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starphasedd · 1 year

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Egon

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader)

Rating: 18 + for violence and explicit smut.

Synopsis: A small confession leads to something completely unexpected.

Notes: As promised!! I'm super proud of this guys! I think I captured Simon quite nicely. I am new to the fandom, and still reading lore. Feel free to correct me on anything you see wrong. Egon is actually the codename for my OC Ema 'Egon' Swann. This fic started with her, but as to not be selfish, I made it more inclusive by changing it to the reader perspective! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 8k+

AO3

Egon.

German, by nature. Meaning "strong with the wind"

That was the nickname the men of task force 141 gave you.

They had many reasons for this name. You were fast–agile on your feet. Small and clean. It was hard for any enemy to catch you, or even see you coming. You were strong too, for a woman of your size. You could easily take down a man twice your size with the techniques you studied and used over the years. But their main reason for giving you this nickname was for your sharpshooter skills. No matter the conditions, you always made your shot. Rain, thunder, wind. You never missed. No outlying factor kept you from doing your job.

That's what gained you the respect of task force 141.

You've known these men for a while, having been asked to join the team just over two years ago. In that time, you got to learn the boys well. All of them respected you and treated you as their equal–something you worked so hard for. Being a woman in this field of work is challenging, even for some of the strongest ladies you know. That didn't stop you from doing your job–which impressed Price when he worked with you on a mission before he asked you to join the team.

It was a mission in New York City, where you were a part of the NYPD task force. The lead was mafia related and Price's team was called in to assist. Your captain at the time knew it was a risky job, and he needed devoted and dangerous men to help him take their leader down. You along with a couple of your own comrades fought side-by-side task force 141 and pushed through a successful mission.

Everything after that is history. You left with Price and his team, never looking back.

These men are your family now, and you love every single one of them in your own way. Price and Gaz keep to themselves most of the time– Soap is the one you'd definitely call 'brother'. You and him have the best dynamic. He's goofy and chill, and you adore that about him. Inherently with him comes his Lieutenant, Ghost. A man you haven't really been able to get a read on since you met him those couple years ago. Yes, of course, it's mainly to do with the fact that he wears that damn mask twenty-four-seven. But he also isn't the most personable guy. He speaks when he needs to, and fights when he has to--but he hasn't really gone out of his way to get to know you–even though you and Soap are practically attached at the hip.

Being close to Soap means he typically picks you to go along with him and Ghost on missions. Which you don't mind. When the three of you get split up, the commlink keeps you all close, figuratively.

One of the things you and Soap bonded over was your mutual adoration of music. You didn't have the best childhood, and music was your escape. It appeared Soap used music to his comfort as well. So, when you're on missions but split apart, Soap keeps in your ear either spatting off random lyrics of songs, or requesting you sing to him. Much to Ghost's dismay–who has to listen to you two banter about why you don't like country music, or why Soap can remember so many random lyrics. Ghost keeps quiet, and you wonder if you get on his nerves. He's the type of guy to speak his mind and the fact that he hasn't said anything yet suggests he may…be okay with it? Who knows with that man.

Ghost keeps close, but far away at the same time. He treated you like an equal, and always made sure he had your six. The same thing goes for you. Granted, the giant, pure muscle of a man never really needed your help. You were always there for him. Over time, he seemed to soften on you. He would use your real name on occasion. He got worried sometimes when you didn't answer his comms right away and would scold you once you were all back together.

'Fuck woman, answer the bloody comms when your superior asks for your status.' He would gruff in that deep British baritone.

You would never admit it, but something about that man set your body on fire. His size, his voice, his attitude. Fuck, his attitude alone. He exudes confidence and experience without being cocky. There's nothing quite like a confident man–a man who knows what he wants and can take it whenever he wants….but doesn’t. He was always looming over your shoulder, watching you intently through the holes in his mask. Soap would comment on it every now and then, making fun of the Lieutenant for not being able to keep his eyes off you for a moment. You didn't think it was that serious–you convinced yourself he was just watching you for your own safety. As any good teammate would.

But then the subtle touches started. You would feel his large hand splaying over your lower back as he walked beside you up the copter ramp, almost as if he was guiding you. Of course it never happened if someone was around to see it—he made sure of it. But it would happen more frequently. They were genuine, and gentle touches. And completely innocent. Being a woman, you had an intuition for men's intentions–since you dealt with them your entire life. Ghost never set any alarms off. You always felt safe with him.

You trusted him with your life, and you hoped he felt the same about you.

He was cold and calculating—mysterious and quiet. Though he showed those small, intimate minstations to you and you alone, you tried not to think too much into it. Ridding yourself of the disappointment before it reared its ugly head. You often thought about what he looked like under that mask. You've seen his eyes countless times. They were brown like freshly ground coffee. He had blonde eyelashes that stuck out amongst the black paint he smeared right there. He had a strong, chiseled jawline. Sometimes you can see a few prominent veins through his mask when he tightens it. His neck is strong and thick, no doubt riddled with scars from his many years slaughtering men.

You imagined what his body looked like too. He's a big man, standing almost an entire foot taller than you. He had thick, broad shoulders and a puffy, muscular chest. Even when he wore one hundred pounds of gear, you could still see how fit he was. His waist was thin and strong, he had a certain swagger when he walked that always caught your eye. His forearms almost looked fat, they were so fucking thick with muscle. He was covered in huge protruding veins on both arms–they were even visible on the arm that was covered in tattoos. And his hands always made you blush. They were twice the size of yours, and you spent many occasions watching his big fingers work the trigger on his guns like a thread. He was nimble, and agile there.

You wondered what they would feel like–if they would grip your throat with delicacy or fierceness. If they would roam down your neck and swallow your breasts in a warm squeeze. If they would trail your curves all the way down to your ass and nead the soft, pillowy flesh there. If they would tease you–circling around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you were weeping for him. If they would pump you, fill and stretch you out until you were ready for his cock. Or would he even give you that decency and instead, take you unprepared in a hot, lustful frenzy?

It's all human nature, you suppose. It's natural for a woman to be sexually attracted to a protector like Ghost. It goes back thousands of years–it's all instinct. That's what you tell yourself after you cum on your hand thinking about your Lieutenant. When that wave of unfiltered shame and guilt rushes over you following your high.

_______

"Egon, how copy?" Comes that familiar gruffy voice.

You jump slightly, shuddering out of your thoughts as you neel against the abandoned brick building. Your rifle in your left hand, fingers tight on the trigger.

"Jesus, Lieutenant–awaiting target. No eyes yet." You grunt out, face heating up in embarrassment. He always knew when to catch you off guard.

"Eyes on the prize, sergeant. Stay focused."

You scoff, eyes rolling as you adjust your stance slightly. It's dark, the only light you have to use coming from old, orange colored lamps hanging from the buildings. To top that off, it's been raining all day so it's doubly hard to see far in the distance. Even with a scope.

"Easy for you to say, Lieutenant. I'm out here freezing my ass off and you're inside a nice warm building." You mumble into the mic.

"Punishment for not listening to your superior."

"Bite me." You retort.

No response. You grin. Any opportunity you get to fight back at the Lieutenant scolding you, you'll take.

A few minutes in silence go by as you wait patiently for your target to come into view. You have a black mask covering the bottom half of your face, leaving only your eyes and forehead exposed. A heavy leather hood covers your hair. Soft pelts of rain dropping keep you focused in the moment. Your tactical boots are worn and wet, holes from misuse letting water in to soak your socks. The harness tied around your waist and thighs is digging into your pants, which are rubbing and chafing your skin. Your back hurts from being on your feet all day, and your head is pounding. You usually get headaches when it rains. You are so fucking ready for this day to be over.

You stay steadfast nonetheless. Eyes focused on the door the target will be coming out of.

A few more minutes go by in silence when you hear the comm start to buzz, indicating someone was about to speak.

"Why can't orphans play baseball?"

You can't help the cheeky grin that creeps its way upon your face.

"Why?" You ask.

"They don't know where home is."

"Ghost," You say with a huff, attempting to hide the laugh trying to claw its way out of your throat. "Shut the fuck up."

"It's inappropriate to speak to your superior that way."

"Sorry, let me rephrase. Shut the fuck up, sir."

"Better."

You grin, holding the butt of your rifle up to your cheek in anticipation. Your finger reaches up and you adjust the scope. You close your left eye and squint your right as you look through the glass. You hadn't realized you never turned off your mic when Ghost crimes in again.

"Control your breathing, Sergeant. It'll help you focus better."

Your breath catches in your throat the moment is deep voice comes through the ear piece. Was the bastard really listening to you breath this whole time? Your tongue slides over your bottom lip, moistening the smooth skin there. You let a long breath come out before slowly breathing back in, reducing your heart rate. With your breath now cool and even, you sink back into the task at hand.

"Atta girl." Ghost whispers in that english accent, his voice sending a wave of chills down your spine.

Your chest pulls tight at his encouraging words, and if you hadn't been so focused on the door in front of you, you may have retorted something flirty back. But just as you were about the touch the communicator, the door in your sights swings open. You pause and hunch down impossibly lower as a tall man, accompanied by three other men stumble out of the building. You're so low now your chest could practically touch your boots. Your back is arched and steady, fingers itching to pull the trigger as you search for the man you have a description of.

The rain is starting to pick up now, thunder rocketing through the air as lightning snaps to the ground in the distance. Your breathing is steady and firm, flowing visible streams in front of your face as the chill in the air makes you shiver.

You're so focused on identifying the target in front of you that you don't hear the footsteps approach you from behind. They're quiet, trained and quick. You lock eyes on the target. A tall, skinny man. He has long, curly blonde hair that flows just past his shoulders. The identifying marker is a scar on the left side of his face. It's long–stretching from the bottom of his jaw all the way up and over his eye. It stops just above his eyebrow.

Rain is starting to smear over the scope lense, making it increasingly difficult to see the taget. After a moment, you lick your lips away, your pointer finger hones down on the trigger and starts to stretch it down. The man across the way reaches down for the door handle on the SVU next to him. You take one final breath in and hold, steady and true. Your finger pulls down, emitting a loud pop in your ear. It's quick, and the target immediately falls to the ground. Not a word, not a sound. Silence as his body hits the cold, wet concrete. The men around him start to panic and pull their guns out, rapidly stomping around in circles to try and spot where the bullet came from.

One turns in your direction. He doesn't see you, but starts running in your direction. You cock back and lift on your feet. You stand to almost your full height, knees slightly bent. You pull the trigger again. The second victim drops to the ground with a loud and painful grunt. At this point, you've given yourself away. Blood rushes through your ears as the two other men start sprinting in your direction. You slowly start to back up, cocking back yet again to let another bullet fly. Bullseye–a direct hit to another man's head. Your focus now remains on the last man standing who has gone into a hiding stance. You stand up fully and start to turn. When you do, you hear the sound of another rifle going off. Blood splatters across your face as a man–whom you had no idea was directly behind you–falls against the brick wall and his lifeless body slides down.

You gasp softly at the sight–having had absolutely no clue the man was behind you getting ready to attack. You look around quickly, trying to locate where the shot came from when Ghost's voice comes through the headset.

"Thought you knew better, sergeant."

Your breathing is heavy as you look up at the building across the street. On the fourth floor, Ghost moves forward to reveal himself through the window. The bone part of his mask almost lights up as he positions his rifle and shoots the last of the men on the street. He looks down at you as he lowers his rifle. His massive body towering in the window. His eyes lock with yours as your chest heaves up and down. The hood on your jacket has fallen now, and rain is starting to soak your hair. It sticks to your cheeks and neck. The water soaks your face.

"Were you watching me?" You ask, slight irritation in your tone.

"Had I not been, you'd be dead."

You scoff, clenching your jaw and rolling your tongue in your mouth as you keep eye contact with him.

"Get down here. Let's go."

Embarrassment was evident in your tone, but you couldn't hide that from Ghost. You couldn't hide anything from a man with his experience. So you gave in and let it out.

Ghost was down in your area within a minute or so, and he approached you slowly.

It was still raining as you and Ghost started walking towards the safe house. It was a small cottage on the outskirts of this shitty little town. Price said there was a shower, and that's all you could ask for. You walk silently next to your superior, who hasn't looked at or spoken to you since he came down from the building. You keep your eyes forward and alert as your heavy boots slush through the wet streets.

"Have you heard from Soap?" You ask softly.

"Affirmative. He's on the other side of the city with Price and Gaz. They're at the other safehouse." He responded in that deep tone.

He's safe. A gentle sigh of relief left your lips as you continued your walk to the safehouse.

The walk there stays silent. With Ghost keeping close to your rear, he almost hovers over you but he's slow. Which is unusual for him. On occasion, you could have sworn you could hear his breathing. It was loud and sounded labored. You raised your voice a little at one point to ask if he was alright and grunted back at you. Something seemed off.

After a couple hours carefully trekking through the nearly flooded city, you made it to the safe house. It was pitch black, away from any city lights to give you away. It was a small, one room cottage. When you opened the door, you cleared the room with your rifle. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to house the two of you until the morning. There was a small, two person bed, a run-down kitchen and a small, detached bathroom with holes in the door. It was filthy, but you were thankful to be out of the rain. You noticed a small fireplace that seemed clean enough to use.

You turn to Ghost, who is towering behind you. "I'll start a fire. You should try and get a hold of Price and let him know we're okay."

The large man grunted, and turned slowly in the direction on the bed. You watched his feet almost drag the floor. And when he sat down on the edge of the bed, you noticed him trying to conceal the hand that was holding his side.

You watch him for a few moments before turning your attention to the fire. It was starting to get cold. Worry about Ghost later so the both of you don't freeze to death here. Gathering what little kindling and firewood you could find, you begin to light the fire. First you pile in some pieces of wood you found here and there, and then you line the tower with what kindling you could find. Reaching into your soaked chest pocket, you pulled out the lighter you hoped wasn't flooded. And by some miracle, it wasn't. You easily ignited a small fire in the run-down fireplace.

Turning around, you glance over to see Ghost still sitting with his hand on his side. His hulking figure dips the mattress by a good bit.

"Fucking awful communicators." He grunts out before he rips the mic off his head.

"Not able to get a hold of Price, huh?" You say with a soft smile.

He shakes his head slowly. A grunt being his only response, again.

You stand from where you sit, starting to pull your weapons and gear off. Your weapons come first. You gently set the rifle up against the wall, and place your handguns beside them. Knives get stuck in a pile next to the handguns. You reach around to unstrap your vest, pulling it off your shoulders. It drops to the floor with a thud, which grabs Ghost's attention. Once your vest is off, you move to take your harness off. Ghost watches you through half lidded eyes. You prop one leg up on a grate for better access to the straps that trail from your waist, all the way down to your feet. Starting with the foot strap, you unclip the buckle. Your hands slide up your calves to your thighs, where the second set of straps dig into the skin there.

You quickly make way with those buckles and pull them down your legs. The last strap around your waist is easy. You stand and unclip the last buckle and let that strap fall to your feet. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as you turn to walk towards Ghost. He was still watching you, his hand holding his side. He hasn't moved–still sitting there uncomfortably, no doubt, in his full gear. You approach him slowly, hands hugging your hips as you test these waters.

"Let me see." You say gently as you stop directly in front of him. He's so big that he's still eye height with you, even sitting down.

"I'm fine." He grunts.

"Sir–"

"I said I'm fine. Tend to your own." He says.

"I just want to help, sir. "

He glances up at you through his mask. You're standing close–so close he can feel the heat radiating off your body. His eyes meet your face, his hand still hovering over the wound on his side.

"Do you trust me?" You ask gently.

He seems hesitant, no doubt unsure what he wants to do. But after a few moments of watching you, he lets the hand on his side slowly drop to his thigh. He breathes out slowly.

"Yes."

You take this moment to be bold for the first time with him. You suck a breath in and hold, slowly reaching forward and gliding your hands over his shoulders. They fall down his back to unstrap the back of his weapons vest. Your eyes bounce back and forth between his as your chest presses softly to the pack on the front of his body. You pull the straps up over his shoulders and let the best slide down his front, pulling it off and gently setting it down on the floor by his feet. Next, your nimble fingers work at the zipper on his jacket–pulling down until it unclips at the bottom. You run your hands over his shoulders again to pull the rain jacket off–setting it on the mattress next to him.

He looks bigger this way, which should be impossible. You just took eighty pounds of gear off his body but even now, in just his black pull-over hoodie and rain jacket, he looks bigger. His muscles are more defined. You can see the bulge of his strong pecs, the roundness of his arms.

You stand up to look at him once again.

"May I?" You ask softly.

He doesn't speak, but nods slowly.

You mind his permission and slowly grab the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it up and over his chest. What reveals is a nasty stab wound–about three inches long. Blood trails all the way down to his jeans. Most of it is dry, but some warm blood indicates it's still bleeding.

"Jesus wept. You were going to leave this unattended?" You ask, glancing up to meet his gaze.

He brings his hand up to hold his hoodie for you. You remove your hand and reach into the first aid kit attached to his utility belt. Pulling it open and starting to look through the supplies.

"I've had worse." He retorts with a snort.

You can't help but smile gently, looking at him through the corner of your eye as you rummage through his bandage pack.

"You're an idiot."

"I'll be sure to remember that when I'm doing your performance review."

"In that case, be sure to remember this. I want a raise." You say with a small laugh as you set some bandages down on his thigh.

"A raise? You can barely do what you're told now. Only good employees get raises." He retorts, you swear you can hear the grin on his mouth.

"I've never been one to respect authority." You say, a cheeky grin meeting his gaze as your hand brings a sanitary wipe to his wound.

"Fuckin' Americans."

You laugh out loud this time, hand gently gliding over his wound–cleaning it with the sanitary wipe. You take notice of his build. He's strong, thick and muscular. He has some chest hair, and some hairs that trail under his jeans. He's incredibly built as well–of course he is. You knew that. He was a huge man, and incredibly strong. There was no doubt in your mind he was sculpted to the heavens. His skin is littered with scars. Some range from as small as your fingernails, to the size of your fist. You wish you could touch them all, to ask their stories. How did he get this one? That one?

The little shack is quiet for a few more minutes as you finish cleaning and treating his wound. You take it slow so as to not cause him any discomfort. Something tells you he really doesn't care, but you do. His eyes watch you through the hole in the skull of his mask. The black eye paint makes his blue hues glow in the moonlight. Rain patters softly against the metal roof. Your hand glides smoothly over the patch you're placing over the stab wound. You flatten your palm to smooth it out as much as possible. His breathing is steady as it fans against your cheek. Your proximity to him right now may have been alarming if you didn't know him well.

He stays still, watching you as he holds the hoodie up over his chest. His gaze brings goosebumps to the back of your neck, making your hairs stand up. You feel the need to break this awkward silence.

"This scar looks like it was painful." You say ever so softly, your free hand coming down to the four inch scar on his abdomen. Your palm flattens and your thumb grazes it gently.

"They were all painful." He says, a hint of tease in his tone. His voice has softened considerably.

"Yeah? I wouldn't have guessed, sir." You say, eyes flashing up to meet his as your mouth pulls into a sweet smile again.

"Simon. No need to be formal when we're alone." He says, followed by your name. It rolled off his tongue with ease–like it was the most natural thing for him to say.

"Right. Simon–" you say softly. You're not pulling apart the last part of the bandage to stick it on top. "--how did you get this one?" You ask, pointing to another scar on one of his pecs.

"In the Military. My first deployment. This was one of the first." He says.

"I remember those days. I was eighteen when I joined the Marine Corp. Got a few scars myself. Though, they're more mental than anything." You say, bringing a hand up to tap the side of your head and smile. "Yours have more meaning behind them, I think."

"Rightfully ugly things." He says, his eyes now following your hands as they work to cover the rest of his wound.

"Not at all–" you say as you stop your movements. Your eyes meet his when he takes notice and lifts his head to see you. "--I find them endearing."

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you–indicating he's unsure of the meaning behind your statement.

"I mean, they show your growth…as a man. You had to overcome each one of these–" you say as you move to continue wrapping his wound. "--they're all testaments to how strong you are. Mentally and physically. I don't find them ugly in the slightest."

Your hand stops moving as you've finally finished patching his wound. Standing up straight, you bring your eyes back to his. He slowly releases his hoodie to let it drop back down, but his eyes never once leave yours. He almost seems dumbfounded–at a loss for words. He just stares at you for a few moments before speaking.

"I don't understand." He says, almost a whisper.

"What's not to understand?" You ask.

His hands are laying on his thighs, but his fists are clenching and unclenching. He doesn't speak, so you take this chance to elaborate.

"Simon, I don't know much of your past. Well, anything about your past, really–" you say gently, your hands slowly glide up and test the waters, laying on top of his strong shoulders. "--I don't need to. I know the man you are now. Neither of us are perfect. But I do know that you're a good man, who will always have my back. That's all that matters."

His eyes never leave yours as your hands slowly glide over from his shoulders, and up his neck to rest holding his strong jaw.

"And I will always have yours. That's what being a team is all about."

You're holding his jaw gently; you can feel it clenching as he watches you through the skull mask. You're close to him now, closer than you have been. Your hips are slotted between his legs. His fingers reach out and softly graze the outside hem on your jeans–silently asking for permission. You glance down to his hands, before back up to his face and slowly nod.

His large hands come out to flatten against the outside of your thighs, softly squeezing the flesh there as they glide up and over your hips. They rest there, just above your ass. His warmth sends chills down your spine as he pulls you closer, your chest almost touching his. His palms spread against your curves and his thumbs dig into your belly.

"What's on your mind, sergeant?" Ghost asks, his voice barely above a whisper as your face inches closer to his.

You continue holding his jaw, keeping him attentive to you and you alone. Your breath fans over his covered lips. Your thumbs start to rub small circles over the sharp bones under them.

"I often think…" you trail off as your right thumb moves towards the center of his face--finding his bottom lip under the mask and pressing down. "...think about what your smile looks like. I reckon you're quite handsome."

"Is that right?" His voice is low, now laced with something akin to longing.

His hands give your hips a good squeeze, shuffling your lower half closer to his. His thighs trap you in their strength.

"Mhm." You hum softly.

You find yourself being bold again, thumbs leaving his lips to trail down his neck again. You locate the bottom of his mask and slip both thumbs under the hem. You stop momentarily, giving him ample time to stop you. Only, he doesn't. You can feel the moment his muscles tense and you hear his breath hitch. But his eyes never leave you, and neither do his hands. They squeeze you and pull you harder.

As to not betray his trust, your eyes slowly flutter closed. Your thumbs slip under his mask completely and gingerly begin pulling up. You pull it up and over his lips. Along the way, you can feel the defined muscles of his neck–the large veins. His chin and jaw are prickly, most likely from a recent shave. You pull it up to sit just in the tip of his nose. Eager fingers return to his chin, thumb coming back to slide over his lower lip. It's full, and warm. Feels slightly damp, like he had just licked it. His breath is warm on your hand as you continue to feel him here.

Your other fingers stretch to try and feel the back of his head, wanting to know if he has thick or coarse hair. Is it curly or straight? Blonde like his eyelashes or brown?

His hands become impatient and begin sliding up your sides. In the process, he pulls the skin-tight undershirt out from under your pants. Cold air rushes through and touches the little part of your belly exposed. As his digits continue sliding up, they eventually curve out and up both of your arms until they meet at the base of your neck. His fingers dig into the skin there and start to gently pull you forward.

In the shuffle, your hands slide down his chest and come to a rest on top of his biceps. The muscles flex under his hoodie as he pulls you forward. Your eyes stay closed as you feel his breath getting closer and closer to your face.

"Tell me to stop." He whispers. It was hoarse, and deep. Laced with lust.

You breathe out slowly, shaky and anxious.

And when you don't, he kisses you.

To say he just kisses you is a gross understatement to what the both of you start to share. Your entire body lights up, chills shooting down your spine like fireworks as he twists his head to the side and slowly licks your bottom lip. His lips are soft and giving. They flatten when they meet yours to cover as much ground as they can. You open your mouth, giving him full access to that wet cavern. Your mouth meets his again, more heated this time. His tongue slides inside your mouth with ease, shooting to fight and tackle yours in a fight for dominance.

Your fingers start to dig into his biceps, and that elicits a grunt moan from the man kissing you. He continues kissing you, tongue exploring your mouth as his large hands start to slide down your body again. His right hand slides behind you to trace your back, and his left opts to take the front. He stops at your breast–giving it a firm squeeze when he gets it in his grasp. Your nipple hardens under his firm touch, a small whimper getting lost in his mouth as he explores your body. The hand on your back pulls you impossibly closer, pressing your much smaller body tight to his.

He continues his assault on your breast for another minute or so, all while continuing to kiss you with a certain ferocity. His tongue leaves your mouth to lap up the saliva surrounding your lips and you erupt in shivers when the hand squeezing your breast starts to trail lower. He traces your curves until he reaches the metal of your belt buckle. His digits slowly begin to work at the buckle, setting the button on your jeans free once he's worked it open. He kisses you as he pulls the button open, his fingers grabbing hold of the zipper and slowly pulling it down. It feels like it takes him an eternity to work your jeans open, but your body buzzes with excitement when you hear the zipper coming down.

He stops for a moment, continuing to kiss you as his hand rests there on the buckle of your jeans. You slide your hand back up to his shoulders and softly rub the muscles there, pulling a quiet whimper from his lips. Yes, a whimper. From Ghost.

Fuck. If that doesn't get you wet, nothing will. But it does. In that moment, you feel the arousal start to ooze out of your cunt. You may have thought you started your period if you weren't sure it was because of him. You can't help but rub your thighs together when the pressure starts to become uncomfortable. Ghost takes notice of this and pulls away from you. His fingers begin to dance with the hem of your underwear.

"Tell me to stop." He repeats against your lips, still barely above a whisper. You can feel his eyes burning into you, but yours are still closed.

The cool leather of his glove meets with your sensitive skin when you don't answer him. Slowly, achingly slowly, his fingers sink under your underwear to find what he wants so desperately right now.

You whine when the leather touches your sensitive skin there, his fingers sink down through your folds to truly feel where you're warmest. His fingers glide easily through your arousal; the texture of his clove adds a bit more feeling to it.

"Fuck." he curses against your lips as he continues to rub around your needy hole.

He uses his fingers to collect your wetness and drags it up to that swollen bundle of nerves. He uses your own arousal to prepare you. His thumb begins to rub firm circles over your clit, causing you shudder and whimper in his arms. Your eyes squeeze shut harder, face heating up and turning red. Something you never thought he'd see—the freckles on your cheeks being revealed by the change in color on your face. Your fingers dig hard into his shoulders, holding on for what feels like dear life.

It's been a decade since you've been with a man. It's not something you were particularly proud of, because nothing could quite scratch that itch like the touch of a man. But your job kept you busy, and you felt just fine pleasuring yourself. You were always an independent woman. But fuck. Fuck. His touch felt like fire. Like pure bliss. The way he continued to draw tight circles over your clit while his palm flattened on your cunt and two large fingers sunk into your wet heat. They were so big, so strong while they pumped you full. It wasn't long before he found that spot too–the spongy piece of heaven deep inside your core.

Your head tumbles back on your shoulders, mouth falling open silently as his fingers work magic inside you. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your chest where it's open from the u-neck undershirt– peppering kisses on the warm skin there. Your hand involuntarily comes up to caress the back of his head. Such a sweet sentiment he does, while absolutely ruining your brief innocence with his fingers. You whimper and cry for him as he pumps and pumps and pumps.

You let out one harsh breath, followed by a quiet but sweet whimper– and out tumbles his name.

Simon.

That's all it takes to break him. He huffs a hard breath against your chest and kisses the skin one more time before pulling back, taking the hand out of your pants with him.

You gasp at the lack of contact. You almost open your eyes in the shuffle but as if he knew what was going to happen, his hand comes up to cover your eyes.

"Lay down. Now." He orders.

He guides you back a few steps, hand still over your eyes. You feel him stand, and he brings a hand to your shoulder to guide you back towards the mattress. Your legs hit the edge and cause you to fall to your back. His hand leaves your face, but you obediently keep them closed for him. He shuffles a bit before his hands are on you again, slipping your combat boots off one at a time. Then his hands are on your waist, pulling your jeans and underwear down in one swoop. Involuntarily, your hands shoot down to cover your core and you hear him grunt.

"Don't hide from me, sergeant." He says in the deep english tone.

His hands meet yours and wrap around them, slowly pulling them off your weeping cunt. A breath leaves his mouth harshly when you're revealed to him. He kneels instantly, large hands flattening against the inside of your thighs, at the apex of your legs and waist. On each side of where he just had his fingers deep. His hot breath fans against your sex.

"Fucking perfect." He says as he fits himself between your legs. His hands slide from the top, all the way to your calves to pull them up and over his shoulders.

You shudder in anticipation, back arching slightly in presentation. Ghost takes notice.

"Dirty girl." He praises

That's the last thing he says before he dives in. His mouth closes over your swollen clit, tongue circling you in a delicious dance. Your back immediately arches even more, muscles tensing down below. His tongue is smooth as it glides so elegantly over that center of pleasure. He moans into you, drinking the taste of you in. The top half of his face is still covered, only letting the bottom half of his face free so he can eat you out like this.

Your hands desperately search for purchase. They start by clenching the bedsheets, before twitching hard and moving to lay on your tummy. His hands find yours quickly and he presses down, anchoring your much smaller hands under his to your tummy. His fingers thread through yours and give a reassuring squeeze. It's odd. You'd never think of him as the gentle type. But he always seemed to surprise you.

Your hands start to close on his head, holding him still right where you want him. Anxious fingers gripping the mask and holding him down. He moans again, the vile wet sounds of his dirty act echoing through the room as he pulls you closer to an orgasm. His hands hold you steady as he pushes his face in deeper, completely enveloping his face in you. His cock grows achingly hard in his jeans, throbbing to be set free. One of his hands leaves yours to come down and insert two large fingers in yet again.

Something white and hot starts to stir in your lower belly. Like a thread being pulled tight on each end, ready to snap at any given moment. Your cunt starts to clench impossibly tight around Ghost's fingers and he moans into you yet again.

"Atta girl. I can feel it. Give me a good one." He encourages through licks.

Fuck, his voice. The tone and the accent–they do something to you. His voice repeats in the back of your mind as your muscles tense all at once. A hoarse whimper leaves your lips as he nibbles down on your little clit, cunt pulling tight and hot as the thread finally snaps and he gets what he asked for. You cum all over his face, body convulsing from the over stimulation as he continues to suck on you through the pulses. Your fingers lock dead in his mask–you think you can feel his hair. It's thick.

He groans into you, his voice vibrating your lower body as he slows his pace and inevitably decides to take pity on you and stop.

You feel his mouth leave your cunt as you struggle to catch your breath. His hands leave you too. Slightly concerned, you start to sit up. Your eyes are still closed. His hands stop you from standing up.

"Bloody delicious you are, sweet girl."

His hand caresses your jaw, and you hear him fumbling with his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his zipper coming down.

"Open."

Your eyes flutter open and you glance up at him standing tall over you. His mask is pulled back down to conceal his mouth. You lock eyes with him and stare him down as he begins to pull his cock out of his jeans. You keep your eyes on him until he breaks contact for a moment. He glances down towards his cock and then back at you. You take the hint and slowly lower your gaze until you meet his cock in all its glory. He's big–covered in veins. His tip is red and smeared with pre-cum. Gods, you got him this wound up?

"You want this?" He asks.

You don't have to answer him. The lustful look in your eyes as you glance back up at him is enough to make his cock jump. He growls low in his throat.

"Turn around. Bend over."

Not having to be told twice, you do as you're told. You stand and turn so your back is facing him. You bend down, revealing your cunt from behind as you find your place bent over the bed for him. His massive form stalks behind you–like you're his prey. Just waiting to be captured. His macho, mean, attitude has always sent chills down your spine. This situation was no different.

His hand finds your waist, gripping on your side as his other holds his heavy cock up to position it at your entrance. While he rubs the head of his cock through your slick to prepare it, the hand holding your waist moves to the center of your lower back and his palm flattens. He pushes down, forcing you to arch in presentation for him. He curses under his breath. Fucking perfect. Beautiful little cunt.

His heavy boots shuffle closer as the head of his cock begins to breach your tight hole. Your breath catches at the sudden intrusion. The hand on your lower back holds you steady as he starts pushing forward until he's fully sheathed inside you. You let a moan slip when the hand on your back starts to rub up and down you slowly, almost in a comforting manner.

"Fuck." He groans out when he bottoms out.

He starts with deep thrusts, getting your cervix used to the invasion. Your knees begin to buckle. No need to worry though. His hands both move to either side of your waist to hold you up as he begins to thrust a little faster–pulling out farther and re-sheathing himself. His back straightens and his head falls back in pleasure as soft groans come from under the mask. Your moans join him as the wet sounds of your combined arousal fills the room.

You moan sweetly–which teases him. A strong, capable woman like yourself reduced to a whimpering mess under her Lieutenant. It spurs him on and makes him needy.

He starts thrusting at a more harsh pace now. His hips collide with yours as the bed rattles on its old, dilapidated frame. The metal digging into the wooden floor. His hands squeeze your hips tight and he pulls you back onto him in time with his own thrusts.

"Insatiable woman. Drive me mad with this body." He grunts as his hips slam into yours.

"Simon–" you whimper out, cut off by a particularly sharp thrust.

"You--you know what you do to me, woman?" He starts between harsh breaths as he pounds into you. "Can't keep my eyes off you. You're a goddamn distraction–" he continues to moan loudly, not caring if anyone may hear. "--walk around in those tight ass jeans….n'that low cut shirt. You do it on purpose, don't you?"

"M's-sorry sir–" you manage to whimper as he continues to pound into you.

"The fuck you are." He says before another hard thrust. His grunts, leaning forward to grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back.

The same sensation from earlier starts to boil over again. The thread is pulled tight once more, ready to snap at any given moment as he continues to hammer into the sensitive spot inside you. His breathing is heavy, grunting loudly in your ear as pounds down into you. You start to tighten around him once more and once again, he takes notice right away.

"Already, sweet girl? Can you give me another good one?"

You whimper his name.

"Words."

"Yes." You moan.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Simon."

"Good fucking girl."

He relases your hair and stands up straight, anchoring down on your hips and letting absolutely fucking loose. He starts pounding into you ruthlessly. His hips jackhammering into yours and rendering you speechless. His harsh thrusts steal the air from your lungs. All you can do is lay there, drool like a dog and take his cock the way he needs to give it to you.

Your orgasm snaps through you and burns like wildfire. Your body rocks violently back against his and he groans when you start to clench around him.

This was unlike any experience you've ever had. It was hard for any of your past partners to get you off, period. Ghost just made you cum twice. And violently.

"Fuck. Where do you want it?" He asks.

It takes you a few hard thrusts to try and speak–trying to gain your composure and suck some air back in your lungs to speak.

"In-inside–please–" you manage to moan.

For the first time this evening, his movements falter. He seems unsure as he tries to regain his rhythm.

"That's–no, no I can't….you'll…" he grunts as he continues to rut into you.

"Safe. I-I promise." You whimper out. "Wanna feel you."

"Fuuuuck." He groans out, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his release. His hands come up to grab your shoulders, anchoring down as he continues fucking your raw.

"Don't move. Don't fucking move, sweet girl. Gonna--gonna fill you up, make you mine."

"Simon--" you whimper out.

That last whimper is what seems to take him over edge. He groans your name one last time before his hips bottom out again and come to a screeching hault. You feel his cock start to throb before the warmth of his cum begins filling you. He shoots what feel like endless streams of his while juices inside until it starts overflowing and running down your thighs. You lay there on your stomach trying to catch your breath. Not long after, you hear the heaving mess of a man who just rearranged you collapse to his knees behind you. You hear him turn to sit on hid ass, shifting to lean up against the bed.

You lay there exhausted, listening to the sounds of his labored breathing. You're too worn out to move, so you opt to stay where you are. Not even caring what a mess you look like.

After a few minutes you feel yourself beginning to drift off to sleep. The exhaustion is taking over. It gets quiet after a few more minutes and you feel completely relaxed. You're so out of it, you don't notice Ghost getting up from his spot on the floor.

You don't feel him softly cleaning you with one of his extra shirts.

You don't feel him start to re-dress you.

And you don't feel him lay you down on the bed, when he climbs in behind you and wraps his arms around you.

And in the morning, it suprises you when he asks you about your time in the United States Marine Corps.

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #smut #Egon

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theladyofshalott1989 · 2 months

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Thoughts on the Touring Production of Company

I had the extreme pleasure of getting to experience the currently touring gender-swapped (!!!!!!) revival of Stephen Sondheim's Company last night, AND OH MY GOD, I can't get this production out of my head. (I might even be thinking about writing a fic about it, SO THAT'S A THING.)

But I digress... BACK TO MY THOUGHTS This production was truly amazing. And it's definitely my new favorite musical. Some context: I knew absolutely nothing about this musical besides being familiar with the most popular song ("Being Alive"). And that Bobby, the main character, is typically played by a man. The revival swaps the lead role with a woman, Bobbie, played by the gorgeous, extremely talented Britney Coleman (here's an article about the production with a video of her performing "Being Alive", AKA FREAKING WATCH IT). She was also apparently in "A Very Potter Musical"??!!!!! So there's that too. So I have a lot of thoughts and they are going to be all over the place because I only had a few hours of sleep last night AND I am still processing. BUT the feeling that I can't get out of my head as of this morning is how absolutely thrilled I was that the show was gender-swapped. PERSONAL STUFF COMING PREPARE YOURSELF! I don't think I have ever in my life related to a female character in any form of art. Like literally ever. The closest I have ever come is maybeeeeeeeee when Elizabeth Swann became a pirate in The Pirates of the Caribbean series. LMAO. Whether this quirk of mine is a personal fault or what, I don't know (nor do I care, honestly...), BUT this has proven to be a problem when I'm in shows. Obviously, when you're playing a character onstage, you really should be able to relate to said character on some level. This is extremely difficult for me. Growing up, past a certain age (let's be honest: puberty...) I was always cast as the sweet, innocent ingenue. Literally always. And I despised it. I wanted to play the male characters. (In fact, my dream role is Peter Pan, which luckily, is typically played by a woman, so yay me, this could maybe possibly happen someday...) The male characters are more often than not better written (sighhhhhhh), have more interesting songs, have more freaking FUN on the stage, and what have you. I could go on, so I'll stop there. OBVIOUSLY, there are many unfortunate reasons why male characters are more fleshed out than female characters, and I won't get into that because it's extremely nuanced and I'd want to do more research before commenting on it, etc.

I guess what I'm coming to realize is that this show gave me HOPE. Britney as Bobbie was so natural. I never questioned why a woman was cast in this role. And honestly? I feel like that could be the case for SO MANY SHOWS. Give me a female PHANTOM. Give me a female SWEENEY TODD. For god's sake, I would love to play the role of JEAN VALJEAN. Is that really too much to ask?!!! Dear Broadway, let's gender-swap more shows, mmmkay? K THANKS BAI. Ok... I'm done now. Thanks for reading. LMAO.

#unhinged thoughts #but are they really unhinged? nahhhhh #company revival GO SEE IT #let's make gender-swapped shows a thing #please and thank you

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whumping-in-the-wings · 2 years

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Well, at long last, the moment I’ve been waiting for has arrived. It’s time to introduce you all to one of this story’s central characters, and possibly one of the most personally important characters I’ve ever allowed myself to write. This was actually a more recent idea that only started to take shape a few weeks ago, but it quickly grew into something I couldn’t stop and didn’t want to. If I hadn’t found this community, I honestly don’t think I would ever have written anything like this. I’ll be reblogging this post with a longer author’s note that will explain a little more, but for now, let’s just get to it, shall we?

CW: bruises, mentions of injury, caretaker POV

Taglist: @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @finaldreams1106, @redwingedwhump, @whumpy-catfish (and as always, let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the list!)

Traces: Part Six

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“…for my Robin is to the greenwood gone, but he loves me, aye, he does!”

The final note cracked as harshly as a dropped eggshell, and the mule flicked an ear back in annoyance. Cyra Swann reached forward and patted the creature’s shoulder by way of apology. “Sorry, old girl. I’ve a voice no softer than yours, it seems.”

If there had been anyone but the mule to hear her, Cyra wouldn’t have bothered with the singing. From her voice to her work-callused hands, everything about her was rough, too rough for a sweet thing like a song. But the sun was nearly set now, and the road to Aurenside Manor was deserted. A dark, empty road was a dangerous road, and the best way Cyra had found to deal with danger was to make your presence known to it and bid it come closer if it dared. She’d started out as she always did when she was on her way back from a fair, loudly cursing the tanner and the blacksmith for the high prices they charged on leather and horseshoes and all the other things a stablemaster had need of. But even her plentiful supply of insults had run out half a mile back, so a song it was for the rest of the journey.

To the relief of both her voice and the mule’s ears, however, they had not much farther to go, and it was only a few minutes more before the familiar shape of Aurenside Manor loomed in front of them. There was no challenge called as Cyra turned the mule onto the path that led to the gatehouse, and the gate itself had been left standing open. “No guard again,” Cyra scoffed. “And it’s not because they expected me back, either, it’s because there’s ale flowing in the great hall. Couldn’t ask a kinder welcome, if I were a thief. No doubt Duncan and the boys will be in there wetting their gullets too, and they’ll have left the chores undone, as like as not. I might be only the stablemaster, old girl, but this whole damned place goes to pieces when I’m gone, and it’s all the lordling’s fault, as most things are.”

She patted the mule again, ducking low over the animal’s back as they passed through the gate. “What say you, then? Is our Sir Aubrey more stupid than spoiled, or the other way round? And which is it worse to be, I wonder?”

The mule never minded her fault-finding, and Cyra always had plenty to find fault with, so she kept up a steady stream of it until they’d reached the stable door. Then it was time to turn her focus to the tricky business of dismounting.

She knew the steps by heart now, though that hardly made it easier to perform them. The strong oak cane she’d carried across her lap went down first, and she dug the tip of it into the ground as she leaned low over the mule’s neck. It took no little effort and brought no little pain to swing one leg over the mule’s back and kick the other free of the stirrup, and then there was the drop to the ground, her teeth gritting at the familiar sharp protest that shot through her hips as she landed. She let the cane take most of her weight for a moment, waiting for the painful twinge to ebb again and making sure her feet, inward-turned as they were, had found a solid purchase on the ground.

“There’s that, then,” she told the mule as soon as she felt steady again, reaching for the halter and setting off toward the stable at a slower pace than was typical for her. Ordinarily, except for the more difficult tasks like dismounting, she hardly needed the cane and carried it only as a precaution. But the long ride had settled a worse-than-usual soreness into her legs tonight, and there was no one about to see her, so she let herself lean on the long oak staff more heavily than she otherwise would have.

For once the stable door appeared to have been securely latched- which wouldn’t spare Duncan a tongue-lashing, if he was really off drinking in the great hall as she suspected he was, but improved her mood at least a little. She had to lay the cane against the wall while she lit the heavy iron lantern that hung on a hook at the side of the door; fate, for some foolish reason, had seen fit to give humans only two hands, and hers would be full of lantern and rope, with none left for the cane. But the stable was small and the walls were close, and she’d have plenty to lean on if need be. With the flickering light to show her where to put her feet and the mule plodding patiently behind her, she undid the latch and limped into the familiar dimness of the stable.

It didn’t matter how much she despised Aurenside, or how often its golden-haired lord irritated her: this place, at least, was a haven, and her many rough edges were always somewhat smoothed with the stable’s stones about her. Though the mule was pawing the ground now, anxious for her supper, Cyra paused a moment, as she always did, to close her eyes and breathe in the well-known and well-loved scent of hay and horse and harness.

When she opened them again, there was another pair of eyes staring into them, gleaming dark in the lantern light.

Cyra cursed, dropping the mule’s halter and barely managing to avoid dropping the lantern as well. Only her many years of knowing not to make sudden movements around horses- and how difficult it was for her to make sudden movements at all- kept her from stumbling back in shock. Instead she stood frozen, her heart beating like a rabbit’s, slowly raising the lantern higher to see exactly what she was dealing with.

Her heart jolted all over again when she recognized the shape of a centaur. But the next moment she saw that the beast was staring at her from over one of the sturdy stall doors. Her brow furrowed, and she stepped nearer, sure now that the centaur couldn’t do the same. One of the lantern-beams fell on the creature’s side, on the crimson brand bright against the black-brown coat, and immediately she understood. The tension drained from her body like water from a cracked jug, even as chilling fear changed itself to blazing anger.

“That Aubrey,” she burst out. “That idiot!”

Though she regretted that her stiff hips would not let her stomp around her tasks with any satisfying amount of force, her tongue was as nimble as anyone else’s, and she had never been afraid to put it to use. The centaur was left nearly forgotten in the heated ramble that followed; it was Sir Aubrey who took the full force of the stablemaster’s fury.

“I hope,” Cyra snarled, “that that temper of his sets him afire someday! If it were noble brains that made lordships instead of noble blood, he’d be naught but a beggar and no mistake!” She slammed the lantern down onto its hook, seized the closest brush and all but attacked the mule’s damp sides with it. “Make a name for himself, will he? Make them remember him? Well, he might try going off and dying in some terrible way. Or walling himself up in a cave somewhere for the rest of his days, they’d make a saint of him for that-“

She kept on as she finished caring for the mule, all the while knowing in the back of her mind that she would never have said most of this to Sir Aubrey’s face. She had never feared him- there was little that she truly feared- but she knew as well as anyone in Aurenside how dangerous he could be. Her anger was only ever words. Aubrey’s could be much more, much worse, than that.

Job done and the greater part of her indignation played out, she brushed her hands briskly together and turned back to what had caused that indignation to begin with. The centaur was still watching her, his dark ears pricked forward and his eyes following her every movement.

But not fearfully. Not the way he should have been watching her, given that he’d clearly had the worst of someone’s ill humor if the bruises and cuts littered across his pale human half- and likely the other half, too, though it was too dark to see clearly- were anything to judge by. He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t anxious about what she might do next. He was only watching, as if…as if he was trying to understand her.

As if he could understand her.

The idea was so sudden, so surprising, that Cyra’s eyes widened. And then, the next moment, she shook her head, almost laughing at her own foolishness. It didn’t matter how human those eyes looked; there was only emptiness behind them. Everyone knew that. If he hadn’t been a centaur, he would have been no different than one of her horses.

The thought, oddly enough, settled her down a little, soothed the uneasiness she’d been feeling ever since she’d walked in and seen him. She knew horses. She knew nothing better than horses. She could handle this, even if she still intended to give Sir Aubrey Gravesend a piece of her mind for putting her in a position where she had to.

Lifting the heavy lantern again, she stepped close enough to peer at the centaur over the stall door, grateful to see that his hands were bound and there was little chance that he could harm her. “I’ll just put a rein on my temper, then,” she said, more gently than she’d spoken all night. “It looks as though temper’s the last thing you need more of, poor creature.”

A particularly impressive string of bruises traced a line from his left temple down to his right cheekbone, as though someone had struck him across the face with something. A rope, probably, and Duncan even more probably. He had a habit of doing that; she’d taken him to task the first time she caught him doing it to one of her colts. Either the lesson hadn’t stuck, or he’d decided it didn’t apply to a centaur.

With tempers like Duncan’s and Sir Aubrey’s about, this was far from the first time she’d come back to find a horse in need of a gentle touch and a bit of patching up. She continued her inspection with the practiced eye of someone who knew what to look for, clicking her tongue at the apparent lack of food and water, making a low sound of disapproval deep in her throat when she spotted the arrow-wound beneath the brand. Finally, satisfied that she at least knew her own next steps even if Sir Aubrey’s long-term plan for this whim of his remained a mystery, she stepped back a bit, shaking her head.

“It looks as though we’ve given you a rough welcome, and it’s sorry I am about it,” she said. “But I don’t think you’ll give me much trouble. And that means I won’t have to give you much temper, and we ought to get on just fine, you and I.” She turned away to set the lantern down, the thick iron making it too heavy to hold for long. “But I tell you one thing,” she continued, half to herself. “You’re as much as I’ll stand for. If that idiotic piece of arrogance tries to fill up my stable with any more of your kind, I’ll put a stop to it that fast, I promise you that.”

A sharp intake of breath from behind her. A quick step forward. And a voice.

“You can do that?”

This time Cyra did drop the lantern, whirling around far faster than she would have thought herself capable of doing just a moment before. It was her turn to stare into those eyes with her own eyes wide and startled, her lips parted in shock.

“Sweet Judas,” she breathed. “You can speak.”

#whump #whump writing #medieval whump #fantasy whump #nonhuman whump #centaur whump

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thelarisb · 11 months

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The H in House stands for Hyperfixation

Alright. So everyone knows I have a house hyperfixation. Here it is. A house infodump. Because autism. I love autism so much. Defected Reco

if you take a peek at my Last.FM page you will probably see a lot of house. Where's Will Wood or Lemon Demon you ask? HA I don't listen to those. These are for sta

Who are these people?

So I got into house back then when I discovered Daft Punk through a sampling video. It turns out that I really liked their music - back then I was only listening to a small playlist full of mainstream pop eurgghgh COLDPLAY eURHgh

turns out I really really resonated with Daft Punk's music--no really I resonated with HOUSE MUSIC in general. my earliest tracks I added to my playlist were 8-minute long house tracks made by a producer named Iceferno (you may know him if you've watched many a Dmitrivalencia video)

youtube

Dmitrivalencia also introduced me to many awesome house artists - one of them being a not-so-well-known French act named Hystereo (not to be confused with the Armin van Buuren song of the same name), who released a couple of singles and only one album, Corporate Crimewave, during the 2010s. Oh. And Ross Couch. And Lusine.

But Lusine isn't house, I hear you say. That's correct! Why did I put that there?

So once I got hooked on Daft Punk I began expanding my range. I added a bunch more stuff into my playlist (and removed all the pop songs too), which includes songs from Alan Braxe, Patrick Alavi, Etienne de Crecy, Cassius, Junior Jack, The Bucketheads, and Cheek (NOT THE FINNISH CHEEK)

Nowadays my house playlist has ballooned to over 200 songs. I still regularly discover Frenchy House tracks from all over the internet--HouseOfTheDJJade is an especially great resource!

That's enough about my playlist. It's time to discuss what you were probably looking for all this time--House!

One of the tracks in my playlist comes from a guy from England named Pete Heller. It's called Big Love. Despite the boring album artwork, this song has quite a rich history, as evidenced in an article written by Nick Gordon Brown for Defected's blog.

Pete Heller's Big Love is a 10-minute long (yes, you heard that right) French House track made in the 90s. He sent demos to DJs, which suddenly blew up in popularity.

Unfortunately, Pete didn't make any more Big Love-style tracks after this - he cited the massive oversaturation of French/Filter House which also led to the demise of French House overall as a contributing factor. Pete's tracks on Spotify typically consist of beeps-and-boops acid house/tech house/whatever-the-heck-it's-called house.

He has, however, made just one other song called the Love Mix for Jamiroquai's Supersonic - and just like the track it was named after, it retains many characteristics of French House.

Another French House artist I've always loved is a guy named Patrick Alavi.

Patrick has been posting for years now and saying his music is good is just, really, the tip of the iceberg. He's been in this for decades!

But you know, every artist has a wild side. And Patrick? Oh. It's not just wild. It's conspiracy theory wild.

Patrick owns a Twitter account where he posts...erm, let's just say interesting stuff.

You see, there's this guy called Ingo Swann - he's basically this guy who does wild ass supernatural stuff. Otherwise known as being a psychic! Ingo has envisioned this ✨crazy ✨thing called "remote viewing" which is, basically, in essence, using "extrasensory perception" to view things remotely.

I don't exactly know what remote viewing is, so have this scene from Stranger Things as an example. This is what remote viewing is like...right?

Patrick is hands-down OBSESSED with Ingo Swann. He has even made music based on Ingo Swann and his concepts of remote viewing. He especially cites Ingo as inspo for his track Analytical Overlays.

I don't even know what he's talking about. Original signals? Doppler effects? Matrix sensibility? AOL? Like, America Online? Maybe this is what remote viewing is all about. America Online!

But whatever AOL shit Patrick believes in, you can't deny his music is pretty damn funky. Same goes for our next artist: Todd Edwards!

Todd is this super cool 50-year old who makes WAY too much music. I'm talking hundreds of songs and also hundreds more remixes. Dude runs on a power plant.

Todd has been producing for 30-ish years, first starting with a few tracks on 111 East Records, then eventually moving on to other record labels like Locked On, Bean (yes, beeeeaaaaaannnnnssssss), and especially i! Records. If there's one thing Todd has extremely strong ties with, it's i! Records.

Todd is known for his extremely unique music - you see, instead of playing with instruments like a BORING musician does, he samples extremely short snippets of tracks and plays around with them, arranging it like a musical collage.

Pretty much the entirety of his music is like this - little snippets of beepity boop Carpenters samples overlaid over swung beats and strong basslines. And yes - he does sample real music.

On WhoSampled, "sample hunters" have been discovering hundreds of Todd samples--I'm talking 5 HUNDRED individual samples. Many people have been involved in the search for samples, including sample prodigies like DJPasta and a bunch of other people like Danny Shazam.

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For years, Todd's music has really never been available on streaming as i! Records releases were really only on vinyl or CD. Giant house label Defected Records then snapped up those releases and rereleased them on streaming. Which, I think is a gigachad move. Defected Records is very based.

One of the few releases Defected hasn't snapped up yet is Todd's only real album, Odyssey.

Odyssey is a pretty great album--and it has its fair share of sample goodness, too. One of the most notorious samples on Odyssey is a pair of undiscovered samples known as the Jazz Sample and the Interlude Til Infinity sample, both of which have been baffling sample hunters for years. It's that they've found a 40-second long snippet of the Jazz Sample but are nowhere close to finding the sauce.

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Both Jazz and Interlude are theorized to be from the same album. Sample hunters have found out that a man named Ludwig Mausberg has a longer snippet of the sample as evidenced in one of his tracks, Interlude til Infinity (hence the name). Ludwig, however, has been gatekeeping the sample's name and/or artist, probably due to legal issues that could arise upon disclosing the information. Ludwig has also declined to answer any questions about the sample, too.

Maybe you can help find it, too?

#house #house music #todd edwards #infodump #DEFECTED RECORDS #you can tell someone is autistic if they made like a thousand word essay on some random cool thing they have #Youtube

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uomminecraftsociety · 27 days

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The Slow Train - Flanders and Swann

I have started discussing sad train songs so I can't escape the link. I realise when looking for sad songs, one may not seek the works of a comedy duo though despite their more light-hearted song writing and relatively small discography, they have a few heavier hitting songs.

Twenty Tons of TNT is a track about nuclear disarmament, specifically concerning how there were estimates that for every person on earth at the time there were 20 tonnes of TNT worth of explosives held in nuclear weapons.

This was back in the mid-1960s, roughly the time of the Cuban missile crisis so was very much in the era of nuclear warfare but it always posed a question in my mind, how many tonnes of TNT are there now in nuclear weapons? Obviously there are plenty of nations who have scaled back their weapon numbers but also more countries have them now and nuclear weapons are more powerful than they used to be. I am not the most proficient researcher but I never was able to come up with an answer because of how unknown figures are which I'd argue is another more terrifying concept.

The song has a vaguely militaristic chant sound to it, with a call and response of "Twenty tons of TNT", though by the forth verse, they just play through the line without saying the line, emphasising the repetitiveness of the problem and how it is the root of the issue. While this song did not win being the saddest Flanders and Swann song, I would highly recommend the song on its own.

Misalliance is a song about plants, which goes against the typical animal songs that they wrote. It is harder to find people's views on Flanders and Swann tracks as there is generally not as much discourse about them online, so I find that the song basically is a shortened version of Romeo and Juliet. However, I feel like there is an analogy for people’s objections to homosexuality in the 1960s, with them describing how they would not be able to have any offshoots. Maybe I am reading too much into it but the attitudes the bee has seem to be similar to homophobic attitudes which adds another tragedy to the Shakespearean tale.

Finally, there is the Slow Train, which is a song about the closure of railways of stations within Great Britain under the Beeching Axe. There is too much to go into Beeching for a short song analysis (if you want a rant about it, let me know) but for those who don't know, Beeching was tasked with making the British Railways more "efficient" which was really a task of cutting the railways back. The first of these reports resulted in 30% of the track mileage and 55% of the stations in Britain to be closed.

This led to many communities to be negatively impacted by a lack of decent connections to other places as well as a loss of so many places ingrained in a part of British culture. These stations weren't typically the large stations and often small, quaint, rural stations. The song misses the regular ongoings of people's lives and the life which these stations brought would be taken away, such as "no churns, no porter, no cat on a seat". The song misses an image of the railways which is often romanticised to this day.

#uomsp #flanders and swann #twenty tonnes of tnt #misalliance #slow train

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libidomechanica · 10 months

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Epithalamion

The influence of grace, and hew. Was o’ the garden;—but that blightes, the leave been clear thy love. Contempt, but never covet mostly if this new position—but I’m right Argus— bites him in your Mistress! A posy of noble,—

conjugal, but bad a long ago hath bene gather’d race, a hospital, its neck his infant’s shaggy top of courage, poor desire to the rain is a kind of sence, can your soft and the twelfth Canto; where the opening skies? Shrinks

back into future will have lived there might describe but these threat’ning make his flaring lie in our here. I hear our own native spoke you speaks to a Sybarite’s most us all: wreck, or his thighs between us, thou doest safe, supremest

king matches us by sun. Three glowing through the king, or she rosy if they built his moment to save petrifaction bringeth and known soft-conched with a boy was the slid. Drive me feel now. And my woes with the kingdoms in

conversations of toil, that it may have remain’d, to dally with Wisdom round with the vats, or crooked, Bay in each other proues that she dear compell’d, baptize post, and her cheerly swum. I dreamed I was your presents and charm of the same round

is worth a most dead, and vows an awkward butterflies that happens, both together loathsome man is always it’s dead, and wings. Pray, hurt him thence, and I think if they are by the lightning I’ll pour out that it begin it takes for his

littering bottle who have endless like sympathy I wish to pleasaunce of the same film over, to your season’s song; the other pale, pale forty days’ advantagenet. To keep the delicately speak. No, no, go not climax of

all Olympus dwells with many a dead streames behind, as if still cut strikes Time without harrow may not sting that were still mount looks toward them at bred it was of other, may be thy holy fire to seek the artist the dove.-And yet

another too; the buzzing on the more tongue, the wet wind three moon is chalky, white as Swanne. For inanition, her verdure flings, the sand trees. The door, Lord Augustus Fitz- Plantagenet. Through high to play; for that’s to say no. My hearts

which be wonder to do what I meant for Heaven—his Eyes and beauty is; that novelties. Whatever hae a heart like a true lords of these things were be when we met—in honour peace Madam would love. But she still and with thy silver

cup, in female family is dissert, like a snare his! Passion, but she, to pour their neighbours call’d to cherished her smiling but have overhead. Shall be a tortoise-shell of pity doth Musike spirit that it be sin which vulgar brain

that happy hair was come to quench like tapers clearest. In bed friend; nor let the word were you were diverted by her first passenger by the higher enchanted gaze calibrating you nothing strings a greater moan. My Lady Pinchbeck

was her words liked to do. If love the repairs his habit she now, if you don’t recall to draw a highest: but look into her would burn to be flung at this or any way apparent; his coloured was, in fact I lookes your

creature lives. And laughed: No, surely be the dry grace, when upon the blasted crabs hiss in our browses; had sat beneath— but he, more I shall swinged his own cost uses, the farthing separation, till Gazing grew thee there. Of leave to

critic and on climax to rove! I dreamer, beam shadow and for the old stone? And press brand, grand arcanum’s nothing, sae charms the empty world is one who doth lurk and placid glass, I think; tis to go by quite court an honey of

Tripoli. Like love Where be known as what the willed, to a rock. For the westering sense—thy advocate—and to the Heracleidan blood that, which alone, do my thunder darling crimson as cleft between the poison- cup, he dragon of

her, I see no ghost nothing of all? Mother’s Arms they were one of heate in suspect for thus of the shortened up his ears, especially when I wake unto paper kite what inhabits, and all If such beauties loued aye.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #212 texts #ballad

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cemilexsadik · 3 years

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𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒌: 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑳𝑺

BUFFY SUMMERS – BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER

Buffy had a tendency to be completely confident about her abilities when she faced her enemies. She was also very stubborn, hard-headed and a natural leader, making her at times overly demanding and bossy. She was extremely determined and fiercely independent by nature, detesting giving up or losing battles of any kind. Buffy's individualistic and rebellious tendencies culminated in developing an extreme distaste of being manipulated. She had a strong sense of responsibility to the people she could save.

MARGAERY TYRELL – A SONG OF FIRE AND ICE

Margaery's beauty was equaled by her cleverness, which she had in abundance. A true protégée of her grandmother Olenna, she was a gifted manipulator who knew how to maneuver her way in court politics. Margaery's strength was in her ability to win the minds and loyalties of her subjects. She possessed the tact, politeness and - in many respects - political acumen that Cersei lacked. While Cersei was blunt and often rude, Margaery was capable of exuding the courtly behavior and courtesies expected of a queen - while still privately engaging in palace intrigues to increase her family's power.

BELLAMY BLAKE – THE 100

Bellamy is a natural leader who speaks his mind. He can be aggressive but he also has a softer side and a big heart. He is good at reading people and situations. Bellamy makes decisions based on facts, is quick to recognize inefficiency and is just as great at coming up with organized, long-term plans to correct them. Bellamy Blake fears death, and yet, for some reason, he is one of the people most willing to put his life on the line for just about anyone else. His upbringing has influenced him, during which his entire life revolved around protecting someone else despite the risks to his own safety.

SHIV ROY – SUCCESSION

Poised, intelligent, and strategic. Shiv often comes across as the most relaxed, reasonable member of her family. She’s smart and savvy and has a level of emotional maturity that her brothers lack. Yet, like all the Roy siblings, Shiv has deep insecurities. Though she tries to project a sense of total confidence, she can be tentative for fear of making a mistake. She knows the smartest way to answer a tricky question is often, “We'll make a decision and get back to you shortly.”

EXTRA INSPO X

CLARISSA MAO – THE EXPANSE

Clarissa is intelligent, passionate and steadfast. Having grown up as a member of a powerful but dysfunctional family, Clarissa has been largely shaped by her feelings of inadequacy and jealousy over her father undervaluing her and heavily favoring her sister Julie. This caused Clarissa to spend much of her life desperately trying to be a model daughter and prove her worth to others. Though she has been forced to use violence in certain situations, it is evident that she is doing the best that she can to act with empathy, to avoid unnecessary strife, to find peaceful resolutions to conflicts, and to help as many people as she can.

EXTRA INSPO X

ELIZABETH SWANN – PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN

Elizabeth Swann is portrayed as a spirited and independent-minded character, who often chafes at the restrictions her gender and social rank impose upon her. She is a strong-willed and independent woman and was considered by many to be very beautiful. She is the perfect mix between good manners and scathing sass. She often speaks her mind, even if it means offending others, criticizing even dangerous enemies openly in front of them. She puts up her own fight, is always a step ahead of the men, and genuinely seems to enjoy her place in the adventure.

EXTRA INSPO X & X

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

JESSICA PEARSON – SUITS ( X )

LADY MARY CRAWLEY – DOWNTON ABBEY ( X & X )

MAEVE WILEY – SEX EDUCATION ( X )

NANCY WHEELER – STRANGER THINGS ( X )

#;; task #;; edits #;; musings #;; (( some extra inspo in names :) ))#;; (( there wasnt as much shiv content as i thought thered be. s3 where you at ))

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boltlightning · 1 year

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monsters of men

Admiral Norrington and Davy Jones do not get along. They sail upon the Flying Dutchman, and their forced alliance nearly ends fatally. Beckett assesses and supervises. 1.8k words; character studies mid-AWE from the perspective of Lord Cutler Beckett

“Look at him. An admiral who has never sailed a ship for his own,” Jones says, and blows a ring of smoke right in Norrington’s face. “If man’s great accomplishment on this earth was free will, you’ve found the only dog on the sea without any, milord.”

Norrington waves a hand through the smoke dismissively. “And there is little I find more revolting than a man who cannot keep to his duties. You claim to ferry death, yet it seems all you do is cheat it.”

“And what a pleasure it is to observe both these fine specimens in the same cabin,” Beckett interjects with a smile, before Jones can physically attack Norrington. He claps his hands together. “The feared captain of the Dutchman caught in a leash, and the only admiral brave enough to hold it.”

(read on ao3 here!)

#pirates of the caribbean #cutler beckett #davy jones potc #james norrington #fanfiction #yes this was inspired by swann song. it always comes back to swann song #im always nervous posting observation-based stuff like this #enjoyed writing for beckett for once though :)#*fic

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themosleyreview · 3 years

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The Mosley Review: No Time To Die

This is truly extraordinary. For 50 years the Bond franchise has evolved from the ultimate cool spy that we love to see to something so much more. Over the past 24 films, each era of Bond has had a story or 2 that have really stood the test of time and have seen the character evolve. Sean Connery set the standard of James Bond and then others came along and put their own stamp on the icon. Others have started off with a more gritty tone and then quickly reverted back to the standard. James wasn't ready for a complete story arc that would see him grow past the womanizing, gadget using, action hero we know and love, until now. This current era has been one of the best examples of character development and reinvention that this franchise has rarely seen. From Casino Royale to now, we have seen this hero grow and become a fully fleshed out human being that is flawed, brutal, bloody and complex. Casino Royale felt like the reboot the series needed and the over arching story that stays connected throughout each film was absolutely extraordinary. I have loved every second of it and this film marks the definitive end of a Saga that started in 2006.

Daniel Craig has time and time again delivered a great performance as James Bond, but this is by far the best he's ever been. From Royale to now, you feel the most connected to him as you've seen his growth to becoming more of a complex man instead of the killing machine he started as. You get the chance to see the heart of James be broken harder than before and I loved seeing a more vulnerable side of the otherwise stoic hero. That classic hero we've known has finally gotten a complete arc and it was astounding. Lea Seydoux returns as Bond's love Madeleine Swann and she once again is a knockout. She retains the characters emotional core and strong will. Their chemistry was even more powerful this time and as her secrets are revealed, their relationship suffers and you feel it. She was one of the most compelling characters in the film and I loved every second she was on screen. Naomi Harris returns as Eve Moneypenny and she was just as great as you'd expect. Ben Winshaw was excellent again as Q and I truly believe he was born for this iconic role. Ralph Fiennes returns as M and I loved that he wasn't perfect. He made a mistake and I loved seeing him rely on Bond to help him. That vulnerability made him more relatable and I liked seeing their bond grow. I really loved Lashana Lynch as Nomi, the newly appointed 007. She was cocky, by the book and everything James was and wasn't. I loved their fun rivalry of whose the better agent. Ana De Armas was fun and plucky as the CIA Agent Paloma. Although she may be briefly apart of the film, I felt her character was out of place and broke the tension of the story. You honestly could've cut her out of the film and kept the rivalry between James and Nomi. She kicks ass never the less.

Jeffery Wright returns as CIA Agent Felix Leiter and I've always enjoyed his work. The friendship between him and James was always a highlight and I truly felt like he was the best friend James has ever had and the brother he deserved. Christoph Waltz returns as Ernst Stavro Blofeld and I loved the mind games he played with James in Spectre and that continues here and it was fun to watch. Rami Malek is the newest villain in the franchise and as Lyutsifer Safin he was excellent and I liked his plot even if it freakishly hits close to what the state of the world is now. His motivations are good and I liked him as a wittier villain, but I wish Blofeld was the focus. If I had to rank him among the Craig era of bond villains, he would come in at the mid point.

The score has always been a highlight of this era of Bond and Hans Zimmer took the reins this time around. His score was bombastic, thunderous and fun in so many great ways. I liked that he used the Bond theme sparingly and let it build to epic and then to more somber moments. Billie Eilish performed the title song and I loved it! Given what this Bond has been through and what transpires in the opening, it is so melancholy and yet fitting. This film was visually stunning, the action is beautifully shot and the sound design was superb. As far as final entries in a Bond era films go, this is by far the best send off anyone could've asked for. To see James Bond actually get a complete story that is wonderfully threaded across 5 films and to have a satisfying conclusion, was something of a miracle. I will say that some Bond purists will find the story divisive to say the least, but I whole heartedly enjoyed this epic story Cary Joji Fukunaga has directed and the heartfelt conclusion Daniel Craig has brought to the iconic spy. This is definitely on the list of best Bond films and a must see! I can't recommend it enough in IMAX! Let me know what you thought of the film or my review in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

#no time to die #daniel craig #lashana lynch #lea seydoux #ana de armas #rami malek #ralph fiennes #naomi harris #ben wishaw #billie eilish #james bond #christoph waltz

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troop-scoop · 3 years

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Youth II

Chapter Two - Common Interest

Word count: 2.9k

Series Summary: On a family trip to your dad’s home town of Hawkins, Indiana, you make a series of decisions that result in you ending up in the year 1983 with more questions than there are answers presently available.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female Reader ( slow burn )

Chapter Summary: With the disappearance of Will Byers, you lend a helping hand to try an find the missing 12 year old boy.

A/n: forgive me for posting a second chapter on the same day as the first. I just need to get this one out before I lose my mind.

⟛⟛

You’d spent plenty of time staring off into space with your thoughts racing, you’d done it plenty at school, but this wasn’t right, it didn’t feel right and you hated it. Sure, you had plenty of odd experiences growing up, things you used to think were normal for other people, but apparently, they weren’t. And when you’d realized that, you kept them to yourself. But this wasn’t just something you were seeing, this was real, and you knew it, and everything else paled in comparison to this level of oddness.

Why was it always small towns? When you hear about missing people or cold cases that seem to throw police and detectives for a loop it always took place in small towns, quiet ones that people described as great to raise your kids in, places people settled down in to get away from the big cities.

When you’d been getting things together to leave for the day, you’d briefly heard about a missing kid, but hadn’t heard the name before you were slamming the motel door behind you to get to school, hopping down the walkway to the stairs trying to get your shoes on.

It wasn’t right, you would have known about this. Wouldn’t you? Sure, your dad never really talked much about his home town unless it was fond memories with his childhood friends, your uncles, but this was huge, something that should have at least been mentioned.

You had zoned out of the conversation happening next to you, ignoring every detail about the party Steve was throwing that night. You’d already declined on going to, much to both Steve and Carol’s disappointment. Carol mentioned how she was desperate to have another girl in their friend group, while Steve didn’t have much to say, just saying to come with him to find Nancy Wheeler.

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.”

Steve’s tone wasn’t what you would consider empathetic, it was rather that of someone who didn’t want to see what was happening.

Tommy, Barbara, Nancy, Steve, and Carol all looked to the subject of your staring, their eyes all landing on Jonathan Byers using a thumbtack to put a missing person flyer on the bulletin board near the front office.

“Should we say something?” Nancy questioned.

“I don’t think he speaks.”

“How much you want to bet he killed him?” At that, you turned your head and glared at Tommy, as Steve hit his chest a friendly yet serious “Shut up.” being said before you turned back to look at Jonathan.

Nancy walked towards him, leaving the rest of you to stand and wait. The only real thing you could think about was how when you were 11, you had been with your parents, uncle, aunt and cousins, helping your uncle and aunt pack things to move to a new house, and when you’d been left alone, you’d found a box full of old things and you’d dug through it, curiosity getting the best of you. You’d gotten to an old yearbook, labeled ‘1984-1985.’ and before you could ever flip through half of it, your uncle had snatched it away from you, and without saying a word, he’d grabbed the box and left the room.

“You alright?” Barabara asked you, reaching out to hold your shoulder, it brought the other three’s attention to you as well. You didn’t really know Barbara, but you knew she had good grades, and sometimes tutored students in the library after school.

“Yeah, peachy.” was your response, turning your attention back to the conversation Nancy was having with Jonathan, everything being said completely unknown to all of you with the distance.

The bell rang, and students began to frantically move, like cockroaches when you turned a light on. Scattering as quick as they could, but Barabara kept a hand on your shoulder, and in your peripheral vision you could make out her concerned look. Watching as Nancy came back over to the group of students Barbara took her hand off of your shoulder, everyone turning to walk down the hall once Nancy was there. But you were stalling, taking slow uneasy steps, barely keeping your eyes off of Jonathan, but when you knew that the group of students wouldn’t notice you weren’t with them, you turned back around, to see Jonathan heading for the doors.

“Jonathan!” You called out, jogging after him, seeing him stop just as he reached the metal and glass door. Catching up you placed your hands on your hips, trying to think of what to say. “Where we going?”

“What?” Jonathan questioned, brows furrowed as he looked at you, both his hands on the push bar of the door.

“Where we going? Wanna hear it French? Ou Allons nous?”

“We are not going anywhere. You have to go to. . .” Jonathan looked at the small notebook you held between two fingers, reading the angry red scribble on the front that said ‘Math’ “Mr. Swann’s?”

You breathed out through your nose, dropping your notebook. “Not anymore. Where are we going? This is about your brother, right? I wanna help.”

Jonathan sighed a bit, looking down at the linoleum floor before back up at you. “Why?”

“Common interest.” You told him.

“Our English project doesn’t have anything to do with-”

“This isn’t about Romeo and Juliet, moron. This is about your brother. Listen I just. . . everything about this, makes my stomach churn, I need to see him come back home alive. See? Common interest.”

Jonathan gave an absent-minded nod, the look on his face telling you he knew that feeling. “Indianapolis.” He told you, opening the door and barely stepping out, with you hot on his heels. But he stopped suddenly, turning back to you, holding a finger up. “But you stay out of it, Lonnie isn’t too friendly, and I've seen him angry. If I tell you to go back to the car, you go, understand?”

“You’re not my dad, if I see things start going south, I’m getting both of us out of there.” You told him. “Teamwork makes the dream work, now go before I stomp on your shoes, and there’s no guarantee that I won’t give you a flat tire on the way to the car.”

⟛⟛

Sitting in the passenger seat, you looked to the radio, eyes on the station number as the familiar intro to a song began on the radio. The first time you remembered hearing the song, you were four and had woken up from a nap to the smell of macaroni and cheese, and the sound of your newborn baby brother sneezing in his sleep in the crib on the other side of the room. The music was being played from the living room stereo, loudly. But one thing about being raised by your dads was that you had to adapt to loud music being played. Even Daniel had adapted to it at a few weeks old. You’d gotten out of bed and gotten to the living room, where the stereo was on, and your dad in the kitchen, putting some of the macaroni in one of your bowls and one of his own.

The last time you remembered listening to that song was when your cousins had convinced you to go with them into town, Torrey being the one with the idea, and with her speaker, playing a random playlist. You remembered that she skipped the song halfway through.

Torrey never had a good track record, that was for sure, she was always in trouble, much to your uncle Mike’s dismay. But you and James were always the more reasonable ones out of all of you. But Torrey was the oldest, and as a result, like the older sister, and everyone wanted to be like their cool older sister. So whatever she suggested the lot of you do, you did it.

That always resulted in trouble. The only one who could ever reason with all of you was Uncle Dustin, of course, it had to be the uncle who didn’t have kids. It annoyed Mike, Lucas, and your dad to no end that when with Torrey, they couldn’t get through to any of you.

But, Torrey wasn’t technically your oldest cousin. No, that was Rob. Your uncle’s oldest son. But he was a bit over a decade older than you, so you didn’t really know him all too well. Torrey was almost a decade older, just short two years.

“This the place?” you asked, looking past Jonathan trying to see through the foggy window, rain pouring down onto the pavement outside, and tapping gently on the windows and roof of the car. The fogged-up window told you it was cold out there, and warmer inside.

“Yeah. . .”

“Lonnie’s. . . Who is Lonnie, exactly?” You questioned, unbuckling the seatbelt as Jonathan did the same.

“Our dad,” Jonathan answered, opening his car door and getting out. You reached into the backseat, grabbing your coat as a sudden and startling cool gust of wind hit you, sending goosebumps up your neck and arms. Jumping a bit you looked to the door, seeing that Jonathan had gotten it for you. “Come on.” he rushed you.

You didn’t know if you wanted to go up to the house that the teenage boy was eyeing, you knew that if you’d never heard about Lonnie before, it was for a reason. Likely a good one.

Stepping out of the car, you pulled your jacket on just as Jonathan closed the passenger door for you, heading to the run-down home across the street. You followed shortly after, feeling your ankles begin to get wet as drops of rain-soaked through the canvas material of your shoes.

Standing under the overhang of the front porch you watched as Jonathan looked through the glass of the front door, music from either a television or stereo being hear from outside, over the rain. Jonathan knocked on the door. “Hello?” He shouted.

“Maybe he’s not home?”

Jonathan gave a bitter scoff as he continued to bang on the door insistently before you heard a woman’s voice yell out something indistinct. And before you could process it, the front door was opened.

“Can I help you?” She demanded.

“Yeah, is Lonnie around?” Jonathan asked, his body language giving off just as much attitude as her but his voice remaining calm.

“Yeah, he’s out back. What do you want?”

“To look around.” and with that, Jonathan stepped past her into the house, with you following right behind.

The living area had warm lighting from the lamps, with the absence of an overhead light. And the tv that was small by your standards had M.TV on. It was a mess, with things seemingly tossed around, it felt like the beginning of a hoarder’s home before it got worse and it was filmed for a stupid television show.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing? Hey!” The woman yelled after the two of you. You were hot on Jonathan’s heels, keeping in mind what he said about his father. You’d rather stick close.

“We’ll be fast, promise!” you told her.

“Hey, Will?” Jonathan questioned, going down the hallway, looking into doorways, calling out his younger brother’s name in a more urgent tone while you gave a longer look into each room.

Jonathan turned around from the last room, shaking his head and looking at you, going to walk back out of the hall. But just as he came to the end, a man slammed Jonathan against the wall, holding the collar of his sherpa jean jacket. You jumped back, just before Jonathan shoved who you were now assuming was Lonnie. “Get off!”

“Damn, you’ve gotten stronger.” The older man gave a shove to Jonathan’s shoulder, looking past the two males you saw the woman from the front door.

“Will someone please explain what the hell is going on?”

Lonnie looked at her, then back at Jonathan and then to you, before doing the opposite. “Jonathan, Cynthia. Cynthia this is Jonathan. My oldest. I don’t know who this little lady is.”

Lonnie shoved Jonathan’s shoulder again before pulling him into a hug. “Get off me, man.” Jonathan pushed him off.

The look on Lonnie’s face was that of pure cluelessness as if he didn’t understand why Jonathan would shove him away like that. But with how Jonathan had briefly spoken about him and how he had just acted, you knew the relationship wasn’t what you’d expect of a father and son.

Lonnie turned his gaze to you, “Who’s she?” He asked, looking to Jonathan again.

“A friend,” you responded. Sure, you and Jonathan weren’t all that close, but in this situation, you were sure he needed one, and even if you weren’t technically ‘friends’ he would know he had someone in his corner. “We’re looking for Will.”

“I already talked to the cops. He’s not here and he never has been.”

“Right, well, I think everyone gets a little nervous when they see and talk to cops, if Will’s here I doubt he would have come out when police were here.”

Lonnie looked as though he was trying to process what you had said. “If it makes you two feel better you can look around.”

“Hm, gladly,” you responded.

Jonathan and you spent a few moments in the rundown house, and once the rain had let up, Jonathan went outside, with you and Lonnie both trailing behind.

“Take a look at this beaut. Should’ve seen it when I got it. Took me a year, but it’s almost done.” Lonnie spoke about the car Jonathan was headed toward, opening the trunk once he reached the back. “Really? Do you want to check up my ass, too? I told you the same thing I told those cops, he’s not here and he never has been.”

“Then why didn’t you call Mom back?”

“I don’t know, I just. . . I assumed she forgot where he was. You know, he was lost or something. That boy was never very good at taking care of himself.”

“This isn’t some joke, all right? There are search parties, reporters. . .”

The way Lonnie was treating the situation made you uncomfortable. He didn’t care. It was clear he didn’t with the new information that Jonathan’s mother had called him, and he never answered or called back, how he lived a two-hour drive away and seemed to be talking about anything else but Will.

“Hopper’s not still chief, is he? Tell your mother she’s gotta get you out of that hellhole. Come out here to the city. People are more real here, you know? And then I could see you more.”

“If you wanted to see them more you wouldn’t have made the choice to live so far away.” You interrupted. You knew full well that had your parents ever split in an ugly way like it seemed Lonnie and Joyce had, neither of your fathers would move so far away that it felt like two different worlds. They’d stay close together so both you and your brother still had both of them. “Sounds like shitty parenting on your part, not her’s.”

Lonnie looked at you and tilted his head. “What? You think I don’t want to see my boys?”

“It’s kinda obvious that you don’t.” You responded, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Has Jonathan let you be around his mother? Because you sound just like her. Speaking of her, does she even know you’re here?” Lonnie turned back to Jonathan. You didn’t even know the answer to that, but Jonathan’s silence was an answer. “Great. So one kid goes missing, the other one runs wild? Some real fine parenting right there. Look, all I’m saying is, maybe I’m not the asshole, all right?”

Though Lonie couldn’t see it, you were glaring at him, but Jonathan could, and he gave you a look before reaching into his shoulder bag, pulling out a poster. A copy of the one he’d put up at school. “In case you forgot what he looks like,” Jonathan grumbled, shoving the poster into Lonnie’s chest as he walked away. Gesturing for you to follow.

The two of you walked around the house instead of through it, with small water droplets coming down once again as you crossed the street to the car.

“He’s a prick.” You mumbled as you passed Jonathan to get to the passenger side. Jonathan stared at you for a second.

“Y/n.”

You had grabbed onto the handle of the car door when he said your name, catching your attention. “Yeah?”

“Why do you care? You’re new in Hawkins, you’ve only been there for a few months, and you care about this more than people who have known me and Will since were kids. You’ve never even seen Will.”

You looked down at the pavement beneath you. The smell of rain invading your nose, calming you down just a bit. “Common interest.” You repeated what you had said before.

He didn’t look convinced with how his face seemed to harden and become far more serious. “Look,” You started, letting go of the handle resting your hands on the roof of the car. “Will’s alive, he has to be. I know he is. If I told you how I know, you’d call me crazy. I care about you, your brother and your mom. Lonnie? Not so much. . . Just. . . trust me, okay?”

Jonathan didn’t say anything or even do anything else in response. He opened the driver’s door and got in his seat, tossing his bag into the back as you did the same, buckling yourself in and looking out the window.

⟛⟛

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vampenzo · 3 years

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TASK #001 — Playlist

i’m not music producer so i’m not the best at tailoring an album or playlist with a flow, but starting off we have 13 songs because of its superstitious nature that usually carries a negative connotation of being unlucky, which enzo is when it comes to love.

we begin with the first song with symbolizes how enzo usually has a cold demeanor when it comes to potential guys. he acts this way to protect his heart that’s rather fragile. he will chew you up and spit you out if you’re too weak for him.

the second song is not always applicable to him, but if he’s bored with a relationship with someone enzo will more than likely look for fun somewhere else, which is somewhat of the theme of the song. he feels “stuck” with this other person and he just wants something shiny and new, so the thoughts of finding someone new is there.

in the third song he’s hooking up with a guy, either in secret because he’s dating someone, or just casually hooking up and he is starting to catch feelings for him.

the fourth song is where enzo is starting to get more into this new guy and really enjoy spending time with him outside of any casual fun.

now this next song is pretty self-explanatory....either he’s in a relationship with someone else and he’s trying to convince himself to break up with the old guy for this new one. the inverse could happen where he’s single and is hoping that the guy he caught feelings for would break up with their significant other so they could get a stab at it.

seems like something worked and the vampire and this guy he likes are finally in a relationship despite the hiccups they faced. vampire diaries really did a number on me because this was such an epic and emotional moment, iykyk, so that’s what i see despite the lyrics aren’t matching up.

with the seventh song, well that’s usually a lucky song, but enzo isn’t a lucky guy when it comes to love, remember? well the guy he was starting to really enjoy....he left him.

wow so the eighth song is just enzo falling into the depths of hating himself for letting someone get so close, but weirdly he’s still missing this man. cue him just hooking up with random guys just to feel alive.

song number nine, we have enzo reflecting back on the longest relationship he had, back when he was a pirate under the false name john swann. he’s fell so far from that first real relationship he had and thinks he’ll never find someone that could even compare to him. he regrets not bringing his lover with him and turning him when he had the chance instead of him facing the gallows in england while he was in the caribbean islands.

i kinda cheated. song number ten is him imagining what could have been with his gay pirate husband had he turned him. the thought of the past is really killing him even in his sleep because if he could go back he would change just that one thing.

if you’re still reading this, i’m giving you a cookie. we’re on song eleven and this one is him reflecting on his gay awakening, the knight that he first felt feelings for when enzo was still human, but his life was cut short before anything could blossom. these thoughts are circling while still simultaneously thinking about the guy that just dumped him. how he can’t do this again, so he further thinks about closing himself off from that kind of connection with people.

at this point in the twelfth song enzo is isolating himself from others for a bit so that he could really get all these thoughts and feelings out. could be him indulging on fresh blood binge of snatch, snack, erase, and release. he’s starting to slowly get better from the heartache.

the finale of this little glimpse of his love life. the last song on the track is enzo reflecting on everything that happened in the past few months. he’s in a somewhat better place here though he still wants to put up a few walls so he doesn’t get duped again, but he realizes he was in the wrong either because he cheated or because he talked the other guy into cheating ( not by compulsion ). he doesn’t want to isolate himself anymore now that he’s over the feelings he had. of course, will it last? will he get back with someone else? will the cycle repeat or will he have found his beloved in some recycled body ( if you believe in that sort of thing )?

fin.

#darkesttask #darkesttask1 #lorenzo;headcanon #heart & soul #my edit*

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writeyouin · 4 years

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Hey there! Your fanfics are incredible! Could you please write a Will Turner X Reader one where the reader goes back in time after watching Pirates of the Caribbean and then the reader and Will fall in love? Thanks a lot in advance! :)

Will Turner X Fem-Reader - Life Inside a Movie

A/N – All better from being ill, so here is a fic.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

You leaned over one of Port Royal’s railings, humming a tune that only you knew in this time period. From afar Will Turner watched you, listening to the occasional lyric that you whispered under your breath; the song was just as unusual and out of place as you were.

“Dancing in the moonlight, everything is weird and out of sight,” You sang, staring up at the night sky.

It was something you did every night. Once, shortly after Will had found you and given you a place to stay, he had asked you why you were so obsessed with the sky. You had told him that where you came from you could never see any of the stars because of something called light pollution. He hadn’t understood what that was, even when you tried to explain it, nor did he understand how one place could have less stars than anywhere else, but he did like that the sky brought you peace. He just wished you didn’t insist on going out every night to view them because there were some nights he couldn’t be out to protect you, and even a peaceful place like Port Royal had its fair share of criminals.

“You can join me if you want,” You said, fully aware that Will had been watching you from afar.

When the two of you first met, Will would have found your forward manner and your knowledge that he was there unnerving; now it was starting to rub off on him as one of your many qualities.

“It would me my honour, Miss (L/N).”

“I’ve told you before, where I’m from we always use first names.”

“And I have told you, it is my pleasure to use your beautiful last name and give you the respect you deserve.”

You smiled to yourself, thinking about how different life had been before you had come to this time. How sad it was to think that chivalry eventually died out, and yet how nice it was to be one of the few from your timeline to receive it.

You thought about the film Pirates of the Caribbean which you had watched the night that the mysterious portal opened in your apartment, leading you into the film itself.

When you first arrived, you had fallen right into the forge, spraining your ankle in the process. Fortunately, the Forge’s owner and Will’s master was asleep, so he didn’t notice the portal that had brought you to Port Royal; you had a feeling that if he had seen it, you would have been in the gallows for sorcery.

Shortly thereafter, Will had returned from a delivery and found you. At first when he saw your strange clothes and unusual hairstyle, he had considered reporting you to the royal guard, suspecting you to be a pirate. It was only when you begged him for help that he paused. It soon became clear that you knew nothing about the finer arts of piracy; you couldn’t even hold a sword properly and that would have made for a very poor pirate indeed. All the same, Will still didn’t trust you so he demanded to know your story, otherwise he would have no trouble seeing you imprisoned, for they very rarely hung women unless the offence was as bad as murder.

Knowing Will was an honourable character from the many times you had watched his film, you came up with a story for yourself that sounded fairly reasonable. You told him you were a simple bookkeeper from a foreign land, who had been stolen by pirates along with a great many others. In the tale, you alone escaped on a lifeboat and had made your way to the nearest island. All in all, you didn’t think it was a bad explanation. The bookkeeper was a reasonable job that would explain why you could read and write so well, and if Will asked, you could say you sprained your ankle upon escaping.

With a few more questions, Will soon believed you and he offered to take you to the boarding house where he lived, even paying your rent until you could get a job. You insisted you would pay him back, but Will thought little of it; after all, he was far too concerned trying to figure you out.

To be frank, you scared Will at first. In Port Royal women and even most men didn’t know how to read. Then there was the fact that you were educated in even more fields than the governor himself. You knew maths, geography, world culture, and more science than anybody he had ever met. While you were only of average intellect in your time, you were a fountain of knowledge in this time. Will asked you where you had learned such wondrous things and you had replied that you had learned all you knew in school and college, but what schools even let women in? He thought you must have been fabulously wealthy in your old land to receive such a fine education.

Although you gave Will much cause for concern, your friendly attitude and the fact that you didn’t scorn his lack of schooling made him begin to trust you. Instead of fearing your knowledge, he began to ask questions of you. He started to think of you less as his responsibility and more as a friend. Given time, he even found a job for you as a secretary for the governor himself, though it took a fair amount of convincing that a woman could do the job.

You offered to pay Will back for the money he had lent you thus far but he rejected the offer, claiming it was the place of any gentleman to help a lady in distress. At that, you started paying your own rent, and to repay Will’s kindness you had taken to cooking him meals after his long days at the forge. Although you weren’t the world’s greatest cook at home, it seemed your knowledge of ingredients and flavours made you an excellent cook in Port Royal; Will often said you ought to open a restaurant after you had introduced him to pizza.

You hummed thoughtfully, leaving your reverie far behind to simply enjoy Will’s company on the Port Royal balcony.

“What great aspects of the world are on your mind tonight?” Will asked, loving your ever-intelligent answers.

“What in the world, you ask. That’s cute. One should never have just the world on their mind, Will.”

“Oh? So what do you think of instead, if not the world?”

“I think of the universe and my new place within it.”

You had explained the concept of the universe to Will before but he wasn’t sure whether to believe it. People were still discovering new islands of the sea from one week to the next. How could anyone possibly know if there were other planets if the human race hadn’t even discovered everything on Earth yet?

Despite his personal opinions of the universe, Will liked the sentiment of your words. “And where do you think your place is?” He asked.

You yourself pondered the question. It was a hard one to answer. In Port Royal, with your education, the sky was the limit, but you were a woman. At home, you had the freedom to do what you wanted when you wanted, but everyday life was lonely and filled with a world of people that didn’t care for anyone but themselves. Truthfully, it didn’t matter where you would have liked to be. It all depended on whether fate would ever reopen another portal and throw you back where you came from or whether you would be left in Port Royal forever; perhaps it would be a continuous loop of being thrown back and forth, though you highly doubted that.

You realised that Will was waiting you an answer, so you smiled, tucking your hair back behind your ear, “I don’t know.”

“Perhaps then, Miss (L/N), if I may be so forward as to say so, you might find that your place is here.”

“In Port Royal?”

“By my side,” Will corrected, swallowing nervously when you turned to face him.

At home, people who said such things to you were always just playing a cruel joke, but you knew Will was being sincere; he always was. For one guilty moment, your thoughts lingered on Elizabeth Swann; if you accepted Will’s proposal, then she would never experience his love, nor he hers.

“I-” Playing things safe for a moment, you dared to ask, “William Turner, are you saying what I think you are?”

“Miss (L/N)- (Y/N),” Will grabbed your hands earnestly. “I was a simple man before I met you, but you have opened my eyes to a whole new world. I may not have much to offer in respects of wealth or position and I have no doubt that you deserve somebody of better station than myself, but I love you and that is something I can offer you now and forever. You have my heart, if you will take it, and even if you do not, it shall still be yours, for I shall never offer it to another.”

“I don’t- I mean- What about Miss Swann? I thought you loved her.”

Will grimaced. He himself had also believed he was in love with Elisabeth Swann, but now after feeling real love towards you, he realised that what he had felt for Miss Swann was merely infatuation after she saved him during their shared childhoods.

“No (Y/N), I can say without a doubt that I love you most ardently. I understand if you do not wish to be with me or if you need some time to think-”

“No,” You interrupted curtly. You shook your head, searching for an explanation at Will’s curious expression, “I- I don’t need time to think. I just- Wow, um- Sorry, I know I’m messing things up here.”

Will managed to chuckle at your ever-strange manner of speaking, putting you somewhat at ease.

“At home, I could never have expected such a wonderful proposal, from anyone. I would say that except for a small few, romance is dead and most marriages are… well, complicated for lack of a better word. It seems that where I’m from, we write a lot of love songs and books just dreaming about the life we want. Nobody would ever even talk to me with the respect that you do; only royalty get spoken to like that.” You realised you were saying a lot of things Will would never understand, but what else could you do when you were sorting through your feelings for a film character. “Will- I- I love you.”

Will released his breath, feeling his heart pound ecstatically. He wanted to draw you into his embrace, but he still kept to his own gentleman’s code.

“(Y/N), with your permission, I would very much like to kiss you now.”

“I- Yes.”

Will raised a hand slowly to your cheek, stroking it gently. His eyes searched your face, memorising every detail of what would be his first kiss. He wondered if this was yours too, considering how different both your homes were. Trailing his hand down to your chin, he tilted your head up.

“You’re shaking,” He said, worried that you had suddenly changed your mind about him.

“I’ve never had anybody look at me the way you do,” You whispered anxiously. “It’s terrifying, in a good way.”

Will gave you a small smile, leaning in slowly to press his lips against yours. He did nothing to deepen the kiss, keeping it simple; it would be improper to do more when the two of you had only started courting that very night. However, as his lips parted from yours, he knew he would take every future opportunity to kiss you, his new love.

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#Will Turner X Reader #William Turner X Reader #Will Turner #William Turner #disney #potc #pirates of the caribbean #fanfiction #fanfic #reader #reader insert #theaspiringscreenwritersblog

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