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annisthree · 2 years ago

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Andor Wednesday #22, "The Girl with the Stardust Eyes" by fulcrumstardust

Lt. Erso is an Imperial astrogation officer who, after a particularly difficult operation, finds comfort in the arms of Commander Jeron Sward. To avoid trouble, both try to distance themselves from one another. But undercover missions rarely go as planned, and soon they both have to fight much more than their own feelings.

(Yes, my obsession with an alternative first meeting between Jyn and undercover Cassian continues.)

Title: THE GIRL WITH THE STARDUST EYES

Author: fulcrumstardust (@fulcrumstardust)

Words: 61,805 (in progress)

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21595456

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Jyn Erso x Cassian Andor

Warnings: Heavy angst, explicit sexual content, blood and injury, suicidal thoughts

Description: You know that feeling when you read a really good, well-structured, beautifully written story and think, 'Wow, this could easily be a published book'?

I absolutely loved every second of this story. It has a perfect balance of action, drama, and beautiful, poetic descriptions (seriously, some of the most poetic sex scenes I've read, and I've read a lot of them). Plus, the journey from careful infatuation, to denial, to anger, to finally slowly coming to terms with their feelings - it all makes the story pretty much impossible to put down. I've read the entire thing almost in one go. And I have a feeling you will, too.

I hope you enjoy the reading! Thank you for all of your recommendations - feel free to send more, either via comments or in my ask box. Don’t be shy to self-promote!

And if you end up reading this story, let me know what you think (and remember to leave the author some love!)

You can see the other Andor Wednesday recommendations here.

#andor wednesday #fic rec #cassian andor #rogue one #jyn erso #rebelcaptain

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aziraphales-library · 3 years ago

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hello!

this may seem like kind of a weird request, but do you have any fics where Crowley is just….restless?

some examples I have are Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) by drawlight and Grounding Influences by waterofthemoon, which are two with kind of a similar vibe that I really love.

Hi! I have a few that come to mind. I hope they’re the kind of thing you’re after...

this message is a warning about danger (about love) by darcylindbergh (E)

He knows Aziraphale wonders about it, sometimes. The snake.

Crowley’s always careful with it. He’s always careful to make it seem like it should be impressive, to posture and pose and tease; or else he’s careful to make it seem like a joke, to fill it to the brim with bravado and confidence until it’s practically sour on his own tongue, laughing and showing off.

He doesn’t ever say that he’s afraid, afterwards, and there’s not really much else to be said.

Still Waking Up by sleepymccoy (T)

Aziraphale has noticed Crowley's odd behavior. Since the Apocalypse he has spotted Crowley outside the shop, just watching, like a watchdog that watches and doesn't come in and explain himself.

This fic follows a roughly two year period after the apocalypse in which Crowley admits to nightmares about the bookshop and Aziraphale burning and struggles to come terms with it and ask for help. Aziraphale grows increasingly lonely and purposeless and some of his damage from Heaven rears up. They slowly navigate supporting each other as best they can. Main points of interest are probs bed sharing, much mutual pining, kissing, and softly handled trauma recovery.

rip out the wings of a butterfly by Sway (T)

Wood scratches over marble as Crowley slides something across the countertop. “What is this?”

Aziraphale swallows.

Before him sits a wooden box. A box he’s kept secret. For a lot of very good reasons.

They've moved to the South Downs a year ago. And for a year, Aziraphale has been keeping secrets from Crowley.

Secrets that unravel when Crowley comes across a box of photographs and that threaten the fragile life they've built for themselves.

You Said Go Slow (I Fall Behind) by BlackUnicorn (G)

Further up, still, half-hidden by the branches of the trees and the leaves of the hedges, stood a cottage. It looked like any other cottage, really, with a thatched roof and a fainted paintjob and a garden out back. However, anyone who took a closer look would agree that this particular cottage was, in fact, quite extraordinary – the roses ranking up the stone arch in the front bloomed more lustrous than any roses ever seen on earth, the car in the driveway was almost antique and yet looked like it had rolled out of the factory no longer than a few weeks ago, the shelves inside held more books than should be physically possible, and the Mona Lisa sketch in the hallway was said to have been signed by dear old Leo himself.

And there, in the first-floor bedroom, covered by piles of duvets and blankets, lay the Demon Crowley, alone, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling from behind his sunglasses, waiting for dawn.

***

Sometimes healing and moving on is the hardest part.

The Kiss of the Sun in a Garden by Snowfilly1 (T)

“Gardening is making live things from old, growth from death. Tear away at the green sward, baptise the ruins with fish and blood and bone; stitch ruin and decay across it and wait.

Crowley throws the ruin of himself into the soil around their cottage as soon as they move.”

Or, healing is a long road. Crowley’s starts in their garden.

Storms We Cannot Weather by quiltedspacemittens (G)

The storm is coming. Crowley cannot stop it, no more than he can stop the tide. Wearing the rocks down to nothingness.

And of course the two you mentioned...

Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) by drawlight (T)

It's an odd thing, getting on after the End of the World. Crowley takes to sea-watching.

Grounding Influences by waterofthemoon (E)

A quiet morning in the South Downs. Crowley has a touch of restlessness, but Aziraphale's there to bring him back down to Earth.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anxious crowley #mental health #light angst #mod d

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lamellachimesforsale · 4 years ago

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Just One Night

Your hands stroked the white linen sheets, drying on a line in the breeze. The scrummy signs of weaving bumped against your finger tips as you were stuck in a perpetual glance. You observed the moment, the grainy feel of the beach beneath you, and the rustling winds. The skein dragged with water down to the sandy hearth beneath, dripping like any other washed fabric.

The sea rushed and swept not far away, moving with layers of frothy foam upon its layers.

The sea's melody was always, singing and bathing as you slept and ate. It breathed to you when you waited in vain, and when your love was again.

The red beads that clinked every once in a while, haunted your imagination as much as it delighted it. The man with his cheeky freckles on his face, and teasingly indignant pout was the image that could not leave. It was an apparition, for the last time he came was long ago. But it was not during the prelude. The nose that carved so sweetly, and poked around the niche of your neck: the black hair that tickled your flesh. You could remember it all, yet faintly like a floating dream; destined to be forgotten under the chores of daily existence. His big hands that promised security within embrace, and jostling smile like a playing fiddle. The jokes and jest he would say, as if hoping to gain a chuckle from your own self brought you the most joy; the feeling of validation, of liveliness. For once, the lonely cabin you lived in seemed to be animated. It was housing not one, but two people on that small dot in the Grand Line.

The day he left, waving good bye with his unwilling hand, the boat towards the morning sun was pale. There, a spring was placed in. You were the same as before. Just the ordinary you who could only savour the moments of solace from before. Just the one girl who lived in an island, all sole and alone. The one who dresses like it was a vacation on each day, sitting upon the porch of her wooden house, waiting and staring off into the sea. Sipping on whatever drink you had, the silence and quietness of the small cage around you would wait with you. The attendance of birds sometimes would grace you with their newly found tunes, or with messages of balmy weather, but they would leave no shorter. It was just you, and you alone.

With skin unafraid of the sun, under the shade of the roof, you would look in hopes of seeing a small boat and figure emerge from the horizon. Every second was a moment of optimism, a chance of life. Even if that day was not, every moon and sun was counted without skip. You were never bored.

Though you were, the one who gazed at passing boats without the slightest shame or embarrassment of being caught or thrown in awkwardness: This was the one thing you did routine. The small tingle and bitter mist lingered in your tongue, and it was all that you could taste. The longing and yearning to feel his chest against your face, and be able to converse with someone other than your mirror was a thing of great phlegm. To not be able to feel like a stone, a bored being like grass in a boundless sward; it was something you had completely forgotten since he came.

So, no matter what, you silently vowed to never stop until the end of your days. Each day of light reminded you of the possibility; though never gave anything other than a chance. But you, in fact, believed he would come back. At least, before you were put to rest alone in a coffin.

You reversed back from your thoughts. Hummed a small folksong you heard during your grocery trip to the nearby town, you clacked your foot with earthy hollows. Admittedly, your Cardura leather shoes weren't the most suited to make clicking sounds; especially against the obscure fragility of the sand. You didn't care anyways. Rather, you probably never thought of it. The small vibration from your throat came with a sound, going up and down. The little improvised song danced by itself, automatically going about.

One by one, your clothes were left to dry in the sun. They dripped and pattered the yellow brown. The ocean raved loudly, and the wind whistled against the green leaves of trees.

Then, came the last shirt; a brownish-stained white blouse. It was a weary one, for sure. It had seams poking out from the sides, and the inconsistent geode-like layers of whatever that brown thing is. Though, having been washed so many times, it was soft in touch, and pretty similar to the rest of the material. For, despite it being blood, you had taken good care of it. That is, as much as you could. Since ever since Ace had left, this hidden blouse you stuffed under the bed, was the last memoir. His bounty poster and newspapers that mention his names were honorable mentions, but they were laid in a box. They weren't handy to take out whenever. It was one of the things he touched; the shirt that wrapped around his wound that bled and scraped. The sun and moon then-

You sighed, wringed the murky water from the shirt, and hanged it on the remaining space of the rope.

You weren't going to reminisce now. It's been too futile, far too futile.

You should forgot him.

Your eyelids gently closed, and you exhaled out of your mouth as you turned. The waters proclaimed nothings, and you found yourself hitting your head on a hard object; yet soft. As your eyes went up, you found a bare chest that instantly triggered your wish.

There he was. Freckles, red beads, an orange hat, and tattoos. It was Ace.

You must have been terribly surprised, because it aroused a hard chuckle from him. He looked at you and wrapped his hand around your head, bringing you closer. You, still shocked, fell into his nudge, and stayed there as information dissembled into your head. The warmth met your face, and only confirmed your thoughts further; whom, denied in argument.

"You're always like this. So clueless, doing things quietly." Ace finally whispered, still smiling gleefully like the idiot he is.

You finally catch yourself, and answer back.

"If it wasn't for your capricious behavior, I could never be like that." Your head looked above, the head that loomed a shadow over the blinding sun. As if the shuffle of noise indicated movement, he looked down, meeting your eyes.

You love birds just stayed there. Like, literally.

You literally just stared at each other. LIke, either go get married, or get a ro-

"I'm your wife, aren't I?" You break the silence, and the hold around your tightens gently. His eyes glisten, and Ace's face jeers into an "of course, of course," smile. He looks down, and lets go of your upper body (or waist), immediately grabbing your hand. The promptitude was like a moment of separation would lead to a permanent one.

As he led you back into your cabin, you turn around and find his small boat docked on the shores, pegged into the small dock.

The island around, yellow and green, alone and companioned was once more breathing. Even though you will live alone, for this night, arms other than your own will be around you.

"And, I'm your husband." He grins, twirling you into the room as the door slams shut.

"Then, never leave me, or take me with you." You finally suggest.

"We can pack the luggage later."

Or actually. Perhaps, the island was never lonely.

Have some 18+ stuff now:

"A-Ace, I-I" You struggled to form your words, unable to focus on anything other than the cock that pushed deep in you. It stretched your walls each thrust, forcing your body to pulse along with the creaking bed. You swore that it would break.

Ace's groans beneath you made dizzy, hazy.

Your hands grabbed the bedsheets, squeezing and pulling them as your face was pushed harder into the mattress. His hand held onto your neck, loosely curling around your throat as he found stable ground. But his cock was merciless, penetrating without a break down your sloppy cunt.

"What is it?" He asked, probably grinning at the sight of his messed up spouse.

"G-Go slower. I-I c-can't deal-"

Ace's pace fastened, his pelvis and balls hitting your clit and ass with painful slaps.

"P-Plea-"

His fingers touched your clit, and he slowed down once again. They rubbed against your bud, making you arch your back and roll back your eyes. You finally came; your 8th one today.

He hummed, and stopped for a few seconds, before continuing his thrusts. Not much longer, he pushed back into you, cumming his white, sticky load into your swollen pussy.

"You're so beautiful," he commented while brushing away the wet hairs on your face.

"Did that last part hurt you?" Ace worriedly asked, watching your belly go up and down, and your tiddies lay softly against the sheets. The sight almost made him want to do it again.

"No, surprisingly."

"Surprisingly?" "Ace. THAT WAS THE EIGHTH ROUND YOU IDIOT."

"Hehe." He added, and cuddled around you, drawing circles on your back and belly, apologizing like chanting a mantra.

"Sorry y/n, I won't do that again. Promise."

#ace d. portgas x reader

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annelisterstravelnotes · 4 years ago

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Switzerland with Maria and Jane Barlow – Tuesday 2 October 1827

11 35/60

Breakfast at 10 – ordered 1 horse char not having this at home let us have calishe and 2 horses at the same price –

at 11 40/60 off to Altorf – at 12 went into altorf church white washed within and wit out – large and handsome beds of pinks over the graves – went ito the chapelle des morts close by – ‘ tis here when the graves are opened, that the bones of the rich (made up in little black painted boxes) are arranded – a parcel of skulls on shelves above – on each side the altar a remarkably large crystal –

walked up to pretty a little house in a garden for the sake of the view - very pretty - came down upon the tower – the inside burnt in the conflaguration of 1799, just after the French had been there, accidental – the top part of the tower, 2 top stories and roof, new since the fire – the walls below ancient the history of William Tell painted there on in fresco – close to this the fountain of Gesler built on the spot where stood the tilleul against which Tell’s child was placed – 300 feet back the fountain of Tell where he stood to take aim (the Swiss foot about 1/2 inch shorter than the French foot) – several of the houses still unrebuilt – as the fire left them in 1799 – yet still a goodish largeish white washed town –

off from there at 12 1/2 – at the square tower of Gesler’s castle at Bürglen at 1 1/4 – covered with ivy now converted into a dwelling – went in – on the 2nd (second) floor – goodish room – a large picture in oils? of some priest and another of Tell copied from the original likeness at Seedorf (painted on the wood wainscot) and bearing the same inscription –

Set off to see the original – returned to the end of Fluelen then turned left across the green sward to the convent at Seedorf – got there at 2 2/3- only 14 minutes there now – pay some thing on entering – nor poor nor rich – the capucin convent at Altorf very rich – saw a sister and some other woman – very civil to us – shewed us the original picture of Tell, bearing the following inscription ‘Genuina Guil. Telli affigies auct. Theueto ‘Gosmograhegio perguil. Tugginar Transmissa’ – amiable and mild but determined dark brown complexion – black eyes and black shorn beard with a little turn-up Schwytz hat or cap – a very little full throated – shewed us into the prettyish chapel – asked us to take some thing to eat which we civily declined –

off back again at 3 1/4 – at Huelen at 3 3/4 – surbarked at 3 50/60 – 3 rowers – at 3 10/60 singularly contorted strata of the Achsenberg – rather windy – glad to get past Tell’s Chapel – when wind no where else, wind here all the boatmen not allowed to keep their boats to more than 3 years old – a new boat, cerecloth covering and all complete costs about 290 francs –

at 5 1/2 land at Grütli – 5 minutes steepish ascent past a little cottage or building to the cottage and near there to the shed built over the 3 spring conducted by 3 wooden channels into the shed – tasted all the 3 – the women of the cottage keeps the door of the shed –

reembarked at 5 35/60 – like the view here best from the Grütli side – the Froon (according to Louis’s pronunciation) Alp and Achsenberg (between these 2 the hamlet and valley of Eissigen and both of them contorted by stralified limestone) very fine – before us the white washed village of brunnen very pretty – the lake behind closed by high mountains in the midst the many peaks of Brishtenstock (according to pronunciation) or as it is some times not so properly called Steigerberg – row close along the foot of Seelisberg of stratified limestone – high – perpendicular – very fine – wooded (beech all here abouts) at the top – close at its foot, at the turn of the lake towards Lucerne, curved pyramidal mass of rock – very fine here looking down the lake towards Lucerne and upon Brunnen the mountains deeply shadowed along the water –

Land at Brunnen at 6 went into the chapels – the char Driver not to be found and no 1 horse char – get a porteur to carry our portmanteau and all set off to walk at 6 1/4 – got to our Inn at Schwytz at 7 25/60 – supper from 8 20/60 to 9 35/60 – very fine day -

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oculis-grp · 4 years ago

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Ninio’s Work II

THE LAST THING TO GET OUT FROM THE BOX OF PANDORA

Under the beaming light of the sun was the piercing sound of the horns from different cars hasting their way ahead from other vehicles. The high pitched sound of the horns can still be heard even though I'm inside the café where I work from 6:30 in the morning till 10:00 when it closes at night. A soft white cloth drenched in water was the cleaning material I'm using to clear the dust in the transparent window that's blocking the view of Empire State building. That day was a normal day for everyone in the café, or so I thought. There are people ordering their nth espresso of the day, there are businessmen doing their undone office works on the table, and of course, the bystanders watching television or taking advantage of the free internet access. I was amazed by the beautiful architecturally-made buildings outside. I am daydreaming about working on one of those infrastructures one day as I wipe the dust in the glass window.

The moment I finished cleaning, my attention was caught by a plethora of people compressed around the television that was hanged on the bricked wall. I was about to bring the bucket of water and the cloth back to the stock room when I heard a very distracting sound from the crowd. It was not a sound of excitement nor exhilaration, rather it was a sound of something that's obviously not good. I was curious on what is happening on that area of the cafe so I went there to see it myself. As I approach closer, I can't help but to get shivers because of the reactions of the people around me. I heard some cryings, drastic pleas from broken voices, and some are running amok as they try to get out of the café. It became so chaotic all of a sudden.

When I finally reached the area where the television was placed, I was petrified by what I saw. China's president, Xi Jinping, was on the screen. It said on the news that China will be bombing some parts of United States due to the unceasing trade war. I am discombobulated on what is happening, most likely because I was oblivious to the trade war between China and US. I am paralyzed, my legs are very stiff. I cannot process what is happening. I can't believe that there will be a massive war again.

I unconciously dropped the bucket of water on the floor due to my hand's uncontrollably shaking. A lot of things are running on my mind after everything I've seen and heard. I was still standing infront of the television when my co-worker yelled at me.

"Ali, we need to get out of here!" She pulled my hand. She is pulling me out of the café. My body felt so weak that I gave into submission. As we were out of the café, I started to hear loud clanging on the road. There are jet noise over the buildings so I raised my head just to see the city being sorrounded by military aircrafts.

When I finally had the strength to speak, I asked Amethyst where we are heading.

"The city is not safe anymore because of the bombing," she said with a quivering voice, still pulling me further away from the café. As we were running, a loud explosion was heard and the impact made us, and the people who were running, fell to the ground. I look back to see what was happening and it was catastrophic. The Empire State was the first building to be bombed by the aircrafts and just like that, one of the tallest building in New York that took more than 7 million man hours to build was destroyed. My dreams on working to those infrastructures vanished into thin air as I saw the bombs annihilated the city.

Amethyst stood up and lend me a hand. "Stand up! We need to be away from here," she yelled for me to hear.

I grabbed her hand and we ran together along with the crowd. I cried in despair. I felt tired and hopeless. Seeing forlorn figures and buildings drifting away is heart wrenching. I almost lose faith in humanity but seeing Amethyst never giving up on making us two safe, even if we're mere strangers to each other, made a big difference. I wanted to survive this diabolical day. We've been running for hours but it felt like forever. It seemed like we were running to a sward of nothingness. We didn't know where to go. The pale blue sky were now covered with ashes, and the piercing sound of horns were changed into loud explosions and hopeless screams for help and grief. The people started running opposite to our direction. Amethyst and I tried to ask for directions but all of them were in a hurry. We stood in the middle of the apocalypse. My face lit up the moment I saw a truck with US navy seals helping people to evacuate from the affected area. I pointed my hand to the direction where the military are so that Amethyst would see. We ran furiously to the truck because it seemed like it is the only way to survive. As we reached the area where the vehicle was parked, we immediately noticed how limited the space is. We hurriedly grabbed a soldier's hand to get inside the truck. We are lucky that we managed to get in the truck before it overloads. I felt guilty as the truck's engine starts because there are still a lot of people who are waiting for the next truck. Written on their faces were hopes of surviving, though it is not certain if the area where those people are waiting would still be safe until the next truck arrives. On the other hand, the ubiquitous fear was felt by everyone inside the truck. It seemed so surreal that a normal day can be a disaster in just a short period of time. In a flick of a finger, all of your hard works and dreams can disappear.

It is never certain if we would still have a future. Eight months had passed yet the war is still ongoing. Although we are temporarily safe in the evacuation shelter near the military base of America, everyone is still yearning because of the traumatic ordeal that is still happening. Fortunately, Amethyst and I are safe, together with our families. Even though we knew that the memories of the catastrophe will still hunt us, we are still in hope that someday, this war will come to an end.

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