#HOWEVER roach turned out neat
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Cod - Eating Their Ass
Requested: Yes! [EVER THOUGHT ABOUT THE COD MEN SITTING ON THE READER’S FACE?? I THINK THAT’D BE PRETTY NEAT] + [HI, ANON WHO ASKED ABOUT COD MEN FACE SITTING HERE👋👋👋 . I had ass eating in mind!! I don’t see a lot of content on it and I thought it would be such a cool idea. I love all of them but I just know that Ghost would have a biggest ass bc GODDAMN. And I imagine König would have to be really careful with the reader since he’s so big and tall but once he gets into it, he’s grinding against their face and moaning like a WHORE]
Warnings: Face sitting, 69
Ghost
You look at me. You look me right in the eyes and you tell me that you don’t think Ghost would love to 69 like this. You, eating his ass out as he returns the favor. He’s been wanting to do it since before you even asked, probably for as long as you’ve been together. Maybe (definitely) even for some time before that. He just didn’t bring it up because he was a little unsure of if you would even like it. So he’s more than happy when you’re the one to bring it up. He’s practically in the shower the second you’ve finished bringing it up, dragging you with him so you both could get in bed as soon as possible. And once he’s on top of you, he’s grinding at the same pace that he’s sucking and licking, his thighs on either side of your face as your own clamp around his head.
Roach
Roach is surprised but not displeased when you bring up the idea. He is a bit hesitant at first, afraid that his weight will hurt you even though he’s literally yoinked you down onto his face before when you voiced the same thoughts except with the roles reversed. It doesn’t take much convincing though and he is kinda eager to try it. The day you both actually get to try it is filled with excitement as he climbs atop your face, his grinding slow and steady as you lick at him, his voice raspy and soft as he moans. He’ll apologize when he unexpectedly cums a little early, his seed spraying onto the top of your head and the pillow, both of which he’ll insist on cleaning up even though his legs are shaking horribly and he keeps stumbling while he attempts to get a washcloth.
König
König is definitely terrified of hurting you when you bring up the idea, denying you the first few times you ask to try it. You’ll have to really pester him about it before he’ll reluctantly agree. He will, however, go over things with you for like an hour. His safeword if he gets uncomfortable, how you would signal him to stop if you needed it, Etc. Soon you both set a date to finally try it. König is so nervous that the shower he took beforehand lasted two whole hours. He’s very pruny when he comes out and no less nervous then when he went in. He’s slow to kneel on top of you, his knees on either side of your head, careful of your body as he grips onto the headboard so tightly that his knuckles turn ghost white. But then your mouth is on him and he’s lost, moaning and whining, grinding on your face like he’ll die if he doesn’t. It becomes a new favorite thing of his and he’ll shyly bring up doing it again and again and again.
Rudy
Rudy is another one that is hesitant but not all together put off, but I would say he is the most reluctant out of these four. A little because he’s afraid of hurting you but mostly just because he doesn’t know what to do. He’s never even thought about it if he’s being honest. But Rudy can never deny you anything, especially when you look at him so pleadingly. You’ll have to guide him on what to do, his hands hovering in the air as he struggles to find where to place them, his body kneeling too straight and much too frigid until you drag him down to the perfect angle. He’s still tense but gradually relaxes as you work your mouth, eventually growing brave enough to start slowly rocking back and forth, his cheeks warm as he struggles to keep his breathing steady. He finds he actually quite likes the sensation, even if it’s a bit unusual at first. He’d definitely like to try it again, as long as he gets to return the favor.
#call of duty#cod#mwii#mw2#call of duty mwii#cod mwii#cod mw2#call of duty mw2#Simon riley#Simon riley x reader#Simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#Gary Sanderson#gary sanderson x reader#gary roach sanderson#Gary Roach Sanderson x reader#König#König x reader#Rodolfo parra#rodolfo parra x reader#Rudy parra#rudy parra x reader
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Chapter One
(Chapter Index)
(Previous)
(Next)
Before the Destructix could eagerly begin their journey of revenge and chaos, however, there was one thing they couldn’t ignore.
They needed food.
Their search led them through the grimy and confined labyrinth of neon-lit city streets, eventually bringing them to a modest ramen shop tucked away in the urban chaos. The windows looked as though they’d never been washed, the staff’s lack of hope was visually obvious, and there were roaches crawling around a man’s bowl who had fallen asleep at his table. The ramen itself, however, was listed at a great price!
Scourge found himself fighting back a rush of saliva threatening to spill from his mouth. He was typically indifferent when it came to ramen, but he was more than willing to have any somewhat edible food that wasn’t shoved in his face or stolen from him. As it stands, his jacket had gotten noticeably loose from losing at least 10 pounds, leaving the disgruntled green hedgehog to constantly adjust it.
“Here, guys.” Scourge almost blurted out as he headed for the door, his hunger pulling him forward like a magnet. The closer he got, the more potent the smell became thus causing his accelerating heartbeat to block out most noise.
Fiona Fox couldn’t help but laugh a little as she heard her tough-as-nails boyfriend quietly begin panting over some cheap ramen.
"What?" A confused Scourge turned to face Fiona, his brows furrowed in confusion.
Realizing that her boyfriend was unaware of his irregular breathing, Fiona dismissed his question with a nonchalant wave and a whispered "nuthin." Turning to the cashier, she ordered, "6 bowls." Then she instructed one of their group, "Fly, save us some seats outside,” completing the transaction and accepting the waiting number in return.
"Okay-dokay!" replied Flying Frog, hopping outside with wild enthusiasm. Moments later, the group watched through the grimy window as six startled people were flung through the air, accompanied by Flying Frog's triumphant voice announcing, "I got us the neat-eat-seats!"
Unfazed, the group waited until their food was done before going outside to an equally unfazed population.
“Uh, does nobody care that Flying threw people around?” Sgt. Simian inquired, unsuccessfully searching the crowd for any signs of terror at what had just occurred.
“If you live here, you’ve seen worse.” Scourge rolled his eyes as they sat at the table. Once the aroma of ramen sat beneath his nose, he felt his other senses fade into a blur. His movements felt automatic as he cleaned the bowl in less than a minute.
“Babe, that’s hot,” Fiona warned, watching as the green hedgehog practically inhaled his ramen.
“You fhink me eating ramen is hoht?” He asked, chewing down the last mouthful of noodles with a puzzled look.
“No, Scourge, the ramen’s hot.”
Indeed it was. But since Scourge was a tough guy, he handled it with ease. He totally didn’t want to yelp as he felt a small yet painful burn forming on the roof of his mouth. He was too tough to let that bother him. He was perfectly fine.
"Yeah, ha," he managed to say after gulping down the remainder of his noodles and guzzling his soda in a single, long swig.
“Hey, don’t make yourself throw up, hon.” Fiona gently patted his back.
“Yes, please…” Predator Hawk muttered, blowing on his food before taking a bite.
“Yeah! I bet ‘Snot’ isn’t the worst name you could be yuck-muck-stuck with!” Flying blurted out, hopping in his seat. His comment incited quiet laughter from Predator and Lightning Lynx.
Scourge feigned laughter, “Yeah, right. Now, shut up.”
"Lighten up, tough guy. We're out of prison and we've got plans ahead of us." Fiona tried to soothe him, offering a light kiss on his cheek.
"Yep." Scourge perked up, reminded of his plan for vengeance, "That kid Miles is the first on the list. The whole 'Suppression Squad betraying me' thing was his idea."
“Are we killing a kid?” Lightning asked, leaning back in his seat and sipping his drink.
“No. At least not yet.” Scourge readjusted his red sunglasses. “He’s tougher than he looks, but I’m sure with all of us we can nab him that way we can get information on the castle's security.”
“What??” Simon nearly spit out his drink as he growled, “the brat gave you hell. He deserves-“
“Yeah, yeah I know that better than anyone, man.” Scourge sighed, “but look, it’s the most fool-proof way to get the castle back.”
“Yeah, well where are we gonna keep the runt?” Predator raised a brow crossing his arms.
"Welp, that's the first part of the plan, we need a safehouse," Scourge mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Somewhere low profile, where nobody will bother to look."
"Like somewhere abandoned?" Fiona suggested, resting her hand against her chin as she leaned on the table.
“Yeah… Hell, I’m sure it won’t be too hard to find…” as Scourge pondered potential locations for their hideout, he was distracted by a disgruntled man whose food was stolen from him. The man then stormed around, demanding to know who took it.
Fiona scoffed at his behavior and yelled, “get another bowl, jackass!”
“Fuck you, bitch! I want my fucking food!” Before he could yell anything else, he was lifted by the neck and slammed against a nearby wall.
“What the hell did you say to her!?” the man heard Scourge growl in his face, sending him into a sheepish state.
“I-I didn’t mean her I-“
“Bullshit! I’m gonna fucki-“
"Babe." Fiona gently patted Scourge's back, "If he's bold enough to talk like that, he wants business with me. Let me handle it."
Scourge rolled his eyes before tossing his victim to the ground.
“Now, it sucks that your ramen was stolen. But instead of yelling in people’s faces about who stole it…” she hoisted him up by his shirt and flung him into the shop like an unwanted rag doll, "just buy another fucking bowl!"
With that, she calmly returned to her seat, smoothing down her hair.
Scourge couldn't tear his eyes off of her, and he certainly couldn't suppress the grin that was spreading across his face. He muttered an appreciative "attagirl."
Fiona winked at him, having heard him murmur before asking, "More ramen?”
“Nah, I think I’m all set for now.”
“Are we all done?” Fiona asked the rest of the Destructix, receiving a collective ‘yeah’ in response.
“M’kay lezzgo.” She said before they got up to begin their search.
As they walked among the streets of the urban wasteland, Scourge frowned as he reached for his quills, searching for signs of growth. He was disappointed by the dull texture as a result of them being shaved down in prison.
“They’ll grow back.” Fiona reassured him, wrapping an arm around his midsection as they walked.
“Not fast enough. Hey, do ya have my smokes?” The thought energized him, as he hadn’t had one since before he was arrested.
She pulled the pack out of her purse, "Not many left, but better than nothing.“ The fiery fox pulled one out and placed it between his lips before arching an eyebrow and asking, "Mind if I have one?"
“Knock yourself out, Fi.”
"Thanks." After lighting their cigarettes, she took a puff and sighed, "Oh, this would be so much better if we were on our thrones…”
“Oh, I know what ya mean, baby.” He took a long puff and fixed his sunglasses, looking at the slums around them, “we fell from grace for sure, but it’s just a setback. It’s all part of the beginning.” He turned his head to her and gently ran a couple fingers through her hair. “Besides, I’m not leavin’ the queen of Moebius disappointed.”
Warmth flooded Fiona’s cheeks as she leaned into him, unable to fight off a grin “Well, when ya put it like that…”
“God, get a room…” Lightning rolled his eyes.
“Shove it.” Scourge scoffed, flipping the lynx off, sending him into a fuming rage.
“You shove it, you son of a-“
“Looky! Nobody’s been here for a smile-mile-while!” Flying Frog hopped over to a large, decrepit, concrete building with a rusted illegible sign.
Scourge inspected the building closely. Something about it was familiar. He couldn't put his finger on it until he saw the rotting remains of a small playground.
The realization sucked all the air from the green hedgehog’s lungs.
“What was this, a school?” Lightning asked.
“An orphanage,” Scourge felt like he was being strangled as he spoke.
Fiona, who knew Scourge better than anybody, recognized his tense state and told the others to set up inside as she spoke to Scourge in private.
"This is where you put her, isn't it?" She asked quietly, her gaze drifting over the shattered windows and crude graffiti.
“Yeah,” Scourge muttered after swallowing thickly.
“Hey… You didn’t know it’d turn out like this. Besides, maybe she got adopted before it--“
'Let me see the pack and lighter," he interrupted sharply, extending his hand.
With a slight purse of her lips, Fiona handed them to Scourge, crossing her arms as she watched him light up another cigarette.
"Wanna head in?" He asked, adjusting his glasses, his words accompanied by a puff of smoke.
“Lead the way, bruiser.” Fiona replied, motioning towards the door.
Scourge knew it was useless to try and piece together what happened to her. It didn’t matter if she was dead, adopted, or gathered up by law enforcement to be forced to work in a factory. He was never going to see her again. Even still, he couldn’t help but spare a thought for her.
That thought didn’t last long as he was brought back to reality by the gentle brush of his girlfriend’s hand against his.
“You alright?” she asked, her pinky finger instinctively curling around his in a comforting gesture.
“Hm? Yep.” He replied tersely with a nonchalant nod, his hand remaining static and unresponsive to her affectionate touch.
“Okay…” she murmured in response as they stepped in to join the rest of their gang, ready to inspect their new territory.
If it weren't for the sparse remnants of cheap toys and child-sized furniture scattered haphazardly, it would be difficult to imagine this place had ever served as an orphanage. The few decorative elements that had survived the wrath of vandals were dull and devoid of life, rendering the place akin to austere military barracks rather than a haven for orphaned children.
However, the place had its advantages, offering ample space to establish a makeshift base and plenty of mattresses for their comfort.
“How long has this place been abandoned?” Lightning asked monotonously.
“I last heard about this place being active when I was 11.” Scourge peered over his sunglasses to see better in the progressively dimming evening light.
“And you’re what? 15?” Predator interjected, a look of puzzlement etched across his face, "it looks like it's been abandoned way longer.
“16,” Scourge corrected him, rolling his eyes in mild annoyance as he adjusted his jacket once more. “It was a dump then, too. But it was the only orphanage around, so…”
“So, what?” Simon asked apathetically, crossing his arms.
“Nothing.” Scourge replied curtly, clearing his throat.
With an air of growing exhaustion, Fiona slowly blinked as she raised her hand to rub her eyes before instructing the gang, “well, we haven’t slept much since before we broke out, so we should do that before we get the show officially rollin’,”
A unanimous agreement followed, and together they scrounged up an assortment of worn-out mattresses to sleep on in various rooms for the night.
As Scourge laid on a set of child-sized, rotting mattresses, sleep proved itself to be rather difficult as the oppressive summer heat not only soaked him in a sticky layer of sweat but seemed to amplify the pungent aroma of neglect that permeated the decrepit building. Upstairs, Flying had chosen his resting spot, but was struggling to wind down. He vented his restless energy through a series of thunderous hops, each one so powerful that it dislodged tiny bits of debris from the ceiling, raining them down onto Scourge and Fiona as they sought rest in the room below.
“We only slept for, like, 3 hours since we broke out,” Fiona complained, her voice heavy with exasperation. “How the hell does he have that much energy?”
Scourge merely grumbled in response, his words barely comprehensible. He sat up, stripping off his jacket and sunglasses, and laid them neatly beside his makeshift bed.
“I almost miss the prison’s air conditioning,” the fox complained, her fingers restlessly picking at a loose thread on the mattress.
"Well, at least we're not lying on bare springs here," Scourge countered, trying to find a silver lining. He let himself fall back onto the mattress with a tired sigh.
“True.” Fiona grinned, conceding his point, before their conversation was interrupted by…
THUD!
Suddenly, they could no longer hear Fly hopping around.
A moment of silence passed before Scourge ventured to ask, “he dead?”
“Probably not.” Fiona dismissed the idea nonchalantly.
Realizing the absurdity of the situation, the two erupted into uncontrollable laughter.
“Rest in peace!” Scourge wheezed out between fits of laughter.
"We need...we need lights!" Fiona managed to gasp out between her guffaws.
Their laughter continued uncontrollably for the next ten minutes, each time they managed to regain composure, one would succumb to a fresh wave of laughter, triggering a relapse in the other.
Once they had finally regained control of themselves, Fiona clutched her stomach, wincing slightly from the strain the laughter had put on her muscles.
“Okay, we gotta sleep for real,” she said, reaching out to take Scourge's hand, her thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of it.
In response, he gave her hand a loving squeeze, “goodnight baby.”
“G’night, handsome…” she replied, a soft smile on her face as she began to sink into some much needed sleep.
In the quiet darkness of the night, Scourge let his mind roam free. Of course, he thought about the long journey ahead of rising to power and reclaiming what was once his and more. However, the thought of her reappeared in his mind again. Where was she? Was she ok?
He sternly reminded himself that it didn’t matter anymore before ignoring any more thoughts and drifting off to sleep.
#the destructix#sergeant simian#destructix#archie sonic comics#scourge the hedgehog#scourge#fiona fox#flying frog#lightning lynx#predator hawk#moebius#supression squad#evil sonic#sonic fanfiction#anti sonic#sonic archie comics#sonic archie#archie sonic#sonic comics#sonic au#sonic oc#sonic the hedgehog#sonic fanfic#miles prower#boomer walrus#alicia acorn#anti mobius#patch d'coolette#sonic original character#original character
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Book Review
Garbage World by Charles Platt
“Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me/I wanna be dirty,” sang Janet Weiss, played by Susan Sarandon, in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It could very well be the theme song of Roach, a character in Garbage World by Charles Platt since it fits his transformation from neat-freak to filth monger as the plot progresses. Roach is the pivot on which the novel turns. It is a book with a simple and unoriginal plot, and it makes a definite statement about class conflict, but it isn’t an entirely serious book and if you read it thatv way, it can be rewarding.
Somewhere in outer space there is a political entity called the United Asteroid Belt Pleasure Worlds Federation. While the asteroids these people inhabit are never fully described, we do learn that they are a high-tech civilization with high living standards, and an abundance of wealth. Their biggest problem is waste disposal. What they do is fill up blimps with garbage and then drop them on another asteroid named Kopra, which is also the Greek word for “feces”. The problem is that so much trash has been dropped on Kopra that the asteroid is fracturing under the weight and will soon break into pieces, spreading all the garbage throughout the immediate surroundings and ruining the cleanliness of the more developed asteroids in the federation.
Roach arrives in a spaceship with his commanding officer Larkin with plans to move the inhabitants of Kopra off the asteroid until they are able to fix it to prevent the catastrophe. The people living on Kopra are led by Gaylord, a giant bearish man with no sense of cleanliness or refinement. He earned his status as leader by accumulating the biggest hoard of junk which he has organized and labeled like pieces in a museum in his basement. His hoard makes Gaylord powerful because he is resourceful enough to know what to do with all his garbage when the time requires it. Larkin and Roach are anal-retentive germaphobes, but Gaylord finds common ground with Roach and a friendship grows between them. Roach also falls in love with Gaylord’s daughter Juliette. Gaylord also has a son named Oliver who leans a little bit more to the clean side and secretly agrees to help Larkin who has not been entirely honest about their mission on Kopra.
Roach is a bit of a humanitarian whose job is to collect information about the inhabitants of Kopra. He goes about studying them like an anthropologist. By that I mean he studies them with all the haughtiness and contempt that anthropologists in the colonial era studied so-called “primitive societies”. Still he cares enough about the Koprans to want to save them from their dirty and lowly status in the universe. Larkin, however, cannot be trusted and his plan is to exterminate the people there along with his efforts to prevent Kopra from exploding and polluting the entire asteroid belt with the filth his people have dumped on Kopra.
There are other inhabitants on the asteroid they call the Nomads. They live in the jungle under much rougher conditions and also survive by scavenging the junk that falls in blimps from the sky. Roach sets out with Gaylord and Juliette to find the Nomads so they can bring them back to the spaceship to be taken away while the asteroid of Kopra gets repaired. However, somebody sabotaged their vehicle and they come close to death, but the nomads save them from disaster. T o their surprise, the nomads turn out to be peaceful and hospitable people. The whole middle section of this novel is a series of adventures in the strange and dirty landscape of Kopra. Along the way, Roach begins to respect the Koprans more and more as he becomes accustomed to being dirty and gradually adapting to the environment of filth.
Roach’s transformation is complete when he falls into a warm mud pit with Juliette and the two get it on, having some truly dirty sex. This was actually my favorite part of the novel; Platt’s description of love making while submerged in warm and slimy mud was actually quite arousing. It wasn’t overly described either. There was just enough there to give you the tactile sensation necessary to make Kopra seem like it could actually be a nice place to visit. Needless to say, Roach has gone native at this point and, for him, there is no turning back.
Beyond that, I will just say you have to read the book to find out what happens.
Garbage World is a lot like the pulp science-fiction adventure stories of the 1920s and I am sure the author was aware of that. Those stories often had a colonialist mentality either latent or overt. A courageous spaceman travels to another planet or another dimension and encounters tribes of dangerous creatures that often bear the physical characteristics of non-European people. The hero falls in love with a local female and manages to escape before getting chopped up and eaten, killed by bug-eyed monsters, or flayed with primitive lasers. Garbage World turns this whole fictional paradigm on its head. In the post-colonial 1970s, there were more than a few social scientists pushing the idea that colonial subjects were just as human as the colonists and deserved to be treated as such. Charles Platt obviously took a cue from this change in attitudes and wrote Garbage World. It is an obvious critique of the way people in developed countries treat people in the Third World. The people of Kopra are portrayed as being resourceful and intelligent enough to make the most of their living conditions, even thriving on Kopra, finding happiness and the full realization of their human potential. Meanwhile the neat-freaks who invade their territory are the ones who created the conditions on Kopra and then plot to destroy them for being dirty, useless, and primitive. The dirty people of Kopra are the good ones while their technocratic adversaries reveal a link between colonialism, fascism, and obsessive cleanliness. By the end of the book, dirtiness is a virtue and Kopra looks like a borderline utopia. This book also reflects the growing concerns over ecology and environmentalism of the times in the 1970s.
Charles Platt’s Garbage World is a simple book on the surface. It was written primarily for entertainment. But when looked at in the context of the time when it was written, and the chronological space it holds in the progression of science-fiction writing, it makes a definite humanitarian statement. Despite the statement it makes, it is not a serious work of literature and it should not be approached as one. But if read solely for fun, the morality of the story may come out a lot more strongly. So go ahead and read it for fun and see what happens. Just don’t hide it under your mattress so your mother won’t find it; it’s not that kinds of a dirty book. And if anybody ever wants to have some filthy sex in a warm mud puddle, remember this book and don’t deny yourself that opportunity.
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Despite turning my brain to mush at work today, I did write 2337 words of my NaNo project. Currently at 15,936 words total!
Today, Brychan and the tadpole squad fought some goblins, and met a dashing and mysterious folk hero. (It's Wyll. They met Wyll.) Brychan broke up a fight and Astarion lost his patience with Brychan's seeming inability to say no to anyone in need of help, even with the ticking time bombs in their skulls.
Favorite passage from today is actually edited content from a previous partial draft. It didn't go towards my total word count for today, but since I read over it and tweaked some stuff, I'll share it here.
“Damnable roach!” A new voice called out over the cacophony of the battle. Brychan looked up to the cliff ridge and saw a man wielding a rapier leap over the edge to face a cluster of goblin sharp-eyes.
“Provoke the Blade,” the man shouted as he drove his foil into a goblin’s heart, then spun around and used his momentum to fling the dying creature down on the heads of their comrades below. “And suffer its sting.”
The Blade of Frontiers? Brychan wondered to himself. What in the hells is he doing here? Brychan had heard of the notorious monster hunter during his brief time in Baldur’s Gate. The man who called on the fires and miasmas of the Nine Hells to defend innocent farmers and villagers from the great beasts of the Frontiers.
He cut quite the dashing figure, tall and lithe, favoring quick footwork and lightning-fast flourishes of his enchanted blade over brute strength. His lightly padded red tunic complimented his dark brown skin, and his hair was twisted into neat ridges that ran from his brow to the nape of his neck. As Brychan watched, the Blade seemed to disappear with a pulse of sickly green light and a puff of black smoke blasting outwards, engulfing the nearby goblins who choked and fell back as if struck.
The next moment, the Blade appeared on the floor of the clearing with another plume of poisonous smoke and plunged his rapier into the shoulder of another booyag. However, he failed to notice the ravening worg coming up behind him.
With barely a thought, Brychan threw a booming thunder wave towards the creature, knocking it back against the cliff wall. It clipped the Blade’s shoulder, spinning him to face Brychan from across the valley. Two eyes, one a deep, warm brown, the other pale stone, widened in shock. Brychan pulled the air up beneath him and flew to the Blade’s side, where he shot a bolt of lightning towards the stunned worg, ensuring it stayed down.
“My thanks,” the Blade said with a lopsided grin. “Not every day someone saves me from a beast.” He deftly dodged the rusty blade of a goblin and with a sharp “Ad te!” he shot fire from his left hand, knocking them back, and engulfing them in flame.
“No worries,” Brychan grinned back, shaking a stray strand of hair out of his face. Then he turned to shout to Lae’zel who was at the heart of the melee. “Lae’zel! See if you can push them against the cliff. We can keep them from bolting this way!”
Lae’zel nodded, her face stern as ever. Though Brychan thought he caught a sparkle of delight in her eyes as she swung her longsword in a mighty arc, pushing the crowd back towards the western cliff face.
A goblin sharp-eye screamed as she fell from the peak of the knoll. She landed in a crumpled, insensate heap. Looking up, Brychan saw Astarion peer over the edge and salute him with a pilfered goblin bow when he caught him looking. Astarion ducked back under cover, the only clue to his position, a steady stream of arrows, sailing through the air and embedding themselves in worg pelts.
Caught up in checking on his new comrades, Brychan forgot to keep watch on his immediate surroundings. Suddenly the Blade’s arm caught him around the waist and pulled him out of the path of an arrow. Brychan stumbled and caught himself with his free hand against the Blade’s chest.
Another goblin threw himself at the two of them, catching the Blade on the back of his thigh, chipped blade tearing through leather armor and tender skin. The Blade hissed through his teeth and stumbled against Brychan.
“Shit!” Brychan cried out, ducking below his new partner’s shoulder, trying to prop him up with limited strength while he also jabbed the goblin with the tip of his staff. He sent a wave of thunder down the shaft, throwing the goblin back into the pack where Shadowheart easily finished him off with a firm crack of her mace against his head.
“We’re thinning them out!” Lae’zel yelled. “Keep up the pressure!” She was right. There were more goblins dead or unconscious on the ground then remained standing. Both paths of escape were blocked, one by Brychan and the Blade, the other by a rain of magic missiles from Gale at the top of the knoll. At first glance, Brychan could count about three goblins, and one bugbear still in the action. Thank the gods all the worgs were finally down.
Seeing the Blade’s injury, Shadowheart dashed over to the two of them, ducking under the injured man’s other arm, and saying, “Go, I’ve got him taken care of.”
Brychan nodded and released him to to her care. Taking a deep breath and drawing the winds up from beneath him, Brychan shot into the air.
“Lae’zel! Fall back!” Brychan shouted. Lae’zel disengaged from the remaining knot of goblins, longsword brandished to push them back if any followed.
Letting the static build in his limbs and thunder rumble in his chest cavity, Brychan took another deep, calming breath, and let go. A great bolt of lightning shot from the crystal on the top of his staff and into the chest of one of the goblins, instantly turning him into a charred corpse. A second later, a mighty roll of thunder threw the last two back about ten feet, already unconscious.
Lae’zel braced against the thunder wave and then charged back in, skewering one goblin. Leaping down from the rock formation, Astarion slit the throat of the last one.
Spirits buoyed by the appearance of the Blade of Frontiers and the success of the others, the three original adventurers descended on the remaining bugbear and made short work of him. As he fell, the ivy covered gate began to rise.
“That was the last of them. Inside, all of you. More may follow,” the older tiefling on the ridge called down. Everyone ran into the shady shelter of the gate. Brychan did a quick sweep of the valley. Everyone from his group was still standing. Only the Blade had sustained a significant injury.
It looked like Shadowheart had managed to seal the wound, but not fully heal it. The Blade leaned heavily on her shoulder, wincing with each step. Brychan trotted over and slipped under his other shoulder, offering what little support he could so as not to jolt the injury needlessly.
They were the last three through the gate and, as it lowered behind them, Brychan could already hear raised voices clashing further in. He craned his neck to see what the fuss was about, but he couldn’t quite discern the source of the commotion.
“Go on,” Shadowheart said. “I’ve got him from here.” She cocked her head towards a large boulder on the side of the trail, indicating that she could let her charge rest there as she finished cleaning and bandaging his injury.
Brychan nodded and then slipped away to jog towards the small crowd forming a few yards away.
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CoD Notes: MW2 Beat
My notes last left off right at the start of Act 2 of Modern Warfare 2 (2009). The rest of “Wolverines!” was a little bit of a chore but not too bad. I was proud of taking down a helicopter with a nearby LMG instead of walking all the way across the level to get a rocket launcher like the objective marker told me too.
The favela escape mission is…fine. I definitely found the vertical fighting to be a bit annoying but the big parkour set piece at the end is neat.
The Stryker escort mission kind of sucks, I was half on my phone every time I told it where to shoot.
The oil rig mission is awesome of course except for that nasty part at the end where the thermal scope enemies really give it to you. The slow mo breaches are fun too of course. And I like when this game offers you a lot of different weapons at once.
The gulag mission was also just fine. I had honestly kind of forgotten that Price wasn’t already hanging out with us so I was a little confused for a second when he was the surprise prisoner. And that adds extra context to the Makataov gulag springing in the new MW3 (2023).
The Washington DC fighting is cool in this game. As a kid, I don’t think I appreciated the imagery of literally fighting enemy troops in front of the Washington monument.
The sub assault mission is fun, lots of predator drones, but I did kind of get stuck in the middle at one point. Also very funny that the AUG is an LMG in this game.
EMP mission is fun, feels very tense and high stakes. And then of course the White House mission is neat since you literally go through every inch of it.
The estate assault, file transfer, and subsequent escape were probably the most challenging part of the game for me. I did enjoy getting to see classic Ghost but I’m surprised by how small his part in this game is. Also I had totally forgotten about “Ramirez” and “Roach”, and I’m kind of surprised they haven’t tried to incorporate either character into the new games.
I had a much easier time with the scrapyard three-way battle than I did as a kid. I think back then I tried to kill every enemy, but here it was pretty easy to just run past 90% of them. And another fun set piece getting on the plane!
The cave assault was a little challenging, good test of my abilities here at the end. I did however really hate the boat section, I kept dying to stupid stuff. Although I did have a good laugh getting all turned around during the river rapids part.
And then of course the ending! A classic, very cool. Did not notice it literally took place on Rust as a kid but now it’s glaringly obvious.
I did also play a few matches of multiplayer. I was excited to be contrarian and try to use the blast shield, but it blocks your vision AND your minimap! I did use it long enough to get a challenge done by accident.
Speaking of, I do like the challenge layout in this game more than some of the recent ones, in terms of there being a defined number of clearly attainable goals to achieve. I feel like now it’s more about camo challenges, daily challenges, seasonal prestige challenges, but I had just been thinking about how there really ought to be something akin to the camo grind for perks and equipment. Not in terms of customization, but just in terms of keeping track of how much you use each and giving you an incentive to try them all. Here in MW2 2009, that’s just XP and maybe a calling card, but that’s enough to make me consider dropping the most used perks on my account since I already have the challenges finished for a couple of them.
I googled around for what weapon to use and settled on trying the UMP. I remember it being OP back in the day anyways and already had a class equipped with it. Felt pretty good! I managed to eventually start to go even on KD but I didn’t have any “on fire” matches. In fact, I even got nuked once. That’s when I kind of realized what an uphill fight it would be to try and level to max in one of these older games. Certainly not impossible, but there’s lots more noobs on the newer games.
It is wild to see these classic maps again after getting used to their MW3 (2023) versions. So much less colorful and detailed but more like how I remember them, of course. I wouldn’t mind maybe playing long enough to see them all but I also wanna move on with this mega playthrough.
I skipped WaW for now to save it for coop so it seems only fitting then to skip Black Ops 1 for now so that I can experience the entire classic MW trilogy back to back, then get to play Black Ops 1 and 2 back to back before moving on to Ghosts and then Advanced Warfare.
So overall, I liked Modern Warfare 2 a lot! It’s hard to objectively rank it compared to CoD 4 when I have such strong childhood memories of MW2 (I was 11!) and also when one was a remaster. I think MW2 certainly had bigger set pieces, more action, more classic unforgettable moments, but CoD 4 had a more cohesive, consistent experience. MW2 didn’t have infinite enemies as bad though so I think it wins the point.
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I really like Mr Fear, neat invisible man vide, and nice clothes, pretty good design overall (also remind of negative man) could you tell us more about them?
Can do-
His power is actually a automatic response mechanism to anything that could be perceived as a threat to his well being. It’s sort of like a skunk’s spray isn’t meant to hurt people it’s just meant to deter them and that’s what his power is. However because of the unique chemical makeup of his brain, his brain and body is perceiving any kind of eye contact to his exposed flesh AS a hostile action and it’s acting accordingly against his will.
He struggles to find a stable living environment. He couch surfs when he can but friendships don’t last long when any time they walk in on him showering or even accidentally seeing a bit of his flesh results in them screaming and cowering in the corner. Most of the time he just bums it in the streets and shelters when he can. If he’s in luck and has cash he’ll stay at a cheap roach motel for as long as he can.
He’s very naive at times and easy to manipulate with sweet words and offerings of friendships which is what gets him dragged into Villian fights with heros basically as an escape method-whoever is partnered with him will just rip off some of his clothes and shove them at whatever hero is trying to catch them and escape leaving Mr Fear to deal with the fallout of the situation by turning into whatever nightmare creature the cape fears most.
He is prone to heatstroke in the summer because he remains covered up full body and often falls out in the street. And then people try to remove the layers to help cool him off and then there’s another little....accident.
He rarely gets to defend himself verbally and explain his situation because after a certain time limit his body will exhaust and go unconscious (usually that’s when he’s apprehended) he does revert back to his human shape but any exposed skin retains a sort of...uncomfortable aura that makes people want to look away. Kinda like how when you see something that just squicks you out and you immediatly want to look away because it upsets you (for me it’s dental procedures) this is his body still struggling to defend itself even In this inactive state.
He usually only knows what happened exactly in the fight when he checks the evening news or drone footage online made by people who try to document these fights and is often mortified by what he does and becomes in this unconscious primal state
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Only Fan(s) - A Thriller
Genre: Thriller
Pairing: Modern Ivar/OC
Warning: Language, sex, stalking, obsession, kidnapping, sexual assault
Rating: MA+18
Summary: Sometimes OnlyFans subscribers want a little more than internet pictures. Sometimes they want to be your ONLY fan...
Header by: @flowers-in-your-hayr
Thanks to @xbellaxcarolinax for being my beta.
Disclaimer: This story will deal with some topics that might be a little uncomfortable for some people. As always, I’ll try to tackle the hard stuff as tactfully as possible.
A/N: This is a fic I started 10-years ago for another fandom. I never finished it, but I loved the concept. I have an idea of what I want to do with it - hopefully, I’ll finish it this time around.
Part i - Train Wreck
It had taken forever to get the subwoofer out of the Challenger's trunk without damaging the cords. However, it was done with such skill and precision, it appeared a surgeon had removed it. The tricky part had been hooking the stereo back up to the factory-installed speakers after the subwoofer had been removed, and making everything look nice and neat, so the car’s owner wouldn’t be aware.
It had taken longer than usual, but it was well worth it. Whoever installed this particular unit, did a really good job. They were so meticulous with their installation, right down to the intricate wiring system – not that straight out the box shit that comes with aftermarket speaker setups. It had proven to be a tedious job, but not impossible.
No matter how daunting the task of removing the subwoofer had been, it wasn’t half as difficult as hooking it up to the old iPod without the benefit of a stereo. It had been a painstakingly slow process. One wrong splice of the cord and the mp4 player would short out. But tenacity always paid off. The result looked raggedy, with cords kept in place with electrical tape, the iPod balanced on its side, held in place between two books, and a huge metal subwoofer vibrating next to it. It was ugly, but it worked.
The volume on the iPod was cranked up to the highest level. It was so loud that the walls shook with each kick of the bass drum. There was no reason to ever use a speaker that powerful in a room this size, but the song demanded it. All good music demanded to be blasted at the highest of decibels; this song in particular. It had been playing on repeat for the past hour. One song. One constant beat. One melody, and one voice screeching over that amazing guitar riff. Listening to it on anything lower than the max was the true definition of insanity.
The people staying in the room next door disagreed because they had already done everything to get her to turn it down. They had yelled, banged on the walls, kicked her door, and even called the manager. It didn't matter. The fucking neighbors could eat a dick. Even if they called the National Guard the volume wasn’t changing. This song wasn't "noise", it was destined to be a fucking classic – in her room, if nowhere else. If it was possible to play the song any louder, she would have.
These fuckstick neighbors. They were the only ones that didn't understand how places like this worked. The rule was, there were no rules – that was the beauty of it. That's why this particular room was the best choice. It was on the second floor, around the back facing the alley instead of the highway. There was nothing else on this side of the building except the five rooms on this level, garbage dumpsters, the on ramp, and a peeling billboard. What in the hell were they expecting? If one picked a shit motel, with a shit room that offered no view, why would they think it would be quiet?
Anyone could stay in a two or three-star hotel. But, a bed-bug infested No Tell-Motel? People stayed here because they wanted to get away with whatever dirt they were trying to do. That's why these places charge by the hour and not by the night. Most people wouldn't even want to stay for the entire night. Dirt didn't take that much time to commit. For the most part, the only people who stayed in places like this only needed the space for about 20 minutes…a few hours tops, if they had a lot of stamina. It was don't ask, don't tell…don't listen, don't knock. These assholes should know that.
Annoying ass neighbors aside, the room was comfortable. The thick smell of stale cigarette smoke clung to the air was reminiscent of home. The smoky air coupled with a heavy bassline made it feel like a rock video. The only problem with the room was that it was hotter than a crack whore's crotch.
The air-conditioning unit in the sole window did little more than blow the smoke rings further around the room. It provided a nice buzzing sound that served as background noise and as a reverb for the music. There was also a burning smell that came from the window-unit being cranked up to full blast. It had been a little hard to get used to, at first, but two packs of cigarettes later, it was no longer noticeable.
The roaches sure didn't seem to appreciate the extra heat in the room. They constantly ran in and out of the vents of the air-conditioner like they were trying to find a cooler climate. Or maybe they were just hungry. The box of half-eaten pizza on the dinette table not only provided a suitable temporary home but also a hardy meal. They gathered there, grabbing their lunchtime snacks before running off to other wall cracks to share in a meal with their friends and family.
Most people would have found the place a disgusting, germ-infested, death trap. But, Torren wasn't most people. She didn't seem to notice anything in particular about her living conditions. She had other things to focus on. She had already paid for this week, and next, so what did she care? The place had all of the essentials; electricity, toilet, running water, a bed, and a TV.
Granted, the electricity was spotty, to the point that she couldn't have her flatiron and blow dryer plugged in at the same time. The toilet was so soiled that it still hadn't been determined if there were rust stains in it, or if it just had never been cleaned…ever. The water ran brown when it rained and a cloudy gray the rest of the time. It didn't get hot either, but it did get tepid if she let it run for 10 minutes, but not hot. Not hot enough to sanitize your hands, or to take a bath in.
But, it was already hot in the room, so a cold shower wasn't so bad. Besides, the tub was indescribable. If someone told her that a family of six had been murdered, and dismembered in that tub, she wouldn't be surprised. It just had that horror movie slaughter look, and the stains to prove it.
The bed was hard and lumpy and judging from the DNA left behind from past guests and holes in the sheets, they probably hadn't ever been changed. The TV was small, but at least it was in color. Hell, the room even came with its own pets, and it was only $50 for the week! There truly wasn't anything to complain about.
Torren Sykes sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, surrounded by ripped out, stolen magazine pages and color copies of photos she’d downloaded and printed at the library. She rocked her head and shoulders in a slow sway to the beat of the song playing. Haphazardly she flipped through the pages until she found a suitable picture and smiled. Picking up the scissors, she licked her lips slowly and ferried her brow, as she started the task of cutting it out.
"Goddammit!" She yelled before slamming the paper down on the bed. Stomping angrily toward the door, she pulled it open and narrowed her eyes at the man standing there. "I swear, if you knock on this door again, I'm gonna slit your fucking throat," she cringed, narrowing her eyes and pointing the shears at the man's neck.
The motel manager was taken by surprise at the half-naked woman holding shears to his neck. Standing before him was a beautiful brunette, with dark features. She had a creamy, light coffee-colored complexion – these days it was hard to judge a person’s ethnic makeup, but if he had to venture a guess, he’d think she was bi-racial. She had perfectly shaped large, almond, brown eyes that gave off nothing but a vacant stare, and a heart-shaped face. The soft dimple in her chin, and the one just at the curve of her mouth, gave her an almost angelic look. She was considerably shorter than him, about 5'5", and well built.
She wouldn't have been considered thin; she was far too curvy for that – the term slim thick instantly sprang to mind. She had thick thighs, extremely pronounced hips, and presumably a large ass. Yet, her waist was small, and her stomach flat, and big breasts. Not too big, where one would sprain their thumb trying to hold them, but they were big enough to keep any man occupied.
The manager wondered if she had some work done to get a body like that. It wasn’t uncommon for women around her to have a little nip, tuck, and a whole lot added to try to look like a vid-hoe, these days.
She was wearing the smallest pair of underwear he'd ever seen. And what was the purpose of wearing a cut off top that stopped just under her nipples? She might as well not be wearing a shirt at all. He could see the curve of the lower half of her breasts because the shirt failed to cover the lower half of her chest. If she raised her arm any higher he would have gotten a full-on nip-slip.
She glistened with a fine sheen of sweat all over her body; her long hair clung to her cheeks and neck, with it. It was almost like her hair was beating as quickly as her pulse was. He could feel the rush of heat come out of the room, as soon as she opened the door. It was like she had just opened the door to an oven. She was hot and sweaty, yet she still wore long tube socks that came up to her knees.
If she hadn't been assaulting him with a deadly weapon, it would have looked like something he’d recently seen on Porn Hub.
He had been so taken aback that he couldn't think of anything to say to her. Instead, he took a step backward and watched as she slammed the door. The entire encounter took about 5 seconds. Long enough for her to open the door, threaten him, and slam it again in his face. He wasn't sure what he was more surprised by, how she answered the door almost naked, the temperature of her room, the level of her music, the anger in her voice, or the scissors that had been pointed just inches below his throat. The whole scene was just wrong and it scared him.
In the 20 seconds that he continued to stand in front of the closed room door, he thought about what scared him the most. It was the look in her eyes. Those beautiful almond-shaped eyes were intense. They were concentrated. They had absently stared right through him. Something about those eyes wasn't right. Had she even seen him? He would never admit it, but he hoped like hell that she hadn't. He hoped that she didn't remember what he looked like. He didn't want any trouble, and he could tell that she definitely was.
Stomping her way back to her bed, Torren resumed her aforementioned position, picked up the copied photo, and started to sway to the music again. She smiled a little taking a second to run her fingers over the image on the page before she resumed cutting. Scraps of paper fell to the bed and the floor, some even stuck to her sweaty legs.
She clutched the cut-out to her chest, before falling back on the bed. Settling on her back, she held the picture up to the light. With tenderness, she brought the piece of paper down to her lips. She kissed it...him, with such passion, before sticking her tongue out of her mouth, and letting it rest on the computer paper - where his lips were, her wet tongue instantly wetting the page and smearing the ink. Planting her feet on the bed, she lifted her waist from the mattress and started to thrust upward with the beat of the song.
Seductively, she flipped over on all fours, laying the picture down on the pillows. She whipped her hair around her head, before letting it hang over her shoulder. She scooped her neck down and began kissing the picture again. As she did, she started to grind her hips hard against the balled up blankets.
She let one hand travel down her torso, toward her panties and smirked at the picture as she did. She braced herself on her left knee and elbow, before lifting her right leg out, then up. Roughly, she took her fingers and plunged them deep inside of herself. She bit her bottom lip, hard; she could taste the coppery blood on her tongue, and when she leaned down to kiss the picture again, she managed to get a nice bloody lip print on it. She twirled her hips and moaned loudly as she pleasured herself. Her eyes never left the picture. She removed her fingers, only to trace the dampness on the image before placing them in her mouth. Her taste was incredible. It always turned her on.
She had to have him. She needed him.
She flipped over on the bed, this time grabbing a magazine cover she had torn off from one of the stacks she found in the library. This one had him on the cover.
With a sense of urgency, she smoothed the waxy page down her body, before stuffing the picture along with her hand inside her panties. She closed her eyes. She felt his tongue running over her; she felt his fingers inside of her. The pillow next to her, the one covered in taped photos of him was now on top of her to simulate his body on hers, as her hand and the magazine continued to work. She couldn't get enough of him. She would never get enough of him.
In the middle of a mind-blowing orgasm, that happened to coincide with the best guitar solo ever created, blasting from the speaker, she managed to yell one word, "IVAR!" Then she flopped back on the bed in hysterical laughter.
She straightened out the magazine cover and picked up her bloody cut-out from the pillow.
Wordlessly, she stuck them both to the wall with her juices; amongst the 50 other printouts of him that hung just over her headboard. After giving him another kiss, she finally turned down the volume on her makeshift stereo, picked up a piece of pizza from the box, shook it off, then headed into the bathroom for a cold shower.
Part ii
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March 15, 2021: Clash of the Titans (1981) (Part Two)
I think mythology is squarely out of the equation now.
We’re gonna have to go with the Disney’s Hercules route with this movie, huh? Enjoy it for what it is, and forget the ways in which is destroys the source material. Well...if I gotta, then I guess I will. OK then, on with the show! Check out Part One for more!
Recap (2/2)
So, Pegasus has been captured by Calibos and his guys. That’s gonna be a problem, since they needed him to cut the journey to the Grey Sisters in half. Well, it doesn’t matter, and the group heads there anyway. Perseus tries to persuade Andromeda, but she rightly points out that she’s the only royalty there, and they all technically her. She girl-bosses her way out of there, and the rest follow.
In Olympus, Zeus asks Athena where her helmet is, and she replies that it’s forever lost in the swamp. Damn, Hades is gonna be piiiiiiissed. Zeus demands that she provides a replacement: her owl, Bubo. And I have a mini-stroke because he just called a GODDAMN BARN OWL BUBO. See, Bubo is the genus that contains the horned owls, including the great horned owl, snowy owl, and eagle owls. They belong to the family Strigidae. Barn owls not only belong to a different genus (Tyto), BUT A DIFFERENT FAMILY ENTIRELY (Tytonidae). So why in the FUCK did they choose a BARN OWL to play Bubo? Or, why did they name it Bubo, considering the fact that Athena’s owl is a little owl (Athene noctua). ORNITHOLOGY RAGE
...Anyway, she understandably refuses. Which is when Hephaestus (Pat Roach) steps up to make a metal replica of Athena’s companion. And yeah, Athena loves her owl almost as much as I love owls. Shae that she’s shit at naming them accurately, though.
The mechanical owl is sent to meet up with the group, as they ride through the desert. And, uh...this clockwork owl is cool, but also goofy as fuck. Also, looks nothing like a barn owl, but whatever. The mechanical owl, also named Bubo, speaks in clicks and whirs, which Perseus can somehow understand. He leads them to the shrine of the Greae.
As they head through the mountains, I think this is a good time to remind myself that this movie came out in 1981. Because I gotta tell ya, this movie feels way WAY OLDER than that. It’s weird, but it really feels completely out of its actual time. It seems like it should’ve come, like 10 or 15 years earlier, at the very least. It’s a little bit of the Harryhausen thing, sure, but it’s also the overall tone and feel of the film. It’s hard to explain, but it feels...old. TOO old.
Anyway, the group makes it to the mountains where the sisters live, and leave Ammon and Andromeda at the base, leaving just Perseus, Thallo, and the soldiers. Bubo’s coming along as well, and...yeah, the owl throws shit off. Especially as we meet the surprisingly accurate Greae (Flora Robson, Anna Manahan, and Freda Jackson).
The Greae, or Grey Sisters, or Stygian Witches as they’re called in the film, are three blind sisters who share a mystical eye, in the form of an orb. They’re pretty goddamn great, honestly. Perseus uses Bubo to steal the eye, in order to give Perseus leverage and get the answer he seeks.
His question is, in this case, how a mortal man can defeat the Kraken. They tell him that he can do so by optaining the head of Medusa, the Gorgon, whose gaze yaddayaddayadda. Additionally, her blood is deadly poisonous. Perseus gives back the eye, and they head back down to Ammon and Andromeda. At a fire, Ammon tells the myth of Medusa. Here, though, she was a priestess of Aphrodite instead of Athena, and was...seduced...by Poseidon. Whoof. To be fair, the whole “raped by Poseidon” thing is a relatively recent revelation in scholarly circles, and to be even more fair...they probably couldn’t mention that shit in a movie for all audiences, especially in 1981.
Andromeda’s put off by the story of the dangerous Medusa, and worries greatly for Perseus. He tells her to stay behind, but she continues to insist on going with him. She goes to sleep, and wakes up to only Ammon, as Perseus has left her behind for her own safety.
Perseus and the soldiers make it to the shore, where Medusa’s lair lies on the “Isle of the Dead”. Said island is in...the River Styx...and to get there, you have to pay the ferryman...CharonOK LOOK.
MEDUSA DOES NOT LIVE IN THE UNDERWORLD, OK? She lived on an island either off of the Aegean Coast, or in Libya, for god’s sakes. She was NOT dead, she was cursed. And Charon WOULD NOT BE THERE, because the River Styx in in the GODDAMN UNDERWORLD. This is wrong on...so many goddamn levels. What’s next, is Cerberus gonna be here for some goddamn reason? Yeah, right.
Well, Perseus and the men, with the aid of Charon, make it across, and onto the Island of the dead. They see many statues here, and Perseus tells them to use the mirrored sides of their shield if they are to encounter Medusa. However, they encounter...Cerberus’ brother.
...Huh. I mean, at least it isn’t Cerberus. No, this is Orthrus, an actual mythological two-headed dog, and actually Cerberus’ brother. Orthrus manages to take out one of the soldiers, leaving Perseus and two guys for backup. Perseus kills him, and they head into Medusa’s temple to take her out.
The atmosphere in the temple is admittedly eerie, as the group does their best to make it through alive and undetected. One guy goes down by arrow shot, though, and soon after that, we see where the arrow came from. And unfortunately for him, so does the other soldier, first hand.
Perseus uses the mirrored shield to distract Medusa, who actually does look pretty great. This is, by the way, the one thing from the reboot film that I think they did pretty well, honestly. And I see that they got many of Medusa’s flourishes specifically from this film. Neat! Anyway, Perseus bides his time, but he gets her. He slices of Medusa’s head, killing the snakewoman outright. He collects the head, but leaves the shield LIKE A DUMBASS. Said shield is dissolved by Medusa’s blood, and Perseus leaves the temple.
On the other shore, Perseus reconvenes with the men and Bubo, and puts the head in a bag. There, of course, Calibos arrives, even though Bubo is SUPPOSED to be the LOOKOUT, goddamn it. Calibos knocks the useless Bubo into the water, and goes to work. He stabs the head, causing it to leak blood droplets that turn into three gigantic scorpions. Um...sure. The scorpions kill the other soldiers, Thallo included. Well, damn. However, Perseus is now PISSED, and kills both the scorpions AND Calibos in revenge.
Afterwards, Perseus drinks from the river, injured and weak. Finally, Bubo climbs out, deciding to be of some use for once. Perseus tells him to find Pegasus, who’s still being held captive by Calibos’ men and the giant vulture. Bubo agrees, and flies off to their camp, where he chases off the men and vulture. Yeah. A tiny golden owl who was defeated by WATER just fought off 5 guys and a giant vulture. AND set the camp on fire, AND released Pegasus. Geez, Bubo, way to wait until the last goddamn second to be useful.
Meanwhile, in Joppa...well, thinks aren’t amazing in Joppa at the moment. Time’s up, and Andromeda’s death date is here. Perseus, head in tow and...no sword. He forgot it with Calibos, didn’t he? DAMMIT PERSEUS PICK UP YOUR SHIT. Anyway, he stumbles back to the amphitheatre in Joppa, where he collapses. In Olympus, Zeus observes all of this, and Thetis tells him that it’s time to kill Andromeda with the Kraken. He’s been surprisingly cool with all of this for...some reason, and tells Poseidon to release the Kraken to kill Andromeda. But he also revitalizes Perseus in the process.
Off the coast of Joppa, Poseidon watches as the Kraken is released. And, uh...I think the time has come. See, the Kraken is the film’s version of the monster Cetus, who I always saw as a monstrous sea serpent. The film however...
...He looks goofy. Sorry, I AM SORRY, but he looks silly to me. It’s not helped by his noodle arms and weird fish body, I guess, but dude looks silly to me. I’ll give the 2010 movie credit, that Kraken actually did look pretty goddamn terrifying.
Well, as planned, Perseus makes his way there on Pegasus (it’s weirdly drawn out, though), and with Bubo assisting him, whips out his secret weapon: the head of Medusa.
And bing bang boom, before you know it, the Kraken’s a stone statue, and falls apart into the sea. Andromeda’s saved, the Kraken is dead, and Joppa cheers! Perseus decides to lose yet one more weapon, and tosses Medusa’s head into the sea. He frees Andromeda, and the two finally get married after all of that.
In Olympus, Zeus triumphs, having won over with his nepotistic bullshit. The other gods fear what would happen if other heroes like Perseus were to appear, and if humans could one day learn to have imagination and tenacity like him. But Zeus brushes it off, and forbids the gods from ever going after Perseus again. He gives Perseus, Andromeda, Pegasus, and Cassiopeia (for some reason) constellations. Because, yeah, that’s the kind of thing Zeus does.
Because, even if mankind abandons the gods, stars will last forever, and the stories of Perseus will last until the end of time.
And that’s Clash of the Titans! I have thoughts! I have thoughts. See you in the Review.
#clash of the titans#clash of the titans 1981#desmond davis#greek mythology#perseus#harry hamlin#andromeda#judi bowker#burgess meredith#maggie smith#laurence olivier#ray harryhausen#fantasy march#user365#365 movie challenge#365 movies 365 days#365 Days 365 Movies#365 movies a year#mygifs#my gifs
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In the Still of the Night: Javier Peña x reader
(a/n originally this was a steve randle fic I cooked up once upon a sleepless night. but after re-reading it I decided to turn it into a javi one shot because pedro pascal owns my ass. this takes during season 2, specifically episode 6. Also for plot’s sake pretend you are a nurse who used to work with Connie)
Javier trudged up the small flight of stairs that led to the front door of the apartment building. It had been another late night stuck behind a desk. Another late night with a plethora of leads that inevitably led nowhere. It had taken the pot of coffee he and Murphy had been drinking to gradually turn into hot burnt bean flavored water for the two exhausted Agents to finally throw in the towel. Maybe Javier could convince (y/n) to let him steal some of the gourmet coffee she had stashed at his place.
Recently, he had taken to staying longer and later, trying desperately to weasel in the information he received from Los Pepes without causing suspicion. Javier knew he was on thin ice with Steve after that incident at the checkpoint when they were close to catching Blackie. It was a wonder his friend hadn’t let anything slip, but then again he knew Murphy was more inclined to let Javier deal with his shit on his own. Besides, he had told Steve he could handle it. Couldn’t he?
Javier signed, leaning his forehead against the cool wooden door to his apartment. How had he never noticed how truly exhausted he was? He felt heavy, weighed down by all that had been happening in Columbia lately. His feet felt like cinder blocks as he took a step back to unlock the door. The seasoned agent wanted nothing more than to eat, sip an ice-cold beer, take a shower, and collapse into bed. Maybe he would be lucky enough to sleep soundly with little to no nightmares. Undisturbed till his alarm would sound off early the next morning.
"Damn it", he groaned, searching blindly for his apartment key. He had forgotten to put it back on his key ring after he had made a copy for (y/n). He exhaled in relief, having found the piece of metal nestled in the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket.
‘I told you to put it back on there! One day you’re gonna lose that damn thing for sure, and I promise I’m not giving you my copy to get in!’, Javier smirked imagining his girlfriend scolding him. Her voice would be tinted with laughter, her threat empty. The pair had each other wrapped around their respective fingers. There wasn’t anything (within reason) that the young nurse wouldn’t do for Javier. And when the used to be bachelor was told he was whipped he simply shrugged and said, “Listen, when you really care for someone you’ll do whatever it takes to show them that. (y/n) says jump? I say how high.”
Much to the surprise of his colleagues (Steve included), Javier had moved past the honeypot method to get what he wanted from certain informants. And to add more to the surprise, (y/n) was very much aware of the man Javier Pena used to be. It never ceased to amaze him how open-minded she was. Most women would have run-away after being told of the things he’d seen and done in the field. “At the end of the day, you come home in one piece to me. But don’t think about trying that crap again while you’re with me.” she had said one night during one of their few late-night conversations.
"(y/n),cariño? You still here?", Javier called into the seemingly empty apartment. He stepped in, closing and locking the front door before moving towards the living room area where he threw his leather jacket over the arm of the cream-colored couch. All the lights were off, except the one in the kitchen. He turned on a lamp, the white envelopes sitting on the coffee table littered with some paperwork caught his eye. He’d deal with it tomorrow.
"Babe?" he called again, climbing the steps that led up into the kitchen. He glanced at the clock built into the stove, the neon green glowing numbers reading 12:30. He spotted a plate of food resting on the small circle table, and a pink sticky note stuck to the top. He smiled softly, wondering how she managed to take care of herself, her busy workday, and still make time to cook for him.
Javi,
I hope you came home at a decent hour. I’m still here, had a long day. You missed the dust bunnies I excavated from under your couch.
Love, (y/n)
It read, her neat handwriting taking up little space on the small piece of paper. Javier paused a moment. Dust bunnies? Had she cleaned his apartment? He took a quick look around the area laid out in front of him. Gone were the empty bottles and cups he usually left lying around. The thin film of dust that usually graced his small television screen was gone, and it actually smelled nice in the room. The musty male and cigarette odor had been replaced with the smell of cleaning products and a candle she had left burning on the stove. Placing the note down, he turned to blow it out; the time now read 12:40. Javier turned to the fridge, grabbed a beer and took his lukewarm dinner in front of the TV in the adjoined living room. Maybe he could take a crack at some of those papers still sitting out there.
[One hour later]
Javier woke with a start, the black and white static on the tv illuminating the room. He blinked blearily, standing up to stretch. How long had he been asleep? He meandered over to the kitchen, disposing of his empty plate and bottle. The stove time now reading 3:00.
‘May as well just head to bed, no point in showering now.’ Javier thought, making his way into his bedroom, turning off the few remaining lights as he went.
He stood staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. Not necessarily enthralled with the tired, grumpy looking man staring back at him. The past few months had taken their toll on him, the bags under his eyes adding on a year or two. It didn’t help that his vision hadn’t been up to par as of late either. He refused, however, to get glasses until absolutely necessary. He could already hear the jokes that would be made at his expense. “Having trouble in any other departments Pena?”
Rolling his eyes, he shut off the bathroom light and shivered as the cool ac hit his bare legs and chest. Clad in only his boxers, he moved out into the hallway, trudging zombie-like into his bedroom, his dark brown eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkroom as he quietly shut the door behind him. Javier picked up on (y/n)’s soft breathing as she slept, everything but her head swallowed up by the thin white blanket on their bed. It was a wonder she had slept through the noise he had been making since he had gotten home hours earlier. She really must have had a long day. Ever since Connie and Olivia had left back to the States, the (y/h/c) nurse had taken more hours, helping to fill in the spot her blonde friend had left. And in some ways, maybe Steve had taken to staying longer to avoid an empty apartment. Something Javier had once been used to, but now the thought of having to start sleeping alone in his queen-sized bed made him cringe.
An orange street light filtered in through his blinds, casting a soft spotlight onto the bed, drawing him closer. The "spotlight" shone on (y/n), illuminating the soft unique features of her face. Her mouth slightly open as quiet snores slipped through. Javier yearned to freeze time. To simply lay in this lumpy bed, with the most beautiful kind-hearted woman he’d ever met. His mother had only been the one other woman who cared this much about him, and it hurt that couldn’t she meet her. Javi was sure she’d love the passionate young woman as much as he did. He crept closer slipping under the covers, curling his arm around her waist to draw her closer to his bare chest. He lay a soft kiss to the back of her head, the sweet scent of her shampoo clouding his senses. He was content.
“Javier? Is everything okay? What time is it?" the young woman mumbled her voice heavy with sleep, raising her head slightly to catch a glimpse of the alarm clock on the bedside table. 3:30 am.
"It's me, baby, everything is fine. Go back to sleep."
"Okay. I love you."
"Love you too," the tired man said, kissing the back of her head as she fell back asleep. Javier lay awake for only a few moments more, finally succumbing to the slumber that was now his master.
Javier Pena knew that when the morning came he would have to return to that godforsaken office, and shift through the same pile of papers, and deal with the weight of his actions resting on his shoulders. But for the time being as he lay next to the love of his life in the fleetingly late hours of the night/early morning, he could pretend that he was just another man off the street, far away from Escobar, far from cocaine, and far from Columbia.
A reality that only existed within the still if the night.
(i hope you all enjoyed my first Javi fic....and I hope i didn’t write him too OOC. Let me know what yall think, and my requests are open! more work to come soon. <3 roach)
taglist: @sunshinepascal (dm to be added!)
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Summer Gardening.
So it’s been a while, and for that I apologize to the... 200+ people who follow me. I’m sure y’all are here for the cat pics and the nekked men, but TOO BAD. Today you get to suffer through pics of my green children.
Also, I do share seed. My seed list link will be up later in the year.
To begin with, the summer flowers are out en force:
Echinacea Purpurea, the original echinacea. I do save yearly seed from these guys, although it’s an incredibly pointy, stabby and bleed-y job.
Mountain Phlox. Unfortunately, all of it around the house is afflicted with powdery mildew, so I will not share seed. But it’s still pretty to look at, and the clearwings (hummingbird moths) love it. Not pictured is the white variant, who grows on the other side of the house. Look, it was hot and I was already melting.
Peppermint Balsam. This thing is basically indestructible, for an annual. It will reseed freely (to truly Lovecraftian levels) and blooms continuously from late spring until mid-fall, when the seed-pods set. There is a dormant genetic in it for double flowers, but when it pops up it’s always been sterile. It just pops up occasionally from the peppermint seed.
I may give the roommate hell over the hostas (I hate them. They’re so useful to protect toads and control weeds, but I hate them), but they do put out pretty flowers. There are several variants around the house - white-edged, blue and green, but hostas in general are very, very hard to start from seed. I will save it on request, only.
We were also incredibly lucky to have a Moth Mullein sprout in our porch bed, along with some Variegated Solomon’s Seal.The SS doesn’t put out seeds, and I don’t have enough to share bulbs (yet), but the mullein has been exceptionally generous with seed pods, and it repels bugs. It repels ROACHES. It’s going everywhere. And I may be convinced to part with some seed.
Onward!
A view from a hill. Can you see the garden? That’s OK, I can’t either. Those are peach trees, on the side of the orchard closest to the house. Unfortunately a freak storm during early spring killed all the blossoms. Also, don’t mistake ‘orchard’ for ‘organized’. There’s a pear, some apples, a plum, some nectarines? And front and center are two walnuts. I’ll probably be plunking my laurel there to see if it survives winter. And someday when I have a job and money again, I would like to drop a few Chicago Hardy figs, and maybe a kiwi trellis.
This is the big garden (and fortunately not my responsibility, or I would cry). The guys are ‘handling’ it. The weeds say otherwise.
The jasmine tree and the roommate’s garden. Because of a bad back injury that refuses to heal, I’ve been helping them on and off with it. And if you thought jasmine was supposed to stay a delightful little bush, AHAHAHAHAH. Yes, that’s a light-post next to it. For size comparison.
MY CHILDREN. Please ignore the dead soccer ball. That’d be a dog toy.
Lemon balm, amaranth, and a new bed that I’ll be finishing off during fall, for use next year. The lemon balm is a permanent row - it will overwinter just fine, and it will even keep growing through the mildest part of December. Mine didn’t die back until a few solid days of sleet in January. Unfortunately the weed fabric under the amaranth turned out to be an old roll, and fell apart on me (no big, the whole point is for it to fall apart eventually), so the weeds have kinda eaten it alive.
Unfortunately, both cucumber beetles and blister beetles love the amaranth. Fortunately, it does not seem to give a damn. It’s an incredibly resilient plant, not minding weeds, bugs, flood or drought. We’ll see what the grain actually tastes like, but so far it’s looking like a good candidate for continuous growing.
The lemon balm is lemon-balming. Planted on a lark, it’s proven to be a fantastic wind-breaker - because it grows so early and so quick, it keeps the colder winds that come down through the hollow from my more fragile seedlings, like the lettuce, dill and cilantro. You can see here where the spent flower-heads are dying but there’s new growth underneath; I really have to get in there and behead it. It makes nice hot tea, meh cold tea, and hanging fresh bunches of it around the balcony keeps the skeeters off. It also seems to be a decoy for cabbage moths.
Canary Zinnia. The seed was sent to me as a gift with one of my seed orders, and this is my first year growing it. -If- I can save some, I’ll definitely be sharing and growing again. It’s a lovely plant, very sturdy, and the bees love it.
Dwarf Castor Oil. I don’t think there’s anything dwarf about it, but then I’m a short green witch myself, so maybe it’s all about perspective. Don’t let the pods lie to you, until they dry the spikes are relatively soft. However, it being castor oil, I don’t recommend it to anyone with ducks, chickens, goats, or anything that might accidentally try talking a nibble or pecking at the beans. I do, however, recommend them from jewelry if you know how to pierce things and so on. They are a gorgeous tiger-stripe pattern.
Say hello to the chard! Say goodbye to the chard! Nothing else, absolutely nothing else since the limas, has given me so much trouble. The deer love getting into my chard bed and destroying it (ergo all the forks). And once I managed to chase those off, the blister beetles showed up in force. This will be the last year I grow it - we just don’t eat enough of it to make it worth my while, and it only occasionally sold at the Farmers’ Market.
Red lettuce - Merlot and Lollo Vino, a combination of bought and saved seed. I planted a red romaine of some sort, too, but unsurprisingly it bolted in the heat. The darker reds of my favorites, though, keep bugs off them, keep deer from noticing them, and keep them from bolting. It’s just now threatening to, and at this point its kind of allowed. I need more seed for next year. Seed for this will likely be shared by the teaspoon-ful.
Calendula! I searched for a long time to find the plain ol’ calendula officinalis ancestor, rather than a cultivar where I would have no way of knowing if the medicinal principles would have been sacrificed for looks. It’s supposed to work well as poor man’s saffron (color, no taste), and I’m going to be soaking the heck outta my feet on it during winter. The plant is... not pretty. It gets leggy and the leaves get grotty very quickly. But it’s very sturdy and as long as you cut the flowerheads off as fast as you can, it’ll keep blooming until well into winter. I usually leave it to go to seed around late September.
Green cilantro seeds. You pick ‘em when they’re brown, but before they drop off the plant. Or you pick ‘em when they’re brown-ing, and put them in a paper bag so they’ll finish ripening there and you don’t end up with fifty wild cilantro plants in your garden >_> Most of the row is already gone, and I’ll be putting in a late dill crop in its place. No such thing as too much dill!
Don’t let lemongrass lie to you. Unless you tie it up, it will not grow up neat and tidy, as most grass does. Instead it will sprawl like a dramatic wilting Elizabethan lady and do its best to end up under your feet so you’ll feel bad about it. I just tie it up with a half-blade of grass; it dries up and withers away before it can hurt the plant.
I ordered pennyroyal seed because... Well, because it’s something one should have on hand, considering the way the world is going. What I got was Creeping Pennyroyal, which doesn’t care if you step on it (mint family), smells absolutely delightful, and has the most adorable, tiny purple flowers. I plan on harvesting, drying and sprinkling it everywhere in the crawlspace under the house. Making war on cave crickets, wood roaches, and other such sundries, me.
The thyme and Spicy Oregano took a beating in the heat, but they’re slowly bouncing back. The bed behind them is more pennyroyal, desperately in need of weeding, but there’s only one of me, y’know.
SIGH.
Just.
You absolute, ill-mannered monster of a creature.
That would be horseradish, gloriously happy to be alive, as horseradish should be. Also, NOT IN ITS BASKET. Because never mind the rules, I guess.
I don’t even know how I’m gonna dig that up come winter. With some construction equipment, I GUESS.
Decorative gourd! It’s the only one producing so far, but being the seed was 10+ years old, I’m very pleased.
And an apple gourd (I think?), from a mixture of drying gourds that was only slightly less ancient. Snake, apple and birdhouse gourds. There’s a bunch of them competing in the basket at this point, we’ll see what we will see.
And this, I think, is a great use of a dead canopy frame (the dogs ate the canopy. No, I’m not making it up.) I hope to coax the gourds to grow me a lil’ roof so I can sit in shade, surrounded by pennyroyal anti-skeeter barriers, eating my maters.
My Peter Peppers (nrehehehehe) aren’t producing yet - it takes them a while. But my Chinese 5-Color are getting started. It’s a lovely pepper, both edible and ornamental, with (so I’m told) about four times the heat of a Jalapeno. They’re tiny, with deep purple undertones to the plant. They’ll go purple-white-yellow-orange-red.
The bullhorns, on the other hand, are fairly sizable SWEET peppers on very tiny plants, and I honestly suggest staking them while they’re young so they grow a sturdy trunk, else you might end up with all of them growing at a slant.They’re just now beginning to turn colors. Keeping in mind I’m virulently allergic to peppers (less so sweet than hot, but allergic to all of them), the roommate loves ‘em.
It’s a small pepper bed - mainly to refresh my seed on the hots, and to grow sweets for the roommate. Pardon the nekked bed, the autumn lettuce hasn’t sprouted yet. And yes, that’s a mixed basil/dill bed next to it. My basil grew in patchy holes (NEVER buying from those seed people again), so I filled the holes with dill. Unfortunately, dill seed heads are so fine that they’re hard to photograph well.
The tomato row. After arguing with them for this long, I went the extra mile. Every plant has a metal stake. There’s also a double line growing at the top supporting the stakes so they don’t fall over. And they still fell over. Because why not, you unruly children, why not.
Green, white, pink and brown cherry tomatoes. Delicious!
Two kinds of cucumbers, some of the only decent shots of the dill seed-heads, and a special guest hiding in the shade. I usually plant dill as soon as the cucumber sprouts, to keep cucumber beetles off it. Otherwise I’d have no cucumbers and a lot of fat beetles.
The Muncher is a small cucumber, somewhat delicate. It’s very sensitive to temperature changes, and it’s candy to cucumber beetles - basically, it’s impossible to grow it without a heavy curtain of dill, or a heavy duty decoy. This year I got lucky enough to have both. It’s also delicious pickled, keeping its crunch and getting a good ooomph in flavor.
The Japanese Long is, as the name implies, long. It’s also incredibly bitey, and absolutely scrumptious. It’s sweet! And unlike the average cucumber, it does not go metallic when salted.
And now for the SPECIAL CHILD OF MY HEART.
Seriously. I have been lusting after Blue Tea Peas since I first saw them offered, and every single time they’d be sold out pretty much the day of. This year I finally got some and... remember me mentioning that freak freeze that killed the peach blossoms? Yeah. Guess what it also killed.
But two plants soldiered on. I have them heavily shielded by the cucumbers, dill and chamomile, and really I have no words for the blue. Pics don’t do it justice. I won’t have the tea this year, I’m saving as much seed as I can, but I am so pleased to have it at all!
Last, but not least, and it’s a poor shot of it, the chamomile. I cannot drink chamomile to sleep - it does put me to sleep, but it also gives me bad dreams. I plan on using it as a skin wash for all the bug bites, along with the calendula, and to give me some respite from dry skin during winter.
Stay green! See you in fall! Now back to our normal schedule of frogs, cats and nekked men!
#garden#summer garden#gourd#tomatoes#calendula#hot peppers#sweet peppers#basil#dill#lettuce#red lettuce#chard#cilantro#horseradish#cucumber#amaranth#lemon balm#chamomile#blue tea pea#castor oil#zinnia#mountain phlox#echinacea#balsam#pennyroyal#thyme#oregano#lemongrass
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Rosemary, abatina, dill, hollyhock, and sweet pear for whoever you feel like talking about! 💜
Thank you, hun!!! I did a mixture, because I’m missing some old OCs of mine, and some need serious development. Yeah, so it got really long, I am so sorry!
Rosemary: What's their fondest memory?
Blair: It would probably be laying out in the backyard with her dad while they watched the stars, or her dad buying her that nice telescope that he’d use with her. It meant a lot to her that her parents indulged when it came to her interests, they were always supportive. Most of her time was spent at aquariums, the observatory, zoos, and just doing a lot of stuff with her parents. Science fairs were always a blast, because her parents would help.
Emma: This would be either her and her brother Mark playing in the pond they had or playing football on the beach in the summer. Em would also work on an old Mustang, one she’s still helping him build, and Ash would come over most days and they would all just have a huge dinner in the backyard. Georgia gave decent weather for it. Most of her fondest memories are with her family or Ashton, because they grew up together and did a lot together when Emma’s family moved there. A beautiful, sunny day in Summer always takes her back.
Quinn: There were times where they would travel back to Russia to visit the remaining members of his mother’s family, and he would love it. Quinn absolutely adored his babushka, and the stories she would tell. His mother would tell the same tales, but it wasn’t the same as how his babushka would tell it. There was also sailing with his father. That was something Quinn thoroughly enjoyed, and it was something they continued on doing until his father died.
Wren: Definitely playing piano with her mother! That is probably the most precious moment for her. When she plays it now, she still feels as if her mother is there with her. Not only that, but her music teacher was her one good thing growing up. Mrs. Hall taught Wren how to actually play, and when Wren would sneak to lessons (under the guise of studying or going to the library), Mrs. Hall would often bake cookies and brownies for Wren, as if she were her own grandmother. Wren attended her funeral when she passed, and it actually felt like she had lost her grandmother when she heard. But those are memories she holds dear.
Abatina: Are they very picky or particular about anything?
Blair: Not really, no. Blair is rather easy going and goes with the flow. I think the one thing would be don’t touch her work station. It’s organized chaos with an actual system that only she knows, and she will absolutely lose it if you mess with anything because that’s her life’s work you’re messing with. I think that could be said for any scientist though, and she is very verbal about it. It’s a light reminder, or a happy request until you get too close and she becomes slightly frazzled and makes you keep your distance.
Emma: She can be an absolute control freak and has to have things a certain way (whether that’s because she was in the Marines or if she inherited it from her mother, who’s to say?) No eating in her cars, don’t touch her guns, and if you’re going along with her on something, you’re following her lead. Ashton, Nora, and even Roach give her hell for it, but honestly? Sometimes she can’t help it. Emma has a habit of taking control of a situation when it calls for it and she’s a super organized and neat person. Everything has it’s place, things are cleaned or done a certain way, and she would rather just do it herself.
Quinn: His hair and shoes. Listen, Quinn is very boyish in looks (there’s a reason Ryan Gosling is his faceclaim) and his hair is usually neat or done how he wants it. He’s not overbearing about it, he just takes his time with it because he does put care into his appearance. His shoes are shined, his clothes match and his outfit is sharp, he doesn’t go more than a few days without shaving. Once the Collapse happens, it’s one of the things he can control, so he does. Grayson often jokes he’s the prettiest guy of Armageddon, but Quinn laughs with him.
Wren: She doesn’t like it when other people drive. Having been in a traumatizing car accident, she prefers to be at the wheel for that sense of control. It’s honestly makes her so damn anxious when that’s not the case, and Quinn drives like a damn maniac from time to time in New Dawn. She will cling to something for dear life, and absolutely will backseat drive. It leads to a lot of spats between her and Jane, Quinn, and Ivy.
Dill: Do they have any rivals?
Blair: I would say that one of the biggest would be John Constantine. Blair is skeptical when it comes to the mystical and supernatural, needless to say, she absolutely does not believe in magic. However, when the Particle Accelerator went off, someone close to her was wearing a totem or a spiritual pendent that got mixed into her meta powers (it’s how she can cosmic project and do some of the things she can with energy manipulation...it also helps balance out her going supernova and such), so...some of her powers are part of the arcane. Johnny knew that the second he met her, so when she gave him grief and became skeptical when he was helping Ollie bring Sara’s soul back, he just smirked at her and went “hate to burst your little bubble, love--” and honestly, they’ve been at it from there.
Emma: Ha! Emma is competitive and very proud, so yeah, she has rivals, some more fun than others though. For example, her rivalry with Nikolai (and sometimes Price) is who can drink the other under the table. Yuri...well, they ended up in a fist fight on a misunderstanding when they first met, so while he’s working with her and the 141, there’s definitely some rivalry there with them trying to one up the other. She’ll spar with Ghost to see who is better too. Honestly, she’s always up for a challenge, and its something she shares with a lot of her fellow Marines back home--including her cousin and her teammates.
Quinn: John fucking Seed. Listen, they hate each other, full on loathing, because Quinn isn’t afraid to point out that he’s in a cult and we all know how John is when someone makes him feel insecure and inadequate...with Quinn he very much does, even if that isn’t his intention. It also doesn’t help that John notices how Quinn looks at his wife from time to time, and he doesn’t appreciate it, but the biggest thing is that Quinn openly challenges him on everything. To Quinn, he wants to poke holes in his logic and show that John isn’t at all what he thinks he is. Quinn is a natural leader, he had been in the Navy, he knows what that looks like and he’s quick to call John out on shit. Wren gives him a bit of a run, too, their rivalry just happens to uh...turn into something else.
Wren: Holly Pepper and Mary May Fairgrave. Those are the two that gives her the most trouble. In any other scenario (and in most AUs), Wren and Mary May get along just fine, but in canon? Wren straight up punches her in the face. There’s more to it, of course. Wren is being worn down by people wanting her to do this and that for the Resistance, her constantly being pulled in every direction and being forced to give to people without them giving in return. And Mary May wouldn’t shut up about the truck, while saying Wren was dragging her feet on what the Resistance needed done (mostly because Wren was sleeping around with John, but they didn’t know that yet), and Wren just gets overwhelmed with frustration and anger, and straight up punches her in the face and tells her “if you want the truck so damn bad, go get it yourself”, and storms out. Holly Pepper later becomes an issue because she knows John slept around with her, and Holly loves shoving it in Wren’s face. So...Holly ends up dying because she straight up attacks Wren, and Jane helps her with it because she knows that John has a soft spot for Wren. Plus there’s that little shit Quinn in New Dawn...they’re a lot of fun.
Hollyhock: What's their biggest goal right now?
Blair: Currently, it’s to find her place and stride with the team and her powers. She just wants to not have to lay awake at night and worry she’ll lose control again and hurt her friends and loved ones. Her whole life has changed, and there are still things that are throwing her off. She needs to find her footing again and feel more confident in what she’s become. Helping people, including herself and teammates/friends, is what’s most important to her.
Emma: As of right now, it’s to regroup and hunt down Makarov. She’s still healing from when Shepherd took out the 141 base and tried to kill her, Ashton, and Nora. The stitches are still healing a bit, but she’s pumped up and ready to take him down. Her goal, and focus, is doing whatever Price and Soap need her to do. It’s almost tunnel vision at this point.
Quinn: Take down the Highwaymen and fix whatever bullshit Whitney and Wren have going on. He won’t at all pretend he knows what fucking type of politics they have in New Eden, or what rules they’re going by, but it’s very damn clear that Ethan is no good and needs taken down. Him and Grayson came because Carmina asked Rush, and they were never ones to back down from a challenge, not when it comes to helping those in need. So, he’s gonna take down Mickey and Lou, allow Grayson to avenge Rush while protecting Prosperity, and then stand with Wren and Whitney as they take over New Eden.
Wren: That depends on if we’re talking Far Cry 5 or New Dawn, but she’s mostly taking out the head Seed and establishing peace. She’s trying to do what’s right, and whether that’s for herself (which is the eventuality of her changing sides) in Far Cry 5, or for their people and her family in New Dawn (overthrowing Ethan and opening New Eden to more freedoms.) It’s all revolved around Eden’s Gate though, and she agrees to help Quinn and Grayson because she still cares about Kim and Nick, and much of the others, so it’s just a pitstop on her plan.
Sweet pea: If you had to choose a favorite dessert for them, what would it be?
Blair: Crème Brule, strawberry shortcake, or chocolate lava cake. You could say all of the above, to be honest, she loves sweets. Blair is always snacking, and they’re usually little cakes, fruits, or something sweet. There’s a reason crepes are her favorite breakfast foods, fruit and sweet? Yes. Which I guess you could add porfait on the breakfast menu too, in that case...anyway, snacking is usually something her and Mick has in common, though she’s not constantly looking for it the way he is. Mick finds food in missions and randomly...Blair is more disciplined than that. She will grab stuff for him a lot of the times if they’re in the same room or if she’s working near him. Leonard just stares between them, he’s not sure what he thinks of their comrade (he also lost his more recent memories, so he can shut it.)
Emma: Dark chocolate cake or tarts. Anything that has a bitter or sour tinge to it, because she’s not really a sweets person. Not when it comes to that, at least. She loves her mom’s sweet tea (and homemade lemonade). But she just would have something like raspberry butter cookies, cherry pie, or even an old fashioned ice cream (yes, with bourbon). She loves dark chocolate though. And tiramisu.
Quinn: Oh, he loves the Russian desserts his mom would make, and honestly, Quinn has such a sweet tooth. Bird’s milk cake, Russian rugelach, waffle cakes, and especially kartoshka. He would help his mom (or babushka when they would visit Russia), and would eat them with Russian tea they would make. He also enjoys many flavors of gelato.
Wren: Cheesecake. Without a doubt. She has always been, and will forever be, in love with cheesecake. And all kinds, if we’re being totally honest. She will eat any flavor, she feels strongly about it. You wanna piss her off easily? Eat her cheesecake. Wanna get on her good side again? Bring her cheesecake. John does. Whenever he’s in trouble, he throws a cheesecake on it. She’s constantly eating it to the point Whitney and Rowan have both reminded her that it’s not a meal. Does she listen? No.
#oc: blair chambers#oc: emma miller#oc: quinn langdon#oc: wren blake#my ocs#asks#arrowverse#call of duty#far cry new dawn#far cry 5
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Jaskier x Fem!Reader pt.2
PART ONE
I dont think you need to read part 1 to understand this one, but if you want, you can. i woke up wanting to write about this lil bard so much, i might write more today (requests are open) i just love him so much, send help lol, but either way, enjoy this part
Warnings: none, just some play fighting, but nothing too violent
Word count: 2000
After I was saved by Jaskier and Geralt, I felt different. I was free, but that also made me realize I am weak. I don’t know how to fight, and unlike bard, I can’t even provide entertainment. I spend my whole life cleaning up piss and vomit, now out in the real world, I was just a tag along.
And the more Jaskier sang about their adventures, the more scared I got. Bard tried to calm me down, ensuring that he makes things more dramatic for ballad purposes, and Geralt agreed, saying half of the stuff in his songs didn’t happen. My anxiety didn’t give in, but I couldn’t exactly back out now.
I was anxiously petting Sky when Geralt came saying he has a beast to slay. Apparently this townspeople have been attacked at night time, by an ‘angry wolf’ as they described it. I had no idea where we even were, as my world always was so small. Sky anxiously neighed.
“It’s okay boy. You stay here.” I say, petting his muzzle.
“As will you.” Geralt exclaims, and I don’t even try to argue. The last thing I want is to get in a way.
“We can’t leave Y/N alone, Geralt.” Jaskier argues. “She must come with us.”
“Why don’t you stay with her.” While it was supposed to be a question, Witchers tone tells me the discussion is over. I am glad. Jaskier, however, presses his lips tightly together, eyeing Geralt for a few moments, before giving up and sitting down on the grass.
He seems to possess an infinite wardrobe as he is now wearing moss green matching set. It makes his hair look beautiful and his eyes shine even more. I catch myself staring, so I clear my throat and focus back on my horse.
Jaskier was a flirty man, I noticed that. I found it scary, a little harmless flirting for him went right into my heart, nestling there and making it a home. I didn’t want to be disappointed or taint what could be a good friendship.
But my heart wouldn’t shut up.
Geralt pets Roach, silently, before turning on his heel and walking off. Not even a grunt for goodbye, but I gotten used to a rather quiet Witcher, and never quiet bard.
“Are you scared, Y/N?” There he goes again. I look at Jaskier who has a playful grin on his face. My heart races.
“Yes.” I decide to be honest, and his expression softens. “My world consisted of the inn and a barn where me and Sky would rest. My biggest monsters were the men. Not… whatever Geralt has to fight all the time.”
“Geralt knows how to handle a beast, you mustn’t worry.” I nod, but Jaskier can tell I am not convinced. “He will protect you.”
“For how long?” I bring the sour topic on the table, whenever I mention leaving, Jaskier get’s so sad, my heart breaks. I avoid looking at the bard now. “He can’t babysit me forever.”
“He babysits me all the time.” Jaskier jokes, but I don’t crack a smile. “Don’t let him know I said that.”
“I bet you still are better fighter than me.” I say, mostly under my breath, but bard jumps on his feet, gently placing his lute down.
“Then let me train you. We can train together is what I mean.” I look at him as he winks at me, stretching. “We could do that while Geralt gets his coin.”
“I don’t know…” I say, worrying what this play fighting might do to my already fragile heart, but bard insists.
“It will be good.” He stops stretching, looking me directly in the eyes. “And I promise not to hurt you. I’ll be gentle.”
I would much rather he hurts me, because gentleness leads to butterflies in my stomach. I sigh, stepping away from Sky who proceeds to munch on some grass.
“Let’s pretend we’re in a physical fight.” Jaskier has his playful grin back on, and part of me wants to smack it off his face, and other part… well. “Don’t go too hard on me, lady Y/N.”
I roll my eyes, my heart fluttering. However when bard jumps towards me, I manage to get out of the way just in time, but he is surprisingly fast, grabbing me from behind. He lets go almost immediately, giggling. He scores himself a point.
As he is still distracted, celebrating his point, I rush to the bard, slamming him against the tree. I did try to be gentle but he still let’s out a grunt. I thought I actually hurt him, but he laughs, giving me a point. I step away, my cheeks blushing from us being so close.
Jaskier then decides to pick up sticks, for daggers, and see who can get more hits. I didn’t realize we were playing with points, but he was keeping track.
So we continued, for a while. We kept breaking even and our tired giggles filled the forest around us. I was so lost in the moment and so happy, I couldn’t stop smiling. We decided on one final round, as we broke even once more. Whoever scores, wins. I felt competitive spirit grow over me as mischievous smile covered Jaskiers face too.
We circle each other, smiles on our faces. He is the first one to try and jump me, but I move out of the way, turning on my feet, before he attacks me from behind. He smirks, noticing I learnt from the first round, and charges me again, but I manage to get away. This time I don’t hesitate, chasing after bard, as he laughs, moving out of the way – barely though. But that was his plan, before I can find my footing and regain balance, he jumps me, knocking me to the ground.
With that, Jaskier is on top of me, looking down, holding the twig-dagger at my throat. My heart is thumping so loud my ears ring, and I am almost sure he could hear it too. I stare at him, not sure what to do. His usually neat hair is now messed up from all this play fighting, his green suit has some mud stains on it. A couple more buttons are undone now too, but I try not to stare. Somehow, looking like a mess makes his more attractive.
Our eyes meet and I feel like my cheeks are about to catch fire, as bard continues smiling at me, removing the twig from my throat. I am well aware that he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, that’s why he’s so slow to move away from me. His grey eyes grill mine.
It is unusual to see him so relaxed and mischievous. With Geralt around, he’s just loud and talkative and I guess that’s his way of trying to break all of Witcher’s wall. When it’s just us, he is always more relaxed, more playful, but still, just as annoying. I like that about him, often wondering why he acts this way around me, but then I realize I know why.
Jaskier knows he already knocked all of my walls down.
“I win.” He finally says, and I see his eyes, for a split second, drop to my lips. But he lifts himself up, extending his arm to help me get up too. “I hope I didn’t hurt you too much.”
“Only my pride.” I try to joke, but my voice shakes, giving away my nerves. Jaskier smirks at that. He drops the twig to the ground.
“We should do this more often.” If possible, I blush even more.
“Sure.” I stutter and he laughs.
“You’re cute.” I can’t give a reasonable response to that so I just turn around, walking back to Sky, who acts my emotional support whenever I get frustrated about Jaskier. “I mean it, Y/N, you’re dangerously cute.”
“Shut up.” I whisper to myself, smiling but praying he can’t see it. “You’re dangerously good at this.”
“What was that?” Jaskier asks, playfully. I know he couldn’t hear me, I was quiet enough, but my heart still drops. I glance at him.
“Nothing, Jaskier.” I manage, as Sky neighs, as if laughing at me. I glare at the horse. “Next time I will win.”
“I will remember this.” Jaskier approaches me, landing his hand on the horse. Sky loves this attention, as he playfully snorts. I stare at the bard, somehow feeling sad in this blissful moment. I knew this could never last forever.
“I’m scared.” I say out of the blue, and Jaskier’s face softens, all playful grins disappear, and I can tell he’s ready to listen.
“You aren’t such a bad fighter. You went against the greatest bard the world has ever seen, still lost, but you scored some points.” He smiles, his hand landing on my shoulder. I close my eyes.
“No, Jaskier. I’m scared to be alone again.” I don’t want to see his expression, so I keep my eyes closed, leaning on Sky’s barrel.
“You don’t have to be alone ever again.” He tightens his grip on my shoulders and I look at him. He smiles, not his usual grin, but a genuine soft smile. Sky neighs as if to agree with him.
I realize I am not ready for this conversation yet. I don’t have to break my own heart at this very moment, I can wait a little while longer. Enjoy the good things, the playful things.
My eyes drop, and I remember Jaskiers weight on top of me just minutes ago. That playful smile and my heart racing the winds. Knowing one day I will have to give that up, was unbearable.
“Don’t be sad.” His hand lands on my cheek, making me jump. He has a small playful grin on his face. “Next time I will let you win, if that will stop you from leaving.”
“Shut up.” I giggle. He doesn’t remove his hand from my face, and I close my eyes yet again, enjoying the moment. “Thank you, for everything.”
“Well, I thank you, for being my creative muse too.” He steps back, his hand sliding off my cheek. “There is only so much creativity one can get from mighty Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.”
“There is only so much creativity one can get from me.” I playfully say and bard giggles.
“Nobody is infinite.” I nod, agreeing. I feel tears prick my eyes and I don’t know why. Is it happy or sad tears, I couldn’t tell. I am so overwhelmed by everything and I guess I do try to keep it all in, and moments like this make me go over just enough to break. “Did I make you cry again, Y/N?”
“No, Jaskier. It’s just… I don’t like crying, it makes me feel weak.” I try to catch the tears, wipe them away before the water works turn to waterfall.
“There is nothing weak about being human.” I know he’s right but I still cant stop the tears from coming.
“I’m fine, I swear.” I whimper. “I don’t know why I am crying.”
“Happy tears, I hope.” Jaskier pulls me into a hug. “It’s okay tough, Y/N, even if they’re sad.”
“I don’t like it when people see me cry.” I say to his shoulder.
“I must be special then.” I giggle, pulling away. The tear wave came and went. I take a deep breath in.
“Next time, let me win.” I joke and he laughs, making my heavy heart feel ever so slightly lighter.
“Don’t worry, Y/N. You are a winner in many other ways.” I smile at the ground, blushing again.
“You are so sneaky, I hate you.” I say, jokingly pushing him away. Sky snorts at that, disturbed by sudden movement.
“Yet here we are.” Jaskier says, and my fragile hearts gives in. This bard now owns it. I sigh.
“Yeah, here we are.” I agree and Jaskier gifts me a smile again, that same genuine one.
PART THREE
#jaskier#jaskierxreadrer#jaskierxfemreader#dandelion#yet here we are#i need jaskier in my life pt2#withcer#geralt#geralt of rivia#jaskier the bard#fluff#kinda#jaskier x reader#i dont know how tags work#but i will die for jaskier#sky is also the best horse#move over roach
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Regis and Geralt Reunion One-Off (Post Blood & Wine)
So @gharashambles and I were talking and we were talking about how we need some more Regis in our lives, specifically with him returning to Corvo Bianco after the end of Blood and Wind DLC and I couldn’t stop myself.
Tags: Reunion fluff
Warnings: None
Words: 507
Geralt, on the back of Roach, returns to Corvo Bianco on a beautiful cool day in Toussaint. The sun is beginning to set as he hops off, leading Roach towards the small stables on the grounds. Taking her equipment off her back, Geralt walks out and up the path to the home, Barnabas coming outside to greet Geralt.
“Welcome back, sir. I hope your travels were uneventful.”
“Completely. Other than some wolves getting a little too close one night, everything went according to plan. How have things been here?” They continue their conversation as they walk inside and through the house.
“Perfectly fine and calm. Oh, where are my manners, you have a guest Geralt. I wasn’t entirely sure if you were expecting him, however he was far too kind and I couldn’t ever make someone as kind as him leave.”
“Kind?”
“Incredibly! Here, I shall show you to him. He should be in the Alchemy Lab. Mentioned something about, organizing your mess of supplies.”
“Organizing my… Barnabas, I believe I know who this is.” Rounding the corner, they reach the doorway to the lab, the man's back turned towards the door as he has everything in small neat little piles on the table in front of him. “Thank you Barnabas, I believe my friend and I need catching up.”
“I shall be around if you need me, sir.” The Majordomo leaves as Regis looks over his shoulder, smiling a wide, toothy grin.
“Geralt, I see you have returned.”
“And I see my organization method does not suit you.”
“Organizing… Geralt, please,” Regis scoffs slightly, “there was no method to this. You just had everything thrown about. How would you know where the herbs were, the flowers, the mortar and pestles, the bottles-.”
“Shut up and come here.” Geralt closes the gap and embraces Regis in a tight hug, Regis returning the favor. “I didn’t think you would ever come back.”
“Well…”
“This will involve some long explanation won’t it.”
“You know me all too well, my friend.” Seperating, Geralt leans against the table as Regis sits down on a nearby stool. “After our… situation with Dettlaff, I made a vow to myself that I would find him. It took more than a year attempting to even find a trail that I could follow. Eventually I find myself beyond the Zerrakanian mountains.”
“Mighty far to go and try to find someone.”
“I did indeed find him, however long it took it was… nice to know he was safe.”
“And where is he now?”
“I promised I wouldn’t give it away. The less you know, the less future trouble you will get into. Especially with a certain Duchess.”
“Fair enough.” Geralt responds before standing up straight, “you know I have a spare bedroom here.”
“And you do know I have a home of my own not too far away?”
“Regis that was code for, ‘stay here at my home for a while’.” Regis laughs, standing up turning back around to the table.
“Fine, however I believe you need a course on organizing your herbs.”
#the witcher 3#blood and wine#the witcher 3 fanfiction#geralt of rivia#emiel regis#barnabas basil#post blood and wine#enjoy the rambles fam#probably will post on ao3
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1.1.2 HALLOWEEN NIGHT, SAME TIME
<<PREVIOUS ⏺ <<CONTENTS>>
2️⃣
Haddonfield, Illinois
Chelsea Keane heard a noise downstairs. She was pretty sure it was a door slam, although it was so far away in this big huge house that it was hard to tell. She took one more long pull off of the joint and stubbed out the roach in the ashtray that sat on the little wicker table in front of her. Beside the little ceramic disc decorated in scenes of Tijuana—now covered in soot, and the remains of her joint, sat her purse. It was a bag really, one of those reusable shopping bags from McNary’s Supermarket, covered in floral prints and little orange and yellow suns, birds, and bees, and little green leafy vines that formed letters which read: Earth Day 2014.
Chelsea rummaged in the bag, around tampons and makeup cases, the occasional lipstick, chapstick, selfie-stick, and ladies speedstick and found what she was looking for. A stick of Wrigley’s Gum. She unwrapped the foil, popped the piece in her mouth, balled the wrapper up between her fingers into a nice neat silver ball, and flicked it across the space in front of her where it landed between a hot water heater and the Centra-Vac system.
She returned to her purse, retrieving a small glass cylinder bottle of Dimension, the new perfume by Jennifer Love Hewitt, and bathing herself in the baby powdery aroma, thinking to herself of a Halloween, perhaps almost twenty years previous, when she had sat on this very couch and watched the actress run screaming across a square-shaped television screen while being stalked by a hooded man with a hook for an arm. Chelsea brought a DVD case out of her purse/bag. Ripe Blood. She turned it over and looked at the screenshots on the back…and the rating. Rated R for Graphic Violence.
Haven’t come much far sense my VHS copy of I Know What You Did Last Summer, she thought. Well, at least the picture quality would be better.
Hell..it’d be a lot better.
Ellen had her own theater.
Complete with a fifteen foot by nine foot screen, reclining seats, surround sound, and even a little kitchenette to nuke some popcorn and retrieve a few ice cold pops.
Lifestyles of the rich and famous, she mused.
Well, definitely rich, but only famous if you’re into watching people have sex on camera.
And there were plenty of people who were, and they paid good money for it.
What can you say? Sex sells.
And didn’t Chelsea know it too. Hell, if she hadn’t let Zeke Yates knock her up in the VIP room almost eighteen years ago, she’d probably be doing just as good as Ellen.
Well…probably not.
Chelsea tossed the DVD case back in her purse/bag and stepped toward the door at the far end of the room, careful to stay on the plywood flooring that designated Ellen’s “Smoking Loft” from the rest of the attic.
Ellen had been the smartest girl Chelsea had ever known. Chelsea presumed she would have ended up like her older sister Deborah, who also got her start in life as a dancer at the Rabbit-in-Red, although, perhaps not quite like Deborah. She didn’t see her son turning into a psychopath anytime soon and she didn’t see herself blowing her head off in the forseeable future either. Like her sister Deborah however, who was actually her half-sister, and nearly twenty years older than her, she had commited the Cardinal Sin of the biz.
“Don’t lapse on your birth control,” Deborah had told the young Chelsea and Ellen as they stood behind her on their first day at work, watching her attach fake lashes in the dingy mirror in the back haunts of the Rabbit-in-Red. “Better yet..don’t fuck the customers at all. VIP is for dancing, not fucking.”
She had pointed a picture of her kids, taped to the mirror then. “See those.”
The girls had nodded nervously.
“That’s what I got for fucking a customer.”
Chelsea had made the mistake, which hadn’t been such a big mistake afterall. She of course was quite fond of her son Joshua, but it was safe to say that the nine and a half pound baby had tanked her stripping career and any possibility of moving into the Adult Film Industry. Chelsea had packed on over a hundred pounds during her pregnancy, and post-baby had only been able to shake twenty of it. So she had settled down with Josh’s father, gotten married, enrolled in Illinois Central College, and got her bachelors degree in Communications.
Lou Martini, the owner of Rabbit-in-Red industries had hired her back—as an editor. That, combined with the few bucks her husband Whitey made around town doing the odd handyman job here and there had afforded them a decent life, with a decent house, another child, a beautiful daughter, and an overall pretty damn fine life for herself.
Chelsea stepped out unto the landing and pulled the door shut to the attic behind her and then descended the stairs toward the common room on the third floor. There was a white leather couch and a coffee table. A mini bar sat in the corner of the room with liquor that probably hadn’t been touched in years and a few pieces of modern art on skimpy end tables that probably hadn’t been properly looked at or analyzed in the same amount of time. The room was just for show, just like a giant, lifesize poster on the wall behind a thirty inch flatscreen VIZIO. Ellen in a bikini too small for her surgically enhanced breasts, sprawled on some exotic beach, sand on her knees and elbows.
Ellen was smart.
🎃
“So who is this person?” Penny Cornell asked, popping her bubble gum loudly before she spoke.
Josh looked at her in the soft light of the poolhouse. She was dressed as Velma from Scooby Doo, and he had gone as Fred, only they hadn’t bothered to get wigs or color their hair, so she ended up being a blonde Velma and he ended up being a Fred with black hair, which, in actuality totally ruined the ensemble and had in fact led to many of their peers on the streets that night during their Trick-Or-Treating run to ask, “So..what are you guys again?”
While Josh searched the cabinets in the pool house kitchenette for a proper shot glass for the Captain Morgan he had stowed away, from a mini bar that saw quite a bit more action than the one on the third floor of the main house, Penny circled the Pool Table, the stained glass lamp casting bright and blazing hues on the side of her face as she looked at the pictures on the walls.
Plenty of pictures of a certain blonde woman in lingerie. Some in a bathing suit. Some wearing nothing at all but a properly placed palm frond, or towel, in one, the handlebars of a motorcycle. Many had the blonde woman with various celebrities. Kid Rock, holding her by the waist, holding a cigar and smiling. There was one with Charlie Sheen, another with Myley Cyrus, and an older one, faded a little, starting to yellow, with future President of the United States Donald Trump. Penny’s face as she beheld these pictures was expressionless, her unassuming eyes taking it all in like a pediatrician examining the X-Ray of a kid who just broke his arm in two places.
“She’s known as Misty Dawn.” Josh said, finding a suitable shotglass, this one featuring the skyline of Charlotte, North Carolina. “She works for Rabbit-in-Red Industries. She’s a model.”
“I can see that,” Penny said, popping her gum again. Her eyes didn’t deviate from the pictures.
“She’s been in some movies too.” Josh added, unscrewing the top of the rum, “X-rated movies. Also done some webcam and stuff.”
Penny sighed and leaned against the pool table. “I see.” She said yawning, her pink wad of bubble gum visible in the corner of her mouth. “Porn must pay pretty well to have all this.” She said, waving her hand across the room to indicate that by “this” she meant this particular poolhouse as well as the mansion and the grounds beyond.
Josh poured a shot and held it out to her. “She’s kind of a star.”
Penny grunted and took the shot glass. She downed it, winced, coughed, and held it back to him. “And your mom knows her from work?”
Josh took the glass and poured another shot. “She and my mom grew up together. They were best friends in high school. Her real name is Ellen.”
Josh took the shot. He also winced and coughed.
The sound of heavy metal filled the room.
It was Josh’s ringtone for his cellphone. He pulled it from his pocket, looked at it, and then looked at Penny frowning. “It’s my mom.” He said and hit the green button on the screen.
“Yeah?”
Penny pulled her own phone out to look at it. Josh replaced the cap on the Captain Morgan and went about replacing the bottle into the minibar and the shotglass into the cabinet from whence it came.
“We are back mom,” Josh was saying, “Penny and I are outside. You probably heard Maddie, Dylan, and Cammie come in.”
Josh rounded the bar and took his girlfriend’s hand, pulling her toward the sliding glass door that led to the pool deck.
“Yeah mom, we’re coming right now.”
He hung up the phone and slid the door shut behind them. Penny was looking at the pool and the adjacent spa.
“I wanna get in that hot tub.”
Josh put a hand on her butt. “I wanna get in there with you.” He smiled wryly.
“Shoot, it’s hot enough to get in the regular pool.” She said as they started toward the main house.
“You’re telling the truth.” Josh replied.
🔪
“You’re gonna fall and bust your head if you don’t stop running around with that sword!” Cammie Cornell, age eight, dressed like a bumble-bee, complete with clip on wings, said, standing cross armed on the hearth.
Dylan Rawls, age thirteen and dressed like a ninja, was chasing little Maddie Keane, age five, dressed as Princess Elsa from the animated Disney film Frozen. Dylan had a plastic sword and was waving it at Maddie as she ran away from him in a circle, laughing and screaming and all the while making motions with her hands in an effort to use her “powers” to freeze Dylan in ice like her character would have been able to do in the movies.
Dylan, despite having already started puberty, was not a very mature boy. This could have been due to a lack of attention given to him by his mother, or as some psuedo-scientists would have suggested, it could have been due to a diet high in processed foods and high fructose corn syrup. His mother had never had him tested for mental defficiencies, mostly due to a nagging worry that he would fail the thing. Dylan wasn’t mentally challenged, that wasn’t quite right. He had been tested for and diagnosed as ADHD by the time he was seven, but then again so many kids were and his mother hadn’t really believed in it or the medication that was supposed to, and probably would have, helped her son. Dylan was in ways a very bright child, better at all the household electronic devices than his own mother, but in other was he was just plain immature. Chasing around a five year old in a living room with a plastic sword dressed as a Ninja after acne was beginning to pop out on his face and sprouts of hair was beginning to pop out on his balls was just case in point.
Dylan stopped and glared at Cammie, about to display another example of his immaturity.
“Don’t tell me what to do, this is my house.” He said between panting breaths.
Maddie stopped and collapsed into the brown leather sofa that faced the fireplace. Her face was red and her breath was heavy, but the smile didn’t leave her little face, nor the brightness in her little brown eyes.
“Aren’t you a little old to be playing like that?” Cammie shot back.
Dylan was about to reply when they all heard a voice from behind them.
“Cammie! Get down from there.”
It was Chelsea, she was descending the stairs holding her cellphone in her hand.
“Maddie, off the furniture please.” She said.
“Yeah Cammie, get down!” Dylan added.
Cammie jumped down from the hearth and stuck her tongue out at Dylan. He returned the gesture.
“Where is all your candy?” Chelsea asked.
“We put it on the stove.” Dylan said, pointing toward the open kitchen with his sword.
“I see.” Chelsea said, her eyes beholding the three large hulking pillowcases.
“They got quite the big haul didn’t they.”
It was the voice of Josh. He and Penny entered the room from the opposite side.
“They certainly look like they made out.” Chelsea said, placing her cellphone in her pocket. She reached into her purse/bag and took out the DVD case and held it out for her son.
Josh snatched it up. “No way! Ripe Blood!? It hasn’t even stopped running in the theaters yet.”
Chelsea smiled, “The Rabbit uses the same packaging and distribution company as the company who made the film..Danger—something or other..”
“Dangertainment.” Josh corrected and passed the case to Penny who looked interested.
“Right,” Chelsea said, putting her purse/bag on the stove next to the three pillowcases full of candy. “Well they give all their clients some freebees as promotional items. That arrived this morning.”
“Are we gonna watch it?” Josh asked, eyes wide and bright.
“You better your ass we are,” Chelsea answered.
“In the theater upstairs?” Josh asked.
“Um…yeah.” answered Chelsea.
“I’m scared.” Penny frowned.
“You can’t be afraid of scary movies if you’re gonna date my son,” Chelsea said, “Joshua loves a good horror flick. He gets it from his mom.”
Josh hugged his mother. The sentiment surprised her, but she appreciated it.
“Can I watch it?” Dylan asked.
Chelsea shook her head. “It’s too scary for the younger kids Dylan. Why don’t you go upstairs and play with Maddie and Penny’s sister…” she looked to Penny, mind scrambling to remember the girl in the bee costume’s name.
“Cammie,” Penny corrected.
“That’s right, Cammie,” Chelsea continued, “until it’s time to go to bed.”
“You guys wanna see my playroom?” Dylan asked. “I have an Nintendo WiiU, a ballpit, a bouncy house, even some laser tag!”
“Yeah!” Maddie and Cammie replied in unison. The kids began to ascend the stairs.
Penny and Josh read the back of the DVD case together while Chelsea opened the fridge, looking over their snack options in regard to their theatre experience.
As Dylan, Maddie, and Cammie reached the top of the stairs, Maddie asked him.
“Can I take a turn at your Wii Dylan?”
Dylan looked back and smiled. “You can, but Cammie can’t!”
“Why not?” Cammie whined.
“I don’t let fat girls play!” Dylan replied, in another epic display of immaturity.
With their eyes on the DVD case, and her head in the fridge, Penny, Chelsea, and Josh didn’t notice or hear Cammie descend the stairs fighting back her tears and exit the front door of the home
NEXT>>
#halloween#halloween franchise#michael myers#horror#horror writing#haddonfield#horror film#fan fiction#fan writing#spooky
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hi! Could you do a Geralt x reader where the reader is his constant companion/best friend and she is another Witcher? Among the years that they’ve hunted together, they fell in love with each other. One night the reader comes home from a pretty nasty hunt and is injured. While Geralt tends to her wounds, they confess their love towards each other and kiss. And then either smut or fluff ensues. Thanks! Sorry if it’s too much!
I kept the writing as close to possible to your request, but I’ve been trying my best to keep the readers gender-neutral. Hope that’s alright and thanks for the request!
Warnings: Somewhat graphic description of a leg wound.
There were very few Witchers. One of the most famous was Geralt of Rivia. It was though he was a lone wolf. However, he happened to travel with a small pack. Y/N was never seen without Geralt, the White Wolf. He was never seen without Y/N. This was because they worked like clockwork. Watching the two fight was a sort of dance. They possessed control, speed, and elegance that most dancers lacked.
Both Witchers were stoic beings, their unique eyes hiding all thoughts and emotions. The one thing anyone could see, the one thing they couldn’t read on reach others, was love for the other.
After decades of travelling together, one of their dances faltered and a light shone a bit brighter.
*****
“I told you to stay in its blindspot, Y/N!” Geralt seethed, practically running with you in his arms trying to find a moving stream so he could clean the gash on your left leg. Jaskier was doing his best to keep up.
“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t forgotten your dagger with Roach,” you reminded him through gritted teeth.
Jaskier almost threw up at the sight of your leg. The griffin nipped the back of your calf with its beak and, as a result, a flap of flesh hung from your leg, dripping blood. “The bleeding got worse.”
Geralt went moved as fast as he dared without causing you more pain. “Feeling?”
“Numb.”
“Fuck.” Geralt adjusted his hold on you. You, knowing what he was about to do, tucked yourself into him a little tighter. He looked behind him to make sure Jaskier was still on his heels. They exchanged a nod and broke into a sprint.”
It was only about five minutes before the three of you reached the stream, Geralt following his hearing to it. Geralt laid you on the grass beside the stream as gently as possible and sent Jaskier off to find Valerian. The herb would ease some of your pain when turned to a paste with water and lavender.
“I’m lightheaded,” you muttered, turning your head to look at Geralt. “When Witcher’s grow slow and get themselves killed, hm?”
Geralt started cleaning your wound. “You’re not going to die. It’s not your time; I won’t let it be your time.”
“How come?” Your eyes were becoming heavy.”
“Because of all the people I’ve lost to these damn beasts, you’re not going to be one of them. If you and I can save Jaskier from a fucking djin, he and I can save you from the aftermath of a griffin.”
You shifted slightly at the sound of a twig breaking, Geralt laying a firm hand on your stomach to keep laying down. Jaskier was running back with valerian and lavender.
“Oh thank the gods you’re still…” Jaskier caught himself, “...awake.”
“Get the small wooden bowl from the left saddlebag and get a little water in it,” Geralt instructed. “I have to stitch this.”
“I know. Just get it done with quickly.”
Jaskier handed the bowl to Geralt and sat by your side, pillowing your head in his lap and offering you a hand to squeeze when the pain because too much.
“Keep her awake, Jaskier,” Geralt demanded. “Jokes, tales, songs, I don’t care. Just keep her awake.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Jaskier shrugged with an easy smile. “But hey, you Witchers heal quickly, don’t you?” The bard patted your shoulder.
“What jokes do you know, Master Bard?” you requested.
“So many. Let’s see… Oh, yes! Why do ducks have tail feathers?” Jaskier took you looking at him with a furrowed brow as his cue for the punchline. “To hide their butt quacks!” The man beamed proudly at Geralt’s scoff as he threaded the needle.
You moaned and tried to look down at Geralt’s hand when the thread was pulled through the first time.
“No, no, no. Focus on me, Y/N. Me and my filling-less pie. Jokes… Mh! Geralt should like this one, too. I’m emotionally constipated. I haven’t given a shit in days.” That one drew a grunt from Geralt and a giggle from you. “I know more limericks than jokes. Would those suffice?” Jaskier was looking to you for the answer.
“I don’t know what that-” you squeezed his hand, “-is.”
“A poetic jokes. Here:
Its diet is exclusively herbal;
It grazes all-day
On bunches of hay…
Passing gas with an elegant burble.”
Geralt just shook his head. He was trying to get the stitches in place as quickly as possible while keeping them neat and hurting you as little as possible. Jaskier kept telling you limericks and other silly poems until Geralt told him you should be okay to sleep. The bard didn’t waste a second in telling you a tale about an elf and a fairy working together to take down an ogre. It didn’t take you long to fall asleep.
*****
When you woke up, the pepper sky was salted with stars. A small fire was burning and crackling away, Jaskier seemingly asleep a few feet to your right. Geralt, on the other hand, was staring into the flames as though they burned him.
“Us Witchers can’t put flames out with our minds, you know.”
Geralt didn’t look up. “There were a couple of times during your rest today I thought you died.”
“You know you can’t-”
“I won’t lose you like I lose everyone else, Y/N.” His piercing eyes met yours now.
You pushed yourself to sit up, gripping Geralt’s arm for support. You knew the sounds of his silence. “You’re doing it again, Geralt.”
“What?”
“Thinking more than you speak. It’s just me.”
“Just isn’t the right word. It’s always been you; I was too blind to see it until now. It was scared out of me. Before I didn’t know what it was.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rather than answering, Geralt leaned towards you and press his lips to yours. Gentle, hesitant. Both he and you had kissed other people but never each other. You rested your forehead on his, looking into each other's eyes.
“You don’t need to stop yourself from loving, Geralt.”
“We’re not supposed to fee-”
“Says who? Who’s better to know than two Witchers?” You leaned back slightly, a smug smirk stretched across your lips. “Besides, since when does Geralt-- the mighty White Wolf-- listen to the rules and guidelines of men?”
Geralt pulled you into a second kiss by the back of your neck and you giggled into the kiss.
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Eye of the Storm, Ch 5
So, Maggie and Robert have made it home! There are lots of tender moments and a little smut. The full smut experience will come in another chapter or two.
Catch up on the story here. This is probably also a good time to reiterate that this is an AU story - - Robert is single, but I'm trying to hold on to as much of the rest of the LZ story that I can.
Thanks to @firethatgrewsolow for doing her excellent beta thing! ❤️❤️❤️
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“This really is paradise...” Maggie exited the car and marveled at the vividly colored flora before her and the rhythmic crash of the ocean that could be heard from behind the house.
She admired the sprawling, modern ranch with white walls and ceiling-to-floor windows that Robert had been calling home for quite some time. She decided she could get used to the stark, sunny house that sat in the middle of so much natural beauty.
Robert grabbed Maggie's bags. “Indeed. Coming here was the best possible decision we could've made for our tax exile hideaway. Abundant sun, the ceaseless roar of the ocean, and a short drive away from my favorite American playground… Paradise, that.”
They walked to the door. “Hold a tick, would you, love?” Robert walked the bags into the house.
“Thank you for agreeing to live with me for a fortnight… Or longer?" He asked when he returned, his voice full of hope. "I want to do this properly.” Before Maggie could ask him to explain what he wanted to do, or his mischievous grin, he lifted her into his arms and carried her over the threshold. He kicked the door shut behind them.
Maggie was all smiles and feeling like a queen. She settled on that description, quickly dispatching all of the bride and groom thoughts that tried to form in her head. Robert had yet to marry, and she expected that he wasn't the marrying kind. She didn't exactly mind, though, because she questioned whether it was the path for her. She wondered if living with Robert would change her mind, or if he would set her against marriage forever.
He lowered her to standing. With her back to the door, he caged her in his arms. Then he littered her with kisses, both delicate and rough.
She wound her hands into his hair and was thankful for the feel of his fluffy curls to ground her in reality, despite how hard Robert was trying to make her spin away into romantic dreams.
He caressed her face and backed up a few steps. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“I must say, I do like the door to door service. Is that the custom here?” She was still too intoxicated from Robert's kisses to focus on the surroundings. A private chance to take a good, close look at him after so many months apart kept her mind occupied, and she didn't mind one bit.
“What's in it for me?” Robert stepped toward her again. He placed his hands on her shoulders and then let his fingers trail slowly down her arms.
“I think you remember, don't you?” She gazed into his heavy-lidded eyes and willed him to kiss her again.
This time their lips connected in a slow, rambling dance that made Maggie tingle from head to toe and purr contentedly. It wasn't the excited reunion kiss at the park, or even one of the lazy, familiar kisses they shared in the car. This intimate exchange was filled with warmth and romantic serenity and seemed capable of going on forever.
It was, however, over far too soon, when the phone on the coffee table started ringing. Robert sighed at the breaking of their spell. He ultimately chose to ignore the interruption in favor of Maggie, but in the jarring cacophony that separated them, she turned her attention toward the living room while the phone continued to ring.
She brushed her lips against Robert's one more time and walked out of the foyer. "So, what do we have here?" As much as she enjoyed his embrace, a chance to take stock of his current domestic habits was too good to pass up.
She expected there to be disorder that would reflect Robert's vagabond approach to life and the jumble of diverse thoughts that he always seemed to bandy about in his mind, but there was order and simplicity. She admired a glass coffee table and end tables, a navy set of sofas and love seats, and a wood-panel, floor-model television with a stereo perched on top. Albums making up a respectable record collection rested against the wall. A bookcase to one side of the room contained books on everything from early blues artists to Welsh mythology and a Fodor's guide to Morocco. A Persian area rug brought a little exoticism to an otherwise visually nondescript room.
“I see the look on your face, Mags." He closed the space between them and caressed her shoulders while lightly kissing her on the neck. "There's a housekeeper who comes by once a week. You have her to thank for the orderly Architectural Digest vibes that you see before you.”
“It looks fantastic.” She walked past the dining room, which had the same color scheme and was just as neat, save the bottles of a few different kinds of spirits at varying levels of use that greeted her on the table.
“How about meals?” She opened the refrigerator. “Have you gotten beyond boiling water?” She noticed takeout and some Tupperware containers that were half full.
“I have the best help that money can buy for that, too,” he responded, sitting on the couch and groaning as he extended his legs for a much needed stretch. “There's a lovely cook who comes by twice a week, bless her. She reminds me of my mum, which means no mayhem until she leaves.”
“The high priest of debauchery has adopted some decorum?” Maggie asked, returning to the living room and flopping down next to Robert.
“It appears that I've slowed down a bit. Blame the morphine for that…” He chuckled. “No, a little time away from the scene has given me much-needed perspective on life… Oh, speaking of Miss Betsy, the cook, I should mention that she and Miss Ellen, the housekeeper, have their own keys to get in. Cole and Benji, too.”
“Last but not least,” he said, “remind me and I'll give you a key of your own. I have a duplicate or two in the bedroom. It was easier to give people keys when I was resigned to wheelchair transport, you know? And I'll also get you the spare key for the Rover.”
“Thanks, Robert.” She was still having trouble believing that she would be living with Robert, but she had to admit that it was beginning to feel like home.
“Right. Let me put your jacket away, and then we'll get on with things, yeah?" He helped her shrug out of her coat and hung their outerwear in a foyer closet.
"Next on the grand tour are the beds and baths. We'll walk by Benji's bedroom, too. He doesn't live here, strictly speaking, but he's been around enough over the past several months that it made sense to give him an official place to crash.”
They kept walking. “Then there are a few other empty bedrooms for guests, and bathrooms for them to share.”
He paused at one room. “And this,” he said, opening the door, “is where the magic happens. Most of the time, you understand. For songwriting, uh, and more…”
Maggie entered the room and walked around while Robert opened the windows.
Much to her surprise, there were no piles of clothes or shoes on the floor. An ironing board rested against the wall next to the closet. He had more respect for the sanctity of his own bedroom than he did for the rooms he slept in on the road. She'd always guessed that there were two sides to Robert's life, and the peaceful, orderly nest that he'd shared with her was the clearest indication yet. She wondered what other surprises she'd encounter as she got to witness his life off of the road.
Though the room was tidy on the whole, she smiled as she began to recognize telltale signs of Robert's presence. There was the unmade bed, with his latest song notebook and a pen still in place from morning writing. A teacup sat on the nightstand. Just outside, on the patio, an overflowing ashtray sat on a small wrought-iron table. A cluster of earrings, necklaces, and rings sat on the dresser, along with a feather roach clip. She'd seen him wear one in his hair before; she didn't know if the clip was for function or fashion, but either way, she knew his prized bundle of Acapulco Gold and its necessary accouterments would not be too far out of reach.
Also on the dresser were a wooden brush and a few different bottles of cologne. She imagined Robert standing at the dresser looking in the large mirror and toying with his locks. She had helped him with the task many times when his hair was too tangled, and she wondered who had done that for him most recently.
She noticed that the mirror faced the bed and was thankful for a reason to stop the line of thinking about his most recent conquests. She chuckled, knowing the mirror placement wasn't coincidence.
"What's so funny?" She turned around and saw Robert staring intently at her while he sprawled across the bed, on his side.
"I'm laughing at how you arranged things so that you can watch yourself in the mirror when you--"
"--Now, now, Maggie, I remember that you enjoyed it once or twice yourself, at some of America's finest lodging establishments. I'll be expecting a rousing 'you're welcome' from you, for said mirror placement, before we leave for the tours."
Her laughter turned to silence and blushing. "You're right," she admitted, approaching the bed. "It is hard to keep my eyes off of you."
"I feel the same about you, darlin'..." He stared up at her, beaming an affectionate smile. He crooked his finger and wiggled it at her. "I'm feeling a little lonely over here on this bed. Come join me, will you?"
Maggie climbed on and lay down, facing him.
"Ah, that's much better… A view that is only in competition with the splendor of the beach. But you get my vote for my favorite wild, beautiful territory to explore…" he murmured as he tenderly brushed a lock of her hair out of her face.
"It's a place I know well and love… Every mountainous curve, every flat plain, and especially that hot spring in the center of your world…" He trailed a couple of his elegant fingers down her neck, before letting his hand alight on her hip. "God, I've missed you, Maggie." He sighed as he leaned in closer. "I was a bloody fool to have kept myself away from you."
He nestled his other hand in her hair and drank in her essence by melding his lips to hers and letting his tongue meander in her mouth. She gracefully yielded to his familiar, easygoing passion.
They both purred as the kiss continued. Maggie's fingers traipsed gently in Robert's hair, and one of his hands crept under her shirt and made its way north, traveling the distance with a slow, feather-light touch.
Maggie's breathing hitched and she shuddered as a tidal wave of carnal memories were triggered by Robert's kisses and caresses. Each private second of their time together, on and off over the past four years, came to life in her mind and her body once more. Without a visit from his irrepressible manhood she was still lost in the wake of the euphoric feelings that he stoked in her body with ease.
Her back arched as Robert made it to a nipple and brushed and tugged at it until it sprang to life. She moaned as heat and wetness began to pool inside of her.
"My sweet, sweet Maggie…" He rasped his proclamation and searched her eyes, still toying with her nipple, still not in a rush to do more.
"I've missed you so much," she sighed as her hand trailed down his back.
"I can't wait to be yours, Robert..." Her voice trailed off as he started to work on the button on her jeans.
"You already are. Mine. Only our tours will separate us now, darlin'. You have my word." He rose above her on all fours, kissing her and sending her zipper down its track.
She lifted her hips and he peeled the denim off her shapely brown legs. He palmed her between her legs and growled softly when he realized she was soaked through her panties. She felt his manhood begin to stir, even behind the sturdy fabric of his Landlubbers.
Robert rose to his knees and was about to take his pants down when a cacophony of animal noises started on the beach.
"Dammit, Strider," he muttered, instantly knowing what had happened as the chorus of excited dog barks and seagull cries continued.
Maggie shared Robert's love of animals, but in that moment, the chaos on the beach hit her like the cruelty of an alarm jolting someone out of a beautiful, lucid dream. She gazed in Robert's eyes, trying to make sense of what was going on. "Is everything OK?"
Robert sighed and then laughed. "Mags, I hate to interrupt, but I must subdue my precious canine, who enjoys the company of seagulls a little too much."
He stood, located her pants, and handed them to her. "Makes me wonder if this is his payback for no introduction between you two yet…"
"Sounds like he's used to special treatment, after you went and wrote a song about him," she said as she got dressed again. "That means his behavior is all your fault," she teased.
Robert grabbed Maggie for another deep kiss. "You'll soon find my blue-eyed boy has a mind of his own… But I never hold that against anyone who truly cares for me." He winked at Maggie, explaining how he felt about Strider and her in one simple quip. It made Maggie wonder if any of his songs were about her, or if any might be in the future.
"OK, ready to meet the furriest member of our family?" He linked his arm with hers as they headed for the sand.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rest of my stories are here, or search for the hashtag #brownskinsugarplumlibrary
#robert plant#classic rock#fan fiction#fanfics#led zeppelin fanfics#robert plant fanfics#led zeppelin#fanfic#writing#my writing#robert plant fan fiction#robert plant fanfic#led zeppelin fan fiction#writer#writers#led zeppelin fanfic#fiction#led zeppelin fan fic#robert plant fan fic#fan fic#fanfic writing#fan fic writing#wip#fan fiction writing#brownskinsugarplumlibrary
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