#83 slides in

[tobiasonathan]

reblogging in celebration of being almost done w my khux-khml-khdr slideshow presentation for my 4 friends who are unenlightened

as of the other day it’s been three years since khml was announced so here’s a dumb snapcube meme i made

[hateletterstogender]

whose wants an 80+ slide slideshow on the httyd lore??

[entens]

I actually think Chihiro should destroy all the other enchanted blades & I also think he should gain a new buddy for each one. Cloud Gouger=Hakuri, Tobimune=Iori, Kumeyuri=Hiruhiko get back here, you're next,

[anna-scribbles]

Anna you have to show us the PowerPoint you cannot leave us hanging

 here

[magicalcreeks]

Formatting a post to discuss Kon’s new outfit that he received in SB #83 bc I saw someone say that the look is ugly but it’s not ugly— y’all don’t get it and lemme put you on. It’s literally symbolic asf when put in the proper context.

It’s also a fun outfit. Fingerless gloves anyone??? Red accents and a matching jacket??? Why do we hate fun?? And during fashion week??

Plus the glasses?? It’s definitely being held in place by TTK and that’s a detail I’m taking to my grave.

[theonion]

The University of Pennsylvania published the results of a report Tuesday revealing that 83 percent of Americans just want to put on a pair of sunglasses and firmly say the phrase, “let’s do this.” “After analyzing the collected data, it appears that an overwhelming majority of the U.S. population has a primal desire to unfold a badass pair of shades, slide them onto their head, and firmly state ‘let’s do this’ to a close acquaintance or partner in crime,” said study co-author Matthew Pritzker, adding that regardless of age or gender, subjects across the country had a consistent, carnal need to flick a pair of reflective aviators from the top of their head onto the bridge of their nose, throw a jacket over their shoulder, and utter, “let’s rock and roll.”

Full Story

[revelboo]

Just letting you know because of you and your amazing fics I got a soundwave blokees (I'm so sane and will not need anymore (I'm going dellulu)

But he’ll be lonely…

They’re excited about a road trip

Everything Is Alright Pt 83

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• “Megatron finding out was inevitable,” he says, deep tonal voice low as his servos flex. Wishes he could reach for you even if it’s just to slide a servo against your hair. But he can feel that molten anger just barely leashed from the Seeker. Knows any move to come closer will be met with violence. You’re willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, but Starscream will never trust him again. “Safe under his protection now.” Only because it amuses the warlord to have a way to manipulate Starscream and ensure good behavior. He knows how precarious this is. How dangerous.

• “His protection?” Starscream snarls, wings trembling slightly in fury. Of course, Soundwave thinks you’re safe now. He’s never been on the receiving end of Megatron’s fury, always been favored. You’ll just be a toy he can amuse himself with until he grows bored or breaks you. Toying with you just to hurt him, amusing himself with casual violence just to hear you in pain. “I’ve seen how little his protection is worth.”

• Uncertain, you look between them. Torn between the fear Starscream’s anger is sparking and wanting to believe that Soundwave really did this as a kindness. That he’d been trying to keep you safe. You know them both. Are familiar with them. Megatron’s a complete unknown. He hasn’t harmed you yet, but if Star’s right his temper is too mercurial to trust. But maybe it’s like when you first figured out how starved Star was for validation. You’d manipulated him, feeding his ego to stay alive. Eventually you hadn’t had to lie to him, you’d started actually caring. You can play the same game with Megatron. Figure out how to be what he needs to keep yourself and Star safe until he bores of you. “Okay,” you say tiredly.

• “You can’t possibly believe him,” Starscream growls, looking down at you, wings flaring. Venting tiredly when you lay a hand on his chassis. “Primus.” Your trusting nature is going to be the end of him. Knows it, but still can’t bring himself to crush your trust, because if not for it, he wouldn’t have this. Have you. All because you’d trusted him again and again. Just kept reaching for him. So believe what you need to, and he’ll keep watch, waiting for the next betrayal. “Megatron is dangerous.”

• Spark aching that you’re still willing to take him at his word even though he hurt you, Soundwave’s head lowers. Because the Seeker isn’t wrong. Megatron is unpredictable and his anger all consuming. “We can protect. Keep him in line.” You’re looking up at him, eyes uncertain as the Seeker laughs, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. Hoping this isn’t a mistake. That he made the right decision even as he’s not sure how to curb the warlord’s worst impulses. This was the only path forward, though. Needs to believe that it won’t cost him everything. Because what he has now? He’s not sure he’d survive losing it without finding out where it will go. Wants to wake up to your warmth against him, feel you drowsing in his cassette compartment, your wild emotions spinning him tight when he touches you. Wants everything.

Previous

Next

[sydneighsays]

This took .. so long *collapses into a pile and cries on the floor*

Some of my favorite shots. I'll post more on my Instagram because I'm at my limit here and there's literally 83 slides

Audio from episode 136 The Puppeteer

[ln4bub]

hii i love your five so much omfg i was wondering if you could do 11 and 83 with lando or daniel w a bit of a breeding kink i’ve got major baby fever rn😭🫶

A/N i wasn't planning on writing this one yet, but the dr3 breeding kink was voted for in my last poll and so this one had to be done so i could tag it properly for the anon that requested it <3

DR3 Request

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

Lando was always in control; being the deciding voice in what needs to be changed with the McLaren he had to drive week in, week out. So when the MCL-60 wasn't performing, leaving him stranded out in P17 or scraping points in P9, you could see it was starting to get to him. You'd bore the brunt of his frustration, traumatising poor Oscar after every bad result. But it was wearing Lando down, and so when he dragged you back to the hotel after the Canadian GP you were half expecting him to break.

So when his lips greedily meshed with yours you were surprised, you thought for sure this would be the final straw for him. His tongue clashed with yours, tasting the fruity soda you had consumed during the race. The groan he lets out into your mouth makes your body tingle, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck. Lando pulls you on top of him, collapsing on the bed you shared. He pulls his lips away from yours with a smack, heavy breaths now filling the space between you.

"I want you to take control tonight."

Your stomach clenches at his words, images of a flushed and desperate Lando writhing underneath you fill your mind. "Are you sure?" You mutter back, brushing that one loose curl from his forehead. His eyes close at your soft touch before fluttering open, glazed over and wide staring at you. "So sure baby, just don't want to think right now." He practically whispers, voice nervous and slightly shaky.

You press your lips to his forehead, leaving a faint glossy sheen behind. He smiles softly up at you, his tongue poking out to wet his lips in nervousness, waiting for your response. "Whatever you need," you tell him, mirroring his own smile. He leans forward to kiss you, lips hovering over your own before he feels a sharp tug in his hair. His mouth stays parted, eyes closing as you brush your lips gently over his own. You feel the way he tries to capture your lips, the barely there brush leaving behind a thin layer of spit to add to your lip-gloss.

Your tongue peaks out, running over his lower lip before capturing it between your teeth and pulling gently. Lando whimpers at the sting, large hands encompassing your face to pull you towards his own. Your lips move in sync with his, practiced and perfected over time. You adjust your position, straddling him as you continue to kiss. He whines at the weight of you against his cock, straining now against his black jeans.

Your soft hands slide underneath his shirt, pushing it up to expose his tanned skin. Lando takes the hint and removes his team merch, throwing it on the floor with a thud. His large hands slide up your back, kissing along your jaw as your nails begin lightly scratching his back. "Take it off, please, wanna see you baby." Lando whispers against your skin, the movement of his lips against your neck making you moan softly. You heed his request, pulling your dress off and leaving you in your matching set. It was Lando's favourite, all black with custom fluoro yellow piping around the edges.

He groans at the sight of you, leaning back into the pillows when you gently shove his chest. Your lips connect with his own once more, sloppily coating them in the last of your lip gloss. Lando chases your lips as you pull away but you simply smirk at him, dipping your head to suck at the apex of his jaw. A loud moan leaves Lando's mouth at the action, his head tilting back to give you more access to his thick neck; access that you happily utilise.

Your lips are everywhere, overwhelming Lando in every sense, nibbling and sucking before swiping your tongue over the fresh marks left behind. Normally you'd avoid giving him hickeys but the next race wasn't until July so they had time to fade, and Lando loved the feeling of you claiming him in this way. His cock was starting to throb in his jeans with each press of your lips against his skin, especially when you migrated further south.

You kissed every inch of his skin, tracing every mole across his chest and stomach with your lips. His body erupted in goosebumps with each touch, squirming underneath you at the teasing. You slide your pinkies underneath the waistband of his jeans before undoing the button and sliding down the zipper. You hear Lando breathe a sigh of relief at the release of pressure, lifting his hips to allow you to slide his jeans down.

You kiss his length of his underwear, feeling it twitch with the first touch of your lips. "Y/N, babe, come here." Lando mutters, pulling at your arm. You hover over his bulge, the heat from between your legs radiating for Lando to feel. "What is it baby?" You ask, looking into Lando's glossy eyes. His pupils are blown wide, lips red and bitten as a consequence of your teasing. "Just want to feel you, is that okay?" He asks, eyes pleading.

"Of course it is Lan, but you're gonna have to beg for it, can you do that for me?" You question, dragging your nails down his chest as he smiles shyly with a nod. You remove your remaining underwear as Lando does the same before hovering over his hard cock, the tip bumping your clit as you position yourself.

"Please baby, need to feel you." Lando mutters as you glide your pussy over his cock, coating him in your wetness. He stutters out a groan at the feeling of your slick covering him, "Oh god, so fucking wet. Please, god please, let me feel you baby." He continues, hands squeezing your hips in an effort not to buck his hips into you. You slide his tip into your pussy, moaning at the stretch. Lando echoes the same moan, cock twitching at the feeling of your warmth.

"Fuck, feels s'good baby, more, please, give me more please, wanna be buried inside you s'bad." Lando hurries out, voice strained with restraint as he tries not to slam himself inside you. You heed his request, slamming yourself down onto his length before riding him at a wild pace, your legs immediately starting to burn.

"Holy shit, oh my god, love you, love being inside you, so good to me, yes baby, don't stop." Streams of praise and whines leave Lando's mouth, his body falling slack at the pleasure rippling over him. Moans spill out of the both of you, the burning pain of your legs adding to your pleasure as his cock hits you at the perfect angle. "Fuck Lan, made for me weren't you baby?" You mutter, hand resting on the side of his flushed face.

He nods with a whine, "Yeah baby, all yours, no-one else's, fuck yes. Use me just like that, my cock's all for you." His mouth drops open in a loud moan of your name, "So close, wanna feel you cum, please cum, need it." He slurs, hairline beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat. Your hand slips down from his face, your other hand joining it to wrap around his thick neck as you continue to fuck yourself on his dick.

His thumb reaches over from where his hand has sat on your hips, rubbing against your clit with every bounce you make. It sends you flying over the edge, your walls clenching around Lando's cock and pulling his own orgasm from him. He releases with a loud groan, your hands tightening around his neck. His cum fills you, beginning to spill out from where you remained connected. You ease the pressure on his neck, collapsing forward on top of him.

You lift yourself on shaky legs, allowing Lando to slip out of you. You crawl up the bed before swinging your legs over Lando's face, his large hands cupping your ass. "Clean up your mess Lan." You tell him and he wastes no time, pulling you against his face as his tongue delves between your folds. He flicks and swirls like a madman, shaking his face in-between your legs, his nose bumping your clit with each movement as he cleans the combination of your cum that spills out. It doesn't take long for you to cum on his tongue, sensitive from your first orgasm.

Lando lifts you off his face, cuddling himself into you but not before kissing you sweetly, allowing you to taste the both of you on his tongue. "Thank you." He mutters, a sentiment repeated at the next race when Lando gets P4, and the next race when Lando gets his first home podium, and the week after when he secures another P2.

Oscar stands next to you in the garage as Lando gives his interviews after the race, "Whatever you did to him in that hotel room after Canada must have worked miracles, are you a witch?" He asks, laughing at the blush that coats your face. "Shut up pastry, unless you're only asking because you want some help getting those podiums too?" You retort. Oscar blushes fiercely, causing you to laugh this time before Lando joins you both, "What's so funny?"

[urlocalloser10191]

note post i suppose because i have things to get done

1 note: i finish my geometry homework(literally due today help me)

5 notes: i work on finishing my presentation but it's a group project so :/(i completed my slides, the slides for lal 3 of us, so now it's just the conclusion left)

10 notes: i finish the mobile for my friends' gift(need it to dry then i can finish it tn)

15 notes: i change my budgeting document because i have to

30 notes: i clean my room

40 notes: i finish spray painting my cardboard

60 notes: i start building the cardboard box hut thingy

65 notes: ill set up a schedule for learning japanese

70 notes: ill start on one of my ny resolutions

75 notes: i start + finish my project for my friend

80 notes: i'll start my air dry clay project for my friend

83 notes: i finish a keychain for a friend + finish a fortune teller for a friend

85: i finish a craft

100 notes: i start on the coloring books i have to make

110 notes: i finish my intro for this blog

red=not done

blue=started

purple=done

limit is i guess 10 notes decided to tag 1 person : @aesthetic-writer18

[cosmerelists]

Adolin & Shallan Try Out One of Those Modern "Date Ideas" Lists

As requested by @thewatercolours :)

If you google "fun date ideas," there are a myriad of magazines and blogs that have you covered. I decided to pick this list (yes, it's from AAA Discounts of ALL places) because it included skydiving and I really wanted to write that one. *cough* All the rest are randomly selected though!

1. Paint Each Other's Portraits (#17 from the list)

Shallan: [holds up a portrait of Adolin on their wedding day, taken from a Memory. He looks resplendent in his wedding attire, his handsome face gazing toward the viewer with tender love] Adolin: [holds up a stick figure drawing that has red hair] Shallan: I genuinely love it.

2. Conquer a Jigsaw Puzzle (#83 from the list)

Adolin: "Conquer." Adolin: "Conquer" made it sound very exciting. Adolin: "Conquer" makes me think of the thrill of battle. Shallan: Yes! I finally found the last piece of the brick fireplace! Adolin: Maybe puzzling is not for me.

3. Enjoy a Weekend Staycation (#26 from the list)

Shallan: Hmmm...the magazine makes it sound like a "staycation" involves leaving your room to go do things locally. Adolin: I interpreted it as lying in bed for as long as possible and then maybe taking a shower together. Shallan: [throwing the magazine aside] I like YOUR interpretation.

4. Go Skydiving or Bungee Jumping (#102 from the list)

Kaladin [in the sky with Adolin and Shallan]: So...you just want me to dismiss the lashing and let you plummet to your deaths as a...date? Adolin: We have the parachutes that Navani made us! Shallan: Yeah! We'll free-fall briefly and then use those to gradually slow our descent! Adolin: It's about the thrill - the romance - the excitement. Kaladin: ... Kaladin: [drops the lashing] [Adolin and Shallan plummet, screaming delightedly] Kaladin: I don't think I understand romance.

5. Recreate Your First Date (#7 from the list)

Adolin: We have the food, we have the wine. Adolin: Right. Go ahead. Shallan [sweetly]: Let's talk about your pooping habits. Adolin: Yup. You still got it.

6. Cook a New Cuisine Together (#81 from the list)

Shallan: We could make....stew? Is stew hard? Adolin: The bridgmen made stew out of, like, nothing, so it's probably not too hard? Shallan: You just put stuff in water, right? [many hours later] Adolin: Stew sucks. Shallan: When we make it, anyway....

7. Indulge in a Spa Night at Home (#84 from the list)

Shallan: Wow... Soaking my feet in this fabrial-heated water feels amazing... Adolin: Do you like the fragrance? I added scented oil! Shallan: It's nice, yeah. Adolin: And apparently this clay-oat-honey face mask is good for your skin! You just have to spread it on and let it harden. Adolin: I added fragrance to that, too. Shallan: Are you the best husband ever? Adolin: I think I was made for spa nights.

8. Explore a Local Trail (#66 from the list)

Adolin: You know, I think the magazine was picturing something scenic, something in the fresh air, something....with light. Shallan: Ooooh, I only got to briefly draw that plant when I was lost in the caverns with Kaladin, but now you and I have all the time in the world! Adolin: [looking around the dark, damp chasm in which they are walking. One lonely bone peeks up out of a patch of water nearby. He doesn't mention it] Shallan: [crouching down to sketch, grinning to herself] Adolin: Well....at least I have something beautiful to look at.

9. Browse your Favorite Bookstore (#32 from the list)

Adolin: L-Listen, I feel like this date idea must come from a culture where men read, yeah? Adolin: What am I supposed to do in a bookstore? Shallan: Just trust me. Adolin: !! Adolin: Is that a whole shelf of fashion magazines? Shallan: This bookstore archives the whole catalogue! Adolin: Are you the best wife of all time? Shallan: I might be.

10. Take a Dance Class (#14 from the list)

Lift: And THIS dance is also from Azir, and it's called the Twirl 'n' Slide. Lift: First you spin around on your butt as fast as possible, then you leap to your feet and slide in a wide circle like this! Wyndle: C-Can you really say this is a dance from Azir, Mistress? You made it up! Lift: Yeah! IN Azir! Shallan: Only dance teacher available, huh? Adolin: Her rates were very reasonable.

[hischiershoe]

too long | luke hughes

i am a member of the “luke hughes is a giant simp” club so here’s this for you <3

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes and others

yourusername finals have been killing me but my sweet boy always knows how to cheer me up even from states away 🥹

View all 83 comments

yourbestie i still want to know how he got the handwritten note in there

yourusername “he’s built different”

lhughes_06 i’m built different

elblue6 you’re doing amazing sweetie❤️

yourusername oh thank you 🥹❤️

jackhughes He literally rewrote that note 10 times and it still looks like shit

yourusername like yours would be any better 😭

⤷ jackhughes I’ll have you know, my handwriting is beautiful

⤷ trevorzegras Beautiful SHIT

⤷ jackhughes Fuck off

lhughes_06 I love you so much, pretty girl. You’re doing amazing and you’re going to kill your finals ❤️

yourusername god i love you

yourusername i can’t wait for christmas. it’s been too long

⤷ lhughes_06 way too long

⤷ jackhughes simp

⤷lhughes_06 At least I have someone to simp over

⤷jackhughes 🫥

simonnemec17 good luck!

yourusername thank you nemo!

lhughes_06

liked by nicohischier and others

lhughes_06 finally got my girl with me and now i’m never letting her go ❤️

View all 283 comments

user1 THE SNOW HEART IM CRYING

dylanduke25 finally, adverb, after a long time, typically involving difficulty or delay.

yourusername emphasis in long time and difficult

⤷dylanduke25 trust. i know

⤷yourusername thank you for listening to me all the time 🥰

⤷lhughes_06 thanks for taking care of my girl, duker. love ya roomie

⤷dylanduke25 💛

jackhughes⛸️🏃🏻‍♀️💨💥

user2 this is cute then you see the last slide😭

_quinnhughes I don’t even want to know

yourusername would you believe me if i said he made me do it

⤷_quinnhughes Yeah. I would

yourusername i never want to leave

simonnemec17 you are welcome for the pictures

lhughes_06 thanks man

yourusername thank you 🥰

user3 you guys are so cute 😀🥲

yourusername i love you so much. i never want to go back

lhughes_06 so don’t

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - i. a badge of honour

series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 2 pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. synopsis: scotland, 83 AD after the battle of mons graupius. the romans have come up to the boundaries of their empire with a relentless desire to conquer the savages that inhabit the highlands. they won't rest until the Caledonian tribes are subjugated. Marcus Acacius is in charge of your clansmen's fate, but if such fate is similar to your family's, you know you need to do something about it. as the only living daughter of the tribe chief, your people look to you for leadership. power plays, treason, deception, rebellion, war, love, heartbreak, betrayal. and two souls, destined to despise each other, trying to navigate it all. a/n: well, here it is! the first chapter of my new series, set in what is now scotland, during the romans' conquest of the british isles in the 1st century. hope you guys like it! as always, all interactions welcome. thank you so much for reading! <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. death, aftermath of a battle, burial of family members. reader is an original character - female, has a name (callie) and a physical description, family history, etc. i'll try to keep the references to a minimum though. age gap (callie is 26, marcus is 48). mention of infidelity and becoming a widow. marcus’ and reader’s pov. i have taken some historical licenses for ease of writing (use of "clan" as synonym for "tribe", references to irish/celtic gods, the caledonian people speak modern scottish gaelic instead of a (proto-)brittonic language). w/c: ~4.2k. dividers by @saradika-graphics i'll be tagging some people at the end of the chapter who interacted with this post. dw, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you ask me to! also, if you want to be removed from this post, please send me a dm.

A light breeze whistled through the nearby standing stones. The dying sun provided no heat, and the ethereal landscape was cold with hues of blue and grey. Despite the shimmering wildlife that came with the first hints of spring, the meadow was uncannily silent.

The crows cackling in the distance broke such tranquil peace and woke you from your slumber.

Slowly you blinked, something wet and warm covering your eyelids. You felt it slide down your skin, pooling in the dip of your collarbone. Your limbs felt so heavy, you couldn’t lift a hand to rub your eyes clean. In fact, you were so tired that even taking a deep breath hurt.

Your orbs fluttered shut, shattered and defeated.

Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, was calling you to His side. His presence was soothing, so inviting, the most melodic sounds guiding you to Him. With the eyes of your dying imagination, He extended a welcoming hand towards you, a soft smile on His mythical features.

“Come with me, sweet child of the tribes.” A guttural voice escaped His lips, so dark and sombre it enveloped you.

You nodded, gaze down, submitted to Him.

“You can’t just take her, Dhuosnos. Callie is yet to avenge them — her purpose must be fulfilled first before she can greet you as an equal.” A second voice, feminine, otherworldly and reassuring, interrupted your exchange.

Morrígan, Goddess of War, placed Her hand on Dhuosnos’ forearm as to stop Him from reaching you. A stone of relief, but also of disappointment, sat low in your stomach when He took a step back, head bowed towards Her.

Steadily you undid your curtsy, your green eyes locking on Hers. They were black as the night sky, Her pupils and irises indistinguishable from one another. You looked into the abyss of Her sight and felt a deep-rooted longing, one you never experienced before.

“You are not done yet, mo leanabh (my child). Your people await your return.” Morrígan palmed your trembling hand, escorting you back to the earthly plane.

“But…”, you turned around to look at Her, ask for Her advice.

But She had already vanished, a sweet scent of lavander left behind.

You gasped awake, your eyes so widened, the cloudy, sunset sky above felt like it was crashing down on you. You were laying down on a pool of mud. A deep, raspy grunt escaped your lungs as you tried to move your arms. When you couldn’t, you looked down, confused.

Aengus’ lifeless body was resting on top of yours. Your father’s henchman had made the ultimate sacrifice by hiding you underneath him, away from the prying eyes of the Romans. The dense liquid caressing the skin on your face was none other than his blood. A trickle of thick red dripped from the gnarly wound in his neck on to your cheek. His eyes were staring at you emptily, his soul had already left this world when you regained consciousness.

Your father, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis, the Caledonian Overlord, had come to the aid of the Taexalian Overlord, whose territory was succumbing to the legions of Gnaeus Julius Agricola, a Roman governor with a high desire to impress his Emperor, Titus Flavius Domitianus.

Your father had gathered as many fighers as the Caledonian lands could give him. Both men and women were called to arms when the tribes were threatened. Being the daughter of the Chieftain would not spare you. You would not have chosen differently anyway, had you been given the opportunity. Fighting for land, clan and honour was your duty as much as your brothers’ and sister’s.

The journey from Inbhir Nis (Inverness) to Cala na Creige (Stonehaven) had been unforgiving, with illness and evil lying in wait. But you all had been warmly welcomed by the Taexali tribe and were fed copiously, the uisge-beatha (whisky) being served like water.

Your combined armies, shy of fifteen thousand folk, had been ambushed at Raedykes during a repositioning exercise by the Roman troops led by Agricola’s most trusted man.

General Marcus Acacius.

His mere name made you sick, anger crawling under your skin.

Fighting off your own opponents, you had seen the Roman General charge against your father like a beast, wielding a gladius over his head. The metallic impact of their swords rang loud across the landscape. The men looked into each other’s souls, an exchange of words shared between them. You were too far to listen, too far to fully see what was really happening as warriors from both sides danced through the grass.

Then you foresaw it before it happened: the heavy Roman sword fell on your father, who was struck to his knees with the General’s blade lodged in his belly.

You tried to get to him, screaming “Athair (father)!” at the top of your lungs. His eyes locked on yours before he fell sideways. You lunged forward but didn’t get to him, Aengus stopping you in your tracks.

“No, Callie, it’s too late now”, he had sorrowfully whispered in your ear before throwing you off to one side to fend off an attacker.

And then blackness swallowed you, an enemy hit you in the head so hard you lost consciousness.

That was how you came to be where you were — with your back flat on the silt and Aengus’ body blanketing yours. The grey sky above you sensed your pain, and, at Taranis’ command, it parted in the middle. The God of Thunder released a downpour to clean the blood, soot and woad’s blue dye off your face and hair.

You cried your sadness away, rainy tears sliding off the corners of your eyes — your anger, your loss, your torment, you purged it all, sobbing until you were devoid of all emotion. Taking a deep breath, which caused a needling pain on your ribs, you pushed Aengus to one side to free yourself from his weight.

The thudding sound he made almost brought more tears to your eyes.

“Sorry, uncail (uncle)”, you muttered, hovering your fingertips over his eyelids to shut them for him. Now he could finally rest.

You stood up, your knees trembling like a newborn calf. A searing pain stabbed your skull, dried blood and dirt gathering on the wound on your scalp. With a straight back, you dared to look around you. The bodies of your own men and women were scattered around the hills of Raedykes. So many lives lost, you heard all your ancestors screaming from above, their cries falling upon you in the way of rain. The green, long grass was reddened with blood, but the weeping sky had started to wash away the atrocities committed by the Romans.

Then you saw him. Your athair.

“No, no, please, no...”, you whispered as your sight became blurry again, dragging your feet towards the fallen body of your dad.

Your soul tried to tear itself apart, become its own entity. You had to summon the last drop of the royal blood that ran through your veins to keep yourself in one piece. You knelt before him, craddling his bloody hand between yours. Unconciously your body rocked back and forth until you hugged him, laying flat on top of him.

Time stood still, like a thread on the expert hands of a wool weaver. It could have been minutes, hours or days, your pain too great to bear, to comprehend.

And then you felt a hand lightly tap your shoulder.

You startled, your mind and body jumping back into survival mode, gripping your sgian-dubh (small knife) close to your chest.

“It’s okay, mo phiuthar (my sister). It’s me, Torcall”, a raspy, masculine voice forced you to focus on the man in front of you.

He was your father’s most important tacksman and also husband to your older sister Mairead — your sweet Maisie, as you always called her. She was the eldest of the four siblings while you were the youngest. Always so witty and quick with a joke, Maisie kept up the spirits even when the circumstances were dire — in fact, before your paths had parted during the battle, she jested about your H-shaped shield being larger than you.

When you turned around, Torcall flattened his hands on your shoulders, slightly shaking you so you would come back to reality.

His blue eyes pierced through you, the situation becoming clearer in your mind. Thousands of your tribesmen were dead. Your father too.

“Maisie?”, you asked in a hush. Your heart clenched when your brother-in-law shook his head no. You were afraid to speak, but you did nonetheless. “Aodh and Somhairle?”

Torcall stared at you, his silence speaking loudly. “They are all dead.”

The air evacuated your lungs, feeling as if a spear had run through you. Learning about the death of Maisie and your twin brothers broke something within you, something fundamental and primal. They were your everything, your most trusted confidants. Despite being of different ages, you all were so tight-knit it was difficult to find one of you alone.

A heart-shattering wail escaped your lips as you bent over yourself, your chest snug against your knees.

Morrígan had unashamedly claimed most of your family that day, except for your beautiful mother. Now Her words made sense: you were yet to avenge them, to fulfil your purpose. She had spared you for a reason, not so you could pity yourself, knees deep in the mud.

To avenge them, you had to kill the hand who showered this tragedy upon you.

General Marcus Acacius.

A raven’s strident, gurgling croak forced you to look up to the skies — a subtle reminder that Morrígan was watching closely. The massive bird was circling above your heads, like a vulture waiting to feast on a carcass. With resolution, you wiped away your tears, your sobs now silent, and nodded at Torcall.

“I understand. How many…?”, your voice faltered before you could finish your question.

“A couple of thousands. We have found cover in the Dunnottar Woods while we regroup and… bury our dead.” Torcall replied, his eyes averted with the last sentence.

You had lost a sister, but he had lost a wife, the mother to his now half-orphaned children. “I’m sorry”, you muttered, your lips pouting once more.

“She died fighting, the death of a warrior.” His proud voice did not waver. “And your father?”

Your heart wept at his mention but managed to control the anxious fluttering.

“The General killed him.” Your teeth gritted with hatred.

“Mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)”, one of your father’s retinue members bowed his head to you once you walked into the circle they had formed in a meadow between the trees.

A few dozen men were scattered around the area, fires lighting the dark night while shades of red and orange flickered, creating fiery, dancing shades. You held a torch and carefully waved it in front of you, looking at the faces who watched you back eagerly.

You saw in your men what was brewing inside you: despair, defeat, sorrow. All your souls grieving in unison — all of you had lost someone that day.

At six and twenty, you did not expect to be in this position. You were the youngest daughter of the Overlord — you were never meant to lead your people. The task ahead of you felt titanic, unachievable.

But you had no other option. General Marcus Acacius had forced your hand.

He came, he saw, he conquered.

And now you had to deal with the gut-wrenching outcome of his departure.

“We’ll go back home to Inbhir Nis. But before that, we must give burial to our people.” You had to make a herculean effort to infuse your tone with steadiness.

Torcall first, and then the rest, bowed their heads to you.

“As you command, mo bana-phrionnsa”, he replied, and quickly barked orders around in your stead.

Your chest felt heavy with responsibility and grief. What pained you the most was not being able to carry your brothers and sister with you back home. They would not be buried under the cairns near you family home with the rest of your ancestors.

And what was worst — thousands of lives now depended on you. The weight of your tribe's destiny heavily rested on your shoulders now, like Atlas carrying the heavens.

Maisie, Aodh and Somhairle had been lined up on a patch of wildflowers that you had picked yourself the night prior — their arms were threaded together with your sister in the middle. Your clansmen had also surrounded the makeshift burial pit with wood to aid the combustion.

As you placed the last stone on top of them, you also deposited a bright, bloomed thistle. The flower that blossomed in every nook and cranny of your beautiful motherland, despite the harsh winter or conditions it faced. Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, it would always come back, stronger and more brightful than ever.

Devotion, bravery, determination, and strength — the thistle was a badge of honour for the Caledonians.

With a renewed brawn unbeknownst to you, you threw the lighted torch and watched as the fire consumed the bodies underneath the stones.

There were no tears left within you. Only purpose and resolution.

The way back to Inbhir Nis was tiring and soul-crushing. Hiking through the Cairngorms had been a difficult task with so many people behind you, but luckily you all managed to make it through without any losses.

With each mile covered, you saw the devastation left behind by the Romans. If this was any indication of what awaited ahead, you should start bracing yourself for what you would see. It seemed that the Romans were set towards the northwest — Inbhir Nis was right in their path.

You quickly recognised the landscape as you walked towards Loch Moy. A thick, dark column of smoke towered above the pine trees. Your heart raced as you picked up your dark green skirt and ran towards the loch, ignoring the calls of your brother-in-law.

You could run through those woods blindly — this was the land where you were born, the land you were named after. Your name was an unusual one — Caledonia, in honour of the earth beneath your rushing feet. Just a few people called you Callie, mainly your family and closest friends. With your bright, fiery red hair, green almond eyes and a face dotted with freckles, you were the epitome of your people. That was probably why when someone new learned your name, they always said it suited you.

Dodging the last few trees, you made it to the edge of the loch. In the shallows, the crannog of Naimh, your community’s healer, was burning down to its foundation. You covered your mouth with a sombre expression, your eyes itchy because of the dense smoke and unspent tears.

The Romans had gotten to your settlement before you did.

“Callie, wait up”, said Torcall behind you, struggling to catch up with you.

He halted right behind you, the silence between you was almost tangible.

“The rangers have returned from their reconnaissance mission.” His voice was plain, contained. You turned your heard towards him, slowly, hardening yourself for his next words. “Your mother is dead.”

The last glimmer of hope within you vanished. A single tear skidded through your cheek — angrily, you wiped it off.

You were alone in this world. Everyone you cared for had been taken from you.

“Is everything to your liking, Dominus (Master)?”, the male roman servant asked in a low hush, head bowed, eyes fixed on the cobblestone.

“Yes, now leave”, Marcus dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

The General looked around him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. He was accustomed to much more elegant surroundings. Although the barbarians did try, their architecture was nothing in comparison to Rome’s.

The castle he was in was small and it only had two floors. It was mainly made of sturdy, grey rocks and dark wood. The design was not very sophisticated, all square and rugged edges. It had two towers and a barbican. The decoration inside was bare, with just enough furniture and no luxuries.

The only warmth was brought by the colourful tapestries adorning the cold, thick walls — one had caught Marcus' attention at his arrival when he first entered the dais. It told a story he had not heard before.

A dragon-like figure lurked beneath the rippling surface of a lake, attracting the attention of the villagers. At dusk it would emerge, a guttural sound echoing in the dead of night, as if it was calling another. Any bìrlinns (wooden vessel) left on the shore would appear destroyed the next morning. Fishermen were worried and called upon the town's druids, afraid of the Loch Ness monster. To appease the beast, every full moon, the druids would whorship the creature, bringing oblations and sacrificies to quench its thirst.

Marcus made a mental note of keeping his distance from that Loch Ness. As a devoted Roman, he was wary of the mystic creatures that skulked in the depths of human fear.

Although he missed his home, he had several debts to pay. The Emperor would not accept no for an answer, so he had to be a reluctant participant in this incursion — in fact, neither Domitian nor Agricola had really asked him to tame the highlanders up in Caledonia. They knew his skills would be most needed in combat, having been praised by bards and poets alike after his many years in the battlefield.

At eight and forty, Marcus Acacius had had his good share of tragedy and death, both personal and in war. His life had not been easy, having to forge a name of his own since childbirth and then having been recently betrayed by his own spouse.

The thought of Livia still angered him — she had had the audacity of blaming him for her infidelity, accusing him of always being away, of loving Rome more than his own family. Her cheating had been going on for as many years as their arranged marriage, throwing a doubtful shade on his paternity to both his children.

His life had come crumbling down in the last few months, so maybe coming to Britannia had not been such a bad idea. Female adultery was a crime penalised with death and that was a decision that Marcus had yet to make — outing Livia’s unfaithfulness would condemn her to Pluto's realm. Did he really want that for who had been his wife for more than thirty years?

Pinching the bridge of his hooked nose, Marcus walked towards the only window in the room. The roman took a deep breath and exhaled steadily — he needed to think of something else.

His mind went back to the battle of Mons Graupius. The spilling of blood never became easier with time — if anything, it had become harder, splintering his soul further. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear the piercing, pained shriek of a woman as he imparted death on Murdoch of Inbhir Nis.

Her hair was dyed with black soot and tied back, her face covered in a blue paste and ash. He was too far to catch the colour of her eyes, but he thought them dark azure. The fierceness of her expression took him aback, her voice shouting a word he did not recognise. But his eyes did not have time to linger on the feral woman a few yards away, because a savage attacked him.

His hand stilled on the rocky window’s sill. The barbarians called this place Inbhir Nis. The stone castle was that of the chief’s family, atop of a hill with views to the scenery underneath. It was rudimentary and lacked many commodities — nothing comparable to his villa in Rome. The tribal settlement was formed of huts made of stone, timber and hay.

Agricola had decided to burn down the outskirts of the town and killed the wife of the clan chief making a macabre example of her, so the people would submit to the Roman’s yoke quickly, crushing any opportunity of rebellion. The message was clear: Rome would not tolerate being challenged. Anyone who did, would face the most painful of deaths. The governor left to go northward, leaving Marcus behind to rebuild the area to Rome’s standards. The emperor had deemed the location an important enclave for his empire, being the main town in the Moray Firth.

Marcus was standing in what he thought was the bedchamber of Murdoch. With the Overlord and his family alienated, the primitive people of the highlands needed educating and he had been given the task of doing so. Not a welcomed one, but he had a duty to Rome that had to be fulfilled.

With a heavy sigh, he undid the brooch at the base of his neck, relieving himself of the heavy, white sagum (cape) that was part of his attire. He threw it on the uncomfortable bed. He unfastened the golden, laurel-shaped bracelets around his wrists, and then proceeded to undo the tight knots that held his armour in place.

Then a knock on the thick, wooden door broke the silence of the room.

“Come in”, thinking it would be his male servant, he didn’t turn around.

“Dominus, dinner is ready”, a very soft voice with a very marked accent made him look over his shoulder.

A pair of very bright, almond-shaped, emerald-green eyes locked on his, framed by what he would describe as fire hair — so red it looked like a hellish aura crowning your head.

So bright were your eyes, he almost felt his soul being examined by your hypnotising gaze. Marcus had never seen eyes like those.

How dared he stand where your father did? Anger shimmered under your skin, but you kept it in check. When you realised you were holding his gaze for longer than what was appropriate for a servant girl, you averted your eyes, inspecting the stones under your feet.

Torcall called you mad for doing this, but you had made up your mind. If you really wanted to overthrow the Roman General and win back your family’s castle and land, you would need to sew yourself into his everyday life. Gain his trust, learn his secrets and use that information against him. Your people were counting on you for freedom, and you would not allow yourself to disappoint them. Even if it was the last thing you did.

“Who are you?”, his raspy voice filled the atmosphere as he resumed the task of undoing the ties on his armour.

Did he have no shame, undressing himself in front of a maid? Mind you, you were not an innocent servant, having been widowed recently. But still. The romans had no modesty, you assumed.

You had to think quickly. You had learnt that the governor and the general both thought the whole chief’s family dead, so you could not out yourself. A very few, selected people called you Callie, almost always in the intimacy of your home, when strangers were not around. Your nickname was precious to you because it was only used by those you loved.

“My name is Callie, Dominus”, you offered your nickname in a rusty Latin. It had been a while since you had to use a language that was not your native one.

“Callie.” The way your name rolled off his tongue gave you goosebumps. You didn’t like the way he pronounced it — it lingered in his mouth for too long, dragging each letter. You wished your words back, but you couldn't change it now.

Instead of clenching your jaw, you nodded. “Yes, my lord, I’m one of the servant girls who tended to the clan chief’s family before you.” You explained, your head still bowed.

You ventured your eyes up for a second, catching a glimpse of his naked torso. Unconsciously, you pursed your lips. The way your heart pounded loud for that one second made you furrow your brows in confusion.

He might be a gorgeous man, but he was a killer. And you had no taste for soulless murderers, that much you knew about yourself.

“Call my attendant, Atticus, to help me get ready for supper. I have no need of you. And ask the kitchen staff to heat some water and bring it up here.” His tone was emphatic, unwavering.

His rejection, in other circumstances, would have been most welcomed, but you needed him to trust you, to confide in you so you could plot his demise — to destroy him. This was not a good start to your plan, but you needed to play the long game.

“I could certainly help you with a bath now, Dominus, but your wish is my command.” You forced the words out, when in reality you wanted to spit them to his murderous face.

He just nodded in your direction, his movements stiff and measured. “Just my attendant will suffice, now go.”

With your fingers laced on your back, you curtsied, walking backwards towards the door of your father’s bedchamber. You could not seem too eager, or he would become suspicious.

When you were in the corridor with the door closed behind you, you took a deep breath and straightened your back.

You would not take no for an answer. Marcus Acacius would yield to you, whatever the cost.

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[00127am]

tokuno yushi & gn! reader about an eventual, albeit reluctant, confession, embarrassingly head-over-heels yushi word count 1K words

AUGUST 13 83 degrees 📀 my heart by western kite

"you look pretty,"

the chatter of passing people from beneath your open window nearly consumes each syllable of his compliment, tone much too soft to be deciphered through the hustle and bustle of the city. a noise partnered with the all too familiar serenade of cicadas and the steady stop and go of traffic. the life all around you so loud that yushi, in all his gentle and tender words, is almost forgotten. washed away with the sudden strike of high tide, only to be resurrected by the lull in the surf and your significantly fine tuned hearing.

"yeah?" a question poised in the undertaking of an action as you pull your shirt from over your head, collar getting stuck on the angle of your chin. a problem solved as quickly as it had arisen with one harsh tug until the article of clothing is tossed absentmindedly onto the bed behind you.

he swallows softly, eyelashes fawning against his cheeks as his head tilts upon his shoulder. catlike eyes follow the curves of your naked spine, tracing over every muscle, every beauty mark, every imperfection and division. his answer is one made without thought, an immediate response that even he finds to be said much too instantaneously. "yeah,"

"thank you," you unbutton your jeans, shaking them off the bone of your hips with a few light steps and a yank at your beltloops. balancing on one foot as you slide them down your legs, kicking them off with a rightward snap of your ankle.

"have i ever told you that?"

you crouch down to one of your wardrobe drawers, sliding it open in a single, fluid motion. tongue caught in between your teeth as you sift through the clothing, fingertips slipping over the folded fabric once, twice, then three times over until you've successfully found the bottoms you've been searching for. "that i'm pretty?"

he nods, leaning against the doorframe as he watches you stand to your full height. a motion undertaken with little thought, one that he realizes you did not catch with the continued silence on your part. so instead, he offers you a hum of affirmation. one which stands out from the noise of your backdrop, a sound much too sweet too blend into anything else.

you pause, thinking for a moment before tugging on your pants. brows furrowed and nose scrunched as you button them, slender fingers dropping to the zipper. despite the thorough mundanity of the action, your red-haired counterpart gazes upon you as if you were dancing a pirouette la seconde. though, he supposes that he would watch paint dry if you were the one who had put it there. "i'm not sure,"

"well i do," he says, lips parted and tongue caught gently between them, expression tensed as if it were a matter of life or death, "think you're pretty, i mean,"

you laugh, eyes flicking upwards to meet his gaze. eyelashes upon eyebrows, the upwards curve of your lips obscured by the angle of your chin. your inflection is genuine, earnest. "so are you,"

despite the warmth which spreads throughout his chest at the register of your reply, your words are anything but. they're cool. refreshing and short-lived, like a breeze in the unrelenting gaze of the summer sun. one he wished would lay upon his skin for even a second longer, yearning for the chill which lays upon his spine and the sigh of relief which escapes his tongue.

swallowed in the heatwave of june, you're the only one who could make yushi freeze. and perhaps that's why his next words slip off his tongue with such ease, such an unconsciousness that he barely registers that he was the one who said them.

"i was in love with you last year,"

if you were at all startled by the sudden admission, you didn't show it. instead busying yourself with adorning your top chosen just a few moments prior. you're focused on straightening your shirt, attention unfocused on the boy in front of you. and for once, yushi's glad to not hold every ounce of your consideration. for if he did, if he was met by your gaze (the one which makes his heart drop to his knees) then he's positive he might explode.

your tone is nonchalant, an underlying hint of amusement evident in the ending intonation of your vowels. "really? did my failing grade in economics charm you?"

he shrugs, attempting to keep his tone every bit as casual as yours (it doesn't work, in fact, he sounds too much like a schoolboy with a crush for his replies to be considered anything but lovesick). "a bit,"

"glad it did something," you laugh, finally picking up your head to meet his gaze. a movement which encourages the sudden flight of a million and one butterflies, battering and banging against the walls of his stomach and sending his cheeks burning a shade of red most akin to his hair. "but now?"

yushi clears his throat, a last ditch effort for any sliver of composure (one which reaps no rewards). "what about now?"

arching your brow, you shoot him a incredulous look. as if what you were referring too was all but obvious (it was, but he's trying so desperately hard to wear an aloof facade despite the feeling of it unraveling with each and every glance in your direction). "you said last year. was in love. past tense,"

your words are spoken with a hint of haughtiness, a puffed up pride which sits upon your head like a golden crown. as if you had just gotten him to admit something you already knew and won the cat-and-mouse game which the two of you have been rattling between for the last year and a half. something that for all intents and purposes, you had. a trend which he was all but reluctant to continue. an unwillingness that lasts for just a fraction of a second. he huffs, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms in a show of faux annoyance. "i'm not giving you the satisfaction of using present tense,"

"but you would use it?"

"yeah," like the initial confession, the answer comes easy. slipping down from upon the tip of his tongue as smooth as honey. pooling in the roar of your heartbeat and resting upon the crimson blush of his cheeks. yushi's words are spoken with such an ease, such a natural lilt as if they are the only things in the world which he was ever meant to attest. "i would,"

🧾 © 00127AM 2024

[enjoythesilentworld]

83 for the smut prompts you just reblogged? 👀

Hope you have a lovely day!!💜

hi! thank u for this prompt! i hope you're having a lovely day, too!

for Wille's birthday he said he wanted 1.2k of unedited lovie-dovie smut. happy bday king (non-derogatory) <3

“I don’t care how,” Wille says, sliding his hands up Simon’s bare chest to curl around the back of his neck. Simon’s lips are pretty pink, skin flushed and breaths coming a little quick. Wille shakes his head, blown away by Simon’s beauty, as he always is. “I just want you to touch me.” 

Simon groans, “Wille,” head tipping back. 

They’re in bed still, Simon in Wille’s lap, both naked and pressed up against each other. They’ve been caressing skin and sighing in that slow morning way where everything is still warm and easy and a little hazy, dotted by sunlight filtering through the curtains and little dust motes floating around them, kicked up by the shoved duvet. 

Wille leans forward to kiss along Simon’s jaw and down his neck, hoping to ease some of the grumbling from Simon’s tone.

“This is supposed to be about you,” Simon continues, obviously trying to hold onto his frustration but melting again under Wille’s touches. 

Wille smiles against his skin. “This is the best present.” His hands slip down to Simon’s waist. “Almost as delicious as that store bought muffin you brought me.” 

They giggle and yelp as Simon tackles him back into the mattress, fingers aimed for his sides.

“Simon!”

“You said— Oi! — that you wanted me to touch you!” 

“Not like— fuck me!” Wille cackles, catching Simon tightly to him as they nearly go tumbling off the side of the bed and only the floor. 

After a moment of catching their breath, having narrowly avoided temporary disaster, Simon smirks down at him.

“Was that your request?” 

Pre-coffee, it takes a moment for Wille to understand what Simon meant. 

“I—” he stutters, suddenly incredibly aware of every single inch they are pressed together, as if it were any different than before. Now, though, he practically feels the temperature kick up in the room. 

Simon quickly rolls them away from the edge of the bed, back to the center, then sneaks a hand down Wille’s back, down to grab his ass. “Hm?” 

Rather than answer, Wille dives down to kiss him, leaving Simon to elucidate his meaning, his enthusiastic Yes, from the way Wille licks into his mouth and moans when Simon’s fingers brush dryly over his hole. 

Despite only 5% of their bags being unpacked, even two full days into their little vacation,, the lube had made it out of the toiletries back and onto the nightstand within ten minutes of their arrival to the rented bungalow. It’s from there that Simon grabs it, and then it really is Wille’s birthday because he barely protests when Wille urges him along. 

Only a minute into the second finger, Wille is squirming, begging, burning for more. “Please, Simon,” he sighs, pushing back onto the two fingers prying him open, Simon’s tongue slotted between them. “Need you.” 

And unlike the usual, Simon only hums a single discontented sound. “You’re sure?” 

“Yes,” Wille nods rapidly, cheek scraping against the sheets. He shifts his knees a little wider.  “Yes. Wanna feel you.” 

“Fuck.” Simon drops his forehead onto Wille’s arched back, exhaling long and slow. With a gentle kiss, he pulls his fingers out, then Wille hears the delicious sound of Simon’s hand moving over his own cock, slicking himself up. The noise makes his core tighten, and he shifts his hips back, as if that will make Simon get inside him any faster. 

When Wille whines a bit, feeling empty and more than a little desperate, he feels a tap to his side. 

“Turn over, would you?” Simon asks, and Wille scrambles to comply, happy to have his eyes on Simon again, on his hooded eyes and red lips pulled up in a smile. A little dazed, a lot in love.  The sight makes Wille smile, too, makes him not even pause for a second to lift his knees and shimmy his hips suggestively. 

Simon murmurs, “Wanna see you,” as he crawls over Wille, laying himself over him, making him feel every inch of their skin pressed together. His hand moves down between them, almost missed by Wille, too lost in Simon’s eyes, until he feels the press of him against his rim, and he chokes on a gasp. 

“Good?” 

Wille nearly laughs, eyes rolling back as Simon stutters his hips, cock reaching deeper, deeper, deeper. Because, yeah it’s fucking good. It feels like they’re melting into each other, touching each other in every place, every sense of the word. Mind and body and soul and all of that fucking spritual shit that Wille usually only kind of subscribes to but right now he feels it. He feels it so deep, and so much, and all over. The love and devotion and all the pain they waded through to get here. Simon’s cock dragging over his prostate and his lips mumbling words like, “Love you so much.” 

“I love you,” Wille babbles back, “so much. Fuck, you feel— You feel so—ah—good.” 

And it is so much better like this. Where they can see each other and hold each other and Simon can say, “Touch yourself baby,” and Wille barely even has to move or take his hands off Simon to follow directions. He doesn’t even really need to wrap a hand around his own aching cock, was already careening toward the edge with every slow, then snapping thrust of Simon’s hips, but he does anyway. His fingers lift up to brush against Simon’s core, tight and clenching as he chases his own release, only leaving himself a finger and a thumb to fuck up into but it’s enough. Simon’s hands are buried in his hair, pulling gently, face beautifully scrunched in pleasure and Wille can only look up in awe. 

“Let me hear you,” Simon whispers into the space between them, lips brushing, and Wille nods, and tilts his hips, and barely hears himself gasp out a stuttered moan as he falls over the edge. Through the white noise, he hears—feels Simon follow him over, spilling into Wille, deep, where no one else gets to touch. 

Sighing, and collapsing down, their chests press together so that Wille can feel his heart pounding against the inside of his ribcage and Simon’s drumming right back. 

“You’re such a sap,” Simon says, still a little breathless, a bitten-back smile obvious in the tone. 

Wille tries to blink his eyes open again. “Hm?” 

“Normal guys want some weird sex thing for their birthday,” he explains, lifting his head. A gentle hand reaches out to brush hair out of Wille’s eyes in a gesture so tender it almost hurts. And then his words quickly reverse that: “You just want missionary and someone to tell you they love you.” 

“You,” Wille retorts. “Not someone. You. And what other ‘normal guys’ are you talking about? We’ve been together since we were sixteen, baby, I feel like you don’t have the best idea of what weird sex things these supposed ‘normal guys’ are into right now.” 

“Semantics.” 

“I don’t think that means what you think it means. And you’re the one who made me flip over!”

“Also semantics.”

“Simon.” 

“Wille.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you,” Simon grins and kisses him. “So much. Happy birthday, Wille.”

[vintagelasvegas]

Las Vegas Blvd at Riviera Blvd, c. June 1983

On the right, workers are tearing down a canopy that was built over Slots-a-Fun casino only less than two months earlier. The structure was found to cause problems with foot traffic, and was deemed an "eye sore" by Clark County commissioners.

Slide from Slide Guy. Eye-catcher. Review-Journal, 4/24/83; Decision delayed over casino's sign. Review-Journal, 5/5/83; Slots-a-fun redesigns canopy. Review-Journal, 5/19/83; Dismantling Quonset Hut. Review-Journal, 6/10/83.