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hardlyinteresting · 3 years

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Risks Worth Taking 2/2

This is the second half, part 2/2 of the story, thank you to everyone who has read it! Professor!Zemo x Student reader Part 1 here The reader takes Zemo’s philosophy class focusing on Machiavelli. Posted in 2 parts because it exceeded the textbox limit. Apx 3k words.

Warnings: student-teacher relationship (the reader is of age, no real focus on power imbalance), implied age gap, consumption of alcohol, implication that the reader is sleeping with Zemo for better grades (she's not) and of course let me know if you want me to add anything else!!

Week five, he is not shocked to find she’s once again the first one in class. “Good evening,” he greets warmly, unwrapping his scarf from around his neck as he makes his way to his desk. She smiles back, “I left my paper on your desk there, I figured I’d get the pile started”. He laughs setting down his coat and bag, “Something tells me there will be few submissions for this class”.

He’s right. Less than half the class bothers to show up. Most of her peers seem to be getting a head start on winter break, at least the class is quiet she thinks content listening to Helmut summarize the most recently assigned chapters, providing historical context where needed.

“Enjoy your break Helmut,” she says softly as he shuts the lecture hall door.

“You as well. Do you have plans?” She shakes her head, “No, just reading”. He smiles, “Then I am sure it will be a good break indeed”.

The cafe is warm and cosy. She settles comfortably into her favourite booth with her favourite book and a second cup of tea.

The bell at the front door dings as a man enters in a long black coat and leather gloves. Fancy she thinks to herself as he approaches the counter to order. It's usually other students dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, the man’s put together dress piques her interest. He orders and then she watches over the top of her book as he drops a $10 bill into the barista’s tip jar. Oh, well dressed and exceedingly well mannered. She can't help but watch him as he waits. Removing his gloves he tucks them into his pockets and unbuttons his coat, she swears she can smell his cologne from where she sits; it's incredible!

“Cherry blossom tea for Helmut?” The barista calls sliding the cup across the counter.

Helmut? It isn't. Is it? He turns after saying a polite thank you, and she can feel her heart hammering as he turns and she sees his face. It is. She's not sure why she's shocked, she did tell him about this place after all. Do I say something? She wonders, weighing the pros and cons, but her thoughts are halted when she hears his voice,

“Hello,” he smiles softly, “I didn't expect you to be here--I know you pointed this place out, but I wasn't--”

He's worried he's intruding. Oh, how the tables have turned.

“No, no. It's okay! I don't own the place-- did you want to sit? You don't have to--”

He chuckles as her nerves get the best of her.

Silently he sets down his cup shrugging out of his coat, putting it over the back of the chair before sitting down.

“What are you reading?” He smiles, trying to peak at the cover.

Again, after their initial stiffness, the conversation flows smoothly, just like it had in his office. After several warm drinks, and a couple croissants ordered between the two of them it’s grown dark outside. Neither had noticed the cafe empty out slowly over the hours, the barista cleaning up for the night until she clears her throat from behind the counter. They both turn to look at her, finally noticing how quiet the shop is.

“Sorry, we’re closing now,” the barista smiles sweetly. “Not a problem. I apologise, we lost track of time. We’ll get out of your way,” Helmut apologizes. The pair collect their things sliding back into their coats and gloves. Helmut waits patiently for her to be ready to go his hand resting gently at the small of her back as she slips out of the booth and past him.

Helmut stops and puts another bill in the girl’s tip jar.

“Sorry for keeping you,” he apologises again.

Outside the winter wind is cold against their faces.

“Are you hungry?” Helmut asks.

“I could eat,” She responds. “Ever been there?” Helmut asks pointing to the pub across the street. “I don’t know if it’s your speed. It’s not super nice or anything, but their food is decent,” she says honestly. He laughs, “‘Decent’ is better than what I can make at home by myself”.

She bites her lip thinking about it, does he want to spend more time with me?

“Okay,” she smiles as they make their way across the street.

Settled at a table, they wait for their server, she asks, “Was that a fifty dollar bill I saw you put in that tip jar?”

He shrugs, “Yes”.

He says that as if it’s normal, she thinks.

“I know you’re not from here, but you do know that’s a lot of money right?” “Yes,” he shrugs again, “But she made excellent tea all afternoon, she let us stay as late as she could and she was polite. And I have been here long enough to know that servers of any kind don’t get paid fairly. I can afford it, she deserves it”.

She feels the smile grow across her face, she considers gushing that he’s such a good person, but instead what comes out is, “I’m really starting to consider becoming a professor”.

He laughs, “I told you, it’s family money, not my facility pay”. God, that laugh, sets off butterflies in her stomach, the warm, genuine sound of his laughter.

He continues, “Before Sokovia fell, my family were royalty. I was a Baron there”. “I knew your name sounded familiar,” she sighs, “I remember hearing about Sokovia on the news. I remember your name, you were building orphanages and relief centres”.

He nods sadly, “Many of us thought we could salvage what we had left after everything. We couldn’t”.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, without thinking she reaches across the table to place a comforting hand on his arm. His hand comes to cover hers, so much larger than her own.

There’s a silence between them for one of the first moment since he sat down with her earlier at the cafe. But it’s not uncomfortable, it’s the opposite -- a silence of understanding, both parties knowing there’s nothing they can say to make things better-- they can only ruminate.

The peace is broken by a waiter coming to take their orders. “Do you drink Helmut?” She asks with a mischievous smile. “I have been known to indulge,” he confesses, his eyebrows furrowed. “Two shots of ?” she turns to look at Helmut expectantly. “Vodka,” he replies. “Two shots of vodka, and an order of cheese fries to share please,” she orders, “thank you”.

The waiter returns not before long, placing the drinks and food on the table.

She holds her shot glass up waiting for him to do the same. “Prost,” he says raising his glass towards her. “Cheers,” she responds clinking her glass into his before they both tip them back.

And that’s how their night begins.

It’s nearing midnight when they settle their bill, Helmut insisting he pay-- though she put up a good fight. “Can I walk you home?” He asks looking at her under the light of the street lamps. She nods, her face feeling warm both from his attention and the alcohol coursing through her bloodstream. Her apartment is only three blocks away, but time seems to slow down as they walk arm in arm through the freshly fallen snow. At her door they stop, she looks up at him, him down at her. Without a thought, lips meet. It’s not rough or particularly sexy, but she feels her knees go weak when his hand comes to cup her cheek, his other splayed across the small of her back pulling her closer. This kiss deepens and she clutches the lapel of his wool coat before they both pull away. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Don’t be,” she sighs.

Then the thought hits her, “How are you getting home?” “Oh-- I was going to get a cab and go back to the cafe to pick up my car in the morning,” he explains. “Nonsense-- you can stay here,” she offers unlocking her door and stepping inside, he doesn’t follow. “Not in my bed,” she laughs flicking on the light, “I’ll set you up on the couch”. He steps inside.

In the morning he wakes to the sun shining through the window. It takes him a minute to orient himself remembering he crashed on her couch. He sits up taking a moment to look around the apartment, it’s cute. Books and textbooks and notebooks strewn about the place. It’s homey and inviting and every bit what he’d expect her space to look like. Carefully he grabs one of the open notebooks tearing out a page he writes a quick note:

Good morning, I find that I feel very sorry for having to leave before you wake. Alas, I have much to get done, and I do not wish to trespass in your home longer than needed. I am grateful for your hospitality, and even more, your company. If my memory serves correctly I must also apologise for making that advance towards you last night. It was ungentlemanly, and you are unquestionably deserving of much better. I hope you can forgive me, and that you might allow me to make it up to you. -Helmut

Week six.

“He should appear to be compassionate, faithful to his word, guileless, and devout.” Is written across the board. When she settles into her seat. She’s not early this week, rather just on time. Helmut notes the heavy rise and fall of her chest as she tries to catch her breath, he holds back a smile at the thought of her sprinting to his class. When the class is settled, he proceeds to hand back all of the submitted essays, now marked. He smiles as he sets hers on her desk, “Bravo,” he says quietly enough that just she hears it as he shuffles along to the next row of students. She anxiously flips to the last page, red pen scrawl reads 100%. Her jaw drops. There’s no way. She thinks back to the rumours she heard on campus at the beginning of the year, about how difficult a marker he is. Bullshit. Her blood boils, rage sizzling beneath her skin. She avoids his eyes for the rest of class staring down at her notebook as she notices the indents in the blank page-- indents left from where he had written her a note that morning. Her anger freezes replaced by the cold sinking feeling in her chest. All his kind words, all those moments shared-- did he really think she was just spending time with him for a better grade? What kind of handout does he expect to get from her? She scolds herself now for the little crush she’d developed-- how stupid could she be? The prince must appear to be virtuous in order to hide his actions, She remembers from her reading, a dagger to her chest as she thinks bitterly that she’s not shocked that the professor is practising what he preaches.

The class ends and he moves to collect his paperwork, sorting it back into his bag. She stays. “I’m glad you stayed behind,” he starts. “I’m sure you are,” she says sharply. Confused he puts his things down turning to face her. “Have I done something to upset you?” He asks seriously his head tilted to the side as he racks his brain for anything he may have done to make her so cross. Perhaps his note was not sufficient in conveying his apology? “Do you think I’m stupid? Or that I’m naive?” she asks arms crossed, “I’m not sleeping with you for a good grade,” she states firmly, sliding her essay back across her desk, “feel free to adjust my grade accordingly”. Is that what she thinks? His mouth goes dry, his mind and heart racing with all the different ways he wants to apologise, to tell her that she has it wrong. He approaches her, finally making eye contact with her, “Your grade will stay as it is. I mark all of my student’s work without looking at the cover pages. I have always strived to remain impartial. Your essay was marked no differently,” He explains calmly, “I would be wrong to say that I don’t hold any affections for you-- it is quite the opposite. I enjoy the time we have spent together, and I would like to continue to remain in your company; I hope to eventually find myself in your affections-- but none of this has any bearing on your grade. I am sorry that I have acted in a way where this was not clear”. Her throat clenches, oh. “I’m sorry--Oh my god--I’m so stupid!” her hand flies to cover her mouth. “You have nothing to apologise for-- I should be the one apologising,” he insists. She shakes her head standing to stand in front of him, “We’ve both been obtuse”. “I’d like to make it up to you. I’d like to take you out for dinner-- a proper meal. If you’ll allow me”. She nods her hand coming to rest on his cheek, thumb running gently across his cheekbone, “I would like that,” she says quietly, her eyes glazing at his lips, “But only after the semester is done and I’ve graduated”. “If that is what you want,” he nods understanding. She can feel him leaning in, her eyes flickering up to his caramel eyes and back down to his lips, his hand rests on her hip, but he waits for her to close the gap between them.

Last day of the school year.

She waits by the door to the lecture hall as he speaks to his class. She listens to the back and forth of conversing ideas from the students, her heart beating faster every time Helmut speaks. It takes a while for everyone to leave when the class is over, but he does his best not to make her wait too long, gathering his things as quickly as possible, he makes his way over to her.

“Maybe I should’ve taken this course, the conversation was much more lively!” She laughs. “Your intelligent thoughts would have been wasted here, my dear” He smiles shutting the door behind him, “your class needed a brilliant mind in it”.

The summer goes by quickly. Fine dining, nights in. reading during rainstorms. Nights of soft romance, followed by nights of passion. Pasts shared. Futures envisioned. In his bed the night before the new school year she rolls over to lay almost on top of him, laughing when he lets out an oof. “Old man she teases,” earning a playful pinch on the thigh from him.

She glances at his nightstand, a copy of The Prince laying there.

“And what are your personal feelings about Machiavelli anyway? You never speak about your own thoughts”

“You're so clever,” he laughs, “but you're right”.

He sighs pulling her closer. he tries to focus on his hand running up and down her arm, how soft her sweater is under his fingertips. He takes a deep breath before speaking, “every time I read it, my opinions change,” he confesses, “there was a time when I was young and stupid; thought I was invincible that I agreed with a lot of his ideals. Then I grew older, fell in love--I thought him stupid and lonely. I experienced an incredible loss--”

She squeezes his side as she hears his voice grow tense with tears, he swallows and continues, “and then I thought I understood him. I learned how to grieve and I thought him intolerable. In the end I learn more about myself than I do him”.

She smiles, “and have you read it lately?”

He nods kissing her softly, “I have”.

“And?”

“I learned to trust my instincts. To take the risks that are worth taking”

“You're kind of a sap,” she laughs, her face getting warm she buries it in his chest. Part 1 here

#zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #professor!zemo #daniel bruhl x reader #zemo #daniel bruhl #baron zemo x reader

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targaryenimagines · 4 years

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Tempering the Storm

Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 2,164

Summary:

Notes: For @alphawolfworld— I hope you enjoy it. I decided to make my own little spin on it, which I hope you enjoy.

The harsh winds of the North whip at your face as you step from the rowdy Great Hall. Your eyes watering slightly because of it. Pulling your cloak tighter to your body you begin to make your trek back towards your room. Thick plumes of your breath being the only thing that accompanied you on your journey.

You could still hear the faint sound of laughter and drunken shouts. Something that brings a small smile to your lips. Even if you couldn’t stand to be around the drunkards that inhabited the Great Hall, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth that they were able to be so happy. That they were able to find something to be so carefree about. You just hoped that they didn’t end up regretting it in the morning.

With a smile, you hunker down against another strong surge of wind as you cross the courtyard. Your body canting to the side as you tried to right yourself. Alas, your body wasn’t used to the conditions that you had put it in. Something that you quickly discovered as your foot hit a patch of ice underneath the snow and your entire world flipped upside-down. The breath leaving your lungs in a whoosh of air as your back made contact with the cold stone of the ground. Thankfully it was slightly cushioned by the snow that made up the entirety of the North.

Groaning, you flop your head down-- not having the energy to rise from the ground. Trying with all your might to ignore the cool liquid seeping into your clothes. Your eyes slip shut on their own accord as you imagine that you were simply resting against the warm sands of Meereen. The sound of crashing waves taking the place of howling wind. The harsh bite of the weather giving way to the gentle touch of the sun. When your eyes open once more you could feel the way your mood drops when you’re not met with the crystalline blue sky of Essos. A sight that you never knew you would miss so much. What I would do for this snow to become sand.

The soft sound of laughter pulls you out of your thoughts. Craning your neck, you had to squint through the thickening barrage of snow to see the figure approaching you. Even though as it drew closer and closer you could make out the familiar silhouette of Sansa Stark. A woman that you had grown rather fond of during your time in the North. You watch as she stops next to you with a gentle smile curling her lips. The blue of her eyes standing out against the stark fairness of her skin. Familiar waves of auburn being kept in a simple braid. Her soft voice filled with both amusement and concern.

“Are you doing alright? I can’t imagine that you’re comfortable laying on the ground like that.”

You allow your own smile to appear as you looked up towards her. “I am doing quite alright down here. Why don’t you join me?”

Her nose wrinkles at the offer. Her blue gaze tracing the lines of your clearly soaked cloak with a disgruntled air. “I would much rather stay where I am.” She turns her head towards the Great Hall-- a slight frown furrowing her brow. As if she was piecing together a puzzle that didn’t make much sense to her. After a moment her gaze meets yours once more. “Where is Lady Daenerys? Should she not be out here with you also?”

A surprised look blossoms on your face at the question. Your own frown appearing as you mull over the words. The familiar warmth spreading through your chest as you thought about your dragon-- your Daenerys. But it quickly turns sour when memories of recent events come to the surface within your mind. Seemingly sensing your mood change, Sansa glances at the snow-covered ground with a pointed glare before she gingerly sits. Her back ramrod straight as she tried to ignore the feeling of it melting underneath her.

Offering Sansa a weak smile, you begin to speak. “Dany has a lot on her plate right now. With the impending battle with the Night King and Cersei being a constant threat in the background.” You pause as a small sigh escapes your mouth. “It’s enough to make anyone feel pressured.”

“Has she been neglecting you?” Sansa seemed enraged by the thought.

“No.” You shake your head at the mere thought of Daenerys doing so. “I just don’t see her as much I used to, but I know she tries her best to make time for me.”

Blue eyes darken at the thought. An expression flashing across her face that you couldn’t quite decipher. “I see.”

A silence settles over the two of you-- only the howling of the wind and far-off laughter permeating it. Opening your mouth, you try to figure out what you could possibly say to Sansa to soothe the situation. Even though you weren’t exactly sure what situation you were in. However, before you could, Sansa turns to you with a slight smile. Her expression much clearer than it had been a moment prior.

“Why don’t we start heading towards your chamber? I think a change of clothing and wine between friends is more appealing than sitting out here. Don’t you agree?”

Not knowing what to truly say, you simply nod.

And with more energy than you were expecting, Sansa springs to her feet and holds out her hands towards you. Her normally closed off eyes sparkling with affection.

“Then let’s go.”

---------

“Did Jon truly do such a thing?” You ask in an incredulous tone. Not believing that the silent brooding man could ever do something like that.

Sansa lets out an airy laugh. “I promise you it’s all true. Jon and Robb got into such mischief together.” A sad look flashes across her eyes before she can hide it. “I miss those days.”

Setting down your goblet of wine, you gently take Sansa’s hand in your own gentle grip. A look of complete understanding washing over your face. “I can understand that, but do you know who can also understand that. Better than anyone I have ever met?”

She shakes her head in response, but there was the same look in her eyes from before.

“Daenerys.” You frown at the small scoff that Sansa lets out in response. “I’m serious Sansa. Daenerys knows better than anyone how it feels to long for days long passed. To wish for a different future than the course you have been put on.”

Sansa lowers her head-- her voice dropping to a low whisper. “You seem to old the Dragon Queen in high-esteem.”

“I love her, Sansa,” you whisper back. “She has saved me more times than I can count. Has been there for me when I didn’t even know I needed someone. She has never given up on me. Has never faltered in her devotion for me. And I will never do so either.”

An almost pained look appears on Sansa’s face at the clear conviction within your tone. It was a look that you suddenly understood. For it was a look you had seen many times before. A look that many potential-suitors held when they finally understood your complete devotion to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.

Sighing softly, you offer Sansa an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

She offers a weak smile in return. “Not as sorry as I am.”

Tightening your hold on her hand, you pull Sansa into a warm hug. Wrapping your arms securely around her as she buries her face into the crook of your neck. A silent understanding passing between the two of you in that moment. That everything was going to be okay in the end.

The sound of your chamber door causes you both to jump away from one another. Your eyes widening at the slim figure standing at the threshold of the room. A furious violet gaze meeting your shocked one.

Standing you take a slight step forward. “Daenerys?”

You pause when her gaze seemingly freezes you in place. Her eyes turning to the woman behind you. A harsh look taking over her features at the sight.

“What in the Seven Hells is she doing here?”

With widening eyes, you begin to speak-- desperately wanting to salvage the situation. “Sansa and I met earlier in the courtyard, and after a brief discussion we decided to convene in my chambers for some wine.” You gesture behind you towards the goblets. “And after another brief discussion I decided it best that I should hug her farewell.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrow. “Then why is she still here if you were simply hugging her farewell?”

You flounder for an answer. Your brain seemingly short-circuiting as you tried to speak. Luckily, a soft voice speaks up behind you.

“I was just leaving.” You wince internally at the sharp quality to Sansa’s tone, but you smile gratefully towards her as she passes you. Thankful that she was able to speak when you couldn’t.

Pausing for a brief moment beside you, Sansa murmurs. “I shall see you tomorrow.” She shoots Daenerys a thinly-veiled glare. “I hope you sleep well.”

With that she exits the room. The banging of the door being the only sound in the room for some time. Taking a chance, you glance towards Daenerys’s still figure. Only to find that she was still staring at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher.

You take a small step towards her. Your expression open and honest. “Dany, I promise what you saw isn’t what you think it was. I was simply offering her a hug as a friend. Nothing more.”

Her mouth twists down in a frown. “I am well aware of your intentions, my love.” She turns from you and moves towards the window. Her expression pensive as she takes in the sights just beyond the glass. “It’s hers that I am vexed with.”

You frown. “What do you mean, Dany?”

She turns to you with a slight smile curling her lips. The first she had offered you since entering the room. “Oh you must realize how she stares at you, my love. Must realize how she speaks towards you without a care of who overhears.” She turns her gaze back towards the outside world. “Her gaze is filled with that of longing. A deep-rooted longing for something that she can never have. The type of longing that keeps one awake at night. Her words simply highlighting the fact. For they show no inkling of self-perservation as she tries to take something that is already someone elses.” Sighing, Daenerys moves towards the bed where she gingerly sits down. “So, no, it’s not you I am worried about, my darling.”

Clearly seeing the anguish within Daenerys’s violet gaze, you move to sit beside her. Taking her still gloved hands in your own. Your eyes pleading with her to listen to you.

“Dany,” you mumur with a soft look on your face. Your hand coming up to caress her cheek. “There is no other person that I could ever see myself with. No other person that I could ever see myself loving as much as I love you.” You dip your head as your next admission comes out. “I am aware of Sansa’s feelings towards me. Even though I had no knowledge of it when I entered this room with her. She has since become aware of my complete devotion towards you. Something that will never change.”

Daenerys’s eyes flash with various emotions. Though you could tell clear as day that her insecurities were eating away at her.

“Truly?” She asks with a small tilt of her head. “Even when my plans have to take me away from you for long periods of time? When I can’t spend time with you like I used to?”

You smile. “Even then. For I know that you will be just as miserable as I am. That we will both be wishing for the day that we can be in each others arms once more.” You bring your lips to hers in a small, chastised kiss. “I am yours, Daenerys. For now and forever.”

Daenerys smiles back at you. Her violet eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. “And I am yours, my love.” She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls your body flush against hers. Her mouth ghosting across your cheek towards your ear. Her warm breath fluttering against the shell of your ear. “I just hope you realize that the next time Sansa Stark tries anything I won’t be so forgiving.”

Chuckling, you turn your head and press your lips against hers. Relishing the feeling of having her in your arms. Any other thought leaving your mind as your hold her tightly to you.

For there would never be anyone else you would ever need.

Not as long as you had her.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys #daenerys imagine #daenerys stormborn #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones

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socketz · 4 years

Text

Johnny Depp x Female!Reader

Indulge Me.

Type : Fluff! (with a wee bit of Angst thrown in there)

Warnings : Internal conflict, swearing, kissing (pretty detailed, though nothing overly sexual), a little alcohol consumption I suppose, and that’s all. It’s super fluffy!

Word Count : 6.3k (kinda short, I know :/ my bad)

Request : Not Requested.

Summary : Johnny x Female!Reader, where they have been close friends for a super long time, and the reader (you!) has slowly developed feelings for him. A confession, a walk, and a sweet, slow, kiss, in the rain.

Authors Note : I don’t know why I got the urge to do this, but I started writing and simply did not stop, so here we are. I thought it turned out quite cute, although it is very cliche :) Also, Johnny is not famous in this, though it’s set in like ‘91, or ‘90. He’s just a really sexy regular guy, I suppose. That’s all :) Enjoy!

Indulge Me, Johnny Depp x Female!Reader

There was truly something about him - about Johnny - that you simply could not place. The two of you had been friends, strictly friends, for almost too long to remember, and it seemed that with every passing moment either of your spent, swaddled in each other’s company, that relationship merely grew. It manifested, and developed, so incredibly, yet entirely unnoticed, by both Johnny, and yourself. It was incredible, really, that such a friendship could hinder quite so rapidly, and seemingly only for one participant.

You didn’t mean to begin noticing the little things, the details, about him. Like the way he smiled, so incredibly gentle and uplifting - contagious, you could argue - or the way he would change, so naturally, when around you, in comparison to that of everybody else. His laugh would grow louder, freer, and his voice would amplify; no longer riddled with nerves and a sense of timidness. Comfort, you supposed, was a factor he allowed himself to become engulfed by, whenever you were present, and you certainly liked it. You began noticing the way he would touch you, tender, and cautious, or the way he held your hand - merely due to instinct, he would always blame, though your butterflies wished it something else - and the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, when you complained for the cool breeze, never once bothered by your close proximity. You noticed the way his eyes could light up, and he would smile something small; ridden with joy, for no particular reason at all. You noticed that his hair was longer, now, and that it fell to a messy central parting, digits consistently brushing it from his gaze - you liked the way he styled his hair, you decided, and it was so soft - so tender. You began to notice the way he treated you, so polite, yet bitterly brutal when his jokes played themselves around. You noticed things that you probably shouldn’t have, and, well, such an inconvenience caused a severe disruption to your whole mechanism.

At first, you thought it to be an illness of some sort. The stomach churns - the best kind, as you later discovered - and the butterflies, the tingle between your thighs. Am I sick? You began to think, as you checked yourself for a temperature. Alas, there was nothing but a flush of embarrassment to your reddened cheeks, and a heavy sensation within your chest, as you supposed that it would all disburse within a matter of days.

Well, a couple of days came, and went, and things had only gotten worse.

You began to dream of him, and, admittedly, you enjoyed them - of course you did - but it only made your face-to-face discussions an almighty difficult task to partake in. The butterflies ascended into a trail of breathtaking tingles, ignited by the slightest touch, and a sense of fire ruptured within your throat - it was so difficult to say the things you wanted to say, when your infatuation threatened to spill from your tongue at any given moment, and his beautifully chocolate gaze held you so captivated, so numbingly, to your place. He rendered you silent, your mind falling blank, with a simple smile, or a glance. Pathetic! That’s what you’d call it. Utterly pathetic. And, realistically, you knew it would only grow worse, the longer you decided to repress such information from your closest companion - and apparent lover, in your emotions’ eyes - but you simply couldn’t find it in you, not at all, to utter such simple words.

They could do so much damage - undo so many memories! And ruin everything. Maybe you were simply paranoid - maybe you were driven by utmost fear - but romance seemed so terribly painful, and you weren’t entirely sure if you could handle the way it would end. After all, everything good must come to something bad, right? Perhaps it was just the way your childhood played out, between lies and heartbreak, separation and loneliness, and fear and rejection - or maybe you were right. Maybe everything people were taught, all that they would read, about love, and about fictional infatuation, was just that - fiction. Maybe true love didn’t exist, and the books had it all wrong. Though that would not explain the thin sheen of sweat, glistening something noticeable upon your forehead.

You were nervous, to say the least.

The seven o’clock News displayed upon your television, igniting the darkened room in an expanding, blue, illumination, and you nibbled your nails somewhat anxiously, thoughts engulfing the surrounding buzz of the visual journalism - not that you ever paid it any mind, anyway. You always found the News boring - they reported nothing but shit, and you made sure to voice such an opinion, whenever Johnny would force you to watch it. “It’s educational!” He would laugh, gripping onto your hips and forcing you upon his lap. Of course, it was only something playful, and his arms would snake around your waist, chin against your shoulder. It was comfortable, you could never deny, but the News was still ever-boring and droning.

Though, now, it seemed appropriate. You were far too nervous to concentrate on anything in particular, like a gameshow, or something of the sort. Even the soccer seemed far too involving for you.

After all, today was the day you finally relieved yourself of such a weighty secret. You could hardly contain yourself any longer, and you were growing tired of the worried glances Johnny would throw your way, when you flinched from his burning touch, or paused mid-sentence, struggling to find your gasped breath. God, it was all so embarrassing. You hoped sincerely that it wouldn’t render something awkward, or differentiate your friendship, in any which way, but you were certain it was all one sided, and just wouldn’t be the same after. Perhaps he already knew, and was attempting to ignore such a thing, as best he could, and for that, you practically worshiped his ability to handle difficult situations lightheartedly. Or maybe he was as entirely clueless as he seemed to be, and it would be as awkward as you could picture the whole ordeal going.

Either way, you needed to say something, before it accidentally slipped within a regular conversation, and ruined everything. You attempted to reason with yourself, that if things truly did turn bitterly awful, at least tonight there would be pizza and wine, to salvage your mortification, and-

The soft jingle of metal echoed, distant, yet alarming, throughout the quiet and dim apartment. Scuttling, your hands grasped the remote control, muting the television in a rapid and almost panicked manner, breathing laboured and uneven. You weren’t ready - you definitely weren’t ready. You couldn’t do this - tell him how you felt, that is. How the hell would you even go about it? It wasn’t the kind of thing you could just bring up-

“They didn’t have any of that wine you like.” He sighed. You froze, rigid in your seat. “I got somethin’ else,” He trailed, “Doesn’t have a brand, I don’t think.” Two rustling bags settled in place before you, his keys landed with a loud crash upon the glass surface, jacket shrugged upon the ground with a sudden waft of cool breeze. Johnny glanced toward you, as he slumped hastily upon the sofa, booted feet kicked out before him. “What’s up?” He mumbled, his eyes fluttered to a gentle close, eyebrows furrowed gently.

“Nothing.” You said. How great of a lie it surely was, though you refused to blurt your confession aloud just yet.

An eyebrow raised, doubtful for your unconvincing reply, as a gentle grin teetered to the corner of his lips, and, oh, didn’t he look pretty. “C’mon,” He teased, “What’s up with you?” A finger jabbed to your side - an extraordinarily ticklish disposition for yourself - and you squirmed instinctively, a certain warmth engulfing your chest at the familiarity of that supple smirk.

“Really,” You persisted, “It’s nothing.” A breathy chuckle falling from upon your quiet tongue. “Have you tried that wine before?” You could confess your adoration for the poor man amidst the meal, though for now, it could wait.

“Uh-” He frowned, the quiver of a smile to trace his gaze.“No.” He said.

A subtle laugh dripped from your throat, gently shaking your head, as you mumbled a witty response. “Am I surprised, Jonathan?” To which he scoffed, his gorgeously depthful eyes rolling, and shone you a wickedly charming smile.

“Guess not.” He muttered, a beat of comfortable quiet to drift you both by. “You’re watching the News?” He then added, a furrow to draw his eyebrows closer; glance fluttered between yourself and the blare of the silenced television, projecting utter bullshit as it went - ever-the-regular, you could argue.

You simply nodded, “I am.” You said, somewhat a grin to upturn the crevices of your expression. A soft round of laughter fell from the man beside you, and you found your breath stuttered within the depth of your throat. It was an angelic muse, really, and thus you found yourself unable to conjure a furtherly coherent - never mind advanced - response, the simple two words proving enough for his bemused self.

“But you fucking hate the News.” He scoffed. “Why the hell are you watching it?”

A subtle giggle left your throat, and you snatched the lip of the bag before you, eager to indulge within the gorgeously scented - and warm - food. “Shut up, Johnny.” You said, a gentle smile to follow, “What’d you get?”

“I don’t know.” He smirked, “Somethin’ meaty, I think.”

“Of course,” You sighed, unable - quite - to dislodge the grin upon your rosy cheeks. “I mean, why would you know the pizza you ordered, right?”

“Precisely.” He smiled, “I’m thrilled you understand.”

“Always a pleasure.” You simply said, for your mind had distilled something blank, useless, and your words had seemed to fail you. The sofa was old, it was desperate, clinging on to the stitching hardly reliable, but it was comfortable. It was familiar. Johnny, and yourself, had refused to refurbish it - those cushions had been with you both, from the very first night. Roommates, you were. And simply the best kind. But there truly was something so tragic about a romantically tinted friendship, no matter for whom the sufferer seemed to be.

Johnny latched upon the large pizza box, throwing it open, and - unsurprisingly - knocking the wine glasses with a greatly shrill ring, their clink a subtle jump. They wobbled, slowly, though regained their posture, and you found your shoulders slumping to a tender slouch. “Idiot.” You muttered, a certain fondness about your breath, as he merely smirked, and picked up a stringy-cheesed slice, mauling the triangular corner with not but an ounce of grace.

A shimmer of grease coaxed the pout of his peachy lips, cheeks bulged with bread, and with toppings; over-loaded and particularly Johnny. Meats of various kinds - various shades - littered upon the excessive amounts of cheese. “Did you order extra cheese?” You mumbled. The man nodded, a wolfish grin to reciprocate his childish gaze, and you merely breathed a subtle chuckle. Of course, you thought; of course he did.

You reached for the wine, popping the cork with a slight groan, and you poured a tester within the clear glaze of the bowled glass. You raised the edge to your mouth, took a sip, and smacked your lips. “Not bad.” You uttered, decidedly enjoying the rich tang of fruity combustion, flat and coiling, upon your tongue. You poured the glass full, hardly a centimeter from the brim, and you took a rather large gulp, quite liking the flavour, as it trickled upon the back of your throat, and you sat back, nestled within the comfortable cushions of the wondrously aged sofa. It was almost moulded to your body; for you always sat on the right, and Johnny, the left.

A comfortable silence embraced you both, and you found yourself almost wishing it could remain undisturbed - you couldn’t find it in you, no matter how hard you probed, to conjure any kind of courage at all. Your knees, they felt weak, and your stomach churned uneasily - entirely disagreeing with the digested mouthful, as you rammed the corner of a pizza slice within your mouth, and you chewed slowly, cheeks beginning to rise in temperature. How the fuck would you even go about it all? ‘Oh, by the way, Johnny, I’m entirely in love with you, and I lose myself every time we touch!’ It sounded ridiculous. There was no possible way you could simply blurt out such a destructive sentence. You weren’t even sure if your feelings were real! They had just bothered you, and you feared that they’d somehow escape the breach of your lips, and flutter around, utterly unnoticed. Goodness, it was terrifying.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, or are we gonna sit here in silence?” Johnny said, a light amusement to simmer upon his tone. You gulped, swallowing a particularly dry mouthful, and your muscles seized up.

Surely this was the perfect opportunity, no? “Well…” You trailed. You did not want to ruin everything you’d worked so effortlessly to build with each other. Maybe you were just being silly, and your feelings were hardly potent at all. Maybe it was all dramatic, and you were fine. Maybe it was an exaggeration, and the entire thing was meaningless, and- “I think I’m in love with you.” You blurted. Fuck. Fuck, fucking fuck! Your eyes clamped shut, and you loathed the white noise. You could hope that he hadn’t heard you, though he wasn’t chewing, anymore, and he seemed suddenly rigid beside you. That was certainly a way to go about it, you scolded, wishing - with a burning detestation - that the sofa would swallow you whole.

Say something, you begged, silent, and to yourself, as the quiet continued on. He shifted, and you froze - furtherly, if apparently possible. You daren’t share a glance with his gaze, fixated upon your burning mortification, as another gentle bite snuck between your lips. You chewed, and you chewed, a soft shimmer of sweat beginning to accumulate upon your brow - how foolish you had been, to admit such a thing, in that kind of way. “What was that?” He muttered. Shit! His throat was tight, you could hear the subtle restriction, and tone low, quiet. Don’t make me say it again, you thought, a volumed gulp to follow such a ponderous moment. Please, don’t make me say it again.

“I’m sorry.” You sighed. Goodness, was it always supposed to be quite so difficult? Something began to wedge within the base of your throat, aching substantially, as the rising sensation of freshly salted tears began its ascent. Were you really going to cry? “I didn’t-” The voice caught in your throat, hindered by that ever-growing lump. God, you really hated this. “I didn’t mean to.” You didn’t mean to ruin your friendship, and everything in between, for a stupid confession that held you to the brink of fucking tears.

More shuffling was to be heard, and you noticed his hands swiftly maneuvering the - now closed - pizza box, delicately dropping the white board upon the coffee table, no longer perched between you, and him. His gaze burned upon your expression, and your cheeks flamed scarlet, glare locked unwaveringly upon the television, slightly glazed with something fearful. You truly didn’t want to lose him - to have him laugh in the face of your affection, and turn you away. And although you knew the let down would be gentle - it was Johnny, afterall, and there was hardly a bad bone in his body - you anticipated the worst. “Y/N,” He said.You gulped. A sigh escaped his lips, and he maneuvered the pizza slice from within your subtle grip, sneaking a quick bite as he went, and placed it quietly upon the table. “Y/N.” He tried again. You turned to face him, hesitant in yourself. His expression was gentle, the comforting kind of soft, and the corner of his lips lightly fluttered to the ghost of a smirk. “What are you crying for?” He scoffed, the grin simply growing as he spoke. “Don’t cry, Love.” You had hardly noticed the slip of a few salty confessions, as a soft laugh fell from your lips, hands roughly ragging upon the moist complexion. Pathetic, you thought, you were so fucking pathetic. “Come ‘ere.” He said. Your eyebrows drew together, glance unsure and lightly confused. He was so calm, and seemingly unphased by your confession - you couldn’t quite understand it.

He rolled his eyes, the tilt of amusement to pepper his cheeks, and he grasped your upper arm, dragging you along the short distance of the sofa. You slumped into his side, another giggle trickling from your tear-tangled throat, his arm engulfing you in a tight embrace; one along your shoulder, and the other curled upon your waist. You rested your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat subtle and calming, and he shuffled about, gradually withholding a lying position, yourself flatly placed along his front. “I’m sorry.” You repeated, a light sigh to accompany the apology. You meant it, really, you did. It was never truly your intention to adapt to such feelings, to succumb to your attraction - he just made it so fucking difficult, with those beautifully brown orbs, and a smile filled with the brightest kinds of sunshine.

“Please don’t apologise.” He said. A short silence followed, and - perhaps it was simply an imaginational malfunction - you thought the rhythm of his heart rate differentiated, though only for a fleeting moment. “Did you mean it?” He whispered, tone soft; hesitant.

A gentle frown caressed the bow of your expression, and you tilted such to face him, his features crossed handsomely with a sense of slight worry. Of course you had meant it - why on earth would you lie for such a thing? “Yeah.” You said. His gaze flickered between your eyes, a whir of doubt embracing the warm stare, and his tender wrap upon your frame squeezed for a passing moment. The hint of a smile glazed his orbs, a certain light suddenly rupturing within their mocha tone, and the corners of his mouth twitched a feathered smirk.

“Oh, yeah?” He said.

Your eyes rolled, seemingly still slightly dampened by your emotional concern. “Yes, Johnny.” You said.

“Ah, right,” He muttered, grin widening to that of something toothy, and warm. “See, I thought I was going crazy.” He craned his neck to the slightest degree, gaze dropping momentarily to your parted lips, before springing back up, a twinkle of mischief to glaze his eyes. “I thought,” His tongue darted gently, dampening the flush of his lips, and you found yourself staring with a tingle of a blush - God. Your thighs began to ache, camped tightly together, at such a marvellous sight. “There’s no fucking way,” He continued, slowly, as his tone simmered to that of a tender whisper. “That the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known, could fall in love with me.”

Beautiful. Beautiful, he had said. Beautiful! He thought you were beautiful! Your heart stuttered, and a furrow found your eyebrows, consciously aware of the circular trail, lightly peppered upon your waist by his wandering fingers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You said, a mere mumble beneath your gaze of adoration and concern. What was wrong with loving him?

A breathy laugh escaped his lips, the simmer of amusement and amorous repentance dancing within his stare. “Well, why me?” He said, “You could choose anyone.” He shrugged, “Kenny, from that corner store. Andrew - you know, Andy, the one that makes the cakes all the time?” You merely nodded, albeit speechless as to his rambling. “And what about Louis? The flower guy?” You raised an eyebrow, “You could take any of ‘em. You got a choice. So why pick me?” Why wouldn’t it be him? Why would it be anybody else? You couldn’t quite understand his doubts, as you adjusted your positioning, and leaned up ever-so-slightly, with great attempt to level your shared beam. Surely he wasn’t feeling insecure, he had no reason to, after all - none that you had given him, that is.

“Don’t start that.” You said, “I wouldn’t want anybody else.”

“Oh, yeah?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, “And why’s that, Love?” He was teasing you, you could ensure, though you felt little resistance to fall within such bait.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else, because,” He glanced feverishly to your mouth, and the words seemed to pause, caught briefly within your throat. His gaze returned to yours, his smirk filtrated with some kind of newfound arrogance, and, my, didn’t it look devilishly handsome on him.

“Because what, Deary?” He said, a sudden dark swirl to his tone. It was rich, nauseatingly good.

“Because I want you.” You said. “And I’ve always wanted you.”

Though your fear found itself wretched, stammering doubts of rejection within your conscience, you supposed there was just no going back from that. And you didn’t truly believe you wanted to.

A glimmer of something heartily mischievous eloped within his gaze, “In what way?” He humoured, a slow smile beginning to trace the very corners of his wondrously entrancing lips. You paused, a moment of silence, and wondered whether you could dare to be as graciously brave as your protruding thoughts were starting to grow.

Your tone fell to something quiet - low. “In any way you’ll let me.” You said. And, oh, it had you aching, the way those delectably beautiful eyes darkened, and a pepper of thickening quiet settled between the two of you.

Johnny’s mouth opened, the breach of something verbal threatening to fall from the gasp, though nothing came out, and he closed it, instead. His breathing stammered, you dared to notice, and you felt almost ill, bereft with the simplicity of your want, your need, for his emotional acceptance. “I see.” He said, somewhat breathless, and entirely succumbed with - what you depicted, perhaps foolishly, to be - love. You felt something rise, flutter, within the depth of your digestion - almost drabbled with such pride, that you could affect him in any which way. A grin engulfed his expression, once more, and elated the darkness, clouding his chestnut orbs in a magnificent kind of way, as one hand crawled up from upon your waist, and clasped the curve of your blushed cheek. His calloused thumb traced a thing of gentle affection, stroking the soft complexion in a timid manner, and that flock of butterflies found themselves satisfied with their numbingly strong fluttering, crawling upon your skin in a matter of nerves and anxiousness. “Well,” He spoke, glancing adoringly between your eyes. From one to the other, as though he couldn’t quite believe you to be smitten within his hold, reciprocating his feelings so endlessly. The warmth of his adorning breath fanned the supple part of your gaped lips, expectant; waiting. “Best go put on your shoes, then, aye?” He whispered.

And with that, he was gone. Hoisting you up, as he stumbled to his feet, and his expression elated a smile. He squeezed twice on your shoulders, humoured by such a frown, and he swooped down to collect his jacket from the floor. “Go on,” He said, “We’re off on a walk.”

“We are?” You echoed, a slight distance woven within your tone.

Johnny smiled, “We are, Love.” He said, and he barreled himself through the arms of his coat.

You paused, be it only a moment, as gentle tufts of hair drifted upon his forehead, and he brushed them back, a toothy grin etched upon his face. He stretched up, an arch to his back, and muttered a; “Go on! It’s raining, you’ll get your feet wet if you don’t.” With a hustle, and a small shove to your shoulders.

Frowning, you found your feet drifting you to the corner of the room - he’d gone mad. It was decided. Though, perhaps, you thought; you were just as crazy as he. For why else would you slip on your shoes, and throw on a jacket, hanging up on the wall hooks? Without another thought of hesitation, you shoved it all on, and you regained your full height, a little breathless - unfortunately so - and met the uneven smirk that was utterly Johnny’s.

He clapped his hands together, a soft connection, and rubbed them slightly, bounding to the door before you both, and swinging open the darkened oak. Neither you, nor he, bothered to dismantle the blaring illuminant that was the television, as he awaited the passing breeze of yourself.

You wandered him by, mind a whir of incoherent thoughts, though one - one in particular - stood out, among the others. He hadn’t said it back.

The weight of his arm, curled around the crease of your shoulders, brought you away from such a thought, and you had hardly noticed the few tender steps you had traced. “You smell nice.” Johnny said, a slight smile to his tone, “Fruity.” You merely grinned something small, and rolled your eyes. Ever the strange one.

“You’re sure you haven’t had any of that wine before?” You jested, “On the way over, perhaps?”

He smiled, something soft, as his free hand fumbled within his depthful pocket, and his gaze found his shoes. “The cheap stuff gives me indigestion.” He smirked, “Didn’t want the heartburn.”

“Ah,” You breathed, “I suppose that does make sense.”

You approached the stairwell, poised to the end of the depressingly dim hallway, and watched as he bounced upon every step, no longer wedged beside you, but rather bounding upon the echoing chorus of the descending metal. His hair, naturally dried from a drizzle of cooling rain, flowed - up, and down - in a majestic kind of motion, as a subtle giggle fell from you, and your legs maneuvered a slight jog, to catch up with his waiting frame.

He stood, slick with a grin, at the door, his arm a barricade upon its weight, as you muttered a curt thanks, and you stumbled into the waft of approaching crisp. The winter chill embraced your figure - a sudden movement, as it trailed from your toes, to your hips, to your finger-tips, and your nose - and you draped your hands within the depthful pockets of your dark coat. You shuddered - Heavens, was it freezing - and you clenched your jaw, spat with a sprinkle of dainted moisture, as the clouds shed their supple solemness.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Johnny muttered, striding to that of a similar pace, as his hands, too, found the inner comfort of his pockets, and his arm brushed with yours. You warmed at the touch, though not by much, and you simply assumed it was all in your head, dismissive for the sudden heat. “The night.” He continued. “There’s just something about it.”

You turned, gaze fixated upon the gorgeous glow of his sculpted features, contorted with a content smile, orbs fluttered upon the scenery before you both, unmoving, and entirely comfortable. Happy, you dared to notice. And as were you. “I know what you mean.” You mumbled, a saddened grin to quiver upon the corners of your lips, though you simply couldn’t force it’s obtain, as it fell, and your eyes found the floor. He hadn’t said it back.

“It’s like-” He paused, tongue winding upon his lips, and his eyebrows furrowed momentarily. “It’s like the whole world is asleep.” He smiled. “It’s not, but it feels less… Alive.”

You breathed a gentle laugh. “Like it’s only you.” You mumbled, “Without the pressure, and the judgement.” There was a subtle nod, as he brushed the fallen hair from within his vision.

“I know how to be myself, when the moon’s my only company, y’know?” He admitted, nibbling the tender flesh of his lower lip, as his gaze darted, between the street, to the tree, to the housing scattered around. “Like whatever happens, under the stars, it-” He paused, he let out a breathy chuckle, and continued: “It won’t matter in the morning.” You simply nodded, as he opened his mouth, a stuttered mumble falling from his tongue, and your silence remained, for you knew he was not quite finished. “I just- I-” He paused, another shaky exhale, and your eyebrows furrowed. He scratched the lower-crown of his hair, ruffling it, slightly, with a nervous chuckle. “I don’t want-” He frowned, gulping, and continued: “I don’t want tonight to be one of those nights.”

Your furrow seemed to deepen, the words falling before you found yourself able to grapple them. “What do you mean?” You mumbled, a gentle cloud upon the frozen nightlife.��

“Look, I think-” He sighed, pausing mid-step, and standing, amidst the weighted rain, as it grew heavier, and you simply grew wetter. You paused, expression contorted with a slight confusion, dribbled with copious droplets that you didn’t bother to brush away. “I think I could dote on the darkness, forever and a day.” He said, and you frowned. You wondered just quite where he was going with such, though failed to interrupt his continuance, as he spoke, soft, among the patterning rainfall, draping upon the concrete with a rhythmic dance. “But it’s not-” He caught himself, one more, as another nervous laugh trickled from his dampened lips. Verbal gold, it surely was. “None of it - it’s not- it’s not as, uh, captivating, as you.”

Your chest fell woozy with a supple ache, furrow one of grave compassion, and he glanced, hesitantly, with a curt removal, to your expression. You smiled, a glaze of sorrow melting from upon those amorous features. Captivating. He thought you were captivating. “And I think you- uhm-” He coughed, a slight smile to catch the corner of his lips. “I think you taught me to love, again.” He mumbled, head-up tilted, as his warm, genuine, gaze, infiltrated your own.

“Oh?” You grinned, truthfully unable to rupture the flutter of great tingles, encasing your shivering complexion - a certain warmth cursing throughout your frozen blood.

He laughed, a glance of something shy to his shoes, and he nodded. “Yeah.” He mumbled, returning to meet your joyous expression. “And I think I’d like to dote on you, instead.”

“In what way?” You muttered, mocking for his previously sly commentary, a gratuitous - particularly brazen - step closer, to the grinning man, as his hands, slightly coaxed by a pink chill, from the breeze of winter's embrace, draped upon the clothed fabric of your hips.

He drew a step closer, your shoes toe to toe, and he spoke - dangerously low; nauseatingly rich. “In any way you’ll let me.” He smirked. And, well, that seemed quite enough for you.

There was a certain warmth about it - the capture of your supple lips upon the soft flesh of his own, molded wondrously to a hymn the Angels could never know. Eyes fluttered to a gentle close, engulfed with a sprinkle of vanishing warmth; the rain no longer seemed to matter. For you were clothed, slick like a second skin, in the thick moisture of everlasting water - wet, to the very bone - but no longer did you shiver, no longer did you tremble, with the ache of a chilling night. The pressure was timid, and the exploration a motion utterly anew - yet so beautifully divine, so entirely right.

Your fingers - pink, and bitterly numb, in themselves - wove to clutch upon the lapels of his cotton jacket, a clutch of passion, and of longing, to emancipate the wondrous flutter in the depth of your gut. It twisted, it turned, it ached, it shrieked - you felt ill. Ill with the fever of amorous recipricance and a lover so sickly sweet, you felt you’d awake with cavities, in the later morn. You liked that thought, as your head tilted, be it only slight, to the side, and he followed your subtle retreat. Like honey, did he taste; like gold, did he display. And, oh, if this was love - if this, two lovers combined amongst the ache of winter’s cue - you decided that it was, undoubtedly, real. It was real, not a mere description of romanticised fiction. No. No; it was the golden sunlight, woven between your very hands; it was the melody of the birds, so suppley sweet; the dew upon the whispered grass, a lick of crisped morning; the enticing ferociousness of the oceanic waves, an azure of alluring power; the liquid gold, to drip from a Poet’s pen, woven beneath the tongue of their romantic thoughts - Oh, it were all that, and more. So much more.

And, as his feeble smile fluctuated upon his bowed lips, and his fragile hold - something so gentle, upon the flush of your frozen cheek, you hardly noticed the grace of movement, thumb brushed beneath your fluttered eyes - draped across your features, you found yourself discovering all that it ever could be.

His tongue, though warm, and tender, slithered something slow upon the breach of your lower lip, and your cheeks furrowed a blossoming grin. Parting your lips, subtly, you allowed the delicate invasion of a gratifying, sweet, pressure, as the flesh ran along the side of your tongue, and you encased it within a frail suck, withdrawing from such an entanglement for hardly a moment. You inhaled a particularly deep breath, unfinished and wondrously interrupted, as his lips found yours once more, a collision of teeth, and of grinning hearts, and he craned upon your stature, a barricade to crawl along the base of your lower back. The soft slosh of clapped fabric wove amongst the rainfall, and a breathy chuckle harmonized from upon your lips, himself ridden with a gorgeous grin; chest-to-chest, with a kind of warmth you had never before known cursing throughout the very complexion that was your own, as your bodies collided, and his strength held you close.

You inhaled the scent, familiar, though certainly different, and it tingled the depth of your nostrils - like woodland, and a subtle cologne. It seemed raw, so ravenously close, and your lips twitched upward at the thought. Oh, how you loved him. It ached your smitten chest, as he moulded his lips upon your own, and your movement harmonized something bitterly perfect, and it combusted among your soul. It tore the very sense you once held, from within your capacity, and it brushed such necessity beneath the carpet; for what was sense to a girl in love?

Nothing. All that made sense was him - was he - and you yearned to know it all; every crevice, every dent, for the rest of your days. Forever seemed a long time, though life so awfully short. To spend forever, a faux illusion of endless measures, by his side - it spread a warmth, such burning heat, throughout your tender frame, and you ached to know the script of every moment spent together, all until every moment were merely a memory, with nothing left to come.

His feathered affection fell to a tender null, a lingering pause to disperse upon the gape of your swollen mouth, and he draped a peppered peck upon the very corner, withdrawing from such an intertwined proximity. You fluttered your gaze to meet his own - a stare of saturated honey; of every nightfall; of every poetic tale - and he smiled. A smile, so incredibly warm, you found yourself unable to withhold the reciprocance, as a timid blush crawled upon the complexion of your grinning features, and your eyes retained their strengthful embrace.

For the bitter breeze had returned, and your lips were falling cold, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered - not the howl of brash wind, curling within your locks, and whipping the hood of your coat; the ache of layered rain, as it pattered, continually, upon the distilled world around; the treacherous ache of all things nauseatingly woozy, engulfing your frame in an intensely warm ambiguity - unfamiliar, though entirely welcome. None of it mattered - not as you drowned within the softness of his adoring gaze.

Adoring, you thought; oh, did he adore you? “I love you.” He mumbled, a quiet crackle upon the pattern of rain, though you caught it - oh, did you catch it, clutched within the fragile hold of your softened heart, ached with the pressure of convicting ribs, it cried for freedom, for home; for Johnny. A smile, so genuine, so utterly enticed; joyous, draped upon your lips, and the corners of your glimmering eyes fell to a crease. He loved you. He breathed a gentle chuckle, soggy arms curled upon that of your shoulders, as he drew you close - so unimaginably close - and he clutched your warmth upon his own. “God,” He breathed, his cheek slumped upon the crown of your head, down-tilted, and soaked with the cold of splattered rain. “I love you.”

Arms draped across his middle, clutched upon his lower back - you ached from the cold, though you minded it not - as you smiled, and you breathed the only response you felt acceptable. “I know.” You said.

“And I’ll give you the sun.” He continued, a mere rumble upon the quiet noise. “Indulge me, and I’ll give you the sun, ray, by fucking ray.”

Oh, how you ached for such sonerous truth - for you knew he would never lie to you.

#johnny depp #johnny depp x reader #jd x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #young johnny depp #johnny depp fanfiction #aw #they do be cute

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

for mermay, 9 indruck nsfw?

Here you go! #9 was folklore, Indrid’s design is based on a blue-ring Octopus, and I borrowed from one of the Discord convos we had about mer Indrid recently.

Content note: there is implied transphobia/misgendering in the reason Duck ends up in the water.

Duck goes to the depths still protesting, hands and ankles bound in rope and dark water closing over his head.

No amount of insisting he was the man he said he was or appealing to logic was enough; a woman aboard, even when he isn’t a woman, is bad luck and must be gotten rid off. So here he is, drowning for the sake of superstition, folklore and nonsense the reason his lungs scream in protest, denied air.

Whoever said drowning was like falling asleep was a damn liar; he’s in agony, reduced to his most basic state of a creature that wants to stay alive and cursed with the knowledge that he won’t. He shuts his eyes, as if that might make it more dreamlike, and circles past him, he feels fingers on his cheek and then, and then....

Then he’s waking up, chest rising and falling with ease. No more than a nightmare, then, he’s still on the ship-

No, wait, his blanket is floating where he kicked it away. He’s alive, he’s in some sort of bedroom, and he’s fucking confused.

Voices float in under the door, a lilting one reaching him first, “...most stubborn set of legs I ever encountered. A kiss is supposed to be enough, yet while his body can survive in our realm, it insists on remaining like itself.”

“Indrid, his majesty is going to be unhappy when he finds out.”

“I am aware, Vincent. And if my brother finds a drowning man, he may rescue him or not as he sees fit. He does not get to dictate my conscious.”

“I mean, I think you did the right thing” A woman’s voice now, “but he’s still pretty angry at you for the whole giving me legs incident.”

“You wanted to see your beloved, and I am almost as fond of Aubrey as I am of you. A charm that allows you to go between worlds is hardly cause for such a fuss.”

“It was the no-voice thing that bothered him.”

A sigh, “Time and again I have reminded him that strong magic comes with a price. In your case it was easily paid, because Aubrey recognized you instantly and kissed you. As if I would send my own niece into a situation where she might be trapped.” The last sentence is muttered, like the speaker knows no one will listen.

“I know that. That’s why you're my favorite uncle.”

“I am your only uncle” the smile is audible, “and I am just glad the two of you will be married soon. Now if you will excuse me, my foresight tells me my guest is awake.”

A door opens and shuts, and a moment later the curtain of kelp at the end of the room parts. Duck’s never believed in mermaids (or mermen), but that’s what swims to him now, human face and torso giving way to eight silvery tentacles dotted with deep blue rings. They’re almost as striking as his face, his features sharp and alien, crowned with silver-white hair.

“Hello” The mer smiles with sharp teeth, “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, not as confused as I could be on account of what I heard, but still tryin to work out why the fuck you saved me at all.”

“Three reasons: for starters, I dislike having corpses floating around the kingdom. I also do not see the point in having the power of foresight if I cannot use it to prevent suffering when possible. And finally I…” The calm smile on his face falters a moment, “I saw the moments that lead to your being thrown into the waves. You were condemned for being something you are not. I, ah, I could not let such an injustice come to pass.” His mask remakes itself, “and so here you are, Duck Newton.”

“And the kiss?” Duck raises his eyebrow.

“Ah, yes. If a mer kisses a dying human, that human will become a mer themselves. Except in your case, you have-”

“-Stubborn legs?”

A light laugh, “And here I thought I would be the one interrupting you. Yes, exactly. I have no idea why. I’m simply glad the magic worked well enough to help you breathe. There is a, ah, an issue however. My visions show that in your current state, you will not be able to survive on land.”

“But you said somethin about a charm to your, uh, niece?”

“That worked because it simply had to take her from mermaid to human; you’re stuck between forms in a way that, were I to apply the same approach to you it would end badly. As in accidentally turn you into a fish badly, at least in most timelines.”

“Huh” Duck worries the inside of his cheek with his tongue, “so I’m stuck here.”

“Indeed. I’m sorry.” Indrid sits on the foot of the bed, tentacles moving this way and that to fidget with the blankets, the bedposts, and the stray shells on the floor, “This has never happened before, and I did not mean to trap you in this way, I only meant to save you, to give you freedom.”

“That’s more than a lot of folks’ve tried to give me lately.” Tentatively, he touches the tentacle tip nearest him. It weaves between his fingers, the pressure from the suckers on the underside oddly pleasant. He rubs his thumb over a blue spot, which draws Indrid’s attention. His face goes pink and he pulls the tentacle back.

“Apologies, they have a mind of their own at times.”

“Don’t bother me. I, uh, I was just tryin to show you I ain’t mad. Feel a little adrift, but that’s a damn sight better then bein’ dead.”

“Adrift--OH, oh I see, you are going to say you do not know what to do now. The answer is heal; even though you are alive, your body and mind suffered before I saved you. You need rest and care, and I promise you shall want for neither. You are my honored guest, Duck Newton. My home is yours. I, ah, I would offer to let you leave the instant you are feeling able, but as you heard there are some issues with you being seen in this state.”

“Used to layin low.” Duck sighs, flopping back on the bed (or trying to, as he floats down onto the mattress instead).

“I gathered. If I had things my way, you would not need to do such things here. Alas, until my brother gets eaten by a shark, we may be dealing with this arrangement for some time” he gestures to the room, bathed in blues and greens as light filters down from the surface and in through the windows. Two tentacles gather the blanket, spreading it back up Duck’s body and smoothing it down.

“Rest now, Duck Newton. In the morning I will have much to show you.”

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

Duck wakes up clawing at the water above the bed, heart beating fast enough he fears it might eject itself up his throat.

The nightmares a fewer these last two days, but whenever they want to be done for good is fine by him.

He gathers seaweed green robe Indrid gave him and makes his way out of the bedroom and down the hall. Indrid gave him a bracelet of cowrie shells that’s enchanted to let him walk without floating away. He’s a strong swimmer, but without a tail to aid him he tires quickly against the force of the water.

The merman’s house is huge, an attempt by the king to keep him happy without giving him any useful power. Most rooms are cluttered with etchings and drawings or items salvaged from wrecks or the shoreline. There are spare beds, but after the night where Duck awoke in a panic and could not calm down, where Indrid found him the next morning exhausted and shaking, the mer offered to sleep in the same room with him. Duck pointed out that it was technically Indrid’s bedroom anyway and he could sleep there if he wanted to. The mer dragged a variety of comfy pillows into the corner and declared he would be quite happy there. More than once Duck’s woken up first to see him sprawled out on the cushions, always clinging one against his chest. Duck wonders what would happen if he offered to take it’s place. He suspects he could do so without issue.

He’s no stranger to being admired, though the last time someone eyed him so approvingly he ran off to sea to avoid marrying them. Indrid’s red eyes contain the same desire but none of the entitlement. The merman’s been staring at him since that first day, though it’s only recently that he let’s Duck seem him doing so, after Duck caught his eye and stared right back.

Teasing Indrid is more fun than he expected, because while the mer usually gives as good as he gets, some days he blushes and wiggles his tentacle tips under Ducks attention. Indrid is obviously high status and, in Duck’s view, the most captivating mer in the kingdom; making him go pinker than a virgin at a striptease from a little flirting is gratifying.

His absolute favorite part of his new home, aside from Indrid, are the gardens at the center. Coral glistens and rainbows of fish flit across his path, sea flowers bloom and wave as he passes by. The best place to sit is in a massive clam shell with an excellent view of the grounds and the city beyond. It also happens to be Indrid’s preferred location to draw.

The mer takes one look at him and extends a tentacle, guiding Duck down to nestle close to him. When they’re with arms reach, one hand leaves his drawing to pet Duck’s thigh soothingly. He tilts his head, intending to study the sketch and ask about it, but ends up with his head on Indrid’s shoulder, slipping back into sleep.

“Oh dear.” Indrid murmurs, closing the book as a flurry of voices swim towards them.

“So, the rumors are true; you’ve brought a human into our domain.”

“Good morning to you as well, dear brother.”

The king crosses his arms, glaring at them, “if you cannot provide a decent reason for your having him here, I will make exile him myself. Right now.”

Indrid’s expression and voice remain calm, but one tentacle coils around Duck’s ankle and his hand clings to the loose trousers, “He, ah, he is, ah”

“I thought as much.” The king swims forward.

“Pet!” Indrid grins triumphantly, “he’s my pet. You keep saying you wish I would find a way to occupy my time and stay out of trouble, and here he is.” Indrid pulls Duck into his lap, patting his head with such exaggeration Duck has to stifle a laugh, “I have been so busy with him the last few weeks I’ve had little time for anything else. Isn’t that right, Vincent?”

Their friend nods, “Yes, your highness, the prince has found Du--, uh, the human most diverting.”

The king narrows his eyes, “Very well. The human may stay in that capacity.” With that, he swims from the gardens, trailed by his advisors.

“I gotta start wearing a leash now?” Duck teases, realizing too late that he’d do so in an instant as long as Indrid was holding the other end.

The blue of the rings deepens, “Not at all. Apologies for referring to you as my pet, but the timelines shifted so heavily in the direction of him casting you into the open sea that I panicked.”

“Aw, you lied to the kings face just for me. Must really like me.”

“I do! I, oh dear have I not made that clear?” Indrid gathers Duck’s hands between his own.

“You have, I was just teasin you. I don’t mind playin your spoiled pet to get one over on him, provided you keep spoilin me.”

Indrid’s grin returns, “I’m certain I can manage that.”

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

“I hate it when he calls my bluffs.” Indrid glowers into the jeweled box just delivered to their doorstep. Right before Duck asks what’s wrong, the merman hands him a small piece of parchment.

Prince Indrid,

Included is a gift for your ‘pet,’ as you are apparently in need of it. It would be a shame for him to get lost, after all.

The note ends with the kings seal. Duck looks up as Indrid turns the box his way, revealing a collar studded with abalone shells and a leash woven from dark, sturdy seaweed. So many obscene images flood his mind it takes two tries before he can focus on Indrid’s words.

“...Thought I kept us clear of anyone who would bother to report us. I’m sure there’s a way around it, ruse aside you are my friend and equal and I will not ask you to humiliate yourself. Hmm, oh goodness, we will need to send word to Dani and Barclay that we cannot come to dinner to tonight, that’s not enough time to draw up a solution, though perhaps we can invite them here instead.” His tentacles trawl the ground as he paces the room.

“‘Drid?”

“Yes?” The mer stops, then his eyes widen, “you are serious?”

“Gotta let me offer first.” He replies with fond exasperation, “I fine with wearin it while we’re out. I know how you really feel about me and, uh, it, uh, makes me feel...safe?” It’s right on the border of a lie by omission, but he manages to get it out.

“I see” Indrid swims casually towards him, as if that will distract Duck from the pink creeping up his cheeks, “in that case, may I put this on you, pet?”

“Uh huh.” Duck tilts his chin up, shuts his eyes with a happy sigh as Indrid latches the collar in place. The mer stays chest to chest with him, testing to be certain the collar is comfortable.

“How is that?”

“Woof” Duck deadpans.

Indrid blinks, confused.

“It’s the noise a dog makes.”

Another blink.

“Y’know those things that are like sea lions but on four legs instead of flippers?”

“That’s what those are called. Fascinating.” Indrid loops the leash into place and Duck growls playfully. The mer pats his cheek, fingers lingering on his skin as he purrs, “good boy.”

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

“Are you ready?” Indrid tips to vials of purple powder into a bowl, causing sweet smelling swirls of color to fill the room.

“Yeah. Been ready for years.” Duck stands opposite from him, drumming his fingers nervously on the rim of the bowl.

A week ago, Indrid asked in that blunt way of his if Duck wanted his human form to be different than it was. When he said yes, the mer immediately swam from the table and into the library to pull books from shelves.

“It will take a few days to prepare; I am careful in all my spells but, well...well I suppose when it is you I am inclined to take even more care than usual.”

It’s not the spell that’s making his nerves bubble up his chest; it’s the component of it he has to contribute. A secret, a precious one, because powerful magic will not give something for nothing.

“Whisper it into the foam.” Indrid gestures to the golden bubbles on the surface of the bowl.

Duck keeps it short and sweet. Then blinding light surrounds him, pure white spiked through with pink and blue, and he collapses to the ground, unable to do anything but hold himself as the spell courses through him. When the colors fade and the room returns to view, it’s all he can do to make his legs stand.

“How, ah, how do you feel?” Indrid taps his fingers together nervously, four of his tentacles following suite.

“Like I got trampled by a horse and came out a new man.”

“Oh. Good.” The fidgeting intensifies. Duck can only think of one reason for that.

“‘Drid? Did, uh, did the spell mean you learned the secret?”

“Yes.”

“Does it bother you? What I said, I mean.”

“No.”

A pulse of water, flourish of blue and silver, and Indrid’s lips find his. Arms and tentacles lift and hold him as they spin slowly across the room, the mer moaning when Duck drags his hands up his chest. He keeps kissing him as he speaks, mouth growing needier after every pause, “I, there were only a few timelines where you confessed your feelings for me and I, I wanted them so badly but I swore I would only act on your feelings if you used them in the spell, not simply because I saw futures where you might.” Tentacles slide under his shirt and up his pant-leg, “ohhhh, touching you in visions is nothing compared to feeling you for real.”

“Can feel me as much as you want, darlin. Got some things I wanna get my hands on too.” He tangles his fingers in Indrid’s hair, glides his mouth down to kiss his collarbone and tease a nipple with his tongue.

“Oh my sweet little human, the things I am going to do to yo-”

The doorbell times and Indrid nearly drops him.

“Damn it all, I forgot we were hosting game night.”

“Don’t worry ’Drid,” Duck pinches the base on one tentacle, “I ain’t goin anywhere, we can pick this up another time.”

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

“I call that a success.” Indrid ushers Duck into the house. They’re returning from Aubrey and Dani’s engagement party (Indrid having provided Aubrey with a mer-charm of her own. As much as he loathes the idea, King Woodbridge has had to give the marriage his blessing; Dani is his only heir. If he disowns her, his throne passes to Indrid, a scenario he hates even more than a human/mer wedding.

Duck wore his collar all evening in case one of the king’s toadies got it into their heads to tell on him. It also matches the clothing Indrid bought him exceedingly well, and he’s not ashamed he admired himself while passing the mirror.

Indrid doffs his cloak as Duck closes the bedroom door, “You can remove that now my sweet.”

He leans against the carved driftwood, “And, uh, what if I don’t wanna?”

The mers hand pauses where it’s setting the leash on a table, “then I suggest you come here at once, pet.”

Not for the first time, Duck longs for a tail so he could speed through the water into Indrid’s arms. The mer is impatient as well, gives a wickedly charming grin as the lease whips out on it’s on to connect with the collar so he can yank Duck flush against him.

“Better, but you are still not as I need you.” Keeping the leash wrapped around one hand, the other starts on the buttons of Duck’s shirt. The human tries to help, only for tentacles to trap his wrists together, “thoughtful, pet, but I do so enjoy unwrapping you myself.”

“‘Drid, pleaseplease hurry.”

“Manners, pet” A tentacle thwacks his ass just as two others pull his pants to the ground.

“I said please” Duck laughs as Indrid nibbles his neck.

“Is that sufficient for someone who spoils you as much as I?” Indrid flutters his eyelashes.

Duck bumps their noses together, “Please, ‘Drid, want you to fuck me, you take such good care of me, wanna take care of you right back, I’ll make you feel so good darlin please.”

“Much better”

His remaining clothing falls away. Out of habit, he moves to cover himself, only for his arms and legs to be pulled outwards, leaving him spread-eagle in Indrid’s hold.

“Do not so much as think about hiding this perfect form from me, pet.” In the front folds between his tentacles, Indrid’s dick begins to emerge.

“Someone get off on admirin his handiwork?”

The smile softens, “I am admiring you, sweet one. You have the finest body I have ever laid eyes on; you did when we met, and you do now. I delight in holding it, touching it, these days I delight in seeing your comfort in your own skin.” A predatory glint returns to his eyes, “and of course, I like fucking you in it. In fact, that gives me an idea.”

Tentacles spin Duck in a half circle as Indrid swims to the mirror, meaning the human sees their reflections as the mer purrs in his ear, “I want you to see just how perfect you look on my cock, pet.”

“Jesusfuck, ‘Drid, yes” His own cock is hardening between his legs as small tendrils part and prod his ass; Indrid’s cock resembles a human one until it reaches it’s base, where the tendrils wait to push his partner further open or coax them to climax. They took some getting used to at first, cool and slick as the teased into Duck’s ass. Now he welcomes them, savors the tenderness with which they ready him.

Indrid coos and purrs in his ear, chirping whenever his cock grinds between Duck’s cheeks. The hand not holding the leash caresses his face while the tentacles see to everything else. And he means everything

“Fuck!” One coils around his dick as another rubs gently at his balls. The first time they tried this they were cautious, unsure how human anatomy would respond to the pressure and suckers. In Duck’s case, the answer was “cum so hard and fast it takes them both by surprise.” Indrid had taken one look at the cock with cum still beading at the head and swallowed it to the root, not relenting until Duck came a second time.

“Ohhhnnnyes” The head of Indrid’s cock presses into him, “oh I never tire of how you feel, pet. So warm and welcoming for you, ah” he whispers in Duck’s ear, “master”

“‘Drid you, you keep that up I’m gonna cum any second.”

“Not before I show you something important. Look” Indrid forces his head forward with the collar. His reflection writhes and bounces eagerly on a cock he can’t see but can definitely feel, lips parted in a prolonged moan as Indrid lays claim to every inch of him.

“My perfect, handsome pet, letting me play with him as I see fit.”

“Damn rightAHfuck, I’m close, if you twist like that again I’m gonna-”

“Cum” Indrid orders. Duck obeys, spilling into the water with a groan of thanks. The mer waists no time, traps him in place with his tentacles so can fuck him hard and fast, one hand tugging the collar and the other fisted in his hair, “oh yes, yes pet, just a little more, you can take a little more, you must, because you are my spoiled little treasure and I can cum in you whenever I please.”

“Fuuck” Duck turns his head for a messy kiss as the mer empties into him with a muffled trill.

One by one, the tentacles relax, Duck’s feet gradually meeting the floor as Indrid trails kisses down his spine.

“Goodness, whatever did I do to deserve you, Duck Newton?”

“Save my life?” Duck turns, gathering the mer into a hug.

“I did that because it was the right thing.”

“You’re right. Hmmmm” he peppers Indrid’s face with kisses, “must be because you’re so damn perfect.”

Indrid hums happily as Duck maneuvers them into bed, “I doubt that’s it, but I am too tired to argue.”

Duck lays down beside him, looping his leg over Indrid’s waist as tentacle twines around his ankle. Maybe one day it will cling to his fins instead, but he’s not all that worried about that now. However he ends up, as long as he’s with Indrid, he knows life will be perfect.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay #mermay fills

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musetta3 · 4 years

Text

Revka Cadash and the Great Nug Hunt

It’s done! Thank you to @jarakrisafis, who sent me the writing prompt of ‘Carta, twelve injuries, and a greased nug;’ this was so much fun to write. Introducing Revka Cadash, my new Dwarven OC; she’s Jarak’s Inquisitor, Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash’s, cousin.

PS: @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold, you said that you wanted me to tag you when completed, so. Tada! <3

When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she did not expect this. She leaned back in her chair, half in the air as she balanced perilously between tipping backwards or slamming into the table. Perhaps the latter would’ve been the better option; she’d seen funerals livelier than this iteration of ‘Saturday Night with Cousin Edric.’

“Ed,” she said, “I’m bored.” He arched his eyebrow over his Wicked Grace cards.

“Go get another drink, then,” he replied, discarding a drake and picking up another card. “Although you’re already tipsy.”

She huffed in outrage, “am not.”

“You are; you can’t keep a straight face. Your cheating’s sodding obvious.” Revka’s mouth twitched in amusement. No one in the Cadash clan—not even Edric ‘Dasher’ Cadash, himself—could touch her when she played Wicked Grace. Sober, that is. When tipsy… Everyone, it was said, had their vices; Rev Cadash’s was being unable to keep a straight face when drunk.

Well, that and sweets. She fished around in her belt pouch and popped yet another nougat in her mouth, toying with her cards. She fumbled through the fuzziness enveloping her for an idea to liven the evening. Drinking alone wasn’t much fun—she rarely drank with the crew on principle, to prevent overfamiliarity. Besides, half-drunk Carta were more trouble than they were worth. They already broke up a fistfight earlier over a card game. She needed something to distract everyone. Revka slammed her (losing) hand of cards on the table, causing several heads to turn.

“Mordhau, Verdin: break out the grease and a mud splasher. Let’s live a little.” She smirked at her cousin, pushing herself away from the table.

“You’re either bored to death, or slightly mad,” Edric replied, clearly amused. “Can’t tell which.”

“Both, sweet cousin, both… and perhaps the slightest bit tipsy.” She sauntered across the back room of their warehouse on the Docks. ‘Greywater Imports,’ it said on the door, which was true—the Cadash clan did deal in import/exports—but their merchandise’s origins were murky at best, and downright illegal at worst. Didn’t stop the Cadashes, however. Nothing did, not even the room spinning as Revka crossed it.

Mordhau and Verdin reappeared, bearing a squealing nug and a pot of grease. The men cheered when she slathered the nug with grease and made a raunchy joke concerning the last occasion she’d used that much grease for something… something tall, horned, and incredibly muscular. Her hypothetical night with a greased qunari earned her some whoops and laughs.

“Five sovereigns to whoever catches this slippery bastard,” she called.

“Eight sovereigns say you can’t do it,” Edric declared from his seat in the corner, brow arched in challenge. “Too far in your cups, you are. The lot of you!”

She flashed a grin and let the nug loose. It squeaked, scurrying away. It was almost cute, if she ignored the creepy paw-hands and those beady eyes full of indignance. Her niece might like it for a pet, maybe. Her smile fell off her face as several Carta came barreling towards her and the nug. Revka stumbled back. “O-Oi,” she said, “oi! Slow down, you hear? Slow down—”

Alas, that she had forgotten the chair behind her. She backed right into tripping over it, and the others? Tackled by four hulking dwarva was not how Revka thought she’d die. She probably broke ribs from those fools, those squabbling, drunk fools too busy pommeling each other to focus. She crawled out from beneath them and rolled to her feet, jaw dropping.

It was pure chaos. Grown men and women—assassins, smugglers, deadly mercenaries alike—ran about the room like shrieking children, jumping over benches and faceplanting into the floor as they scrambled after the nug. Crawling under tables. Slipping on spilled drinks. Trampling fingers. Edric simply cackled from his corner, of course: the ‘Boss’ was far too reserved to join in the fun.

A flash of pink darted across her periphery. Revka dove under the table, pouncing on the nug with a triumphant ‘aha,’ but her grip was tenuous. The creature wriggled away, leaving her and her favorite gray shirt grease-stained past salvation. She cursed under her breath.

“Come back,” Revka exclaimed, crawling after it. It ran under the keg table, towards the wooden bars partitioning the rest of the room from the back office. If she hurried, Revka could catch it before it reached the bars. She reached out to snatch, it wriggled away. She tried again, but to no avail. She nearly had it when the nug slipped through the bars to the safety of the office.

“Damn it, get back here,” Revka said, reaching through the bars, her groping hands grasped for the nug cowering just out of reach. She looked about the room. What had begun as a nug hunt had devolved into a wrestling match in one corner, several discouraged dwarva drinking off their sprains, a few sleeping under the tables, and an earnest search in another part of the room. If she stood and opened the door, it would alert the others, and that wouldn’t do, not at all.

Revka eyed the partition before her: the bars seemed wide enough apart for her to fit. She prided herself on her curves, but she wasn’t large; she could’ve squeezed through these bars, back in her twenties, and she hadn’t changed that much…

Revka Cordelia Cadash learned the hard way that she had, indeed, changed much more than she had realized over the years... and all the sweets she’d eaten had gone to her hips.

Her eyes went wide, the size of platters. The curves she had been so proud of not five minutes prior, it seemed, betrayed her in the worst manner imaginable. Revka sucked in her gut and shimmied, pulling herself through the bars inch by inch. She tripped on her own feet on the way out, landing on her broken ribs.

“Agh!” she bit her knuckle to stifle the shout. “Son of a nug-humping bastard, that hurt.” There was a soft coo above her head; Revka craned her neck to see the poor nug, trembling pitifully. Her heart softened.

“Frightened you well, didn’t we?” she asked, slowly extending her hand. The nug flinched.

“Shh, I won’t hurt you,” she whispered, “I think you’ve gone through quite enough in the name of fun.” The nug slowly crept towards her, nuzzling her fingers. She scoffed a laugh.

“Come on, you lucky nug,” she said, gently scooping it up and making for the door. “You’ve made me a nice bit of coin; no soup pot for you.” She balanced the nug on her hip as one did a toddler while digging her key from her belt pouch. She unlocked the door and sauntered into the fray.

“Alright, pay up, fun’s over,” she called, mounting a chair and holding the nug aloft. “Wounded against the wall for treatment. The rest of you, clean up this mess. Verdin, fetch the healer, we have…” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. Fourteen dwarva leaned against the heavy wooden crates and shelves, with injuries ranging from black eyes to sprained wrists and loose teeth.

Revka shook her head and sighed. “Make that two healers, Verdin. Come on, Lucky: you’re getting a bath.” The nug squirmed as she filled a bucket with water and found a mostly in-tact bar of Antivan soft soap she’d ‘borrowed’ from their stock. She plopped down in her seat at her cousin’s table.

“Did I hear you right? ‘Lucky?’ You named it?” Edric asked. “You broke your ribs for that thing.”

She shrugged, scrubbing the nug with a rag. “Won me eight sovereigns, though. Which, ahem…” she tapped the table expectantly. Edric grumbled and tossed the coin on the table, rolling his eyes at her glee.

“Lucky the Nug,” he mumbled. “You’ve definitely drunk too much.”

“Now, now: don’t bad-mouth your nephew, he’s a good little nug—” no sooner had the words left her mouth, did the nug upset the bucket and send a deluge of water cascading across the table and onto the floor. She grimaced when Edric picked up a sopping Wicked Grace card.

“Hang them up to dry,” she said, scrambling to salvage the situation. “They’ll be good as new—oh dear.” The poor Knight of Wisdom’s eyes had run, gray rivulets meandering down his cheeks as though he was in tears.

“‘Lucky.’ He’s lucky he’s not my sodding dinner,” Edric groused, collecting his soggy cards and departing for the office. Revka fell back in her seat, blowing out all her air.

When Revka Cadash had agreed to a ‘Wicked Grace night with the crew,’ she most certainly did not expect this.

#writing prompt #dragon age #dragon age oc #dragon age fanfiction #carta #revka cadash #nug #edric cadash #dasher cadash #my fanfiction #musetta writes

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mrs-nate-humphrey · 4 years

Note

“#before he became evil aligned!!” poor dan lmao. actually, i’m curious, what’s your take on dan as a character, and his development throughout the show? season 6 really did it’s level best character assassination on him imo, but until that point i really enjoyed the direction his character was heading. curious because i absolutely adore the way you write dan (and dair) in your fanfics and i was wondering on what your take on him was

ahhh hi! getting this ask was a delight because honestly, talking about dan always brings me great joy. i’ve only watched gossip girl once (yeah, i know!) and i relate pretty heavily to dan (weird introvert, wants to be a writer, always felt out of place in high school but found my friend group in college, etc) so i am pretty biased. anyway this got long, so i’m putting it under a cut!

so, for the most part, i really liked dan in season 1. i don’t remember too much about him in season 2 or 3, like, specific details, because it’s been a while since i watched those seasons, RIP. i feel like season 4 was the last season we had a likeable dan (or at least, a dan i liked!). season 5 had some good dan moments, but at the same time i wasn’t very happy with some developments in his character, and i absolutely agree with you about season 6 slaughtering his character, haha. i’ll elaborate as much as i can.

things about dan’s character that stand out to me are moments like the one in s1 when he talks to blair in the stairway before they’re even friends and opens up about his mother. when i watched that i was like :0 because that was a very big expression of openness and vulnerability, and for him to offer it to blair, who he didn’t even like, just to show her that he understood/ could relate to having mother-related issues was such a big act of kindness, especially because it wasn’t something he owed her or something expected of him. he didn’t need to do that, but he did anyway! i found that sweet.

in the same vein, when blair, vanessa, georgina and dan are all at NYU, dan taking blair along to georgina’s party even though they aren’t friends because he knows what it feels like to be left behind, and he doesn’t want to do that to anyone - like, that moved me, a lot. lonely kids get it! dan did the exact opposite thing with his newfound popularity that blair would’ve done; he did his best to ensure that everyone - even people he didn’t like - were included.

since you’ve read my fic, you’ve probably seen my overuse of the “dan is not gossip girl” tag. i don’t think it makes sense for him to be gg, not because of stuff like him reacting in an empty room or whatever else, but mostly because of his arc. the whole charlie trout thing in season 2 (i think it was s2?) where he writes the story about chuck and his mom and then doesn’t send it anywhere because he doesn’t want fame at the cost of exploiting his friends, and then that bit where he doesn’t publish the bart bass fire in a building story because he knows it’ll hurt chuck, serena, and their family made it clear that dan understood that his words had the ability to do real, tangible harm, and was trying to be ethical about it.

in fact, in the end of s4, when vanessa steals his manuscript, his reaction isn’t elation; it’s one of horror. he knows what’s in that will hurt people, and he doesn’t want it to see the light of day in the form it’s in. the phone call between dan and vanessa before she takes the manuscript and makes a run for it made me hold my breath while i was watching it - it was so clear that dan didn’t want it to be published. the fact that the choice was taken from him left me feeling pretty sad at the end of s4.

which is why when s5 began, i felt like it was pretty discordant for him to be so enthusiastic about the book in the way he was - his entire “it’s just fiction” spiel obviously didn’t fool anybody who he’d written about, and it felt inconsistent for him to feel that way? like, dan knew the potential of that manuscript to hurt people. him suddenly acting like it’s art and therefore justified & absolved from criticism felt really off to me, especially given his stance on this issue in the past. s5 dan reminded me a lot of a very specific type of writer - a really pretentious, sees themself as better than anyone else, “i’m not being rude i’m just being honest” (when they are actually being very disrespectful) kind of character, and i didn’t like that much.

however, s5 also had dan being a great friend to blair, and just, idk, doing his best in other spheres of his life, which is why i used the phrase “evil aligned” in that hashtag - i wouldn’t say s5 dan was evil, he definitely wasn’t malicious in the way s6 dan was. but he was callous in a way that i felt made s6 dan’s cruelty sort of believable to me - like i could see how s5 dan would evolve into s6 dan, especially given the season finale: blair’s rejection, serena’s manipulation (i usually love serena, but she was evil this season), and possibly his own self-hate/regret about cheating on blair - i think it makes sense for him to handle all of these emotions extremely badly and come out of the ordeal bitter.

a lot of people say that dan’s very judgemental - i actually didn’t see as much of it as people make it out to be, probably because this is my first watch and this show is so full of things, like, so much is happening all the time? i wasn’t really watching the show with the intention of analysing dan, so i feel like a lot of stuff probably went over my head.

i do see dan having a lot of harsh opinions about people he barely knows, jumping to conclusions too quickly, etc, but something i like about dan is (before he became vaguely evil) the moment he realised he made a mistake, he did his level best to fix it. like that entire incident where he’s supposed to be blair’s wingman with chuck in s2, and he sabotages it on purpose, and then serena goes ‘that wasn’t okay’ and then he tries to salvage it by talking to chuck? i feel like dan fucks up a lot and makes bad decisions but he also is aware that he isn’t perfect, or whatever. idk. maybe i choose to just see the best parts of dan.

also dan being nasty about serena hurt my heart, and my favourite thing about fanfic is that i can sort of go “fuck this, we don’t want this for dan or serena”. i like dan and serena as being exes who are still friends, and i wish the show had given us that - dan complains about serena a lot at various points and as someone who really likes serena (she’s my child, ok) i was really :/ about that.

anyway, i feel like dan’s biggest flaw is that he can sort of get stuck in his own head sometimes? like, he forgets that there is more to reality than just his little dan-bubble. and this often leads to him acting like a dick, or not being thoughtful, or forming opinions about people too quickly. this isn’t really a small flaw. in the right context and in the right situations, i feel like dan can do a lot of damage and cause a lot of harm in a way that is in character for him.

the way the show did it though? nah.

also, if they’d made him super evil from the start (like they did georgina), i would totally have vibed with it! but alas, they did not.

#anon #gossip girl #dan humphrey #meta #personal #ok 2 rb #don't discourse with me tho #im sensitive about dan #he's my comfort character #youre absolutely allowed to disagree with any of this obviously #just. be mindful?#idk.#long post #i hope this helps / gives you insight / is a fun read #or like . that you find what ur looking for in this answer!

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sonicringbond · 4 years

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Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey - Scene 37

Time for a little action to spice things up a bit. Maybe it’s because last scene had a gentle let down. Maybe it’s because of the last Survey having so many ties. Whatever the reasoning, enjoy a little action to start...

~I had expected my next meeting with Ix to be troublesome, but I figured with Sonic with me that things would have gone smoother than this. Or at least that he would talk. Ooh~ why does he have to be such a bad person!~

“I had considered our next encounter would have occurred much sooner medium, alas, I have grown far stronger than you could have imagined.”

Ix’s mocking of Rosy came from high above where she was held under Sonic’s arm like a duffle bag while he ran far more successfully across the desert sand than she could. Rosy’s cheeks were puffed up with frustration, but there was little she could do. Though Sonic teasing her didn’t help matters any.

“Some trouble you’ve found, rascal,” Sonic commenting as he risked a glance back at what he fled from.

It was not the first worm like golem Sonic had encountered, but the size of this one was like a small mountain had taken to the sands.

“Ooh~! Ix didn’t make anything this large when I met him! I don’t know what happened!”

“Well, whatever did, let’s just hope Draw can get the help we need.”

Growing more serious, Sonic tried to pick up the pace as even he had traction problems on the sand dunes he skipped across. And fortune did not favor him or Rosy however as a particularly high dune with a view of the ruins of skyscrapers rising from the sand brought them well above the giant stone worm golem.

“This doesn’t look good,” Sonic remarked as a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face.

“At least it looks like fun,” Rosy laughed as a bead of sweat also streaked down her cheek.

A moment later the two of them were tossed high into the air as the golem plowed straight through the sand dune. Sonic couldn’t keep his grip on Rosy, but luck was on their side to a degree as she landed on top of him as he crashed into the side of the golem.

“Tee-hee~♥ Miss me Sonic?”

“Well, you kept me from bouncing off of this thing, but it’s still kind of looking like we’re in a bit of trouble.”

As Rosy sat in Sonic’s lap, she managed to allow him to slide along the wall of sand that rolled off the golem while effectively sitting. He would likely be sore later, but there was little he could do without any real traction. Ix planned on remedying that and had the golem change course under the midday sun.

“WAHH~!” Sonic and Rosy cried out together as the worm turned sharply and coiled around the two hedgehogs. Neither of them saw what happened after that as thew were caught in a massive vortex of sand and promptly buried.

As she was yanked out of the sand by her ankle, Rosy hoped it was Sonic to her rescue, however…

“Ix!” Rosy gasped before coughing on inhaled sand.

“So helpless you seem now, medium,” Ix spoke in a condescending tone. “Is this perhaps the consequence of you being in the company of your lover? No matter, I shall take from you your connection to the gods and return to my search.”

Defenseless as she continued to choke and cough, Rosy could barely squint open her left eye as Ix struck the sand with his staff. Rising between where Rosy dangled and Ix stood, a single Ring formed a window between them, and they locked eyes through it. Ix’s glowing blue eyes, and the broken Red Star Ring held together by an internal gear that Rosy’s left iris became.

“What! Impossible,” exclaimed Ix as Rosy started coughing harder and squeezed her eye shut again. Her coughs after a brief and dizzying moment could not escape her body at all however as Ix’s stone fist closed around her throat.

“Kh…!” Rosy whimpered weakly as her lungs burned and her chest heaved violently. Forcing open her eyes as she grabbed feebly at Ix’s arm, she again graced him with the sight of the unusual sight in her left eye.

“How!” Ix demanded as he tightened his grip and Rosy kicked her legs feebly. “How did you come into possession of a Yoluku Device! Answer–!”

A sudden blow sent the golem flying and Rosy fell into Sonic’s arms as he uncurled from his Spin Dash. “The lady can’t say a word if you’re about to break her neck!

“You alright kid?” Sonic asked as he looked down at Rosy who was clutching at her throat. Not wanting to worry Sonic, she offered him a wordless smile and nodded her head, several tears falling from her eyes. The sight did not please Sonic at all and she could feel the tension that rose from him.

Gently placing Rosy on the ground, Sonic stood up and faced down Ix across the sand. A moment later and he surely would have reduced the golem to a pile of rubble, but that fate was left for the golem that trapped him and Rosy.

~Draw can be pretty imaginative sometimes. I would have never thought of it, but he did. He really is a cute little golem hunter. At least when he isn’t teasing me!

~Anyway, out in the desert we were running along in when Ix suddenly attacked us was more than just a bunch of old skyscrapers sticking up out of the dunes. Though seeing them covered in vines and moss made for a striking sight against the golden sand. But they were nothing compared to the bizarre sight of the castle that plowed through the giant worm golem Ix had used. It was like a thing from a fairytale all covered in buttresses and spires. The white stonework and blue tiled tower roofs were a sight to behold glistening in the afternoon sun. But the really amazing thing was the steam works underneath the town sized castle that propelled it across the surface of the sand.

~I mean Sonic and I couldn’t see them when we tried to run up alongside the castle as we chased it out of Ix’s trap. There was too much sand. But after Sonic picked me up again – honestly, I could have at least tried – we followed flares that Draw shot from within the steam works into the sandstorm the traveling castle stirred up. Once we actually could see them, there were so many pipes and gears it made me dizzy trying to follow them all.

~Soon enough we were whisked through the steam works by people wearing uniforms and a badge with a symbol of a wrench laid across a gear. I think that might be the symbol of the Engineers, but I can’t say for sure. Still, the castle was every bit as beautiful from within as it was from afar.

~I could have wandered the halls covered in the polished floors so reflective it was like I was walking on the soles of my own feet for hours. Whole wings of the massive castle were like towns within themselves, with farms built into some of the larger towers. I’m sure if Tails were here, he’d have spent forever in the bowels of the castle’s machinery, but it was almost a paradise within fit for a city of princesses. And the people were so nice too, without a sign of any of those mean priests in most towns around at all. But our wandering around was not without purpose and Sonic had been doing a lot of talking.

~What Ix had said about my eye had been bothering Sonic. I couldn’t blame him. It looked like a Red Star Ring that was simply crumbling at two of the points revealing a gear that was hidden in it, but Ix called it a device. If it was a machine… Ugh! It’s creepy thinking there’s a machine in my eye. But as this city seemed to belong to the Engineers, there was no one better to ask about it.

~There was just one tiny problem.~

“Not even a hint of red left,” Sonic stated flatly as he looked into Rosy’s eye. She was fidgeting and trying her best just to look ahead so Sonic could get a good look, however…

“Ee~k!” Rosy squealed and covered her face. “I’m sorry Sonic, but having you look so intently into my eyes…! AAH~! ~♥”

Falling over and kicking at the air as she loosely curled up, Rosy earned an eye roll from Sonic and a sigh from Draw. “There really is something wrong with you, you weirdo girl.”

“Rosy!” the pink hedgehog corrected her koala friend while peeking through her fingers. Again, both of her eyes were normal and there was no sign of the unique Red Star Ring within.

“So now what? Draw asked turning to look at Sonic who took to resting his crossed arms on a nearby railing. His ear twitched in response to Draw’s question, but he offered no answer. “What I’d do to get the silent treatment this time! Didn’t I find the town those salvagers out in the desert told us about!”

“It’s okay Draw, “Rosy comforted the young golem hunter by embracing him from behind. Her action frightened free Mote, the fairy companion of Draw’s, who Rosy tilted her head at and smiled. “Maybe you have an idea, Mote!”

Good cheer and enthusiasm were far from enough to convince the fairy that claimed to not be allowed to communicate with a medium to stay and talk. Only Draw could speak with the fairy as it was due to a Ring Bond it had made with it, but he still did not speak up in time to prevent Rosy from vocalizing her disappointment. “Aww~!”

“Give it up weirdo girl,” Draw advised her as he slipped out of her comforting hug. “Besides, Mote says it noticed something here while we’ve been wandering around aimlessly.

“You’re welcome to join us,” Draw invited Sonic reluctantly, and not without making his dislike of that made clear, “though I wouldn’t care if you didn’t.”

“Whatever you say, tyke,” Sonic waved a dismissive hand, but still pulled away from the railing.

With his hands on the back of his head, Sonic followed Draw and Rosy, who in turn followed Mote deep into the heart of the castle.

~The castle kept surprising me with how amazing it was, but some surprises are really too much. I’m sure I covered my mouth when we reached that inner plaza under a big glass dome. The plaza itself was amazing, even if it was just another room inside the castle that served as one. But really, what else could it do. Right in the middle of it was a giant crystal rose the size of a mansion that was encased within a swirling clockwork device. It was just like the one the being in my dream from before my eye started getting weird had. Except the one in my dream actually moved. This one… well once in a while it moved slightly, like a minute hand on a clock, but that was all. Even the rose barely turned where it floated in the air.

~As amazing as it is though, it seemed a normal sight to the people who called the tower home. In a way, travelers like us were the weird ones.~

“Now isn’t this a sight,” a high pitched but friendly voice spoke up behind Rosy and the others. “Don’t see travelers here too often who don’t know about the Rose."

Scene 37 · CLEARED Castle Rose, to be continued

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New character time! By the time this posts they would have already been designed and introduced during the regular writing streams, but I hope everyone enjoys them. there won’t be too much of them yet, but if your familiar with Sierokarte from GranBlue Fantasy you might have an idea of what to expect next week. I hope you enjoy it!

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Special Thanks to Cutegirlmayra Story by @JoshTarwater/SonicFanJ Inspiring Song – The Path of Duty – Yasunori Nishiki – GRANBLUE FANTASY: Versus ORIGINAL SOUNDTRACK

Fair Use Disclaimer

Sonic the Hedgehog and all affiliated characters and logos are the express property and Copyright© of SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS used without permission under Title 17 U.S.C Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976 in which allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. “Fair use” is use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be considered copyright infringement. The Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey alternate universe (AU) consumer written work of fiction is a non-profit transformative work primarily for personal use and can and will be taken down without warning or prior notice at the request of the copyright holder(s) should it not be recognized under “fair use”.

*Sonic Ring Bond logo created by DEE Art – twitter.com/daryliscute.

Sonic Ring Bond AU and Sonic Ring Bond: The Journey are the creation of Joshua David Tarwater/ynymbus/sonicfanj/@Joshtarwater and is to be, including all contents herein considered for all legal purposes the property of the Sonic the Hedgehog intellectual property (IP) and copyright owners, SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS. All story contributors via prompt, suggestion, written scene, art, and all and every other contribution acknowledge that all contributed material is forfeit for legal purposes to SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS upon official request from SEGA SAMMY HOLDINGS.

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic fan fiction #sonic au #sonic au series #sonic ring bond #the journey #classic amy #amy rose #rosy the rascal #au amy #amy redesign #pir'oth ix #sonic oc #patch #draw the koala #mote the fairy

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dansnaturepictures · 4 years

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28/08/2020-Common green lacewing, Stock Doves, Common Tern, interesting skies and more at Lakeside and at home

I took the first picture in this photoset with my macro lens at lunch time of a lovely common green lacewing on our kitchen ceiling. A fantastic green insect to see with its see through wings I find it really nice and enjoyed taking a photo of it. At lunch time it was a classic will I won’t I in terms of if I went for a walk, where and for how long with it quite showery. In the end I waited until the shower stopped to go out but it did rain a bit again when out at Lakeside. I took with me just my camera and with one lens on and my binoculars, phone and a coat, and I went for my macro lens as it was already attached by that point having photographed the lacewing. I soon regretted not taking my big lens as when I walked down the path taking you to the lakes I got my best views yet of a regular group of to me quite special Stock Doves I’ve been seeing at Lakeside the past month or so a very exciting thing for me here so close to home. In the field that they frequent I got pretty close and with my big lens it would have been by far my best chance to take a picture of one at Lakeside so far a bird I did photograph last year in the New Forest. I kicked myself for not having my big lens and only the macro obviously with no zoom its a closeup lens so not appropriate to capture them with. Alas when I considering taking a shot in their direction with the macro and doing a super crop when I got home to salvage something they flew of. But it was just nice to have those views and its been a nice journey with these birds these last few weeks. When I first saw them it was an “I believe those are Stock Doves type thing” but I seem to have seen them better and better as time has gone on and to get really nice stationary views of them on the ground in my binoculars was fantastic today.

On the lens decision I do have to say though, I took a couple of pictures this lunch time with my macro lens that had I come with only my big lens I would not have captured as well and would have rued not bringing my macro lens. So on a day it was pretty wet on the walk and I wanted to protect my photography kit by not bringing it all in the bag but just the one camera and lens to shove under my coat with my binoculars around my neck if needs be its swings and roundabouts. The first of those pictures was the lovely great willowherb flower in the second picture a flower I have seen a lot at Lakeside this year I believe but only just learnt through seeing someone else tweet a picture of one so I was very happy to take this photo. The willowherbs a key strand now of my year of delving deeper into flowers. As I walked around the lakes it really started to rain, I took the third picture showing this and fourth that other macro one that could perhaps only have been with the macro lens of some nice black berries growing on a tree over the lake by the bridge. Just before that though, whilst I have photographed them nearly every day for the past few weeks, I would have had a good opportunity to photograph the Great Crested Grebes and chicks which I saw pretty close to the side of the lake but it wasn’t meant to be.

Just before I went out for a second walk this evening after work I took the fifth picture in this photoset of a sky scene out the back what with the changeable weather again today I saw and photographed lots of special sky scenes today a notable thing about the day. The sixth, seventh and eighth pictures in this photoset I took on the walk featured a nice sky heavily or were of the sky. It was a walk where we had our fair share of rain as well.

As I approached the lake a delightful sight greeted me when I saw a Common Tern flying over the lake and watching it for a good few minutes it dived to fish and did this several times over beach lake the main one and the lake behind it which was special to see. There was a second with it, two youngsters I could see here. A walk around to the lake behind it revealed an adult also spectacularly hunting many times above the Great Crested Grebe family which was lovely too. It turned out there was one adult and two juvenile birds later on sitting on the buoys on beach lake like where I had seen my first of the year from the other side in April that I could see. Like but obviously the opposing end of that spring sighting; these were ones passing through I believe as I have known terns here before this year but they are not one of the regular birds here a little bit inland and modest sized multi-used lakes really in an urban area, so these will have been passing through on the return migration for the autumn I believe but nice to even have a scrap of habitat here to host these birds I mostly see at the coast and big inland water bodies. So it had come full circle for me in 2020. Most of all it was stunning to watch them glide and dive over the water to the backdrop of the delicious sky scene of the sun just about poking and glowing through thick and dark clouds. A simply beautiful scene which I loved seeing.

With my big lens with me for this walk in case I could see the Stock Doves again - I didn’t but this is a good future exercise walk mini project to aim for - I tried to capture the Common Terns in fight. I’d had it a bit with the light at that time with it still feeling a little dark as my crucial moving subjects setting blurred everything I captured. I then with them flying quite close overhead I love photographing terns and have had a strong last few years for it, decided to go for broke a bit and just switch it back to my auto sometimes the settings on the camera don’t cope well in low light but auto always gives you what you need. Harder to get this shot though as I didn’t have the fast shutter speed all of a sudden but I just about made it work for a flying picture I tweeted on Dans_Pictures from tonight. I also took the ninth and tenth picture in this photoset of a Mute Swan and one of the young terns. What a brilliant evening with these birds, a perfect way to start the bank holiday weekend, have a great a safe one all.

Wildlife Sightings Summary: Two of my favourite birds the Great Crested Grebe and Buzzard, Common Tern, Black-headed Gull, Mallard, Mute Swan, Moorhen, Woodpigeon one that I photographed yesterday morning out the back that sat there for ages was back again a similar time this morning in the sun again, Collared Dove, Stock Dove, Robin, House Sparrow, Staring, Magpie, Jackdaw, a very small bird in the tree near to the berries I didn’t get a very good look at it but either Wren or Goldcrest the latter I’ve not seen for ages, common green lacewing and wasp.

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ardenpaisley · 4 years

Text

NAME: Arden Paisley AGE: thirty-three GENDER: cis female PRONOUNS: she/her OCCUPATION: owner of and dance teacher at One Motion LENGTH OF STAY: native, gone for a six year period PLACE OF RESIDENCE: meadowside

here’s my lil cookie arden!!

Arden was born and raised in North Creek without any problems. Her family has always been stable and while her parents are the kind that chose contentment instead of dreaming and throwing themselves into something uncertain, they never tried to hold Arden back even when they didn’t understand her dreams.

She was ten when she realized that she could never do anything but spend her life dancing. She had been taking ballet for four years for a fun weekend activity, but after the realisation she began the hard and difficult journey towards the ultimate goal. Show the world the magic that lived within, the one that made her dance and twirl.

She left North Creek to pursue a career in ballet at eighteen and eventually ended up in the New York City Ballet.

After a few years, Arden tore the ACL in her right knee at twenty-six and effectively ended her career. She was hopeful that surgery could salvage her dream but alas.

She left NYC after two surgeries that both failed to give back her dream. Heartbroken and crushed, Arden landed back in her childhood bedroom for several months. She refused to leave the bed, rarely ate and mostly turned the other way in bed when her mother tried to speak to her.

After a while, the thought of wasting her life in bed appalled her and she came up with a plan. She had money saved, taught to be nifty since childhood, that she could use to her heart’s desire. Her first plan was to travel the world but that came to an abrupt end too when she found out that she was pregnant.

It was definitely not planned and while she has no issues with abortions, she chose to keep the child.

(I honestly haven’t decided on the father situation more than that it’s wholesome. There was never any love involved, at least not much, and I imagine that they share custody. Just chill parenting.)

Felix was born April 6th, 2015. Happy and healthy little nugget.

She spent around eight months solely caring for Felix while mulling over the idea of her own dance studio. She imagined small and excited children, she had been one before, learning to express themselves through movement. Whether it be for fun or something bigger.

One Motion opened its doors in 2017 after months of planning and designing. She hired dance teachers, sent out flyers and watched people of all ages and sizes flock to the place Arden had envisioned. It may be a small business, it’s a small town after all, but it’s hers and it makes her happy.

She’s honestly just chilling; raising her kid, dancing to the best of her abilities, tending her own garden, baking sugary sweets and having fun. She has learned now that dreams can change and that it doesn’t mean the old dreams were bad. Life, like dance, moves.

#intro.#nc.intro #this is all u gonna get o...k #and we do not proofread in this household

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hamletandthegang · 4 years

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Pirates (Part 2)

“Hamlet!” Rosencrantz screamed into the mass of people for the hundredth time. “Hamlet, where the hell are you?!” He grabbed Guildenstern’s wrist and yanked them both to the ground as a gun went off in their direction.

They scrambled to their feet and dashed towards the side of the boat in an attempt to get clear of the fighting. Looking around, they decided that they had never known true chaos until that moment. The sound of clanging swords and gunshots rang out in the night, the ocean waves constantly rammed into the boat with a righteous fury, and the wind blew so harshly it was nearly impossible to hear anything. The sailors were fighting the pirates, the innocent passengers were fighting to stay alive, and from the few glimpses they had gotten of Hamlet, he was fighting, well, everyone.

“Should we get below deck?” Rosencrantz shouted above the wind, struggling to be heard.

Guildenstern shook his head. “They’ll tear the boat to pieces and we’ll be left to drown.” His brown curls were flying around his head, and he had his hands clamped around his ears in an effort to stop his external implants from being knocked out of his head.

Rosencrantz muttered a curse that no one heard. Their options were down to about zero. “What we need to do is find Hamlet so we can come up with a plan.”

“He’s somewhere in the middle of all of that mess.” Guildenstern gestured towards the horde of brawling people. He squinted and stared out into the ocean ahead of them. “Is anyone even steering this thing?” The boat they were currently standing on was sailing parallel to the pirate ship, though theirs was veering a bit off course. Neither ship had cast out an anchor, for reasons unknown to them. Everything had happened so fast.

“So, no chance of rescue, murderous pirates, and awful sailing weather combined?” Rosencrantz ticked off the list items on his fingers as he went. “Seriously, what are we going to do?”

Guildenstern bit his bottom lip, trying in vain to concentrate with all the distractions around him. “Um, we could always stow away on the pirate ship, I mean-” He looked around wildly, searching for ideas. His eyes met Hamlet’s, standing aboard a small motor boat that was beginning to drift away from the ship. “There!” He shouted, and both he and Rosencrantz ran over to the edge of the deck and leaned over to Hamlet. Guildenstern shouted for him to come back over and let them get in, but Hamlet frowned, flipped him off, and turned away from them as he let the boat begin to speed up.

Rosencrantz laughed instinctively, then realized and immediately started yelling over the waves at him. Guildenstern almost didn’t hear him, all the chaos around him blurring into white noise through his hearing implant. He flinched as it buzzed, and looked up at Rosencrantz, “I don’t want to die here.”

Rosencrantz looked back at him, and noticed how tense he was. He realized his implant must be malfunctioning, and wrapped his arms around him to hopefully calm him down.

Both of their heads snapped towards the fight as a shout of victory rose up among the pirates. The two of them realized with dismay that every single one of the king’s men were sprawled across the deck, dead. Rosencrantz grabbed his friend’s arm and dragged him behind the flapping sail, doing his best to keep them hidden from the bloodthirsty pillagers.

“...Alright boys, light it up!” The apparent leader said, with a peel of growling laughter. The pirates cheered again and rushed back across the planks that had been laid between the two decks with all the plunder they could carry.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern looked at each other in alarm. “Did he just say-”

Before they could move, one of the pirates dumped a barrel of gunpowder onto the ship from their much taller ship. It rained down from above, the wind scattering it all across the deck. The last of the pirates returned to the other boat and removed the gangplank.

Rosencrantz sprang up and sprinted to the side of the deck, Guildenstern following behind, hands still clamped over his ears to keep the buzzing at bay. “What are you going to do? We can’t just jump off the-”

“We have to move.” Rosencrantz said, and signed over his shoulder at him quickly, just in case

“What!?”

“Now!”

He grabbed Guildenstern’s hand and they jumped off the side of the ship, hitting the water with a crash right as multiple lit matches were thrown into the gunpowder.

To say there was a deafening explosion would be a lie. There were actually several deafening explosions. The two of them swam away from the ship as fast as they could as it blew to pieces behind them.

Splintered sections of driftwood rocketed from the ruined ship and splashed into the ocean around them. They quickly, and with some difficulty, grabbed onto a piece floating nearby them and held on as best they could.

“Okay, now that we’ve caught our breath, we need to try and catch up with the pirate sh-” Rosencrantz stopped as he looked around and the pirate ship was gone, merely a dot on the dark horizon.

“But- but Hamlet-”

“Yeah…”

“He just left us…”

“Yeah.”

They stared after the rapidly disappearing spec, both entertaining some last hope that their friend would turn it around and come save them. Alas, no such thing happened, and they were left floating in the middle of the sea with nothing to bring them home.

Guildenstern flinched again as his implants buzzed, telling him that they would die within a few hours. He hoped he’d be able to salvage them later from all the water-damage.

The realization that they would most likely be dead soon hit them several minutes after the pirate ship faded from view. Rosencrantz was still rattling off plans, from homing beacons to makeshift rafts, but they were all quickly shot down by Guildenstern and they were still in the ocean with no hope of rescue. They halfheartedly kicked and paddled the piece of driftwood in the general direction the other ship had gone, but the turbulent sea had sent them in so many different directions they had no idea which way that was anymore.

The waves still came with ferocity, and their little raft took it much harder than the boat had. It was becoming more and more difficult to stay holding on, and they both slipped off several times.

The minutes went by until an hour or two had passed. They could barely hear each other over the waves and wind, so eventually they ceased talking altogether. They were hungry, they were thirsty, they were tired, and they were cold. Though they were not aware of it, hypothermia had set in some time ago, and their body temperatures were getting dangerously low. They were both losing strength, losing the will to live.

Neither of them would have admitted it for all the money in the world.

They each stayed silent for the benefit of the other.

At one point a particularly vicious wave crashed into them so violently they both lost their grip on the driftwood before frantically grabbing for it again. Guildenstern let out a sigh of relief, then noticed that the roaring sounds of the sea seemed to have stopped entirely. He was extremely confused for a minute before realizing the wave had knocked out his hearing aids. They were lost, nowhere to be found. A new fear rose in him, and he tried to sign something to Rosencrantz but didn’t dare let go of the driftwood, his only lifeline.

He turned to his friend and looked him in the eyes for the first time in a while. He was so pale, so lifeless, barely clinging to the wood. It made Guildenstern so sad that it took him a moment to notice Rosencrantz was trying to say something to him.

Panic rose in his chest, like he was nine years old again and couldn't hear the fire alarm. "Rosencrantz!" he shouted frantically, hoping he could be understood. "Rosencrantz, I can't hear you!" His breaths started coming faster and faster until he was practically hyperventilating, and he started to search the waves around him, somehow hoping that the hearing aids would magically appear beside him. The wind he could do without, but he needed to hear his friend’s voice-

Rosencrantz risked letting go of the raft with one hand to place it on top of Guildenstern’s head, turning it back towards him. It’s okay, he mouthed. He had only been trying to ask him about his hearing aids.

Guildenstern calmed down a little and gave him a weak smile, nodding his head. He looked away and realized that there were a few tears streaming down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to feel all of his emotions and seal them away at the same time.

He almost didn’t notice when a colossal wave came their way. It smashed into them with enough force to send the raft soaring many feet forward through the air. Guildenstern, his eyes still closed, held on with all his might, his knuckles white with strain.

When it was over and the driftwood had settled again, he looked beside him.

Rosencrantz was gone.

He looked all around for his friend. His grip must not have been strong enough. He must have slipped off the raft and ended up somewhere in the ocean behind him. The hypothermia must have made him too weak. He must have… he must have…

“Rosencrantz!” Guildenstern screamed, though he wasn’t able to hear his own voice, he just prayed to any God that his friend could hear him. “Rosencrantz! ROSENCRANTZ! Where are you?!”

He looked back over the towering waves, but didn’t catch a glimpse of him.

If Rosencrantz was crying out for help, Guildenstern couldn’t hear him.

Maybe he was already dead.

This has to be a dream, Guildenstern thought desperately, still searching around him for some sign of his other half.

A hand shot out of the water and grasped his arm. He jumped, but immediately broke into a grin as Rosencrantz sputtered out of the water and grabbed hold of the driftwood. He didn’t say anything, all his energy was focused on staying alive, but Guildenstern began to feel tears of joy and pure exhaustion drip down his face.

The hours mixed into each other, there was no way of telling how much time had passed. They were barely staying conscious, the hyperthermia taking over their limbs and slowly prying their blistered hands from the wood. Guildenstern looked over as something brushed against his arm, and it didn’t feel like a fish. It was a small orange buoy. He tapped Rosencrantz’ shoulder, but he didn’t react, so he shook him gently. He opened his eyes after a moment, and looked over at him. His eyes widened when he saw the buoy. They used it to turn the wood around, and looked off in the other direction, to see many other buoys, leading all the way to… land.

It was the English sea-shore, with multiple boat docks for little private sailboats and motorboats. They couldn’t see much, just the tips of the sails winking at them from far off, but it was hope. Finally.

Rosencrantz seemed to come to life when he saw it, and they began, slowly, to paddle their way through the water and towards the shore, using the wood as a kick board.

#hamlet #hamlet modern au #shakespeare #hamletandthegang #guildenstern #rosencrantz #tw hypothermia #tw violence #hatg1

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