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tarithenurse · 5 years ago

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Stolen - 19

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: Frigga <3 Some angsting and feels and pining. A/N: So apparently visits by relatives to patients are going to be unrestricted from now on (government’s decision) which means one of the most important ways to control the risk of Corona within the health care system is gonna be flushed down the drain. If a second wave is gonna hit in my country, it’ll start now...and I’m still wiped out after the last 6 months of strain/stress/etc.

19. Strange Same Dogma

... Loki ...

He’s at [Y/N]’s side when she approaches the gates to Valhalla the next day. Disguised as her servant, Loki’s role is mute whenever others are nearby (unless addressed directly) though he is prepared to whisper advice discreetly if the guards prove difficult.

Two golden-armoured einherjar are in their usual spots, blocking the way, but neither are given a chance to speak before the Midgardian embraces her role. “My name is [Y/N] and I have come to seek audience with queen Frigga. I know you must confer with her majesty, however my travels have led me far since I left Alfheim and the gracious hospitality of the High Priestess.” With the Älfir garb and the impeccable posture, she looks the part. “I presume temporary accommodations can be arranged.”

The last bit carries the tiniest hint of a question’s intonation, precisely enough to prevent coming over as either rude or begging, and as one einherjar ensures the message of the visitor is relayed the other calls for a servant to arrange (and escort the duo to) a waiting chamber.

It takes a moment before Loki is alone with the mortal again and he knows the peace will be short lived.

“I’m impressed, my pet.” He adores the way [Y/N] beams with pride. “Anyone would assume you are of royal heritage.”

Any other words dry up in his throat and the former prince allows himself to fall silent, eyes seemingly studying the familiar stones beneath his feet while in reality gazing unseeingly.

He’s home. Frigga’s lullabies ghost these halls at the edge of hearing, calling for the lost child to retrace the paths from years ago even now as time and fate have warped him into the grown man he is today. How long has it been? Surely, not long enough that he cannot find the way around the palace blindfolded if need be. And, oh, to revisits the favourite nooks and best reading spots or to climb the spires only to greet the first stars even before they have dared look above the horizon. Loki’s heart clenches at the madman’s hope of strolling through his mother’s garden which smells of herbs and safety.

... Reader ...

The place is much grander than your wildest imaginations had prepared you for. Gold, rich stones and woods, precious stones, all coming together in sharp lines reaching high above you. The place does not hold the natural flow of Alfheim’s temple – there, Art Nouveau from Earth had been the closest resemblance – rather favouring something akin to Art Deco. Still, neither style truly encompasses what you see or have seen and if given the freedom, you’d easily spend hours studying the palace.

But, sitting in silence, all the decadence of the room loses the welcoming glamour as a chill saturates the air. You instinctively move to sit next to Loki on the pillow-covered bench. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t seem to notice your closeness. Leaning in slightly, you don’t see tears in those emerald eyes of his but are met with a pained emptiness. It’s haunting.

What can I do? Nervous of potential violent reactions, you don’t exactly feel like shaking him out of the stupor – whatever you decide to do must be subtle. Your gaze falls to where he has drawn his lips into a thin line and of course you wonder how it would feel if to have his mouth respond if you were to kiss him. Don’t be an idiot! No, the man might have taken a liking to teasing you but while it’d doesn’t make sense why, you know it can’t be from wanting you.

So, you do the only thing you can think of and slip your fingers in between his, squeezing the cool hand gently in the same rhythm of your breathing.

Time pass. The wintry bite in the air softens. Loki’s breathing slowly adapts to match the speed indicated with each careful nudge of your fingers. Eventually, his hand curls to return the gesture, and now the lack of words is peaceful, a sacred promise of a haven for all that remains unspoken.

One final squeeze, then Loki disentangles from the hold to shrug. “We must uphold the charade of Lady and servant, my dear.”

You know he’s right...but it your heart still objects to the distance when you return to the previous seat. You’re glad when, just as expected, it doesn’t take long before a guard arrives with an update.

“Queen Frigga has accepted the request for an audience.” Both of you get up. “Only you, lady [Y/N].”

This isn’t part of the plan and you can’t help glancing to Loki who nods imperceptibly as he sits back down. There’s a calm in his eyes that soothes you. The man might have gotten you wrapped up in his messy life, but you have no doubt anymore: he’ll see you through it too.

Turning to face the guard, you straighten up. “Of course.”

...

The queen of Asgard is not alone when you’re shown into the grand room. A host of other women, presumably a mix of servants and nobles, are gathered around her like a space posse with snacks, drinks, and gossip which continues uninterrupted as you enter. Stopping just past the door, forlorn at the sight of the gorgeousness of it all, the guard pushes you gently towards a woman at the centre.

Frigga is sitting on a couch, deeply engrossed in conversation with a couple of the other ladies. Her blond hair is done up elaborately with the exception of a few long ringlets and the dress is the most heavenly sky-blue, flowy thing – the kind you’ve only seen in fantasy books or medieval images.

“Your highness,” your escort announces, “lady [Y/N] of...” his voice trails off, unsure how to finish as you never told him where you’re from.

Managing an awkward bow, nothing has prepared you for Loki’s mother swooping over to grasp both your hands.

“Lady [Y/N]! I’m delighted to meet you!” The wholehearted smile dazzles you as some of her son is evident in the gleam of her eye. “Rumour of your prowess precedes you. Come, sit with me.”

Frigga doesn’t have to say anything for the two conversational ex-partners to get up with delicate nods. Even with the purple, Älfir dress you’re wearing, you feel out of place – a commoner pretending to be royal. That’s exactly what I’m doing. And you’re glad to have your hands back as your palms start to get sweaty.

“Forgive the informal welcome, we were not aware of your arrival.”

Frowning slightly, you can’t detect the sarcasm Loki has introduced to your daily life. “My travels have held several surprises even for me.” Please don’t dig in it.

The smirk familiar despite the shimmer of something unidentifiable. “I know the Älfir were saddened when you took your leave. How did you find your stay there?”

“Oh, the planet is breathtaking and they are very kind and generous!” At least this isn’t a lie.

“The first is indisputable, though I dare say not many will agree on the latter...however,” the queen reconsiders, “I suppose you are special to them as you have saved their High Priestess.”

They’re not friendly normally? “I...I guess...” A nagging in the back of your mind has been activated and you know it won’t stop until you’ve asked Loki about a couple of things.

“No need for modesty, lady [Y/N].” Again, Frigga looks genuinely delighted. “A mortal, but with the magic of old Alfheim running through the veins...it is no wonder they welcomed you as they did.” Oh? “Please indulge me: how has this come to be? Who has trained you in the arts of magic?”

And there it is: the gaping hole surrounding the ability you’ve grown up with.

For years, you felt like a freak. No one were like you or could tell you why songs with strange words would well out of your mouth. It had isolated you more often than not, forcing you to start over when people who didn’t understand started to fear you instead. I did no harm. But that had never mattered. It was enough to simply be different.

Pushing the memories aside, you look down at your hands that are wringing the sleeves. “I don’t know.” Ugh, don’t sound so pathetic! “It has always just been me, trying to figure out these things on my own, your highness.”

“Hm.” Frigga’s palms are soft when she plies your fingers from the stretched hem. “I see why he brought you here, then.”

“Who?” With all that has happened, you should be used to fear clawing inside your chest like now.

Rather than answer you, the queen merely announces the room at large, “Leave us. All of you.” The last bit is addressed to the guard that you only now notice has stayed by the door. “And see to it that the chambers have been prepared.”

They must know the drill, these fancy women, because no one complains or looks surprised as they file out. Even if you had felt out of place with all of them around, the sense of foreboding and displacement doesn’t lessen, and you try to avoid meeting the piercing gaze of the queen in the hopes of keeping up the charade – a near impossible endeavour as she studies you in silence until the door clicks shut.

“Let us abandon pretense, me dear,” Frigga sighs before urgency takes over. “How is my son? How is Loki?”

Fuck. She can’t...can she? Like mother like son? Oh, crap. “I don’t know wha-”

“Tish-tosh. It is hard for me – and Heimdal – to track him. My boy has always been intelligent and...well, sneaky. But a mother knows her child, and when we learned someone with such a gift had been abducted from Midgard? Well, I had my suspicions as to his plans.” It’s impossible to tell if the proud smirk is due to her own success in figuring out what was going on or Loki’s accomplishments. “He learned nigh everything he knows from me, and despite the turmoil in his heart there is reason behind his madness.”

“Don’t call him mad!” It pops out of your mouth before you can think and your heart almost follows, getting stuck in the throat on the way and blocking any intake of air.

Frigga’s hands are warm, unlike the man in question’s. Tenderly, they cup your cheeks, rubbing circles on the skin until the rhythm echoes in your body and breathing becomes possible once more.

“Do not fret,” the queen and mother instructs. “I shall not ask where he is or if they two of you are colluding. All I wish is that he is...is...” Wetness wells in her eyes, briefly but long enough for you to recognize it. “He has been struggling and so I hope he has found a gentler path to tread on the way to redemption. Any proper mother would feel assured knowing that their son does not walk alone.”

This is his home. Sure, Asgard itself has been where Loki grew up, the place he still belongs to despite what he has said about Jotunheim and Odin’s rejection. But you begin to suspect that the real reason for the strong attachment is sitting right before you. So much of Frigga’s small mannerisms have been passed on to her adoptive son though her pride has been tempered by a wisdom your companion hasn’t gained yet.

“Worry not, dear,” the queen interrupts you thought, “all will fall into place in time and until then, I may be able to teach you more about your gift and how to hone it. You shall be my guest in Valhalla. Welcome to Asgard.”

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sagiow · 5 years ago

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We run a very tight ship - Chapter 4

kickass awesome moodboard courtesy of @jomiddlemarch

Read the first three chapters here or on AO3

“Welcome aboard, Miss Green. Ready to set sail for the grandest of voyages?”

Emma smiled tightly, forcing her eyes to follow her lips, and knowing they failed. Instead, she averted them, hiding their escape behind a wholly unnecessary adjustment of her glasses. She stood between the First Mate and the chaplain in the haie d’honneur greeting her family aboard the most luxurious ship of their fleet, in the most breathtaking of atriums, by the grandest of staircases - so the heavy-handed brochure said. Captain Summers bowed low to the young lady, and lower to her mother beside her.

“Captain Summers,” she offered her hand daintily, never more the great lady then among her grossly underpaid staff. “I trust everything has been arranged as instructed?”

“To the letter, Mrs. Green. Your guests have been given all the best cabins, the most prestigious reserved, of course, for the bridal party. I must say, your daughter has truly outdone herself with the decoration and planning. Alexandria Line’s future is bright indeed,” he enthused, to Emma’s inner cringing. Dial it down, dude.

“Well she better has!” snapped the bride-to-be. “My wedding is the event of the year in this town and probably all of Virginia: it has to be absolutely perfect in every way. A question of Green family pride, which I’m sure she has very close to heart,” she added sweetly, as a cat offering a cleanly killed prey to its owner, and Emma braced for her to start eating the head. “After all, it’s probably the only Green wedding she’ll ever have the chance of organizing.” Crunch, there it is.

Ignoring her gift, Emma distributed programs to the guests, the embossed letters popping elegantly from the cotton cardstock. “We will let y’all settle in and hope you join the Captain tonight at eight for a welcome dinner,” she explained, her voice pleasant and professional, just greeting regular guests onboard as she did twice a month, every month of the year, year after year since her very first summer job as a stewardess; despite her mother's protests, Papa Green knew the value of learning the ropes from the very first rung up. “Do spend tomorrow getting acquainted with our wonderful Empress Queen and her numerous amenities; I personally recommend our luxurious spa and state-of-the-art virtual golf course. The rehearsal will be held on Tuesday, giving us Wednesday for any and all last-minute adjustments, and we’ll have the ceremony on Thursday. Reverend Hopkins is our onboard chaplain, and will be performing the service.”

On cue, the tall man next to her stepped forward, his hands clasped piously before him, visibly not as comfortable with discomfort as she was. “It’s a great honor to be marrying you, Miss Green,” he said, but cut himself short. Oh no, you beautiful doofus.

“You'll be what now, Reverend?” exclaimed the groom-to-be, his arm wrapping around Alice’s waist possessively. “Maybe buy me a drink or two before you marry my fiancée?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stringfellow,” the chaplain stammered. “I misspoke. I meant-”

“Oh, lighten up, buddy. I’m just fuc- sorry, screwing with ya. Just don’t misspeak – or stutter, ugh- during the actual wedding, will ya?”

God, please do, she prayed intently, while Frank turned his devilish dark eyes to her.“Hey, Soon-to-be-Sis, you better have stocked up on that premium bourbon I asked for, and left a case in the Honeymoon Suite. Which, as I also specifically requested, now better have mirrors on the ceiling and a heart-shaped hot tub."

"Oh Frank, no!” gasped Alice, shoving him away forcefully. “I insisted on 1896 Paris Art Nouveau, not 1986 Niagara Falls By-the-Hour Motel!”

“Just fucking with you, babe,” he replied with a slap to her ass. Always the gentleman, Frank. “No, seriously though, Em, one major problem with that that fancy schedule of yours: when the hell’s the bachelor party?”

“The bachelor party’s anytime we’re not in her fancy schedule, Bro!” shouted a man descending the stairs. He was not clad in the cruise line’s signature green and white uniform, but in the most garish Hawaiian shirt and ostentatious sunglasses Emma had ever seen, as did the rest of the group of young men behind him. This time, she did not bother to hold her irritated sigh.

“Jimmy my boy! I knew there’d be no better best man for me! Finally, some good fuckin’ plannin’!” The two men embraced, slapping each other vigorously on the back. “You,” Frank then pointed to a helpless steward. “Take my stuff to my room, she’ll tell you which. And you,” he added with another clap to Jimmy’s chest. “Take me to the booze.” And without as much as a goodbye to their families, they stormed off across the atrium, a frat boy riot of jeers, shouts and high fives.

Slowly, Emma returned her attention to her overly merry mother, her smug sister, the clueless captain and the confused churchman. “Well, boys will be boys,” dismissed the matriarch, to relieved chuckles all around. “But they are right. There is so much to celebrate! Young love, and such a brilliant match! Alexandria Line and Stringfellow Sails coming together, what a dream! Come, dear, let’s get you settled in.”

With a gracious gesture, she motioned for the remainder of the bridal party to follow them and she closed the parade with a touch to Emma’s arm. “Do come by shortly, darling, I want to review the menu for tonight,” she said. “I do hope you’ve given our family’s famous desert its rightful place of honor.” That ancient apple nightmare? Yeah, rightfully in the trash, Mother, but she only agreed meekly.

The families gone, the crew followed suit with visible relief, until Emma was left with the silent reverend, who shuffled his feet, perhaps regretting not having managed to vanish along with the rest.

“Uh... my congratulations.” He somehow made it sound like both a question and an apology. “They seem... swell.”

She could only do what she was taught best to do in such cases: smile and nod. And scream internally so loudly that each and every one of her cells shook.

“I can hear that,” he said, startling her. How the fuck- “The hamsters spinning, in your head. Something’s bothering you. Anything I can do to help?”

She looked at him, at the kind concern she’d seen so many times offered to the crew members on their long voyages away from friends and family, now focused solely upon her, and it was both wonderful and terrifying at once. She tucked an imaginary loose wisp of hair back into her bun and shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just the pressure of planning this event. It’s different when it’s... personal." Like your harpy of a baby sister marrying your jackass of a high school sweetheart.

“I can imagine. Tall order you’ve got there. What was it, 1896 Art Deco?”

“Art Nouveau,” she corrected. “She’d have decapitated you for that mistake. Actually, no, that’s too swift and painless. Eviscerated’s more like it. With a blunt butter knife. Or her bare hands, if she hadn't just gotten her nails done.”

“Lovely. I see why the hamsters scamper thus; you’ve let the viper into their cage. You need a mongoose to chase it off: I might have just the thing.”

Curious, she let him continue, cradling the leftover programs against her chest to muffle the embarrassingly loud drumming that emanated from it. “I have to cover for José at the jazz bar tonight, you should come by. I’ll make you the special drink I concocted for the occasion: the Blushing Bride. Now I see the name’s totally wrong. And the formula, too; I think it’ll need less subtlety and a lot more bitterness. Will you please help me?” he asked, leaning closer, with that somewhat shy smile of his that just begged to be kissed.

Instead, she pushed her glasses up her nose from the half-millimeter they had slid down, and felt in horror her body do that weird half-shrug, half-nod shuffle that it thought conveyed casual nonchalance. Real smooth, nerd. “If I’m released on time from that sure-to-be-extensive menu review... sure.”

“I’ll have you paged urgently at ten, something about the swan that’s being fattened for the wedding dinner,” he winked. “Or the peacocks they probably requested to act as ringbearers or footrests. Ha, Peacocks... that should be our safeword – uh, shit, no, uh... I meant code word. Code!” Oh no. He’s even more beautiful when he blushes.

Oh shit. He said safeword... as in sex. Kinky sex. With him.

Oh fuck. Now I’m blushing too. And my palms are sweaty. That’s gonna stain the paper. And leave marks. That he can probably see. Nooooo.

“I’ll... let you get to it, then,” he stammered again, backing away before waving awkwardly and turning to sprint. Don’t look at his ass, don’t look at.... oh fuck me, I'm staring at a pastor’s ass. I’m going to Hell. I’m getting brutally murdered by my family first and going straight to Hell afterwards.

I just have to find a way to stop the world’s worst wedding first, and have less than five days to do so, and a beautiful chaplain-cum-bartender that’s familiar with safewords to not fuck along the way.

I'm so unbelievably screwed.

#mercy street #mercy street pbs #emma green #Henry Hopkins #emmry #we run a very tight ship #cruise ship AU #the mayhem continues

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verai-marcel · 6 years ago

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The Man Next Door (RDR2 Fanfic, 18+, Part 2A)

Tags: fluff, modern AU, romance, oral sex, missionary, smut with feelings

Part 1: Beginnings

Find it on AO3 here.

Side A: High Honor

WC: 1875

“Hey.”

“Welcome back.”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you interrupted. He was always so apologetic with you. Smiling at your kind words delivered in a not-so-kind way, he walked inside and plopped down on the couch next to you. Lifting up his hip to pull out his wallet, you had a sudden image flash in your head, of you riding him, his hips lifting to thrust harder into you. You quickly had to look down at your phone, and then quickly closed your ebook. Dammit, reading erotica was not the right choice for tonight.

“Here, the usual, plus extra because I was late.” He handed you $100. You felt a little bad, knowing that he wasn’t exactly pulling in a lot of money either, but he always insisted on being fair for using up your time.

“I’ve given up arguing with you on this point, so thank you,” you said, putting the cash into your laptop bag.

“Thank you, darlin’. Always savin’ me, I might as well call you my angel.”

You looked up to find him staring at you with a warm look, like he truly cared about you, like maybe you meant more to him than just a neighbor. The two of you stayed like that, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment before you looked away.

“Well, if you need anything else, anything at all, let me know,” you said shyly as you got up.

“Anything?”

You looked back at him, and he looked hopeful for a split second before turning away.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Er, nothing,” he said too quickly as he got up to walk you to the door.

But you didn’t move. Turning to face him, you took a step closer to him. “Tell me, Arthur. What do you need?”

You caught his eyes glancing down at your body again, and he licked his lower lip unconsciously as he looked away from you again.

You reached up and touched his cheek softly, turning his head back to you. You gave him a hard stare. The man was reticent, and you knew he would always put others first before his own needs.

You were silently hoping that you were one of his needs tonight.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he just breathed, relishing your soft skin against him. Then he opened his eyes, the heat in his gaze warming your body.

“I need you. Stay with me tonight, please.”

You didn’t actually expect him to say that, to be honest. You had hoped. But now that you were faced with the reality of his words, you didn’t know what to say. The consequences were almost too much to think about. Was it worth it?

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve said that.” Arthur stepped away from you, taking your hand from his face, but he kept your hands in his. “You should probably go.”

You looked at his remorseful mien, the aura of defeat just engulfing this good man.

He was worth it. He was worth everything.

You tightened your grip on his hand and stepped closer to him. Without giving him a chance to react, you grabbed the back of his neck, pulled him down, and kissed him.

His reaction was delayed, but after a surprised grunt, he closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around you, and kissed you passionately in return. His lips were surprisingly soft as he melded with you, gently nipping your lower lip as he broke free for air.

“Let me shower first, get the grime offa me.”

You nodded, and he took your hand and led you to his bedroom. You sat on his bed, watching him he open the closet to grab some sweatpants; you noticed that all of his clothing was tossed in a bit haphazardly.

“Be right back. Make yourself comfy,” he said, kissing you on the cheek before leaving the room.

As he showered, you looked around. You had never been in here before, but it looked like the rest of the apartment. There was a simple full sized bed, a desk, and rolling chair. You wondered if you should take off all your clothing, or let him watch you do it. You grew wet at the thought, so you decided to stay clothed for now. Laying back on the bed, you turned your head and spotted his journal, open to an empty page, on his desk. Feeling restless, you got up and walked over to it, you grabbed the pencil and started doodling an art nouveau heart in the corner of the page.

You heard him come in, the sound of the door locking behind him. Quickly dropping the pencil, you turned to look at him as walked over to you. He glanced down at the journal.

“Cute,” he said, kissing your cheek. You realized that he was only in sweatpants, and you could see his bulge. Your mind broke a little as you imagined how big he could be. Arthur pulled you back from your thoughts as he tipped your chin up, forcing you to look up at him.

“You sure you want this?”

“I’m absolutely sure.”

He smiled before dipping his head down to kiss you again, reaching up to the straps of your tank top, slowly sliding them off your shoulders, his fingers skimming over your skin as he pulled your top down, exposing your breasts. He let out a shaky breath, bending down so he could trail kisses down your neck and chest, finally licking your sensitive nipple while thumbing the other one. He palmed your breasts and squeezed you gently.

“I love the way you feel in my hands,” he murmured as he stood back up to kiss you again. “So soft.” He stepped back and pulled the drawstring of his sweatpants, letting them slide off his hips. Your mouth watered as his cock sprung free, and you immediately went to your knees. You were so ready to worship his shaft; you had been thinking about it for far too long.

“Darlin’, what are you-” his words abruptly stopped when you engulfed him in your mouth, wrapping your lips around him and looking upwards at him lustfully. He just moaned as you worked your tongue around the tip of him, then started bobbing your head back and forth.

“Fuck,” he groaned as you reached up to fondle his balls, caressing his inner thigh with your other hand. He rested one hand on your head, petting you gently as he gripped the chair nearby to stay standing.

Soon you felt his hand take a fistful of your hair and pull you off his cock. “Gotta stop, I can’t take much more of your sweet mouth,” he rasped. Pulling you back to your feet, he pulled your top off and picked you up, tossing you onto the bed. You let out a soft squeak when you bounced onto the mattress.

Arthur crawled up onto the bed, prowling towards you like a wolf after its prey. You squeezed your legs together, your core pulsing with need. You could hear him letting out a low growl as he reached for your shorts and pulled them off with your panties in one movement. Now you were completely bare to him.

Gripping your knees, he spread you open and bent down, kissing a line up your thigh until he reached your slit. He licked along your opening, and flicked your clit. You gasped and pushed your hips towards him. Chuckling, he changed his grasp, holding you down by your thighs as he started sucking and licking your clit in earnest, drawing out all kinds of moans from you. Bringing your hand up to your mouth, you bit your knuckle in attempt to stay quiet. Your legs trembled, your body shook, and when he reached up to hold your other hand, entwining his fingers with yours, you couldn’t take it anymore. You came, sobbing into your hand as your hips twitched and your legs tightened around Arthur’s head. When you finally came down from your high, you fell limp to the bed, letting Arthur out from between your thighs.

“Sorry,” you breathed.

He smiled as he wiped your juices from his chin. “Don’t be sorry, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “I enjoyed it.” Moving back up your body to kiss you on the lips, he slipped two fingers inside of you, slowly stretching you as his kisses traveled down your neck to your nipples, where he stopped to tease them with his tongue and his other hand, building up your desire once more. He curled his fingers up into you, and you lifted your hips slightly, spreading your legs more.

“Please, I need you inside me,” you begged.

“Patience,” he chided, pushing a third finger inside of you. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m ready now,” you pleaded. You just wanted him inside you; you didn’t want to wait any longer.

Arthur laughed softly as he pulled his fingers out, using your juices to lube up his cock. “Alright, anything you want, angel.” He got up on his knees, gripped his shaft, and nudged your opening. You were slick and he easily went in at first, but then as his girth started to stretch you deeper inside, you writhed, your muscles not quite ready for his thickness.

“You alright? Should I stop?” he asked as he froze, stock still when you let out a barely audible cry.

“Yes, yes, please keep going,” you gasped. You wanted that sweet pain-pleasure; you wanted this moment to be burned into your sense-memory, never to be forgotten. Watching you for a few moments, he finally kept going, ever so slowly pushing inside of you until he was fully hilted between your legs. You wrapped your ankles behind his back, trapping him there. Feeling him twitch inside you, you smiled; he must like having your legs around him.

“You ready? I can’t be gentle after this. I need you too much,” he whispered in your ear.

“Fuck me,” you urged. “Give it to me any way you like.”

You didn’t need to ask him twice. Arthur’s hips moved with the strength of a bull, each thrust hitting deep and just right. His movements became faster as he lost control of himself, pounding you into the mattress as he buried his face in your neck. You could hear his low moans, his heavy breaths, and the best part, his murmurs of how good you were, how perfect you felt around him, how he never, ever, wanted to let you go.

“I’m gonna come,” he said softly, trying to pull away from you. You wrapped your arms around him and held him close.

“It’s safe, just fill me up,” you said.

Arthur just moaned in response and fucked you harder and faster until he suddenly let out a soft curse, thrusting twice more before crushing you to the mattress, unloading into you.

“Oh lord,” he mumbled after a few moments before rolling off you, taking you into his arms. “You are somethin’ else, angel.”

You turned in his arms, kissing him tenderly. “And you were wonderful.”

The two of you smiled at each other, and with each passing moment, you felt yourself falling more in love.

And you didn’t regret a single thing.

End Notes: Part 2B right here, starring low honor Arthur. Hope y’all enjoyed this!

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #lemon fanfic #nsft #smutty fanfic #arthur morgan #modern arthur morgan #arthur x reader #fanfic #writing #high honor arthur #neighbor AU #modern AU

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clover-hawthorne · 7 years ago

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.: If Clover Was a Boss Fight :.

(( Decided to answer all the asks because my brain went running with the idea ))

۩ - What would the setting/arena look like?

The arena would be a combination of a greenhouse and library, two floors high with a large, autumnal maple tree growing impossibly large in the center of the room, golden sunset filtering in through the wall of floor-to-cieling glass windows. The over-all look would take inspiration from the art nouveau period, with bits drawn from traditional Gridanian architecture. Overall, the arena would look warm, welcoming, and cozy... which is meant to contrast the fact it's an arena all together. Some of her daughter's toys are littering the back corner, and can be found on a few of the bookshelves and one of the tables.

♫ - What would the music sound like?

First Phase:

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Second Phase

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♕ - What would the main mechanic(s) of the fight be?

During the first phase, you're mainly trying to to break past her defenses, as Clover tries to reason with the party, begging them to leave.

Barriers: Her main defense; each time you break through one, the recoil of the shattered aether damages her, and you have a short period of time to damage her before she slips away and raises her defenses once more. However, the recoils also give raid-wide damage at a minimum of 25% of one's total health. At this point, she will melee those that get too close with her book for 10hp a hit.

Sigilstones: There are 6 sigilstones on the top and bottom floors, unmarked but visible/interactable, about the size of a player's head, on the first and second floors of the arena. While they are active, damage dealt is decreased, health restored via healing magic is decreased. After the first three are destroyed, health restoration is restored, and destroying all of them removes both debuffs. Nothing is said about this mechanic, nor are there any in-map hints. Good luck, players.

Damage comes in the form of bursts of ruin attacking single targets, as well as large circles of shadowflare engulfing the main floor of the map at points, forcing the party to the second floors and making melee dps impossible until it dissipates.

During the second phase, at 50%, she begins fighting back, accepting that the party isn't going to leave peacefully. Her entire mode shifts from defensive to offensive.

Astraios: At this point, she will summon her fairy, Astraios, who will act as a constant regen for her health and must be DPS'd down. She will be summoned at 50%, 25%, and 5%, and the less health Clover has, the stronger the regen is.

Miasmas: Roving clouds of miasma will wander the stage, giving 2 dots: One that sticks to the player, and one that is only active while the party is in them.

Plague of the Matriarch: An extremely strong dot that is placed on one person, and will spread to anyone near them every 2 seconds. Immune to esuna.

A Mother's Judgement: Basically doom of another name; must be esuna'd off at max health.

A Threat Unseen: The dust motes that have been flickering in the sunlight become a pathogen, afflicting a raid-wide DoT unless one is under the balcony of the upper floor.

If she isn't defeated quick enough during the second phase, she casts "A Tearful Vestige", which fills the air with a light, sparkling miasma, choking the party to death with a simple voiceline played, the music cutting out as the skill goes off: "I'm so sorry." (( @ijazrahalffxiv ))

✉ - What would the theme of their weapon drops be?

The weapons would have an autumnal feel: golden vines and copper maple leaves. The books are simple leather tomes with maple leaves embossed into the cover.

.: BONUS :.

Voice Lines

First Half:

“Please, we needn’t fight...”

“I know you’ve come far, but you can go no farther.”

“Please, please go back-!”

“I don’t want to hurt you...”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

“Please....”

Second Half:

“I tried to tell you to leave...why couldn’t you?”

“You forced my hand...I... I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this.”

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but you’ve left me with no choice.”

“Please stop, it....it hurts...”

“Why...”

“I just want to go home.”

“Why couldn’t you just go home?”

“I don’t want to do this, but I must.”

“I can’t let you hurt her, even....even if that means...”

Upon Defeat (randomized):

“C...can you...please hold my hand...I’m...I’m scared...”

“Please...please don’t hurt her...”

“I...I’m sorry...”

Upon Enrage:

"I'm so sorry."

#meme response #thank you for the ask!#long post #ffxiv #ffxiv rp

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jessicakehoe · 5 years ago

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Antoni Porowski Talks Food, Fashion and Finding Simplicity During Quarantine

Please note this interview and photo shoot with Antoni Porowski for FASHION Canada took place prior to the historic events and peaceful protests that have occurred over the past several weeks.

“I’ve cooked more in the past six weeks than I have in the past 2½ years. That’s been the silver lining to it all.” Antoni Porowski, the 36-year-old food and wine expert for the hit Netflix series Queer Eye, is describing his current (quarantine) status in relation to the pop culture juggernaut he has found himself on. Porowski spoke to us in April from an Airbnb in Austin, Tex., where he’d been holed up since the lockdown began. His much-loved show, which launched its fifth instalment of episodes in June, was just beginning to film another season in the southern metropolis before everything came to a standstill.

Photography by Ashlee Huff. Top, $1,250, shorts, price upon request, and hat, $2,600, Dior Men. Jewellery (worn throughout), Porowski’s own.

Porowski, who hails from Montreal, says he has used the isolation time to “lead a much simpler life.” And it’s undoubtedly much needed; he and his co-stars have had an intense few years, with each of the five personalities going from relative anonymity to the kind of superstardom that saw them host Elton John’s Oscars-night viewing party this year. It was a major pinch-me moment for Porowski, who recalls the “beautiful burgundy Zegna couture tux” he wore to the annual AIDS fundraiser. “I was standing there thinking, ‘Elton John is performing right now and I’m four feet away from him.’ I felt a chill go down my back. And I couldn’t sleep that night because I wanted to remember every sensation and moment of the night.”

Photography by Ashlee Huff. Suit, $995, Boss. Top, $50, Hugo.

That L.A. evening must seem like a lifetime ago now, and Porowski—who is typically based in New York City—has switched his focus to less star-studded but no less admirable networks, making the most of the local flavours (pun intended) that he’s surrounded by. “I got obsessed with this new app called Vinder,” he says about an Austin-based digital hub that connects restaurants and home cooks with local agricultural businesses. “I’ve been ordering all kinds of farm goods. In some ways, I’m living my best Martha Stewart or Ina Garten life.”

Photography by Ashlee Huff. Top and shorts, $290 each, Boss. Shoes, $350, Axel Arigato at Ssense. Belt, $395, Toga Virilis at WDLT117. Socks, $15, Hugo.

It’s not hard to conceive of Porowski following in the footsteps of such legendary lifestyle gurus. His first cookbook, which was released last year, touts the appeal of easily achievable cooking for people who are “too busy to make dinner.” That describes plenty of the guests made over in each episode of Queer Eye—“heroes” as they’re dubbed on the show—so Porowski has become an authority on getting people excited about uncomplicated food, be it chicken Milanese or mac ’n’ cheese. (Both recipes are found in Antoni in the Kitchen.) “We’re given so little information about the heroes,” he says. “I always come up with 10 different recipes to teach them. Then I meet the person and realize that some people want to be taught and they want to expand their palate. And other times, it’s really just helping someone do what they already do but more efficiently.”

Photography by Ashlee Huff. Top, $625, Dsquared2 at North42. Shorts, $130, Hugo.

Porowski inspires people from many walks of life through an approach that favours connection over pontification. “I do my best not to come in and be preachy because for anybody who’s ever tried to be preachy with me, it never really falls well,” he laughs. This gentleness in spirit translates to Porowski’s own philosophy about eating, which he says is rooted in a harmonious mix. “It’s about listening to your body,” he says about how he navigates a love of noshing with taking care of his well-being, noting that he’s just as much a fan of fried chicken as he is of raw beets. “I think balance is the key.”

Photography by Ashlee Huff. Jumpsuit, price upon request, Dior Men.

These complementary contrasts are found in Porowski’s closet, too. Favouring a “uniform of a nice pair of jeans and the perfect white T-shirt” (the kind that come from brands ranging from The Row to Sunspel), he’s had to amplify that covetable nonchalance since starting on the show. “When we got our mood boards for Queer Eye and specific visuals in terms of what they wanted us to lean into, for me it was ‘We want the James Dean look.’ I thought: ‘OK, how do I make it a little different? What am I going to do?’”

Photography by Ashlee Huff. Hat, $90, Hugo.

Pops of his personality have come from the brightly hued vintage bandanas around his neck—ones he would typically wear around his hairline while taking a run—and the quirky message shirts he’s now known for. Tees from his favourite musical acts are rooted in watching bands like Arcade Fire rise to fame in Montreal’s thriving music scene. “You can tell a lot about a person from their taste in music—kind of like food,” he says.

His selection of non-music-related tops—which includes a T-shirt that boasts the names of influential women in the art world, like Louise Bourgeois and Yayoi Kusama, and one featuring the logo from Montreal’s Expo 67, a nod to his hometown—also tells us so much about Porowski (an avid art and design fan) without him uttering a word. “I think that’s a Canadian sensibility,” he says. “I’m not an aggressive person. I like to do things sort of covertly.”

Photography by Ashlee Huff. Top, $1,620, Louis Vuitton. Jewellery, Porowski’s own.

Within his collection there are some pieces that retain a special sentiment that begs to be shared, in particular a handmade cashmere sweater from California-based nouveau-hippie brand The Elder Statesman. (Porowski has several of the label’s eclectic slogan sweaters in his wardrobe.) “People just think it’s badass,” he says of the piece—a bright-red pullover that replicates the iconic Marlboro cigarette packaging but with the word “meditate” replacing the brand name. “When I saw it, I remember thinking, ‘This is a beautiful sweater that is hand-stitched and high-grade cashmere.’ It made me reflect on the life I have now, where I’m in this incredible position where I can afford to have such a beautiful piece,” he says, adding that the sweater is also a clever juxtaposition of his previous and present pastimes. “When I was in my teens and partying like a monster, I used to smoke so many cigarettes. Now, I’m a non-smoker and I meditate every morning.”

Photography by Ashlee Huff. Top, $4,850, Pants, $1,500, and necklace, $720, Hermès. bracelet, Porowski’s own.

Though Porowski might favour comfortable casualness for his every day, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy expressing himself with clothing when the occasion suits—or, rather, in the case of the premiere of the Cats movie last winter, not in a suit at all. Instead, he hit the red carpet wearing an unconventional Thom Browne ensemble composed of a private school-style cardigan, a starched white shirt and a pleated skirt.

“I’m so obsessed with Thom Browne,” he says. The New York-based designer’s celebrated irreverence speaks to Porowski’s wilder side and lets him tap into the captivating quality that great clothing can have. “I consider myself fairly conservative, but I have busted into more colour and had some daring looks,” he says. “Clothing can be so empowering.”

Photography by Ashley Huff.

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Photography by ASHLEE HUFF. Art direction by MALINA CORPADEAN. Creative direction and styling by GEORGE ANTONOPOULOS. Hairstyling direction by DAVID D’AMOURS for KÉRASTASE. Post-production by VALÉRIE LALIBERTÉ. Foundation and brow pomade provided by SURRATT.

The post Antoni Porowski Talks Food, Fashion and Finding Simplicity During Quarantine appeared first on FASHION Magazine.

Antoni Porowski Talks Food, Fashion and Finding Simplicity During Quarantine published first on https://borboletabags.tumblr.com/

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networkingdefinition · 5 years ago

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Espresso Quotes

Official Website: Espresso Quotes

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• A good espresso to me is a little bit salty; you just become used to a good taste. Anytime I go into a new place and they don’t clean their machine properly or the water temperature isn’t right, it tastes awful. – Andrew Bird • American coffee can be a pale solution served at a temperature of 100 degrees centigrade in plastic thermos cups, usually obligatory in railroad stations for purposes of genocide, whereas coffee made with an American percolator, such as you find in private houses or in humble luncheonettes, served with eggs and bacon, is delicious, fragrant, goes down like pure spring water, and afterwards causes severe palpitations, because one cup contains more caffeine than four espressos. – Umberto Eco

jQuery(document).ready(function($) var data = action: 'polyxgo_products_search', type: 'Product', keywords: 'Espresso', orderby: 'rand', order: 'DESC', template: '1', limit: '68', columns: '4', viewall:'Shop All', ; jQuery.post(spyr_params.ajaxurl,data, function(response) var obj = jQuery.parseJSON(response); jQuery('#thelovesof_espresso').html(obj); jQuery('#thelovesof_espresso img.swiper-lazy:not(.swiper-lazy-loaded)' ).each(function () var img = jQuery(this); img.attr("src",img.data('src')); img.addClass( 'swiper-lazy-loaded' ); img.removeAttr('data-src'); ); ); ); • Been trying the soapy water and instant coffee method. Works somewhat, but boy it tastes terrible. I don’t know how you guys can stand it. I’m going back to milk and espresso for my cappas. – David Lynch • Can we just call them storm spirits?” Leo asked. “Venti makes them sound like evil espresso drinks. – Rick Riordan • Coffee arrived and the espresso was excellent, like an aromatic electric fence. – Ben Aaronovitch • Coffee which makes the politician wise, and see through all things with his half-shut eyes. – Alexander Pope • Coffee?” Santangelo calls down to us. We both look up. He,Ben, and Raffy are hanging over the side. “Is it espresso?” Anson Choi asks behind us. “Freshly percolated,” Ben answers. “You should see the gadgets they have up here.” Anson Choi aims a begging look at Griggs. “You want to sell out over a coffee?” Griggs asks him with disgust. “They’ve got muffins as well,” I tell them. “Double chocolate chip. His mum made them.” Griggs gets up and holds out a hand to me. “Truce. – Melina Marchetta • Compared with other Americans, journalists are more likely to live in upscale neighborhoods, have maids, own Mercedes and trade stocks, and less likely to go to church, do volunteer work or put down roots in a community. Journalists are over-represented in ZIP code areas where residents are twice as likely as other Americans to rent foreign movies, drink Chablis, own an espresso maker and read magazines such as Architectural Digest and Food & Wine. – John Leo • Espresso consumption is an aesthetic experience,like tasting a vintage wine or admiring a painting. – Andrea Illy • Espresso is a miracle of chemistry in a cup. – Andrea Illy • Espresso is to Italy, what champagne is to France. – Charles Maurice de Talleyrand

• Good communication is just as stimulating as black coffee, and just as hard to sleep after. – Anne Morrow Lindbergh • Having acquired an espresso machine as good as a solid e-61 and a very good grinder, your incremental dollars will be best spent on either buying truly badass coffee, or setting up a roasting setup yourself that with lots of effort will allow you to produce high end roasted coffee. – Ken Fox • I bought an espresso maker and coffee maker and make them myself every day. – Utada Hikaru • I do, but I don’t like doing that. I would do it out of hate or anger. I would do it because some- one was pushing my buttons, but really I don’t want to break my back in some European city while everyone else is drinking espresso. I only do it because someone refused to pay for the shipping, or something like that. I don’t want to let a whole city of people down. – Josh Smith • I get energy from meditation practice and from eating healthy fresh food, only one cup of espresso in the morning, and not drinking too much. – Richard Simmons • I got hooked on espresso when I visited Italy at 18, but these days I prefer a ‘flat white.’ It’s like a small latte with less milk – they’re popular in Australia. – Hugh Jackman • I know there are other writers who sit down religiously every morning, they take their espresso, they put a clean sheet of paper there and they sit looking at that paper until they’ve finished or covered at least a number of those pages. No, I’m not like that. I have to be ready. It has to gestate it for quite a while and then it’s ready to burst forth. – Wole Soyinka • I like the Valentino store in Rome.Because in Rome when I’d be riding my bike, that store is right next to the Spanish Steps, and it gets so crowded there, so I could sometimes duck into the Valentino store and go up to the top floor and have a little espresso and just relax and take it easy. – Owen Wilson • I love coffee. I love a midday espresso on set, just for the energy. – Carrie Brownstein • I probably have about four or five cups of coffee a day. I make myself an espresso macchiato when I wake, which is a shot of espresso and just a dollop of steamed milk. Then, if I’m going to do some work at home, I would make myself a French press. It’s the best way to make conventional coffee. – Howard Schultz • I used to have two double espressos a day. I gave that up, had headaches for five days but now I’m feeling great. – Hugo Weaving • I usually get up not before 9. I have a huge library – I’m a big fan of Scandinavian crime fiction – so I’ll usually take a book and go off to one of my favorite bistros for a cappuccino or espresso or maybe I’ll have some lovely smoked salmon for breakfast. – Anthony Geary • If this is coffee, please bring me some tea; but if this is tea, please bring me some coffee. – Abraham Lincoln • If you’re a Kanye West fan, you’re not a fan of me, you’re a fan of yourself. You will believe in yourself. I’m just the espresso. – Kanye West • It was her first book, an indigo cover with a silver moonflower, an art nouveau flower, I traced my finger along the silver line like smoke, whiplash curves. … I touched the pages her hands touched, I pressed them to my lips, the soft thick old paper, yellow now, fragile as skin. I stuck my nose between the bindings and smelled all the readings she had given, the smell of unfiltered cigarettes and the espresso machine, beaches and incense and whispered words in the night. I could hear her voice rising from the pages. The cover curled outward like sails. – Janet Fitch • Leo: “So…giants who can throw mountains. Friendly wolves that will eat us if we show weakness. Evil espresso drinks. Gotcha. Maybe this isn’t the best time to bring up my psycho babysitter.” Piper: “Is that another joke? – Rick Riordan • Now-what’s our game plan?” Coach Hedge belched. He’d already had three espressos and a plate of doughnuts, along with two napkins and another flower from the vase on the table. He would’ve eaten the silverware, except Piper had slapped his hand. “Climb the mountain,” Hedge said. “Kill everything except Piper’s dad. Leave.” “Thank you General Eisenhower,” Jason grumbles. – Rick Riordan • Once I had a potentially heart attack-inducing eight double espressos in one day. I think my assistant secretly swaps my coffees for decaf as she doesn’t want me to die of caffeine overdose. – Steven Soderbergh • Sleep is critical to me… at least eight or nine hours a night. I start to slow down my body and my mind at least 30 minutes before I get into bed. I don’t watch any disturbing or invigorating TV at night. I also get energy from meditation practice and from eating healthy fresh food, only one cup of espresso in the morning, and not drinking too much. – Jane Fonda • Starving to be skinny isn’t my thing. When I don’t eat, it affects my mood! On-set, I fuel up with small meals and I’m always grabbing high-protein snacks, like almonds. Chai lattes with espresso also keep me going. – Nina Dobrev • The magic of espresso is that it’s only made with 50 beans. – Andrea Illy • The quintessential expression of coffee is espresso. – Ernesto Illy • The voodoo priest and all his powders were as nothing compared to espresso, cappuccino, and mocha, which are stronger than all the religions of the world combined, and perhaps stronger than the human soul itself. – Mark Helprin • Their offense is shakier than Katherine Hepburn after an all-night espresso bender at Starbucks. – Dennis Miller • There are certain aspects of acting that I don’t like. I’m not a person who loves being on set. I mean, I know people that have their espresso machines in their trailers and they like being in there and they put pictures on walls. But I don’t like it. I don’t like sitting around. – Joaquin Phoenix • To espresso or to latte, that is the question…whether ’tis tastier on the palate to choose white mocha over plain…or to take a cup to go. Or a mug to stay, or extra cream, or have nothing, and by opposing the endless choice, end one’s heartache. – Jasper Fforde • To me, every kitchen appliance is useful and nothing’s overrated. When I look at my little espresso machine, I don’t see coffee. I see a steaming valve as an opportunity to make amazing creme brulee. – Grant Achatz • Until now, I’ve been a kind of binge-writer – I’ll carve out five or six hours on a weekend day and make a large container of espresso and just bang out a lot of words. – Lev Grossman • Waitress!” Hedge called. “Six double espressos, and whatever these guys want. Put it on the girl’s tab. – Rick Riordan • We are too often double espresso followers of a decaf Sovereign. – John Ortberg • What I don’t like is breakfast in the morning. I have a double-espresso cappuccino, but no food. – Wolfgang Puck • What’s it like to be a baby? It’s like being in love in Paris for the first time after you’ve had three double espressos. – Alison Gopnik • When I first discovered in the early 1980s the Italian espresso bars in my trip to Italy, the vision was to re-create that for America – a third place that had not existed before. Starbucks re-created that in America in our own image; a place to go other than home or work. We also created an industry that did not exist: specialty coffee. – Howard Schultz • When somebody is a little bit wrong – say, when a waited puts nonfat milk in your espresso macchiato, instead of lowfat milk – it is often quite easy to explain to them how and why they are wrong. But if somebody is surprisingly wrong – say, when a waiter bites your nose instead of taking your order – you can often be so surprised that you are unable to say anything at all. Paralyzed by how wrong the waiter is, your moth would hang slightly open and your eyes would blink over and over, but you would be unable to say a word. – Daniel Handler

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equitiesstocks · 5 years ago

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Espresso Quotes

Official Website: Espresso Quotes

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