#tide pod dress

[scaredofghosts]

Isn't it? delicate

[remarkist]

taylorswift.remarkist

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

Every time I read questions about how Taylor chooses which outfit to wear on stage I remember the video where she is asking her mom what to wear that night and they decide the tide pod dress is the right choice. lol

For this tour … mom what do you think? Stinky dress or Christmas sparkle dress?? And inexplicably they choose stinky dress. Again.

😬

Stinky: Rise of the Stink.

[rayanlovestaylor]

this probably means we’ll have variations of the 1989 sets just like the old days :’))) plus a debut dress to match which means we may get a green debut fit :’)))

[putting-eddie-munson-in-places]

Dress him up as a tide pod

forbidden gusher

[cleo-fox]

Conquer

Part 2 of 5

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: The king intends to take a bride. You just never thought it would be you. (Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Chapter Summary: It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Tag List: I don’t have a tag list for this fic, sorry! The best way to hear about updates is to follow me on Tumblr or subscribe to the fic on AO3.

Chapter Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, enemies to lovers, dirty talk, praise kink, edging, teasing, p in v sex, vaginal fingering, orgasm delay, semi-public sex, light Dom/sub. (see series masterlist for series warnings)

A/N: I realize that the GIF I'm using for this chapter is TVA!Loki, but the attitude is very much in keeping with this chapter, so I decided to forgo accuracy in favor of thirst. Also, you may be thinking "Part 2 of 5? I thought this was going to be 3 chapters!" Me too. Welcome to what it's like being in my brain: even I don't know what's going on here.

The wedding night isn’t the end of the sex, of course.

The immediate, sharp need for your first coupling is gone, but there’s a dull and persistent ache that keeps you coming back to his bed every night (and several times during the day). Loki is equally ravenous, if not more so.

While you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re going to fuck him, you still don’t like being the one to initiate sex. It sounds silly, but it feels like admitting to a vulnerability that you’re not prepared to acknowledge, let alone act on.

The problem is that your sex drive has skyrocketed since the wedding.

You’ve heard about this happening—the saying soulbonds are meant to be consummated, but some are more thorough than others didn’t come out of nowhere. You just didn’t think it would be a problem for you, especially once you found out who your soulmate was. 

You were wrong about this, of course—you are constantly horny. Your mind is a cineplex of perversion, constantly playing memories of the times that he has fucked you, ways he might fuck you next, his hands, his lips, his tongue, his annoyingly perfect cock. It makes you want to run your brain through the washing machine, like a couple of Tide pods and an extra rinse cycle might fix this.

But the part that drives you crazy is that he always seems to know when you’re in these moods and he always manages to claim the upper hand. It is—like so many things with Loki—profoundly irritating.

It’s all physical—your conversations are limited to the mundane or the utterly filthy. It’s no surprise that Loki has a gift for talking dirty and you wish that it didn’t work as well as it does. You wish that—for example—it were a little more challenging for him to talk you into letting him get you off in the limo on your way to a gala event hosted by the Swedish government.

You can feel his gaze caressing your body as you walk down the stairs to meet him. Your dress is gold and glittery, and hugs your curves while the slit sneaks just high enough that you know the fashion blogs will call it daring. You keep your eyes on your feet and your hand on the railing as you navigate the stairs in your heels. Normally, Loki would comment on that—something about how you needed proper education in comportment, you were a queen, queens don’t stare at their feet, people expected elegance, blah, blah, blah. Tonight, though, he’s silent as he takes you in, which you know means that he’s particularly enchanted by how you look. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to feel sexy and confident, to enjoy the fact that the most powerful man on the planet has been rendered speechless by how you look.

Are you ridiculously horny? Sure, but you’ve got it under control. You can hold out for an evening and you’re pretty sure Loki hasn’t figured it out. If he had, he almost certainly would have said something inappropriate when he offered you his arm. He’s probably going to be distracted by the gala anyway. Why had you ever doubted yourself?

When the two of you get into the limo, you remember why. 

The moment the door shuts behind you, Loki is pulling you close, his hands cupping your breasts and then sliding down to your thighs while his lips latch on to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet.

“What are you doing?” you ask, as though his intentions are in any way unclear.

“You need to come. I can smell you.” He’s hiking up the fabric of your dress.

Well. So much for him not noticing.

Your cunt clenches. “We’re in public.”

“Those windows are tinted and the partition is up.” His breath is warm on your neck as the fabric of your dress pools around your waist. 

“I can still wait.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can.” His fingers slip between your legs (when did you spread your legs for him?), gently grazing the gusset of your underwear, which you know is embarrassingly wet. “Soaked already,” he breathes, rubbing your clit through the thin fabric. “You need to come.”

“I-I c-can—I can wait until—oh fuck.” 

He pushes the fabric of your underwear aside and lightly teases your clit with the tip of his finger.

“You can’t,” he rasps, lightly nipping at your earlobe. “You’re such a greedy, needy little thing. Your cunt is insatiable.”

He presses his first three fingers together and rubs your clit in a big, broad circle that makes your back arch.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your hands flexing against the seat. “Fuck, just like that.”

“I thought you said you could wait?” he says with that mocking lilt to his voice, the one that makes you simultaneously want to punch him in the face and also ride him hard and fast and a little rough.

“Shut up,” you grit out.

He laughs low in your ear. “Oh, you don’t mean that, I know you love it when I talk you through it.”

You hate that he’s right.

“You love hearing about how tight and wet you are, how hard I am for you.” He drops his voice lower. “How hard I’m going to fuck you.”

You can’t help the quiet moan that falls from your lips.

“Yes, you love it when I talk to you like this,” he purrs. “And I love hearing what an utterly filthy, wicked girl you are.”

You whimper, despite your best efforts to keep quiet. 

“Oh, I like that little noise,” he says, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Let me hear you.”

“I hate you so much.”

You’ve said this to him before and like all the other times, he simply laughs. “Hate me all you like, darling, but you and I both know that you love what I do to you.”

You bite your lip and try to focus on the pleasure that’s rising in your hips.

“Has anyone ever made you come as hard as I do?” he muses, like he’s just making casual conversation. “From the way that you scream and beg for it, I imagine that there haven’t been very many that were capable. Your cunt has quite clearly been neglected.”

You’re going to ignore what he’s saying. That’s what you’re going to do. There’s no reason to listen to any of what he’s saying.

“The truth is that you need me, don’t you?” he says, nipping at your ear. “You need me because I know exactly what to do to sate your needy little cunt. I know exactly how to make you scream.”

You hate how close you are, hate how the impending rush of your orgasm has basically rendered you speechless, save for a few incoherent whimpers.

He brings his lips close to your ear, lowering his voice to a growl. “What would those pitiful Midgardians say if they knew their queen was such a needy little slut?”

Instead of delivering a stern rebuke, you come hard. Incredibly hard—it is arguably one of the most intense orgasms he’s given you yet, blazing through your body with a ferocity that leaves you shaking in its wake.

And he notices.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” he purrs as he rubs you through the aftershocks. “I felt how hard you came, how utterly desperate you are for me to fuck you.” 

“Loki, please,” you breathe.

He tugs at your underwear. “Take this off.”

Your first instinct is to challenge him, but the fabric is now uncomfortably damp and you desperately need him to fuck you, so you lift your hips and slide your underwear down and off your legs without any complaint. He takes it from you and sticks it in his pocket.

You expect to hear the clink of his belt buckle followed by his silky smooth voice ordering you to sink down on his unfairly perfect cock. Even though you’ve just come, you want more. You always do with him. 

(You decide not to think too much about that last part).

Instead, though, he smooths his hair and settles back into his seat, looking out the window. After a moment, you clear your throat expectantly. 

He glances at you, utterly casual. “What is it?”

Your eyes narrow. He’s playing dumb and you both know it. 

“You made me take off my underwear,” you say, biting back a sharper reply.

“I did.”

“So…fuck me.”

He gives an amused little chuckle that makes your palm itch to slap him. “Darling, we’re in public, that would be unseemly.”

You roll your eyes before you can stop yourself. “You’re full of it.”

His gaze turns smoldering and stern. “And if you want to be full of my cock later tonight, you’ll change your attitude.”

You’re not sure if it’s the absence of underwear that makes you feel more aroused than usual or if he’s awakened some latent perversion you were previously unaware of. Possibly, it’s both.

Your breath hitches and he smiles like he knows he has the upper hand.

“Do you want that?” he says. “Do you want me to fill your tight little cunt with my big cock?”

You’re so far gone that you find yourself nodding before the thought of being contrary can even cross your mind.

“Well, then,” he says, flicking an invisible speck of dust from his tuxedo jacket, “you’re going to have to earn it.”

You huff out an irritated sigh and yank the skirt of your dress back down. “You’re an ass,” you say with a scowl.

“And you’re going to do exactly as I tell you or you won’t be coming at all.”

You stare at him, lips parted in the start of a complaint.

“And however much your pretty cunt is aching right now, I imagine it will be twice as worse tomorrow with no release,” he says. “If I’m feeling generous, of course. I could always make you wait longer.”

You close your mouth, biting back the urge to scowl.

He smirks. “That’s my good girl.”

Your cunt throbs. By the end of the night, your thighs will surely be sticky with your own arousal.

“This is unfair,” you grumble, crossing your arms and sitting back in your seat.

“Behave,” he says as you approach a rather impressive set of gates. “We’re almost there.”

A flick of his wrist sends seidr racing along your skin, smoothing your hair, straightening your dress, and fixing the smudge of lipstick at the corner of your mouth.

Your underwear remains in his pocket.

You have a feeling it’s going to be a long evening.

The Minister for Finance is giving a presentation. You’re not entirely sure that you would have been able to follow it under normal circumstances, but certainly not with Loki’s hand up your dress.

The two of you are seated at your own table—it’s one of the more stupid formalities he insists on, though you suppose it’s advantageous in this instance. His actions are obscured by the table and tablecloth and probably a little magic, but your heart is still racing with the thrill of it. His movements have been slow and deliberate, and the result is that he’s effectively been edging you for the duration of this forty-five minute presentation.

It feels incredible; it’s agony. You love it; you hate it.

“You’re being a very good girl,” Loki murmurs to you at one point and that alone nearly sends you over the edge.

“You’re a jackass,” you whisper back to him.

He chuckles. “If you want me to let you come once we get home, I’d suggest changing your tone, my love.”

You resist the urge to scowl, but only barely. “You made me come in the limo over here because you said I couldn’t wait,” you point out. “What happened to that philosophy?”

“It was supplanted by a desire to see what happens when I tease you for several hours.” A wicked smile curls at his lips. “Besides, I love how tight and desperate your cunt feels when I make you beg for me.”

You always come hardest when he makes you beg for him. You’d never admit it, though.

“I’d think you’d be more concerned about getting caught,” you say. “What do you think that would do to your image?”

“Oh, I think it would do wonders for my image,” he says. “Attentively tending to my wife’s needs despite potential social embarrassment? It’s rather feminist of me, don’t you think?”

“Okay, first of all, that is not what femini—” Your voice cuts out as he rolls his finger in a particularly devastating circle.

“What was that, my love?” he asks, voice thick with faux concern, his true intent easily betrayed by his shit eating grin. “You seem distracted.”

You’re not entirely sure if you’re tensing your muscles in anticipation of an orgasm or in an effort to stave it off. “You’re awful.”

His voice drops. “But I’m making you feel so very good, aren’t I?”

You take a deep breath, trying to soothe the tightening knot in your belly, even as your body is begging you to rush toward it.

“Aren’t I?” His tone turns stern and you hear the implied order loud and clear.

“Yes,” you bite out.

“Yes what?”

You swallow. You’re starting to get close, closer than he’s let you get so far. “Yes, you’re making me feel good.”

He smirks. “You’re getting close, aren’t you?”

You nod, taking another deep breath through your nose. Keep it together.

“I could let you come,” he muses. “Everyone’s watching the presentation. You could be quiet, couldn’t you?” His pace increases just slightly, enough for you to start to feel the tempting, shimmery tendrils of release. “Do you want that, lovely?”

It’s not a good idea, but you nod anyway. 

“I had no idea you were so filthy.” His fingers are massaging your clit more firmly and you bite back a gasp because you know it won’t be long. You’re trying to keep a straight face, but you’re struggling. You are so deliciously close.

“Are you going to come for me?” he asks quietly. He knows the answer.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

But just as you’re about to start to tip over the edge, Loki’s hand retreats and the building pressure in your hips diminishes back to that steady, throbbing ache just as the Minister for Finance concludes his presentation.

Loki is smirking like he expected this. “Ah. Unfortunate timing.”

You may kill him.

“You did that on purpose, you ass,” you hiss at him.

“Oh, you’ll thank me for it later,” he says, his voice dropping low.

You scowl at him, though you suspect he’s probably right.

You get a slight reprieve during dinner, but only in the sense that Loki’s hand is no longer up your dress. Your aching arousal remains, coating the inside of your thighs. Your heartbeat seems to be pulsing in your clit, the muscles of your cunt aching as they clench repeatedly around nothing.

While his hand is no longer up your dress, Loki continues to be as unhelpful as possible.

“Shall I let you unravel on my tongue?” he murmurs to you during the main course. “Or do you need my cock first?”

“I think you need to stop talking,” you say as evenly as you can muster.

“Whatever for?” he asks with the sort of feigned innocence that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Surely you’re not concerned that I’m going to make you come simply by telling you what I want to do to you.”

You take a slow sip of your water.

“Or perhaps that idea appeals to you?” he asks, dropping his voice even lower. “Do you want me to make you come in front of all of these people?”

There’s something about the idea that’s admittedly appealing in a taboo sort of way, though you aren’t quite sure you actually want to pursue it or if you’re just so desperate that even objectively bad ideas sound good.

“Truly, I doubt you could keep quiet,” he says. “You and I both know how much you like to scream for me and I’ve been teasing you for what, three hours now? But perhaps that’s what you want. You were about to come for me earlier. Perhaps you want them all to know what a needy little sl—ah, Stefan! So good to see you again.”

Loki has seamlessly directed his attention to the Swedish official who has approached your table. His ability to be charming and personable is irritating, particularly when he’s often been uttering absolute filth to you mere seconds before. Meanwhile, your brain has completely short circuited—your thoughts stopped being anywhere near coherent when he started touching you under the table during that presentation and your cunt is pulsing. You manage a polite smile and a pleasantly vague expression that you hope hides the fact that all you can think about is Loki throwing you down on the table and fucking you until you can’t walk straight and you’ve screamed yourself hoarse.

“You conducted yourself quite well,” Loki says softly once the man leaves. “I’d never have guessed that you’re hiding such a needy, sloppy cunt under that dress.”

You take a deep breath. “What’s to stop me from slipping off somewhere and taking care of things myself?”

His eyes flash a little dangerously and you hate how much it thrills you. “If you do that, I’ll see to it that you don’t come for a week. At least.”

You are irritated with him, certainly, but you are far more irritated with yourself for being even remotely aroused by his words.

“You’re insufferable,” you hiss instead.

Loki smirks and leans in to whisper in your ear. “We’ll see how you feel a few hours from now when I’m buried in your tight cunt.” His breath ghosts over your ear and it takes everything in you not to shiver. “I suspect I’ll find you much more agreeable. You always are when you need to be fucked.” His voice drops even lower. “And I know how much you need it.”

Your legs are shaking and you wonder how you’re going to make it through the rest of the evening.

You almost come during the concert.

It was probably easier for them to set up the orchestra on the same stage as the presentation, but it means that you’re still sitting at the same table as before, which gives Loki more than enough cover to continue touching you. His hand is creeping back up your dress before the oboe even plays the tuning note and while he’s still going slowly, it’s been four and a half hours and your body is aching for release in a way you have rarely felt.

His fingertip skates across your clit just a little too quickly and firmly and suddenly, you’re poised right on the edge. One more stroke of his fingers, just one more slight movement and you’ll come.

It’s a split second decision, so quick you can scarcely think twice about it. You desperately want to come, but even though you almost let it happen earlier, you know that a stifled public orgasm isn’t really what you want. You want him to hear you scream—you don’t want to hold back.

And you want to be good for him. You want him to reward you for being good, you want to be his good girl—

You shake your head to dismiss that thought and grab his wrist in a silent warning. Quickly, he moves his hand away, sliding it to your knee. Your cunt shudders and aches, the pulsing throb of your arousal even stronger than before.

He brushes his lips against your ear. “Oh, very good, darling. You’ll be rewarded for that.”

“You could reward me now and take me home,” you say pointedly, though it would probably be more effective if your voice wasn’t so shaky.

He chuckles, draping his arm around your shoulders. Every so often, you’ve seen a candid photo of the two of you in People or one of the other celebrity magazines and you’re always taken aback by how normal you look. You imagine that it would be the same if someone were to take a photo right now—you’d look like just another couple cuddling and canoodling instead of…whatever it is you actually are. Soulmates who hate each other but fuck like it’s their job and the rent is due? There’s no easy way to classify your relationship, which you suppose is for the best: this is not the sort of thing that should be common enough to have its own word.

“We still have quite a bit to go.” He brings his index finger—the same one that had just been up your dress—up to his lips and closes his eyes like he’s tasting something divine. “Norns, I can taste how desperate you are.”

You cross your legs in the hope that it will alleviate the pulsing ache between your thighs (it doesn’t). “You’re not helping.”

“Of course I’m not,” he says. “I told you, I want you begging for me by the end of the night.”

“How have I not already exceeded that threshold?”

He smirks. “I like to be thorough.”

Five minutes later, his hand is back between your thighs.

“Let’s try that again,” he murmurs. “Do you think you’ll be able to resist a second time?”

Somehow, you do—and two more times after that. By the end of the concert, your heart is pounding, your legs feel like rubber, your cunt is dripping, and you’d easily sell your soul for an orgasm.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” says Loki. He’s been full of praise and filthy promises and you can’t decide if that makes it better or worse.

“Can we please go home?”

He chuckles. “Of course not, that would be rude.”

“I have a hard time believing you’re concerned about rudeness, considering where your hands have been this evening,” you say with a pointed look.

“You wound me.” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it grudgingly, your legs wobbling slightly. “Now. Come help me charm the Minister for Defense. I need him to be much more cooperative about sharing intelligence.”

The only good thing about schmoozing with Swedish officials is that Loki can’t have his hand up your dress while doing so. Even so, he still finds ways to be constantly touching you—a hand on your lower back, your elbow, your shoulder, your waist. These things shouldn’t be erotic, but he somehow manages to make them so. Every brush of his fingers against your bare skin is agony: you are burning for him.

You watch the clock tick through another hour and a half while trying not to let anyone on to the fact that you’re keen to leave. Time feels like it’s dragging—even when the event officially ends, it still takes another thirty-seven minutes for you to say your farewells and make your way out to the front where your limo is waiting.

Your legs are shaking as Loki helps you into the limo. He slides into the seat next to you and you find yourself leaning into him, unable to resist any longer.

The door shuts.

“Loki—” you start to say.

“When we get home,” he says promptly.

“You can’t possibly—”

“Oh, I can.” He pulls you into his lap. “I’ve been hard for you all evening,” he purrs in your ear, settling you so that the thick column of his cock presses hard against your ass. “Do you know how many times I nearly dragged you off to some empty room to take you up against the wall?” He brings his mouth down against your neck, teeth pressing against your skin just hard enough to almost hurt. You tilt your head to the side to give him better access, guiding his hands to your spread thighs.

“Do you know why I didn’t?” he murmurs against your skin.

“Because you make terrible choices?” you say before you can think it through.

His low laugh rumbles deliciously against your throat. “No.” His hands slip underneath the hem of your dress, fingertips skating along the tender skin of your inner thigh. Your hips roll forward almost unconsciously, your breath hitching. 

“I didn’t because I know that you need to scream for me,” he says. “Just as much as I need to hear you.” His fingertip grazes your slit. “And you know that we can’t do that properly in the car.” His finger strokes your clit and you moan. “Poor thing,” he murmurs, tracing a slow circle over the sensitive skin. “I don’t think that I’ve ever made you this wet.”

“Loki—”

“I’m not giving you permission to come yet,” he murmurs, adding just a little more pressure. “I need you to be good for just a little longer.”

You let out a whine that you’re not at all proud of as he moves his hand away to gently massage your inner thighs. “Loki, please.”

“Be good.” His voice promises pleasure and punishment and everything in between and you feel drunk with desire.

“I’ve been so good,” you say, bringing his hand back to your cunt. “Please just let me come.”

“When we get home.”

“Just once. Please.”

He chuckles and brings his lips up to your ear. “You know that I’m going to take care of you,” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “You know I always take care of your needy cunt. I always make you come. You just need to wait a little longer.”

“I need to come now.”

“Think about how good it’s going to feel if you wait just a little longer.”

“It would feel good now.”

“It will feel even better in our bed.” He rolls his fingers in a slow circle on your clit. “You know it will.”

You whimper, rolling your hips with his hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this desperate,” he says. “I’m rather partial to it.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you grumble.

“Oh, I’d advise you watch your tone, darling,” he says low in your ear, sliding a finger inside you, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit. “I don’t want to deny you, but I may have to if you keep being so pert.”

As if to make a point, he slides another finger inside of you and you find yourself once again on the edge. You grab his wrist, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you try to hold back the rising tide within you.

“Oh, good fucking girl,” he growls and the pride in his voice makes your cunt clench hard on his retreating fingers. “You want to come so badly, but you’re being so good waiting for my permission.”

“God, this had better be worth it,” you say as you wait for the pulsing ache between your thighs to recede.

“It will be,” he murmurs against your neck. “You know it will be.” He shifts you in his lap so you face him and guides your hand to his cock. “Do you feel how hard you’ve made me? I’m aching for you.”

You rub his shaft, working your way up to catch the tab of his zipper between your fingers. He looks at you, eyes hungry, a smirk curling at his lips.

Slowly, you pull down the zipper.

“Oh you wicked thing,” he purrs, a low groan escaping him as you wrap your hand around his shaft and slowly begin stroking him. He’s rock hard and throbbing, and your hand quickly grows slick with his precome.

You lean in, brushing your lips against his ear. “I want you to fuck me,” you say, flicking your tongue against his earlobe.

He chuckles. “Are you trying to flip the tables on me, darling?”

You’re a little miffed that he figured that out so quickly. “Would that be so bad if I was?”

He laughs again. “You’re adorable.” He slides a hand along your inner thigh and back under your dress. “But I think we both know who’s really in charge here.”

Even the possibility of his hand touching your cunt has your breath quickening and your hand faltering in its rhythm on his cock.

You’re not about to admit defeat, though.

“Don’t you want to fuck me?” you say, trying to keep the quaver out of your voice. You give his cock a few long, indulgent strokes. “We’re nearly there already. All I’d need to do is move a little closer.”

He chuckles, his hand sliding up to lightly tease your folds. “I would have made you warm my cock the whole ride back,” he says casually, like he’s commenting on the weather, “but I don’t think you could have done it without coming. You’re too sensitive.”

Your lips part like you have something to say, but all rational thought and the entirety of the English language has fled your brain and even more arousal is pooling between your legs.

Loki smirks like he knows all of this and he briefly strokes you from your entrance to your clit before withdrawing. “Ah, we’re nearly home,” he says, moving your hand away and patting your thigh before tucking himself back into his trousers. “Let’s make ourselves presentable, shall we?”

You climb off his lap and straighten your dress, but don’t even bother trying to fix your hair or makeup. You stumble out of the car a minute later, hoping that you don’t look like you’ve spent the entire evening poised on the brink of orgasm.

Loki, of course, is annoyingly put together. He wraps an arm around your waist and leads you forward.

“Oh, the things I’m going to do to you when we get to our rooms,” he says under his breath as you make your way into the foyer. 

“That had better be a promise,” you say.

“I thought we established that I’m the one who gives you orders—”

“We established nothing—”

One of his advisors—Sigurd, the same one who spoke to you in the hotel when he found you—is approaching Loki at a brisk clip.

“Your majesty—”

Loki barely takes his eyes off of you. “Later,” he says, waving a hand in Sigurd’s direction.

“Sire, it’s urgent.”

Your heart sinks. Loki stops and turns to Sigurd, eyes sharp, mouth pulled into a firm line. “It had better be.”

Despite the intensity of Loki’s expression, Sigurd looks unbothered and remarkably calm. “We received new intelligence on the matter you inquired about earlier, your majesty.”

Loki’s expression darkens and you realize with a sinking sensation that he has to go deal with whatever this is. “A moment,” he says to Sigurd before turning to you.

He lowers his voice so that only you can hear him. “Go to our rooms,” he murmurs. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” 

You nod and he leans in, brushing his lips against your temple. “Be good for me.”

A thrill runs through you.

By the time you get back to your rooms, though, you’re a little annoyed. He’s been teasing you for hours and when you finally get home, he suddenly has another work thing?

It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so frustrating.

Though admittedly, he did look pretty surprised and annoyed by Sigurd’s sudden appearance. It’s probably not fair to blame him for that.

Probably.

You take your time getting undressed, mainly in the hope that it will somehow hasten his return or trick you into thinking time is passing quickly. Not that you’re looking forward to him returning for any reason other than sex. You still hate him—you just really need him to fuck you. That’s all it is.

You hesitate for a long time over the collection of silk nightgowns in your wardrobe. Should you put something on? Should you just wait naked on the bed? A silky green number catches your eye. He’d probably like that. He’s pretty predictable when it comes to that sort of thing—put on his colors and he goes feral. With any luck you won’t be wearing it for very long, but you might as well do what you can to facilitate that outcome.

You contemplate underwear and decide there’s little point, given that tonight’s set is still tucked into his pocket.

You situate yourself in the middle of your bed and try not to think about your throbbing cunt. It would be so easy to get yourself off, but you know that it won’t be as good.

You need him.

You try to ignore the thought. It’s just physical. That’s all it is. You’re on edge from being teased all evening. It doesn’t mean anything.

You wait.

It’s late when you finally hear the door click open, followed by the tap of his dress shoes on the floor.

You sit up in bed, your eyes roving greedily over him. His suit jacket is gone and his tie is draped around his neck, shirtsleeves rolled up. You are loath to admit it, but it’s incredibly hot.

Before you can even get any words out, he’s striding across the room, eyes hungrier than you’ve ever seen them. His clothes disappear the second he hits the bed, followed swiftly by your nightgown. Seconds later, he’s on top of you, mouth seeking yours, cock pressing insistently against your stomach. Your hands are just as greedy, skimming up his back and combing through his hair.

“Have you been good for me?” he murmurs as he nudges your thighs apart.

“Yes.”

“Did you touch yourself?” he asks, his voice stern.

“No,” you say.

He knows you’re not lying and the hungry smile he gives you almost makes it all feel worth it. “Good girl,” he growls. “Do you want me to fuck you now?”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he drags his cock through your slickness. “Please.”

He chuckles as he lines himself up at your entrance. “I know, darling, I’m going to take such good care of you.”

Your cunt is so slick and sensitive from his hours of teasing that just the act of him sliding inside of you feels like you’ve reached your own personal nirvana. 

“Oh, fuck.” Your voice comes out in a whimper and your legs tighten around his waist to hold him in place because he feels so overwhelmingly good.

Loki lets out a low groan as he eases inside you, catching his lower lip between his teeth as his brow furrows. “Perfect.” He leans in to kiss you as he starts to move. His first thrust is slow but even so, it draws a whimper from your throat. He’s always felt good, but this is transcendent.

“Oh god, please don’t stop,” you gasp.

“I won’t, my love.” His voice is tender as he moves with an aching, slow precision. “Not until you’ve had your fill.”

For the first time this evening, you let down your guard. Every time he’s touched you tonight—even before the gala in the limo—you’ve had to hold back to some degree. You haven’t been able to give into it, to let yourself be completely unbound and unguarded. But now when he’s moving inside of you, you have the freedom to just be and feel and it’s exquisite. Every thrust of his hips, every reverent caress of his hands, every sigh or groan is an opportunity to discover a new kind of heaven.

“You were magnificent tonight,” he murmurs, sliding his hand between your bodies to rub your clit. “Even with my fingers playing with your pretty cunt under the table, you looked every inch a queen. My queen.”

He’s never talked to you like this before and it makes your body sing. You arch, rolling your hips with him as the building wave inside you rises impossibly high, as though every orgasm you almost had this evening is starting to arrive all at once. The tension in your hips is equally fantastic and unbearable, a supernova of sensation that may destroy and remake you all at once.

“Filthy girl, I can tell you’re getting close,” he purrs, tilting his hips so he hits the spot that makes you tremble. “You act so prim and proper in public, but it takes so very little to turn you into my perfect little slut when I get you alone.”

You are approaching the peak, the whirling center of the storm building inside you. “Loki—please, I can’t, I’m gonna—”

“That’s it, darling. Soak my cock like a good girl.”

You always come the hardest when he’s inside you and this is no exception. The pressure in your hips is suddenly and spectacularly ablaze with a shimmering euphoria that draws a raw and primal moan deep from inside your chest. You are a fountain of sparks, all the tension and desire of the evening finally reaching its apex. You have yearned for this all night and the resulting blaze is spectacular.

His pace is still slow, but Loki’s eyes are wild and you get the sense that his composure is hanging by a thread. Though his eyes occasionally flutter shut as your cunt convulses around him, his gaze is locked on you in a kind of wonder. 

“Do you have any idea how good you feel when you come on my cock?” he rasps.

Even in the throes of utter bliss, you need to hear his voice. “Tell me.”

“I would create entire worlds and walk through the fires of their destruction just to feel you come.”

You shudder out a sigh. “More.”

He picks up his pace just slightly. “I would flatten mountains and raise valleys and reverse the currents.”

“More.”

He’s hitting that aching spot inside you again and the rolling tremors of the aftershocks are starting to coalesce into another building wave. You moan and his hand moves back to your clit, slick fingers pressing and rolling in just the way you need.

His eyes shine, bright with lust as his hips and fingers work diligently to unravel you again. “I would take down the stars and bring the heavens to the earth…”

His words are making you dizzy and his movements are coaxing the pressure inside of you into a cyclone that you know is going to take you down.

“Loki, please.” These are the only words you know because your entire world is him moving inside of you, inevitable as the sunrise, the architect of the heavenly destruction and renewal that is building and building in your hips.

He shifts so his weight is entirely on his elbows, bringing his lips up against your ear so you don’t miss a single word. “I would lay my crown at your feet and forsake my name…just to feel you come on my cock.”

The coil in your hips snaps and unfurls into a starry, sparkling oblivion that has you crying out his name over and over like he’s your ending and beginning, the center of your universe. Your eyes are shut against the onslaught of intense sensation, but you can feel him reaching the blissful height he’d been speaking of. He groans and slurs out a few incoherent oaths before succumbing to you and filling your pulsing cunt with his hot release.

His mouth is on yours and he’s kissing you like he means it as he slows to a halt. You lie together for a long moment, hearts beating wildly against each other. 

This felt different than other times. There was an intensity there that had nothing to do with the sex. You don’t know what that means, other than it’s definitely not any kind of feelings for him. It must be something else. You’re certain it’s something else.

“I didn’t realize I’d be called away upon our return.” 

You’re so distracted by your thoughts that the sound of his voice startles you slightly.

“Oh, um, yeah, I figured…it seemed unexpected,” you say.

He lifts his head to look at you, green eyes intent. “Trust that there are very few things that could have pulled me away from you in that moment.”

He’s being sincere. It’s not what you expect and that scares you a little, though you can’t quite articulate why. The idea that he would care whether you thought he’d intentionally extended your wait hadn’t even occurred to you. You don’t really know this side of him. 

“So, it wasn’t like…making a proclamation designating June National Peanut Butter Month.” You know you’re deflecting, but you don’t know what else to do.

He frowns. “That can’t possibly be a real thing.”

You shrug. “It might be. Lots of governments do stuff like that. Maybe you should consider it.”

His smile is slight, but brief as he stretches and slowly eases out of you. “I will leave that to others.”

There’s a beat of quiet and you suddenly find yourself desperate to fill the silence. “What did they need to talk to you about?”

He looks at you sharply and you wonder if this was the wrong thing to say. Loath as you are to admit it, this conversation has fostered a flicker of warmth between you, a fact you only notice now because of its sudden absence.

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with,” he says as he rolls off of you. It’s not unkind, but it’s also not warm, and the discussion is clearly closed.

Part of you mourns the loss of that little spark of closeness, but a larger, louder part is intent on pretending it never existed in the first place.

“Suit yourself.”

You’re annoyed and you roll off the bed and go about your evening routine with a little more clattering and stomping than is strictly necessary. There’s a lump in your throat that you don’t understand and you’re full of feelings you can’t define. You eventually settle on the bed with your back facing him, glaring at the wall like he can see you.

But then he reaches for you in the darkness, his arms winding around your waist, nose nuzzling against the nape of your neck as he pulls you to his chest. And instead of reading him the riot act, you let him hold you and let yourself relax into his embrace, fingers twining around his. You sleep better like this, you tell yourself. That’s the only reason you’re allowing it. It’s nothing to do with him.

You’ve told yourself that every night since your wedding and every night, it gets a little more difficult to believe.

Next chapter coming soon

[zvdvdlvr]

The World We Knew

☢️ — synopsis. Sometimes even the Ghoul got lost in thought.

When Cooper was bored and there wasn’t anything worth shooting, he would find himself thinking of the love he had, the life he had, and the world he knew. He only let himself take a blast to the past once in a blue moon. Cooper knew that you were dead, your corpse long rotted over the 200 some years after the bombs dropped.

Admittedly this was one of the times Cooper would think of her.

The first time Cooper heard of you was after hearing your name being brought by some scriptwriters. “She’s just a young thing without much experience. We need to have a bigger name in this move, not some girl!”

The other man ‘tsk’ed. “Foolish man! I know the woman personally- not in such an inappropriate way, mind- and this would do wonders for her career! Y/n is truly a lovely thing and skilled at her trade. Just let me bring her in, Randy. Make your decision after you meet her.”

Randy sucked his teeth and massaged his temple. “Fine. A quick meeting. But when that thirty minutes is over, don’t yell at me when she’s thrown out.”

The Ghoul pulled out his canteen of miraculously clean water and took a sip. He had quietly grabbed a snack during their conversation and left without a word. Little did he know just how drastically his life would change after that conversation.

“Hello! I’m y/n l/n,” a woman greeted politely. She stuck out her manicured hand and shook Cooper’s tightly. Cooper was surprised by your firm and respectful handshake- he was used to people running up and hugging him or gushing and asking him questions.

“Well,” Cooper said as he returned your handshake. “I’m Cooper Howard, darlin’. More than happy to make your acquaintance. What brings you around… here?” He gestured to the men and women running around the movie set. He remembered your name from the overheard conversation from about a month ago. 

You just laughed. “It would appear, Mr. Howard, that I will be lucky enough to work with you. I would have gone as far as to guess the production crew would have told you? It was brought to my attention that you were aware of my arrival,” you explained. Cooper was amazed at your polite and easygoing nature. It felt wonderful to be treated like just and average Joe for once. “I’m sorry you had to find out by me, Mr. Howard. I was under the impression you were already aware of this arrangement.”

“Oh, Cooper or Coop is fine, sweetheart,” Cooper told you kindly. “And it is truly no problem. Why don’t we go and see if we can get you all situated?” To Cooper’s delight, you nodded with a grateful smile. “Well have some time left until we wrap up for the day: why don’t you tell me about yourself, darlin’?”

Heaving a sigh, Cooper lets himself kick aimlessly at a large chunk of rock. What he wouldn’t do to go back in time to just have another conversation with you…

You two had gotten alone like two peas in a pod! Weeks passed quickly and soon the movie Caught on the Tides was released. To no one’s surprise, it was a smashing hit. People apparently loved the idea of a woman who was practically immune to the male charm until Walter (Cooper) caught your eye at a local festival. It was an easygoing romance/comedy that was thankfully PG-13. As a young woman, the past roles you were offered were side pieces or basically selling yourself. You took what you could get and attempted to steer clear of the nudity.

The side celebratory party was amazing. Randy and Joseph had rented out a cozy little bar/restaurant building that had enough room for about 100 people. The other castmembers, producers, and writers were there along with quite a few guests.

As the night went on, though, you found yourself growing increasingly exhausted with all the plastered smiles and arm patting and men’s eyes dropping to your assets whenever they thought you wouldn’t notice. You slipped out a side door and dug out a smoke and a light from one of the pockets you’d personally sewn into your dress.

You had just slipped out of your heels and plopped (unladylike, of course, but no one else was there to reprimand you) when the door opened. The intrusion made you want to sigh unprofessionally loudly and hide in the puffy material of your dress. Until Cooper’s smooth voice and slim body say down right beside you.

“Some producers are lookin’ for you.” Cooper’s comment doesn’t have the sharpness your manager’s would when she hollered up a storm about your tendency to wander.

In response you only click your tongue and fill your lungs up with smoke. You turn and face Cooper, who’s complexion is lit wonderfully but the light of the full moon. “Do you think the man on the moon gets lonely, Coop?”

Cooper’s eyebrows dip downwards. “I- I’d imagine so. Can’t be too fun bein’ up there by his lonesome.”

“I think so too,” you hum. Smoke seeps out of your lips as you turn to ask him another question. “Do you ever feel like the man on the moon, Coop? I’m just- I- I wonder if I’m in over my head sometimes with everyone here, Coop, and I-“ your words stumble out of your mouth and your hands shake as you bring the cigarette to your lips again. “I just feel like… you’re the only one that knows what I’m talking about, what I’m feeling.”

Cooper stares into your teary eyes with a heavy heart. You brought out such a protective part of Cooper he hasn’t felt since… since falling in love for the first time. Cooper shook his head. “I know, sweetheart,” he whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. A sick part of him feels ecstatic that you are practically snuggling into his side- that you feel that he is the only one that understands. Deep down Cooper indulges himself in thinking you want him the way he wants you.

But you don’t. So Cooper is just barely content to let you lean into his side and tearfully ask for advice. “A part of that is always there, sweetheart. I feel like the man on the moon more than I’ll ever admit. But I’m also an old man who’s future is practically set in stone. You, though,” he chuckled and patted your side. You seeped into him and Cooper felt adrenaline rush through his veins. He could smell your delicately scented shampoo and matching body wash. “You could have any man on Earth you wanted, darlin’. Only a fool wouldn’t fall for you.”

You sighed and snuffed out your cigarette. Every part of you told you to leave him alone- to leave whatever relationship you have with him alone because he’s married (and you’d rather die than ruin your friendship). But being tucked under his arm and hearing the speed of his heartbeat made you think he felt the same as you. “Coop?”

Cooper looked back down at you. “Hm?”

“Are you a fool?”

Cooper’s heart raced. Your powerful gaze seemed to dig into his soul, searching for the answer he’d be damned to hell if he never gave you. “Do you take me for a fool, darlin’?”

You swallowed. “No, Cooper. Never.”

Within seconds, Cooper found his lips pressed against yours. He felt like exploding into a ton of confetti. His other hand came to cup your cheek and take dominance of your mouth. The passion Cooper felt was like none other and your breathless whimpers only encouraged him.

“Cooper…” you murmured, sitting up and grasping st the nape of Cooper’s neck. You felt perfect.

Cooper closed his eyes. He stood outside a familiar house. He figured he would stay here for the night. Cooper had already cleared, secured, and set traps around the building whenever he knew he’d be back.

Heaving a sigh, Cooper settled down on the bed and tilted his hat down over his eyes.

“I’ll see you soon, sweetheart,” Cooper muttered after wrapping a hand around your waist. “Got another birthday party and then I’m all yours, baby doll.”

The fall from fame was hard on everyone but Cooper refused to let it affect your career. He only saw you in professional settings and when no one saw you enter or leave his house. 

“Manager’s giving me the day, so I’ll be here all day if you don’t mind,” you said, scooping out cherry pie filling from the can to your mouth with a spoon. Frank Sinatra’s hauntingly low voice crackled through the radio, painting a scene Cooper wanted to commit to memory forever.

Cooper just shrugged. “Up to you,” he said. “How do I look?”

You tilted your head and slid off the counter. Your hands came up to adjust the collar of Cooper’s blue cowboy shirt. Then they slid down to his lapels to smooth back. “Perfect. Ready to roll, cowpoke,” you joked.

His soft eyes stopped you in your tracks. “Why’re you looking at me like that, Coop?”

“Like what?” Cooper asked. His tone was teasing but you noticed a hint of the seriousness that had grown on him as of late.

You shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know, Coop. Like… like you love me, I suppose.”

Laughter filled the room, drowning Sinatra’s eerie song. “‘I suppose’?”

You shook your head with laughter. “I don’t want to overstep right now, Coop.”

The mood turned quiet again at your words. Cooper took your face in his hands and rested his thumbs under your eyes. “You don’t overstep, sweetheart. Speak your mind. Always.”

“I will. Promise,” you replied solemnly. Cooper pulled your face up to his and kissed you gently.

“I’ll be home later, sweetheart. Promise.”

You grabbed your spoon and the cherry pie filling before fallowing Cooper outside. The cool grass felt good on your bare feet as you watched Cooper mount his horse. When he looked back at you, Cooper broke out into laughter at the sight of you raising our eyebrows suggestively. “I’ll be back soon, sweetheart, and then we can get busy.”

You muttered something along the lines of ‘save a horse, ride a cowboy’ before nodding with a comically dejected expression. “Alright. Bye Coop. Be safe!”

Cooper tipped his hat at you. “I will, sweetheart. I’ll see you later, now.”

Cooper could have sworn he heard you call out ‘I love you’ as he rode away. In fact, Cooper would have sworn on his life that you had said you loved him. But Cooper would just come home to you and hear you say it clearly when he got home.

If he got home.

200 years later, Cooper heard Frank Sinatra singing “over and over, I keep going over the world we knew” and wished he would have told you he loved you back.

[dear-ao3]

The Katya lore continues to expand in the AO3CU

allow me (saph) to give you all the Full katya lore while he is on a plane and cannot stop me

-has played 10 sports -owns 5 cats, 4 with thumbs and no brain cells, 1 with no thumbs all the brain cells and anger -unironically loves pitbull -got scarlet fever but thought it was an allergic reaction to tide pods -is lactose intolerant but regularly eats the cheesy dining hall pasta -is allergic to garlic -dresses like a vampire -looks like timothy chalamet -has had gay sex in an asbestos ridden building and a church bathroom (which did not have asbestos) -has inherited all of brads fancy designer clothes that he was getting rid of because he got too buff and regularly asks me what shirt goes with french designer denim -despite this, he has one (1) outfit: red sweatshirt with sweatpants and a beanie with sneakers -sometimes eats everything bagels (which have garlic) just to feel something because they give him an allergic reaction -has used a cowboy name generator no less than 4 times to find a new name (and has never stuck to that name) -has extra bones -afraid of horses -has a fratsona named kevin -will run away if you play like a g6 -is jewish -is a guy -likes undecipherable memes -owns a trench coat that he can only wear with 5 inch platform shoes because otherwise it is too long -calls me mom and brad dad for no good reason at all other than the fact that brad has metaphorically adopted them -can frat boy dance to lights down low

[ivorydragoness44]

Theodore Groves x mermaid!Reader: In The Waters

Word Count: 6,129 Warnings/Notes: Takes place during the events of Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides. Mentions of mermaids attacking a ship and men screaming, worried/frantic/scared men. injured Theodore, angst, playful interactions, kissing… I think that’s all. Summary: Lieutenant Commander Theodore Groves ventures with Captain Barbossa and crew to Whitecap Bay. There, he meets an unlikely future ally and friend, a mermaid. Can Groves push aside his contempt for the mermaids’ attack on their ship to let his curiosity for this mermaid flourish into something else?

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

  The waters within Whitecap Bay had been quiet. After the fiery explosion caused by one of the pirates, the pod of mermaids had fled into deeper waters that very night. As the morning sun rose behind the clouded horizon, the mermaids stirred beneath the depths of the waves.   The water cut past your fins and those of your sisters. Something large approached. From the familiarity of the sound pushing through the waters surface, you knew exactly what it was.   The shipping vessel neared, but stopped short of entering the bay. There, under the cover of the water, the mermaids waited with great patience.   One ship at night, one ship by day; there was no coincidence. The pirates had made it quite clear of their intentions and by the end of the night, they had claimed one of your own.   Looking to your sisters,  they made no move to pursue the small boats of men that were soon dropped into the water. It was decided quickly and unanimously of the steps they would take with these men. They wanted to attack before the men did. But also, to avenge the mermaids that you all had lost that night, vengeance trickling over your scales.   Though you agreed and supported your fellow mermaids, you did not want to risk the life of a single one of them again. The pirates had arrived prepared. What did these new strangers bring?

  As the men rowed their boats away from the main ship, you followed. Their loud calls to one another lowered when they passed into the bay, and your curiosity grew.   Nearing the center of the bay, a flick of your tail sent you to the surface. Carefully, you peeked your head up out of the water for a moment. These men dressed identically, with short curled white hair to match. Peculiar men. By their shifting eyes and soft voices, you could tell how uneasy they were. All with good reason.   All too quickly, you ducked back down under the water’s surface. You kept a safe distance as you trailed behind them just shy of the shoreline.   The men in white hopped out of their boats to pull them up onto the sand. One man in particular, you noticed when you bobbed up with a wave, had a wooden leg. He appeared to lead, a small group following him onto the sand. The hat he adorned on his head was wide like a setting black sun, and his long coat held details of gold accents. His appearance gave a sense of importance between him and the less decorated.   Diving toward the rock formation that lined the bay, you indulged in your curiosity. There, you held onto the smooth surface to steady yourself. You looked on as the men spotted a dead mermaid beached ashore. A coat detailed man stood before her limp body and gave it a firm kick. You bit back a hiss at the sight. However, a second man rushed over, kneeling beside your sister. He took up her seaweed-like hair and ran it gently over his hand. The wind carried their voices to you. Not that they were exactly quiet creatures.

  “Mermaid,” said a third less garbed man. He walked around the kneeling man who remained in awe. Or fear. “Give up this madness now.” He said, to who you now supposed was indeed their captain.   “I cannot,” he replied as the worrier continued to the other side of the mermaid’s body, turning he attention back to the captain. “Ever walk on the back, to look back and see your footsteps in the sand? It’s like that, except the footsteps lie before me,” he said, stepping away, only to pause in his motions.   A fourth man had since stood behind him. “Footstep, actually,” he corrected, much to the captain’s disliking.   The second man stood, speaking directly to the captain. “Whitecap Bay, sir. We must hasten.”   No sooner the words had left his mouth, angry shrieking of mermaids cried out in the distance and too the screams of the crewmen.   The four men looked over in turn. The otherwise busy crewmen ashore stopped their duties upon hearing the horrific scene.

  You needed not look yourself. It was clear to your ears of the sound of your sisters ripping the ship apart with ease. Of how the men would try to flee but ultimately be pulled down to the depths.

  Curiously, their captain did not seem the least bit concerned.   “We travel by foot. Gibbs, I require a heading.”   The second man whipped around in dismay, shocked by the lack of action and compassion. “But, sir, the men,” he said, walking around the unfortunate mermaid corpse to face the captain.   “They be dead already.”   They both looked toward the ship and back again.   “They don’t sound dead,” the man’s voice deepened into an angered gruff.   “Oh, is that so?” The captain questioned. Pulling out his pistol as he stepped closer and pointed it up toward the man’s chin without breaking eye contact. “Well, I hear nothing but seagulls nesting,” he countered. “What is it that you hear, Mister Groves?”   Chest heaving with fear for his fellow men and anger, Groves peered over at the ship again with his eyes as the men continued to shriek. With restraint anger, he said. “Seagulls…nesting. Nothing more.”   “Heading, Gibbs?”   The captain and Groves turned to the man in question whereas he looked over at the wood creaking ship. The men still screamed for their lives, the vessel beginning to tip to its right down into the waves.   Everyone except the captain paid any mind to the scene. Both Groves and Gibbs took steps forward.   “My God,” Groves breathed out in disbelief.   Frustrated to his breaking point at the wasted time, the captain stomped over to Gibbs. Pointing the pistol at him, he said. “Your heading or my heading. I’ll have me one or t’other, I don’t care which.”   Gibbs took two breaths, blinked out the rain hitting his eyes. The pistol was pressed under his jaw, but he soon turned away and walked up the beach with the captain in toe.   “All hands, forward!” The fourth man called out for the other men to follow. To leave the beach and the scene entirely, he and the men already began to saunter up the sand.   Groves however, continued to look on between them and the sinking ship. Could they truly continue on with their conscience in tact?

  As the captain managed his way over the sand with the others following behind, one did not. Groves remained, watching in horror as their ship and crew were torn apart by the both hungry and vengeful mermaids. Until the ship was out of sight, he stared, but the screams could still be heard.

  Feeling sorrow for his loss as you looked upon his face from a distance, you frowned. You glanced over your shoulder to view the ship as it crumbled into the water, pulled under the choppy waves. One by one, dragged to the depths for a feasting frenzy by your fellow mermaids was very likely. You doubted any man would be kept for other means.   When you leisurely looked back over to the shore again, you were met with the in-awe eyes of this Mister Groves. His mouth even hung slightly agape at the sight of you.   Never had anyone looked at you in such a way. It struck you odd, but you did not hate it. Then again, it was usually a look of horror if any man did get a chance to look you in the eyes. As you typically attacked from behind, it was rare. Stealth could be a good strategy in hunting.   You smiled kindly, though not so boisterous as to frighten him, or otherwise make cause for a negative reaction. You found yourself even giving him a small wave of your fingers in greeting. Intentionally in the moment, you did not want to appear rude to a human being that even remotely appeared compassionate to others in need of help. Especially those in dire peril. You thought it even a sprinkle of hilarity that he was the only one to have noticed you. For you were quite close to shore and in plain view of them if they were to pay attention.   Groves slowly and cautiously made his way around the wreckage toward the water and the other set of rocks, looking down occasionally to watch his own footing. To any one of his crewmen that had not passed by his location, it would have appeared as though he was following behind himself.   While Groves was walking over, you remained beside the rock for a time. Holding onto the natural formation stabilized you from the waves that splashed up against you and the rocks. But as soon as his black buckled shoes touched the water, you sunk a little lower into the light waves. However, just enough to have your eyes still peering over the surface to observe him. Though, as soon as you did, Groves extended his hand toward you in slight alarm. He appeared to not want you to leave just yet. Perhaps you seemed not as treacherous as the other mermaids in his eyes. For what mermaid would look on at men talking if she were to have otherwise bad intentions? Then again, there were a possibility of reasons.

  “No, no, please wait!” He called out to you, jogging onto the black rock that extended through the and ad water lining the bay.   Two other men called out to him questioningly. “Sir, what do you see?”   “Stay there!” Groves called back over his shoulder, though his words made them all the more cautious. Tis was especially so since he was climbing up the few steps of the rocks, as if speaking with an unseen person.

  Groves stopped short, at least two feet from the edge, not wanting you to swim away, or attack him for that matter. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly for only you to hear, looking at you with more curiosity than fear. “D-do you—”   “Speak?” You finished for him with a gentle smile. Bringing your head back out of the water, you gripped onto the rock with your hands.   “Yes,” he stared in awe, unable to formulate any more words at the moment from both the sight of a mermaid and your shear beauty.

  However, now that your head and torso were visible above the water and your location pinpointed by the man near you, the other few crew members called out, alerting the others in warning. “Mermaid!”   You eyed them closely, wondering if either of them would dare fire upon you, or, better yet, go into the water after you. They may not be pirates, but they were still men.

  Quickly ignoring the others and focusing your attentions back on the interesting, and dare you thought handsome, man in front of you, you spoke again. “I am sorry,” you said simply, implying about his attacked ship and crew.   “What for?” He asked, brows knitting together as his crew behind him scurried around.   “Your ship and crew,” you uttered as you bobbed in the water from the movement of you tail. With your shoulders exposed, your soaked hair clung to your scaled skin.   “Oh,” he muttered quietly to himself, looking down for a solid moment as his jaw noticeably clenched in thought before looking back up to you. “And did you have a say in that?”   He was still angered at the occurrence, as it did happen moments ago. For the men’s screams had stopped by the time he had reached you.   “I made my choice,” you said, confidence grazing over the simplicity of your words. Pushing yourself up slowly on the rock in his direction, he shuffled in the slightest and stood up straighter.   “And what choice was that?” He asked, his voice dipped in the anger that he held for his lost crew and the captain for abandoning them.   “Not to avenge my sisters,” you replied. Laying one arm against the other at the top of the rock, feeling the rain hit against your back. “Your ship was not the one who harmed, killed, or captured any of us. I chose to stay behind.”   “Why didn’t you stop them?”   “We live and hunt together, but we still make individual choices. Their choice was unanimous, mine was not,” you clarified.   “So, you looked on instead,” he accused, as if trying to prove that despite you intentions, you were still in the wrong.   “And where would you have liked for me to have gone?” You countered in protest.

  He remained silent to your question, coming to terms that in some instants, the minority cannot change the will of the majority. The same worked in the occupation he found himself involved with. He had no word against Barbossa. Gilette and himself were practically babysitting the former pirate as he received a second chance in the profession.

  “What is your name?” You asked sweetly, changing the subject. Finding yourself not wanting to despise you as well.   “M-my name?” A little frazzled by the question that you steered toward for a conversation more personal so quickly.   “Yes,” you smiled up at him, swaying your tail and fin beneath the water.   Groves stepped forward and slowly crouched down, careful not to slip on the wet rock as the rain continued. “Groves, miss.”   You quirked up a wet eyebrow and teased him with a smirk. “Miss Groves?”   “No,” he finally laughed, looking away briefly in embarrassment. “Lieutenant Commander Groves.”   It oddly made you feel better that he was becoming more at ease in your presence. More so that he was now within less than an arm’s length of you. The charms of a mermaid. “And does this Lieutenant Commander have a first name?” You questioned further, enjoying the new exchange.   “Theodore,” he likewise smiled, becoming all the more enchanted with you by the second.   “Theodore?” You asked to clarify the pronunciation, looking into his kind eyes.   He nodded in agreement, water dripping off of his hat. “Yes.”   “I like your name without all of the titles, Theodore,” you complimented, leaning a little closer to him.   “And what is your name, if I may ask?” Groves inquired politely, though immediately interrupted as soon as he finished.

  “Sir!” A few of the Englishmen called out to their Lieutenant Commander, having watched the scene unfold between mermaid and man. He looked over to his left at the men, feeling hesitation to leave. The tone of their fear and urgency was far too familiar.

  “You must rejoin your crew,” you spoke quietly. Taking a breath, you looked between him and his fellow men.   Groves looked to you curiously, not knowing quite what to say.   “Be careful,” you warned gently, a seriousness running across your face, “the journey to the Fountain of Youth can be a treacherous one.”   His eyebrows rose together in his surprise, “How did you…?”   You gave a gentle laugh, “Until next time, Theodore,” you nodded. Guiding yourself back down into the water, you were careful not to scratch or cut yourself upon the rough surface.   “Am I not to know your name in return?” He asked hastily, leaning forward on to the ledge.   You smiled and pulled yourself back up to him, your faces mere inches from one another. He did not shy away. For only him to hear, you spoke your name. It was not given lightly, as it was a personal thing to do. But it felt right.   Groves whispered your name and smiled softly. “I like that. It suits you.”

  By your closeness to the Lieutenant Commander, his crewmen hollered in anxious protest and alarm. The two of you, however, ignored the rushing of the men. No harm was being done.   Retaining your smile, you leaned closer, as if to brush your lips against his, but stopped. “Mind your footing,” you said, “and I shall see you again…Theodore.”   Groves’s lips parted, but as soon as he blinked, you dove off to the side and into the deeper water. The fin-end of your tail splashed against the surface as you did so. There he stayed for a few moments longer. Hoping that his mind had not played a foul trick on him, he stood to rejoin the others.

  It had been many hours since you had encountered Theodore. Strangely so, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Swimming around the far side of the island, you felt a disturbance trickle through your scales. Without hesitation, you swam immediately toward the deep pools that resided near the Fountain. Though the likes of any mermaid dreaded the place, you had no intention of stopping. For men in search of the Fountain tied up the mermaids they captured and left them to die.

  Popping up to the surface of one of the many small pools of water, you shipped your head around anxiously in search of the Lieutenant Commander. It was far too quiet. Away from the crashing waves, it looked like an endless scatter of trees. Perhaps you were too late, and had missed the men’s escape from the Fountain. Or, as it would seem by the commotion of approaching men through the line of trees, you were merely early.

  Two men in particular rushed through the trees. It was who they were carrying between them that caught your attention. Everything about him was the same, with the exception of his lack of white curled hair and hat. His head hung low, and his body limp, but you knew that it was Theodore Groves. You could sense it.   “Wait!” You called out to them.   The group of men stumbled to a halt, hastily looking around for the source of the womanly voice.   “Over there!” One pointed toward you. “In the pool!”   “Mermaid. Stay clear, men!”   “Forward! Make haste!”   “He is hurt!” You spoke up in return, your sympathy evident in your voice. They took notice, and you used that. “I can save him. Bring him to me.”   Their voices were too muffled together as they pondered quickly amongst themselves.   You thought it remarkable that they had landed on a collective decision. Together, they brought Groves toward the pool, lying him down gently.   “He was shot in the stomach,” one said, eyeing you closely. “What will you do?”   “I will take him into the water. You will find him safe on the shore of Whitecap Bay.”   He began to ask further questions but stopped upon hearing a small groan come from Groves.   Groves’s hand searched and pressed against his own wound with a wince.   Reaching out a hand, you gently turned his head to you. You smiled as his eyelids forced themselves open. The wonder he had replaced the pain as he looked into your eyes.   “I can save you. You need only ask,” you whispered.   His furthest hand stretched over in your direction. As if to confirm that you were real, his fingertips brushed the length of your hair.   “Theodore,” you pushed through his haze of pain and disbelief.   Almost inaudibly, he breathed out his answer. “Please.”   With a flick of your tail, you rose above the water. Tucking an arm under his, you secured your hold on his torso. The other was more gentle, yet just as firm behind his neck. As your lips neared his, his eyes shut before your lips claimed his softly. The rest you left to gravity. Once Theodore slipped down into the pool, you swam the pair of you down. Soon, he would be completely healed and fully conscious.

  Theodore’s eyes widened as shadowy figures closed in. Just as his nerves were rising, the mermaids simply swam past.   Bringing him to the surface for air, you kept your hold on him.   His brows furrowed as he surveyed his surroundings. “Whitecap Bay.”   You nodded in confirmation. “I will take you to shore so you may rest.”   “Thank you.”   When he was ready, you swam the rest of the way.

  As the water began to shallow and his feet were able to touch the sand beneath, you released him. He slowly made his way toward the shoreline as you leisurely swam around him.   “You could out-swim the fastest ship in the fleet,” he complimented.   “Yes,” you smiled, your tail brushing against the ends of his coat.   “I don’t know how you did it…or how I could ever thank you for saving my life.”   “Refrain from standing in harm’s way.”   “Literally,” he frowned at the thought.

  As the pair of you drew closer to the sandy shore, you could see that his mind wondered with thoughts.   “Is this where you take your leave?” He asked, the water pooling around his waist.   “You wish for my company, Theodore?” You swam to a stop in front of him.   “I do.”   Pleasantly surprised, you hummed happily. “Then I will wait with you until your companions arrive.”   “And then?”   “You all will leave. Will you not?”   Theodore’s inner conflict showed on the creases of his face. “I must. I have a duty to my country.”   Nodding in understanding, you swam in larger circles around him until the small white waves pushed against his calves.   Trudging out of the water, he sighed. The beach was quiet. The smoke from the rubble and lighthouse had stopped since his first time arriving to Whitecap Bay. The longboats that he and his crew used to reach shore remained. It was only a matter of waiting for them to return as well.

  Gathering himself, Groves sat down on the flat dark rocks, only steps away from where the longboats were anchored. He ran a hand over his short brown hair. A thought had occurred to him: if he looked as exhausted as he felt. Thankfully, the healing of his body had relieved most of it.   “Theodore,” you said. Your voice enrapturing his full attention. “When you and your men leave in your boats,” you began, swimming up beside his knees, “it would be safer for you if I followed alongside for a while. I would not like for my sisters to attack you.”   “I would be most grateful,” he smiled. With a shake of his head, he laughed to himself.   “I do not understand,” you said, studying him curiously with a single hand steadying yourself on the rock.   “I apologize, it’s just… This has been a strange and somehow remarkable journey for me. Before we sailed here, it was but a rumor aboard the ship. The men—even I—feared the very name of this place. There have been stories told. Especially of the mermaids guarding the water to the Fountain.”   “And are we mermaids as terrifying as the stories that have been told?”   “Yes,” he said quietly, placing a hand on top of yours. “But you ave shown me much more otherwise.”   You smiled at the gesture. A brow teased upward as you spoke next. “You would not like me when I’m angry.”   “I’m sure that is something we can both agree upon.”

  It was silent of words afterwards, comfortably so. The rays of the sun began to dry out his naval uniform. And by the looks of the bright day, if would not take long for his clothes to be completely free of moisture.

  Theodore had long since removed his long coat. It laid out on the stretch of rock beside him to dry.   You did not want to dry out as well. Slipping down into the warm Caribbean water, you sighed contently to yourself. The feeling of the water coating over your scales was much needed. As you again rested your arms on the rock, you met eyes with Theodore.   “Forgive me, I…I thought for a moment that you were leaving.”   “Not as of yet, Theodore,” you smiled. Flicking up your tail, you let it hit the surface of the water none too gracefully. The water droplets that flew up from the splash reached him and the surprise on his face sent you into a stream of happy laughter.   A large grin spread across his face. “Wetting me again, are we?”   “You make it all too easy,” you beamed, lightly squeezing his knee.

  It was a wonder. You found yourself enjoying these moments the more you spent them with Theodore. Of course you knew that they could not last forever, but that was not going to stop you.   “Do you think that we will ever see each other again? It may be a silly thing to ask, considering that I live in London now. The weather is quite different compared to here. Much colder some days.”   “Yes, the water is colder beyond the Caribbean. Here, it is warm and safe. Any animal traveling to a drastically different environment…it could be lethal.“ To humor yourself on a lighter note, you began, “However, it would be quite the journey to swim that distance. I could potentially board a ship.”   “Would you truly stow away aboard a ship?”   “If I wanted to.”   “Will you?” He asked, almost hopeful.   Your face slowly fell at the reality. “A mermaid should not. There are creatures—beings, that call the oceans and waters their home. There is a reason why we are separated; land and sea.”   Gently, to your amazement, he took your hand in his. “I may not fully understand, and I doubt any man could, but I accept your decision, for it is yours and yours to make alone. However,” he gave a small smile, “if you ever find yourself in London, please do find me.”   Another smile graced your lips. “You would be the reason why I would be there.”   As he too smiled, smitten at your words, you moved. Pushing yourself up onto the rock, you twisted and sat beside him.   Theodore’s eyes strayed respectively, raising his head to meet your eyes again, but flushed at your words.   “My body is covered in scales, Theodore. There’s no need for you to become flustered.”   “My apologies,” he said in his unwavering sincerity.   “Perhaps you should visit, to become more accustomed to the island,” you suggested, patting his arm.   “I would love to, but my job would hardly allow it, and it would make for an expensive venture.”   “Money, gold, power,” you shook your head. Inhaling the ocean breeze, you calmed yourself. “The ways of men elude me.”   Clutching your hands into his own, he leaned close. “Please believe me that I would if I had the means.”   Gazing into his eyes, you felt his truth. There was both a plea and a pain in his eyes, a kind that you had never witnessed before. “You do not need those means here. They have no use, no value. You could stay.”   Bringing your hands up to his lips, he kissed them sweetly. “I’m afraid that this could all be but a dream,” he kissed your hands again, his lips lingering on your skin.   “You will think so,” you said so quietly, assuming his decision.   “And so I will hold onto the memory of this dream for as long as I can.”   Slipping your hands out of his grasp, you cupped his face tenderly. You smiled as he waited for your words. There may have been a thought or two, but you remained silent. With a pleasant hum, you leaned into him and pressed your lips to his. You felt the air leave his body from your action.   As you lingered and continued, you felt yourself enjoying such an intimate exchange. Though Theodore kissed you in return, his hands remained stationary. He dared not touch you, and you wondered for what specific reason.   “Theodore,” you whispered in question.   In response, he sighed out your name, making your tail flick over toward his legs.   Pulling away for a moment, he followed. “I won’t bite you,” you assured.   His brows furrowed as he opened his eyes to peer at you.   “I won’t bite, if you rest your hands on me,” you clarified.   Briefly, he glanced away in his sheepishness. “I did not want to be so bold.”   “You have good qualities, Theodore Groves.”   “Thank you.”

  Motion stirred the water. The feeling swirled up through your tail. However, you elected to ignore it for the time being, deciding to kiss him instead.   He did not appear to mind. Not that he gave any indication that he would. Especially so when he finally placed his hands onto your arms, though light and hesitant.   And as his hands began to slowly caress your arms, and over to your back, you wanted to ignore the sounds beyond the Bay. However, a breath that did not match either of yours caught your attention. Pulling away from Theodore again to seek out the disturbance, you nearly did not. With his forehead to yours, he remained, basking in the moment. But your tail twitched. Another mermaid. Shifting your head slightly, as to not alert Theodore, you looked over the water. Your eyes widened to the sight and you felt you heart leap.

  “You’re alive.”   Realizing that you were not talking to him, Theodore too looked over.   In the water a few yards out were two figures. Though they were only visible from their shoulders and upward, you knew one to be a mermaid and the other not.   Diving off of the rock, you were met by your fellow mermaid. Swimming around each other, you saw a recent wound healing on one of her fins. As the pair of you rose back out of the water to wade at the surface, you shared kind smiles.   “The pirates,” you inquired. “How are you alive?”   “Philip saved me,” she said, looking over her shoulder to the man trudging his way toward them in the water.   “But you saved him first,” you said with playful skepticism.   “And you him,” she eyed Theodore behind you, sitting on the rock with a look of wonder and bewilderment.

  “Hello,” Philip called over as he neared the shore. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Philip.”   Theodore stood, his boots splashing the water. “Lieutenant Commander Theodore Groves,” he nodded in kind.   “Pleased to meet you.”  The two shook hands and tried their best not to gaze adoringly at the other two in the water. “Are you waiting for the ship as well?”   “Yes, but I would be surprised to see Barbossa sail Black Beard’s ship near this Bay.”   “If we don’t have hope, what do we have?” He countered softly.

  The two men were utterly silent for a couple of moments. Their shared uncertainty drew to the surface. Eyes averting the other, listening to the call of the birds and the calm crashing of the waves.   “Syrena?” Philip questioned. The water where the mermaids had been was as smooth as glass. Whipping their heads around, both men did not see a single trace.   “We should get to shore,” Philip advised warily.   “Agreed.”

  Returning to the surface, you and Syrena exchanged curious looks. As the two men sloshed their way onto the dry sand, you both simply watched.   With a subtle nod to the right, Syrena indicated toward the longboats resting in the sand. Slipping just under the water, you both swam over to the small wooden vessels.   It was a short distance with a handful of tail flicks to guide you. In the shallow water, the gentle waves washed over your backs. If you were to reach out, you could just touch one of the boats. It was a wonder that such a thing could withstand the ocean beyond the Bay. Though perhaps its durability had its limits there as well. After all, it was hardly a challenge for your sisters to split one apart.

  Muffled thuds rippled through the ground as Theodore and Philip jogged over toward the boats.   “For a moment, we thought you left us,” Theodore stated, kneeling down to your level.   “We did, but not for long,” you said.   “Your ship nears,” Syrena indicated.   “The Queen Anne’s Revenge? Where are they headed?” Asked of Philip. He too kneeled onto the wet sand.   “Out to sea. Philip, you must board this boat. We’ll bring it alongside the ship so you can rejoin the others.”   “We can’t possibly catch up, even with the pair of us rowing hastily,” Theodore reasoned.   You wanted to wipe away the creases that appeared on his brows. Surely he knew enough about sailing and the ways of navigating the waters, but the abilities of mermaids should continue to surprise him.   “Syrena and I are going to swim beneath the boat to pull it toward the ship. Would that be fast enough for you?” You asked, enjoying his astonished disbelief.   “Truly?”   “Yes, but you must hurry before the winds favor their sails.”   His eyes widened. “Yes. Come along,” he instructed of Philip.   The pain pushed one of the boats into the water. When it no longer scraped along the sand, they hopped aboard. As they did so, Syrena and yourself placed your hands on the bottom of the vessel to steady it. You did not want to make a habit of saving them frequently.   “Thank you.” Philip smiled over at the pair of you. “I suppose this is farewell then, for now,” he said solemnly to Syrena.   To give them privacy, you swam around to the other side of the boat. A smile found its way onto your face yet again. As you had looked up, you found Theodore leaning over the side of the boat, watching your every move.   “Theodore,” you whispered, liking the way his eyes lit up by your mention of his name. Placing your arms on the rim of the boat, you held yourself up.   “We don’t want to alert the others on the ship,” he spoke softly. His eyes closed in the slightest as you nudged your face up under his jaw. “There’s no telling what Barbossa would order the crew if he saw you.”   “If,” you whispered against his earlobe.   The action caused him to shiver. “Did you not urge us to hasten?”   “I could stop an entire ship if I wanted to.” You kissed his cheek until he turned his head, letting your lips connect.   “A most wonderful dream,” Theodore sighed, gently cradling your face in his hands.   The expression on his face in his sincerity could have made a tear fall from your eye. “Hold on tightly, Theodore Groves,” you advised.

  Dropping down into the water, you were met with the determined eyes of Syrena. She angled herself horizontally with the length of the boat. You mirrored he actions and took a firm grip on the planks of wood. Together, you batted your tails against the water. It was none too comfortable when accidentally scratching your scales against the wood, but you learned to ignore it for the time being.   Reclining your head back, you saw the underside of the Revenge coming into view. Though you would much rather keep away, you swam the boat closer.   As you approached the larger vessel, you noticed a strange sight. There were hardly any barnacles attached to the ship. Peculiar for an older ship.   Two thuds knocked against the boat. Peering over at the other, you and Syrena slowed to a stop. It could only be assumed that the two men aboard deemed it suitably close enough to board the other vessel. Under the guise of the boat, you remained. Smiles were not withheld as clear ‘thank you’s were heard just above the surface of the water.   The boat rocked and men shouted, likely scattering about the deck. When the boat ceased its movements, you knew they climbed aboard. You could only guess that they would pull up the boat next, but no such action came.   More shouts muffled their way passed the water’s surface from above. Men could be so noisy. Though, not comparatively so when attacked upon.

  All too soon, the ship crept forward with increasing speed. A part of you, not so deep down, wanted to rip the ship into splinters. But you calmed yourself. Theodore chose to leave, and so you honored his decision. What you did not expect was the growing ache in your chest. A scream bubbled up in your throat, but you trapped it there, locking in your sorrow.   As the ship faded out of sight, you looked upon your fellow mermaid beside you. When you locked gazes, you noticed that she too was saddened by the men’s departure. Even so, daily life would continue and the waters of Whitecap Bay would once again become quiet and serene. No pirate would again seek the youth of the fountain. But, you could always flirt with the idea of Theodore Groves someday returning to you.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Finally...after I don't know how many years...this fanfiction is complete!

Thank you for reading :)

If you would like to read more fanfiction/imagines from me, be sure to check out my Masterlist of Masterlists post pinned on my blog.

[phoenixyfriend]

top 10 ahsoka headcanons?

Give me a character and I’ll give you 10+ headcannons

I'm on team "markings marbling is a sign of stress during key developmental years; facial is childhood, and lekku is adolescence."

Capable of chirruping as a happy noise.

Very low alcohol tolerance (alas, togruta).

Hid out with Bo during the Purge, and then funneled Force-Sensitive kids through a refugee network managed by Korkie in the years after.

Early and mid-adolescence involves so much calorie burning that not only is she eating all the time, but she's actually got a higher temperature than usual; this is why she dresses 'normally' before and after, but shows the most skin in her tween years.

She gets a different set of rations than everyone else (because all the rest are for humans).

Absolutely had a... I don't want to say hate crush, but maybe a rivalry crush? They weren't fully friends yet and were adversarial interpersonally even when they were cooperating professionally, but yeah, there was a whole thing about Bo-Katan for a few months.

That something came back around a few years post-Purge when they were drinking and commiserating and ended up having maudlin drunk sex that they both promised not to talk about ever again.

Except it happened again and again and again and eventually they just had to admit that an 'I'm lonely and need to not think too hard about the dead' booty call was probably a good idea.

Regularly hit by the instinctive urge to bite down on a shiny's shoulder because until they get their paint, that piece of armor looks like an egg. She's not going to do it, but you know how the tide pod thing started because they kind of look like jelly candy and your monkey brain goes FRUIT! BERRY! EAT! Yeah so if Ahsoka turns too quickly and only catches it out the corner of her eye, a clone pauldron 100% looks like an egg that togruta can and will eat raw, and sometimes she has to double-take.

[selenastaylors]

the new lover bodysuit reminds me of the reputation tour tide pod dress

[margo-lith]

if i make a margo ai i wont need the real one anymore (snuff film time) (wait if i made multiple copies i could make multiple margi snuff films and keep the og one around so i could make it watch as the others ones get murdered in increasingly stupid ways like tide pod poisoning (even dressing you up like a kid so we can spread misinfo on facebook))

sfheehyzgw I like the way your mind thinks...I think og Margo shouldn't be aware of the ai clones so it just sees its self die over and over in horrendous ways with no context or framework for why..

[taylorswiftstylequestions]

The real question is, are all the outfits picked out for the week or does Taylor just decide the vibes the day of ala Rep Tour "hey mom should I wear the tide pod dress today?"?

Lol! I think certain days are planned and others are personal whim and/or what has been cleaned and is available.

[spainkitty]

WIP WEDNESDAY

AO3 link to Part 1

Part 2 Chapter ??

The damp pebbles were a bit easier to walk over barefoot, and she went out further into the surf without the slightest hesitation, excitement bubbling under her skin. Foam burst and tickled around her bare calves, and the water lapped at her knees, swelling and splashing high enough to dot the linen tunic that hung just past her hips. Spindleweed and black lotus grew everywhere, twining around her ankles and bouncing against her thighs as she waded through the water. It was mesmerizing and wonderful. She wanted to throw herself into the depths of it and feel the tide pounding against the coast, hear it echoing like thunder all around her.

She heard him coming, but she didn’t bother to turn. She was too busy staring at the strange many-legged creature scuttling over the muddy pebbles near her toes. Was that a lobster? A crab? She couldn’t remember. Orlais loved seafood, considered it a delicacy, but the smell had always turned Lanil’s stomach. What was wrong with good, hearty ram? Or, better yet, beef?

“You look like you’re about to turn into a dolphin and take off to sea,” the Iron Bull said when he came up beside her.

Lanil gaped at him. “You’ve seen dolphins? It’s too cold for dolphins this far south!”

“You forget, I’m from the north, Bruiser,” the Iron Bull said, grinning. “Seheron’s surrounded by pods and pods of ‘em. No good for eating, though. The natives consider them too much like people and too smart for eating.”

“Huh. I wanted to know what they tasted like,” Lanil said with a disappointed frown. “There aren’t that many aquatic mammals. I wanted to know if they taste more like fish or cows.”

The Iron Bull laughed, hands braced on his hips and head shaking slightly. Looking at him now, she almost did a double-take; she hadn’t realized how little he wore. He was always maybe half-dressed anyway. But now he wore smallclothes barely large enough to cover the important bits, and he’d taken his eyepatch off. The scar was deep across his eye, ragged and misshapen from mundane stitching and healing. There was the faintest trace where his skin was lighter than the rest in the shape of the eyepatch and its strap, which made her lips twitch. Maybe he needed some bare-skinned sunbathing, too.

“Didn’t want to overwhelm you with too much full-blooded qunari all at once,” the Iron Bull said when he noticed her noticing him.

“I’m sure I could handle it just fine.”

His head tipped back as he guffawed from deep in his belly. “Are you finally flirting back?”

Lanil’s lips twitched again. “Only by chance. I’m not good at intentional double entendre.”

“So you don’t mind if I whip it all off and go swimming the way the tamassrans taught us?” he asked with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“As long as you don’t expect me to join you,” Lanil replied. “I only get undressed in public when I’m drunk.”

Laughing yet again, the Iron Bull kept his smallclothes on, but went wading deeper until the water reached his waist (nearly her chest height). He beckoned her forward.

“C’mon, Bruiser, I won’t let the undertow get you!”

“What’s the undertow?!” Lanil shouted back.

“It doesn’t matter. Get out here!”

“I can’t swim!”

The qunari stood there, arm raised mid-air for a long second. Then, his arm dropped and he waded back. He propped his hands on his hips and stared down at her. “You can’t swim.”

[speaknowworldtour]

close enough welcome back TIDE POD DRESS

[renewedarchives]

The Signs as Inedible Foods

Aries: Boneless, meatless, non-GMO, all organic fried packing peanuts. They melt in your mouth.

Taurus: A medium-sized basket of Nintendo switch cartridges smothered in queso and guacamole. The Sonic games are extra crunchy.

Gemini: A tide pod. Your mouth froths and your breath has never felt fresher.

Cancer: A slice of pizza cast from precious metals. Leaden mushrooms, brass cheese, and copper crust all tear like foil as you chew.

Leo: Mesquite Smoked Barbecue. The faint flavor of tallow diffuses on your tongue as the blackened wood splinters between your teeth.

Virgo: Blue yarn. The shampoo worked into the fabric makes it difficult to spool onto your fork without it slipping, but you manage nonetheless.

Libra: Leather Dress Shoes rubbed in macadamia nut oil. Tough and stringy strips rip away between your canines.

Scorpio: Pine-sol and Windex served in a margarita glass with a deodorizing crystal rim. It's girl's night out so you order a second one before gulping half of the mixture down.

Sagittarius: A still life of an apple. Your saliva mixes with the pigments to become a thick red paste beneath your tongue

Capricorn: Your own hand. The pinkie snaps like a fresh baby carrot as you sever the tendons of your leftmost knuckle.

Aquarius: Hot Grapes fresh from the microwave. The molten glass flows from your lips as they pop. It tastes faintly of cough syrup.

Pisces: River nymph parfait. The smooth pebbles and whipped cream create a soothing sensation as they glow down your throat.