaths of the rest of the family. In 1974, the formula is refined with Bob Clark’s Black Christmas, which shows the one-by-one murder of members of a sorority house and chilling phone calls that come from inside the home.

Even closer still is I Spit on Your Grave, directed by Meir Zarchi in 1978. Although it’s generally (and rightly) classified as a rape-revenge film, the first half of the movie -- where an author goes to a remote cabin and is targeted and brutally assaulted by a group of men -- hits all the same story beats as the modern home invasion story: isolation, mundane evil, acts of random violence, and protracted torture.

Slumber Party Massacre, directed by Amy Holden Jones in 1982, also hits on both home invasion and slasher tropes. Although it is primarily a straightforward slasher featuring an escaped killer systematically killing teenagers (with a decidedly phallic weapon), the film also shows its victims teaming up and fighting back -- weaponizing their home against the killer. This becomes an important part of the genre in later years!

In 1997, Funny Games, directed by Michael Haneke, provides a brutal but self-aware look at the genre. Created primarily as a condemnation of violent media, the film nevertheless succeeds as an unironic addition to the home invasion canon -- from its vulnerable, suffering family to the excruciating tension of its plot to the nihilistic, motive-free criminality of its villains, it may actually be the purest example of the home invasion movie.

Home Invasions Gone Wrong

Where things start to get interesting for the home invasion genre is 1991′s The People Under the Stairs, another Wes Craven film. Here the script is flipped: The hero is the would-be robber, breaking and entering into the home of some greedy rich landlords. But this plan swiftly goes sideways when the homeowners turn out to be even worse people than they’d first let on.

This is, as far as I can tell, the origin of the home-invasion-gone-wrong subgenre, which has gained immense popularity recently -- due, perhaps, to a growing awareness of systemic issues, a differing view of poverty, and a viewership sympathetic to the plight of down-on-their-luck criminals discovering that rich homeowners are, indeed, very bad people.

Home Invasion Film Explosion of the 2000s

The home invasion genre really hit the ground running in the 2000s, due perhaps to post-911 anxieties about being attacked on our home turf (and increasing economic uneasiness in a recession-afflicted economy and a growing awareness of the Occupy movement and wealth inequality). We see a whole slew of these films crop up, each bringing a slightly different twist to the formula.

* It’s also worth noting that the 2000s saw remakes of many well-known films in the genre, including Funny Games and Last House on the Left.

In 2008, Bryan Bertino directed The Strangers, a straightforward home invasion involving one traumatized couple and three masked villains. By this point, we’re wholly removed from the early crime movie roots; these are not people breaking in for financial gain. Like the killers in Funny Games, the masked strangers lack motive and even identity; they are simply a force of evil, chaotic and senseless.

The themes of “violence as a senseless, awful thing” are driven further home by Martyrs, another 2008 release, this one from French director Pascal Laugier. A revenge story turned into a home-invasion-gone-wrong, the film is noteworthy for its brutality and blunt nihilism.

2009′s The Collector, directed by Marcus Dunstan, is another home-invasion-gone-wrong movie. Like Martyrs, it dovetails with the torture porn genre (another popular staple of the 2000s), but it has a lot more fun with it. The film follows a down-on-his-luck thief who breaks into a house only to encounter another home invader set on murdering the family that lives there. The cat-and-mouse games between the two -- which involve numerous traps and convoluted schemes -- are fun to watch (if you like blood and guts).

In a similar vein, we see You’re Next in 2013, which starts off as a standard home invasion movie but takes a sharp twist when it’s revealed that one of the victims isn’t nearly as helpless as she appears. Director Adam Wingard helps to redefine the concept of “final girl” in this move in a way that has carried forward right into the next decade with no sign of stopping.

2013 of course also introduced us to The Purge, a horror franchise created by James DeMonaco. If there was ever any doubt as to the economic anxieties at the root of the genre, they should be alleviated now -- The Purge is such a well-known franchise at this point that the term has entered our pop culture lexicon as a shorthand for revolution.

Don’t Breathe, directed be Fede Alvarez in 2016, is one of the creepiest modern entries into the “failed home invasion” category, and one that (ha ha) breathed some new life into the genre. Much like The People Under the Stairs, it tells the story of some down-on-their-luck criminals getting in over their heads when they target the wrong man. However, there is not the same overt criticism of wealth inequality in this film; it’s a movie more interested in examining and inverting genre tropes than treading new thematic ground. The same is true of Hush that same year. Directed by Mike Flanagan, the film is most noteworthy for its deaf protagonist.

But lest you start to think the home invasion genre had lost its thematic relevance, 2019 arrived with two hard-hitting, thoughtful films that dip their toes in these tropes: Jordan Peele’s Us and Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite, which both tackle themes of privilege in light of home invasion (albeit a nontraditional structure in Parasite -- its inclusion here is admittedly a bit of a stretch, but I think it falls so closely in the tradition of The People Under the Stairs that it deserves a spot on this list).

What Does the Future Hold?

I’m no oracle, so I can’t say for certain where the future of the home invasion genre might lead. But I do think we’re going to start seeing more of them in the next few years as a bunch of creative folks start working through our collective trauma.

Income inequality, racial inequality, political unrest and systemic issues are all at the forefront of our minds (not to mention a deadly virus), and those themes are ripe for the picking in horror.

I know that Paul Tremblay’s novel The Cabin at the End of the World has been optioned for film, so we might be seeing that soon -- and if so, it might just usher in a fresh wave of apocalypse-flavored home invasion stories.

Like my content? You can support more of it by dropping me some money in my tip jar: https://www.ko-fi.com/post/Home-Invasion-Stories-A-History-R6R72RV7Y

#horror movies #horror history #horror analysis #home invasion movies #essential horror movies

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alwaysupatnight · 4 years ago

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Send you a character impressions ask: Arthur Morgan (so you can talk about your soft cowboy) and Seth Gecko, Kate Fuller, and... OH let's hear about Daryl Dixon too!

Seth Gecko

First impression: I’d never seen the movie okay. I didn’t know what to expect from him at all!! I honestly wasn’t sure I even liked him that much until like that scene where he punches out Chet at the Twister.

Impression now: THE TRASHY AF LOVE OF MY LIFE. I have so many feelings about Seth Gecko it’d be impossible to list them all here. I think about him nearly every damn day.

Favorite moment: I think it’d have to be in s3 when he’s trying to stop Kate from going after Amaru with the shotgun and how he’s like “easy, easy” at her for getting too riled up. XD SHE IS RUNNING HEADFIRST INTO DANGER ALREADY AND HE IS TRYING TO PROTECT HER. But there’s honestly so many favorite moments. But also jfc that shotgun... all the phallic symbolism there. 👀

Idea for a story: SO MANY IDEAS. THEY JUST NEVER STOP. My latest one is this one where he and Richie are both coyote shifters. And I’ve had this idea for YEARS, but I’m just starting to explore it now.

Unpopular opinion: Seth is not the smooth mfer everyone thinks he is. He is awkward and dorky af and just really great at hiding that. XD And he is not adventurous in bed. AT ALL. HE DOES NOT WANT ANYTHING UP HIS ASS ALRIGHT. Unless, of course, if Kate is suggesting it…

Favorite relationship: SethKate obviously. :P

Favorite headcanon: SETH HAS A PRAISE KINK. LBR HE LOVES TO BE BOSSED AROUND BY KATE. HE JUST WANTS TO DO A GOOD JOB.

Kate Fuller

First impression: MY SUN AND STARS. I thought she was precious. Although maybe that was me projecting on Madie because I loved her as Ethel in Shameless so much. I really only watched FDTD because of her.

Impression now: MY SUN AND STARS. I LOVE THIS GIRL SO MUCH. UGH. JUST HER HEART. HER GOODNESS. HOW PROACTIVE OF A CHARACTER SHE IS. HOW SHE’S ALWAYS LIGHTING A FIRE UNDER ALL THE BOYS’ ASSES BECAUSE WITHOUT HER NOTHING WOULD EVER GET DONE. She’s definitely one of my favorite characters of all time now. I love that she’s not afraid to go toe-to-toe with some supernatural assholes (and a couple of regular ones too) even though she is TINY. She is cute, but she WILL FIGHT. I just love that about her so much. And how every action of hers comes from a place of love. But she’s not perfect, and she may be good, but she is NOT nice and WILL ABOSLUTELY WRECK YOU.

Favorite moment: There are so many, honestly. idk how to pick. But I love during the Mexican Honeymoon how she’s giving Seth so much shit for bungling the bank heist and then making excuses later. She’s not just gonna sit and take it okay. She’s giving him an earful about it and he’s gonna LISTEN DAMMIT.

Idea for a story: Well, I already mentioned the coyote shifters thing… There’s also the Yellowstone road trip thing I’ve been working on. And then the two alternate scenarios of Seth running into her at Jed’s that @yossariandawn persuaded me to write that we were coming up with ideas for yesterday. XD So I started working on a couple little ficlets for that. One where Kate is shackled, and another where Seth walks in on Richie and Kate holding hands during the blood bond, and it’s an awkward little parallel to the Twister “you show me yours, I’ll show you mine” bit. XD

Unpopular opinion: idk that this is an unpopular opinion necessarily, but some people don’t like to acknowledge or just don’t realize how much of a shit stirrer she really is!!

Favorite relationship: Sethkate.

Favorite headcanon: Okay, so I’ve definitely mentioned before that I headcanon that she is a Cancer sign. But after learning more about astrology, I think she’s definitely also an Aries moon. She can be really impulsive when she’s emotional, and she’s also got an anger streak lbr!!

Send Me a Character!!

Arthur Morgan

First impression: SERIAL KILLER!! Literally the first video I saw of someone playing him he was running people over in Saint Denis with his horse and racking up a huge bounty on his head. XD I really thought this game was just Grand Theft Horsey. :P

Impression now: LISTEN. I AM STILL CRYING OVER HIM THREE YEARS LATER OKAY LEAVE ME ALONE. XD

Favorite moment: There’s lots, but one of my favorites is in this scene with his friend and French artist Charles Châtenay where he’s watching a brawl break out at an art gallery over some risqué art that Charles painted. Charles gets a beating and Arthur is just laughing at him and being entertained by it all. XD I LOVE HIS LAUGH THERE SO MUCH. ONE OF THE FEW TIMES HE ACTUALLY ENJOYS HIMSELF. ARTHUR DESERVED HAPPINESS.

[Here] is a video if you wanna watch that scene for yourself. XD

Idea for a story: I did have an idea for a kind of time travel/fix-it fic that is also an Arthur/OFC story… I probably won’t write it now, but it’s like after his death in the game he time travels to the present day because of this talisman he got from a Native American chief and he meets a woman named Emma and they fall in love and get married and are expecting their first kid. BUT THEN. EMMA GETS SENT BACK IN TIME TO BEFORE THE BLACKWATER CATASTROPHE. AND PAST ARTHUR DOESN’T KNOW HER. BUT HE FALLS IN LOVE WITH HER ALL OVER AGAIN. lmfao it’s complicated which is why I never actually wrote it because I couldn’t figure out how to tell that story… But it was supposed to be like Outlander in reverse kinda...

Unpopular opinion: MARY LINTON IS TOXIC AF AND ARTHUR DESERVED BETTER

Favorite relationship: I think that has to go to Arthur & Hosea. THAT’S HIS REAL DAD OKAY. IDGAF. I just love how patient he is with Arthur, even if he teases him sometimes. It’s always really affectionate and playful. And I didn’t really ship Arthur with anyone in the game, but if I did it would’ve been with Charlotte!! I loved their scenes so much!!

Favorite headcanon: He didn’t actually die… and he lived out his days to the age of 100+. He was around for the invention of microwaves and television and pop music. He and Jack hung out sometimes and they celebrated the release of Jack’s first novel together. lmfao

Daryl Dixon

First impression: Umm I think I thought he was kinda cute. XD Him throwing the squirrels at Rick was funny too.

Impression now: idk I stopped watching that show years ago. But when I quit the series, he and Beth were my everything so I know I had a lot of feelings about him.

Favorite moment: The white trash brunch and “Oh” scenes. He was just so soft and open with Beth. He was TRYING.

Idea for a story: I don’t write for that fandom anymore and never will again. But I did have a couple stories in the works though. One was a ZA fic where he and Beth are married with a newborn at the start of the apocalypse and it just follows the first few episodes with some changes because it’s also set a few years later. And another story I had was a singer!Beth au where she’s just getting famous and is dating Daryl and they have to keep their relationship a secret. And there were definitely fights with paparazzi planned. lol And a lot of sneaking around.

Unpopular opinion: I can’t think of anything.

Favorite relationship: Bethyl. There was a quote by NR where he said something like when Daryl loves, it’s for life? I still maintain that there will never be anyone else. Even if there is later in the show, there isn’t. lol

Favorite headcanon: That Merle is actually his biological father... lol

#replies

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iam93percentstardust · 5 years ago

Text

The Meet Cute

Written for @cap-ironman Bingo prompt S-1: Romantic comedy

Find on AO3 here (watch out for the read more!)

Fury’s apparently sent a car to pick them up from the gym. They’re walking out when the director passes him a folder. It’s got the SHIELD logo stamped across the front, the words “Avengers Initiative” underneath. Steve flips it open to see a picture of a young woman dressed in a black skintight suit with flaming red hair.

He doesn’t know who she is but, as he flips through the other pages, he realizes that he can guess. “This is my team?” he asks.

Fury gives a short nod. “Natasha Romanoff,” he says. “Ex-Soviet, now works for SHIELD.”

He keeps talking but Steve’s not listening anymore. He’s paused on a picture of a man, bright brown eyes, fluffy hair, and the sort of manic energy that makes itself known even in a photograph. “Who’s this?” he interrupts.

Fury pauses in his explanation of… well, Steve’s not sure who. He doesn’t think he’s still talking about Natasha Romanoff but the last thing he’d heard was her name and then he’d tuned out. “Tony Stark,” Fury says. “Iron Man.” He gives him a shrewd look. “Why?”

“I know him.”

“Yeah, you would. That’s Howard’s kid. Twice as clever but don’t tell him I said that. His ego’s big enough as is.”

Steve frowns. The man does look like Howard, has that same devil-may-care grin, but that’s not why he knows him.

Six Months Ago

Steve comes out of the ice on a Tuesday. Fury finds him in Times Square, tells him that he’s been asleep for seventy years, and advises him to take a few months off to adjust to the new time period. Steve spends one day wandering Brooklyn because he’s clearly a masochist and one day sitting at a café sketching a phallic looking tower that he doesn’t recognize from his earlier life (at one point, a red and gold robot flies overhead and his heart aches as he realizes how much Bucky would have loved the future). By Friday, he’s back in Fury’s office pleading for another mission.

Fury tries to talk him out of it, tries to tell him to take more time off, but Steve refuses each offer. He doesn’t tell him that he thinks he might walk off the side of a building if he has to sit in his apartment one more day and think about what he’s lost.

Two months later, he’s bouncing from mission to mission, spending the entirety of his free time in an old-style gym he finds a few blocks from his new apartment. He suspects that the gym is SHIELD-run because Brooklyn seems to be entirely skinny guys with bad haircuts and girls wearing flannels and fake glasses these days and everyone who frequents his gym is big and burly and way too good at boxing to be anything other than an agent. He doesn’t say anything though. The gym’s open late and even though it painfully reminds him of the 40s, he likes the style.

Besides, who would he tell? Everyone he wants to talk to is dead.

Fury hands him a file one day. Steve flips it open on his way out the door. He skims, stops less than two steps from Fury’s door, and turns around.

“Sir, this is a reconnaissance mission,” he points out.

Fury raises one eyebrow. “And?”

“Well- sir- I-” He stops. He’s not the person people pick for reconnaissance missions. He’s not the kind of person who blends into the background, not after he got the serum and not even really before.

There’s an uncomfortable look of pity in Fury’s one good eye. Steve ducks his head. He’s tired of people looking at it like that. He got a shitty hand, sure, but it had happened. The best he can do is now try to move on from it- or at least, look like it.

“You’ll be fine,” Fury tells him. “I’m sending a senior agent with you. He’s in your file.”

He meets Clint Barton only a few steps down the hall as the man literally rolls out of an air vent near the ceiling. Oddly enough, he’s snoring so Steve fully expects him to hit the ground in a crumpled heap but he lands in a crouch and dusts himself off.

“I meant to do that,” the man says casually. He holds out his hand for Steve to shake. “Clint Barton. I think I’m in there.”

He jerks a thumb at the folder Steve’s holding. Steve glances from him to the folder and flips to the back where Fury’s provided the dossier on the other agent working the case with him. Sure enough, Clint’s picture is provided in the corner along with a list of his abilities and a few of his past cases.

Steve resumes walking as he skims the page. He reads over the words Gifted in fifteen fighting styles and Trained in espionage and then raises his eyes to watch as Clint trips over thin air- or maybe it was a dust particle. Steve’s not sure.

“You don’t have to act around me,” he says.

Clint glances at him. “What?” he asks. “Oh, sorry.” He reaches up to his ear, where Steve notes some sort of earpiece, and fiddles with it. “Turned off my hearing aids for my nap.”

“It’s an act,” Steve says. “You can stop now.”

Clint grins lopsidedly at him. “Enh,” he grunts. “Keeps the baby agents on their toes. So where are we off to?”

Steve flips the folder back open. “A coffeeshop,” he states aloud. “Downtown Manhattan.”

Clint takes the folder from him and skims it. Steve runs a hand over his face. He’s got the beginnings of a beard. It still feels a little weird. He hadn’t been able to grow one before the serum and during the war, all standard kits were equipped with a razor so it’s new to come off an undercover mission in Bolivia and realize that he’s got a beard coming in.

“Possible Maggia front,” Clint reads. He catches the confused furrow on Steve’s brow and continues, “Like the Mafia but worse. A lot worse. Fury likes to try and cut them off whenever they pop up but he doesn’t normally tackle ‘em this fast.”

“What’s the address?” Steve asks, thinking of possible reasons for Fury moving in so quickly.

“205 Park Avenue,” Clint replies. “Oh- it’s near Stark Tower. Fury probably doesn’t want them near Stark.”

“Stark?”

“Yeah,” Clint says distractedly. He winks at a pretty redhead walking in the opposite direction (she rolls her eyes). “Electronics and robotics company but their last shareholders meeting announced that they’re moving into clean energy or something like that.”

“Oh,” Steve says quietly. Not related to Howard then; Howard had been moving into weapons the last time he saw him.

Clint turns a page in the file. “Hey, how good’s your latte art?”

“My what?”

They spend three months working at the coffeeshop. The horrors of working in retail and customer service are nothing new. People apparently haven’t changed much in the seventy years he was in the ice. He gets pretty good at latte art, excellent at remember regulars’ names, and terrible at managing the occasional assholes who come into the shop and expect faster service just because they’re rich.

The owner laughs hysterically when he sees the dent in the wall made by the guy who grabbed Katie’s ass as she was dropping off his coffee. “That’s gonna be hell to explain,” he says.

“Sorry,” Steve offers, not sorry at all.

The owner just waves him off. “Did he deserve it?”

“Yep.”

“It’s fine. I know firsthand how bad these guys can be. Just don’t let it happen again.” (It happens again three more times but Steve always makes sure to throw them into the same spot on the wall).

He and Clint end up deciding that the coffeeshop is decidedly not a Maggia front and that the men frequenting it happen to be a coincidence. Clint puts in his two weeks’ notice about a week before Steve does. The last week without him is a lot quieter. Clint as an agent has a very quiet presence (when he’s not acting out to “keep the baby agents on their toes”) but Clint undercover is loud and bumbling and cheerful. He fills a room. Steve isn’t entirely certain which version of Clint he likes better- or which one is actually real- but it is definitely an experience working at the café without him around.

It’s his last day working there and Steve’s just barely opened the shop when the front door slams open. It bounces off the wall and nearly rebounds into the face of the man opening the shop.

Steve starts to reach out a hand to help but then realizes he’s all the way on the other side of the room and can’t do much from there. It doesn’t matter though because the man manages to dodge the door. It takes Steve a moment to recognize him but he does eventually place him as one of the regulars. It’s just odd seeing him there at six in the morning when he usually shows up just before closing. He looks manic and bright and awake, a far cry from the usual exhausted circles under his eyes. Katie says he’s a fantastic tipper. Steve wouldn’t know; he’s never personally served the man.

The man traipses up to the counter, gaze fixed on his phone. “Morning, Katie, my love,” he says. “Usual please.”

“Not Katie,” Steve says. “And I don’t know what your usual is.”

It takes a moment for the voice to register in the man’s mind and then he slowly raises his eyes to meet Steve’s. They widen a little in shock, then narrow, then turn dark and heated. Steve catches his breath. It’s been a long time since anyone looked at him like that (he thinks it might have been the blonde SSR agent who’d kissed him). For a moment, it’s a little surprising seeing that look from a man but then he remembers the files Fury had given him on LGBT rights. Things have changed since his time and entirely for the better.

“Hello, darling,” the man purrs. “You must be new here.”

Steve’s offended for all of a second and then he thinks about the clear exhaustion that’s usually dripping from every line of the man’s body and the way it had often seemed like the promise of coffee was the only thing keeping him standing.

“Nope,” he says amusedly.

The man looks at him confusedly. “No? I think I’d remember seeing someone like you.”

Steve has to fight to keep the blush from his face. “I wouldn’t. You’ve been pretty tired every other time you’ve come in here.”

The man grins at him. “Aw,” he croons. “You remembered me.”

He doesn’t know what possesses him to say, “Pretty people aren’t hard to remember.”

His grin grows wider. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Your beard!” Steve blurts out. “I like- it’s the- I’m just digging myself into a hole, aren’t I?” He drops his head into his hands.

“It’s okay,” the man says and leans across the counter.

“Would it help if I said I’m an artist?” Steve asks, voice muffled.

He can practically hear the delight in the man’s voice as he says, “You think I’m pretty enough for art?”

“You must know-” Steve begins and then raises his head. For the most part, the man looks incredibly smug as Steve expected but there’s the faintest hint of awe in his expression like he really doesn’t know how he looks. “Yeah, I do,” he finishes quietly.

The smile on the man’s face turns small and private. “I’m Tony,” he says.

Steve starts to answer with his name and then it all comes crashing down on him. He’s living a lie. This- this- whatever it is- isn’t real. He can’t actually have this. The smile that he hadn’t realized he’s wearing disappears from his face. He turns abruptly and grabs a coffee cup. They only carry one size here so it isn’t hard to pick one. “Your order?” he asks gruffly as his back is still turned.

It takes a long moment for Tony to say anything. There’s a line of decorative metallic plates along the back counter and, in the reflection of one of them, he can see the confusion and then disappointment cross Tony’s face.

“Oh,” Tony says softly, so softly that Steve, even with his hearing, has to strain to hear him.

He closes his eyes briefly. “Your order?” he repeats.

“Actually,” Tony begins and Steve’s heart drops. “I think I’ll skip the coffee today. Sorry to bother you.”

The bell above the door tinkles.

#tw: suicide mention #stevetony #mcu #marvel #stony #cap-ironman bingo #alle writes

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hennessystevens-udaku · 6 years ago

Text

The Choking Game

KING JADE/KING HENNESSY/SUB!ERIK

Erik sat in the emerald green throne chair of Hennessy’s bedroom, feet propped up on her desk. He’d just finished his nightly workout, and his studded chest shined with sweat. The Gatorade Hennessy had waiting for him was gone in 2 big gulps, a sign that he’d pushed himself hard. She stared as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down like an egg caught in his throat. There was a small hole in the toe of his sock exposing his glossy toenail painted with clear polish done by Hennessy's hand. She chuckled softly to herself at the memory of the night he let her do it.

“What’s so funny, lil girl?”

“Oh nothing,” she lied with a smile.

“That typically means it's something.”

“Does it really?” she asked, still feigning ignorance. He pulled her onto his lap kissing her shoulder.

“Yes ma’am,” he answered in between soft kisses to her skin.

“Well maybe this time is different,” she replied between her mewls.

“Connerie,” was his response as he traded the soft kisses for slightly rougher nibbles to her skin.

“Waaaait,” she whined. “I thought I was supposed to be giving you a massage.”

“Massage me then, Princess. What oil you using?”

“Homie whipped up some homemade shea butter. It’ll leave you feeling softer than a baby’s ass, braille bumps and all,” she giggled. He replied with a rough smack to her ass.

“Keep talking shit ma,” he threatened, his Oakland twang creeping out a bit. Hennessy stood to retrieve the shea butter smoothing it into his skin with deliberate motions. He let his eyes fall closed, allowing himself to fully enjoy his wife’s strong yet gentle small hands as they relaxed the kinks in his weary bones. She used her knuckles to knead the skin of his shoulder blades and spine then used her finger tips to massage his neck and temples. When she was done, she fell back onto his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Daka,” she cooed as her fresh set of coffin nails found their way into his scalp.

“Princess?”

“I have a question.”

“And I may have an answer.” She smirked, letting a finger snake its way into his Cuban link chain.

“What would happen if I did this?” She slid out of his lap and turned to face him. She let her hand travel up his stomach to his sternum and finally to the chain that rested snuggly against his chest. He watched as she grabbed ahold and twisted so that it choked him ever so slightly. His eyes grew wide as he stared up at her, his top teeth sinking into his plump bottom lip. His grip tightened on her hips as she twisted the chain even more.

“I don’t think those were words, Daddy.” He hissed softly, his eyes darkening with lust as he stared up at her.

“Fuck Auré. You teasing me,” he moaned.

“How? I just asked a question that I’m still waiting patiently for the answer to,” she responded with a giggle, still maintaining her grip on his chain.

“Am I intruding?” Charlie called from the doorway of the bedroom.

“Daddy’s being mean. I asked him a simple question, but he’s ignoring me.”

“Well that’s rude of you, N’Jadaka. Answer the little nugget.” She entered the grand room and approached the duo, her observations clueing her in to what was happening. “Well isn't this something. Don't mind me.” She took a seat on the desk next to Erik's feet to watch.

He bit his lip again, knowing that there wouldn’t be an easy way out of this.

“It turns me on,” he moaned softly.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Hennessy asked, twisting the chain once more. Erik’s hips began involuntary jerking, slowly thrusting upward. His eyes bucked again, a silent plea for her to not make him repeat what he had just said, but he knew better. King Hennessy wasn’t one to go easy, especially when it came to the brattiest brat in The Kompound.

“Oh my,” Charlie grinned leaning forward to watch. He was forgetting himself. That massage must have truly worked wonders.

“Say it again, my love,” Hennessy coaxed with soft strokes to his cheeks.

“It turns me on,” he grunted through clenched teeth.

“Aww Daddy Brat has a choking kink,” Charlie teased and she ran the heel of her YSL pump up and down his inner thigh. “Why.. does it turn you on, N'Jadaka? You've neglected to share that part. Is it the feeling of her fingers pressing and twisting the cool chain so that it winds and tightens, squeezing your neck so tightly that you lose your breath? Is that it? Do you like the feeling of losing control? Knowing your very life is in the hands of one of the brats you discipline?”

“Fuck,” was all he could say in response as his dark eyes bounced between his wives.

“Is your neck phallic representation? Are you imagining how tightly that meat stick between your twitching thighs could be squeezed? By those soft, small hands nonetheless. So feminine. So powerful. Address her by her title, N'Jadaka.”

“Yes, King Jade.”

Charlie slid her heel to the seat of his pants and applied mild pressure. “Don't look at me. Look at her. What is her name?”

“K-King H-Hennessy,” he groaned. If there was some sort of euphoric purgatory between Earth and the Ancestral Plane, Erik was there.

“Tighter,” Charlie requested and Hennessy happily obliged, applying more pressure to her husband’s thick neck.

“This is what you do to us, N’Jadaka. You toy with our bodies and minds in whatever way you see fit until we’re putty in those stubby fingers of yours. How does it feel for the shoe to be on the other foot?”

If he were in the presence of anyone else, there was no way in hell Erik would be whimpering and moaning the way he was, but because this was a side of him that only his first, fourth, and seventh wife could bring out of him, he relished it.

“I love it,” he smiled.

“Words of a masochist,” Charlie said retracting her foot only to have Erik grab her by the calf, putting it back.

“I'd like to try something. May I,” Charlie asked Hennessy before she made a move. Standing from the desk, she pushed Erik's feet down to the floor and straddled his lap, grabbing the Cuban link chain from Hennessy and twisting it tightly causing his chin to raise.

“Hey Mikey, I think he likes it,” she teased scratching the fingernails of her free hand down his bumpy chest and down his stomach into the band of his briefs. She squeezed him there with equal tightness biting and tugging on his bottom lip before releasing all three at once and returning to her spot on the desk. Erik whined pitifully when she left his lap.

“That's all. You kids have fun. I'll watch,” she grinned staring Erik down. He was panting like a dog in heat. Well technically, he was a dog in heat. His hardened member throbbed in his pants while his wives taunted him. Hennessy regained possession of the Cuban, twisting it around her hand while whispering the filthiest things in his ear in French. Charlie watched with a smirk, recording the entire ordeal for research purposes. It was a solid look into the thoughts and inner workings of a known sadist moonlighting secretly as a masochist. This was a private piece of his identity and a face he never revealed to the world.. and now it was on camera in Charlie's gallery. She hummed chipperly.

“Judging by that growing wet spot in ya pants, I think you’ve got something to ask me, N’Jadaka,” Hennessy quipped as she released her hold on the necklace before tightening it again.

“M-May I cum King Hennessy?”

“Cum? Already? We’re just getting started, Daddy.”

“N'Jadaka. Have you ever been waterboarded?” Charlie noted Erik's thrown expression. “I'm thinking of creating our own version of that. Wouldn't it be better if you were smothered by vagina rather than a shirt? Drowned by Hennessy rather than water?” His expression changed to something a bit more excited. Hennessy’s eyes shined with mischief the more Charlie spoke.

“Whatchu tryna do, wifey?” the small princess questioned.

“I'm trying to see you smother our lovely husband with that dangerous cooch of yours, but don't remove the panties. Let him suffer. Henny smiled a devious smile as she hoisted herself onto her husband’s lap and then up to his face. She gripped his dreads with both hands as she guided his head between her legs, allowing the soft satin of her panties to caress his face.

“Gahdamn,” he groaned, his nails digging into the arms of the chair.

“No one gave you permission to speak, N’Jadaka. Smother him so he can't breathe let alone speak,” Charlie goaded admiring the view.

“Yes King Jade,” Henny obeyed, pushing their husband’s face deeper between her plump thighs. The feeling was unlike anything Henny had ever imagined. The soft satin coupled with the warmth of his skin and breath had her dripping, leaving slick snail-like trails along his cheeks.

“Permission to touch you, King?” Erik called out, his voice muffled by his wife’s vagina.

“Permission denied,” Hennessy moaned, causing Erik to whimper as his nails dug deeper into the arms of the chair.

“Ooh the Jaguar about to come out,” Charlie teased before giving further instructions.

“You’ve got 5 minutes to make her cum without using your hands and tongue. Get creative. I need to see this, I might learn something,” Charlie said zooming in on the footage. He blew his lips like a raspberry making a noise that sounded like a propeller. It seemed to work because Hennessy reacted. She rolled her hips, pushing his face even further between her legs. She was now using his nose as a clit stimulator and boy was it doing the trick.

“1 minute,” Charlie announced as she moved to get closer. She wanted to capture it all, right down to Hennessy’s love faces. The tiny princess’ body went into overdrive, jerking and spazzing until her release coated the seat of her panties and the tip of his nose.

“Do over. I can beat that time,” Erik pleaded, keeping his hands down.

“Not tonight, Daddy. I have other plans for us,” Hennessy murmured softly draping her arms around N'Jadaka's neck. Lovey dovey mode was back in effect.

“Welp, that's my cue. I have some online reading to do. I shall see you two in the morning.” Charlie stood and made her way to the door as Hennessy and Erik continued nibbling on each other's lips, caught up. The next round would occur behind closed doors.

————————

TAG LIST: @vibranium-soul @imagine-mbaku @mareethequeen @greennightspider @jozigrrl @lovemecharlie @alyshastevens-udaku @thehomierobbstark @youreadthatright @tgigoldie @killmongersgurl @dameshaemonique @princessstevens @princesskillmonger @amethyst1993 @iamrheaspeaks @laketaj24 @bidibidibombaclaat @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @forbeautyandlife @bastioncarterstevens-udaku @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @dacreskars @thadelightfulone @wakanda-inspired @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @ayellepea @awkwardlyabstract @madamslayyy @blowmymbackout @vikkidc @champagnesugamama @sociallyawkward18 @trevantesbrat @supersizemeplz @itsangeludaku

#hennessy chiron #my shit #the kompound #erik x henny #the household #king hennessy #king jade #charlie jade #erik stevens #erik killmonger

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salaciouscrumpet · 5 years ago

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Whumptober Day 20

Whumptober Day 20 Prompt: “Trembling”

I had a few ideas for this prompt but none of them seemed to really click for me, so apparently I decided instead to go for the most painful one. I’m finally including some new characters in this one, mostly just to demonstrate that there were other people in Luke’s life growing up and that the Knights of Oberon aren’t actually the villains here.

CW: child abuse (more the discovery or suspicion of, rather than anything graphic)

Characters: Greg Ainsley, Ben Ainsley, Luke Kandarian (age 11)

“Oh, Lord, your mother is gonna have kittens.”

Greg Ainsley sighed and stared down at the two eleven-year-olds standing in the – rather appropriately named – mud room. Ben, predictably, was grinning, since he knew he should be in trouble but that of his parents, his father was the sucker and Mom was currently away. Luke, on the other hand, looked uncertain and a little stricken, like he couldn’t tell whether Greg was being serious or not.

He should be serious. He should be giving both boys heck right about now. They were covered in mud from head to toe, both of them, and their clothes were soaked through and dripping on the tiled floor. They’d tracked muddy rainwater in from outside and if Greg hadn’t caught them before they’d managed to sneak their way up to Ben’s bedroom, they would’ve gone and left a trail all the way through the house and upstairs. Why it hadn’t occurred to either boy to strip off their wet clothes and leave them in the mud room was beyond him, but preteen logic would always be a mystery to their parents.

Ben’s mischievous grin showed how well he knew his father, though, because Greg really was a sucker, and not only was he going to help the two boys clean up their mess, he probably wasn’t going to tell Ben’s mother about it, either. And he sure as heck wasn’t going to tell Luke’s parents about it, because while Julia would grumble and give Benjamin a hard time about it later, there was no telling what the Kandarians would do if they learned their son was causing trouble. Not that a muddy floor and some wet clothes was what Greg considered trouble, but Luke’s parents were hard people.

“All right, brats,” he said, taking care to put some extra lightness in his tone when Luke’s wary expression didn’t fade. “Strip off here before you make a mess everywhere. I’ll get you some towels and clean clothes. Luke, did you bring a spare set of track pants?”

“Um.” Luke blinked muddy water out of his eyes, then shook his head. “No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Luke and Ben had known each other since they were four, and Luke still couldn’t manage to call Ben’s parents by their first names. It was always Mr. and Mrs. Ainsley, or ‘Sir’ and ‘Ma’am’ with him. He was an unfailingly polite boy, which was not uncommon among the kids of fellow Knights, but it seemed like Luke’s parents took manners to rather extreme lengths. His older brother Danny was just the same, although at three years Luke’s senior Danny didn’t have much to do with Luke and Ben. Greg knew there were two other kids, both girls, but he’d never had cause to meet them. They were probably little Stepford Wives in training, though.

“Eh, I’ll grab some of Ben’s stuff,” Greg said with a shrug and another small sigh. Ben was taller and, frankly, chubbier than Luke, who was a skinny reed of a kid, but they could always roll up the cuffs until Luke’s own clothes were clean and dry again. “Just don’t go anywhere. You’re both disasters.”

“Um,” Luke said again, this time with an air of hesitancy. Greg looked at him and saw that the kid was frowning hard at the tiled floor, unable to meet his eyes.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Do I … Um. Do I have to change here, Mr. Ainsley? Sir?”

Greg blinked, and fought not to throw an incredulous glance in Ben’s direction. His son was already halfway to naked, his filthy jacket and shirt already lying in a wet heap on the ground. He had one sock off and was hopping around, trying to get the other one off before he moved onto his pants, but he had paused as though suddenly wondering what the problem was.

“Uh, no?” Greg blinked a few more times, then pointed at the door to the nearby bathroom, hidden in behind the stacked washer and dryer. “You can change in there? Just … try not to track mud anywhere, okay, kiddo?”

“Yessir. Thank you, sir.” Luke disappeared in a flash, darting behind the shelves of laundry detergent and dryer sheets to duck into the bathroom. In spite of his best efforts he left a small trail of dirty water behind him, but Greg pretended not to notice it.

Ben continued undressing as though nothing had happened, and maybe to him it hadn’t, but Greg – heading off in search of towels and dry clothes for both boys – scratched his head. Sure, it had been a few years since he’d last had to help Luke and Ben into their clothes, but nudity had never really been a big issue with any of them before. Luke had always been a shy, overly polite kid, but he’d never been body-conscious; it just wasn’t the way of things for kids raised by Knights. Most of them would grow up to be soldiers themselves, and when you spent time in barracks or needed patching up in the field you couldn’t worry about who saw what. Greg had honestly never even considered that Luke or Ben would be bothered by the idea of undressing – it wasn’t like the mud room of the Ainsley house was in the middle of the downtown core, after all. It was private. They were all men, or, well, male. For crying out loud, Luke was practically one of his kids.

Puberty, maybe? Greg wondered. He couldn’t remember when he’d started going through puberty – older than Ben and Luke were now, though, he was pretty sure of that. Was it time for him to have The Talk with Ben? Oh Jesus, Jules is gonna make me do it … He tried and failed to imagine Luke’s own parents giving Luke the birds and the bees talk; either they would tell him some BS story about storks and God’s love, or they would do some weirdly overly-informative thing that would probably include spreadsheets and PowerPoint presentations. The thought of stiff, stern Daniel Kandarian (Sr.) sitting down and having any kind of talk with Luke was so distracting that Greg mostly just forgot about whatever weirdness was going on with Luke. He was a kid, kids were weird, that was pretty much the end of it.

After successfully locating two pairs of track pants and two thick sweatshirts, as well as an armful of warm, dry towels, Greg headed back to the mud room. Ben, unsurprisingly, had dumped all his wet and muddy clothes on the ground and was tracing his bare toes through one of the puddles, using the dark mud to draw a series of diagrams that Greg was going to try really hard to pretend weren’t supposed to be dicks. Luke was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s still in the bathroom,” Ben said, shrugging. Greg tossed a towel at his head and he caught it, obediently scrubbing it over his wet blond hair. “Maybe he had to poop?” Ben’s younger sister had recently hit that stage where she was obsessed with everything to do with fecal matter, and Ben had a tendency to pick up on it, mostly because it annoyed his mother and secretly amused his father. Never in his life had Greg heard so much talk about shit, and he’d grown up on a farm.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to come out here and critique your phallic artistry,” Greg suggested.

Ben stopped drying himself for a moment. “What’s ‘phallic’ mean?”

Shit. Greg grimaced, then said automatically, “Go look it up in the dictionary.” Julia had set up a big dictionary on the desk in the study, but she probably hadn’t intended for it to be used to expand Ben’s less parlour-room-friendly vocabulary. Still, teachable moment, right?

Ben, with the impeccable sense some children possessed that told them when their parents had said or done something they then immediately regretted, gave his father a huge, toothy grin, snatched up his dry clothing, and scampered off in the direction of the study. He hadn’t even bothered to dress himself, just ran naked down the hall. At least he wasn’t muddy.

Greg hadn’t actually meant for Ben to look up the word now (he hadn’t actually meant to tell him to look it up at all and he knew he was going to get in crap with his wife once their son started finding excuses to insert the word ‘phallic’ into every conversation), but whatever, what’s done was done. He shook his head and began collecting Ben’s wet clothing, gathering it together to toss into the hamper by the washing machine. He would have to get the floor mopped up before Jules came home with the girls, but they weren’t due to be home until after dinner, and Greg had promised Ben and Luke hotdogs and Kraft Dinner. Technically, he had promised them that if they were good, and it could be argued that chasing frogs through the stream on a rainy day and then tracking it all through the house didn’t really fall under the heading of good behaviour, but he had already established himself as a sucker, and besides, he wanted Kraft Dinner and hotdogs, too.

“Hey, kiddo.” Greg dumped Ben’s wet clothes, then headed over to the closed bathroom door to get Luke’s attention. “Got some dry stuff here for you, buddy.”

He knocked on the door, intending just to let Luke know he was there, but the door hadn’t been latched. It swung open, revealing Ben’s best friend, stripped down to his underwear and staring at himself in the full-length mirror.

Greg did not intend to look. He had no interest in staring at his son’s best friend, who he’d known since before they were in kindergarten together and who he thought of as one of his own. But there was no way not to stare at the trembling, panic-stricken child standing inside the bathroom.

Greg had known that Luke was small and skinny. It was hard not to notice, given how Ben had always been a big, boisterous kid and made Luke seem even smaller by comparison. Greg mostly just assumed that Luke hadn’t come into his growth yet – he was only eleven, and Greg himself hadn’t really hit his full growth until he was in his late teens (much to his dismay). But Luke’s dad was a big man and his older brother Danny, at thirteen, was already shooting up like a weed, so Greg had wondered if Luke took after his mother’s side. And in Greg’s experience most kids tended to fall into one of two categories: they were either all skin and bones until suddenly they weren’t, or they were all baby fat.

Luke wasn’t just small and skinny, he was practically skeletal. The kid looked like he’d never had a decent meal in his life, which made no goddamn sense because the Kandarians were loaded and liked to throw their wealth in everybody’s face; there was no reason for Luke to look like he was being starved. Was he sick? Was there something wrong with him? Greg knew Luke wasn’t a picky eater; that kid ate anything you put in front of him, and followed it all up with a bunch of ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s. Worse than the skinniness, however, Luke was covered in bruises, and while a certain amount of cuts and bruising was to be expected in a kid as active as Ben and Luke, that didn’t account for the hand-shaped marks around his arms, or the stripes across his back and thighs. Those bruises weren’t from reckless play or casual accidents – someone had deliberately hurt this boy.

“Hey, buddy,” Greg said, using the tone of voice he’d once used on skittish horses. Luke startled, letting out a small yelp and immediately trying to cover himself up. Greg felt sick, hating himself for the unintentional intrusion, and for walking in on something Luke clearly hadn’t wanted him or Ben to see.

“Sir!” Luke scrabbled around for his discarded clothing. “I’m sorry, I was just –”

“Hey, it’s fine, I’ve just got some dry things for you. The door was … It wasn’t latched, and –”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …” To Greg’s absolute horror Luke burst into tears, sinking to the floor and burying his dark head in his hands.

Shit. Shit shit shit. The absolute last thing Greg had intended to do that day was to make his son’s best friend cry. But honestly … What the heck? Luke had seemed to take Greg’s explanation about the door not being properly closed as some sort of admonition, when all Greg had meant was that he hadn’t intended to barge in on him like that. Greg had been apologizing to Luke for barging in; Luke wasn’t supposed to apologize to him!

Buckle up, buttercup, Greg told himself firmly, and stepped inside the bathroom. He thought about closing the door behind him to give them both some privacy – he felt pretty confident that Luke wouldn’t want Ben barging in, too – but reconsidered the idea. He didn’t want Luke to feel penned in, and closing the door might give the impression that he was trying to keep the boy trapped.

“Hey, kiddo, it’s all right, you’re not in trouble.” Greg knelt down in front of Luke, handing the boy one of the towels he’d brought with him. Luke accepted it, clutching it to himself as though it were a shield.

Swallowing hard, Greg looked at the bruises on Luke’s twig-like arms, and had to fight down the urge to storm over to the Kandarian house and demand to know just what the ever-loving Christ was going on over there. He understood the need to discipline his children – he was lousy at it, but that was because he always struggled with the desire to be the fun parent, not because he wanted to use discipline as an excuse to beat the crap out of his kids. Even Ben, at his most obnoxious, didn’t elicit that kind of violent reaction from him; he couldn’t imagine what must be going through Luke’s parents’ heads, that they would do something like this to their son.

“Look, Luke.” Greg swallowed again, uncomfortable. “Lukas.” Luke flinched, seeming to curl into himself, and Greg tried another tact. “Look, kiddo – buddy, it’s all right. You can talk to me, okay? Is somebody hurting you?”

“Wh-what? N-no!” Luke stammered, but he wouldn’t meet Greg’s eyes. He picked up his filthy T-shirt, holding it up as if in explanation, and said, “It’s just … My mom … she’s gonna be piss—er, she’s gonna be mad about my clothes.” He sniffled, big eyes filling with tears, and Greg got the impression that that explanation probably wasn’t a lie – that Luke was, in fact, genuinely concerned about his mother’s reaction to his dirty clothing. Was Rita the one who’d been beating Luke? Was it both his parents?

“Hey, buddy, it’s okay.” Greg reached out, intending to give Luke a gentle clap on the shoulder, the way he would do for his own son – but Luke flinched away, even more violently than before, recoiling out of Greg’s reach as though afraid the touch would burn him.

It was as though there were two parts warring within Luke. One part was the wild, terrified, feral thing that cringed away from Greg’s touch. That part was on the verge of hissing and spitting in Greg’s direction, too afraid to let Greg in close. The other part was the well-mannered boy who couldn’t even use a mild swear word in front of Greg, who was supposed to do as adults bade him and be on his best behaviour at all times. Greg had always thought Luke was a polite and obedient kid, but now he couldn’t help but wonder just what had been done to him to make him that way.

“Okay, bud, I’m not gonna touch you,” Greg said, after the silence stretched out painful and taut between them. Luke was still cringing, trembling, and it broke Greg’s heart to see it – and to wonder, how long had Luke been like this? How long had this been going on, and he hadn’t noticed? He scooted back a bit, offering up the other towels and the dry clothing. Luke took it cautiously, careful to ensure their hands didn’t touch.

“Okay,” Greg said again, coming to a decision. Confronting the Kandarians would get him nowhere. They were rich and well-connected, and he was on the lower tier of Incarnate society – frankly, it was amazing they even let their son come anywhere near his, they were in such different leagues. But he could talk to Ben and see if Luke ever said anything about his home life, about who was hurting him. And there were other adults who spent time with Luke: teachers, mentors, weapons trainers and language tutors. Surely if they all kept an eye on Luke, they would be able to figure out what was going on?

“You don’t have to say anything to me, kiddo.” Greg stood up, feeling a pang in his chest at the wary, watchful way that Luke stared up at him, like he was expecting a smack or something worse. “But nobody should be hurting you, Luke. Not me, not your parents, nobody. If you’re in trouble …” Dammit, how did anyone do this? “Talk to someone, okay? You can come to me if you want to – me, or Juli – uh, Mrs. Ainsley. Or one of your teachers, maybe? Or …” He felt like he was grasping at straws. “Or Mr. Sleswick, he stays with your parents sometimes, right?”

Luke sucked in a harsh breath but nodded, still unable to meet Greg’s eyes. If anything his shaking seemed to grow worse, but Greg realized how cold the bathroom must be, especially to a kid who’d just come in out of the rain. He probably wasn’t making the situation any better, trying to force Luke to talk about something he clearly wasn’t comfortable discussing. He racked his mind for some clue as to how to handle this, but for all the PBS Specials and “Very Special Episodes” he’d watched with his kids, it occurred to him that none of them ever said how to deal with being the adult in the story. Those TV shows were all geared towards kids, to explaining to them how to tell if someone was hurting you and what you were supposed to do. Nobody thought to tell the adults how they were supposed to respond. He knew how he wanted to respond, but marching down over to the Kandarian house and beating Luke’s father to paste would just result in him getting arrested and no one being around to protect Luke.

Greg made the decision to find some way to bring the subject up with Ben. His son was young, but he was bright and observant; if there was something going on with Luke, he’d be bound to know. And he would definitely talk with Julia when she got home with the girls, because Jules always knew what to do. Maybe, after hearing that it wasn’t acceptable for anyone to hurt him, Luke would realize he should go and talk to someone. If he was lucky Martin Sleswick would be able to help; he was higher up the food chain than the Ainsleys were and the Kandarians seemed to trust him – or at least, they trusted him enough to let them stay with him, although Greg knew that with them it might just be another way to climb the social ladder, by letting a hero of the Knights of Oberon stay in their guest house. That, and it was a feather in their cap to have Sleswick teaching their sons fighting stances and weaponry. People were always talking about what a boon it would be to young Danny and Luke, to learn from the best of the best. Still, the man was there, and if Sleswick said anything about the Kandarians abusing their son people would be bound to listen to him.

“All right, squirt, get dressed,” Greg said, voice full of forced levity. He deliberately turned to the door, the memory of that bruised, skinny little boy forever burned into his mind. “Put your wet things in the hamper and I’ll get them cleaned up before you go home. Your mom won’t even know what happened.”

“Y-yes … yes, sir.”

Greg wanted to slam his head against the door frame, but instead he just put on a cheerful smile and made his way out of the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, “Head on up to the kitchen and I’ll make you boys some hot chocolate. How’s that sound?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” The voice was very small and wet, the boy trying to stifle his tears. “Sounds good, sir.”

Greg Ainsley did not consider himself a violent man. He was a Knight and a soldier, and he had done some rough things in his life, but nothing compared to what he wanted to do to Luke’s parents if they were the ones hurting him. He was going to sit down with Ben and try and get to the bottom of this, and then he – and maybe Sleswick and some others – would have a nice little chat with the Kandarians about their son.

***

Hopefully the inclusion of Greg and Ben wasn’t too jarring. Ben is a Knight of Oberon and Luke’s oldest friend, and he will be appearing in more ficlets. Greg is his father, and he just made the most sense as the POV character.

Oh, and as a note: 11-year-old Ben is loosely based on one of my nephews. I don’t have any kids so I don’t know what’s considered “normal” behaviour, but I can confirm that my 10-year-old nephew is weird as hell.

#whumptober2019 #day 20 #prompt 20 #original fiction #cw in note

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marignytotreme · 6 years ago

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SPOT ON!

Sometimes when I look around the internet, in all it’s glory, I realise just how fucking deluded people are – especially where Meghan Markle is concerned.

A number of us dislike her, a few really don’t care either way and the rest live with their heads up her arse. For those living with their heads up her backside, I’ve noticed that a lot of what you say about Meghan online is, quite frankly, total bullshit and sometimes so utterly absurd, I wonder if most of you are simply on day release.

So below, I have tackled the most common misconceptions head-on; because we all know I don’t enjoy anything more than putting Sussex fans in their place.

She’s a style icon

I don’t know anybody on this Earth who has access to so much money and the best stylists you can buy, but still appears to have gotten dressed in the dark most of the time. Yes, she has worn one or two nice pieces; but by and large, she looks like a cheap knock-off of Victoria Beckham and I don’t think that image exactly screams “royalty”.

Until I take my last breath on this earth, I will forever be baffled by how Meghan Markle has gotten it so spectacularly wrong in the style stakes. Some people do seem to like the way she dresses; they see her “style” (if you can call it that) as “fresh” and “modern” – but quite frankly, I prefer Kate’s dress coats and hats, which some have labelled “boring”. I don’t agree at all.

Yes, Kate is the future Queen and therefore has played it slightly safer with fashion; but I do really like her clothing which is usually a perfect mix of the traditional and modern. She looks like a ROYAL. And yes Meghan, those long trousers that sweep the floor as you walk may have looked nice on Vicky B, but she is the wife of a footballer – not a member of the royal family. Believe it or not, there is a difference.

She’s a humanitarian

This one always makes me laugh.

Show of hands please; how many of you know genuine “humanitarians” who visit the impoverished in a coat worth £7,000? I thought humanitarians were meant to have common sense?

Meghan, dear; walking down the road in Kensington with an “alleviate poverty” bag doesn’t make you a charitable person or a humanitarian – it just makes you a hypocrite. Instead of spending thousands of pounds on ugly clothing that you’ll only wear once anyway, why don’t you put your money where your mouth is and donate to your chosen charities? Yes, instead of getting your fans to donate to them on your behalf under the guise of a “Global Sussex baby shower”.

And just another tip for the future; humanitarians don’t preach about climate change off the back of a million-pound trip on a private jet to New York for a party. They don’t wear £99k maternity dresses in Morocco. They don’t spend millions of pounds of the taxpayers’ money to renovate one of their many homes. And they certainly don’t visit those living in poverty dressed from head to toe in Givenchy.

She was already famous and rich in her own right and didn’t need Harry’s money

Right – we’ve been through this. How rich do you really think she was before the ring went on? I mean, seriously? Suits was a lowly cable show and she is not an A-lister. And given her knack of merching at every available opportunity, I’m guessing the woman looks for every possible chance to make money. That doesn’t scream “well off” to me.

Meghan has only really ever gone after men who have a lot of money or means to open doors for her toward new opportunities and a better life, and then drops them when they can no longer do anything for her. This is not the behaviour of an independent feminist who is able to achieve things on her own – this is the behaviour of a gold digger.

So sure – Meg had money; from her divorce settlement with Trevor, from her rumoured days as a yacht girl and Soho House regular and from all the merching she did and does for Jessica Mulroney. But was it millions and millions? Clearly not or she wouldn’t have had to marry a Prince.

She’s proud to represent Britain

In two (very British) words: my arse.

In the year and a half since Harry and Meghan became engaged, I have yet to see her wear any British designers or champion much that is British at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure she goes out of her way to actively avoid wearing anything that is British.

There are even rumours that she has apparently hired an all-American medical team to deliver her brat because in Meghan’s expert opinion, our 70-year-old NHS service isn’t good enough to deliver the second coming of Markle and Wales. It was good enough for the future Queen Consort to deliver three children in an NHS Hospital, but no, not for old Meggy.

And when charity patronages for Meghan were announced back in January, it was revealed that she would be focusing on – you guessed it – everywhere but the UK. Africa, the Middle East, Antarctica… you name it – if it’s not Britain, Meghan’s happy to back it.

She is the best thing to hit the Royal Family

I think you’ll find that was Kate eight years ago.

(Happy Anniversary for tomorrow, Cambridges!)

Despite the adamant claims of her fans, so far, I have yet to see Meghan do anything groundbreaking. If you ask her little followers for proof of anything they’re all like:

Oh, and when they’re really stumped, they’ll come out with “yeah? Well Meghan’s only been married a year but Kate’s been on the scene for eight and hasn’t done anything at all.”

Right… Apart from being an ambassador for Britain on several overseas tours, starting the Heads Together charity (amongst others) and birthing a future King?

Meghan has so far, by my tally – cooked once or twice with a few Grenfell victims and gave a bunch of bananas to some prostitutes.

While I’m all for backing any disaster that happens on my doorstep (I live around the corner from where Grenfell stood), I will say this: the tower disaster has had more money thrown at it than you can shake a stick at and it was almost two years ago now – Meghan, it’s time to find something more current to support, not just backing the first “English” cause that you could get your hands on.

As for the bananas – don’t get me started. What bright spark thought it’d be a good idea to give phallic shaped fruit to a group of sex workers? And with messages like “you’re so loved ”… yeah, I’m sure 35-year-old Louise from Dagenham is feeling totally “loved” when she’s shivering at the side of the road waiting for possible clientele to drive by or blowing some guy for a fiver at the back of his Ford Mondeo. Get real, Meghan.

If I were one of those women, I’d tell Her Royal Highness exactly where she could put those bananas – and probably not for the first time either.

She doesn’t want the limelight

Yeah, like a cat doesn’t want the canary.

I have never seen a person so adept at sniffing out a camera from at least fifty miles away. The Cambridges could’ve used her in France seven years ago when Kate was papped taking her clothes off on their villa balcony – with Meghan about, no photographer goes undetected.

Bottom line: Meghan loves herself and she loves the cameras. The two combined thrill her to no end.

The best example of this would’ve been at the British Fashion Awards earlier this year – she was so unbelievably excited to have the spotlight on her where she could squeeze the life out of her bump in front of the UK press for all to see, I’m surprised she didn’t have an orgasm.

I’d put fifty quid on this whole “privacy” thing surrounding the baby’s birth being Harry’s idea and Meghan has just been forced to go along with it. Madam? Give up the spotlight when her mealticket arrives? Once again – my arse.

She could potentially be Queen one day

I know this one sounds totally mental, but please go with me on it – her fans are actually saying this sort of crap on Twitter. They actually believe, in their tiny deluded minds, that this woman could eventually wind up as Queen Consort one day.

And how exactly do you think this will happen?

Perhaps she’ll poison Kate with the contents of one of her diamonds, divorce Harry’s balding, ginger arse and William will marry her after realising the deceptive, social-climbing grifter actress was really “The One” after all? Ah, just like Romeo and Juliet.

For any Meghan fans reading this, please let me say this for the final time, as some of you do not appear to understand how the line of succession works – Meghan will never become Queen. Say it with me now…

No fewer than five people have to cark it in order for Harry to get anywhere near the throne, and no, he does NOT take over if William were to die suddenly while George is still young. In this instance, the throne would be powered by a team of advisors until George turned eighteen, and then he would be crowned officially. Harry and Meghan are unlikely to ever sniff the material the throne is made from, let alone sit on it – sorry Sussex Stans.

She’s here to stay

Incorrect again, I’m afraid.

Given the woman’s track record, it doesn’t appear she sticks around anywhere for very long and the second something better comes along, she’s off.

No, right now, I can’t imagine what could be higher than royalty – but I’m sure Meghan has a few ideas and is probably targeting her next victim as we speak.

What will it be, Meg? A billionaire without the life of restrictions and protocol? Or maybe you’ll run for President? Nah, even though you love the sound of your own voice, that seems like it would be too stressful for madam’s liking.

Whatever her next move is, I have no doubt she’ll be hitting the road in the next two to three years.

Once the novelty of having a title wears off, the royal purse strings are tightened by the Queen and the penny finally drops for Meghan that she’ll never really have her own brand and platform to project her oh-so-wonderful ideas from, she’ll be out of there – with half of Harry’s money and his kid(s) in tow.

Of course, the list of misconceptions about Meghan goes on and on; there is so much utter rubbish spewed on social media by her fans that I can only assume they’re either paid PR people, seriously deranged or Meghan herself. Honestly, you can’t write some of the stuff that comes up – or apparently you can. It’s a crazy world out there.

If you do think any of the above is incorrect, and you believe Meghan really is a stand-up (Non-UK) citizen, you can find me on Twitter to discuss it @CrownofSapphire – I’m always ready and willing to have an argument.

Have a good one, guys!

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