#the price of faith I suppose

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Solas

[esperderek]

I have to have a chuckle at the Screenrant article posted recently about the Galactic Starcruiser, which totally wasn't about Jenny Nicholson's video honest.

In part, because early in Nicholson's video, she talks about how unnatural it is to have your influencers speak in adcopy and copyright rather than the more colloquial nicknames, and how it makes the people speaking about the product seem very insincere and, well, paid off. Because normal humans don't speak that way, but advertising does.

What's the first two lines in this article?

"As a life-long fan of Star Wars, there was nothing quite as exciting as finding out that I would be working on the immersive Star Wars: Galactic Starcruiser experience. Located at the Walt Disney World Resort, the Galactic Starcruiser opened on March 1, 2022, and welcomed passengers to board a two-day, two-night cruise through the stars, during which they could live out their own Star Wars adventure."

No one talks like this naturally. No one writes like this naturally.

This is supposed to be your passioned defense of the place you worked at, the people you worked with, and the memories you made along the way. C'mon! Why don't you open with a story, perhaps an anecdote about the best moment you had working there, or the devastation of the day you lost your dream job. We need to feel your humanity! But there's nothing of that here, to the point where you can just hear the TM behind Galactic Starcruiser.

The first half of this article continues in this vein, reading like a press release Disney marketing put out, just with past tense rather than present or future tense:

"Essentially, the Starcruiser experience was a 48-hour movie that passengers were actually a part of. It was all facilitated through the "datapad," which was accessed through the Play Disney Parks app."

"To facilitate the overarching immersive experience and storytelling, the Starcruiser built a jam-packed itinerary for each and every guest that would consist of a variety of important activities: the captain's toast at muster, a bridge training exercise, lightsaber training, and more. These types of events were essential to understanding what was happening, as they would give passengers the chance to interact with characters and build their story. This is why the Starcruiser could never be just a hotel; every part of it was designed for enthusiastic interaction."

Like, c'mon. I used to work in television. I've seen and used adcopy in my former job, and this is some serious adcopy. It honestly wouldn't shock me if the author dredged up some old adcopy they had lying around about the topic and just transferred it over, changing the tense. You're not here to sell us this product, because there is no product to sell. It's gone, it's been gone for a year, you don't have to sell us on IT. Speak about your experiences.

The next part is yet another topic that Jenny Nicholson pointed out, the bad faith excuses that influencers and advertisers made for the extreme price point:

"What many people don't know, however, is that the price included much more than just a room. The passengers' food, park tickets, recreation activities on board, non-alcoholic drinks, and more were all included - with merchandise being one of the few additional costs on board."

Which is absolute bad faith reasoning, especially when there are plenty of other vacation options that are ALSO all-inclusive, but are MUCH cheaper and offer MORE amenities than the Galactic Starcruiser did! Including Disney Cruises, owned by the same company! Seriously, you can go on a halfway decent sounding cruise or all-inclusive resort somewhere warm for, like, a week or two and spend far less than GSC cost.

Then the last part is essentially: "All the workers liked working there and the bad reviews afterwards make the workers who worked on it feel sad. :("

Which, like, companies have been hiding behind that reasoning for ages. Curiously, the author never offers....any reasons or stories. WHY did working on it impact you so much? What set it apart, what were the people like, what did you like about working there, why are you so passionate about it even a year later? There's nothing, just a generic sort of "We worked hard." and "We're sad it's gone." Why? How? What happened? The video you're obviously writing this in response to is filled with personal anecdotes and stories, it's the backbone of the video! Again, you need to give us something to show your humanity!

Especially when you consider that Nicholson repeatedly points out that the only highlight about her experience, the only thing that kept the damn thing going was the workers.

She had nothing but praise for them, and nothing but contempt for the higher ups who wasted and abused that enthusiasm, to the point where one of her last points was "Hey, Disney is basically exploiting labor."

Much like Jenny, I'm also not condemning anyone who had a good time working there. Good! If you were having a good time at work, that's great. If you have good memories about the people, awesome. But I'll note two things:

a) That doesn't meant you weren't being exploited, and

b) That doesn't mean you have to be a useful idiot for the corporation you worked for afterwards.

I'm not conspiracy brained enough to go "Oh, Disney TOTALLY forced this article into being.", because a cursory examination of the author's prior works and such suggests a lifelong passion for Star Wars, she did work at the hotel, and she's a Star Wars Editor (whatever THAT means in this day and age) for Screen Rant. Apparently one of the heads of Screen Rant says that Disney had no hand in it either.

Though, I can see why people would think that way. It READS like a press release, not something a normal human being would write about an experience they feel passionate about.

[scourgebrother]

hate hate hate to get reminded that cishets are not to be trusted unless explicitly proven otherwise

[feral-ballad]

“My name is Nour Saqer, for the name remains when all is lost. I turned 22 years old last November. Yes. My youthful time was wasted on horrible days. Yes. Those days still continue.

My name is Nour Saqer. And I am 22 years old. I am a fifth-year dental student at Al-Azhar University of Gaza. I am an aspiring student. I am eager and passionate about my studies. Until the last minute, I was allowed to stay at my house on Oct. 7th. 2023 I was still working on a scientific research proposal that was supposed to be published by me and my teammates of young researchers late in November, that year.

This picture of me was taken late 2022 during an international dental conference held in campus.

During my college years alone. Me and my family have had to forcefully evacuate, and run out of our house four times. In 2019, 2021, 2022, and finally in 2023. Each time was in fear of the same threat; meeting our deaths under rubble. My name is Nour Saqer. And I have always been a Gazan. Each of those past times. If we were fortunate enough, we would discover that our home was in repairable damage. There would be a roof over our heads still. We were still fortunate. We still had luck.

But ever since October 7th. I haven't returned home. We were among the first families to evacuate Al-Rimal neighborhood from the very first day of this genocide, we had to turn our backs to it and expect no return. Two floors of my family house, along with my father's store, and only source of income, have been severely destructed due to neighboring missiles. And my university buildings were heavily exploded. All forms of life have been reaped from my city. My hometown.

This is what's left of our campus. I was supposed to have my graduation ceremony here.

My name is Nour Saqer. And I had an enthusiastic heart. And an energetic body. I played sports and walked down every street until I couldn't. I loved my family and friends dearly. I wrote poems about them. I spent time loving them and cherishing their presence. I loved life with all its little things. With all its unattainable things. I loved the grass and the tall buildings. And I loved all people. I loved my people. All their faces. All their talents. All their hidden lives. All we shared. Until we didn't. Everything I have ever loved I lost.

This picture of me was taken during a happy moment on the roof of our house.

This is all that is left of that picture now.

I am currently sheltered in Rafah with my family of 7. Sharing a place with 30 other homeless people. By the end of Ramadan, me and my family would have to evacuate and seek shelter for yet the 8th time due to housing problems. I am so tired of not having any sense of stability. Nothing to guarantee. Nothing to call my own. Every passing minute the situation in Rafah gets worse. Every passing minute I am losing loved ones and relatives. Every passing minute costs me my sanity. Costs me health. Costs me my basic rights to simply live.

I have nothing left to lose or pay the price with except for my life.

I don’t know how to retell my life story in limited words, how to make the most ordinary moments sound precious. How do I equate my value to someone deserving a life of safety? How do I shape myself as someone worth saving?

I have been interviewing myself for days. All my stories are choking me. All my grief is piling up and muting me. I keep trying to find a way to present the best of myself. To make myself someone you'd want to look at. Listen to. And even more,

Help.

I am finally placing both hope and faith in your helpful hands. I am asking you. Please put an end to this continuing tragedy. And help me get to safety. Before it's too late.

It should be in your knowledge that:

It costs $5,000 per person to get out of Rafah through the Boarder Crossing to Egypt. The rest of the donations will be to secure my tution money for the fifth and final year of dental school.

Thank you.”

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Politics: knight!price x princess!reader

You were unusually quiet today.

Price watched you carefully from where he stood just a couple paces from the river bank where you sat. He didn’t get too close to you as he studied you carefully.

You had run off again and unlike all the other times he hadn’t been able to catch you because he had been busy training the other knights.

“If you wanted to run away you should make it harder to find you.” Price had huffed at you as he approached you earlier.

You didn’t say anything for a moment snd that stopped him. You were always quick with your remarks, always quick with firing back something just a venomous but there was nothing.

Perhaps he had gone too far.

“I wanted to be alone.” You said without looking at him, your eyes glued to the water.

“A princess is never alone, your highness.”

“I suppose not.”

Since then neither of you said anything to each other. You sat on the river bank for a long time, your hands perfectly poised in your lap while you watch the current of the river run further down into the nearby forest and into the fields.

Price knew you like the river and the forest when you wanted time to be alone. He suspected you ran out here when you were overwhelmed or when you were upset, so as he watched you he wondered what brought this along.

Trouble with diplomacy? With your studies or with the court? Perhaps you were still mad at him for the joust a couple weeks ago or maybe something truly was going on between you and Lady Katherine.

He wondered and wondered, his eyes never leaving your elegant form. Even as they trailed over your hair and the way your dress hugged your body he wondered: could he fix whatever made you upset?

“The Queen has found me a suitor.” Your voice was somber and his face fell. “In a few months I’ll be wed and will leave for his kingdom.”

A king. You were going to marry a king.

Price gripped the hilt of his sword and his eyes narrowed. Why wasn’t he informed? The Queen’s judgment trumped all but she hadn’t asked him to visit the kingdom and its king first, to understand who the man was and if he was truly suited for you.

For all he knew, the king could be an incompetent leader who would be putting you in danger.

He should be happy. He would be rid of you, he wouldn’t have to constantly run after you while you made his job infinitely harder and he wouldn’t have to constantly be under your scrutiny.

But instead he felt a pit forming in his stomach. Some other knight would become your bodyguard because even as Queen consort you would find time to run off into places alone that you shouldn’t. He didn’t have any faith that they would be able to keep you safe if they needed to.

He’d have to say goodbye to you and though he supposedly hated you he didn’t want to.

Price was your knight and you were his princess. That was the way things were so supposed to be.

But what say did he have in it? He was a knight and though he owned land he was not a noble by birth. He may be the best in all the kingdom and be the most reliable but he was a soldier, not a diplomat.

He had no choice but to watch you be married off, just as you had no choice but to be married.

He couldn’t imagine what was going on in your head. He’s not sure he ever heard you being interested in any of the suitors the Queen had often mentioned, even if you called them handsome and even if they were nice.

He’s not sure why but he knew he would never found out.

Price cleared his throat and swayed on his feet.

“Would you like to stay out here all day then, your highness?” He asked softer, pushing away the mix of emotions inside him.

“I’ll return soon.” You said almost disconnected from the conversation. “I’d like to wait here for a moment longer.”

Price couldn’t stand the distant look in your eyes, the eyes that usually held some twinkle of life within them even when you often looked at him with distain, and hated that for weeks now you had been so upset.

He couldn’t fight your thoughts, he couldn’t strike them with his blade or shoot them with an arrow. He couldn’t intimidate them or command that they leave you alone. He couldn’t help you in any way that mattered, not that you would accept it from him of all people, even if he wanted to.

“Then I’ll stay with you.”

A/n: still trying to figure out who fell first and who fell harder (want it to be reader fell first and price fell harder but we’ll see. They don’t know what they’re feeling are yet still)

Tags. @deadbranch @makayla-666

[yeyinde]

some ideas i'll get to (aka my wips are a revolving door that my sideblog can't keep up with so i'm posting them here so i can hold myself accountable)

hitchhiker au with Simon (the man you ran over and left on the side of the road in a deadly hit and run won't leave you alone; horror)

warden/ward Price (the man who took you in, practically raised you, is getting married. that simply won't do. pseudo father figure, pseudo incest, electra complex; guilt, murder, manipulation, drama, smut)

ward/warden Simon (he wasn't there for you when you needed him the most, but he's here now. he'll make sure your needs are met. all of them; smut, drama)

older neighbour Price (after coming home from college for the summer, you decide to pursue your older neighbour daddy Dom Price in a romance that leaves a bad taste in everyone's mouth; drama, smut)

dad's best friend Price (the joke? you meet a man in a bar. the punchline? he's your dad's friend. a man you grew up with. the unexpected twist? his hand is on your thigh. he still buys you a drink. what are you supposed to do when you've been in love with him since you were sixteen? you go home with him, of course; smut, angst, drama)

best friend's dad Price (armchair psychologists on tiktok could tell you exactly what's wrong with you, you think, as you roll around on his bed, hand shoved down your pants, thinking of him like he wasn't father of your childhood best friend; drama, smut, guilt)

serial killer Price (70s au. he's new in town. strange. but he talks to you, listens. tells you that you're different from the others. but when you start to act just like them, he decides to teach you a lesson in places. specifically, your place beneath him. and if you don't behave, at the end of his knife; horror, thriller; smut)

dog trainer Simon (a vicious dog meets a puppy with abandonment issues. neither see the issue with codependency; smut, toxic relationships)

omegaverse Gaz (after giving Price his happy ending, Kyle decides he deserves one for himself; smut)

dollmaker Simon (all you want is the attention of your god. he just wants her back. so you give that to him; horror, smut)

butcher!Simon (series: mafia "butcher"; you don't question your brother when he sends you to drop off packages to his friends, but when the enforcer for the 141 shows up to teach the little brat selling on their turf a lesson, you realise there's different ways to give away pounds of flesh; slaughterhouse worker Simon just gets out of jail for murder and teaches you how a fielddress a buck. a cute first date if he wasn't holding a knife to your neck; butcher Simon catches a rare fish)

hiking au Soap (they tell you to never hike alone, but when all your friends refuse to go with you, you turn to the internet for help where you meet a man who eagerly agrees to throughhike the Great Divide Trail with you; alone in the wilderness with a man you barely know for eight weeks who seems a little intense. what could possibly go wrong? thriller, smut)

outlaw Price (it's just not in his nature to do anything for free. you should have known that before you asked him, of all people, for help; western, cowboys outlaws and wild west)

priest Price (you find the new pastor drinking whiskey and smoking a cigar by the dock. he finds a gift from god in you: a pretty little wife he gets to pour his faith into; catholicism, religious imagery, bastardisation of religion, smut)

[cumikering]

F1 John Price x reader 4

2.8k | fluff, mentions of cheating John Price and the 50 billion other Johns of the UK (part 1) (part 5)

The bed shifted. A rustle, a thud. Distant whispers.

“… Yeah, sorry, John’s here now… Yeah? Okay, see you, love.”

John looked up with a soft groan when the door cracked open. “Sweetheart?” he croaked.

He squinted in the late morning sun, but he didn’t miss how wonderful you looked in his shirt, all soft skin and a radiant face as you climbed back into the comfort of his arms.

 “Sorry for waking you.” You kissed his cheek. “Harley wants to meet for lunch instead. That fine? We’ve got nothing planned, have we?”

“Of course, but I thought it was supposed to be dinner. Is she alright?”

“Yeah, her tattoo appointment got pushed back so she figured we should meet before.”

He remembered the photos you showed him, of your good friend from school with the pink hair and an array of colourful tattoos. You said she made the best cupcakes.

“And she just told me- I guess it’s a little silly.” You pulled a face. “But we were huge fans of this singer back in the day, and he just got exposed for cheating on his wife. I know it’s none of our business, but it’s just really sad to see. People are saying if a supermodel gets cheated on, us regular women stand no chance.”

He hummed. “You believe that?”

“No, it just depends if you’re faithful or not, but all cheaters are liars. And it doesn’t help that powerful people always have options lined up, but that’s just something you avoid, right?”

His body tensed. “W- what do you mean?”

“Just don’t be with someone who’s famous or away a lot. I mean… This is probably my insecurities talking, but it’s not for me.”

“There are plenty who are just as happy despite the distance.”

“That’s true.” You paused. “I didn’t tell you, but there was this bloke a while ago, had always been upfront about how difficult it could get with his job. I thought I could handle it. He didn’t hurt me or anything, but I don’t think I want to put myself in that situation again,” you said wistfully. “Dating celebrities must be even worse. On top of that, losing your privacy, being compared and criticised endlessly…”

“No, but do you really think it won’t work out?” He sat up, gripping your shoulders. “They’re just normal people behind all the drama, probably don’t even want any of it. Don’t you think they deserve a fair chance?”

“Why are you so riled up, John? Are you famous?” you teased. “You surely are handsome enough to be a model.”

He lay back down, avoiding your gaze as heat crept up his neck.

What the bloody fuck just happened? He was supposed to tell you everything, arrange a meet with his mates and maybe have you stay the night at his, but the very first conversation you had for the day turned out to be an atomic bomb.

“Well, you’re up now. I know it’s closer to lunch, but I’m still making you pancakes. I need you to try the blueberry jam I got you.” You kissed his forehead before making your way out the door.

A lump formed in his throat. Fuck, he was being a hypocrite. He hated that life and there he was trying to drag you into it too.

What had started as him trying to be cautious, innocently laying low had escalated into something else. This was going to look horrible, like he tricked you, especially after last night - it had meant the world to him. But it was never his intention to fool you.

The tide had turned in the blink of an eye. This had been his life for many years, but why the fuck didn’t it occur to him that being with him wasn’t ideal for most people? That no one dreamt of being with someone who was barely home, that this could very well be deal-breaker? If he had been waiting to trust you and let you in, now he was in danger of being left entirely.

“John, you okay?” you asked at the table.

He looked up from his plate and forced a smile. He wanted to throw up. Your pancakes were wonderful as always, but he could barely stomach them with these thoughts running through his head.

“I’m sorry, did you want to do something today?” You placed your fork down. “I should have asked you before saying yes to Harley.”

“No, no. It’s not that. I’m just… Thinking, is all.” He reached across the table for your hand. “I can drop you off if you want?”

But all was not lost. Telling you now would only make the situation appear more disheartening than it was. He just had to prove to you that a relationship with him - no, he would be different. When he eased back into the season in a few weeks time, you wouldn’t even feel anything had changed – he’d make sure to show you the distance was nothing to worry about. He’d tell you then, and you’d be far less apprehensive.

Yeah, he could do that. If three weeks apart for Christmas was not a problem, being apart 4-5 days, twice a month would be a child’s play.

You agreed to him driving you to Harley’s, but even then he white-knuckled the steering wheel and barely spoke a word.

“John, did I do something?” You turned to him when he pulled up.

“No- sorry I’ve been distracted.” He chuckled sheepishly.

“Are you sure? You know you can tell me, yeah?”

“Yes, I promise.” He pressed your hand to his lips.

You have him a small smile before you exited his car, hesitation in your eyes.

The little voice in his head knew he was stretching his façade. It was selfish, perhaps devious - he didn’t want to admit, that he still kept you in the dark even after you expressed your aversion. He had no excuse, but he wasn’t about to let this end, not before he tried his absolute best.

You wouldn’t be mad, would you? His heart was in the right place - he just wanted to save you the heartache. How he was going to make this work was his burden to carry. He just needed you to sit back and be patient with him while he figured things out.

Let me know if you want me to pick you up. Enjoy lunch x

The cold of winter mellowed as February inched closer to March. John had been counting down the days to the start of the season. He’d missed the ecstasy of speed and the itch to get behind the wheel only seemed to worsen.

He started ordering cookies for his team again weekly. He would take any excuse to see you one extra time, especially when you’d send him off with an off-menu drink and a kiss in front of his car.

What he severely underestimated though, was how cramped his schedule was going to be in preparation for the season with never-ending meetings, tests and interviews. He still made time to see you of course, but more often than not he’d be late to pick you up with impromptu events getting in his way.

That night was one of those times again.

“John, you know you can tell me if you can’t make it, yeah?” you said as you locked up your shop. “I really don’t mind going home on my own.”

“No, I want to, really.” He gave your hand a squeeze. “It’s just work has been ultra busy.”

You smiled. “Should I just come to yours this Friday? Let me return the favour.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, love. Like I said, I don’t mind the drive.”

You’d been asking more often, and John was only a few more questions away from breaking entirely. He couldn’t keep doing this to you. The lump in this throat was palpable each time your smile flickered when he gave you yet another excuse to not visit.

Despite the delay, John took you out for dinner at the place you’d wanted to try. You enjoyed yourself regardless, even that it was too late to catch a film after like he’d promised. Instead, you shared an ice cream and strolled along the streets among the thinning crowd.

At the end of the night, as he held the door open as you slipped into his GTI, someone yelled out his name. He turned to the source of the voice, and it was then the consecutive camera flashes stunned him. He quickly shut your door, jumped to his seat and drove away.

“Did someone call out for you?”

“To be fair, half of the men in the UK are called John.” He shrugged, making you chuckle.

With the thick beard, cap and face mask, the chances of paparazzi recognising him were slim to none, but there he was. The man had been a few metres behind the car - he must have only caught John’s side and your back. Regardless, he prayed the photos were shit enough to not make it online, let alone to anyone who might recognise you, and therefore him.

He swallowed and peered at you. “Love, I’m, uh… Heading to Bahrain for work next Wednesday.”

“Oh, how long?”

“I’ll be back Monday.”

“Okay.” You patted his thigh with a smile. “If you need anything for the trip, let me know if I can help.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least that went fine.

John held off shaving until the very last night before he left London for pre-season testing on the last weekend of February. It was always bittersweet to erase the months of effort, but this time it symbolised more than the beginning of the season.

Things weren’t going to be as easy with his schedule back in full swing, but he was confident. Everything would be alright and he’d be able to come clean in no time at all.

John called you at the end of each night, to make up for barely responding during the day. You’d tell him about your day, send him pictures of your meals and the new cookie flavours you tried baking at the shop.

On Sunday, you had JP with you at breakfast. ‘He asked for pancakes,’ you said. You served him a stack of tiny pancakes topped with a singular blueberry on an upside down teacup with a shot of milk on the side. He’d grinned at the photo, but most of all, he wanted to cry at how precious you were.

See, distance was not a problem for you and him – everything was fine. So on Monday night at your dining table, what you said caught him off guard.

“John- I just,” you began, moving your food mindlessly with your fork. “I don’t want to be clingy or demanding, but it’s been over three months. I don’t know where you live, I’ve never met any of your friends.” Your eyes met his. “Tell me I’m not unreasonable for wanting to know.”

“You’re not unreasonable at all.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, love. It’s not that I don’t want to, but for now I’m uncomfortable showing you where I live.”

“You know I don’t care whatever it looks like, yeah?”

“Could you give me some more time? I promise to take you when I’m ready. Please give me a few more weeks.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes, and rightfully so. He had turned down each and every attempt to ‘know’ more of him.

Guilt continued to singe him. It was true that the coward dies a thousand deaths but the valiant one. He’d only hurt once for telling the truth, but now that the truth could drive you away from him, he couldn’t risk it.

“Also,” he winced. “I’m flying to Bahrain again on Wednesday.”

You frowned. “You literally were just there today.”

He couldn’t have picked a better time to tell you, could he? Did he have to keep breaking the news to you every week and watch the smile fall off the face of his favourite woman?

“Well, the team stayed there, but I thought I wanted to see you for a bit. I mean- two nights, that’s better than nothing.”

You laid your fork down and gave him a sympathetic look. You sighed before getting out of your seat. For a second he thought you were going to leave, but you went over and wrapped your arms around him as he was still seated.

“You don’t have to do that, John.” You held him against your chest. “I know it’s your job, and I’m not trying to make a fuss about it.”

“I want to,” he mumbled, closing his eyes.

It was silly to admit it, but he’d grown terribly used to seeing you almost every day, sharing meals with you, waking up with his arms around you. He didn’t have the strength to be apart for so long.

Slumber inched closer and the rise and fall of his bare chest slowed under your cheek. He kissed the top of your head, pulling the comforter closer over your exposed shoulders.

“I enjoy seeing more of your handsome face, but I miss your beard already,” you muttered sleepily.

He let out a soft chuckle. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“First race of the season, eh!” Gaz slapped John on the back before plopping down onto the couch next to him. “Will we finally meet her?”

In the hospitality suite, it was the first time they had some quiet since he arrived in Bahrain.

He sighed. “Not yet.”

“Aw, thought it’s official now with your public appearance.”

“What?” He whipped to his teammate. “What are you talking about?”

“The photos. Have you not seen?” He pulled up an article.

Incognito John Price spotted with an unknown woman

The McLaren driver was recently seen strolling hand-in-hand with a mystery woman, sparking speculation among fans on social media. Though nothing is confirmed yet, John has been spotted multiple times with the same woman around the city, adding to the intrigue surrounding their relationship. For the outing, the Scouse opted for a casual ensemble as he’s often seen in, donning a black baseball cap and a matching face mask…

“Who the bloody fuck cares what I’m wearing?” he muttered under his breath.

He scrolled further down, finding photos of the both of you taken in bursts. A set were of you holding hands while walking down the street, the bloom of your laugh at something he said perfectly captured in the photographs. Some where he pulled his mask down to kiss you with an arm wrapped around your waist as you clung onto his bicep. And the last few were of him looking absolutely aghast in the flash as he held the car door for you before driving away.

“You look like shit in the last one though.” Kyle winced. “Like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah,” he answered dryly, tossing the phone back to Gaz. “You’d probably look the same way if someone howled out your name and took your photos in the same second.”

John didn’t bother going through the sea of comments, not wanting to know what unsavoury remarks he was only going to find. He didn’t even realise the man the other day took so many photos. His heart melted at how lovely you looked in the candid pictures with your radiant smile - his favourite state of you, but his stomach churned at the same time.

How long hid he follow you? Spotted multiple times - did that mean there were other photos of the both of you floating around online? At least half of your face was obscured in the shots, but someone who knew you could very much recognise you regardless.

John Sloane was running out of time. There was only one way this was going. The truth had to come out, and it was his choice if he wanted it to explode and destroy what he had with you, or come from him, wrapped as best he could.

But he had time. He only needed a few more weeks to step up his game and get you used to the schedule, to make the transition as seamless as he could for you.

As always, he texted and called when he could, but he had to admit, he felt it. It wasn’t the same if he didn’t get to hold your hand or wrap his arms around you, because two days were not enough at all to let the craving for you melt away.

His confidence flickered, but it didn’t matter. It was his forte after all – his whole life had revolved around relentlessly pushing forward despite how painful it was.

And so he wasn’t giving up. Not on you, not this soon.

Masterlist

@tiredmetalenthusiast @le16erc @kyletogaz @asbestos-n-asbesties @two-autumns

@juicyjujuuu @the-darling-fishy @dahlia-reads @nocturnalreader106 @princessdaniiiii

@freshlemontea @sadcowboyhours @hungrycrazy @hope69world @shinymriver

@buckyboeducky @eve-lie @cumhero0 @ducks118 @readreblogfics

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Lesson Learnt Pt. 2 | John Price x Reader

Summary: After the initial incident that caused your meeting, Johnny sets you and Price up on a date at a little diner nearby.

Word Count: ~ 2.5k

Warnings: can’t say much w/o spoilers but random men, ghost being moody, Johnny being overly friendly, working in customer service…

A/N: idk what happened something possessed me when I made this, it was supposed to be fluff but then it exploded. hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist

Weeks had passed after the initial incident, and your life had quickly changed.

You’d broken up with your toxic boyfriend, now wondering how you hadn’t seen it earlier, and why you hadn’t listened to all your friend's advice and thoughts on him. You’d moved out, blocked him on everything, and found a new apartment closer to your simple job as a barista. It was enough to keep the bills paid, for now. At least until you finally got out of college with your doctorate in nursing science.

Having been in college for nearly eight years now, and not living in the dorm (there were far too many incidents on campus for you to trust any sort of campus police, not to mention the generally shady system of coverups) made it a little bit harder.

Student loans were threatening to suffocate you, but for now, you would focus on one day to the next. All of this, the annoying days that drug on, or the hard times, would all be memories before you knew it, and it would be worth it. Or at least you hoped.

Today wasn’t one of those super slow-moving days where customers were ordering hyper-specific drinks or getting the suspiciously old lemon cakes, only to complain about how stale they were, as if you could do anything about it. No, today was relatively normal, customers minding their own business after ordering, coworkers having idle chatter.

“M’ taking my lunch break.”

You said to your close coworker, Laney. Her honey-brown eyes shifted over to you, and she nodded with a little smile.

“Don’t take too long, might miss some cute boys.”

She teased, knowing full well all of your opinions on relationships right now. You wanted to wait until you had a stable income and were out of school. She’d heard it only about a million times. You huffed a soft laugh, deft fingers untying the knot in your apron as you set it up on a hook, walking out to your car.

Lunch break was about 30 minutes, which was more than enough for you to drive to the nearest cheap restaurant and pick something up. Clicking your key button and heading towards where you heard the beep of your car, you opened the door, sliding into the worn leather. It wasn’t a new car, not by a long shot, but it was your old faithful, and it had served you well for nearly ten years in a row.

You started the car, muscle memory kicking in as you drove to that place right down the road from your work. It was past the chicken shop, a place you would refrain from visiting for a while after seeing some undercover cops staking out there one night.

You turned and pulled into the parking lot, glancing around before opening your door, only for the cold air to nip at your bare arms, when you decided to slip on the warm leathery jacket, with the fur on the inside. The one that the man, John, maybe, had given you. You’d lost the piece of paper with their numbers on it to the washing machine, but oh well. He didn’t look like the type to live around here, anyway, so it wasn’t like you were going to see him again.

Walking into the restaurant, you strode to the front, placing a quick little order and paying with your card, before choosing a small circular table in the corner to wait for your food. This place was usually quick. You idly scanned the guests. Two large men sitting together, chatting. An older woman and what was probably her husband seated with a younger man and woman. Maybe some sort of family double date? A nervous-looking teenager sitting alone, knee bouncing. An old, thin man seated at the far end, mumbling incoherently to himself.

Not unusual.

You pulled your phone out, idly scrolling through social media before your name was called, and you got up to go collect your food.

~

“You sure?”

“M’ tellin’ ya, it’s exactly what Gaz said she looked like.”

Simon glanced out at the girl his sergeant seemed so certain about. He wouldn’t lie, you did match the description pretty decently. Just as he opened his mouth to point anything out that fought against Johnny’s claim (just to spite him, obviously, not because he liked watching Soap get all frustrated and start rambling on for an hour on end), he noticed it.

“She’s wearin’ cap’s jacket.”

Johnny’s brows rose as he snuck another glance at you. You grabbed your tray of food, walking back to the small little corner where your bag was on the seat. You were wearing their captain’s jacket. The brown leather, the slight fuzz in the sides and insides, the buttoned pockets….he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“Hell’s bells, been wonderin’ where that thing went.”

Simon only gave a little grunt in reply, eyes narrowed on you before he glanced back at his food. He didn’t want to seem a creep. He already knew he was intimidating enough to the normal civilian, and one of his “I-want-to-eat-your-firstborn-child” glares (named by Johnny and Kyle) probably wasn’t helping.

“Sounds like Price’s found ‘imself a pretty birdie.”

Johnny lit up at those words, a devilish grin lighting his features, one that Simon usually only saw before he demolished buildings or people with explosives. He was already dreading it before it came out of his mouth.

“We shoul’ set ‘em up on a date.”

“No.”

“Don’ tell me it wouldn’ be a good idea. Might keep him from giving us so many sprints at training, yeah? Ya know he’s been overworkin’ us lately…”

The slight pause Simon took was all Soap needed to continue spewing his disarming, convincing words that usually always worked on his Lieutenant. His lips further curled into a grin as he went on.

“He’s been so tense lately, jus’ let us do this for ‘im, help him relax some…”

“Fine. Get on wit’ it.”

Simon finally relented, suddenly finding his food very interesting to look at as Johnny got up, striding over to you with a confidence one could only expect from the Scotsman.

He glanced up, trying to subtly watch as his sergeant approached you. You were on a call with someone, the phone held up to your ear by your shoulder while you ate your fries, the main entree of your order already gone. When Johnny walked up, you immediately sized him up.

Paranoid. Simon didn’t blame you, living on this end of town. The only reason he and the guys stayed here was for the cheap flats they could get when on leave for a few months. Price had a little house more up South, but never visited it much, letting it gather some dust.

You took the phone from your ear, muttering something to whoever was on the other end, and hanging up. You raised a brow at Johnny, who in turn gestured to your jacket and struck up a conversation. Johnny was trying to look unthreatening, he could tell. Sitting down so he wasn’t standing over you. A small, easygoing smile. Trying to make you laugh, and succeeding a bit.

Five minutes in, and you were seeming more comfortable with him. He wrote something down on a napkin from your table with a pen in his pocket, handing it to you, giving a teasing wink which you snorted at, and walking back over to his and Simon’s table with a huge smile.

“Wha’ did you just do?”

Simon asked, suspiciously eying Soap.

“I set our cap’ up with a date.”

He beamed, and Simon only sighed, knowing that Price wouldn’t take it too well to be sent on a date with a girl he’d only just met a few weeks ago. A girl that hadn’t texted him since. But maybe, just maybe, it would go decently.

~

That had been one of the strangest encounters in your life.

A Scottish man introduces himself as a friend of Price’s, saying something about working together at their jobs and telling you he recognized the jacket you were wearing. So much for not ever seeing John Price again, considering his friend had just set the two of you up, and given you the man’s number too. All the while the gruff-looking man had sat at Johnny’s table, watching the interaction.

It had made you more than a little nervous, but nothing had gone bad. The Scotsman had been friendly, and even funny, but not pushing too far.

And now you had a date on Friday night.

When you got back to work, off of lunch break, Laney helped you into your apron, tying the knot for you like she always did.

“You’re late, what took so long?”

She knew you weren’t usually ever late. Always on time, punctual, even. You managed your time properly.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

She grinned at that, nudging you with an elbow as you started taking orders.

“C’mon, spill it.”

And you did.

You began with the incident a few weeks ago, which she’d mostly already heard about, then told her all about the Scotsman and his friend, and finally the date on Friday. Right when you were about to finish the story, you felt your phone buzz, and you took it out to check it despite usually keeping it on Do Not Disturb. A text from an unknown number, but you knew who it was.

“Sorry for my muppets bothering you, they don’t know how to keep their mouths shut.”

You snorted in undignified laughter, replying while an older customer complained, mumbling something about ‘this generation and their phones’.

“I’m assuming you’re talking about Johnny?”

“Yes, the one that barely talks in coherent English.”

“Aw, he was funny. I liked him.”

“Don’t go liking him too much. We apparently have a date on Friday.”

“I’ll see you there, then?”

“See you there.”

You finally silenced your phone, slipping it back into your pocket as you went back to work with a noticeable pep in your step and a warm, fuzzy smile you offered to customers.

Laney certainly noticed.

When your shift was over, ending quickly, she talked to you while walking out to the parking lot through the back exit.

“I can help you get ready for the date, if you want?”

She offered. You’d be stupid to deny, with the impeccable makeup and fashion sense that she had.

“Sure, I can swing by at 3. That’ll give you plenty of time.”

“You have any shifts the rest of the week?”

“Barely. Just little half-times I squeezed in between lecturers. Last year’s always the busiest.”

“See you Friday, then.”

You beamed at her, sliding into your car as she walked to your own.

“See you Friday.”

~

Some of the days passed in a blur, some dragged on slower than ever before.

Eventually, though, Friday rolled around, and you were sitting in your friend’s chair as she did your hair, your makeup light, but good. You were wearing a simple outfit, some clean jeans, and a cute brown sweater over your white shirt.

It was 4:30, and you had only thirty minutes to haul your ass out to the nice diner the both of you were meeting at for dinner.

“It’s fine, I need to go. Seriously.”

Laney gave you a look, but reluctantly started putting all her things away. You hugged her, mumbling thanks in her ear, before grabbing your purse that had all of your things in it and walking to the exit of her quaint home.

You drive to the diner, finding the parking lot to have the familiar old car you’d seen Price driving in the first place. You parked got out of the car, and walked into the diner, only for the server up front to inform you that you’d already been paid for, and she led you to a table where Price was seated.

He’d tried to dress nicely, you could tell. Beard combed and hair done, dressed in jeans and a comfortable-looking dress shirt. He gave you a small smile as you slid into the booth, and there was already a tray of crinkle-cut fries in the center.

“Hope you didn’ mind that I ordered, big fella like me needs a lotta food.”

He said with a chuckle, and you grinned.

“I don’t mind, trust me, my older brother devours food like no other.”

He smiled, a little bob of his head before his brow raised in mild curiosity.

“You got a brother?”

A nod.

“Yeah, name’s Gary. He’s quiet, but we love ‘im for it.”

“Me and the boys are just about brothers, wish they’d be quiet for once.”

You snorted at that, taking a sip of your water before the waitress came by and you ordered your meal. Price’s was the first to come out, he’d ordered a full English breakfast that the diner somehow served, despite it being around dinner time. Yours came out next, and you both idly chattered about your life, family, jobs (he was apparently military and off on leave right now, not that you minded), and whatnot.

When he was about more than halfway through his food, his phone began buzzing, and his face went serious as he held a small finger up to you with a slightly apologetic expression, taking the phone call.

He listened, and you simply continued eating your food, not minding. Everyone had to take important calls every now and then, sometimes it just wasn’t avoidable.

He gave a few gruff yes’ and no’s, before sighing as he replied for one last time into the phone.

“I’ll be right there.”

When he clicked off the call, shoving his phone into his pocket, he gave an apologetic look.

“It’s an emergency, can’t stay. ‘M sorry.”

You nodded in understanding.

“Is everything alright?”

You asked, and he nodded, face set in what looked like a grim determination. He called a waitress over, paying the bill before you both got up. He gave you a light pat on the shoulder as you both walked out, right before you went to your car.

“We could do this again, if you’d like. With no interruptions.”

“I’d like that.”

He breathed an audible sigh of relief at that.

“I’ll text you when I can.”

Before he began walking to his car, getting in. You walked to yours, opened up the driver’s side door, and slid in before you saw his jacket sitting on the passenger seat. Cursing to yourself, you grabbed it, having it in mind to go take it to him before he left.

Before you could move, though, a hand clasped over your mouth.

A cold prick of pain in the back of your neck. Liquid.

“Don’t scream.”

A voice warned as if you could make any noise at all with a hand over your mouth.

An overwhelming sense of heaviness overtook you, and your vision began swimming, before turning black as your eyes fluttered closed.

“What’re we getting ‘er for?”

“Bargaining chip.”

Tags:

@yearninglustfully

@ashy-kit

@theoslove

@mayoforthewin

[anonymusbosch]

i finally encountered some of those dumbass fridge screens in real life.

- only clearly visible from close to perpendicular

- several not working

- claim to help you find what you want faster. what i want is to LOOKING at the DRINJKS

- the ones out of order, naturally, don't have the prices on paper inside so you just have to put your faith in jesus or something that the gatorade isn't $17

- have cameras.

- have WAVE TO SPEAK MICROPHONES?? what am I supposed to do? talk to the fucking refrigerator? I'm already talking to the refrigerator and telling it things like "I am hitting you with a beam of exploding" and "I wish I could crush you into fine smithereens"

- have ads for Artificial Reality Mini Game Dawn Dish Soap Cleaning Game. bitch. i can do the dishes in Real Reality Real Life Macro Game. you, a refrigerator, are advertising to me the opportunity to virtually do additional dishes? via a QR code? Upon what ground do you think you stand? You're a refrigerator. You don't even have hands. You've never cleaned a dish in your life

- reflections of the lights and of other goods haunt the flattened, two-D facsimiles of milk. like a specter. a specter haunting Europe.

- claims that Coca Cola bottles are Great Gifts to Go. Happy birthday, Mom. I got you a Singular bottle of Coca Cola. The fridge told me to. The fridge knows you better than I do. The fridge knows all. The fridge knows Coke is a gift. But it doesn't fucking know the price of Gatorade. Fuck.

anyway i feel very normal and cool about it. i love screens. i love refrigerator at the walgreens. i was born to achieve man's greatest calling: to crawl into the convenience store at nine pm begging for caffeine and arise triumphant over that sycophantic compressor. to dodge the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes spent on bamboozling the masses with advertisements. to purchase a single bottled tea and escape with my life

[alexiswritingstuff]

Okay, this was requested as a drabble, but I have recently discovered that I don't have the capacity to write short things so, I just made this into a full fic kinda thing... if that's alright. But regardless, I hope this at least covers what you wanted, and more importantly that you like this!!

Thank you for sending this in!!

Summary: Logan finds out that you got into an accident on your way home and rushes to find the hospital you had been taken to.

Warnings: alcohol, mentions and descriptions of car accidents, bruises and other injuries.

A/n: This is probably the quickest I have written for something, so be aware that there might be spelling errors and such. I do go over these, but can still miss them.

I'm also only getting started with writing for Logan, so please keep in mind that I might've not nailed his characteristics and such yet.

Enjoy!

This night had been one of the busiest this week. At least for Logan.

His instincts had brought him back to his favoured place. A bar. However, despite what you may be thinking, and what he had actually thought himself, it wasn’t just for a drink. He had just finished up with a few cage fights. 

Originally, it was only supposed to be one, you know? A singular round to make some money, and blow off a little steam, it was a win win situation.

Though, each time, after his opponent had inevitably been defeated, another person would enter the ring before he even had the chance to leave. It was repetitive, almost a little amusing due to the way they just kept offering themself up. Regardless of seeing the outcome of the previous fight. 

But he wasn’t exactly going to say no to some extra cash.

Now, Logan had found himself sitting at the actual bar, his usual rewards set in front of him, as well as stuffed at the bottom of his pockets. He held his cigar in his right hand, having been lit not that long ago, while the new puff of savoured smoke filtered out from between his lips. 

He did actually have a drink too. There was no way that Logan would walk into a bar without having at least one. And there it sat on one of the provided coasters. It was a whiskey, mostly empty, that had cooled the palm of his hand from how long he had held it.

At this point in the night, it was quiet. Most of the regulars, and general customers, had gone one by one, hunkering down for the night or just taking their gathering somewhere else. It left only a few people dotted throughout the array of tables behind him, yet there was still a constant chatter that layered the room. 

And a lot of which he could hear unfortunately well. 

The sources were always the same in places like these. You had that group of boisterous men bragging about their latest hunt or a fight they had gotten into, and supposedly won. And those people who were meeting up for the first time, at least in a while, that had themselves stuck in this unending loop of useless small talk.

Logan sighed, bringing that faithful lowball glass of liquid gold back up to his lips so the remnants could be finally drained. 

“Another?”

He peered over the rim, gaze locking onto the bartender that had creeped up at some point. Logan nodded. They always seemed to appear at the right times, “One more,” He set down the glass in front of him, savouring the taste layering his mouth even if he wasn’t going to go long without another sip.

The bartender was off within seconds, moving to the array of different bottles to find the same one as before.

Eventually, Logan’s eyes ended up travelling to the TV as he waited, hung in the corner to his left. It was just set on the local news, as it wasn't the season for sports anymore. He could barely even hear the reporter due the bustling sounds around him, so he only focused on the background. 

At first, it seemed to be about the weather, a warning for the locals of the storm about to pass, then they were talking about a raise in prices, or something. Not that surprising. And then there was this picture of a car. It looked like it had been totalled, the front of it almost completely unrecognisable as a vehicle in the first place–

Logan’s phone suddenly rang through the chorus of the surrounding voices, snapping him out of a daze as he started patting at his jacket until he remembered where the thing had been put.

This time he practically grunted as he leaned to the side a bit, placing the cigar between his teeth so that his other hand was now free. He slotted it into the suspected leather pocket, digging around for a few seconds before his fingers had finally located the buzzing device. 

He pulled it out, flicked the front of it open, and cast his eyes upon the screen. He blinked. An unknown number.

Initially, Logan was about to snap it closed. He couldn’t be bothered with dealing with something like that right now, especially when he was trying to relax for the night. I mean, he barely used the thing anyway. 

But then he started to recognise the digits. 

He had seen it somewhere before, most likely around town. He distinctly remembered it being at the bottom of some poster they had spread on a few of the local buildings and shops. He just couldn’t remind himself of its purpose. 

So, intrigued, Logan yanked the cigar from his mouth, pressing that needed button before the phone was brought to his ear, “Hello?”

“Hi, there, sorry to call you at this time, but are you… a Mr. Howlett?”

He paused, eyes following the bartender who had reappeared with his refill. Logan cleared his throat, leaning further onto the counter as his eyebrows furrowed, “Yeah– Who is this? How did you get my number?”

“Your name was listed as an emergency contact for Y/n L/n, is that not correct?” the woman questioned, her voice sounding almost automated as she looked over the paperwork. “Whoa, whoa, emergency contact– what is this about?” Logan demanded, on the verge of choking on his spit. “Sir–”

“Look, lady, is this some kind of stupid joke, or something, because I am not…” The sentence he readied had lost its way. The words faded from his mouth one by one which had his voice closely following. 

The posters. They all held something in common, a specific icon that could only really be correlated with one thing.

A hospital.

“Is this… is this about that accident?” Logan’s voice was still barely there, like that was the last thing he wanted to say, but he had to know. He needed to, “Sir, if you could please let me speak–”

“What building are you? I need the location. Now.” He started pushing himself off of the wooden stool, his cigar being discarded somewhere in the process. And for once, he couldn’t care less. “Sir, I can not provide that information if you keep interrupting me.” the woman spoke, her tone both a little condescending and understanding of the sudden panic. 

But Logan had already taken the phone away from his ear. He was fumbling through his pocket again, trying to scrounge up a few bucks from his winnings, before throwing it on the bar top without even looking at the amount. 

And then he turned on his heel, heading straight for the door. 

“Sir?”

~~~

You were sitting upright in the bed your body had unconsciously claimed. It was how you were set up, cursed to simply sit in the pain even if it was the most relieving position. 

Your lazy eyes were on the conveniently placed TV, desperately watching whatever the channels had to provide to dull out the sound of various beeps emitting from machines, that you probably couldn’t even name if you tried.

But it wasn’t working. 

So, still remaining in the same limp position, you attempted to find the remote. It had been dropped somewhere on the mattress to your side, which was where the random patting began. Until, your hand smacked onto the back of it.

After taking in a deep breath, you raised the remote so that it pointed right at the screen, pressing the button right at the top. The screen went black within seconds.

You let the device fall out of your grasp, and let your body sink a little further into the pillows that kept you sat right, but not without causing a grunt to escape your throat when it had inevitably pinched your side in the process.

The obtained injuries weren’t exactly severe. In all honesty, you had actually been quite lucky in the end. Though that didn’t mean you got off easy. 

I mean, there was still a strain when doing the simplest of movements on your left side. And the doctor had told you a list of things you had to do, even after you got released, like: don’t exert yourself too much, make sure to get lots of rest, keep the weight off of your left leg but also stretch it as much as possible in order to maintain the muscle mass.

But it wasn't the worst… right?

You were staring up at the ceiling, ignoring the tension building between your shoulders and neck. It was so bland and boringly white. This was what was going to be accompanying you for the rest of your stay. Every day and every morning.

It didn’t help that you already hated hospitals, not just for the dull colour choices. It was the vibe itself. Might also be due to the fact that since you had first woken up, you had been poked and prodded by people who had only introduced themselves right then and there. 

Even if they were just trying to help, it felt like you were stuck there against your will. Which wasn’t exactly wrong.

But before you could continue that though further, however, out of nowhere, the door suddenly swung right open. 

It was fast, done with such force that it hit into the wall behind and bounced right back. It almost had you jumping out of your skin, but the most you did was groan in pain. 

“Oh, shit.”

“Thanks.” you muttered, screwing your eyes shut before glaring in the direction of the intruder… only to ease up about a second later. “Logan.”

His movements were sort of rushed at first, dropping something that sounded heavy on the floor below. But he then stopped for a moment, both his head and his eyes wildly searching around for something until he went towards the chair in the corner. 

He picked it up, placed it to the right side of your bed, and took a seat before scooting it even closer. It had his knees practically banging right into the bed frame, “What the hell happened? I thought you weren't driving home?” He grabbed your hand, hesitant to move it anywhere just in case it would hurt.

“I wasn’t, I got a cab. I got impatient, which… serves me right— but it doesn’t matter, I’m fine. It was just a little accident,” you tried to ensure, even squeezing the back of his hand, but his eyebrows only furrowed further.

“A little accident? You sure?” Logan repeated, leaning his body forward a bit so his gaze could reach the other side of your face. And then he practically grimaced, “That doesn’t seem little to me, bub.”

In your defence, you hadn’t exactly had the chance to see yourself in a mirror all day. You had no idea what you looked like, nor the extent of it. But the feeling of it could allow an educated guess. It was most likely bruised. 

Heck, that entire side of your body was probably bruised.

“What happened?” he questioned, the mixture of his tone and his expression making you stifle a sigh. “Can you stop looking at me like I almost died? Please? It was just some jerk, okay?”

“They ran a red light while we were crossing and hit the car-- I just happened to be on that side, that’s it.” Logan stared right at you, the corner of his mouth sort of twitching as he exhaled rather sharply. 

You shook his hand a little, “Look, it doesn't matter, okay? I'm fine.” you insisted, trying to find something to lighten the mood. “Fine?” he repeated, gaze narrowing, “Y/n, you were just hit by a goddamn car-- And how was I supposed to know that, huh? I had to get a call from this damn hospital.”

“Do you… Do you know how terrifying it sounded when they called, asking if I was the correct emergency contact?” He shook his head for a moment, the anger bubbling within him starting to dwindle into something else, “There was…” 

“There was another wreck somewhere, I saw it on the news, and it was– it was bad.” Logan started up again, his voice almost hesitant as he spoke, “Very bad, I mean, the front of the car was just smashed, so, I thought it was... I-- I thought that you…”

He cleared his throat, the grip on your hand loosening as he pressed his lips together. 

“Oh, Logan,” you breathed out, but didn’t know what else to do. You just sort of looked at him for a moment. His expression was just stuck between this guilt and anger. Something that was all too common when it came to him.

You squeezed his hand again, this time more firm, and you could see his attempt to smile. But it just wouldn’t hold. “I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough.”

“Hey.” 

“You know, I-- I would've picked you up, I would’ve been there, but the cell service and the traffic, it just-- That's why I couldn't even get here faster, and–”

“Hey, look at me.” you called louder, more stern. Logan’s mouth sort of wavered a little, unsure of what to do with itself, until it snapped shut. “None of that matters.” You held his gaze, your eyes sincere yet serious at the same time. 

“I’m just glad that you’re here now.”

It seemed to take a bit for the words to really settle in Logan’s head. You could practically see the way the cogs turned. 

Truthfully, no matter what you said, that expression would probably still remain on his face in one way or another. He would still think the same things. But he still managed a sigh, relaxing his shoulders in the process.

“I, uh, brought a few things up.” he informed slowly, starting to lean over the armrest in a way that still kept your hand in his. He was reaching for something, “I'm not sure if I made the right choices, but there's, uh... some clothes.”

“Just a few things I had in the car-- You don't have to wear them.” Logan added on, the sound of something bag-like dragging along the floor until he could sit up straight. “There’s also some snacks.” He paused, meeting your eyes once again, “I don't know if you're allowed them or not, but, I just-- I just sort of grabbed them.”

“You didn’t… have to do all that.” You felt almost guilty. He did all that, just for you to make him angry pretty much the second he got here. It didn’t seem fair. Logan merely shrugged. “Too late.”

This was the first time his face had lightened up, at least a little bit. 

The tension wasn’t pulling at his brows, nor the skin around his mouth. It was sort of freeing. He fixated on a point of your face for a moment, and then it lowered. It trailed down your cheek before landing on the mattress.

He shifted in his chair, looking at you once again. “Can I?” Logan asked, gesturing towards the bed. “Of course,” you insisted pretty much instantaneously. But you saw that glint in his eyes. The concern. Caution. 

“It’s only my left side that’s injured, come up.” you ensured with a nod. And after about a beat, Logan eventually complied, letting go of your hand so he could push himself up from the chair. Still with notable hesitance.

He ended up on the edge of the mattress, his thigh just a few inches away from leaning against yours just in case. You could feel the bed sinking under his weight. It was almost comforting. Reminding you of home. The countless nights where Logan would get home late and just sit beside you for a bit, thinking you were fast asleep. 

“Let me take a look at you." he practically whispered. The words weren't a command, nor a question. There wasn’t even a real purpose as he reached forward anyway. 

The side of his finger landed just beneath your chin. He tilted your head to the side ever so slightly, so that it wouldn't put a strain on anything. And you just let him. 

Now, his eyes could properly cast upon the bruises once again, looking over what was probably a bunch of odd discoloration, a few bumps, and maybe even a few scratches. 

Your left arm was exposed too, due to having a t-shirt on. And that one must’ve been the worst according to the face Logan suddenly made, even if he tried to conceal it. I mean, it did take most of the blow, as well as your leg. 

But he didn’t want to think about what the rest looked like.

“I wish I could heal it.” Logan’s voice was sudden. It was low, and barely even there as if it had forced its way through his lips. He looked back at you, that concern washing through his features as his finger grazed over the skin under your chin. 

You shook your head lightly, letting a smile curl onto your lips. “That would be a little overpowered, don't you think?” you pointed out, even feigning a little concern of your own as you placed your hand on his cheek, “If you could heal yourself, and others?”

It was almost instinctive the way Logan leaned into it within about a second. He lightly grasped your arm, turning his head against your palm just so he could press a kiss onto your wrist. “Would be worth it, so you didn't have to stay in a place like this.”

You huffed a laugh, drinking in that look in his eyes before your hand moved from his cheek to settle at the back of his head. You pushed it forward lightly, guiding the man until he got the message and continued the movement himself.

Soon he had landed on your chest, your arm wrapping around him in the process. There was this sigh that flowed out of Logan’s mouth when your fingers started moving through his hair. It had the rest of his body practically deflating against your side. 

“Thank you for coming.” you whispered at this point, looking down at the man as he grasped onto the arm that held him, issuing it a firm but gentle squeeze. “I always will, bub.” Warm air surrounded the skin when he exhaled again, longer this time. “Always will.”

Your head tilted back after a moment, officially resting against the pillow that was there for that very purpose. It still hurt a little. There was a slight pain that mostly panged between the bottom of your neck and your shoulder. But it was worth it. All of it. 

Your eyes remained closed, your fingers sifting through Logan’s hair in slow patterns. You took in a deep breath. “My hero.”

The man on top of you snorted. Breathing out a muffled response that you couldn’t even hear as  it had been muffled, concealed by the act of burying his face into your shirt.

Finally, for the first time in hours, you could actually relax. 

[anna-the-undertaker]

The Price You Pay

Mammon x MC

MC gets hurt, and Mammon is pissed.

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury, insinuated torture, death

Everyone conveniently forgets that Mammon is the second most powerful of the avatars of sin. His nonchalant attitude, rebellious nature, and notorious failures overshadow his true capabilities. For the Avatar of Greed, this reputation had its pros and cons. On one hand, they believed him to be a fool; on the other, they never saw him coming.

One of his abilities was the power to always know the true worth of an object, deed, or debt. He could immediately determine whether artifacts, jewels, or gold were genuine, or if a service or action was worth the debt owed. Anything of value, he would know.

Mammon often did work for Diavolo on behalf of Lucifer, making deals to boost the future Demon Lord's reputation or acting as a debt collector. Despite his sticky fingers, he knew better than to try anything shady during official transactions for the crown. These weren't the same as stealing Lucifer's wallet or Levi's figures. If he did, the punishment would be far worse than being strung up by the Avatar of Pride.

Years after MC arrived in the Devildom and turned his and his brothers' world upside down, long after he and MC had started a romantic relationship, Mammon was tasked with collecting an artifact gifted to the future Demon Lord. It was an act of good faith and support for Diavolo’s ascension by one of the many noble houses.

This noble house, in particular, was known to oppose Diavolo's exchange program. While many shared their views, they had never acted against the Prince, fearing Barbatos and the Sins first born.

Upon being presented with the artifact, however, Mammon knew it was fake. The replica was detailed, but nothing could escape his gaze.

"What the fuck is this, huh? Ya think ya can just hand over this fake, and I wouldn't notice? You'll be hearing from Barbatos," Mammon barked as he stormed out.

Days passed, leaving the situation to the Demon Lord and Lucifer. Handling dissenting nobles required delicate care to avoid rebellion or war.

Mammon, meanwhile, was at one of his modeling gigs. He planned to surprise MC with a road trip in the human realm, having noticed their homesickness. He'd already gotten permission from Diavolo and Lucifer as a reward for his help, and because they couldn't say no when MC was involved.

In his changing room, the familiar he'd given to MC appeared, squawking frantically.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey! Chill out! What's wrong with ya?" Mammon yelled, confused. Then it dawned on him: this familiar wasn't supposed to leave MC's side unless it was an emergency. His heart raced.

His D.D.D rang, Lucifer’s name glowing on the screen. Mammon answered faster than ever, panic gripping him.

"What's goin' on? Did they rally the other noble houses? Did they attack? Is MC okay?"

Lucifer’s silence was heavy. "Stay calm and listen carefully. I need you to come to the hospital immediately."

Mammon's blood ran cold. Rage took root in his mind. If it were one of his brothers, he knew they could defend themselves. But this was MC.

His D.D.D shattered under his grip, the call severed. He bolted from the room, his speed amplified by his barely contained emotions. He was outside the hospital in an instant, where his brothers waited.

He tried to push past them. "Where is MC!? Take me to them now!"

"Mammon!" Lucifer's hands gripped his shoulders, holding him back. "They are being operated on. The damage is significant, but they will live. You need to calm down."

Mammon’s anger turned toward his brothers. "Why weren't any of you with them? We're supposed to protect them! Why didn't they summon one of us? Why didn't they summon me?"

Lucifer’s eyes tightened with emotion only Mammon could decipher—an expression of powerlessness.

Satan spoke up. "The attacker used a suppression spell, making MC unable to use their magic. It was premeditated. MC is important to us and the Demon Lord, making them the perfect target."

The silence that followed was heavy. Mammon felt more angry with himself than anyone else.

"Who found them?" he whispered.

"If you hadn't gifted MC a familiar, we might not have known what happened or where they were," Lucifer answered. "The familiar guided us to them before coming to you."

Hours passed, and little was said even after the angels, Solomon, Diavolo, and Barbatos arrived. It felt like an eternity before the doctors came to take them back.

Mammon was the first to enter MC's room. They were unconscious, looking worse for wear. Bruises littered their body, and bandages covered their torso, speckled with blood. He could smell it in the air. The beeping of the monitor and the sounds of the respirator created a haunting song ringing in his ears. He gently rested his hand on their cheek, his thumb moving in gentle strokes. He buried his nose in their hair, inhaling their scent, tears pricking his eyes.

"Wait for me, okay?" he whispered, unsure if they could hear him and pressed a searing kiss to their temple.

Then he stood, feeling as if his entire body was on fire. A dark aura overtook him, and no one tried to stop him as he made his way outside.

The Devildom's sky was dotted with stars, the moon casting its gaze like a massive eye, offering no comfort. An infernal incantation slipped from his mouth, summoning a murder of crows as his true form emerged.

"Find the bastard," he ordered. The crows scattered, and he took flight. It didn't take long before they found their target. Mammon crashed through the roof of their hideout, dust billowing around him.

The noble's guards lunged at Mammon, weapons drawn and faces twisted with determination. But with a snap of Mammon’s fingers, they all fell lifeless to the ground, their bodies collapsing like marionettes with severed strings. Mammon then raised his hand, and a dark, malevolent spell engulfed the room, sucking all light away and plunging it into a pitch-black void. The noble found himself trapped within this inescapable darkness, his breaths echoing in the suffocating silence.

Mammon’s voice cut through the void, dripping with disdain. "While you were trying to hide yourself and the artifact from the Demon Lord and his allies after you fucked up during our last meeting, you somehow believed you wouldn’t be found."

The noble’s voice trembled, yet he tried to maintain a facade of confidence. "I am in the business of souls. If we are on peaceful terms with the humans, my livelihood would be at stake. But if this is about the artifact, go on and take it then. There are other ways to get what I want."

Mammon’s eyes blazed with fury, his aura crackling with barely contained rage. "Oh, I'm not here for the artifact. You owe a blood debt and won't be leaving here until I have received every last drop."

The noble's bravado faltered, fear seeping into his voice. "Come now, your Highness, Prince of Greed. Surely you can just take the artifact, yes?"

"Not good enough!" Mammon’s voice boomed, growing deeper, more demonic. "Someone laid their filthy hands on MC... MY HUMAN! No amount of money or artifacts or jewels in the Devildom can pay for that transgression, my lord. No, for that... I want your flesh."

The noble’s face paled, his eyes wide with terror. "Flesh...?"

Mammon's grin was cruel and predatory. "It matters not to me where on your anatomy it is withdrawn from. If you don't have the stomach to take it for yourself, my familiars here..." He gestured, and millions of pairs of golden eyes, now stained red, appeared all around them, their hunger palpable. "...are very adept at tearing flesh from bone, and as you can see, they are quite ravenous at the moment. But! A grim short or a gram shy, and I will savor the fact that you won't leave here alive. Am I clear?"

The noble was silent, frantically searching for an escape, but there was none. The void was absolute.

"Good. I was hoping you'd resist," Mammon barked out a command to the crows in high infernal. They descended upon the noble, their claws and beaks ready to tear their organs from their body. Mammon turned and left, the noble's screams echoing behind him as he stepped into the night, his fury only partially sated by what he had wrought.

Days later, the noble's dilapidated corpse was found strewn through the trees, dangling in little pieces. The scene was macabre, the remains a grim reminder of the wrath that had been unleashed. Crows circled overhead, a harrowing warning.

The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the gruesome display left no doubt about the message: MC was not to be touched. The flapping of countless wings and the haunting cries of the crows drove the point home. This was the fate awaiting anyone who dared harm MC, so long as the Avatar of Greed breathed.

[pinkrangermemes]

EPIC: THE MUSICAL, THUNDER SAGA

i was going to wait til all of the sagas release to make another post, but here we are. feel free to change pronouns and such when needed.

"Don't you miss me?"

"_____, I've told you this before."

"You know I'm afraid of the water."

"I'll make sure that you are safe and sound."

"I would take the suffering from you."

"I can take the suffering from you."

"I will take the suffering from you."

"Oh no."

"Well, you asked and now you know."

"The things I do for you."

"Let's cut the charade."

"You are no wife of mine."

"You've been trying to take my life this whole time!"

"My real wife knows I'm not scared of the water."

"My real wife knows I don't have a daughter."

"We are a different beast now."

"No more of us deceased, 'cause we won't take more suffering from you."

"We are the man made monsters."

"We are the ones who conquer."

"You are a threat no longer."

"You pretended to be my wife, so I just played along."

"Sirens know about every route and horizon."

"Spare us. Oh, spare us, please."

"You wouldn't have spared me."

"I made a mistake like this, it almost cost my life."

"Let them drown."

"Kill them all."

"This is our only way home."

"You're quiet today."

"Not much to say."

"I've got a secret I can no longer keep."

"Deep down, you know that we are the same."

"I'm so sorry."

"There is no price we won't pay."

"Forgive me."

"We both know what it takes to survive."

"Deep down, we only care for ourselves."

"Deep down, we're lonely demons from Hell."

"Captain, something approaches."

"Drown in your sorrows and fear!"

"Choke on your blood and your tears!"

"Bleed 'til you've run out of years!"

"Give up your honor and faith!"

"Live up your life as a wraith!"

"Die in the blood where you bathe!"

"We must do what it takes to survive."

"We are the same you and I."

"Tell me you did not know that would happen."

"Use your wits to try and say I'm crazy and mad!"

"Say something!"

"Then you have forced my hand."

"No can do."

"Don't make me fight, you brother."

"You know you'd have done the same."

"If you want all the power, you must carry all the blame!"

"I am not letting you get in my way!"

"How are we supposed to trust you now?"

"Your time has come, your luck's run out."

"You relied on wit, and then we died on it."

"Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do."

"____, we're never gonna get to make it home. You know it's true."

"You don't know that's true!"

"I'm tired, my friend!"

"How much longer must I suffer, now?"

"How much longer can I push through Hell?"

How much longer must I go about my life like this when people die like this?"

"You've doomed us."

"You've doomed us all, _____!"

"Now that we've pissed them off, who do you think he'll send!"

"Pride is a damsel in distress."

"Someone's gotta die today, you have got the final say."

"Please don't make me do this."

"Let me take the suffering from you."

"I have to see her."

"But we'll die."

[forestshadow-wolf]

Gods au but all relevant characters (the 141) are just normal humans

Ghost who believes in faith-god. Unwaveringly so. But it's only because he's hunting. Hunting who? Hunting God. Ghost wants to bitch god on his knees. And he is VERY loud about it.

Price is just glad the he is able to stop his delusional son lieutenant from fighting inanimate objects

...... and because I can never not make it ghoap (😒) Soap is also looking for a specific god to fight (or to beg). He doesn't know which one, he supposed it is sickness. See- he has a sister. A very pregnant sister who is also very ill. And doctors say her prospects don't look good. And soap IS NOT going to lose them.

Ghost helps soap, soap helps ghost. Maybe the gods have mercy on them, maybe they don't, who knows

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

something for the knight!price x princess!reader that I had to write before I went to bed

How could he do this to you? Were you not important enough to be informed by him personally or did you have to be told by every servant you had come across that the knights were leaving today?

You stomped through the courtyard of the castle, unable to keep yourself as composed as you should've. You weren't sure why you were angry, this wasn't uncommon, in fact the knights were more than often gone from the kingdom than they were at the castle and yet you couldn't help but feel hurt.

It was because you would be stuck at the castle, having no one to escort you anywhere when the knights were gone, leaving you in a horrible state of boredom.

You had the right to know you were going to be left alone and that had to be the only reason why you were so angry.

"You were going to leave without saying anything to me." You snapped when you found him, Sir Price, captain of the knights of the royal family, getting his horse ready in the stables.

"I didn't think it mattered, your highness." Price glanced at you with his usual scowl, the one he always had on his face when he looked at you. "I thought you would've loved to see me leave."

"Of course I am happy but I have a right to be told when my bodyguard is leaving."

Price rolled his eyes and you scoffed. He continued to pack his things away on his horse without looking at you, which made you want to stomp your foot on the ground.

"What am I supposed to do while you're gone?" You wondered and he shrugged.

"What you do everyday, your highness," He looked back at you with a smug smile. "Nothing."

"Oh, funny."

You crossed your arms and watched as he finished packing everything away onto his horse.

A pit fell into your stomach as you watched him ready his horse. He was leaving and you should be happy about it. You should be happy that he was no longer breathing down your neck and watching your every move. You'd have little freedom, unable to go where you pleased but at least you wouldn't have to deal with his snarky comments or jokes.

Yet you wondered if maybe this would be the last time you'd ever get to see him. Maybe this would be the last time you'd ever hear his gruff voice or see his beautiful blue eyes.

You detested him and yet the thought of never seeing him again made your stomach turn.

"You will come back." You demanded and when he didn't say anything you balled your hands into fists. "Tell me you will come back."

Price looked at you with slight confusion. His eyes bounced around your face and you watched the way they softened, the crease in his brow disappearing while he gripped the reins tightly.

He stared at you in silence for a long moment and his breathing became heavier.

Your mouth felt dry under his intense gaze and you felt the need to look away from him as heat washed over you. It was too much and you clasped your hand in front of you as you swallowed hard.

"If you don't, I think I'll be stuck inside the castle forever." You told him weakly.

When you glanced back at him, he sucked in his lips and averted his gaze from you. You watched he rubbed his chin before he nodded.

"I'll come back to you."

Your breath hitched in your throat.

To you...

Oh.

You didn't have faith in your voice so you only nodded. You watched as he wrapped the reins around his hand and his face fell back into that scowl you had grown accustomed to.

"Now, if your highness allows it, I must be going." Price gave you a look and you rolled your eyes.

"Go." You dismissed him with a wave.

Price bowed his head and turned, waking away with his horse in tow. He didn't look back at you, even when you followed him from behind at a distance.

You watched him mount his horse and join the other knights who were waiting for him, unable to take your eyes off him as the pit in your stomach grew larger. You weren't sure how long he'd be gone for, but you hope it wouldn't be a year or longer.

You're not sure if you'd survive.

As the knights rode towards the front gates, Price turned back and saw you. He didn't wave or indicate that he saw you, though he knew you saw him look back when you raised a hand to wave.

Oh, how you hate one another.

A/N: short makes no sense but here

[wordstome]

Endless Nights - Price x Reader

I started thinking about Sandman again because of Barry Sloane as Destruction of the Endless and went back to reread everything Destruction is in, including his Endless Nights story. Now I can't stop thinking about Price x archaeologist reader...

1.7k, please forgive any archaeological or military errors I only took like 1 anthropology class two years ago

You've been on all sorts of digs, but this has got to be one of the most chaotic. Your team's been sent to this peninsula to unearth some recently discovered artifacts. They think it's remnants of a little-known indigenous population, and it's your job to dig everything up safely.

Only problem is, there's a military base on top of it.

"Maybe it won't be so bad. Military personnel are good at following orders," your coworker says while you're unpacking your tools.

You snort. "Yeah, but they're equally good at putting holes in things and blowing things up. I don't think they have a lot of respect for fragile ancient artifacts."

"Ouch," your coworker says, wincing and putting a hand to his chest in a mock expression of pain. "No love for our nation's bravest?" You roll your eyes at him.

"It's not like that. I'm just saying we need to be vigilant about keeping them away from work sites. Take no shit, as it were."

"With the military? Good luck, I guess."

It's not that you dislike or even distrust every single person who's ever been in the military, it's just that you don't have much faith in their ability to hold respect for your work. Archaeology is quiet, meticulous work, a far cry from gunfights and kicking doors in. You're going to be here for quite a while, and if you don't establish boundaries right out of the gate, you'll be fighting an uphill battle for the rest of the dig.

That's what you're telling yourself as you sit in a gray, featureless meeting room. You and your supervisor are supposed to be meeting with a John Price, a British SAS captain. Kate Laswell, an American CIA agent, told you he's the proxy you'll be cooperating with during the dig.

You're prepared for all sorts of men to walk through that door: a balding middle-aged man with a power trip, or perhaps some blustering meathead whose voice no longer goes lower than a shout. Instead, the man that walks through the door and shakes your supervisor's hand leaves you staring, just barely keeping it together enough so you're not drooling with your jaw on the floor.

He's hot.

Your head fills with static as he turns to you and hits you with possibly the most endearing smile you've ever seen on a man. It's not just that he's somehow pulling off the beard and mutton chops look, or that his rough British accent is making you feel some type of way down there. It's the way he walks, like it's heavy—

"Pleased to meet you," Price says, shaking your hand. His hand engulfs yours as he gives it a brief squeeze. It takes your every last brain cell to answer with something other than Please tell me you're not wearing a wedding ring because you're actually single.

The meeting consists of him and your supervisor laying ground rules while you nod mutely and try not to audibly moan when Price adjusts himself in his seat, his hips moving in a way that is definitely going to undo you if you think about it too hard.

You walk out of the meeting having barely survived, but confident that the whole ordeal was a one-time thing. He's just who you complain to if one of the soldiers stumbles into a work site and smashes one of the artifacts, after all. You'll never have to see him.

Except you do. Every day, multiple times a day, he's there. He's obviously got his own shit to do of course, but it's like you can't get away from him: walk into a tent, and he's there chatting to one of your coworkers. Eat a meal, and he's there talking to a squad of soldiers and clapping someone on the back with a hearty laugh. Turn a corner, and he's there to full-body slam into you—

"Pardon me, sweetheart. Didn't see ya there." You're ashamed to say you don't do much more than stare at him with what must be the most pathetic petrified doe eyes as he gives you a pat on the shoulder and goes on his merry way. That was like running into a solid brick wall...

It would be fine if it were just you having a silly little unreciprocated crush. You've had those before and survived. But what starts to get to you is the little things: the way his eyes flick to you when you enter his vicinity, accompanied by a nod. The way his eyes linger on you for a moment too long before looking away. The brief touches against your shoulders or hips when he's maneuvering past you in a small space.

Frankly, it's driving you crazy, and it's starting to show.

"If you dust that piece any harder, you're going to damage it," your coworker scolds you. You all but jump backwards from the piece you're working on. You'd been so absorbed in mentally dissecting his body language the last time you were in the same room as him that you'd brushed the piece far beyond the point of being clean.

This won't do. You have to do something about this.

Mercifully, you've been given your own individual room to sleep in, which is quite the luxury after a career full of sleeping in dusty tents or sharing bunks with coworkers. It also gives you enough privacy to...take care of business, as it were.

Obviously, you didn't bring any "tools of the trade" that weren't useful for your work, so it's just you and your hand past 11 pm. You feel beyond perverted, slipping a hand between your thighs as you think of Captain Price.

You can still feel the weight of his hands on your body, brief though they were, and picture what else those touches could be doing. Your own voice slips out in a moan as you imagine his, low and grumbling yet soothing while he pushes you into the sheets, that endearing smile turned devious and devastatingly sexy as he spreads you open for him with those hands of his and collects your wetness on his fingers...

Your heart jumps out of your chest as you hear a knock at the door. You all but fall out of bed, scrambling to pull on enough clothing to be decent. "J-just a minute!" you call, inwardly cursing yourself for how breathless you must sound.

You answer the door, flustered and a mess, to see the subject of all your fantasies staring there. For a split second, you're petrified by the possibility of Price having heard your desperate whines and whimpers and knocking on your door to politely ask you to quit cranking it in his barracks.

"Apologies, sweetheart. Hope I didn't wake you up?" His eyes are so striking, so sincere, that you know he could have woken you up from the best sleep of your life and you'd still be unable to be mad at him.

"No no, I was...no need to worry. What can I do for you?" you say, relief flooding through you. Of course he didn't hear you. He's not a total pervert like you.

"Well love, I...it's probably best if you come take a look for yourself," Price says, looking almost sheepish. Your heart sinks a little—this cannot be good.

He leads you out of the barracks towards one of the job sites, directing you towards a table with several excavated artifacts laid out. "One of my men thought it'd be wise to steal his mate's torch, had him stumbling around in the dark out here. He says he bumped one of these tables and heard something fall on the ground, and I figured you should know right away instead of waiting 'til the morning and having all sorts of people tramping through here."

You give him a brief grateful look before crouching down with a flashlight. After a bit of looking, you find the missing object: a thick shard of pottery, lying forlornly on its side by a table leg.

You reach forward to pick it up, but the captain has spotted it as well, resulting in his hand landing on top of yours over the pottery. For a brief, dizzying second, his hand lays heavy and warm over yours, and you could have sworn that his fingers had shifted as if to take your hand in his.

In a blink, the moment's over, and the captain's hand shoots back to his side. Trying not to make an utter fool of yourself, you push yourself back up to a standing position, examining the pottery shard with a discerning eye.

"Looks like no harm was done," you say to him with a smile. "Mayday averted."

"Good to hear. I'll make sure the knuckleheads who did this receive a thorough dressin' down for this incident." You're grateful that the warmth rushing to your face at his stern tone can't be seen in the dark as you carefully set the pottery back in its place on the table.

"I'll walk you back to the barracks. Can't have my favorite archaeologist stumblin' their way around themselves, now can I?" You nod mutely, unable to look at him for much longer than a few stolen glances.

The two of you are quiet all the way back to your door, where you stand in the hallway, fidgeting with your hands and feeling the urge to say something, anything. "Thank you," you blurt out. "For not waiting until tomorrow morning. There's no telling what foot traffic would have done before we noticed the missing piece."

"Your work's important, love. And while you're here, you're our guests. It'd be rude to not be taking care of your work, wouldn't it?" You nod shyly, basking in the warmth of his attention.

You're frozen to the spot as he leans in to whisper directly in your ear, his lips brushing against it. "Next time you're relievin' a bit of tension, feel free to stop by my quarters, yeah? I think you'll find there's a lot more I can take care of than just your work."

Your eyes go as wide as saucers as he winks at you. Before you can even process what just happened, he's already walking away from you down the hall.

Feeling like you've just been handed some delicious and forbidden secret, you whirl around to shut yourself into your room, sliding down with your back against the door to sit on the floor. Did that truly just happen? Are you hallucinating? Or had you fallen asleep by accident and you're really just having some beautiful, delusional dream?

It doesn't feel like a dream when you realize you're soaking wet.

God, I cannot wait until Barry Sloane's Destruction promo images drop. For reference, these are the posters we got for season 1:

To be very honest, I wrote this like a possessed woman in the span of like an hour. I don't think there's going to be a part 2 unless you guys really get me going with some new ideas 😅

Also, I don't have a tag list (because I write almost exclusively for one particular Austrian), but I will tag my beloved @danibee33, and @ceilidho, as thanks for giving me Barry Sloane brainworms.

[thesoftestirises]

swim

♡ pairing : aemond x reader ♡ rating : 18+. this is straight up smut lol. minors dni. you will be blocked. ♡ word count : 1.8k ♡ warnings : light degradation, humiliation, fingering, dirty talk ♡ summary : You are supposed to be a pure maiden devoted to only the gods. But instead, you allow the forbidden pull of carnal desire to drive you into Prince Aemond Targaryen’s arms. ♡ a/n : unhinged, unprotected, and unbeta’d. if you see a mistake, no you didn’t. (please dm me so i can fix it thank you 💕) as usual, the assumption is that all my characters are consenting adults.

To the outside world, you were a paragon of virtue.

A pious, studious daughter of nobility, destined to one day be a lady of faith. A wife of the gods, as your parents often said.

That could not be further from the truth, you thought to yourself as Prince Aemond Targaryen pinned your back to the wall behind you and pressed his lips to yours hungrily. You made a soft noise of surprise, but quickly melted into the press you had grown familiar with over the last few days. You brought your hands to his broad shoulders and welcomed him in further, inhaling his intoxicating, unique scent of fire and parchment.

“This dress has been nothing but a distraction to me all night,” Aemond whispered against your mouth, his voice falling into an almost hushed moan as his hands moved to the fabric over your hips.

“This dress, your highness? I look ridiculous. I’m afraid it would be better suited for hauling potatoes,” you said, pointedly turning your gaze to the frilly, puffed sleeves. “If that.”

Aemond chuckled into your kiss, his lips curving upwards in that charming way you could never resist.

“You look beautiful in everything. Besides, I think it makes you look innocent,” he replied, stealing another kiss before putting a few inches of space between the two of you. “Even though we both know you’re anything but.”

“Under your corruptive influence,” you teased. “I was as pure as freshly fallen snow before I met you.”

“Oh, is that right?” Aemond said, arching one perfect eyebrow at you as he tilted his head. “I could have sworn it was you who threw yourself at me a mere week after our first meeting.”

You pursed your lips and shook your head in denial. “I don’t recall that ever happening, your highness. You must be mistaken.”

“Is that right?”

“I do believe so.”

“So it was not you who I kissed in the garden veranda but a fortnight ago?” Aemond asked, winding his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. “How strange. You look exactly like her.”

“How strange indeed, but I would never engage in such improper acts. Certainly not with such a powerful, handsome prince,” you said, gently brushing Aemond’s soft blonde locks away from his face. You skimmed your thumb over the soft, worn leather of his eyepatch and sighed. “You don’t have to wear this around me, you know.”

Aemond’s smile dimmed, his gaze shifting away from you. “It’s not a pretty sight, my lady. I keep it covered for a reason.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Sometimes. I see my scars as the price I paid to become the man I am today.” he replied, his uncovered pale blue eye focused on you. “But the way that others recoil, or worse, look on with pity? That bothers me far more. I couldn’t bear it if you pitied me.”

“I could never,” you said, your voice firm. “I would never pity you. You are strong, honorable, and intelligent. Most men wouldn’t even measure to half of you. What is there to pity?”

The corners of Aemond’s mouth lifted in a small, but genuine smile. “You flatter me, my lady.”

“I speak only the truth.”

“I’ll remove it for you one day. But there was something else I was hoping to try with you tonight.”

“What is it?”

“In those dirty novels you always have your nose buried in,” Aemond whispered, his heated gaze locking with yours. “Have you read of fingering?”

You swallowed. “Yes. But I- I haven’t-“

“Shh, I know, love,” Aemond said, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. “I just want to touch you. Make you feel good. Do you want that as well?”

“Yes, but I’ve never done anything but kiss you, my prince. This is…”

“Lewd?”

You bit your lower lip and nodded.

Aemond laughed and pressed a soft kiss to your nose. “You were so bold when you first approached me. Now I offer to go further, and you get bashful?”

You pouted and crossed your arms. “It’s not like that.”

“Then? What is it like, sweet girl? Are you afraid of pleasure?”

You tried to fight off the heat rising to your cheeks and dropped your gaze to your shoes. “What if it hurts?”

Aemond took your chin into his rough, calloused fingertips, his touch paradoxically gentle in comparison to the state of his hands. He looked at you, his gaze earnest. “I would never hurt you.”

“Okay,” you agreed.

“Yes? You’ll let me stretch you out?”

“Fuck,” you groaned. “Yes.”

“Come.”

You allowed Aemond to lead you to his bed, tumbling in with him following after you. He settled between your thighs, pulling you into a open mouthed kiss. He lightly traced his tongue over the roof of your mouth and brushed his lips over yours until you were shuddering. His hands pushed your dress up until it was gathered at your hips. You broke the kiss to breathe, running your hand down his chest and playing with the gold buckles on his clothing.

“You are so devastatingly perfect, my prince,” you sighed, the words slipping off your tongue without you even thinking about them.

“I feel the same way about you,” he replied, no hint of humor in his tone.

Your breath caught in your throat and he kissed you again. Maybe you were just being delusional, but you could have sworn you felt a different type of passion in his movements. Your eyes closed and you wrapped your arms around his neck as one of his hands traced little patterns into the sensitive skin of your thighs. His fingers trailed up higher and higher until he was touching you through your inner layers of clothing.

“Are you nervous?” He murmured.

“A bit,” you admitted.

“I can stop,” he said. “I do not wish to pressure you into something you will regret.”

“Don’t you dare. Finish the job, Aemond.”

He chuckled and nodded, moving in to lick and bite at your neck. “You’re so wet, angel. You’ve practically soaked through your knickers and I haven’t even done anything. Do you like me that much?”

You whined and spread your legs further, inviting Aemond in. He smirked and finally pushed your undergarments to the side, not bothering to take them off before he used a cold finger to stroke between your folds.

“Fuck, Aemond,” you cried as your hands twisted into his bedsheets. “Your hands are freezing.”

“Aw, I’m sorry, my sweet girl. I’m sure your little fuckhole will warm them up. Invite me in, darling. Beg for me to touch you.”

“Please,” you whined.

“Mm, I need you to be a little more specific. I think you know the kinds of things I like to hear from that pretty mouth.”

You sucked in a breath, dizzy from the atmosphere he created with just a few words. “Please, Aemond. Please put your fingers in my hole and stretch me out. I need you to wreck me. I want to feel you inside me.”

“You’re just my sweet, obedient whore, aren’t you? You’re mine. Tell me who you belong to.”

“You, I belong to you.”

“Your lips are mine,” he said, pressing a kiss to your open mouth. “Your tits are mine,” he said, roughly squeezing a breast. “And your pussy is mine. You’re mine and I’m never letting you go.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, a tear sliding down your face. Aemond looked alarmed at first before he realized you were just overwhelmed. He licked your tears away and kissed your cheek as you gasped in surprise.

“Don’t forget it,” he said, pressing two fingers into your mouth. “Get them nice and wet for me, won’t you?”

You obediently sucked and moaned around his digits, your eyelids closing.

“You’d be a natural at sucking cock, wouldn’t you?” He said, pulling his fingers out and smirking before finally sinking a finger into your entrance. The stretch wasn’t too bad, probably because Aemond had done a wonderful job getting you worked up enough to want it. It was a new sensation to have someone inside you like that. You could feel him curiously exploring your inner walls, searching for the places that made you gasp. He pulled the finger out to his first knuckle before slowly burying back inside. “You’re so tight, sweet girl.”

He shifted to kneel between your legs, using his other hand to gently stroke your clit. You quickly fell apart into a moaning mess as he toyed with the sensitive bead while pressing against your inner walls. Aemond kept going, pressing a second finger in and pausing when you hissed in discomfort.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just give me a second. It’s a lot,” you admitted.

“Do you want to take a third finger or is two okay?”

“Two is good. We’ll have to work up to three next time.”

He nodded, focusing on stroking your clit and pushing his fingers deeper into you. You cried out when he pressed against a particularly sensitive part of your walls. He grinned at the reaction and repeated the movement, purposely rubbing his fingertips against the area. He had to kiss you to shut you up, giggling against your lips.

“You really like being touched here, don’t you? You know what this is?”

“I’m guessing you’ll tell me,” you said breathlessly. He immediately punished you for your sass by pulling his fingers out of you and smacking your clit. You gasped and grabbed his shoulders, toes curling.

“Don’t backtalk me,” he said, a dark smile on his face. “Got it?”

You quickly nodded, sighing as he pushed his fingers back inside you.

“Your moans are like music. Oh, I’d die to spend the rest of my life between your thighs. Look at you, you make such a pretty picture like this. Clothes just pushed out of the way like a ravished maiden in a dirty portrait. You’re such a slut.”

“Your slut,” you corrected, smiling.

You found it harder and harder to keep your eyes open as he kept pushing inside you. All you could do was spread your legs further and gasp for air.

“Are you going to come, sweet girl?” Aemond teased. “Hm? Gonna come all over my fingers?”

“Yes,” you croaked, your voice just as weak as the rest of you.

“Do it, angel. I want to see you fall apart.”

You felt an intense wave of pleasure crash over you, much stronger than any self inflicted orgasm you’d given yourself. Aemond held you through it, nuzzling into your hair with his nose as you came down from your peak. When you had fully returned to your senses, you turned your head and saw him grinning at you like a madman.

“What?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You made a mess.”

“I did not,” you scoffed.

“Oh, but you did,” he smirked, showing you his glistening hands. “I suppose you’ll have to make it up to me.”

—