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literalgrill · 1 year ago

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Do NOT Support Hard Drive On Patreon

You might see friends today suggesting you support Hard Drive on Patreon today. You know, the funny video games version of The Onion? As a journalist, I will firmly tell you DO NOT GIVE THEM A DIME.

The CEO has pushed out all former staff that have built the site up to its current greatness and has been pushing the use of AI. The staff begged to have a Patreon before basically all being pushed out, but the idea was refused until now, when it will only line the pockets of a single person instead of hard working writers.

I know they might have provided laughs before, but Hard Drive is a shell of what it was once. Let it die and support the people who actually made those moments of joy possible. Don't believe me? Check out what former employees are saying below:

Kevin Podas: Okay you know what, I would feel bad saying nothing about this, so here goes:🚨SAVE YOUR MONEY🚨

We passionately advocated for a Patreon at Hard Drive & were aggressively shot down. The talent & people who built the site were pushed out. To see this now is beyond upsetting. For the past few years or so I put a lot of myself into this website. I pitched a ton of jokes, got over 120 articles published, & met a lot of great people. I'm sure if you've been following me for some time you could easily see this.

However, there is a lot of misinformation. I was eventually promoted to Managing Editor of the site & was ecstatic. Grateful for the opportunity. Felt like all of my hard work in the comedy mines was finally paying off. But things took a turn for the worst, & each day there were new surprises that affected our livelihoods. These were all very avoidable surprises, mind you.

A patreon was going to be our hail mary, but alas, for some reason, the power that be did not want it. Causing us to leave a dream job behind. "At least we did all we could," we consoled ourselves afterwards. I put a lot of myself into this project. I pitched all sorts of ideas that could have helped-- we all did. Merch collaborations, Patreon-integrated YouTube content, so much more. And most of them were shot down out of sheer stubbornness and nothing more. To see lie after lie spread, and multiple big publications and YouTubers that I am a fan of promote this Patreon under these pretenses is incredibly upsetting. There are so many receipts.

Please share this and consider pulling out if you've already put money into this. On Hard Drive using AI, also from Kevin Podas: I can't personally confirm that part aside from some of the recent header images for articles on both Hard Drive and Hard Times are being made with AI. As far as writing, it's been mentioned in the past, but I personally do not know. Maybe others do, maybe not. MORE From Kevin Podas suggesting the owner denying a Patreon being set up earlier cost an artist a job that was replaced by AI: We had a social media person who was awesome! He made the images until this AI implementation. He had to leave because ad revenue was low and a Patreon was aggressively refused.

Luca Fisher: at the risk of burning some bridges, i have to back up kevin here. i've only been part-time, in-and-out of hard drive since i got in last year, but i can corroborate that management doubled and tripled down about not hosting a patreon/crowdfunding and that many other suggestions and ideas, including mine (and ones much smarter than mine!), were shot down in really long, apocalyptic threads of everyone left on deck desperately trying to come up with ways to keep the lights on. managerially it has been messy and sad

i've written for multiple publications that have long since died, ones that were in the process of dying, and ones that, in this case, are soon to be put in the ground. it is sad and sucks every time. i don't know what could have been done differently, but i do know that a lot of great writers and content creators were left shorthanded and unhappy by the way things have gone. and it is sort of puzzling to see the sudden championing of patreon after we were all told plenty of times that it couldn't work and we should move on also, just to add my own personal two cents here, i was really disappointed by the shuttering of many different article sections on the site over the past 6-8 months. i understand cutting corners in a deficit, and i know it had to be done. that said…

all in all, i'm really sad to see this all happen. i don't fault anyone, if only because i don't really know enough about how this all can happen to make sense of it. games journalism is in a sad, sorry state, and will likely no longer be a thing in the next decade

VideoSealMan: I'm gonna say this because I think I deserve to. For months, MONTHS on end I was bugging Hard Drive management about a Patreon. Often I got ignored for a week+, but when I actually got a response I was encouraged to - of all things, write up a Google Doc pitching the concept I did it regardless. I wasn't the only one trying to sway management on a Patreon, but so fiercely was I fighting for it that last night, I was accused of making this comment directly by the CEO! With no evidence whatsoever! After I'd been gone for over a month.

I vouched so hard for Patreon because I wanted all the writers and creatives working with Hard Drive including myself to get paid better. When I actually got a response, the idea was often shut down. Eventually due to the state of my company, my pay was cut for a second time I confronted management alongside a couple other important figureheads at the org and told them that if we couldn't do a Patreon - I could no longer financially justify staying there. The answer was still no, so I left. Baffled at the decision, but whatever.

It is unendingly frustrating to know that myself and many other people who put their soul into Hard Drive LEFT because of management's absolute refusal to compromise on a Patreon, to then see them launch one anyway a month later and get over 1000 people pledging money. I'm seeing a lot of things float around about greed and people being fired. No one was fired. Everyone who left, left because they were sick of management's decision-making. And honestly, management is a lot of things but I would not call them greedy. (From my experience.) They did genuinely make an effort to pay people as much as possible. I found the pay very fair for a while. I am not disputing that I was paid what I was owed - yet management frequently feels the need to remind critics of that. Lmao, yes. I was paid what I was owed. No one is disputing payment. You did the bare minimum a business owner should do and paid everyone their due, very well done. I make no allegations of greed, cheating or foul play. I make allegations of poor management and incompetence that has fucked over other people.

Basically the only people left at Hard Drive have been there for about 2 months. They will reap the rewards of this successful Patreon I and so many others passionately fought for for so long. We will not see a dime.

I do not know the new people at Hard Drive, But I feel bad for them. They were haphazardly thrust into Hard Drive's workplace with little to no explanation on how anything works, or given any context on the state of the place. Even now managements feeds them half-truths and misinformation about other people's grievances. I am broke and have been for a while. I had to move out of my flat in Reading and back with my family because of how little money I was making. This has basically doomed my flatmate to moving back in with abusive parents, which is something I feel guilty about every day. If we had gone with the Patreon I worked myself hoarse over back then, this could have been avoided. Some of my other good pals could also not have been fucked over.

It was a bad judgment call, but it's not a crime. It's just management getting it wrong.

So should you give to the Hard Drive Patreon? I don't know! I don't think any of the new people working there to patch up the holes left by the recent mass exodus have any bad intentions. Maybe they deserve it! But it is not the same site you knew a year ago, or even a month ago. Myself and many people who were there far longer than me and did far more for it than I did are all gone now because we could not deal with management's terrible decision-making and dogass communication any longer. That's what you should know, imo

I had an agreement in place with management that I would receive the next 8 months of revenue from the Hard Drive YT channel from my leaving in November. This was a deal I appreciated, and thought was very fair on management's behalf. So far, the deal has been honoured for 2 months. However as of last night I was removed from the Hard Drive Slack without warning, and as an editor for the YouTube channel. This means I no longer have any way of verifying how much I am owed, I just have to take their word for it. I'm sure management will make their own statements full of half-truths and weird language on the many cases being brought against them - I'd take everything they say with a pinch of salt if some of the screenshots I've seen of them talking about me are any indication lol

To management; I do not want to talk to you. I want you to DM me a screenshot of how much I'm owed every month and then send me the money per our agreement until June, then we can go our separate ways. Do that and admit to your mistakes, and maybe you can recover your reputation! That's it from me, lol. If they pull out of the deal and fuck me over I'll have more to say, but most of what I know is other people's stories of incompetence and poor decision-making, lol. I genuinely get no pleasure out of doing this; I do not think management is evil - I just think they're really bad at what they do and it's cost other, more talented people, lol. You should believe the writers imo

One last thing I wanna say btw, management did often stress that no one should try to make Hard Drive a full time thing. They were transparent about that, and that is fair. I was working on it because at a few points, I was lead to believe we actually were doing a Patreon. Many other ppl have similar stories of being strung along by management changing their minds and stop-starting shit every 2 weeks. We all made the fatal mistake of overestimating our manager - who would tell you one thing one day and something totally opposite the next week lol

Hunter R. Thompson:

I'm not your dad, but speaking as a Hard Drive writer, I don't know that funding Hard Drive on Patreon is worth it

The driving talent on the back end—behind the kickass site I joined in 2019—have peaced out over the years as the site's been (in our view) increasingly mismanaged. Mismanagement like, not setting up crowdfunding before the ship sank and all its best crew failed; or publishing a screenshot of Andy Ngo pedojacketing a trans writer, complete with her deadname; or a disgruntled ex-writer getting falsely accused of shit-talk, by actual staff. I'm grateful for the writing I've gotten to produce for HD (and will forever be kicking myself for not writing even more, in the four years I've had to do it!! i'm a dumbass!!!) but it is very much no longer the site I signed up for.

I don't want to resign as a contributor altogether, because I'm open to the idea of the site recovering and bad practices being retired as finances level out-- it would just be dishonest for potential backers to not be Aware Of The Circumstances, I think.

Jeremy Kaplowitz: i truly don't want to start shit, but feel compelled to say: i want to see Hard Drive succeed w/o resorting to throwing former writers & editors, myself included, under the bus. surely there's a way to save the site without building it over the corpses of those who left. my $0.02 i don't blame anyone who wants to sign up for the HD patreon and i support the website, but that includes those who worked on it for years, have complaints, and don't deserve to be treated like bitter assholes like this kind of stuff is just objectively true, meanwhile there's these new writers who joined the site after i left (meaning, in the last ~3 months) claiming people are liars. decide for yourself if you care, but this is what happened! [Quotes this Tweet]

Seth Finkelstein: Writing for Hard Drive has been a privilege the past few years, and it makes me so angry to see people I looked up to get jerked around behind the scenes. The amount of grenades the editors jumped on our behalf is immense, and I don't think the way they're being treated is right.

Other Bits On AI: We do know for sure however that AI art has been used by the site. Its fucking owner confirms it here:https://twitter.com/MattSaincome/status/1743040541603123622. Seems the owner pushed AI written articles as well! TayFabe: My vaguetweet is making the rounds & these made me apoplectic. - owner regularly lobbied using ai. Once he tested it & said ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. - ai images were used on the site & socials w/o consulting the team or disclosing it publicly I found the ai bit relevant to include bc 1) it illuminates a stark change in HD's current direction & leadership, 2) ai images have previously been used on the site and (since deleted) ig posts, 3) ai content fucking sucks, and repeatedly pushing to use it is a telling quality The "handful of writers who chose to leave" includes 2 editors-in-chief (both cofounders who wrote a combined total of >1,000 articles & defined the voice of HD), & at least 3 other editors. These guys put in WORK since 2017, so cool to be corrected by ppl who joined in Nov 2023 [Link to mentioned vague tweet from post.] More from TayFabe: owner continuously lobbied for using ai in every possible way. No one else wanted to do it, but he kept on, saying ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. Also, ai images were used on the site & socials without public disclosure or consulting the team.

The owner has responded now multiple times in a private discord... Thank you for people sharing screenshots! First Screenshot:

Kevin's Response: He banned me from the server for speaking out, so no, I didn't see it. And he gave no indication of a timeline, it was just "we'll do one when *I* say so" and gave every inclination he was totally against it. It bred an environment that pushed our hands to have to leave. Screenshot Round Two:

Kevin's Response: "Starting one in 3 months" is an absolute lie. He denied it, I have screenshots and others who can confirm. No timeline was given. Just "this is what it is now" and like, I couldn't live off of that. I wanted to do more but he was allergic to good ideas from others around him.

Matt, owner of Hard Drive, responds publicly on Twitter.

Matt: Kevin, the patreon launch was delayed because I didn't think it would work. Everyone is happy that it did work. Everyone who left the site because we didn't have money to pay for creative content which didn't revenue is welcome to return home. But unclear why the hostility.

Hard Drive paid out literally every dollar it had, then a bunch more, to creative people who worked on the site. When we ran out of money, we couldn't pay anymore. We did our best.

Kevin: Right, and my point of this thread was that it was completely and totally avoidable. This is reasonable to be upset about. How could I have been any more clear?

Matt: If we knew with 100% certainly that the community would have supported us via patreon, we would have done that. We didn't know. We had tried 4 years ago and got no support. We were wrong this time. We did our best to figure it out. We paid all the money we could.

Kevin: So you knew with 100% certainty this time? Or you took a leap of faith?

Matt: It was a last gasp panic effort after ad rates got cut in half on january 1st due to seasonal spending changes. We didn't know it would work. We were embarrassed to ask for support. We wanted to figure it out.

Kevin: Every site has a Patreon. Every YouTuber, comedy group, etc. But you insisted that nobody cared about Hard Drive. Which is wildly untrue. I know you see that now, but again, I think you can see why I and many others are pretty upset. A last ditch panic effort was long overdue. A couple more things from Matt:

It was about the size of the hole we needed plugged budget wise, the time I had left of personal resources, and the past data I had about us trying a patreon (which turned out to be a bad indicator). I didn't think the Patreon would help us fast enough. I made a bad estimation

aka "if we make $1000 more dollars a month via patreon, which would be 10x what we got last time, we will not solve any of our problems. If instead we try to plow down path B, we might make it out in time." That was the thinking. I chose the wrong path, but didn't mean to Kevin also retweeted this comment from the user Matt was responding to: So you're saying that you're bad at running the business, didn't listen to any of your employees until after they were forced to leave their jobs, and now you're going to get more of the money from the Patreon that was their idea in the first place? Matt's Response: Respectfully, I made a mistake delaying the patreon decision. But keeping a comedy site alive for 9 years is not easy, there are lots of potential ideas, and think overall we've done a good and honorable job. Will leave this thread in peace now to allow people their space.

Sorry for linking to Elon's hellsite (derogatory), but sources need links so...

#video games #patreon #hard drive #ai critical

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rottencherrypie · 6 months ago

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R-18+; Positions

Summary - The favorite positions of some of Middle-Earth's finest royals...

Warnings - Smut, language, fem!reader, afab!reader, mention of male genitalia (characters), mention of female genitalia (reader), missionary sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (reader receiving, Fili and Legolas give), facesitting, implied squirting, mention of bodily fluids, cowgirl position, mention of breasts (reader), sub/dom dynamics, implied dom!Reader, implied sub!Kili (he finds a way), praise kink (Kili), slight dirty talk (various characters), slight sensation play, doggystyle position/bent over, voyeurism (Thranduil stop fucking the reader in front of guards), slight dark!Thranduil, slight dom!Thranduil, slight sub!Reader, kneeling, slight dark!Legolas, dom!Legolas, lowkey mean!Legolas, implied brat!Reader, oral sex (Legolas receiving), fingering (reader receiving), slight powerplay (if you squint), possible dumbification (if you squint), implied punishing, cum eating, and maybe more (I might have missed some).

Pronouns & POV - She/Her, third-person

Pairings - Thorin x Reader, Fili x Reader, Kili x Reader, Thranduil x Reader, Legolas x Reader

Word Count - 3,800+ (I got carried away at some parts)

A/N - This is from my suggestion box which I had posted on Instagram (I will add the suggestion box here too eventually), the person who sent in this suggestion requested to not be tagged but I still wanted to thank them for their suggestion! This is more headcanon-like, so it varies a bit in length each section. I did attempt to give some plot based roughly around the suggestion given! There is only the header image in this post because Tumblr would not save the draft with the gifs I attempted to add, so I apologize for that! Reader is implied to have tits and an ass large enough to jiggle, soft hair, and I believe plump lips. Smut below!

Read on AO3 Read on Wattpad

-thorin

Missionary. The dwarven king of Erebor is a man of routine. Whether intentional or nonintentional routines, they are a part of the raven-haired man's life.

He was a simple dwarf, viewing routines and structure as the utmost importance as it was there to prevent chaos—or as much chaos that was preventable within Middle-Earth, which appeared to be close to none.

The dwarven king's love for routine touched all aspects of his life, including the more intimate aspects of his bed.

It was not an intentional routine, but rather a formed one caused by stressors—something he often cursed, but in this instance would thank as it had led him to many pleasurable nights.

It was made gradually, the first few nights of the king's reign after the battle were particularly stressful. He found himself restless, tossing and turning within the fur bedding as his beloved lay beside him—lacking an equal amount of rest due to how the bed shook with each toss of his sturdy form.

So, to settle the king's mind—and to make the bed creak with something other than displeasure—the queen motioned for him to crawl onto her. It was a mere tired curl of a finger, yet the king knew what she was requesting; and what his beloved wanted, she got.

The thickness of his cock slowly split open her tired, wet walls. The weight upon his shoulders eased as the weight of his cock eased into her, a mixture of relief and exhaustion danced upon his face as his hips began to rock at a steady speed. The toned flesh of his hips met against the plumpness of her arse as he slowly wrapped her legs around his waist, allowing his tired cock to carve deeper into her walls.

An act which slowly drifted into nothingness, as the dwarven king soon fell asleep with his head in the crook of her neck after the heat of his seed flooded into her drenched core—coating the walls of her womb with a fresh painting of white.

As the stressors of the crown became more frequent, so did the nights of the queen's comfort. Though, at times that comfort extended into the daytime during particularly frustrating elven visits.

The all too familiar sight of the dwarven king climbing on you filled your view, yet the shade of his sapphire-colored eyes had dimmed with darkness reserved for the elven king of Mirkwood. You were aware of how much the pair despised one another, how their feud over who was owed what had led to death and devastation—yet, you had little time to dwell upon the past as the thickness of the king's cock pushed into your core.

The weight of your head fell back against the smoothness of the pillows, as the weight of your chest lifted upwards slightly, allowing your back to arch and your dwarven lover to gain further access within the warmth of your walls as he pushed into you. The bones of his hips snapped against the flesh of your arse with a rough fury, the slapping of skin meeting each other echoing throughout the room as his darkened eyes peered into yours.

The dwarven king would never vocalize it, but he loved watching the subtle reactions your eyes held as he pounded into you. He loved the ways your eyelids would flutter when he grazed your most sensitive spot, how you would go slightly cross-eyed when you neared your peak, and the way your eyes glistened with tears when he had pushed you to the breaking point one too many times.

Your reactions were routine, and the dwarven king needed routine just like a fish needed water or a wolf needed to hunt. You were his routine, and he needed you like he needed air to live.

──────

-fili

Facesitting. The golden-haired prince was far more free when it came to routines, unlike his uncle. The prince found routines constrictive.

Though he was the heir to the throne, the eldest prince of Erebor preferred to have freedom in his life. He wanted to joust with fellow warriors, to drink ale and dance, and to be free to slip away to breathe whenever he desired.

Yet, his yearning for breath seemed far distant within the realms of his quarters. As much as the dwarven prince enjoyed his pleasures, he favored pleasuring his beloved above receiving his own.

A fact that left you taken aback when the prince had confided in you that he found giving pleasure far more rewarding than receiving it; you had stood there for what had felt like ages to the poor golden-haired dwarf as you blinked mindlessly at him. Had you been dreaming? A man who wished to pleasure another rather than receive it?

"Are you jesting?" The question was quickly met with an amused snort from the prince; the corners of his lips curved into a lopsided grin as his thick, calloused hand cradled the side of your face. "I'll have you know that I take eating cunt very seriously, my love." The dwarven prince promised you.

A promise he showed swiftly.

It was not exactly perfect the first time—though, no first time truly was perfect—but it was unlike anything you had experienced prior. You were not a pure maiden, you had your fair share of lovers before the golden prince, and he had some prior flings as well, yet none of your previous lovers had ever been so eager to feast upon you before.

The prickle of his bearded face sent shivers down your spine as his lips hungrily sucked upon the wetness of your cunt. His hands tightly gripped your thighs, keeping you steady upon his face as his thick tongue lapped up the entirety of your cunt as he devoured you like a starved man with a meal.

Your thighs quivered around the sides of his head as you attempted to hover above him, worried he was not receiving enough air as he drowned himself in the wetness of your core. His skilled tongue delved into your crevices, lapping up every drop of your sweet, pure nectar as he snarled in pleasure.

"Sit on me." The heat of his words caressed your throbbing cunt, making it twitch from the arousing sensation. "But—" Before you could begin your protests, the golden-haired prince tugged you down upon his face.

A surprised gasp fell from your lips as the prince dipped his tongue into your core, happily spelling his name upon the walls of your core as his hairy face ground into you—drenching his beard and mustache with your essence.

The soft prick of his nails would dig into the plump flesh of your arse as his calloused hands held you steady, ensuring that the fullness of your weight would not leave his face until he made it so.

He would continue to feast at you, rocking your hips as he continued to swirl his tongue around your walls. Occasionally, he would slip his tongue out of you, allowing his lips to encase your pretty little bundle of nerves—hungrily sucking upon your throbbing clit until your sweet squirt gushed down upon his face, soaking his beard with your juices before he delved his tongue back your twitching core.

He would drink you like water—and if he had it his way, he would drink you more than he drank water.

──────

-kili

Cowgirl. The youngest prince of the Misty Mountains, Prince Kili, was not the most presentable royal of the line of Durin.

It was not a matter of his looks, though many would claim he was prettier to elves than he was to dwarves: it was a matter of his maturity. The younger prince was reckless, finding pranks and training far more entertaining than the duties of the dwarven courts.

Or, that is what he would claim when asked of his wavering sense of duty. The truth was that the young prince required guidance.

He yearned to be told what to do. The brunette prince despised how he had to ponder decisions, wondering if he would make the proper one or if he would make a fool of himself in the process; he preferred being told what to do and when to do it.

A yearning that had trickled into his nights of passion as well.

You were a breath of fresh air for the dwarven prince. The hopeless romantic of a dwarf thanked his lucky stars each night with you, as you were always to the point and told him verbatim what you wanted from him—and he was more than happy to oblige.

When you had first told Kili of your preference to be on top during sex, it was like a whole other world had opened up for him. He was not necessarily a virgin, but he was not the most experienced of his kin either. He had a few messy encounters that left him feeling less than satisfied and embarrassed.

Regardless of how hard the dwarven prince had tried, sex never felt right to him before his first night with you.

His honey-colored eyes bore up into your gemstone-colored ones, pupils dilated with affection as he watched you climb on him. The roughness of his calloused hands would encase the softness of your hips, lightly holding onto them as you lowered yourself onto his throbbing cock. The sensation was new to him, the warmth of your walls gripped him in all directions as the wetness coated him entirely as you began to glide on his length.

The bed creaked and groaned with each motion of your hips, his gaze falling from your eyes and onto the flesh of your chest which bounced and jiggled with each motion you made. He was utterly entranced.

A soft slew of moans would fall from his lips, the weight of his head tilting back against pillows beneath him as you continued to pleasure yourself upon the thickness of his cock.

"Fuck, please thrust up, Kili." A request the dwarven prince would eagerly comply to, his hips thrusting up to meet the plumpness of your ass each time you lowered it down upon him. "Just like that. Good boy."

Good boy. A simple name that further fueled the dwarven prince into abiding by your commands, doing everything within his power to please you in and out of his bed in the hopes of being called that delicious name once more.

And a good boy he was.

The dwarven prince was more than eager to please you. Never touched himself without your approval, nor did he touch you without approval—even now as he stared at your pretty breasts as they jiggled in front of his face, bouncing tauntingly as you bounced upon his aching cock.

His balls were filled to the brim with seed, becoming nearly painful from their fullness yet he did not dare release a single droplet without approval from his beloved. He simply lay there, allowing his cock to be used as a device of pleasure for the woman he loved most as she continued to coat the throbbing, aching length with her essence.

"Fuck...that's a good boy." The purred praise of your pleasure would cause the dwarf's cock to stir within your walls, desperately twitching for release. "Alright, alright. You've waited long enough." Your chuckled words would quickly turn to moans as the prince's hips began to thrust up.

His aching cock carved its way deep into your walls, hitting the most special spongy spot within your core in a repeated pattern—as if he was trained to give you pleasure even as he chased after his own. The prince would manage to milk a final orgasm out of you, the essence of your pleasure dripping down and coating his filled balls before he emptied his seed deep inside of you.

The weight of his body sank back into the plush bedding beneath him, as the corners of his lips would curve into a lopsided grin as your soft hands caressed the roughness of his stubbled face while you cooed soft praises to him.

He needed guidance, but he sought it most from you.

──────

-thranduil

Doggystyle. Unlike his dwarven counterparts, the elven king of Mirkwood found solace in his busy schedule.

Where some found stressors in royal life, the elven king found peace and comfort. He would never vocalize it, but he found the hustle and bustle within his daily duties as king soothing.

Perhaps it was how quickly everything transpired, never allowing him a moment to dwell upon the past and all the mistakes that lay dormant within it. Or he sought the chaos of life while others shrunk away in fear of it. Regardless of what it was, the elven king found himself entranced by things done quickly—and this extended into the realms of his chambers.

Though many elves were romantic by nature, playing sonatas of their love for one another, writing endless poems, and spending a tedious amount of time courting, the king of Mirkwood was rather forward.

He saw no point in the pleasantries of courting. After all, he was king of Mirkwood—in his mind, he had done more than enough just by holding that title. However, the king was wise enough to never vocalize his opinions on the matter, as he bit back any snide remark he had on the matter with a bitter grin as he focused on what was important: you were his.

A fact that was well-known to all within the woodland kingdom, as the sounds of your pleasure were ever-playing throughout the twisted halls. Morning, noon, and night. A tune that none could forget, one which the elven king seemed to orchestrate whenever he caught a guard's gaze lingering upon you for a moment too long.

The position was like second nature to you, engraved in the very cells of your body after so much time together with the elven king. Your arse was up in the air as your chest was pressed firmly against the smoothness of the silk sheets under you while the elven king slowly entered you. His thickness parted your wet walls, wetness you were ever thankful for, as the elven king did not seem to give you a moment of breath before his hips snapped forth, meeting the plumpness of your flesh.

His motions were sharp yet poised and precise.

The thickness of his length would delve deep inside of you, as his slender hands would grasp upon the plumpness of your rear. A grasp tight enough to hold you in place, ensuring that your hips never dropped as his thickened length continued to carve into your inner walls, yet loose enough to allow your ass to jiggle as his hips bounced off of it.

The elven king loved watching your ass bounce, it was something that left him hypnotized. The sight of your sweet, plump flesh reacting to his possessive thrusts allowed the weight of his days to melt away—as well as the anger he held towards that damn guard.

The cries of your pleasure would be muffled, either by a pillow or the very sheets you laid upon, as the elven king would lean forward—adding more of his weight into each harsh thrust of his hips.

Yet, there were times when you could not muffle the sounds of your pleasure—even when you desperately yearned to.

At times, the elven king enjoyed proving a point to those he caught with lingering gazes towards you. He would instruct they fetch you from your shared quarters, insisting they bring you to his throne room for something of urgency. And like a good servant to the king, they would.

Within the blink of an eye, you were bent over the twisted throne—your hands desperately clawing at the variously curved wooden throne as the elven king hoisted up your skirts; your dripping cunt on display for all to see, including that damn guard.

The elven king's motions would be swift and fluid, his cock buried deep within your wet, welcoming walls, yet his gaze would not be upon the plumpness of your arse. Instead, his cold, pale sapphire gaze would be locked upon the armored man who dared gaze upon you for too long.

His gaze would be piercing, never leaving the other man as the bones of his hips would snap against the plumpness of your ass, making each thrust sharper than the last—ensuring the swollen tip of his cock would hit against the most pleasurable spongy spot within you.

As your cries of pleasure danced throughout the air, it carried a weight throughout the woodland halls. A reminder to all those who inhabited them that the elven king moved swiftly, and could have you just as swiftly.

──────

-legolas

Kneeling. Due to the ever-changing nature of Middle-Earth, there were very few within it that gave the elven prince a sense of control.

Perhaps it was the nature of irony: a prince who believed he lacked control, heir to a throne yet yearning for more. His logical mind reasoned with this sensation, rationalizing it as nothing more than a search for stability amongst the most recent chaos within Middle-Earth. Yet, the emotional sphere of his mind yelled that it was for something more.

It was a thirst that the elf could not quench nor ignore.

The yearning within him was further than matters of the mind; it felt as if it was in his blood and bones. An unspoken birthright, one burned deep into the very essence of his being—he craved, no, he needed control.

And he found that control in you.

You were one, if not the only, consistency in the elven prince's life. Regardless of what transpired within the woodland realms—or realms outside of it—you were always there, waiting within the secure walls of his chambers, eagerly awaiting him upon the plush bed.

To him, you were a beautiful little doll. His perfect little plaything, the one he adored and showered with affection and treasures. He ensured that you were never left yearning—unless you had been bad that is.

On the days you were good, the elven prince would pull you to the edge of the bed, kneeling between the plushness of your thighs before he buried his smooth face between them. The wetness of his tongue would caress the outerness of your entrance, as the fullness of his slender fingers delved inside of your core.

As the fullness of his fingers would stretch your inner walls, carving and curving into the most pleasurable spots within your textured core, his eager tongue would lap up any droplet of your sweet nectar his fingers would push out. The squelching click of your damped cunt would echo throughout the air, accompanied by your soft mewls of pleasure as the elven prince took his time pleasuring you.

He was precise and calculated with each stroke of his fingers: he knew the inner workings of your cunt better than he knew the back of his hand—knowing exactly which sensitive, spongy spot to press into to make your sweet thighs tighten around the sides of his head. How fast to pump his fingers within you to make your breath hitch from pleasure, and when his lips needed to wrap around that sweet little clit of yours to make you drench his hand—and forearm—with your juices.

But on days when you were bad, or life merely felt bad to the prince: it was you who knelt.

His slender fingers, the ones that once gave you such immense pleasure, would be tangled within the softness of your hair. The grasp he held upon your head depended upon the circumstances of the day—but more often than not, it was firm.

The fullness of his cock would push into your mouth, tainting it with the bitter, salty tang of his precum as he would sink in as far as your throat would allow him—stopping when the vibrations of your gag would echo on his thickened length. Slowly, he would puppet your head upon his cock, making it bob back and forth as he slowly sunk more of his cock into your throat until the plumpness of your lips met the flesh of his abdomen.

"That's it, pretty girl." The elven prince would coo, his sapphire gaze boring down upon you, watching as the thickness of him forced the saliva out of your mouth—stained the faintest hue of white from the mixture of his precum—watching as it rolled out of the inner corners of your mouth and down your chin. "Such a messy little thing." He would continue to puppet your head at an increasing speed, the bones of his hips meeting the flesh of your face as he jutted his hips into your mouth; ensuring he was as deep as he could be within it.

If you had been particularly bad, then he would hold your head firmly in place—thrusting in your mouth at a quickened pace, allowing the weight of his balls to bounce upon your chin, coating them with the sticky mixture his cock forced out of that pretty mouth of yours. As you would cough and gag at the sensation, the elven prince would simply shush you. "Ah, ah, ah," He'd taunt, a purposefully harsh thrust making his balls slap against your chin as he held you steady. "you had such a nasty mouth earlier, why not keep it nasty?" He'd coo, one filled with fake care and compassion—a taunt at your previous actions as he continued to fuck your throat until he painted it white with his seed.

But on the days when you were good and the world was bad, he was far more tender.

Though his grasp remained firm and his thrusts a bit rough, the elven prince was not punishing you. With each gag, cough, or whimper that vibrated upon his cock—he would pull back until the throbbing tip rested upon your plump lips. "That's my pretty girl, such a good girl for me." He'd praise, a hand dropping from the back of your head to softly caress the side of your face until you gave the okay to continue.

A slew of pleased praises would fall from his lips as he fucked your mouth, the weight of his head tilting backward as his grasp remained firm on the back of your head. "I'm going to fill your mouth." He'd gasp out, the tips of his nails digging into the back of your head as his hips stuttered into your mouth. "Swallow it and I'll give you anything you want, my pretty girl." And he did, the warming rush of his salty seed would flood your mouth—making you down it with a choked gag, yet it was still done.

The elven prince would continue to praise you for being a good girl, his good girl, as he pulled his cock from your mouth. The tightness of his grasp dropped from the back of your head, one hand meeting the side of your face to return to the earlier caress as the other wiped away the remnants of his previous actions from your lips—giving him a sense of control as he came down from the highs of his pleasure, the same control he had once sought after.

──────

Want to read one part at a time? Read separately on AO3

Thorin, Fili, Kili, Thranduil, Legolas

Want to read it as book chapters? Read separately on Wattpad

Thorin, Fili, Kili, Thranduil, Legolas

#thorin x reader smut #thorin x fem!reader smut #fili x reader smut #fili x fem!reader smut #kili x reader smut #kili x fem!reader smut #thranduil x reader smut #thranduil x fem!reader smut #legolas x reader smut #legolas x fem!reader smut #the hobbit smut

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natailiatulls07 · 1 year ago

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your charles x sister! reader fics are so cute! i love them so so so so so so much!! i was wondering if you could write one where charles and his teen! sister get in an argument (mostly his fault) and she’s ignoring him and he has to leave for a race before he can apologise and she still supports him but won’t talk to him and him making it up to her eventually pretty please! i love your work so much !!!

Charles Leclerc x Sister!reader

Summary - The request above :3

Warnings - Arguing and swearing

A/n - Thank you lovie! I feel like I haven't done Leclerc Sister fic in a long while so it's great to be back <3

Masterlist

Usually the week before a triple header, Charles likes to spend his free time around family. He feels like it gives him that chance to relax and get back into the right mindset. During this time the family would play board games, catch up on favourite tv shows and catch up on life.

Charles loves this time. With his formula one schedule and Arthur's schedule, it’s not often that the two brothers can hang out with their older brother and younger sister. They all come together to spend this time as they did before he and Arthur started karting.

However this week something was off. Everyone in the family could see how indifferent Charles was acting. It wasn’t like no one knew why, it was pretty clear why he was acting like this.

From the start of the season, Ferrari wasn’t having a good time. At least once every race, something went wrong. And Charles was getting the shorter end of the stick, he felt like he was getting totally screwed off in every possible way.

He really tried to not let it affect him but this was his career, without this he’d be nothing. So naturally this was going to crush his self-esteem, his confidence and his calmed headspace.

'Charles?' Y/n’s voice broke through the quietness of his stream, everyone watching could see how tense Charles was. The chat, which was going unnoticed by the pair, was speeding down the screen with fans welcoming the younger one of the two.

username my fav leclerc!! username Y/n I love you username hi Y/nnn username the best leclerc is here yayyy

He stayed silent, barely acknowledging Y/n. 'Charles? Maman made dinner, she told me to come get you' Everyone could see how Charles just rolled his eyes and how he grumbled when she wouldn’t leave.

There was a beat of silence, the only noise filling the room was the occasional sound coming from his game. 'Charles?' Y/n asked again, confused as to why he wasn't replying.

And then, finally he spoke up. 'God Y/n, can you not see?! I’m busy, fuck off!' It wasn’t often that Y/n saw Charles in this light; heck this was the first time his fans were seeing him in this light. It was as if he had forgotten about all of them having front row seats to his interaction with Y/n.

They could all see the annoyance on Y/n’s face, she wasn’t going to back down just because of one fuck off thrown her way. 'What’s up with you?' She snapped back, her mother raised her not to take shit from anyone - Espercially not her brothers. 'Whatever it is, don’t take it out on me cause I did fuck all to piss you off'

Even after her argument, Charles still couldn’t back down. Funnily enough they have the same mother, so this meant they were taught the same exact thing. He wasn’t going to take shit from her either. 'Do you ever consider that maybe, just maybe, that you are the problem? I come home in the middle of an exhausting season, only for you to come and annoy me just like a fucking child.' He pauses the game and turns in his seat, completely forgetting again that he’s on stream. 'Grow the fuck up.'

The chat is practically flying by now, all the comments shouting at Charles for being so rude.

username what the fuck Charles! username better than any reality tv omfg username don't be rude to my fav leclerc like thattt username this isn't Charles, what is going on???

Y/n bursts into a sarcastic laughter, only infuriating her older brother more. 'Haha you’re so fucking funny! Even you, after being the one who helped me come out of your shadow, can make me feel so shit..'

The way she spat out her words scared Charles, he knew he fucked up. Everyone watching the stream could see how his face paled and how, with a deep frown and tears clouding her eyes, Y/n walked out of the room angerily before vigorously slamming the door.

Chat could see a grimace on his face as Charles' face fell in his hands. A deep sigh could be heard through the mic and then the stream turned black. It ended - Understandable.

The days following was icy cold in the Leclerc family, everyone but Y/n had been walking on eggshells. Charles felt like shit, he knew about the shadow behind himself and how it really effected the people around him (Espercially his siblings).

He knew he had to leave for the triple header soon but the thing is he has never left on a bad foot with any of his family and espercially for a long time. His anxiety was riding high.

The evening before his flight to spain, he was sat on the sofa at his childhood home with his mother and Alexandra. 'Fuck..I messed up' Infront of him, Leo was rolling around on the carpet.

Pascale just sighed, she was silently agreeing with her son because she had seen first hand the effects of fame had on Lorenzo, Arthur and Y/n. However on the other hand, she knew that it was harder for him - She just wished he handled the argument better.

'Where is she now?' Alexandras soft voice spoke up, her hand relaxing on top of her partners.

Looking over to the clock, the older women answered. 'Her friends place, I think her friendship group are having a little party you know..' That'd explain the almost eerie silence through the house. 'She'll come around, this won't last long.' A chuckle left the older womens lips. 'Never does..'

If only she knew, Pascale would be eating her words.

The next couple of weeks were long and hard for Charles. It seemed like everything had been going incredibly wrong for the guy. Almost every race he was finishing outside of points, the days were long and every time he'd message his little sister, he wouldn't get a reply.

You see Y/n was active on social media and Charles could see this, he could see how she was continuing to attend to her usual activities. Going to her University lectures, doing her little side influencer job and hanging out with friends.

He had heard from both his older brother and his mother how they could tell how the argument effected the youngest Leclerc. Much like Charles, this space between them was hard. Yet, she'd watch the races for him and support him. That being some sort of reassurance for Charles.

Luckily for him, he had some time between the end of the triple header at Silverstone and the next race in Hungary so the evening after the race he was on a flight back to Nice.

It didn't take long for Charles and Alexandra to arrive back to Monaco, popping to his childhood home once again. Walking in they could tell that immediately that Pascale wasn't home but then again someone was home, which only meant one person was here.

Placing her bag down on the kitchen counter, Alexandra made her way over to the stairs. 'Y/n are you home?' There was several patters of footsteps above the couple as she made her way to the living room where Charles was sat anxiously waiting. His knee was continuously bouncing up and down before Alexandra's soft hand came rest just over his kneecap. 'You'll be fine..' She whispered gently.

It didn't take long for his baby sister to reveal herself, dressed in her work out gear. Y/n tried her best to hide her anxiety and hesitation, much like her brother she hated the past weeks. 'Salut..' (Hi) She breathed out.

Charles' eye lit up when he saw her, a small smile on his face. 'Hé, où est maman?' (Hey, where's mum?) It was safe to say that small talk wasn't going to be the best thing right now but they both knew it'd help.

He watched her as she moved to sit on the opposite sofa in her usual seat. 'Elle déjeune avec une amie…Marie' (She is having lunch with a friend…Marie) Both the Ferrari driver and his girlfirnd nodded slowly and understandingly.

There was a few seconds of a surprisingly comfortable silence, no one knowing what to say until Charles felt Alexandra sharply nudge him. Looking at her in shock, she quietly urged him to apologize. 'Look I'm sorry princesse..'

Almost giving herself whip lash, Y/n looked up from she was nervously checking her nails. And then there was a moment of quiet again, she didn't know what to say. Part of wanted to be cheeky and the other wanted to be sentimental. Suddenly her lips screwed into a small smirk, and Charles would be lying if it didn't scare him.

'You know it was pretty shitty what you did.' She let out a laugh and the pair followed in suit, Charles nodding knowingly. 'But you're my big brother, you're pretty shitty in general..' He was glad she was joking about, and he allowed her joke about him.

A smile had taken its shape on his face. 'Yeah I know, forgive me?' He asked, needing to satify that last bit of anxiety in him. To which he got a quick nod in return and immediately he was up, pulling her in a long over due hug.

At first it was sweet but immediately ruined when Charles heard Y/n mumble. 'Make me a dedicated instagram post and then I'll forgive you properly..' He just sighed knowingly as a laugh escaped Alexandras lips. Of course he was being blackmailed.

'Fine.' A grumble left his lips. 'You're lucky..'

1.6k

#formula one #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x sister #charles leclerc x sister!reader #scuderia ferrari #forza ferrari #ferrari #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #formula one x y/n #alexandra saint mleux

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theemporium · 11 months ago

Note

20 or 29 🩵 with max and lando (them forgetting dates) i want to bawl my eyes out please

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

29. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

They should have told you.

They knew they should have told you, whether it was a message or a call or a fucking carrier pigeon. They knew they should have, or at least now they know they should have. And any excuse now just seemed pathetic, weak, unaccepting.

It just added to the guilt bubbling inside them.

It had been a long three weeks with the triple header. Add in the week before where both boys headed to the factories of their respective teams to go over some upgrades and strategy plans, and it had been well over a month since you had seen either boyfriend in person.

It was hard. Between work and time zones, it was hard to navigate a temporary long-distance relationship. But it was possible. You three made it work, but it wasn’t the same. And you couldn’t deny there was a part of you that envied them both, that envied the fact they were together and could lean on one another whilst you were stuck in another country.

But they had missed you too. They had said as much in every phone call or good morning message you received them. Max had been relieved at the fact he owned his own jet, with both him and Lando excited to get in the air the second they were able to leave the track after the last race. They wanted to get to you as soon as possible, and you were excited to see your boys too.

So, you dressed up a little—nothing too special, but it was more impressive than the pyjamas you had been in for most of your time home—and got a takeaway from their favourite cheat restaurant. You had set the house up, you had got snacks for a movie night. You had everything prepared for when they landed.

And they never showed up.

And it took a story from Daniel’s private instagram to see both boys in a club, celebrating with other drivers and colleagues, laughing and smiling and drinking.

It was upsetting. It was fucking heartbreaking if you were honest. You had felt like you were going out of your mind missing them, going above and beyond for a stay-in date night. You had been so fucking excited and they hadn’t even bothered to send you a message to tell you their plans had changed.

It really fucking hurt.

“I just need some space.”

Both boys stared at you, hopeless and lost and ashamed. Because maybe it was dramatic and maybe it was the last thing you needed after spending a month apart but you felt embarrassed and humiliated and a little out of place and—

You just needed a breather. You needed to spend time somewhere else, somewhere where you weren’t surrounded by constant reminders of them. And maybe in a weird, selfish way, you wanted them to feel the same kind of aching pining of not knowing when you were coming back. Just like you had felt the previous night, thinking they were going to be landing soon.

“Are—” Lando swallowed harshly, his hands tightening into fists to stop them from shaking. “Are you breaking up with us?”

“I—” Your eyes softened a little. “No. But I just…”

“I’m sorry,” Max murmured, his eyes guilt-ridden and apologetic. “I’m so sorry. We are so sorry. It doesn’t change anything and we should have said something but—”

“I know,” you said, your smile was a little fake and it broke the boys’ hearts to be on the receiving end of it. “I know you didn’t do it on purpose. And I know you’re both sorry. But it doesn’t change the fact that I feel like an afterthought in this relationship.”

Max frowned. “Baby—”

“I get it, you two are together all the time because you’re both racers. And I love that for you but,” you let out a long breath. “I think we need this. I need this.”

“If it’s what you want,” Max eventually replied, nodding and blinking away the wetness welling up in his eyes.

“Where are you going?” Lando asked, his voice soft and broken and it hit you in the chest how young he sounded.

“I’m staying with a friend,” you said, and the boys knew better than to push for more details.

Lando nodded, chewing the skin on his lower lip until it was red and raw. “We are sorry. We mean it.”

You smiled sadly. “I know.”

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orangez3st · 16 days ago

Text

How Delta Squad boys confess their feelings for you

Delta Squad x GN!Reader

This one's in a different format than usual—it's in bullet points! Respect to the people who are more talented in writing bullets points/headcanons style bcs it's more difficult than I thought 🤝🏼 (as you can tell this is a little messy)

Enjoy this one, vode! 💛

Also this is for the talented @i-willstealyourtoes 🫶🏼

For @deltasquadweek | Alt. Prompt Day 7: "I Love You."

Masterlist | Delta Squad (in-header image)

Boss

You and Boss are running on a really casual relationship.

Everything's just been really nice in your own pace, and you don't want to pressure him into anything he's not ready for yet.

It's like you're the literal embodiment of patience and he loves you for it, he can't ever have enough thanking you.

You know what this relationship eventually entails—because honestly, he's just a soldier of the Republic, and both of you know well what that means.

And you never seem to mind that, every time you two meet to catch up you always have that smile and your eyes are sparkling at all times.

It'd be cruel, but Boss is a leader; he worries about every kind of scenario and he has to be ready for it, including the ones that scream every kind of ‘what if?’ in the back of his mind.

“You know that I could die out there, right?” he then asks you.

“I know,” you say with a smile, “But I don't want you to go out there with that kind of mindset, Boss.”

It's like his own nature of being an expendable soldier gnaws at his conscience, enough to make him realize that maybe he's not ready to die at all.

“Careful,” Fixer warns him, not hostile, but reminding him of what's drilled into them; that attachment could be weakness. In the corner, Sev is just shrugging and Scorch is examining his fingernails.

Boss keeps that in mind.

But he can't keep it anymore (his brothers aren't stopping him anyway).

He decides he's not going to die any time soon, and for the sake of fairness, he vows to be a better soldier, covering his squad more often on the field so no one's dying in the future.

And so he could come back home to you.

This is all happening inside his mind, so when he comes up to your door before the shuttle that’d take him to deployment leaves, you're surprised that he's there as he pulls you into his chest.

Your forehead bonks against the plastoid armor but you don't mind, laughing it off and your arms snaking around his huge frame upon instinct.

“Listen, cyare.” He can't be long, but he's using all his time by looking into your eyes, and you swear you can see the stars in the dark honey desert color of his own. “Can I make a promise to you?’

“I… Of course. What is it?”

“I’ll try. I promise I'll try,” Boss says, gently taking your hands in his gloved ones. “I’ll try not to die out there. I'll always make it home to you. Come back for you. I'd understand if that's some lesser thing for you to worry about because I'm the best kind of cannon fodder, but… I just want you to know. Think about it, perhaps. It should be something that you can’t possibly ignore when you're dating someone like me. I promise. You'll always have me back with you mission after mission. Okay?”

There's sincerity in his words. You've formed your own opinion about this matter some time ago, but Boss' promise to you scrambles what you've got, what once was standing firm in your grasp as a belief now bends to his promise—his declaration—to you.

“Okay,” you nod, eyes stinging with tears that obviously aren't out of misery. Your smile is shaky. “I heard you.”

Boss sighs softly. “Good.” The moment he hugs you tight, his armored arms wrapping around your form just as your limbs around his neck… everything becomes so clear to you like some divine revelation. You really don't want to lose him.

“Can't promise that I won't come back without scars, though,” he mutters close to your ear.

“That's fine,” you huff a laugh, pressing a kiss to his hair above his ear. “Just as long as you're alive. I'll be waiting until you're back home safe.”

Home. Safe.

Yes, that sounds about right. That sounds like he deserves that. Comfort. Quiet moments. Hugs, just like this. Everything that you've got to offer to each other in these trying times; your love.

Fixer

Everyone knows Fixer worships regulations.

I mean, he calls his brothers by their numbers over the comms during active ops because a) as it should be and b) it's their real name.

But hey, he's melted a long time ago and resorted to call them by their nicknames when there's no officers around that he needs to worry about.

So yeah, everyone knows that, and so are you.

And you? You're the worst match ever for Fixer.

You break rules for fun, but enough not to cause permanent harm, and really, it's not big stuff like vandalism or something else that would end your day in Republic penitentiary, but still.

They're all harmless. Hiding one's jacket. Changing their ringtones. Talking to someone long enough while they're dipping their cookies so it would fall off. Turning off the light while someone's in the bathroom.

Fixer pretends not to acknowledge whatever the hell you've been doing because he's been trying to ignore that troublemaker trait of you so much (how did he end up with you?).

(Honestly, good question. No one knows.)

“Cyare, would you please stop?”

“That should violate about 28 rules, cyare.”

“No one's ever done that because they have brains and you don't.”

Oh he loves to bully you alright, but 100% out of affection. He really would hide a body for you if you've ever accidentally killed someone.

Also no, you don't know what cyare means. It sounds like a language he'd picked up, or taught

Fixer calls you that only because he doesn't know what to call you besides your name.

It just… came out.

You've tried to ask Scorch what it means but all he did was giggling and the next thing you know he was practically gossipping with Sev.

It has to mean something… mean.

Whatever it is, it's consuming your thoughts in the worst ways. They're making fun out of you. So one day when you're being particularly sulky and salty to everyone you know, Fixer's concerns take the best of him and steps in to inquire about your behavior.

“Cyare, wanna tell me what's wrong?”

“Don't call me that!” you snap.

Fixer’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean,” you mock, “What I meant is everybody and I mean everybody in your kriffing squad seems to make fun of me.” You roughly jab a finger into his chest. “Including you.”

“Make fun of you?”

“Are you deaf or something?”

“No,” he answers firmly, his teeth gritting. You don't even notice that his fists are clenching. “Tell me who made fun of you. What did they do?”

“It’s Scorch.” You don't waste time. Your eyes sting from unshed tears and when you wipe them with the back of your hand it's like popping water balloons—they stream down your face. “I just asked about that word you say often and he just laughed in my face like he's won candies or something.”

It's quiet for a while and you both stand there, Fixer's thoughts are growing louder. “What word?”

“One that you use to call me.”

He tilts his head. “‘Cyare’?”

You nod weakly, your tears still spilling out.

There's quiet, and Fixer bites his tongue to prevent a snort. Then he exhales instead, pulling himself together not to laugh and make worse of your overthinking.

“That chakaar,” you hear him mutter, stepping closer into your space and tenderly pulling you into his chest, as if you're a fragile piece of vase. “He could've answered it and you wouldn't have to shed dumb tears like this.”

And just like that you're broken. You're confused as kark that you're caught between snapping yet again, your mouth parted, and your hands firm on his chest to angrily push him away.

“What?” is all you can manage.

“It means…” Fixer’s gaze drift away from you, but you can see his neck and cheeks darkening with color. “It means darling. Beloved.”

“....Oh…”

“Yeah,” Fixer dismisses, looking rather shy with his eyes constantly glancing away from you as the colors in his cheeks make him look even more flushed. “So please don't fuss over it?”

“Say it,” you challenge.

“Say what?”

“The word.”

“I adore you.”

“No, I mean not—hhhggggghh…” You're cut off as Fixer squeezes you so tightly that your lungs probably shrink. You kick his foot.

Yeah. You know what he means. He'll come around with the balls to actually say it.

Scorch

You're not the first to discover that Scorch loves to talk.

And I mean, that man loves to talk.

He's always the first to engage in a conversation as if a dictionary of conversation starters was programmed into him when he'd been in the tube.

He's probably the most expressive person you've ever met and you adore him dearly for it.

Especially when he just leans on the kitchen counter, chin in palm, looking at you with the biggest heart eyes ever.

You know he's just teasing.

He always makes time to come by your home and stay over.

And you as a host are always ready to cook some hearty meal for him—when you learned the fact that they don't eat anything but protein sludge and plain carbohydrate blocks you couldn't take it.

Scorch doesn't want to make you fuss all over just for him, but you insist.

One day he's thinking about it. Does that mean something?

He knows he's been hiding his feelings for a bit too long—even Boss sternly reprimanded him once when Scorch was unable to focus during an op.

He's been thinking about you.

And now as he eats dinner with you, he's lost in his own thoughts and good food.

And by the time dessert comes in, he melts entirely at your great efforts to make him comfortable.

As he enjoys dessert he doesn't even realize that he says, “You know I love you, right?”

It hits you like a damn speeder that you lock gaze with him, Scorch is seemingly as surprised as you are.

“Y-you do?”

“I—I mean,” Scorch deflects, a wave of heat sliding into his cheeks. “I was… talking to the cheesecake.”

That was TERRIBLE.

To be fair it's a really great strawberry cheesecake.

“Oh,” you sulk, forcing a smile to your lips as you pick up your fork again, “Thought I misheard.”

If only you could hear Scorch's heart breaking in that exact moment.

“No, you didn't mishear,” Scorch hurriedly says. He takes your hand without thinking, and the heat in his stomach is bubbling over as he looks into your eyes. “It's um… You know that I've liked you for a really long time, right?”

You nod. “Yeah, and it shows.” Smiling a bit, you lace your fingers with his. “Consistently.”

“Yeah,” he huffs a chuckle. “And now I just really really really like you and everything you've done for me. I know it's just dinner but all this… it means a lot to me.”

Before you can say anything, he scoots his chair closer to you. It scrapes across the floor noisily in the midst of the silence of your home. He plops back down, his thigh touching yours.

“One question though,” Scorch cheekily says, “Did you put love potion in this thing?”

Your giggles are everything to him. “What for?”

“Uh-huh, that's right,” he grins widely, gently cupping your face. “You don't need to put love potion inside your finely-cooked dinner. I'm already in love with you.”

Scorch’s eyes map all over your face, his warm brown eyes glimmering in the romantic candlelight. “You have a strawberry jam in the corner of your mouth, though.”

“No I don't,” you chuckle.

“Mm, wanna prove it? If I kiss you right here,” he boops the spot, “And I taste strawberry jam, you owe me an actual kiss.”

“And if you're wrong?”

“I still get that kiss. I'm trying to woo you here, baby. Wanna appreciate my efforts?”

Eventually he throws the strawberry jam motive out of the airlock and places a cheeky yet long-awaited kiss on your lips. You can feel his smile, even.

Sev

Your relationship with Sev started quite strangely.

The two of you met in some rundown speakeasy in the lower levels of Coruscant, and both claim the ale that everybody says taste like gundark piss your favorite.

And then the talk spans to your favorite Huttese heavy metal band—his favorite too.

Your favorite limmie team—which is also his favorite (he also mentioned that he often played limmie when he was a cadet and he was a mean forward).

There's too many similarities between you already.

Okay well yes, besides breathing gore thriller holofilms, you have nothing else to compare against his dark sadistic humor.

But there's this new thriller movie you really wanna see already in theaters and instinctively, you ask Sev if he's down.

Naturally, with the duties of a soldier and the oftentimes-unexpected demands that entails, he turned down your offer.

You withdraw. Yeah, it was silly anyway.

But at least he insisted walking you home afterward.

Sev could see your disappointment. Days later it's gnawing at him, and Scorch that cheeky bastard notices.

“So you wanna tell me what's going on or would you like me to shove Fixer to have a go at you?”

“Don't drag me into this,” Fixer sighs from the other side of the room.

Scorch grins. “No, you said you wanted to know, so I'm extracting the intel straight from the source.”

“I didn't say that.”

Scorch turns back to Sev. “Now tell us or I'm betting your entire tenday stipend if Fixer pins you down next spar. We'll split, Fix. Don't worry.”

“Fine. I'm in.”

Sev grunts, already losing it. “Should I feel guilty for rejecting a date?”

“You fekking what?” Boss pipes in, this time.

Scorch claps loudly. “Alright vode, it's time for flash training for our psycho brother here, welcome to Dating 101. Guest lecturer Null-7 isn't available at the moment so you should feel lucky, Oh-Seven.”

He gave it all out.

Your shared favorites, things you have in common, stories traded over ales and a few things stronger—both of you were at that bar for five hours just talking.

Sev isn't sure if Scorch's been drilling the term ‘love at first sight’ too often and too much that it's eating him alive, but he's sure that's how he feels about you.

So he comms you, asking if you’ve watched that movie yet.

“Actually, yeah,” you answer, hope surging inside your chest. “But um, I've got loads of thriller holos, if you wanna come by. We could have a movie night, if you're up for it.”

By the time you've finished talking, Scorch smacks him in the back a couple of times, Boss pushes him towards the door, and Fixer is already tossing Sev his go bag.

That night, two days before his leave ends, Sev is settled with you on your couch, the glow from the holoscreen reflecting on your faces.

You notice Sev is sitting so stiff, so you nudge his elbow asking if he's okay.

He looks at you longer than he should—he’d be lying if he's not feeling everything so intensely all at once, especially when you're nearly pressed up against his side.

He’s attentive. He knows it's not casual. It's intentional from you. You want to be close to him, but without a little booze encouragement, he isn't sure how to proceed.

Then he remembers what Scorch said and decides to execute (with a little alteration).

Sev moves his arm up, but he's not looking at you (he tries to cover his blushing cheeks, okay, give him time).

You take his invitation and lean heavily against him to absorb his warmth.

Sev smells like fresh aftershave and something else (it's blaster cleaning solution) tried to be covered by modest convenience store perfume.

You commit that scent to memory and snuggle even closer to him. The tip of your finger is tracing the fabric lining on his shirt, and soon your focus is no longer on the movie.

“Do you let anyone you just met be this close?” you ask, curious about his change of mind.

“No,” Sev replies firmly.

“Then what changes?”

Sev takes a deep breath. “Couldn't stop thinking about you,” he mumbles lowly into your hair, movie be damned. “Felt bad for turning down when you asked. Truth to be told, it felt like I'm leaving someone behind in a crossfire.”

“But…” You raise your head to meet his intense gaze. “We've only just met.”

“Yeah,” Sev says carefully, “But we have a lot in common, it feels like I've known you a long time, too.”

You don't hesitate—you raise further to cup the side of his face and pull him down so you can press your lips against his. Sev's reflex kicks in rapidly, kissing you as well while grabbing you closer to his body.

It isn't said, but whatever it is, whatever you're feeling; it's blossoming, too.

Delta Squad Taglist (lmk to join!): @mutilatemyheart @alor-ika @hellfiresky @leiopython-rat

Dividers by yours truly!

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lillaydee · 4 months ago

Text

Shhh!!! Part 3

Celebrity!Joel Miller / F Reader

A reluctant celebrity contractor who has closed his heart for love meets a celebrity-hating Cafe on Wheels owner...

She HATES him. Thing is, he couldn't get enough of the coffee she makes...

Tag List:

@kirsteng42 @peelieblue @harriedandharassed @joelalorian @vickie5446 @inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @brittmb115 @peedrow @lovefreylove

Let me know if you would like to be added/removed from the tag list.

Dividers by the awesome @saradika

Header by Moi cause I learned how to use Canva! Yay me!

WARNINGS: Grumpy Joel (The Last of Us), Protective Joel (The Last of Us), Good Parent Joel (The Last of Us), Joel is Bad at Feelings (The Last of Us), Alternate Universe - No Cordyceps Outbreak (The Last of Us), Joel Needs a Hug (The Last of Us), Celebrity Joel Miller, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, I'm Bad At Tagging, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags May Change, Hurt Joel (The Last of Us), Jealousy.

SERIES MASTER LIST

Part 2

You’re just gonna say it.

You fucking hate celebrities.

Particularly ones who barked at you thinking you wanted a selfie when all you tried to do was be nice to them.

And those who your ex went crazy for and dumped you over the phone for simply because she was a celebrity, and showed interest in him.

Fuck celebrities. Fuck them all.

Okay, maybe that was a bit much. They’re not all bad.

Growing up in Hollywood, spending time at a popular café all your life, you were used to seeing them around. You’d met all sorts. Sure, there were snobby ones, but then again non celebrities could be snobby too. Part and parcel of being in the service industry. There were also celebrities who were the friendly, kind, sweet ones, nonchalant ones, blend-in-the-crowd ones – all patrons of your late Dad’s. Some even knew him by name, some even went to his funeral.

BUT.

The ones that stood out to you were the ones who cemented your idea of celebrity. The rude and entitled ones. It was a one-two combo that made you want to shove your fist down their throats. These were the ones who were basically that one drop of vinegar in a communal bucket of milk. Just spoiled everything for everyone.

And no, you were not the only one annoyed by them either. You could still see the faces of the long line of people in the café when some assistant pushed their way to the front of the line, telling everyone they were ordering for so and so from that show, and if met with resistance, the celebrity themselves made an appearance, ignoring the insults and proceeding to hold the line, unable to make up their minds as to what to order.

Not to mention the restrictions to their coffee. You could understand being careful with what was put in their coffees for health and dietary reasons - after all, everyone deserves to enjoy their cuppa, but sometimes, the demands can be just ridiculous.

One seemingly clueless songstress demanded a latte without milk, adamant she was served some in Italy, no less. Are you sure you know coffee, hon? They have them in Milan, surely you would have them in LA?

What the fuck was latte without milk? Latte literally means milk. You didn’t even want to imagine what the Italians served her that made her think a latte without milk was possible.

And don’t even get you started about the super particular ones, the ones who insisted you go to a certain organic store for some organic sugar that cost you a few fingers, only to use exactly one teaspoon and not even finish the damn cup. Oh, and there was that one supposed teen star that wanted exactly 100 drips of espresso in her cappuccino. Like… what??? Who had the freakin time to count? Certainly not you, that’s who.

Oh, and the worst ones of all, the ones who you had literally never heard of before in your life, who thought they were such a big deal that they got annoyed at you for not knowing who they were. Those were the ones who would snap their fingers at you like you were their personal butler. No amount of money in the world would get you to respond to someone’s finger snaps. No sirree.

And lately, it’s the freakin influencers. I have 20,000 followers. If you comp my bill, I will post about your cute little café and you’ll get loads of new customers.

First of all, cute little café?

Honey.

This one was one of 30 branches. And second of all… you didn’t even have enough time to serve the currently long line of customers you had because you were standing right there telling her she had to pay seven dollars for her girly ice blended. It’s okay. You’ll risk not having more customers. Of course, she went online and complained about you being a boomer who didn’t know who she was.

If you could shake her, she would be a cocktail right now.

Oh, and did you mention you went to high school with a famous actress who decided that since you two ‘went way back’ - she talked to you one time, called you Layla instead of Lily, yeah… sure… you ‘went way back’ alright - she didn’t need to pay for the coffee and pastries her entourage ordered, much less left a tip? She’s worth millions, and she wouldn’t pay for coffee.

Dave knew this irk you had with celebrities. And he found it cute – he thought living in LA was awesome, celebrities around every corner. He grew up in the sticks and was awestruck by the glamour of it all. Got all tongue-tied when one walked into his vicinity. He got told to ‘move out of my way, boy’ once by an elderly action star, and it was the highlight of his life – literally the first story he told you when the two of you met all those years ago, extremely proud of the encounter despite admitting that the man stared at him as if he was nothing more than gum at the bottom of his shoe. You had rolled your eyes and ignored him then, but he sort of pursued you, and before long, you couldn’t help but find him rather endearing.

The two of you dated for 12 years, but didn’t live together. He told you he was not into that, that living together was only for married people. And you didn’t see what the rush was, so you just went along with it. You thought you were happy, just living your lives in separate togetherness.

The two of you loved each other, of course, but you were very different people. He was a party guy, you were a homebody. Your idea of an ideal evening was a quiet night in, a good book, some nice, soft music, or a movie or two. His was hanging out with his much younger co-workers, coming home with a buzz at the very least, waking up with a hangover the next day, one that lingered longer and longer as he got older.

It was during one of those parties that he met Cleo. God knows what she said to him, because he called you at three in the morning, leaving a voicemail saying that he was head over heels in love and that your time together had come to an end. He sent his buddy over to your place to drop off your box of belongings from his place, and to collect his from yours. According to the guy, Cleo approached him, talked to him for a bit, and the two proceeded to make out for hours.

That must’ve been heaven for him. She was young and very much the ‘it’ girl back then. She was everywhere, on TV, the movies, the adverts, the whole shebang. He simply couldn’t resist her charms, his buddy told you. And despite his scepticism in cohabitating while unmarried, he moved in with her right away.

The sad thing was you didn’t even feel upset at first. You accepted that your relationship had plateaued some time ago. You had gotten to a point where you only saw each other on a weekly basis, and that, only for a couple of hours, and didn’t miss each other much in between. Gone were the days of endless texting and hours-long phone calls, the mushy dialogues and the inability to get your hands off each other. In fact, by the time he broke it off, the two of you hadn’t had sex in months. So perhaps the make-out session shorted his brain? You had no idea, and you didn’t even care. You got used to seeing him on the red carpet with her – well, not as her date, more like part of her entourage. She was always paired with some hot young star of the moment for the cameras, part of the publicity to keep her in the spotlight, he had told you.

When your Dad died, a year after the break up, he came to the funeral, stood next to you and Jenny, head hung in respect. After, he walked you to your car and gave you a long hug as you sobbed into his shoulder. He was a familiar in your life, you had known him for 13 years at that point. It was an intimate, vulnerable moment for the both of you. Even he was crying – his own father passed when he was just a toddler, and your Dad was kind to him. Your teary moment came to a screeching halt, quite literally, as Cleo screamed at you after pulling him off you, telling you to keep your grubby, coffee stained hands off him. She spewed post after post on her social media, snidely remarking on how some women couldn’t let go, warning others to beware of opportunists who would use the loss of a life as a manipulation tactic to steal other women’s men.

You hadn’t heard from Dave since, and you were not in the mood to contact him either, especially since he stood there like a chump as she made a scene at your Dad’s funeral. She, however, made it her mission to stalk your whereabouts for about a year, going to wherever your truck was parked, making a scene, buying coffee only to then leave a bad review, only stopping once your Uncle Bill threatened a lawsuit against her.

So, yeah, you hated celebrities.

As for your love life, you were beyond your mid-30s when you started dating again. You did go on a few first dates, only to come home after each one feeling like you would be so much better off alone. Going on first dates when you were pushing 40 was… interesting. It was astounding how much less crap you were willing to settle for, and how obvious the red flags were. One guy took you to an Indian restaurant and had to leave early because of… erm… indigestion. One completely ignored you and spent the entirety of the date trying to coax his wailing ex-wife on the phone - she had gone completely mental upon finding out he finally went out on a date. One guy kept receiving text messages from his mother, only to admit he still lived with her – she was just excited he was out on a date, you know? Just giving him tips on how to behave.

The last guy seemed completely normal and interesting, all the way until the end of the date, when he took your offer to split the bill, which was completely fine, you did prefer to pay your own way after all. Except, the bill that arrived was for eight people, not two. He had ordered take out for his six teenage children, who he had conveniently forgotten to tell you about.

So, you decided no more dates. You’re just gonna stay single. It wasn’t exactly abnormal to be single these days. You have your own business, a cute little apartment, you’ll be alright. Sure, you might die alone and not be found until someone complained about the smell, but that was neither here nor there. It’s not like your cause of death would be ‘death by singledom’. To your knowledge, at least, no one had ever died from being single. So you put your head down and focused on work, doing what you loved the most. Overcharge people for legal addictive substances.

You loved this new setup you had. Small business, you had a handful of regulars, you had something to do with your time, made enough to pay your bills. Less headache. Less stress. Less worries. You liked that you were busy for a couple of hours in the morning, and then had some time chilling and eating food from the trucks next door for lunch after the lunch rush. You liked that the kids from the rec centre came to hang out with you, despite the fact that they made you feel so fucking old.

And best of all, you liked that no celebrities came to buy coffee here from you, the lot usually only visited by the people working in the surrounding areas and the rec centre. You could use a life away from all that. But now, you discovered that a celebrity had just gotten a free coffee from you – a free coffee made of six shots of espresso that you gave him out of spite, just because he was rude to you.

Great. Just great.

“Hey Lil?” Ellie finally piped up, having served the final customer for the afternoon. You were wiping the tables outside, waiting for the lunch you ordered from the truck next door to arrive. “Can we talk?” She looked nervous.

You sat down after throwing the rug in the sink, washing your hands. She sat opposite you, fiddling with her shirt.

“I’m sorry about my old man. He’s a bit… well… he’s… you see… my old man’s kind of…”

“Famous,” you finished the sentence for her. Her eyes snapped at you in shock. “Frank told me. He didn’t know your Dad was famous either. Not that it matters, but how come you’ve never told us?”

“Well, he doesn’t like it if we do. And to be honest, we don’t like it either. Telling people about it, I mean. As soon as people know who he is, we all get treated differently. I get away with it a lot more than Sarah does. She has his last name. And she was seen with him a lot since he got famous. But Lil, Joel is not like that. He’s not that kind of celebrity. He doesn’t even see himself as one.”

You scoffed. Sure. Someone who didn’t see himself as a celebrity would snap at people supposedly wanting selfies. Ellie immediately went on his defence.

“It’s what usually happens. People would walk up to us as we were eating at a restaurant for selfies. Follow him into the bathroom, that sort of thing. Sarah told me people would come up all the time and just shove a camera in front of his face. And if he said no or get annoyed, it would be all over social media. Joel Miller was rude, all that. He didn’t choose this life you know. When he started this he was just thinking about Sarah, he wanted to give her everything he could. He never thought everyone would have a camera in their hands at one point, or that he would get this well known.”

“If he hates it so much, why doesn’t he just quit?”

She looked contemplative for a while. “Lil, it’s not that I don’t want to share, but having been in his life all this while, I just want to protect his privacy, you know? You have no idea how many times people in his life said something – something they didn’t even consider something, and the media just blew up as soon as they found out. When Sarah was little, Uncle Tommy got her one of those baby dolls that you could feed and change their diapers for Christmas, you know the ones? Well, she told her friends at pre-school that Uncle Tommy was giving her a baby for Christmas. Their parents heard and went to the news – apparently you get paid a lot of money for information like that back then, and suddenly the gossip columns were filled with the news that Uncle Tommy supposedly got someone pregnant and was giving his baby away. It was ridiculous. So I’d rather not say anything, you know?”

Tony from the next truck came over with the lunch you ordered for the both of you. As you unwrapped your sandwich, Ellie pleaded with you to forgive her old man again.

“Please Lil, he didn’t mean it. I think he was just worried I’d gone missing or something. I was usually waiting for him up front. It’s one of the reasons why I wanted to get a car. I hate seeing him worry like that. He’s busy, but he wanted to be there for me and Sarah, you know? Please Lil? He’s a good guy. I promise. He didn’t have to take me in, but he did. I have a good life now, because of him. I... I don’t know what would have happened to me if he didn’t step up.”

She was fiddling with the sandwich in front of her, looking so forlorn and hopeful at the same time, begging you to forgive her Dad.

Damn it. Now you felt bad.

Uh oh.

“Erm… I might have done something bad…” you told her, your eyes wide, your teeth showing in an attempt to cringe and show regret at the same time.

“What? What did you do?”

“He… uh… he came by this morning for a cuppa and I might have… erm… served him a lot of espresso instead of the usual americano…”

She spat her sandwich out, “He came in for fancy coffee?” She looked disbelieving for a second, "Which size? How many shots?”

You cringed, told her the largest cup you had, and held up six fingers.

"I did top off the six shots with water, though..." you added, still looking guilty.

She snorted and began howling with laughter. She finally waved her hand at you, “Man’s used to deadly potent burnt coffee. He’ll be fine.”

“How do you burn coffee?”

“He has this ancient coffee machine that’s only a year younger than Sarah. Refused to throw it out. That thing is beyond broken. That’s how you burn coffee. And short the house.”

You snorted. “Why doesn’t he just get a new one?”

She shrugged, but you could tell she was holding something back.

“So… he came in for coffee… did he apologize?”

“Nah… I was busy. I didn’t really give him the chance.”

“But you will let him if he comes again tomorrow?”

You couldn’t even pretend. You were touched by her pleas. Fine, you’ll give him another chance.

The next morning, Joel waited in the truck after dropping Ellie off for attempt number two to apologize to you. He had the script locked in his head now, determined to at least get the words out to you. Tell you how sorry he was for snapping at you. Thank you for giving his daughter a job. That he would never bother you again, just please, forgive him.

And while he was at it, he could get another cup of that extra strong coffee you gave him yesterday. He may have left feeling down and flustered that he couldn’t get the apology out of his mouth when facing you, but he did feel energized after that cup. He needed one, since his machine was still broken. Not because he liked the coffee or anything. He was still staunchly against overpriced, fancy coffee. He was just an average American who needed his morning cup of Joe. Which was why he was still in his truck instead of going out when Ellie did. Ellie and Sarah must never know he bought coffee here. The idea that they would tease him for deliberately getting fancy coffee was beyond a nightmare. Nope. So he was going to wait until Ellie walked in to class before going for another try. At an apology, not the coffee. He could do without that cup, obviously. But since he was here and all. Might as well.

He was about to leave the truck when Tommy called. They had another meeting with Angela that morning, to pick up their discussion from two days before. The current contract was for another year. He was already reluctant about this coming year. The show basically consisted of one main, large project a year, where the progress of the massive project was portrayed in every episode, along with remodels for other houses or office spaces which would be completed weekly. Smaller DIY slots were interspersed with the main two projects. All of which required shooting, him being away from home much of the day. Taking time away from the ability to take genuine contracts away from the cameras, honest work that gave him joy. Time away from his daughters.

The plan for the next year was locked. The main project was to basically remodel an entire mansion. He was sceptical about the timeline. This mansion had 20 rooms and 11 bathrooms. They usually build and shoot for nine months out of the year. This large project, along with the smaller, but still considerable projects and the DIY slots to boot, all to be filmed within nine months. He just didn’t see it happening. He knew for a fact that they will run long. He was getting tired of it all. Sarah would be home in the coming year. He wanted to spend time with her and Ellie.

“Tommy.”

“Joel, where are you?”

“Just dropped Ellie off. I thought I had another hour and a half?”

“You do. I just wanted to talk to you before. Come on Joel, just five more years. Think of the money we could make. We could demand more if we renew. I need the money to pay for everything Joel. You can’t just think about yourself here.”

“What do you mean you need money to pay for everything? You have money.”

“I’m not like you Joel. My house, my staff, my cars, I need to maintain them all. Not all of us live the way you do, Joel. Not all of us do our own chores and just have weekly cleaning ladies. And not all of us drive beat up pickups Joel. Some of us have standards.”

Joel was beginning to lose his patience again. He had had enough of Tommy’s whining. It was his choice to buy a mansion with more rooms than he needed. It was his own choice to have a fleet of cars, some of which he never even drove. It was his choice to buy thousand dollar wallets and a wardrobe that could rival the men’s department at any malls. It was his choice to buy a collection of watches, the price of some of them could feed a small country. And now he was complaining that he didn’t have enough, despite the millions he had earned. He was earning much more than Joel, in fact, never shying away from the modelling contracts and endorsements. And yet, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. It would never be enough.

“I’m not stopping you from going on, Tommy. You go ahead. But me, I’m done. I want to spend my time with my girls. I want to rest, enjoy my hard work. Be away from the spotlight for once.”

“Come on, you think people would still want to watch if you’re no longer involved? It’s called ‘Build with the Millers’, Joel. We both need to sign on. Where are you even gonna go, Joel?”

“I don’t want to talk about this Tommy. My mind is made up. I have more important things to think about than money. Maybe you should grow up and find other things to focus on. Some things are forever. But looks and fame go away, Tommy.”

“That’s exactly why we need to get it while we can, brother. Think about it. Please.”

“Maybe no one’s told you this, Tommy, but money isn’t everything. It doesn’t buy you happiness. Tell me you’re happier now than you were when we were scrounging for contracts back when Mama was still around.”

“Think about the girls. Don’t you want them to be taken care of if anything happens to you? You want to leave them with nothing?”

“My girls will have plenty left to them, and even if they didn’t, they were raised to live without extravagance, Tommy.”

“So was I!”

“And yet, here you are, a greedy little boy, crying about how his millions are not enough!”

Tommy hung up.

Great. He knew what he was going to face later this morning, now. He looked at the old, cheap watch Sarah got him on his birthday when she turned 14. He smiled thinking about that year. It was 80 dollars, a lot of money for someone her age. She had stolen 20 dollars from him to be able to pay for the watch – she couldn’t save enough from her babysitting jobs by the time his birthday came around. No amount of gold plated Rolexes could rival the price of that watch.

The watch that was telling him he had a little over an hour to get to his meeting. Damn Tommy, he didn’t realize how much time he spent talking to him on the phone. He rushed out of the truck and walked around the building to get to your lot. There were two people in line. Good. He didn’t exactly have much time. Traffic could be really bad at this hour.

A young couple ran past him and stood behind the second person in line. Great. Joel ran a little to get behind them. The older lady at the front of the line was taking a little time to decide what she wanted. You were so patient with her, he thought, his foot tapping slightly from the urgency he was feeling. The couple in front of him were starting to make out a little, Joel taking a step back to give them some privacy, though he was cringing a little bit at such PDA. You finished serving the lady. The man after asked for some complicated drink he had never heard of, and you went about making his drink, surprisingly quickly considering he couldn’t even pronounce the drink without scrambling his brain. The couple was starting to moan, the girl practically climbing the boy, right there in front of your coffee truck. Joel looked away, his foot tap-tapping a bit louder, arms crossed on his chest.

You finished serving the second man. But the couple wasn’t stopping. You called out to them, asking them what they could get for them. They didn’t stop. The making out got a bit more aggressive, in fact. Joel had had enough.

“Excuse me,” he said, nudging the boy’s foot with his boot. The couple finally separated, a look of annoyance on their faces. “You might want to order now, some of us have places to be,” Joel said, pointing at you.

The girl’s face morphed from annoyance to excitement. “Oh my God, you’re Joel Miller! I love you! Can I get a picture?”

“I’m in a hurry, please order,” he pleaded, trying hard not to lose his composure. The last thing he needed was for you to see him lose his cool again.

“Oh, come on, just one picture. I’ll be really quick,” she said, as she raised her phone and leaned into him, snapping a quick photo, his grumpy face just in the frame. She didn’t like it. She leaned in again, asking him to smile. He looked at you pleadingly, as she snapped yet another picture.

“What can I get you sir, miss?” you asked, a little louder, still with a smile on your face. You could see how annoying this would be for him. You could also see he was trying hard not to snap.

The boy ordered his drink. You keyed it in, looking at the girl for her order. She hummed and oohed for a while, unable to decide, so you started his coffee while you waited. She still couldn’t decide. Three more people joined the line behind Joel as she contemplated what she wanted, taking her own sweet time, all the while wrapping herself around her partner.

Joel found himself taking deep, deep breaths, willing himself not to lose it. He was so tempted to just scream at this young thing, so self-absorbed she had no problem invading his personal space, twice, and then taking her own sweet time inconveniencing those behind her. Two more people joined the line, making a total of six people she was holding up with her indecisiveness. After what felt like forever, she finally ordered an iced lemon tea. Joel swore he could see you almost roll your eyes behind your sweet, dimply smile, turning around to get it for her, while this girl, completely oblivious to the emotional turmoil she had caused, turned round and asked Joel for another selfie, since he wasn’t smiling in the first two.

You gave her the tea, and the boy paid, but the girl kept pestering Joel for another selfie. He ignored her, simply asking you to please make him the coffee you made him the day before, he didn’t know the name. The girl now asked you what he ordered. You ignored her, too, making his coffee for him. The boy finally had enough and pulled his girlfriend away from the truck, angry whispering at her for causing such a scene, as she sulked away, still unable to grasp how childish she was being.

When she finally left, you, along with Joel and all the customers in line heaved a sigh of relief. You quickly made his drink. He decided he would talk to you that evening instead, seeing as two more people had now joined the line, including a man who looked even grumpier than he was. You placed his drink on the sill, so he reached inside his pocket to get his wallet, only to realize it wasn’t there. He panicked, and asked you to serve the next customer first, running off to his truck before you could say anything.

When he came back, he went to the front of the line to get his drink and pay. The grumpy man drew an exaggerated breath and shouted at him.

“Hey Miller, get back here. Just because you are who you are doesn’t mean you could just cut the line!”

“I was just going to pay, I left my wallet in my truck,” Joel defended himself, his impatience and anger beginning to surface.

“I don’t fucking care. You left, you don’t get to just cut the line. We all have places to be.”

“It’s okay, Joel,” you gently said, “It’s on the…”

“I can pay for my own fucking coffee!” he snapped at you.

Oh… hell no.

“Fine,” you said, just as the realization that he had snapped at you, yet again, surfaced for Joel, his eyes closing, frustrated with himself. “One americano with six shots of espresso. That’ll be 40 dollars.”

His head snapped from taking his card out to looking at you. “What?”

“The espresso is five dollars a shot.”

“Six shots make 30 dollars, which is still robbing me way blind, by the way,” he seethed.

“That’s right. Ten dollars is a ‘fuck you, I don’t like you’ tax,” you raged right back, keyed in the price and shoved the card reader to his face.

(Shout out to @hiddenbabynyc for giving me this awesome tax line)

He tapped his card, a little too aggressively, took his coffee and huffed away from your truck as the grumpy man shouted profanities at him, congratulating you for getting back at an entitled celebrity.

Joel slammed the door to his truck closed, still seething. 40 dollars for a cup of coffee? You are nuts. A blind-robbing, coffee-riddled, hoity-toity nutcase. He was gonna have to talk Ellie into finding another job. No way was he going to let her work for someone as snobbish as you.

But… he did pay for that coffee, and his Mama taught him never to waste food. So he took a sip.

And just like that, his eyes involuntarily closed, and your dimply smile filled his head.

He could never go back there. But at least he now knew what coffee that was. He could get it elsewhere.

Or maybe, he could try and fix that damn coffee machine of his.

Part 4

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #Celebrity!Joel Miller

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thought--bubble · 1 year ago

Text

All the things you promised

Abraham X (Best Friend Reader)

Warnings after the cut

Word Count:2546

Abraham Masterlist

Full Masterlist

Banners and Dividers by @arcielee

Header by @zaldritzosrose

Based on THIS request

Warnings:: Cheating, Breeding Kink, unprotected PinV, virginity loss.

You stand proudly next to Andrei as your father announces your engagement in front of everyone at dinner.

You're elated. Andrei is sweet and charming, and you were hoping he would eventually ask your father for his blessing.

You had nearly given up hope when finally your father came to you to let you know of Andrei's intentions and ask your opinion on the matter to which you smiled and approved.

You realize now, though, as you stand before all of your family and friends that you missed one very important step in all of this. You did not tell your best friend before the announcement.

No, he had to find out here and now with everyone else. The look of shock on his face and the way he quickly turns and exits make it clear. That was an error.

You hop down from next to Andrei and scramble to find him.

"Abraham!?" You call out as soon as you get outside. Your head swings wildly from side to side, your eyes scanning each farmhouse, stable, and open space before you.

You huff in annoyance when you can't locate him. "Abraham?!" You yell out again. He just came out here. There is no way he can't hear you. Is he ignoring you? No he wouldn't do that.

You don't want to wander too far since it's dark, so you sigh once more before turning to go back inside where everyone is eating. Unaware of the pair of angry blue eyes that watch you from the darkness.

The blue eyes that avoid you from here on out.

The next day, you look high and low for Abraham. You go to all the spots you think he may be working at, you ask around, and no one seems to know where he is. He doesn't come around your wagon once, which is odd. He usually checks in on you at least once each day. Even on his busiest days.

This trend continues over the next few days, quickly becoming a week. You finally see him again, cutting wood and attempt to speak to him, but the moment you get close, he leaves.

Your heart sinks into your stomach as he continues walking away from you as you call his name. Even as you chase him. It's as if he is on auto pilot, and his only goal is to get as far away from you as possible.

With a bruised ego, you give up. You decide to give him some time. Obviously, he is mad that you didn't tell him about the engagement. Maybe he needs just a bit longer to cool off.

You try to be patient, but as the cooling off period stretches across another two weeks, you begin to lose hope.

You decide to search for him again. At this point, you are angry, too. Why wouldn't he just talk to you? Explain why he is so upset? Allow you to apologize? You know he isn't one to get all sensitive or in his feelings, but the least he could do is attempt to speak to you.

These thoughts swirl through your mind as you stomp angrily through the encampment, looking once again in each of the places you think he may be until you finally spot him, brushing a horse in the stables. His eyes staring off in the distance.

"There you are, you mangy mutt." You chuckle, attempting to sound light-hearted. "I've been looking for ya. As I know you are aware."

He stays silent, his eyes still trained toward the nothingness in the distance.

You sigh and pinch your nose in frustration. "Abraham. What is wrong? Is this about the engagement? I meant to tell you, really I did, but things moved quickly"

He grunts and puts the brush down, gently patting the horse on the back before turning to leave the stables.

"Do you plan to just ignore me then? Until the end of days?" Your annoyance and anger are evident in your tone

He lowers his head, his back still turned to you.

"No"

Finally, he speaks, weeks without hearing his voice have made you feel tender at the sound. The anger and annoyance start to fade, and you're left with your hurt and longing.

"Then talk to me. Look at me! Something." you take two small tentative steps toward him. Your heart beats in your chest loudly, adrenaline causing your hands to shake, yet you keep on.

"Abraham, please" You step even closer still, just about close enough to touch him.

"Stop" he near whispers, a painful edge to his voice.

You freeze in place. "I can't lose you. Not over this" Your voice is strained, your heartbreak woven into every syllable. You know he doesn't like Andrei, but you could never imagine the announcement of your engagement would push him this far away.

"Don't touch me. If... if you touch me...." He keeps his face angled away from you as his voice starts to crack.

You sigh softly, and you decide right then and there. He won't push you away anymore. You won't allow it.

You reach your hand out and touch his shoulder, and he bristles instantly before he turns around to face you. Those steely blue eyes meeting yours for the first time in weeks.

"Did you consider me?" He asks sharply. "Even once?"

You're slightly taken aback by his aggressive demeanor but swallow back your frustration so that you can answer him. "Of course I considered how you would feel about this" you start but are abruptly cut off as Abraham paces toward you.

"No. Did you ever consider ME? " he asks again. You can feel his breath on your cheek as he brings his face up to yours, whispering in your ear. "Was I ever your choice?"

Your face heats up, and your chest tightens at the question. You had always thought of Abraham as your friend. Someone you trusted and depended on.

"I....I ....." You stumble over your own tongue at a complete loss for words.

His eyes scan your face and start to darken with each passing second. "No. You didn't, " he turns from you again.

"You never gave any indication!" You desperately yell out to his back, and it's true. Never once had he let any intentions be known. You had assumed this was because he simply did not see you that way, and you had accepted that fact a very long time ago.

He again stops without turning back towards you, so you continue on.

"I heard you. Talk about Luella. Some of the others. You never did speak about me that way"

He growls, his back still turned. "I could never speak about you that way." He turns back toward you his lips pursed. "You don't speak about a wife like that."

You take in a sharp breath and avert your eyes.

"But now... you will not be my wife. " There is a mischievous glint in his eye, and he cracks a slight smile.

The presence of a smile on his face has you confused. As you arch a brow at him, he rushes toward you, pulling you tightly in his arms.

"Abe!" You push slightly against his chest, but he pays you no mind as he lifts you off of your feet and walks you further into the stables and away from prying eyes.

"He won't have what's mine," He grumbles as he places you back down on your feet in the furthest most part of the stables.

"Abraham...." You say your voice slightly trembling. From fear or anticipation, you weren't entirely sure.

His eyes lift and meet yours for just a moment before his lips crash down on yours, his large, rough hands tightly grasping at the sides of your head. He prods at your lips with his tongue begging for entry of which you against your better judgment grant him.

Abraham grunts into your mouth as he explores with his tongue all the while pushing your body further and further backwards until you feel the solid surface of the wooden wall against your back.

He starts to shuffle your dress up towards your hips, never breaking the kiss. You pull away slightly, meaning to protest. You know this is wrong, but Abraham quickly brings his mouth back down to yours and mumbles against your lips. "He won't have what's mine"

He begins to trail kisses along your jaw and down your neck, gently licking and nibbling at the skin as he moves.

The heat starts to pool in your belly at his rough touch, his calloused fingertips gripping at the soft flesh of your thigh under your skirts.

"Abe......" You say breathlessly between kisses.

He only grunts and brings his hand further up your thigh before cupping your ass and playing with the hem of your knickers.

"You were always meant to be mine." He whispers with a voice that is uncharacteristically soft.

He slides his hand between your legs, applying pressure to your pearl as you gasp.

"Already sopping," he chuckles into your ear, "and I've barely touched you"

He removes his hand quickly, spinning you around to face the wall and rucks your skirt up around your hips.

"He won't have what's mine," he growls again, pulling your underwear down your legs quickly and helping you step out of them.

Your mind is in overdrive and moving on instinct. You grip the post that runs through the middle of the wall before you, as Abraham reaches one hand between your legs and grips your hip harshly with the other.

You lean your head back and close your eyes, taking in all the sensations as his rough fingertips stroke your pearl.

"You're considerin' me now," He whispers breathlessly into your ear. You clench at the sound as you feel a tightening in your lower stomach.

"Oh my...... Abe!" Your fingernails dig into the wood of the beam you're holding when Abe pulls his fingers from your pearl and instead slowly slides one into your heat.

Your eyes open wide at the intrusion, while your body quickly responds, your hips bucking lightly. You try to ignore the embarrassment you feel at the sounds emanating from your lower body as he continues his ministrations when he suddenly slips a second finger in.

"Abe too much too much." You jolt slightly at the uncomfortable stretch.

"You'll get used to it. Gotta get you ready, " he says in between husky breaths, although he slightly slows his pace.

"Ready?" You huff, he chuckles again before removing his hand.

"Think you're about as ready as you're gonna get." You can hear him moving behind you, the soft clink of his belt ringing in your ears.

Your mind tells you to stop this now before it goes too far, but your body stands still. Legs spread, back bent and hands holding the post. Exposed and vulnerable before his eyes.

You take a sharp inhale as you feel the tip of his cock sliding against your slick folds and over your clit.

"Try not to be too loud" is the last thing he says before he brings his cock back up to your entrance and slowly starts to breech your walls, the stretch slightly painful yet satisfying.

You attempt to heed his warning and pant quietly, but as he continues to push farther you can't help but whimper.

He leans down, slightly pressing his chest to your back and pushing your hair over your shoulder.

"It will pass," he coos gently before kissing down the back of your neck, the feeling soothing.

He continues pushing, the stretch and the sting becoming less and less uncomfortable until his hips are pressed tightly against your ass.

He gives you a moment, not a long moment, but a moment to acclimate to his size before he starts to move, slowly at first but quickly gaining speed as the painful stretch is replaced with a comfortable fullness, that knot in your stomach beginning to tighten once again.

"He won't marry ya. Not when you're carrying my child. " He grunts his pace, still picking up speed.

You're unable to respond to his words. The pressure between your legs, growing nearly unbearable.

You reach down between your thighs to rub your pearl, the need so strong you can feel your heart beating in your nub.

Abraham quickly pushes your hand away, instead bringing his rough fingertips back over your clit and starts rubbing in small, determined circles over the nerve.

Your body grows tense as you feel your pleasure reach its ultimate high. Your entire body shuddering and clenching.

"Ahhh!" You screech out as your orgasm moves through you in waves.

Urged on by your climax, Abraham wraps his arms around you, standing you up nearly straight as he thrusts up into you harshly.

"He won't have what's mine," he snarls again, breathing heavily into your ear. "You'll leave here just as much mine as you ever were"

Abraham continues to thrust into you, one hand on your hip, the other around your throat.

"I'm gonna fill you, right now." his thrusts grow sloppier and more desperate as he nears his own climax. "Tell me you want it, tell me to do it," he demands, pistoning himself into your heat harshly, the muscles in his thighs growing tight from the exertion.

"Do it. Please, " You whimper "fill me"

He sighs in satisfaction and thrusts only twice more before you feel the warmth of his seed spread within your womb.

He stands there holding you tight to him as he rides out his high, his body slightly twitching with the aftershocks of his heightened pleasure.

After a few minutes, he pulls out and releases you. You stumble forward, nearly falling head first into the wooden post you had been gripping so tightly earlier.

Abraham catches you and stands you upright. He wordlessly fetches for knickers, helping you to slide them back on.

You stand bewildered before him not sure what to make of the moment.

"Go tell your father and Andrei you have to end the engagement," he says sternly while pulling his suspender straps back up over his shoulders.

"It.... it's not that simple. " You stutter out the words. You know, in good conscience, you couldn't marry Andrei now, and you didn't want to. Now that you know what it's like to be with Abraham.

"It is. Tell them you're pregnant by another man. Your father will give us his blessing. He'll have no choice" he states plainly, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

"But I'm not......." You trail off knowing that you could be after what just happened, yet you couldn't be sure for quite some time.

"Trust me." He leans in pressing his forehead to yours briefly before stepping away from you and moving to leave the stables.

"Where are you going?" You call out after him, not wanting your moment to be over.

"To do my work," he smiles back at you. "Now you go do yours!"

With that, he exits the stables, a large grin plastered across his face as he mutters one last thing under his breath.

"He won't have what's mine."

To be added to taglists see HERE

#abraham grantchester #abraham x reader #abraham #ewan mitchell verse #ewan mitchell fanfic #ewanverse #ewan mitchell #ewan nation #jess fics

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captainventi · 2 months ago

Text

Stars On Ice

The new season of Stars on Ice, a hit reality show where celebrities learn to skate alongside professional figure skaters, kicks off! Fateful encounters, first steps on the ice, grueling training sessions, and dazzling performances await the star-studded participants. And, of course, their main goal is to make an unforgettable first impression.

Episode 1. Espresso (Sabrina Carpenter)

Pairing: celebrity!Zayne x figure skater!MC

Synopsis: A no-nonsense courtroom show host agrees to shake up his routine by joining a celebrity skating competition — but his partner, a spirited figure skater with zero chill, might just bring more chaos into his life than he bargained for.

CW: figure skating!au, light innuendos, mediocre jokes, emotional detachment

Notes: this is the first episode of the planned oneshot series that I hope I eventually finish. Post with all episodes (as soon as I write them) here. Zayne header from Pinterest, dividers by @/saradika_graphics

Honestly, I’ve always considered myself the queen of chaotic meme energy — and I was just as proud of that title as I was of my international medals. But it seems like my partner on this season of Stars on Ice has outdone me without even trying. After all, it’s his quote that’s now splashed across every headline:

“Why did I agree to be on the show? I just thought it might finally motivate me to start working out regularly.”

And the wildest part is, when he said that instant-classic line, his face gave zero indication of whether he was joking or dead serious.

Zayne is one of those people who doesn’t even try to go viral — there’s nothing about him that screams “TikTok sensation” If anything, he seems like the exact opposite: calm, composed, totally immune to internet chaos. And yet, somehow, the chaos found him anyway.

Someone posted a clip of his courtroom monologue with the caption “Hot Bench really living up to the name this season,” and from there it all spiraled. Turns out there’s a whole demographic with a thing for serious, handsome men in glasses and judge’s robes — maybe even Catholic priest vibes? — and that demographic is massive. Not that I’m judging, of course. I’m hardly innocent myself — let’s just say I won’t be disclosing how many edits of Judge Zayne I’ve liked with my own sinful little finger.

Naturally, once fate (in the form of the showrunners) paired me up with him, I had to make him skate to something ridiculous.

The idea hit me like a divine revelation the moment I got a close-up look at his face for the first time. He came in determined, focused — and so did I, really. At least, by the end of our first training session, I gathered my courage, patted him on the shoulder, and declared with unshakable confidence:

“We’re skating to Espresso.”

Something in his eyes flickered — possibly a silent plea for mercy. And that’s when Judge Zayne realized he’d been paired with a ruthless woman.

Though, to be fair, I’m not that ruthless. If my cruelty had truly reached its peak (and if I had any means of pressure more effective than big pleading eyes and a well-timed “preetty pleaaaase”), maybe he’d be the one dancing on the ice in a retro brown leotard right now, not me. But then again, the way he looks all pulled-together and sharp in his costume really highlights my unhinged energy — and that’s exactly the effect we need. Baby boy just wanted to chill, and now he’s dragged into some hot dancing — after I (according to the program’s storyline) stole his credit card.

Still, I’m not quite sure what to do with the traitorous flutter in my chest during that lift, when he’s trying, with almost legalistic precision, to carry out the line “move it up, down, left, right, oh, switch it up like Nintendo.” That one wasn’t even my idea. I hadn’t planned to jump into lifts with that complex positions this early on — and yet, here we are. And I don’t think I mind being Nintendo in this particular context.

He hasn’t quite mastered the basics yet — not enough to feel free enough to come up with anything playful in return when I casually throw a leg over him or yank him by the tie. So his only weapon against my antics is this ice-cold stoicism, which is slowly starting to crack as he gets pulled into the chaos — at least, according to the choreography.

And still… how is he so detached on the ice? Here, under the stage lights, he’s exactly the same as he is during practice. It’s like the performance factor has no effect on him at all. Sure, he messes up, but just the same as before — no better, no worse; like he’s not nervous, doesn’t feel that special adrenaline rush, those heightened emotions...

Some part of me really wants to provoke him. I want him to show me something.

Naturally, I defend him like a tigress when the judges point out his stiffness after our skate and give us less-than-stellar marks for performance. I grip his hand tightly, solemnly assuring everyone that it’s all just part of the character, totally intentional, and that we’ve got plenty of surprises lined up for the next episodes. He, in turn, gives me a tiny smile, appreciating my support.

“That was actually pretty amazing,” he tells the hosts later in an interview. “Even though I’m not particularly a fan of the song.”

I turn to him with mock offense.

“You mean you still didn’t feel it?”

“I did,” he says. “Not the song, but… the whole process, overall.”

And in that bland, polite answer something warm flickers for a moment.

Or maybe I imagined it.

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace oneshot #love and deepspace #figure skating au #zayne #lads zayne #zayne fanfic #zayne fic

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thedreamlessnights · 2 years ago

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Someone to shed some light - pt. 5

Astarion x gn!reader (NSFW)

{series masterlist}

Synopsis: You and Astarion come across the camp, and its discovery adds a complication to the mix. The two of you share an intimate night together.

Warnings: 18+ - Blood drinking, mentions of past abuse. Explicit sexual content. Penetrative sex, fingering, first time sex.

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N: As you can see, this chapter is an eventful one. I hope you'll all enjoy! This story is going to get wild, and we're going to start seeing some new (and perhaps familiar) faces 👀 Also, thank you so much to @aerynwrites for making the amazing header image and for looking over this chapter! I appreciate you so much ♥

The thick, awkward silence in the air follows you all the way to the stream - tailing along with you like it’s your shadow.

You’ve never been more grateful to see a body of water in your entire life, and it’s not due to the thirst slowly building in your mouth, or the grime on your skin itching to be cleaned off. It’s because you’re dying to do something that isn’t walking, dying to curb the silence, and dying to think of anything that isn’t Cazador.

How long have the two of you been traveling, now? How long since you’d come across Gandrel? The trees have been too dense to tell the time with any accuracy, but there’s a break of them over the water, and the sun is mid-sky when you glance at its position.

Hours, maybe.

Hours of thinking up a thousand different conversation topics. Trying to find something to fill the deadening quiet. None of them seemed appropriate, though; not in the aftermath of finding out that an evil vampire had enslaved Astarion for two centuries and is now relentlessly hunting him. What could you possibly say after that?

Nothing, you’d eventually decided. You’d say nothing. But that hadn’t made any of it any better.

The camp shouldn’t be far, now. But that can wait.

You sink to your knees on the bank, taking a handful of the mercifully cool water and splashing it over your face. It’s sweet when you bring it to your lips, blissful on your burning-hot skin, and you can’t help letting out a sigh of relief.

“I can’t wait to get out of these woods,” you say softly, more for yourself.

“They were your idea, my sweet,” Astarion replies, somewhere behind you.

“Freedom was my idea,” you combat defensively. “The woods just happened to be a temporary part of that.”

“If you’re planning to run from my mother, then it certainly won’t be temporary,” Astarion says. “I’d become very, very friendly with the woods if I were you.”

You drop your hands, shaking away the remaining water as you try - and fail - to bite away your frustration. “Why can’t she leave me alone? All I want is to go back to my home.”

“And I want to wake every morning with a virgin at my side,” he snipes, every word laced with melodramatic condescension, “but life doesn’t give us what we want.”

This time, your anger cuts through your chest like a knife as you shift to face him. “Well!” you exclaim. “Congratulations then, Astarion, because you do!”

He freezes, a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve made a grave error. “Do I, now?” he purrs. “Interesting.”

You ignore him, turning back to the stream, but your cheeks go hot. “Well?” you finally say. “Are you going to get cleaned up or not?”

To your surprise, he doesn’t respond.

You glance at him and find him staring at the water like it’s a poisonous bog. “Oh, come now, Your Highness. Don’t tell me the stream isn’t good enough for you?”

He scowls at you, but his gaze is quick to flit back to the stream as he speaks. “Running water used to burn like acid, dearest. I’ve never tested if it still does.”

Your mouth snaps shut. No more teasing him, you resolve. It’s only making you look like a complete ass. “Oh,” you finally say.

Astarion sinks down into a squat, hesitantly dipping his fingers into the water and giving a hum. “Well. I suppose that answers that question,” he says, shifting onto his knees.

He’s just as dirty as you feel. Gandrel’s blood is splattered all over him, and the grime of the woods has etched streaks of dirt onto his skin. Somehow, despite all of that, he’s still as beautiful as always. Maybe even more so, like this.

You feel a strange sense of disappointment when he starts rinsing the mess away.

It’s blazing hot out. It was easier to ignore earlier when you were under the shade, but the light is in full effect over the stream, and it’s unavoidable, now. You’re covered in sweat and dirt and the gods know what else. The itch to get clean is maddening.

At first, you try splashing water onto your skin and your filthy shirt, but all it ends up doing is drenching yourself - not cleaning anything at all. You’re left dirty, wet, and frustrated, and, well. Who knows when the next bathing spot will be. You’re already soaked…

You peel off your shoes and socks, get to your feet and take two steps back, then jump in.

The water is freezing cold, but it’s wonderful - euphoric under the pounding sun. It washes away the dirt and blood and sweat with ease, carrying them away as you kick around. The mild current feels like silk over your limbs. For a moment, you even float around on your back, enjoying the peaceful murmur of the water.

Then you remember that you aren’t alone, and you go upright. Astarion is watching you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, distracted from his task. As soon as he sees you looking, he instantly goes back to trying to clean the stains out of his shirt - which is going about as well for him as it had been for you.

You watch his struggle for a moment before a string of words leave your lips. Words that wouldn’t have come out if you’d taken the time to think about it.

“You should join me!”

He glances at the water. It’s completely clear and a beautiful blue, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. “Darling,” he says, letting out a haughty laugh, “you want me to jump in there? Only the gods know what’s in that water.”

“You’re using it to clean your shirt,” you point out, “which isn’t going very well, Your Highness. It’ll be the closest thing to a bath for miles.”

He simply scowls in response, and you shake your head.

“Alright,” you relent. “Stay up there in the heat, then, covered in blood and dirt. Just don’t start complaining to me when you start to feel dirty.”

His scowl deepens, but he gives up on the shirt and shifts until he’s sitting on the edge of the bank. “Fine,” he says sharply. He looks down and hesitates, tilting his head. Is he wondering how deep it is? If water used to burn, then he probably hasn’t gone swimming in…

Two centuries.

You let yourself stand, your toes sinking into the mud. The water isn’t much higher than your rib cage, and the crease between Astarion’s brows fades away. Following in your lead, he takes off his boots and socks, then lets himself slide into the water. He grimaces for a moment at the temperature, sinks under the surface, and comes up sopping, wiping water out of his eyes.

You almost feel bad, looking at that silvery mop of curls, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply pushes the mass of wet hair out of his face, then resumes his process of cleaning the blood out of his shirt. Or, trying to. It seems thoroughly fixed into the cream fabric.

For some reason, your attention on him feels like an invasion of a private moment, so you take to making sure you’re cleaned off, averting your gaze - especially when he takes off his shirt to scrub away the stains. The brief flash of porcelain skin you catch has your cheeks blooming with heat; it’s the most you’ve ever seen of him.

To distract yourself, you speak. “I’m surprised you actually got in.”

“Well,” he says. “Unfortunately, my warm baths have been conveniently misplaced. This will have to suffice.”

“Of course,” you mutter, paddling absentmindedly through the water. “For a moment there, I thought you might like something that’s remotely fun. My mistake.”

You’re still turned away, which is why the splash of water that hits you catches you by surprise. “Oh, you bastard,” you gasp, instantly sending another splash back at him.

He pauses, flashing you a wicked grin, and then you’re hit with another one, and another, and another. You’re splashing him back as much as you can and trying to swim away from the splash zone, and he’s splashing you, and you’re both breathless and calling taunts into the air. The sun is in your eyes, and water is in your lungs, and for a brief, blissful moment, it’s like all your worries have slipped away.

When the two of you are finally worn out, muscles aching, you push your way to the shore and lay on the grass, trying to catch your breath as your eyes flutter shut. The sun is golden and warm overhead, and with your now-drenched clothes, it feels wonderful.

A moment after you’ve gotten out, Astarion joins you. You hear the light thump of his wet shirt landing on the grass next to you, and then he’s sighing. “Gods - it’s hopeless,” he mutters. “Hopefully one of those Zhentarim knew something about fashion.”

His footsteps head back to his pack, but the feeling of warm sun on your skin is relaxing enough to keep you where you are as he digs around. When he stalls, you finally sit up, coughing some of the leftover water out of your lungs. Another joke is poised on your lips, but when you catch sight of his back, the words turn to ash on your tongue.

The soft pink lines seem like an intricate tattoo at first, but as your eyes continue to take it in, you realize that the skin is raised - far too much to ever be a tattoo. Scars. They’re scars.

You only see them for that brief moment before Astarion has found a new shirt and pulled it over himself, blocking out the sight of them, but even after they’re gone, the markings burn under your eyelids.

He turns to face you, and when he sees your face, the lightheartedness in his eyes immediately fades to something sharper. He knows you’ve seen.

“Your back,” you say softly. “It must have been painful.”

He looks away. “A gift from Cazador,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft. “A poem. He spent the night carving it into me.” He pauses, and pain flashes over his eyes. “He made a lot of adjustments as he went.”

You briefly think to yourself that - evil, powerful vampire or not - if you ever come face-to-face with Cazador Szarr, you’ll tear him to shreds with your bare hands.

Gods. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you already know Astarion won’t take it well. He clearly despises pity, and you’re not going to give it to him.

Instead, you get to your feet, ignoring the way your drenched clothes now stick to you, and head to your pack. “Why didn’t your mother kill him?”

He scoffs. “Believe me, she tried. Unfortunately, killing a vampire isn’t exactly easy. Rescuing me was the main priority, and, honestly? It was a miracle she even managed that.”

You nod, picking at a loose string on your sleeve. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”

“Baldur’s Gate, no doubt,” he replies stiffly. “In his ridiculous palace. He’s a Lord, you know.”

Ridiculous palace. It’s an ironic thing for him to say, but then you recall that Astarion probably doesn’t enjoy Erelin’s palace, either. Then, very much delayed, the reality of his words sinks in. “Hold on. You mean to say that there’s an evil vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate, and no one knows?”

“Oh, some do; they just don’t care,” he says, tilting his head. “You see - it’s all about power. He has a fair amount, and people will do anything to get even a taste of it. You should see his servants. They come to the door, begging for his eternal gift, and they’re stupid enough to think he’ll give it to them if they work hard enough.”

The concept of that is sickening. You fear nothing more than being thrown back into your personal prison, and here people are, volunteering to be in one - and one that’s far, far worse than yours, at that. All for what? Immortality? It doesn’t even remotely appeal to you.

From the look on his face, Astarion feels the same way.

Gods. You can’t even imagine what he’s experienced; not even half of it. Everything you’ve been through pales in drastic comparison to his two centuries of torture. Shame sweeps deep through your gut, dark and oozing, and it’s all you can do to not despise yourself.

Still - he complains about the petty things more than you do. And he hadn’t faulted you for wanting to run. He’d just told you not to bother, because you’d be caught.

“I don’t understand them,” you remark quietly, gathering up your things. “I can’t… imagine wanting something so much I’d give up my freedom for it.”

He shakes his head, and something reproachful paints itself into his expression. “Power is addictive, dearest. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

You sling your pack over your shoulder once more, and Astarion follows in your lead. “Well,” you say, “I suppose we’d better see what that camp is all about.”

You smell the camp before you see it.

The smoke you’d seen yesterday has faded in the air, but the smell of it is present: a distant, hazy odor that lingers in the forest. You and Astarion squat down to be safe, observing from behind the treeline, and it becomes immediately clear what it is.

Banners of silver and blue - those are Calthirian colors. This is your kingdom. What’s left of it, at least.

You’d been right. This rebellion is a prominent force, from the looks of it. No wonder Erelin had married you off instead of fighting. Still, it makes you wary to go waltzing straight into the place, expecting everything to turn out right. A level of paranoia lays over your skin like sweat, making it hard to think clearly. What if someone recognizes you? Do they know what you look like?

“Well,” Astarion remarks, “I suppose we’ve received our answer. And now that we have, we should be on our merry way.”

“Unfortunately,” you murmur in agreement. “You don’t think they’d give us directions to the nearest village?” It’s a long shot, and mostly a joke, but having traveled all this way to leave no better off is a sinking disappointment.

“They’d sooner recruit us,” Astarion answers. “Or kill us.”

You stare for a moment longer, then shake your head. “All right - new plan, then. We get the hells away from here. I’ll scale another tree and see if I can see anything.”

Astarion frowns, but doesn’t seem to have any better ideas. He follows silently as you creep through the woods, watching out for any nearby scouts.

You don’t like this place. It feels ominous, in a way.

Your breathing doesn’t return to normal until you’re a decent amount away, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve narrowly avoided something awful. Astarion stays on the ground while you climb another tree, and this time, the forest provides something very useful to you.

A city. Your city.

Baldur’s Gate, in all her glory, lies in the distance. It’ll take days, maybe even a week, to get there - but gods, is the sight of her a relief. Warm beds. Familiar faces. These days, there’s not many people you trust, but the ones you do are all in Baldur’s Gate. If you’re ever going to find any true escape, it’s there.

And, you think, your stomach sinking, there’ll be Ancunín outposts for Astarion to get back to his mother.

Astarion is pacing along the base of the tree when you hop down again, and his eyes brighten when he looks at you. “Gods. You saw something, didn’t you?”

“Baldur’s Gate,” you tell him, unable to mask the smile that spreads over your lips. “It’s a few days away, but it’s there.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Astarion sighs. “I couldn’t take much more of this.”

But you know what he’s really saying. He’ll finally get back to safety.

The two of you will have to have a talk sooner or later. You aren’t sure if he’s expecting you to return with him, and you’re not keen on arguing with him. You don’t want to leave him, but if it comes down to it - you can’t go back to Erelin.

Can’t, not won’t. It’s not even a choice. Every part of you rejects the suggestion like an unsuccessful transplant; every inch of you viscerally objects to returning to that palace. You’d bring him with you if you could, but you know that he’d never feel safe. Not while Cazador is out there, hunting for him.

The realization sombers the air as the two of you continue, skirting your way around the camp and in the direction of the city. You do a bit more hunting, and so does Astarion. Your food cooks in silence as the sun starts to set, and he seems to be lost in thought - just like you are.

When the crunch of a nearby branch sounds, the two of you leap two your feet without a second thought, reaching for your weapons. When you see who it is, your knife tumbles out of your hand.

“Cal?”

He looks more worn down than you’ve ever seen him, but it’s undeniably him. Chestnut hair. Grey eyes. A full, trim beard. He’s dressed in Calthirian colors, and his eyes widen in recognition as he stares at you, looking like he can’t believe you’re real.

“By the gods, is that really you?” he asks. “How? When? Last I heard, you’d returned to the queen’s palace - we’ve been trying to find a way to get you out, but - well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here! You’re really here!”

He glances behind you, and when he sees Astarion, he pauses. His eyes trail over the wedding rings you both wear, and the blood drains out of his face. “Oh no,” he says softly, taking a step back. His expression hardens, and his hand flits toward the sword at his belt. “No, no, no. Tell me that is not who I think it is.”

“Oh, him?” you say quickly. “This is Lirien. He helped me escape.”

“Of course it is,” Cal replies flatly. “Instead of Astarion Ancunín.” He shakes his head. “You think I can’t tell when you’re lying? I raised you! Gods - why? Why in the hells would you bring him? Do you have any idea what people will do when they find out?”

Astarion scowls. “I can hear you, you know,” he says.

Cal ignores him. “What am I going to tell them?” he mutters to himself, pacing, looking like he might topple over. “What am I going to do?”

“Nothing,” you say adamantly. “Cal? They’re not going to hear about it. Not about me, and not about him. Alright? We’re leaving.”

But Cal, instead of softening for you like he usually does, simply clenches his jaw. “You can’t be serious. This camp has been searching for a way to get you out for the last month,” he says. “We’ve lost… hundreds of men. They’re planning to mount a rescue mission for you, two days from now! Of course I’m going to tell them you’re here!”

“Well, I got myself out before they did,” you tell him, even though that isn’t really true. “And now, I’m going.”

Cal stares at you, incredulous. “What the hells did they do to you?” he asks. “Brainwashing? Torture?” He shakes his head in disbelief, then steps closer. “I won’t hide you. You were born to rule, understand? I raised you better than this.”

He mutters something under his breath before you can respond, and your and Astarion’s weapons fly toward him, falling neatly at his feet. You start forward, but Cal has snatched them up before you can make a grab for them. You have another knife in your bag, but - gods, do you really have it in you to kill him? Even now?

Before you can decide, he’s reciting another incantation. Warmth blooms on your skin, and something electric fills the air, hazing the air and tickling the inside of your lungs.

“What was that?” you ask, flinching at the sensation. “What did you do?”

“A tracking spell - over the both of you. It’ll tell us where you are even if you run. Don’t go trying anything. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

This side of him is something you don’t know, not even a little, and it breaks you. Betrayal cuts through you like a knife, etching permanently into a sharp, painful spot between your ribs. Something sours on your tongue.

You’re a pawn. You always have been, even to him. Erelin had been bad enough, but this? Cal cares more about your position than he does you. It hurts so much that you think something in you might actually rip apart and spill out of your gut, seeping into the grass below.

You have to swallow down the nausea to speak, but the slime of this situation coats your throat and your words when you talk. “Wait until tomorrow,” you request. “Give me one more night away from them. Please.”

He sighs. “I don’t have much of a choice in that. Aris won’t be back until morning anyhow. Come on, you two - I’ll get you situated.”

He starts off toward the camp, but neither you nor Astarion follow after him. Your mind is flying over thoughts at a thousand miles per minute, trying to think of what to do. Gods, what in the hells are you going to do?

“If I have to get the guards to drag you, I will,” Cal calls. “You’ll spend the night in chains. Come willingly, and you’ll get a tent. It’s your choice.”

You start walking. Your hands are shaking like a leaf. You look to Astarion, whose expression has tightened, who looks even more pale than usual. He’s scared, and you are, too. You have no idea what the hells these people want from you. Cal may have taken your weapons, but there’s still the other knife in your bag. Astarion has his teeth, and there’s two of you…

Astarion meets your eyes curiously, and his gaze flits over to Cal, raising his brows. His intention is clear, and it's the same thing you’ve been thinking to yourself. After a moment of torturous internal debate, you nod.

What had you once thought to yourself? That you were willing to do anything for freedom? Gods. Apparently, you are.

You’re just bracing yourself for a fight when the flicker of torches passes through the trees, and you hear the chatter of voices. More men, and from the look of it, they’re all armed. “Cal, is that you?” one calls, lifting his torch higher in the approaching dark so he can see. “New recruits?”

All hope left in you dies at the sight of them. Astarion tenses at your side, his hands clenching into fists. Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. They’re going to take you both, and you’re completely fucking helpless to stop it.

“Yes. Another round,” Cal says casually. It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t want to announce your identity right off the bat, and you can’t decide whether or not you’re grateful for it.

“Aris will be happy to hear that,” the guard replies. “With the siege, we need everyone we can get. You’re sure they can be trusted?”

Cal glances back at you, smiling grimly. “Positive.”

“Good.”

The two of you are escorted all the way to the camp, and the guards trail away when you reach the outskirts. “This way,” Cal says, leading the two of you to one of the empty tents. “There’s room for both of you, since you seem so fond of each other.”

You stare at the tent, wanting nothing more than to tear through it like a rabid animal.

“Don’t be like that,” Cal implores. “Whatever they did to you, we’ll reverse it. We’ll get you back as you were, hm?” He waits for you to respond, but you don’t. If you do, you think you might actually lose your mind.

“Alright,” he finally sighs. “Feel free to explore camp, get something to eat, but don’t go past the outer torches. If I wake tomorrow and don’t find you here, the whole of this camp will come after you. Understand?”

You swallow hard, your nails piercing into your palms. “Fuck you, Cal.”

He shakes his head and turns away - but as he moves past you, you catch a flash of movement by his pack. You say nothing, and he’s gone before he’s noticed. You and Astarion are left in front of the tent, alone.

Well. Here you are.

The tent is larger than you’d expected when you retreat into it, Astarion following after you and sheathing the dagger he’d stolen. There are two bedrolls, some blankets and pillows, and a large amount of space to the side. No amount of blankets and pillows can make any of this better.

Silence falls, sour and agonizing. You want to throw up. You want to drink yourself to death. You want to cry. And you really, really want to punch something.

“So…” Astarion says slowly. “I suppose we’ve met each other’s parents, now.”

You let out a laugh, but it’s bitter. “And what lovely introductions we’ve had.”

His brows pinch in feigned offense. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

You try to smile, but it falls flat. You’re so angry it feels like fire is bursting from your chest. Pressing your face into your hands, you try to breathe, wanting this not to be real - please, gods, don’t be real - but it is. You can smell the torches burning in the distance and feel the soft breeze that’s pressing through the partially-open flap of the tent.

Astarion sighs, then pushes the flap to the side and crawls through.

“Where are you going?” you ask.

“To find something to make this situation bearable,” he says, and then he’s gone.

You don’t think he’s foolish enough to fight against the tracking spell with nothing but a dagger, but it doesn’t stop anxiety from fluttering in your gut.

You can’t stand sitting still, so you leave, too - not following after him, just restless. Drifting.

For a long while, you wander aimlessly around the camp, trailing from place to place with no destination. A person or two gives you an odd look, but you really don’t give a damn. Your problems are much larger than some strangers and their opinions. All of it will turn irrelevant come morning.

Is it fury you feel, seeping so darkly through you? Has your anger turned ice-cold? It’s as if your life has all been an illusion, some kind of cruel trick. Was any of it real? Did Cal ever really care about you, or were you simply a means to an end?

You often try not to think about your parents, but you allow yourself to do so now. Would they approve of this? Would they have wanted this for you, if they were here? Or would you be nothing more than a pawn to them, too?

You don’t know. You’re starting to wonder if there’s anyone who’s ever really cared for you.

The approach of velvet-blue sky brings you wandering back to your assigned tent. It’s different than it had been before - but you can’t recognize quite how. Not until you get inside, at least.

Astarion has set up a meal: candles and wine and much fancier food than was in your packs or at the ration stations. You stall at the opening, and he nods for you to come in. You take a seat across from him, admiring his work. With the tent closed, it almost feels private. You can almost forget the camp out there, even for just a moment.

“What’s all this?” you ask.

He hands you a goblet, and you take it without another thought. “Well, darling,” he says softly, “I thought we should enjoy our last night of freedom. Who knows where we’ll be come morning.”

You press the glass to your lips and drink, finding a dark, heady wine on your tongue. “We didn’t have wine,” you recall to yourself. “Where the hells did you get this?”

“Oh, you know,” Astarion sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Around.”

This time, it’s a real smile that overtakes you. “Just like that dagger?”

“Of course,” he says, tilting his head. A mirroring smile plays on his lips, and he takes a sip of his wine. “If he didn’t want it taken, he shouldn’t have had it out in the open. Besides,” he adds, rolling a shoulder, “I was only returning it to its rightful owner.”

You shake your head. “I still can’t believe he did that. I never thought he was capable of… anything even similar to that. I thought he - cared. About me.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Astarion replies, but there’s a quiet sympathy on his face. “Especially if they intend for you to rule, which they almost certainly do.”

“Of course.” Your throat tightens, and you take another sip of wine. You feel drawn so incredibly tight. It’s like a part of you is waiting to burst.

“So,” Astarion muses, swirling the glass around, “our last night of freedom. Any idea what you want to do with it, my sweet?”

You let out a huff, staring down at your wine. “Aside from blowing this entire gods damned camp up?” You let out a shaky exhale. “No idea.”

“No?” he asks. “No lifelong list? Something you’ve always wanted to try?”

There must be a thousand things you want to do while you still can, but none of them are coming to mind. You’re wound as tight as a rope, fuming, and would give absolutely anything to stop thinking.

When you shake your head, Astarion leans forward, setting down his glass. “Nothing comes to mind?”

“I - I don’t know. All I can think about is how… angry I am. I don’t know what I want.”

“Then allow me to make a suggestion, darling,” he says, taking the wine out of your hand, neatly setting it on the chest he’s using as a makeshift table. He leans forward, trailing his thumb along your cheek, and something in your stomach jumps. “We’re here, aren’t we? We might as well take the opportunity to distract ourselves.”

“Astarion-”

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low and honeyed. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt those little… trembles of excitement when my teeth are in your neck.” He pauses, tilting his head, and another smile plays on the corners of his lips. “No need to be coy,” he purrs. “Your body has already given you away.”

And you do want it. You want it so badly that you can hardly stand it. “And what about you?”

“What?” he asks, frowning. “What about me?”

“What do you want?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Gods. Isn’t that obvious?” he asks, “I want you.”

You’re caught between the ever-growing want now steadily coursing through you and - something else. Something you don’t recognize. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure,” he insists, frustration bleeding into his voice as he pulls back to look at you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You give him a half-hearted smile. “Well, for one, I’ve never done this before. Remember?”

The frustration bleeds out of his face, and the line that’s been creased between his brows disappears. “Please,” he says incredulously. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Haven’t you heard of vampires preferring virgins?”

Something flutters in your gut at his words, at the heated way he’s taking you in. “Alright, then, vampire,” you say, before your fears can suck you in. “Do what you will with me.”

His eyes darken. “Oh, I most certainly will,” he murmurs.

He leans in, and his lips meet yours, fragrant with honeyed wine, ardent and sweet. Gentle at first, but that quickly becomes a haze of need - his hand tightening on your cheek, your hand tightening on his shirt.

Gods, you think. Kissing Astarion is like hearing a new melody and knowing that it will never leave your mind. The kiss you’d shared at the wedding has already haunted your mind plenty, but this? This is incomparable. Electric. He coaxes your mouth open with ease, and arousal shoots down your back like a bolt of lightning. When his tongue brushes against yours, every muscle in your body goes slack.

In the midst of everything, you’re still inexperienced. Your hands don’t know what to do or where to go. One settles on his shoulder, the other keeps itself clutched in his shirt. You can’t tell if it’s right, but if it’s wrong, Astarion doesn’t say.

He places his free hand at your side, using it to stabilize himself as he crawls over you, still kissing you, straddling your legs with his hips. Then that hand is at your waist, and his lips are at your neck, and you’re letting out a soft, wanting noise.

He huffs, kissing up your jaw, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he hums.

And what the hells are you supposed to say to that? Of course you’re eager. You’ve been wanting him for ages. The building need between your legs says that more than enough. You’re viciously turned on, and the smugness of his voice isn’t helping, but there’s still an awkwardness to the situation.

You have no idea what you’re doing. You can’t tell if anything you want is remotely right. In between the pleasure and passion, there’s a building anxiety that’s becoming more and more prominent. It’s distracting you from what he’s doing, which is leaving you nothing but frustrated.

“You’re thinking too much. Relax, darling,” Astarion murmurs, pulling away. “Close your eyes for me.”

And you do. You take one last look at him, so impossibly beautiful in the warm candlelight. His curls have dried tousled from the river, his eyes are half-lidded and dark, and there’s a certain amount of expectancy laced in his gaze that makes you shiver. Then, satisfied that you’ve enclosed the image to memory, you shut your eyes. The darkness helps, you think. A little.

“Good,” Astarion praises, and his lips return to your neck. He takes your hands and places them at his waist, and you’re more than happy to keep them there as he kisses down your jaw. In the darkness of your closed eyes, every touch becomes intensified. Every thought begins to slip away in favor of the feeling of him.

Sharp teeth, grazing along sensitive skin. The icy touch of his skin, sating the scorch of the arousal that shudders through your veins. The soft, almost ticklish brush of his curls against your neck as he kisses along your clavicle. The moment his hands stall at your top, your breath hitches, and your body flinches - an automatic defense you’ve ingrained over the years.

But you want him to touch you. You want this. So you take in a steadying breath and compel your muscles to relax, and he continues - not teasingly slow, but not rushed, either. Taking his time with you.

You’d thought he was beautiful when you first met, but you have to admit: you’re glad that your first time with him, as horrible as the outside circumstances are, is happening here, and not on your wedding night, when you were so hesitant of him. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it, then, even if he’d been the exact same with you. But now?

Gods, you’re enjoying it. And, judging by the growing hardness between his legs, he’s enjoying it too.

You’d like to think you’re a patient person, but you really aren’t. The more your want grows, the more your impatience does as well. Your breathing has turned heavy, and as his hands, slowly taking on your warmth, grasp lightly over your ribs, the rhythm of your lungs turns shaky - your entire body singing in want for something you’ve never even experienced.

Just as you’re truly getting desperate, he pulls away again, his hands trailing along your abdomen as he nips at your ear. “You poor thing,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “How did you stand it all this time, alone with me?”

You open your eyes and find him staring down at you, observing the sight of you. You shake your head, failing to bite away the smile that’s threatening to show itself. “Sex wasn’t exactly my priority in the middle of the woods, Astarion. The circumstances were awful.”

“True,” he remarks, tilting his head. His fingers graze over your thigh, still clothed with fabric, but you almost can pretend you don’t know better. “Still,” he says softly, his hands stalling at your lower navel, “here’s hoping we’ll get more time to enjoy this.”

Before he continues undressing you, he pauses, and that crease between his brows forms again. “Just to be clear,” he says, “you do want this?”

Your response is immediate, albeit breathy with want. “I do.”

He flashes you a grin, suddenly wicked. “Good.”

To your dismay, he crawls off of you, but it’s immediately remedied when he places his hands on your shoulder and eases you to the soft floor of the tent, coaxing your legs apart with his knee.

Any clothes you’re still wearing are quickly disposed of, and needless to say, being so naked while he’s still fully clothed leaves you feeling entirely too vulnerable. “Planning to take me with your clothes on?” you ask, and he pauses, blinking - shaking his head, as if shaking away a stray thought. “Of course not,” he says, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “Simply admiring the view, darling.”

His shirt comes off, first, tugged over his head. All silky-smooth skin that you want to trail your hands over, admire inch by inch. Gods, he’s beautiful, shadows reflecting over lithe muscle, supple skin and unearthly beauty you shouldn’t be able to touch. But you are. You gently lift a hand to him, running your fingers over his forearm, and he smiles, undoing his trousers.

Your entire body tenses in anticipation of him, but your gaze can’t stay in place. It meets his for a moment, taking in the dark ruby color of his eyes. It flickers over his nimble fingers, studies the tendons in his hands, dances over his chest and abdomen. Something stirs in you, something that aches well beyond the temporary arousal, something that cuts deeper. It’s something that, selfishly, wants him to stay. Wants him to curl next to you in the nights, wants him to leave his mother behind and continue on with you.

An impossible want, but it’s still there. After this, where will it leave the two of you?

You aren’t sure - but if this is the only chance you’re going to get at it, you’re damn well going to take it. Astarion leans over you, kissing you softly, and then his talented fingers are going to work between your thighs. They work a smooth, blissful friction that you’ve never been able to achieve by yourself - and, though the anxious rooting inside of you wants to shut your eyes, you don’t. You hold his gaze.

For just a moment, he looks almost distant, but his eyes clear - and something darkens in his gaze as he looks at you. He props over you, watching you as you squirm in pleasure, his lips slightly parted.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and you nearly come apart right there. You don’t, though. He pulls his hand away and you’re left shuddering, panting and aching. Then, he moves closer, places a hand on your thigh to coax your legs apart, and works a finger into you.

His hands are warm by now, but - gods. The feeling of him, compared to your feeble attempts, is nearly shameful. He takes his time with this - goes slow, watching your face intently. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you realize.

Your impatience is less now, as he increases it to two, then three; the stretch, despite his best efforts, is bordering on painful. The almost-pain fades the further he goes on, bleeding into something else that’s so intensely pleasurable you want to beg him to just take you.

When he finally stops, he tilts his head. “Oh, you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice silky and low.

“Please,” comes your response.

“Darling, no need to beg,” he says. “I won’t keep you waiting.”

And he doesn’t. He props himself over you, lowering himself to kiss you, and your leg hitches around his waist. His skin is warm from touching yours, but it’s cold where your arms move to wrap around his neck. You’re mindful of his scars, because you doubt he likes them touched, and he brushes his nose against your cheek as he pushes into you. Slowly, again, but you’re not going to complain. There’s that wash of pain again, and then - oh, gods. Pleasure. Delicious, blissful friction. Your chest heaves and your mouth lets out a loud, needy sound.

Only then do you remember you’re in the middle of camp, but honestly? You’re so removed at this point that you don’t even care. If all of Calthir hears you getting fucked to the heavens by their enemy prince, so be it. Cal’s probably fucked off to somewhere else anyway, no doubt burdened by guilt. He has to feel some sort of guilt, doesn’t he?

“Gods,” Astarion pants, drawing you back to the present as he slowly deepens his thrusts. You swallow hard, watching the crease of pleasure form between his brows, studying the flash of fangs between his lips. You’re drunk on pleasure, the feel of him, the tiny solitude in this tent that separates you from the rest of the world. He kisses you again, and this time it’s heated, desperate, messy.

His tongue molds against yours, his fangs graze your lip. Gods, his pace is picking up. Your muscles are starting to tense - the flushed warmth that’s building under your skin is growing. He lets out a soft moan and grips your shoulder, and you instinctively tilt your head for him, giving him access to your neck.

He studies your expression for a moment, as if he’s confirming what you’re offering, and then - gods. He sinks his fangs into your neck.

If you’d thought the practice was intimate before, it’s so much more now. You barely even feel the pain of the piercing skin - all you feel is him tasting you, groaning into your skin, his hips still rolling evenly.

He only takes a little, but when he pulls away, there’s that rosy flush to his cheeks. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on him, metallic iron. His movements are less graceful, now. His gaze is dark and intense, and his grip on you is stronger when he takes your shoulder again, thrusting harder - enough to have you tensing, the both of you panting.

When the pleasure finally takes you, it’s so intense it’s almost painful. It starts somewhere deep within, working its way through you, singing through your veins until the world blurs at the edges. Blinding, white-hot waves of it ebb and flow through you, taking you away from every sensation but that of Astarion, skin balmy against yours - floating somewhere in the depths of your mind until you finally come down.

Astarion shudders through his climax just after you, letting out a sudden, wanting noise - as if it’s been punched out of him. As if it had surprised him, just the way it had surprised you. You want to memorize it. You want to take that sound and remember it forever.

When it’s all passed, you’re left covered in sweat, sated, and very, very vulnerable. The arousal that had drifted away your insecurities is waning, and you’re left wanting to hide - to crawl away. But Astarion gently kisses you, carefully pulling out of you, and exhaustion takes over instead.

The Gur. Finding out about Cazador. Cal’s betrayal. All of that in one day, and it’s taking its toll. Your eyes feel heavy. Your muscles feel achy and worn out. Your thoughts are clouded over, too intertwined and complicated to drag apart when you’re like this.

You sit up and grab a stray rag, intending to clean yourself, but Astarion tugs it out of your fingers. “No, darling, let me,” he says.

And you do.

He confuses you - that he can be so vicious and so tender. He’d killed Gandrel without hesitation, without remorse - though, admittedly, you’d let him. Let him. As if you had some control over him. As if you could have stopped him. It should scare you, perhaps - that callous, venomous side of him - but it doesn’t. The rough edges of him you keep finding only make you want him more. The details don’t sate you. You always want more.

And now, you suppose you’ll find out what comes next.

The tent is silent. You fumble through your pack and find your sleeping clothes, and Astarion does the same. You’re hesitant, not wanting to push too far. You know very well sex doesn’t mean anything more - however much you might want more - and you know for certain that Astarion had not offered you anything aside from that. Still, the thought of curling up alone tonight has your chest aching.

When you finish dressing, you find that Astarion has pulled the two bedrolls together, fluffed up by the pillows and blankets. He raises a brow and pats the spot next to him, and it’s really very childish, the way your chest fills with a delirious sort of joy. You make your way next to him, and he folds you into his arms.

His skin is cool again. The little sounds of him are relaxing - the movements of his ribs when he breathes, the bob of his throat when he swallows, the light sigh he lets out when his head meets the pillow. It almost makes up for the silence in his chest. The void of sound where a beating heart should be.

For just a moment, before sleep pulls you away, you wonder if he remembers how it felt - to have something alive, thrumming in his chest.

tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 x reader #mywriting

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sonkitty · 6 months ago

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The Rainbows of the Threshold Tricks

This thing is getting too ridiculous and messy to explain as part of an update to the Thresholds Trick post, so fine, here is a post about it.

I finally "found" the rainbow for The Perfect Entrance Trick. Maybe.

And I've long wanted to make a post about the rainbows for the Threshold Tricks anyway.

So, as a refresher or FYI, depending on how much you follow along with my posts...

The Pocket Trick has findable rainbows for each touch. This part is strangely easy compared to so much else in The Pocket Trick itself.

Eventually, I figured out that's because this ease is a clue about a much more complex mechanic called the Rainbow Connection through The Pocket Trick's Pocket Chain. It is also a hopefully possibly simplified way to show that yes, Earthly Objects really is a game audience members can play.

...

The rainbow in Touch #2 of The Pocket Trick is the header for this post. It has a notable purple next to the red.

Now, looking to the other Threshold Tricks, The Bigger Thresholds Trick, The Door Trick, and The Window Trick also have rainbows, but those rainbows do not have a notable purple. I think, as best I can personally tell, they go red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and then lack the purple.

I will go over them below, and you can use your own best judgment, provided you are at all interested.

Again, here is the one for The Pocket Trick, edited to emphasize the rainbow with some stronger saturation on that part:

...

Here is the one for The Bigger Thresholds Trick, both in a regular screenshot and with some editing to emphasize it:

...

The Door Trick:

...

The Window Trick:

...

The Sunglasses Trick does not get a rainbow. It has a reflection of white light in Crowley's watch due to its special layering:

...

The Perfect Entrance Trick does not get a light-based rainbow like those found in four of the other Threshold Tricks; likewise, the watch even gets a yellowish tint in its reflective surface so as to not fully give a white light reflection, as The Sunglasses Trick does.

So, back to The Pocket Trick and its Rainbow Connection.

Every Threshold Trick is linked to a ball invitation. I have long pondered why, since I had this realization that these links exist, especially considering how long it took for the realization to happen.

Well, whatever the reason, and maybe even ever so slightly partly the reason, this link can get The Perfect Entrance Trick a conceptual rainbow.

As the Rainbow Connection goes, the colors start from Red in Touch #1 and go down to Purple for Touch #3 in the music shop. The music shop has a double Purple, so then it starts to go back up.

The Perfect Entrance Trick is linked to Justine's ball invitation. During that scene, the Rainbow Connection goes from Blue all the way back up to Red. This connection shifting is happening during The Pocket Trick's Triple Part 3.

The Rainbow Connection isn't actually all just this one frame because the switches have specific frames to determine when they happen, but this frame has the relevant colors nonetheless:

Because of this extended link through the ball invitation, The Perfect Entrance Trick now has a reverse conceptualized rainbow compared to the other Threshold Tricks while also lacking a purple. It is the traveling, the shifting, of the Rainbow Connection going through those colors from Blue back up to Red.

I am reasonably sure of myself that the purple on the paper behind Crowley does not count because that is the findable rainbow for this particular touch of The Pocket Trick.

But I have been known to make mistakes and be wrong, so I will correct the matter if I figure it out better or further.

As I currently understand things, that's how The Perfect Entrance Trick gets its rainbow. The reversed order is likely related to it being the only Trick that starts and ends in episode 1 whereas the other five end in episode 6.

...

And that's it for now.

#crowley #david tennant #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #good omens crowley #crowley good omens

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lokilysolbitch · 10 months ago

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i never see this talked about so i will be the one to talk about it but writing essays, discussions, or anything with a word count is so difficult it's debilitating when you have autism and untreated irlen syndrome and dissociate. for starters i cant fucking read what im supposed to be responding to unless i can move it to google docs, change the font style, font size, and font color, highlight all the text in a less contrasting color, change the spacing, turn the lights on and hope for the best. and if i get the best, i can't comprehend it bc i was too dissociated that day. okay fine so now im left with a vague understanding of what to write kind of. well now i need to write 1500 words. except the prompt given is vague as hell bc the professor expected fellow allistics to just understand what they meant. except i'm not allistic. so if the prompt is something like what does the dog in the book represent. (don't get me started on not being able to read between the lines bc of autism). maybe the dog represents money. okay. header, title, "the dog represents money". how the fuck am i supposed to add 496 more words to that. you asked a question and i answered it. there's nothing else to say, i'm not supposed to go off topic in a formal paper. so what now

so i stretch it out as much as i can. "there is a dog in this book. the dog is a representation of money. money is an important part of the story." so now it sounds like a child wrote this and it still doesn't meet the word count. so i spend 14 hours switching between trying to write and having a meltdown because "how come i seem to be the only one not getting it?? what do they want me to do????? am i going to fail again???"

eventually i just have to accept feeling like a failure and turn it in, word count unmet. days pass and im still mad that the impossible was asked of me like it was possible and i wasted 14 hours on something i'll get a bad grade on anyway again. i get the grade back and it's somewhere around a 60% to be expected. i read the feedback:

"Good points, just expand some more. i know there's more you can say"

NO THERE IS FUCKING NOT

and the frustration of every essay, every discussion post, every long answer question, from third grade to now accumulates until every essay and every discussion post and every long answer question puts you in a heavy dissociative catatonic state that you have to plan around because you won't be able to move to even go eat. and then after a few years you get sick of that and just give up and just start unmasking

"what does the cat represent in the book? answer in 500 words" the cat represents sleep. submit post. 20%. feedback: you're correct but expand some more

anyways no one i meet ever has essay issues like this but like it cannot be just me. i'm about to start dropping or failing classes because of this

edit: actually i have more to add because if you bring this up to a teacher they look at you with this big pitying eyes and encourage you as if you are some disney movie character who just needs to try harder to overcome their obstacles when you are actually someone with an UNTREATED LEARNING DISABILITY, UNTREATED DEVELOPMENTAL DISABILITY, AND AN UNTREATED ACTIVELY WORSENING TRAUMA RESPONSE

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lambilegs · 6 months ago

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hi!! idk if your requests are still open, but i just had a thought about lee after the ending of the movie. i was thinking that she possibly would adopt a dog to feel safer at her cabin (since poor baby couldn't even have peace there when kobble walked in </3), but what's your opinion on my thought? maybe you have a specific dog race in mind as well? :3

lee with a dog headcanons 🐶

note to anon: hehe they are open!! (also to anyone wondering you can always check my pinned to see if they are mwah <3) and omg, yeah, I could definitely see her feeling incredibly on edge and haunted by everything that happens in the movie. so, to preface, this post is super long and very detailed LOLLL basically, my gf, who absolutely loves dog, and I got super invested in this idea and finding a good breed for lee and figuring out how her life would be w it, so yeah hehe (also these headcanons are super disorganized and messy just to warn 😭) thank you sm for such a sweet and interesting req, I loved writing it hehe

and credits to: my amazing gf, who helped so so soooo much with this!! he literally made an entire notion page with info on how to train a kangal, like, he was DEDICATED to this fic

header by: @fairytopea

okay so I feel like her main requirements for a dog would be: low-maintenance (due to her long hours at work), protective (one of her main reasons for getting one would be for her own sense of ease after one too many anxious nights deprived of sleep), relaxed personality-wise (she would one hundred percent not be able to handle an extremely energetic dog) and physically active (so she can jog w it)

I have consulted w a dog expert (aka my gf) about which dog would fit all these requirements, and his answer was a kangal, so let's go with that

when lee's first introduced to this dog at the shelter, she is... slightly terrified KDJDKDJ listen, she can barely handle a child, so seeing the first kangal, a huge, intimidating dog, is enough to have her blinking hard at the photograph, gulping LMAO

but, it is, however, the only dog that really fits all of her desires, so she's introduced to three of them, which really just consists of her standing awkwardly next to each. she doesn't know what qualifies for the "clicking" the staff keeps swearing by, and just watches each dog she's introduced to from a tentative distance, observing it carefully. the friendlier one moves to approach her, which leads to her stepping away, lips pursing in embarrassment when the staff member laughs

eventually, she's introduced to a rescue named jasper, who was recently given up. like the other two that came before him, his size is formidable and has her slightly shifting at first sight. but, he doesn't make any move to come closer. he keeps his distance, watching her just as carefully as she does him

after the guy standing by her whips his head, back and forth, between them, he says, "okay, this might be a match"

and that's how, after way more paperwork, screening and procedure than she anticipated, lee winds up up with a dog

totally underestimates how much of a commitment it is on her end. she's calling the trainer whose number was given to her nearly everyday, asking a string of confused questions as to how to handle this or that LMAOOOO

as selfish as it sounds, she had only really desired the dog for protection purposes -- she didn't expect that she'd actually need to put so much work into bonding w him DJSKDJSK

because jasper is already trained by his last owner, she essentially has to re-establish those already existing skills by going on walks with him and trying out commands in different places. in addition to this, she needs to play games with him. in all honestly, she's not really thrilled at the idea at first. sure, an animal might be easier to socialize with, but that doesn't make the task of it any less draining on her, someone who'd infinitely prefer to just keep to herself

ensue the next few weeks, where lee gets up an hour early every morning to walk with jasper through the mass of trees surrounding her forest. in her pocket, she carries treats, and a note scrawled with directions she had written during her phone call, with things such as: for "look at me" command, hold treat in front of face, then try different places, then different situations, then do it holding finger between eyes

she seriously wonders if this is what it's like to raise a kid LMFAOOOO. she feels a tad silly guiding jasper, never having been one who particularly enjoyed teaching -- when she has, it's been for intellectual reasons, rather than the position of power, so having nothing to teacher jasper but such basic commands is a bit out of her league. expect her to be extremely particular about everything, repeating the trainer's words in her mind as she helps jasper sit by moving her hand w the treat and marking on her calendar when she should start trying to slowly remove the treat from the equation and use the commands in different settings

and that's when the first bolt of something, tenderness, shoots through her. the first time she doesn't give jasper the treat, her stomach tightens in acute sadness at the sight of him expecting it. when he manages to successfully follow her directions, she tries to be a bit more enthusiastic in her "good boy" and head pat, which are usually done in her typical flat tone and light, barely there touches

combine this w boundary training, and she feels like a full time mom LMFAO

when she slowly stops actively training with him, sleeping in instead of spending the daily hour with him, she's surprised at just how... off her day feels without it

I think the first few weeks he spends guarding her house, she's wracked with anxiety for him. what if someone harms him? she knows kobble is gone, but apparently intensive therapy hasn't been enough. not only is she still afraid for herself, but now she feels accountable for anything that happens to the dog. with time, she's able to manage the anxiety better, forcing herself to stay in bed and do breathing exercises rather than repeatedly wander onto her porch and worriedly look for jasper's large form (yes it takes many days for her to not immediately jump at the side of his large form emerging from the trees)

it takes her a while to see their bond as anything beyond... professional (her coworkers laugh right at her face when she uses this phrasing LMAO). the walks, the playing catch, it's really just for the sake of getting him accustomed to her commands. aside from that, she doesn't really... interact w him unless it's necessary, like when she feeds him or when she pats him solely for the sake of helping him with commands

but, every now and then, she feels this care and worry for him. when the weather starts getting colder, it makes her uncomfortable to see him asleep on the cold, hard ground. she knows he's built for it, and probably barely senses it with how large he is. but, still...

cue two weeks later, she's waking early again to build jasper a dog house (yes I'm convinced lee is good w woodwork and yes I'm projecting)

when he first goes into it and curls up, she can't help but feel warm satisfaction roll through her, happy to know she contributed to his comfort the way he does for her

it all gets more heightened when one night, a car drives too close to her house, and the flashing lights and lingering driver has her breaths shortening, stomach seized so tightly with panic that she drops her gun to the floorboards of her porch, watching the lights slowly disappear into the trees with tear-filled eyes

she flinches when jasper gets close to her, her breathing still heavy and shaky, stomach curled with nausea. he keeps his space, watching her with levelled eyes. when the intentional breathing isn't enough to anchor her, she raises a trembling palm up, tears slipping out when he raises his head to it and nuzzles softly. feeling the softness of his head, the heavy presence of him next to her, helps her ground herself

seeing him be so in tune to her feelings, and so willing to help her, cracks the professionalism in her, and she finds herself vulnerable with him for the rest of the night, tossing on her winter jacket and smoking on the porch while he sits next to her on the steps. when her tears subside, she remains there for another hour. for months, she had feared coming out onto her porch at night, but now, it feels a bit easier

the next day, when she returns early from work, she watches him for a few seconds from her car, sound asleep in his doghouse. he's still intimidating, still larger than life, but something in her softens at the sight

lee starts spending several evenings a week w him, sitting out on her porch and looking through case files, listening to her walkman or just smoking (she finds out that smoking next to a dog is not good, so she now keeps jasper at a distance when she does)

it's nice. he's calm, levelled, a lot like her, so it doesn't feel overwhelming to be in his company. and it's just nice to have some company at all. she's always liked the solitary nature of her home, but since kobble, more and more moments have occurred where the isolation of her home feels like a threat. and jasper, in his own way, helps, a lot

and it turns out he can be pretty... fun company, honestly. the more she bonds with him, and the closer they get, she finds herself loosening up with him. it's been years, probably a decade, since she's actually played in the most literal sense of the word. with the obligation of training out of the way, and her own comfort having bloomed with him, it becomes easier to eventually forgo the embarrassment of running around the trees and playing frisbee with jasper.

she feels like a kid again, and she surprises herself one day by actually laughing when jasper misses catching a frisbee

and when she trips, he immediately runs to her, ducking down to check on her, and it's almost laughable how embarrassed she is to have tripped in front of a dog LMFAOOOO

weeks later, and the two of them are going on her morning jogs together, racing each other through the snowy trees, and at least for a few moments, lee can forget her troubles

she realizes just how attached she is when it's raining hard one night, and, pierced with sympathy, she calls him in and spends the evening with him sitting at her feet while she sits at her desk and does work

she also totally lets him sleep in her bed that night, and though his formidable size is really awkward to adjust to at first, she winds up spending the entire night immensely comforted by his presence, waking with her arm tossed over him while he watches her over

she leaps back at the sight of him LMFAO but trust me, in a matter of months, her and jasper have several little sleepovers hehe

#lee harker #lee harker fanfiction #s.writing #longlegs fanfiction #longlegs 2024 #scheduled

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lassofics · 6 months ago

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Two Aces: Part 2

Word count: 612

Timeline: Season 1

Warnings: None

Summary: Takes place a week after Two Aces. Jamie’s perspective is explored under the cut.

Coach Lasso had made the announcement that morning: Jamie is no longer at Richmond.

Man City had loaned him out to Richmond, but suddenly, just like that, they’d recalled him. Dani hadn’t even gotten the chance to say goodbye.

Dani’s an emotional guy by nature. He cries a lot. So it’s no surprise that he’s in his apartment, thinking of Jamie, with silent tears rolling down his cheeks.

He’s trying to stay positive… but he misses his friend. Pulling out his phone, Dani smiles weakly as he types out a text to Jamie.

Text: Amigo! I miss you so much… I wish you were still here. I know you will do amazing at Man City, but I’m going to miss my fellow striker. 😢

Jamie doesn’t reply for the first couple of hours. That’s okay; he’s probably super busy getting re-adjusted to Manchester.

So busy, in fact, that he doesn’t reply for three days straight. Eventually, Dani can’t take it anymore and sends another text.

Text: Jamie! Just reaching out to make sure you are okay. I have not heard from you. Still miss you like crazy! ❤️

No reply.

A week passes. Dani tries again.

Text: Hola, Jamie! I watched the Man City match last night and saw you score on that incredible header! I owe you a drink now! Let me know when you want to meet up. ❤️

Another week passes with no response. And then another. And then another.

Dani slowly starts to realize that Jamie probably got a new phone — or maybe his phone stopped working somehow. He still misses Jamie every day, but his optimism never wavers. He knows he’ll see Jamie again — somehow, some way, someday.

He stops reaching out, simply because he doesn’t want to bother Jamie. But he never stops thinking of him. He keeps reading his interviews, watching his matches, and dreaming of their reunion. A part of him is sad, but a bigger part of him truly believes he and Jamie will be friends again.

Only time will tell.

Jamie’s Perspective

Fucking Lasso had dumped him.

Jamie had JUST started getting used to Richmond. He’d JUST started to get comfortable around his teammates. He’d JUST started actually fucking enjoying himself.

“You’re going back to Man City. They recalled you,” Rebecca had said, her tone calm and even. Jamie had wanted to scream.

Now, he’s sitting in the Man City locker room. It’s bigger than Richmond’s. The walls are painted a light blue instead of a dark blue.

There’s no BELIEVE sign above the door.

His dad’s in the crowd. Waiting, watching, looking for any possible mistakes to tear Jamie apart for.

Man City’s his original team — his favorite team. It’ll always hold a special place in Jamie’s heart. But after spending so much time at Richmond, everything has changed here, and nothing feels quite… right.

His phone buzzes in his hand, snapping him out of his daze. He looks down, his heart clenching in his chest as he reads the text from Dani.

Text: Jamie! Just reaching out to make sure you are okay. I have not heard from you. Still miss you like crazy! ❤️

Jamie swallows thickly�� and then, taking a deep breath, he clicks Dani’s contact and presses the “Hide Alerts” button. There’s no time for distractions. He and Dani were never really friends, were they?

Except… deep down, he knows they were. And there’s not a single person on the Man City team that brings an energy even close to Dani’s. But Jamie knows he has to move on, and the best way to do that is to ignore Dani.

Fuck Ted Lasso. And fuck Richmond.

#fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt fanfic #dani rojas #dani rojas fic #dani rojas fanfic #my fics

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kylesvariouslistsandstuff · 9 days ago

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Not news, only speculation and some reminiscing... A long post, too, heads up.

Maybe Disney Animation was mum on their 2026 movie at Annecy, despite Pixar all-out telling us what Summer 2027 Feature is (Enrico Casarosa's GATTO, complete with concept art and synopsis), as we have known what their two 2026 pictures are (HOPPERS and TOY STORY 5)...

Because of the switch of leaders?

Before this, since around the end of the 2010s, Disney Animation was quiet about what was *really* on the horizon other than "[x] director here is at work on a movie".

Jennifer Lee was named CCO in June 2018 after John Lasseter's protracted ouster. At the time, a few pictures had been scheduled, RALPH BREAKS THE INTERNET was in its final laps, FROZEN II was over a year away, and something was set for the year after.

We didn't learn what that picture was until mid-2019, the company officially announced it was RAYA AND THE LAST DRAGON, a little over a year away from its original projected Thanksgiving 2020 release date. Prior to that, it was known that its then-director Dean Wellins was working on something, at least since 2015, with Paul Briggs involved. (Wellins eventually got completely booted from the film, Briggs was demoted to "co-director".) Scooper sites had called the film "Dragon Empire" circa 2018-19. It's very possible it did wear such a working title at one point in time, or scoopers called it that so as not to get targeted. RAYA ended up coming out in March 2021 due to COVID-19 upending Disney's release schedule, a film - among a few others, like CRUELLA and BLACK WIDOW - used as an attempt to get movies back in theaters in some way before vaccines really rolled out.

We also knew that Byron Howard was at work on a Lin Manuel Miranda-captained musical, but the official title and premise wouldn't be officially announced by the company until December 2020, less than a year before its Thanksgiving 2021 bow. Reasonable though, due to COVID and whatnot, and still figuring out the release schedule as it was unknown what shape the world would be in by then. However... That same event in December 2020, Pete Docter straight up laid down the Pixar road going all the way up to mid-2022. TURNING RED and LIGHTYEAR were both announced and revealed to the world for the first time, while Disney capped things off at late 2021.

STRANGE WORLD was officially announced in the press - not a D23-esque event or shareholder conference or anything like that - a little after ENCANTO came out, less than a year before it hit theaters. Scoopers were telling us about that one beforehand, too, calling it "Searcher Clade". When I read that back in the day, I assumed that that name was referring to a ship or something. The airship appearing in the ENCANTO credits as an Easter egg seemed to indicate that to me, as well.

At the 2022 D23 Expo... Pixar reveals movies releasing all the way into 2024 (at the time, the studio's 2024 was intended to be a double header: Adrian Molina's original version of ELIO, and INSIDE OUT 2. Complete w/ renders and concept art shown.) WDAS caps off at WISH, Thanksgiving 2023.

So it seems the pattern is, Pixar announced what's out, a summer after the latest picture WDAS announces. Sometimes it's thought to be two in the following year, again, the planned duo of ELIO and INSIDE OUT 2, HOPPERS and TOY STORY 5 next year.

ZOOTOPIA 2 and FROZEN III are then officially revealed to the public months later, with WISH about half a year away from release. The announcement of those comes from a shareholder conference, where these kinds of things are usually unveiled. No release dates are given.

WISH arrives in November 2023, WDAS uncharacteristically is very very mum about what releases afterwards... ZOOTOPIA 2 and FROZEN III likely aren't ready for 2024, so it remains a mystery. Is it an original? A rumored Middle East-set fairy tale, perhaps?

February 2024, after much radio silence on what WDAS' November 2024 movie is... So close to release, at that... It's revealed that a MOANA series meant for Disney+ has been re-cooked into a movie sequel. ZOOTOPIA 2 is confirmed to be the studio's Thanksgiving 2025 release, FROZEN III is said to be eyeballing a 2026 release, but not specifically the Thanksgiving slot that the company already had locked for a WDAS movie.

So now, WDAS is about neck-and-neck with Pixar in terms of announced movies + release dates/frames. FROZEN III is up in the air, but it's within the 2026 range like HOPPERS (yet to be announced, but the March 2026 slot is already locked for it) and TOY STORY 5 are...

The mid-2024 D23 Expo happens... Pixar officially announces HOPPERS as their spring 2026 movie, all good all good. Then they say that INCREDIBLES 3 is in the works, no date given. That's assumed to be pretty far off, given director Brad Bird's continuing work on RAY GUNN up at Skydance. Assuming he was directing this film. Like, what frame was that feasibly aiming for? 2029-2030? Disney Animation... However... Announced FROZEN III for Thanksgiving 2027, and the quietly says an original movie is coming out in Thanksgiving 2026. No title, no director, no nothing...

It was an unusual presentation, to say the least. Weeks and weeks later, Jennifer Lee stepped down as studio CCO, with Jared Bush replacing her. Bush had already been directing ZOOTOPIA 2, Byron Howard joined the movie as director to help him get it to the finish line while he now leads a studio. Understandably, there'd be some rearrangement going on before announcing a movie set for 2026...

But as time went on, no word...

Pixar confirms COCO 2 is happening, and is eyeballing 2029, back in March. During, you guessed it, a shareholder conference.

And once more, there had been no word on WDAS 2026 throughout the spring. And especially no word on it during this past week at Annecy... Where Pixar, once again, told us what's up going into 2027, not counting undated INCREDIBLES 3 and TBD 2029 sequel COCO 2. To be fair, FROZEN III is scheduled to release *after* GATTO, but that's a sequel. Like, why couldn't WDAS say what the 2026 original movie is?

Are they gonna wait 'til the end of the year to finally say what this thing is, and then speedrun the rollout for it?

...

I then remember what things were like back in, say, mid-2010...

When TANGLED was coming out... As we got closer to its Thanksgiving 2010 landing... I was turning 18 at the time, and yes, following animation news via blogs and news sites and such, forums. Mere months before I got a Twitter.

On the horizon from Disney Animation was WINNIE THE POOH for summer 2011, and REBOOT RALPH for spring 2013. Nothing was scheduled for 2012, because Pixar had both the summer and autumn slots locked for pictures: BRAVE for the summer, MONSTERS INC. 2 (as it was then known as) for the autumn. CARS 2 was etched into summer 2011. NEWT was dead by then, and there was no word on what was coming out afterwards. Only some rumblings here and there.

TANGLED was an interesting point in time for a post-Eisner/post-Stainton Walt Disney Animation Studios. The larger Walt Disney Company's acquisition of Pixar in 2006 upended a lot of things at that studio, who were already having a hard time to begin with coming off of critical duds like BROTHER BEAR, HOME ON THE RANGE, and CHICKEN LITTLE. Films that didn't make Pixar numbers, for sure. A little-known story, after Disney bought Pixar, Steve Jobs had actually suggested closing down WDAS for good and having Pixar be the company's animation house... Imagine that! Luckily, he was vetoed by John Lasseter on that one.

Lasseter and Ed Catmull, now heading up WDAS in tandem with Pixar, started off with Stainton leftovers. A DAY WITH WILBUR ROBINSON is half-retooled and re-titled MEET THE ROBINSONS, and is rather tossed off in spring 2007, it doesn't turn any profit and gets lukewarm reception. Lasseter rids AMERICAN DOG of visionary Chris Sanders, and has it turned into BOLT, comes out Thanksgiving 2008, doesn't really make much of a stir. A 2D features revival with THE PRINCESS AND THE FROG in Christmas 2009 does so-so at the box office...

So, Disney Animation isn't fully back at this point in time. At least, at the box office. BOLT and FROG are critical hits and get nominated for Oscar in their respective release years, while previously announced projects like KING OF THE ELVES and THE SNOW QUEEN get dialed back. FROG's box office is blamed on the film being a "girly" fairy tale, and it's declared that TANGLED - originally titled, simply, RAPUNZEL - is to be the studio's final fairy tale movie... Imagine that?

So, the horizon was looking kinda slim in summer 2010... TANGLED doesn't inspire much confidence (those SHREK-y trailers worried a lot of animation fans, including me), a 2D WINNIE THE POOH is next and is scheduled for the same day as the last Harry Potter movie, and then there's video game movie called REBOOT RALPH... The studio possibly didn't have anything new, either. BIG HERO 6 was in its embryonic stage by the end of 2010, on the heels of Disney acquiring Marvel. KING OF THE ELVES and SNOW QUEEN were on hold. Though curiously, REBOOT RALPH was scheduled for release after MONSTERS, INC 2.... So they were a little ahead there.

But Lasseter-Catmull's Disney Animation needed a box office hit and a kind of confidence needed to keep going, to show that they can indeed coexist with Pixar. TANGLED cost $260m to make, most of it accumulated from thrown-out versions of the movie dating back to the late 1990s. The movie makes about $590m or so worldwide, which doesn't really turn a profit, but that it made the 2nd biggest amount for a Disney animated movie - unadjusted - behind THE LION KING... They were happy nonetheless. We're not in that era anymore. Iger and co would call that a flop now, but in 2010/11, it didn't matter if it wasn't 2.5x the bloated budget... They were happy to see a movie of theirs crack $500m+ worldwide for the first time in over 16 years.

THE SNOW QUEEN went back into development in spring 2011-ish, TANGLED's director Byron Howard pitched some ideas and got to work on a project combining a few of them, rather animal-themed ones. TANGLED's other director Nathan Greno pitched a Jack and the Beanstalk retelling. REBOOT RALPH moved up to fall 2012, was retitled WRECK-IT RALPH, which pushed MONSTERS, INC. 2 - now confirmed to be a prequel, MONSTERS UNIVERSITY - to summer 2013. So by the end of 2011, all this combined with the Marvel movie about the marshmallow robot, WDAS was finally going full-steam ahead into the future. Almost all of those movies happened and did well!

Where is Walt Disney Animation Studios right now? Jared Bush assumed leadership right before the release of the hastily-reassembled MOANA 2, which expectedly did great box office but got okay reviews and no Oscar nomination. He got promoted, while neck-deep in directing a ZOOTOPIA 2 sequel, so his mind is understandably very occupied right now…

Disney Animation got impacted by COVID-19 and former CEO Bob Chapek's handling of their releases, not too long after Jennifer Lee was made leader AND was tasked to come up with stuff for the then-new Disney+. RAYA has to be excepted because it was rolled out in a hybrid release strategy, when vaccines were *just* rolling out for elderly age groups. It was critically-acclaimed and got an Oscar nom, ditto ENCANTO later that year, which got a fuller release but was more impacted by how much choosier theater-goers are now.

Where things really slipped was STRANGE WORLD in fall 2022. Got decent reviews and no Oscar nom, was left to die after poor test screenings, was embroiled in right-wing rage, and posted an enormous loss. WISH bombed a year later, and it was known in animation fan circles that the filmmakers at the studio were being stifled. Notes and test screenings and focus groups, used against them and to dilute their respective visions. In the films, it showed. This same nonsense sabotaged a Middle Eastern-set fairy tale that was being directed by Suzi Yoonessi, which was originally aiming for a fall 2024 release... The cancellation left the slot vacant, until the leadership hastily decided to make a MOANA Disney+ series into a movie. A crunch production, at that... Lee stepped down before MOANA 2 came out, but she is still at the studio as a filmmaker.

A lot happened, and now they have a new leader, and he's already trying to figure things out while still having *something* ready for release every calendar year... I get it...

Maybe Jared Bush and company want to make sure that the fall 2026 movie actually happens in the first place, instead of announcing it only for something to compromise it... And they have to cancel it, or put something else in its place. It would certainly stink if that movie got put on ice, and FROZEN III got moved up to fill the gap... Making for three sequels in a row: MOANA 2, ZOOTOPIA, FROZEN III...

There are still some events where it could be announced. San Diego Comic-Con maybe? New York Comic-Con? Usually Disney would roll out some kind of Marvel news there, but even then, with D23, they usually don't need to at this point. The next D23 Expo likely happens late summer 2026, in Cali. Maybe a Brazilian one a little afterwards, too, like last year. Maybe the closer ZOOTOPIA 2 gets to completion, we learn what it is, who is directing it, what it's even about, etc.

It would just be kinda weird to cut it so close yet again, like ENCANTO was, like STRANGE WORLD was, like WISH was... Like MOANA 2 *especially* was... ZOOTOPIA 2, FROZEN III, and FROZEN IV by contrast were known about looong before release...

I know I'm being like so impatient about this WDAS movie, but I do come from an era where we knew about these films about a year and a half away from release. We’re a little past that point now with this film. A year and five months off, June 2025 to November 2026…

Hope it’s in good shape!

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