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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐈𝐌 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

↳ summary: prompt: “That’s so fucking hot.” — Paired with Ghost on a 'drill' mission, you get to witness his sniping prowess first hand.

↳ pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!Reader (Delta)

↳ [1k] content: 18+ MDNI. Utterly self-indulgent. Shy reader (because I fancied something different), firing guns, very vague power play, very light degradation (barely there but it’s there), fingering, cum eating (don’t know if this counts but I’ll put it anyway), Ghost is very skilled with a gun.

ghost masterlist I| main masterlist |I join taglist

Easterly winds trace the curve of your cheek and gently waft your hair across your forehead. The pitch blackness that hangs in the nighttime desert air swallows you whole, your defensive spot illuminated only by the waning crescent moon. It's fucking freezing, you're tired, and you'd been staring down a sniper's scope for over six hours.

You’d already decided that whoever thought a sniper drill was a good idea was going to face your wrath in the morning.

Settled into the sand grains beside you is Ghost's hulking frame. His patience is remarkable, settled on his front with his finger fixed on the hairpin trigger of the HDR. He's not moved once since getting into position, the vaguest sign he was even alive being the blink of his eyelids. He doesn’t even need to practise, and you’re convinced he’s been paired with you simply because he pities you being a shit shot.

"Do you not have pins and needles?" You grumble, the crosshair in your field of vision blurring into a shapeless mush after gazing at it for so long, "I swear I've got a dead leg."

"No." Simon's answer is definitive. You're unsure if you believe him at first, but he squeezes the trigger without warning. The gun cracks, firing its round, and you almost jump out of your skin at the sudden break of silence. "What the fuck, Simo-"

Disbelief stalls your loud complaint, the image of a body-shaped target with a bullet hole dead centre of the cross in the inner circle's fixed point making your jaw drop.

Simon settles back, shedding the shell casing from the HDR and effortlessly loading a second round. It's like breathing for him, the sniper rifle like a body part that worked as seamlessly as his arms or legs.

It slips out, your inner dialogue somehow managing to worm its way out of your lips before you can swallow down the mortifying comment.

"That's so fucking hot..."

Simon doesn't seem to respond at first, but your cheeks are already heating up in embarrassment as you try to backpedal. "I mean- I mean, I'm sure most girls at home would find that really hot! You must have so many girls asking you out when you go home- Half of Manchester, I bet!"

You laugh awkwardly, holding your own sniper weapon in a death grip. You wish the sand would sink beneath you, dropping you into the depths below.

"Not really," Simon's rumbling voice cuts through the desert silence. It makes your humiliation even worse, and you squeeze your eyes shut and plan to request a transfer with Captain Price the moment you return to base. Or even hand in your resignation letter. You'd never have to fear running into Simon on another team that way—

"Delta," Ghost's gruff voice cuts through your downward spiral. You open your eyes and glance over at him apprehensively. He's still staring down the scope of his rifle, mask concealing his expression from you. Undoubtedly he was enjoying making you feel stupid.

A heavy hand settles on the back of your thigh, and you suddenly exhale the oxygen in your lungs as though someone has popped the membrane with a pin. Ghost doesn't look up from the scope; his attention is focused on the target over seven-hundred meters away.

"G-Ghost-" Your voice tremors, and you wish you could blame it on the chill in the desert air. Instead, it's Simon's palm slowly tracing up your thigh, palm squeezing gently at the globe of your ass.

"Quiet," he orders, and you nod quickly, falling in line at the sound of his authoritative 'lieutenant voice'. He continues his advance, pushing his fingertips under the waistband of your khaki cargos at the small of your back.

Simon hesitates. He offers you a chance to wave him off, but you can't think of anything worse— he's touching you, sparking your skin hot beneath his slow, deliberate touches.

Breaching the waistband of your pants, he ensures that he inches his hand below your panties, too, fingertips tracing the naked curve of your ass as they continue their descent. You whimper softly, impatient, but the sound dies in your throat when you see Ghost's irises flick to you in a warning.

Quiet, I said.

Swallowing back any more noises of complaint, you spread your legs ever so slightly for him. A rumble of content sound from his chest, and Simon aims his sight down the scope of his rifle again.

Simon's fingers sink into your fluttering cunt from behind. The stretch alone has you biting down on your knuckles in an attempt to smother the yelp that threatens to breach your mouth.

What makes it worse is Simon's blatant nonchalance. He adjusts the positioning of his Sniper to mitigate the desert breeze with one hand. Meanwhile, his fingers sink deeper into you, easing in and out until you hear the slick sounds of your cunt swallowing his digits.

It's pathetic. Ghost'll probably taunt you relentlessly for it, but you rock back onto his hand as his fingers tease your spasming walls.

"O-Oh, fuck-" you choke out, breathless, as you lower your head and brace against the rising bliss in your abdomen. Again, Ghost's eyes flick over, cautioning you.

"I'm tryin'a focus," he scolds you flatly, pushing his thumb into your clit harshly. You yelp at the sudden pressure, the arc of pleasure that whips up your spine.

"W-What can you possibly be fo-ohh-" you moan out, losing your sentence as he slowly begins to circle your clit with his battle-calloused thumb.

"On this," Simon hums, and again the crack of his sniper rifle jolts your body in shock. Fuck- but he keeps rubbing at your clit, sinking his fingers deeper into you as he searches for your g-spot.

Your head whips up as your cunt flutters around his digits, looking down the scope. Again, Ghost has hit the target perfectly— slap bang in the middle of its forehead.

Honestly, you could have cum from that alone, but Ghost's fingers are retreating just as your orgasm surges. You whine loudly, looking over your shoulder to see him remove his hands from your pants despite your protests and use his thumb to push the bottom of his ski mask over his mouth.

Sinking his fingers into his mouth, he groans as he tastes you. It's the most sordid sound you've ever heard, the noise settling deep into your abdomen as you watch him lick his fingers clean.

Simon knows what he's doing, knows he has you on the edge of a mind-shattering orgasm, but ignores your heavy breathing and desperate gaze to nod his head at the target.

"Your turn. Best stop your hands from shaking, love. Get him between the eyes, and I might let you cum."

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sturniozo · 5 months

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Savage Love Part Four

Matt Sturniolo x reader Mafia AU

Masterlist

“How’d it go?” She asks as we walk to our desks.

“I didn’t get any information from him, he’s not a talker.” I reply and sip on my coffee.

“But you slept with him?” She asks easterly and I blush, nodding. “Oh my god, how was he?”

“Emma!”

“I need deets, girl!” She smiles at me. “Leave nothing out, go!” She leans back in her chair and sips her coffee.

“I’m not saying anything here, we’re at work.”

“Come on, y/n.” Emma groans. “Did you go down on him? Did he go down on you?” A faint blush appears on my cheeks. “Oh my god, he went down on you! Was he good?”

“Emma, I’m not talking about this.” I say trying to hide my flustered face from the rest of our coworkers.

“Did you at least use protection?” She asks and I pause. The silence was confirmation enough for her. “Oh my god, y/n even I make them wrap it!”

“I’m on birth control!” I whisper to her.

“That doesn’t matter, it’s a man you’ve never met! He could have an std!”

“I doubt the leader of the mafia has stds.”

“Did he have the all clear from a doctor and you confirmed it first? Did he ask you if you were good? What makes you think he asks other girls that and not you? He could and you just wouldn’t know!”

“He thought I was a virgin.” I mumble to her and her jaw drops.

“Oh my god that’s a scoop. That’s a big scoop. Matt Sturniolo has a corruption kink.” She says and her smile widens. “Your articles are gonna start to sound like mine.”

“Oh god. I want to help people, he seems so nice I don’t want to expose him.”

“If you didn’t want to expose people why did you become a journalist?”

“I want to bring attention to the struggles of the people.”

Emma pretends to gag before turning back to me. “Sorry, but that’s not something people will read.”

“That’s why I need to put the hidden messages in with my articles about Matt Sturniolo.”

“When are you meeting with him next?”

“Well, he didn’t want me to go this morning, so I bargained with him and he agreed to let me get to work if I meet him tomorrow night for dinner.”

“Is dinner code for sex?” Emma asks.

“Well probably, but he’s having me meet him at this nice restaurant in downtown New York.”

“Downtown huh?”

“I just can’t believe I didn’t get any information from him last night.”

“I dunno, the corruption kink thing might be good.” Emma shrugs.

“I just feel like I had sex with him for nothing.”

Emma’s jaw dropped. “Nothing? Sex with Matt Sturniolo was nothing to you?”

“It was a hookup, I don’t do hookups.”

“Nothing.” She repeats, still surprised by my words.

“Emma, focus.” I snapp my fingers to get her attention.

“I am focused, you’re not. You’re the one who thinks that sex with Matt Sturniolo is nothing.”

“Stop saying his name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like he’s-“

“The head of the fucking MAFIA?” Emma almost shouts.

“Emma keep your voice down, someone will hear.”

Emma groans and stares at me. She pauses for a moment before saying “So you’re meeting him tomorrow night, huh?”

I stand outside the restaurant that Matt had picked. My legs shake slightly from the chill air. The short black dress Emma let me borrow clung tightly to my figure, as Emma is a bit smaller than me. At 6:30 on the dot a black car pulls up and Matt steps out.

“Cold?” He asks me as he wraps his arm around my shoulders.

“Just a little.” I shrug. I look up at him and stare into his beautiful ocean blue eyes.

“Then let’s get you inside dollface.” He says and we walk inside the restaurant. The inside is beautiful with hand painted ceilings and beautifully carved columns.

“This looks like a museum, Matt.” I say with astonishment.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” We stop at the hostess station. “Reservation for Matt Sturniolo.” He says and the hostess nods, leading us to a table by the giant window.

“Oh my god, this is beautiful!” I say as Matt pushes my seat in for me.

“Well, dollface, you deserve a beautiful night out before I plow you like the little slut you are.” He whispers in my ear. He sits down in his own seat across from me and begins looking over the menu.

I open the menu as well and look it over. I can’t even pronounce half the things on the menu. I stare in shock, unable to even comprehend what I should order. I hear Matt chuckle.

“Is this too much for you?” He asks.

“I just… don’t understand what’s on the menu.” I laugh softly.

Matt chuckles again. “You’d like the crab wraps.” He suggests. “But that’s just an appetizer.”

I nod. “Okay…” I bite my lip and look back down at the menu.

“Maybe I should just order for you, huh dollface?” Matt sets down his menu and looks at me. “Do you want me to make all your decisions for you?” He reaches under the table and caresses my thigh. My breath hitches. “Do you like that pretty girl? Do you want to skip the dinner and go back to the hotel?” He asks in a low voice. “I thought my pretty girl would like a night out. It’s rude to use a girl just for sex, you know.”

A blush creeps up my cheeks. Now he’s talking. How do I get him to confirm he’s the leader of the Mafia in New York? I take a breath before asking “You’ve had a lot of practice with this then?”

Matt laughs and says “I’ve slept with a girl or two but never treated them as well as you, dollface.”

“Is that a line or something?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You’re a stranger to me, I can’t believe anything you say.”

He laughs again and replies “So what do you want to know? Ask me anything.”

How do I go about this? I need to get the information I need out of him. I have to do it slowly. Maybe I can make this into an article for the paper, the inside mind of Matt Sturniolo.

“You look like you’re lost in thought there, dollface.” He laughs. “Got to much you wanna ask me?”

“Oh yes.” I laugh softly.

“Why don’t I start then? My names Matt Sturniolo, I’m 24 years old, I’m a triplet, and I have another brother besides that.” He starts. God I wish I was recording this, he talks so low and fast. “What about you, doll?”

“You’re a triplet?” I ask.

“Sure am.” He nods. “They both work with me too. They’re my best buds.”

“I didn’t know you were so soft.” I laugh lightly. “What do you do for work?”

Matt sighs “I oversee things.” He says after a short pause.

“What sort of things?”

“Businesses. People.” He shrugs. “It’s nothing worth talking about.”

“No, but I’m interested!” I plead, trying to get him to talk more.

“No, a pretty girl like you wouldn’t think what I do is anything worth talking about. Just look over the menu, dollface. I’ll make sure to order you some crab wraps.” Matt says with a smile and picks up the menu.

Well, I guess you could say it was progress.

Tags: @stargirlsturniololover @sturniolobessed @eyelessdemon00 @sturnioloenthusiast @sturniolopookie @urmommysbathroom @qwertytit @whatever1021 @chrisfavoritepepsi @stramboli4life @sturniolosreads @timmyscomputer

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footprintsinthesxnd · 5 months

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Perfect Moments

Julian you are my favourite person. I love you so much. You’re the sweetest, kindest, funniest, most loveable person ever and I can’t imagine life without you in it. Every time we talk you never fail to make me laugh and I’m grateful for you every day. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and a Happy New Year. I hope you enjoy this little snippet of Julian Owens and George’s Christmas adventure 🩷

The snow crunched under Julian’s jump boots as he followed the ice-covered, cobbled path to Jess’ front door. Aldbourne had been covered in a blanket of white and he’d slipped his way along the roads, aimlessly switching between the pavement and the road. He was thankful there wasn’t too much traffic through the town. The cold had seeped into his bones and the brisk easterly wind had yet to subside. His hand wrapped against the wooden door followed by a muffled, “It’s open.”

Julian stepped in, brushing the snow from his boots before stepping into the kitchen. The smell of bread cooking wafted through the air and he could feel his mouth beginning to water.

“Jess, where are you?” Julian followed the noise of Jess’ humming until he found her hanging a garland over the fireplace.

“Wow, it’s like a Christmas grotto in here,” Julian jested and squeaked when a pillow came into contact with his face.

“Now Cherie, no foul play,” Eugene's strong southern accent caught Julian off guard and he spun on his heels to face him. Eugene was dressed in his brown dress trousers and a white vest, his hair was messy and he still looked half asleep as he took a sip from his cup of what Julian assumed was coffee.

“You slept with him,” Julian squeaked, shooting Jess a shocked look that screamed with unanswered questions.

“What?

“No!”

The pair spoke at the same time and Julian whipped his head back and forth between them.

“No Julian. Eugene and I went to the Christmas dance last night, remember? It was late when we got back and we just got talking so I said he could stay. He slept on the sofa like a true gentleman.”

Eugene’s cheeks turned pink and he bowed his head in embarrassment at the situation.

“So you two didn’t…” Julian trailed off, squinting suspiciously at his friend.

“No Julian we didn’t.”

Eugene cleared his throat beside them, having gathered the rest of his uniform off the sofa and was waiting in the doorway. “I should go, Ma Cherie. Who knows what they’ll ‘ave got up to in one evening without me on base. I’ll ‘ave to patch up half of the company.” Eugene leant forward and pressed a delicate kiss to Jess’ cheek.

“Must you go already? Will I see you later?” Jess whined, looking up at the medic.

“Of course,” Eugene reassured her as Julian interrupted.

“Well actually Bill only got into one fight, Babe accidentally stabbed himself in the hand with a dart and Hoobler is dying from his hangover but overall we all made it back alive. In Easy Company’s standards I’d call that a success,” Julian grinned triumphantly but Eugene just rolled his eyes.

“See what I ‘ace to put up with?”

“I do, Love. Good luck,” Jess placed a kiss on Eugene's cheek and watched as he disappeared into the snowy landscape.

“Well I never. Could have caught you in the act.”

“Will you stop that, Julian,” Jess laughed. “Eugene’s not like that.”

“No, I know that. You’re in safe hands with him. I never have to worry about you.”

Jess smiled at her friend, hanging up the last of the garland. “So what brings you over? I thought we were meeting at the Crown tonight with Josie.”

“We are. I just… I have some news,” Julian scratched the back of his neck nervously. Sensing his apprehension, Jess guided him to the sofa and pulled him into a hug.

“You know you can tell me anything right? Anything at all.”

“George kissed me,” Julian blurted out. “We had too much to drink and he kissed me, and this morning he woke up in my arms and realised and then panicked. He hasn’t spoken to me since,” Julian reeled off nearly in one breath before burying his head in a nearby pillow. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh Jules, I’m sorry. I’m sure he didn’t mean to act that way. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. I’m sure he’s as surprised as you are,” Jess tried to reason with him. “Maybe he’s never kissed a man before.”

“Maybe not I guess. I suppose I did sort of have a meltdown after my first kiss,” Julian whined. “I’m just scared I’ll mess everything up.”

Julian buried his head once more but felt some sense of relief when Jess began carding her fingers through his red locks.

“Trust me. You two are going to be just fine.”

Josie reached forward, pushing away Jess’ collar to reveal a small line of circular bruises along her collarbone.

“Jess, what in God’s name is that?” Jess launched herself out of the chair, smacking her neck with her hand.

“What is it? Is there a spider on me?” She squeaked, her irrational fear of spiders from when she was young still present in her adult life.

“No, those bruises. What happened?” Josie questioned, cocking a dark eyebrow at her friend. Jess’ cheeks turned a dark shade of crimson, her eyes avoiding Josie’s as she took her seat once more.

“Oh, it’s nothing… I just knocked myself.”

“You knocked yourself four times in a perfect circular line?” Josie didn’t believe her friend but also couldn’t quite work out why she was lying.

Too engrossed in what Jess was hiding, neither of them noticed Julian’s arrival until he took a seat between them, sniggering loudly and pointing at Jess’ beck.

“No way! I never knew Eugene had it in him!” Julian exclaimed, pulling Jess’ collar further back to reveal the love bites that Eugene had so lovingly placed along her collarbone the night before.

“Julian! Please stop?” Jess exclaimed, pulling her collar up and doing up the top button, embarrassment etched on her pale face.

“Oh no, that’s not what I think it is, is it?” Josie suddenly twigged, her eyes growing wide at the realisation.

“You and Eugene… you know?”

Julian chuckled as Jess tried to hide her face from her friends as their jests continued.

“No, we didn’t. It was just kissing. Eugene is…”

“A gentleman. We know,” her friends said in unison.

“Just wait until I see Eugene later, I’ll give him hell.”

Jess shot him a warning look but both knew Eugene wouldn’t say anything, he’d be too embarrassed himself to tell Julian what happened, and deep down Julian was pleased for both of them. Josie on the other hand was still in complete shock.

“Since when have you two been that close?” Josie demanded, seemingly a little hurt that she was the last to find out.

“We’ve been close for a while,” Jess admitted. “But you’ve been so caught up with Lieutenant Nixon and your newfound love, you didn’t notice. I’m spending more and more time with Eugene on weekends. Just a few weekends ago we went to London together.”

It was now Josie’s turn to look sheepish. She had to admit her mind had been preoccupied recently but she thought she would have noticed the growing love between her best female friend and Easy Company’s loveable medic.

“Well, I’m very pleased for you. He seems like one of the good ones.”

“He is,” Jess smiled, but the joy was short-lived when her mouth shot open and a silent gasp escaped. She hastily grabbed Josie’s hand insisting that they go and talk to Kate the barmaid. Julian was left alone and confused, until he noticed a familiar brown-headed figure approaching him with an awkward smile on his lips.

“Is this seat taken?” George asked, running his fingers over the wooden back.

“Yes! No… I mean no, no one is using it so you can take the chair,” Julian stuttered, his leg tapping up and down underneath the table.

“Well, I was kind of hoping I could sit here with you but I understand if you don’t want me to,” George replied sheepishly and Julian didn’t think he’d ever seen George look so deflated.

“No, you can sit with me, please,” Julian gestured and George’s face lit up as he took the seat.

“I umm… I wanted to apologise for this morning. I just freaked out and I ran and I’m not proud of it,” George looked down at his hands, picking aimlessly at his fingernails. “I’m real sorry, Julian.”

“It’s okay. I understand why you ran… it’s not normal is it.”

“Hey, no don’t start putting yourself down and who cares if people think it’s normal? Julian, I can’t deny my… feelings anymore. I like you and I don’t exactly know why I feel like that but I really like you,” George admitted, his eyes glazed and tearful and Julian reached out, grabbing hold of George’s hand under the table.

“I really like you too, George,” Julian squeezed his hand and George grinned back at him.

“Well, I’m glad you like me too because otherwise, that would have been awkward.”

Julian felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Jess and Josie standing behind him.

“All right?” Jess mouthed as the girls took their seats. Julian grinned in return.

Not long after Lieutenant Nixon and Eugene Roe joined them at the table and the party was in full swing. Drinks were passed around, Nixon with his love of alcohol was already slightly tipsy so more than a few rounds were on him. By the end of the evening, everyone was jovial, slightly drunk and their eyes watering from laughter. No

Julian and George decided to head back to their billets, taking the long way back and wandering down the dark, country lanes holding hands. There was no fear of anyone seeing them out here.

“You know, I could get used to this,” George smiled up at Julian, a wide toothy grin as his brown eyes shone in the moonlight.

“Me too,” Julian smiled sadly because the reality was they never would be able to get used to this, walking hand in hand in public but for now, in this small tranquil part of the world at least they could pretend.

“Well at least for tonight I can have you and if I can steal even the smallest moments by your side then I’m a happy man,” George admitted, his arm wrapping around Julian’s back so he could hold him closer. Julian didn’t really believe in perfect moments until he met George Luz but then again maybe the moments weren’t perfect, maybe it was George that was.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @sharpshootershifty @liberteuniteegalite @msmercury84 @mayhem24-7forever @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @xxluckystrike @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix

#Julian Owens x George Luz #band of brothers #band of brothers ocs #band of brothers oc #hbowar #hbo war imagine #christmas fic

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thamestotrail · 1 year

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Running the Thames Path

The Thames Path is, confusingly, both my favourite and least favourite place to run in London. It’s my happy and unhappy place all at the same time.

It’s my unhappy place, since there are only so many times you can go up and down the Thames before you have put yourself off running prior to even lacing up your trainers.

Yet, when I’ve dabbled with other running routes in London, I always find myself right back where I started the following week; at the start line of a long run which takes me…along the Thames Path of course.

When I first started running regularly in 2016 (the culmination of many unsuccessful attempts by my fiancé to get me to join him on a run and actually enjoy it), I came to love our not-quite-5km route from Pimlico, over Vauxhall bridge, round to Westminster and back, running along the Thames. This turned into longer and longer running explorations along the river bank, eventually ending with picnics to celebrate our achievements in Greenwich at the end of our long runs.

Here come some of the perks of running along the Thames in central London; you can keep out of the way of traffic and pollution for much of the way, you can do some pretty major sight-seeing and you can’t get lost. But the more into running you get and the greater the frequency you’ve run-battled your way along the South Bank you start to want to avoid that section, and by extension the easterly direction altogether. Here’s why!

You’ll first of all realise you’ve ended up walking a good chunk of your run to even stand a chance of getting through the crowds, breaking your running rhythm and your spirit in the process, and secondly you’ll realise you’ve become increasingly annoyed and jealous of the non-running-folk enjoying their tasty treats from the food markets. The annoyance and jealousy of course comes from the fact that no matter how quickly (and we’ve already established it isn’t that quick) you try and escape this taunt, the tantalising smells will continue to waft your way, and you’ll have to face the reality that you have a hell of a long way to run before you can even start to think about getting some food. The only alternative is to head west along the Thames path (from Vauxhall which is the starting point of my running map), rather than east; a much quieter, less touristy and less tortuous route. Thus your running options on the Thames have already become limited.

An initial problem with heading west though was that the path turns from pavement into an actual towpath from Putney. Running on this towpath, I am ashamed to admit, was our version of ‘trail running’ for years. For my part, at least, there was a shockingly noticeable drop in pace as soon as I hit the gravel compared to the pavement. My legs, clearly only used to the smoothest and flattest of paths, did protest against this change in surface and, for a long time, Putney to Barnes took the prize for my least favourite part of the path hands down. Through perseverance and sheer determination to avoid the South Bank running option though, I have learnt to enjoy this section and now even look forward to the towpath! It feels very much ‘away from the city’ as you leave the roads behind, swap dodging tourists for dodging the rowing club boats traversing the path and spot herons and cormorants along the banks.

We’ve found we can keep things interesting too by turning our ‘out and back’ runs into ‘outs and getting the train backs’ allowing us to end our runs with a treat. Whether that’s exploring Kew Gardens or Hampton court or having lunch in Richmond, there are a lot of options to choose from along the route. You’d think there are still only so many times you can run from Vauxhall, through Battersea and west along the Thames without getting bored though and you are right. We are so familiar with this route that we can run to any destination along it on autopilot and know the exact distances to the various bridges at any given point.

This brings me to the ‘must find new routes’ point in our motivation cycle. Everytime we reach this conclusion, we have indeed sought new routes.

But with little success.

My observation being that to get to other nice areas to run in London, Primrose Hill, for example, you end up running through not so nice areas and along busy roads to get there. I know they are popular running spots but there is also something about the Royal Parks that doesn’t click for us either. Comparing notes with my fiancé during one particular run there, we both felt like we had been running forever but the distance travelled didn’t reflect this having only, to our horror, completed 8 out of 35 km. In theory, running from royal park to royal park sounds lovely, but in practice, something feels disjointed, and stop-starty.

Well, hmmm. What route could there be which would allows me to get into a good rhythm, has very few roads to interrupt it and zero chance of getting lost? And that’s how we end up right back at the boring, predictable, easy and awesome Thames Path. Perhaps the lesson is to take more notice of my surroundings, resist the auto-pilot mode even on this ‘regular’ route and not take it for granted. Where else can you run with the best view of what London has to offer? I think the Thames path is my happy place after all.

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ftwdb · 7 months

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Don't Say Go

Chapter 1

Summary: Soulmates find each other through what is known as The Pull. A sense within a persons body that their soulmate is within reach that guides them to find them. You find yourself following this Pull, guided by vague dreams of a man you can't quite see, until you collapse in the wild and are found by Troy, your soulmate, who has been following the same feeling toward you for days.

Once connected soulmates are able to share emotions through their bond, as well as being able to sense where the other is. But how this force works is very much a mystery still, it can vary from soulmate to soulmate, and just sometimes a connection too deep can lead twist a bond from something beautiful to, well...

Warnings: Dark themes, sexual content, violence, non-graphic description/implications of SA, child abuse and domestic violence. References to addiction. Unhealthy love/obsession/relationships. Soulmate AU. Eventual smut.

You woke with a start, your hand coming to the thrumming sensation in your chest as you gasped and panted. How many nights had it been now since the feeling had woken you, pulling you from much needed sleep at all hours? You’d lost count.

You wished you could remember your dream, to make the link between the figure you kept seeing in your sleep and the pull in your chest that never faded; a silhouette in the dark, moving closer as you tried to reach out a hand to grasp the shadowy outline.

Sometimes you thought you saw the profile of a face, a strong jaw with a defined nose. Eyes that swam between such a dark hue of blue they seemed black and at other times the gentle colours of a calm ocean. The features always melted away when you woke, no matter how hard you tried to remember them, to scribble down what you could in the small red notebook you kept tucked inside your boot. The images were scattered and jumbled, so close to becoming a complete picture; one your subconscious seemed to tell you held the an answer you didn’t even know you were seeking.

It had started when you’d left the remains of San Diego with nothing but the clothes on your back and the supplies you’d managed to scavange in your backpack. At first you’d thought little of it until you noticed when you headed in a certain direction the feeling seemed to grow stronger.

It had been with shock that you realised it was more than just the grief of all you’d lost, the fear of the dead and the unknown stretched out before you. It was it. The Pull. That was when the dreams started.

Everyone knew about the Pull and you were glad there was no one to berate you for how slow you’d been to realise what it meant.

That your soulmate, whoever they may be, was close.

You’d wandered with nothing but the feeling in your chest to guide you, moving in an easterly direction as you rose with the sun each morning and slept when it had disappeared beyond the horizon at your back at night. There was one morning when you had woken to feel nothing, and it had left you clawing at your skin, painfully aware of the hollowness within you that came with the loss of the Pull.

You’d lain down and grieved again that day. You remembered the lessons you’d been given about soulmate’s, what it meant to be one of the few lucky enough to find their match… and what it meant to be one of the many who never would.

At the start of the rise of the dead you’d witnessed the survivors around you randomly crumple over with an agonising pain, searing so deeply it felt like their hearts were broke in two. This pain… it was how you knew your soulmate was dead.

So as you lay there with your eyes closed against the morning light, you tried to reach inside and find the cord that tied you to someone you’d never met, never known and never would, you waited for the pain.

But it never came.

Once the sun was at its highest point in the sky and you were just beginning to consider retracing your steps back toward the ruins of San Diego - since there was nothing for you here other than sunscorched grass and hopelessness - that it hit you like a punch to the chest. An invisable hand reached between your ribs and pulled. The feeling was strong enough that you felt physically lifted to your feet.

Ignoring the worn state of your boots that were on the verge of falling apart, your tired and aching mucles began to scream at you; but not in resistance of your movement, instead your body urged you on.

You moved as quickly as you could, stumbling over dry earth and crumbling rock. The Pull kept you going, driving you further east. You pulled the map from your bag, stopping even as your feet ached and screamed at you.

Go, you’re so close…

Your head began to swim as you tried to fix your eyes on the lines printed on the page in front of you. You’d marked off your route, making note of any landmarks you passed to keep track of your journey. But as another feeling overtook the one that had been propelling you onward you looked toward the sky and realised just how low the sun had fallen.

It was almost night and your mouth was dry as the paper in your hands. You panicked, realising you’d neither eaten or had anything to drink as you licked your chapped lips and tasted the salt of your sweat soaked skin.

The last remnants of your water disappeared all too quickly as your legs finally collapsed and you hit the ground hard.

That was when you heard it. The low rumble of an engine in the distance. A set of lights appeared and lit the ground around you. You were closer to a road than you’d realised as a truck rolled to a slow stop nearby.

The feeling in your chest tightened. You could barely breath as a door opened and boots hit the ground, sending up a swirl of dust and dirt around legs clad in military gear.

You tried to stand but your head swam even more, the very ground beneath you seemed to lurch upward as your eyes travelled over the oncoming man.

He was tall, the light of his truck illuminated a mess of slightly curled hair and cast shadows over his face. As he moved closer and you collapsed back on the ground, the dry grass scratching at the exposed skin on the nape of your neck, you felt the pull of the bond finally give out as if a spring pulled taught had finally been released. You felt it pass through your entire body, a feeling of relief like when you woke after a deep sleep, stretching out the sleepiness from your muscles as the blood pumped and flowed.

The man, who had been holding a rifle in front of his face as he glanced around into the darkness, gasped. He said something then, but your ears were muffled by the sound of rushing water.

Before the dizziness swallowed you up and you fell into utter darkness you felt the smile stretch across your face. You tried to speak but your dry throat could only groan.

You didn’t see the way the man lowered his gun and stepped closer, his eyes fixing on the rise and fall of your chest. You were breathing slightly too fast and the signs of exposure were obvious on your skin. He heard footsteps behind him and gestured for one of his men to go to you as he took a step back and observed the girl he’d been dreaming of for weeks.

“Troy, we need to get her back to the ranch if she’s got a chance in hell of waking up.”

Troy made a sound in his throat, an affirmation, as the other man lifted the girl with ease and moved her onto the backseat of Troy’s truck.

He could now observe her more closely in the light. She was thin, long limbs covered by filthy clothes. He wondered how long she had been wandering. Had she felt it too? The never-ending ache in his chest had left him searching the wilderness day after day under the guise of searching for supplies or defending the perimeter from the dead, or those who saught to take what they had.

Once his eyes had settled on her face and he’d known it was her it was like the need in his body, as strong as a need for water after a long day working in the sun, bled from him completely and he felt whole.

So why, as he stared at the unconsious woman from the front seat of his truck, did he feel so…

Disappointed.

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grand-theft-carbohydrates · 8 months

Text

last day at the battle of red cliffs, and i am the coalition's top general in charge of the land assault. it is eerily quiet in the mountains, an easterly wind blows hard and cold. the skies over the river glow pink, like the blooms of a peach orchard in spring, but the sight brings me no joy, for i know it is fire that stains the heavens. tonight the red cliffs are ablaze with burning ships. the rivers run with the blood of brave men. after so many years of bitter fighting, we have finally struck a decisive blow against the Usurper and halted his war of conquest. tonight we emerge victorious from the quagmire, but my heart grows heavy at the cost.

Glaive in hand and sitting astride my steed, I lead five hundred crack troops towards the narrow mountain pass of Huarong Road, racing to cut off the Usurper's escape. the people say he is a vicious monster whose hunger knows no bounds. They are wrong. He is just a man, capable of love and honour--and is all the more dangerous for it. you cannot call a typhoon or earthquake evil, but it does not make it any less destructive.

I had tried to help him, once upon a time, but some men cannot be changed, only stopped. there will be no peace as long as he draws breath. the war must end here. he must end here. We might have been allies once, almost friends, two beans side-by-side in the same pod, but I will put aside our shared history for the sake of duty, bitter though it may be. I have sworn a sacred oath to my Liege Lord and Elder Brother, I will only live and die by his side.

hark! the enemy approaches. i order my men into formation and ride out to meet them. a tiger is most dangerous when it's teeth are broken. i must show no weakness or he will eat my heart.

an old man on a lame horse rides out to meet me.

"I trust you've been well, General, since we've last met," the Usurper croaks, swaying unsteadily on his saddle, and then; "might i trouble you for a drink of water?"

he bares his teeth in a rictus of a smile. while he has never been handsome, he had at least been stately, now exhaustion and desperation have robbed him of even that.

his soldiers fall to their knees at the sight of me, weeping and trembling piteously. I ride through a sea of haggard, mud-covered faces. half the men don't have saddles, most don't have weapons, one is, rather absurdly, clutching a clay cooking pot--none of them look capable of putting up a fight. all look ready to drop dead.

once upon a time, a foolish, kindly man found a snake on the ground, frozen and half-dead...

i give the Usurper my water-gourd. his hands are shaking, so I take it back and unstopper it for him. it is for the sake of expediency. our hands do not touch. i had half-suspected he might have been stalling for time, but the gourd is empty when he hands it back.

"I often dreamed of you, Yunchang--" he hiccups, and then continues in the strong, resonant voice i know so well, his words amplified by the stone walls, "we'd sit under the trees and drink a toast, for old times sake. How the years have flown. it is the greatest tragedy of my life that we are doomed to be on opposite sides of the battlefield, never crossing paths except to exchange blows. Oh, woe, to be dealt such a hand by fate. To be seperated from the man you desire most." To be continued

notes:

ok! so in the middle of cao cao's Yackey Sack Chase Scene he stops and lets his men cook dinner...which implies that at least ONE guy was carrying a fucking pot with him. one of those heavy as shit honest to god terracotta pots. up and down hills while running for his life. i respect NO ONE except Random Wei Soldier and his pot. this man is my spiritual brother.

watch 2010 san guo tv show. that is all.

#i was thinking about guan yu/cao cao again and i think i entered a fugue state and write this in the span of 2 hours.#the power of homoerotic longing gives you powers many consider to be unnatural #san guo #guan yu #cao cao #my writing #it's just occoured to me that i've written so much stuff for cao cao but guan yu's character is always written on the periphery

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rainsnz · 1 year

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kazuha — there’s a storm on its way from the east of inazuma. kazuha’s always been sensitive to the weather, but something about this one settles an irritating feeling in his nose that he just can’t seem to get rid of. is this a foreshadowing? (could be pre or post vision hunt decree, whichever you’re comfortable with!)

Hi everyone, Kazuha's my favourite character so obviously he's the one I was going to write for next anyway. Thank you very much for requesting him, I enjoyed this a lot :) Please leave a comment if you enjoyed as it helps me with knowing if I did well or not!

Rainstorm

(Kazuha & friend (unnamed)) (4.4 k words)

As usual, Kazuha knows a storm is coming long before anyone else does.

The acrid sting of lightning mixed with the fresh scent of rain upon saltwater. An unmistakable sensation stirring in his perceptive nose that immediately tells him every last detail of the incoming inclement weather. A sharp sniff of the easterly winds heralds the foreboding forecast.

He thinks nothing of the itch ghosting against the edges of his nasal passages, simply dismissing it with a soft sniffle, a dignified finger against his nostrils. The strong ozone flavor always contrasts so strongly with the gentle hum of precipitation, and tends to awaken a particular tickle in the back of Kazuha’s sensitive nose. That’s not to mention the varying temperatures messing with the delicate balance of his sinuses, nor the cold rain and humidity itself that always invites a sneezing fit or two whenever the storm first makes itself known. It’s still bothersome, though - which is why, with a quiet sigh, he bends his index finger underneath his septum with a gentle rubbing motion.

Rustling sounds beneath him distract Kazuha temporarily from his slight nasal discomfort, and he inclines his head towards his blond companion, a soft smile alighting upon his face. Kazuha’s perched upon a sturdy branch in a tree, above the pile of leaves that they’d slept on, looking out into the breathtaking scenery. The morning truly is a beautiful one, with the rosy dawn’s fingers stretching across peach-coloured clouds, and with birdsong gently caressing the ears, resounding around the forest in which they’d laid to sleep.

“Morning, Kazuha.” A yawn, and the blonde stretches, revelling in the gentle rays of sunshine. Kazuha himself revels in the gentle beauty of his friend, whose boyish features shine in this early light. He fits so well against the forest’s natural glory, with a few stray leaves delicately perched in his pale-golden hair.

His friend turns to him, the pleasant dreams slipping from him slowly, and a questioning expression replaces his sleepy stupor.

“What’s up?” asks the boy who he’d shared a camp with, eyes trained on Kazuha’s twitching nostrils. He, like many others, has clearly learned that the samurai’s nose has never led anyone astray.

Kazuha hates to break his silence, preferring to listen to the song of the forest and the lovely rustle of leaves in the wind, but he finds it pertinent to inform his friend of his discovery. “Storm’s coming,” Kazuha intones, eyes flicking to the east. “We should get moving if we want to stay dry.”

The blonde-haired boy frowns, looking at the clear skies broken only by the leafy canopy that they currently sit beneath. “I believe you, Kazuha, but we probably still got a day before it hits, right? I want to investigate what the townspeople were talking about with the herbs in the forest.”

There had been talk of a very rare medicinal herb, native to this region. If they were to collect it and bring it back to the village, they’d be alright for a while, money-wise. Eating random things in the forest had been, well, fine, but both had begun to crave the foods of their upbringing after long days on the road. “Come on, with your nose, we’re practically set.”

“I know that, but…” Kazuha trails off, finger still pressed to his nostrils, scrunching up his irritated nose with another soft sniff. “I-it’s a strong one, I can feel it.”

He does have to admit that visually, the skies are forecasting a beautifully sunny day, but the sheer itchiness prickling at a particularly sensitive crevice in his nose is screaming that the storm is practically upon them. And - oh, his nose gives a twinge of itchiness, and although the finger digging into his septum has thus far been somewhat effective at staving off the insistent tickle, his nose is no longer so willing to listen - his mouth opens, and his eyes flutter shut, a small gasp the only warning before -

“h-a-aah-Ishh-! h-aAhhisshh! haH-eKSHH-!! h-hah-! …”

Kazuha wavers, eyes still tightly squeezed shut, as the itch rages on in the back of his nose, the sneezes having dispelled exactly none of the irritation; in fact, they may have just fanned the flames. Previously his nose has been experiencing a slight tickle, which has now erupted into a burning sensation not unlike the feeling of firecrackers’ sparks against skin. Only, his nose is so much more sensitive than normal skin, and the slightest itch is starting to make his nostrils flare erratically, mouth snapping open for more -

“hhyiihh-ESHH-! h-iihhISHH’n! h’AKKshh-!!”

The sneezes are stifled against his finger, harsh against his throat, and yet his poor irritated nose begs for more-! Kazuha has no choice, his helpless sniffle leading almost immediately into an itchy sneeze -

“h-iyAHKSHHn-h’kssh-h’iiHKSHh—!” A brief pause, and the samurai lets out a small sigh, rubbing at his reddened nostrils with the back of his hand. Not very dignified, but at least it’s better than wiping it against his sleeve - something he’s resorted to when his nostrils are streaming and he can’t stop sneezing, but now is, thankfully, not that time.

Worryingly, his nose still itches, the tickle only slightly lessened, still bothering his sensitive nostrils. Kazuha sniffles wetly out of instinct against his hand, keeping it there as he can feel the shadow of a sneeze starting to approach once more.

“Bless you.” His friend’s voice reaches him, but Kazuha shakes his head, his eyes fluttering shut once more as his breaths catch in his throat -

“iih-hiHshh-!! h-ahiSH-! h-ihhhkshh-!!”

A rapid-fire trio of sneezes stifled into the finger jutting into his nostrils, followed by a wet snort-sniffle. Unfortunately that only irritates his nose further and he gasps, nostrils flaring to the size of acorns -

“hih-hiih-hIIHKSHH-! hi-SKHiuu-! hih-h’KSHn-!”

His head is thrown back, hair tossed in the air as he gasps helplessly, lungs spasming - one hand hugs the tree’s trunk while the other catches as many sneezes as possible, “iiiHhiiiTCHH-iiKSSHHIYUH!’kksHIIII-!!” He wavers, breath catching as he’s bent forward, his nose squirming against his palm - “-ihhIHH-hh’-!! h’Kshhyii-! n’kshii-!! h’AKKSHyiii-!!…snff. hi’kshsh-!! ..snffsnff……” A shaky inhale, and despite the itch rattling around in his sinuses he can breathe without falling into a fit. He sniffles again, habitually, and apologetically rubs his nose as he casts his gaze downwards at the other man. The rubbing does not seem to be relieving the tickle, and he can’t stop sniffling in a fruitless attempt to quiet his complaining nostrils.

His companion peers up at him, an affectionate grin reflecting the sunlight. “Better get out of that tree before you sneeze yourself off the branch.”

On another day, Kazuha might have retorted - there’s never any danger of losing his balance, as he’d trained for many years to be as agile as he is now, but the slight teasing tickle keeps his mouth shut for fear of yet another sneeze escaping. Instead he leaps down, landing lightly on his -

The samurai stumbles, taking another step to balance himself from the rough descent, and the other man catches him up by the arm.

Unsteadily, heart beating a bit faster from the unexpected surprise of losing his footing, Kazuha smiles sheepishly at his friend. “Th-thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” His comrade hums, already walking deeper into the forest. “Now c’mon, we gotta get going if we want to beat the storm you were talking about.”

…

A rosy sunrise blossoms into a quiet morning. The birds are not singing their usual fare, and if Kazuha hadn’t already smelt the lightning on the air he would have found their absence alarming. In fact, it is rather unnerving to walk in this strange atmosphere, when all the creatures have scattered or hidden in preparation for the storm; he feels rather vulnerable, out here in the forest, not knowing any good escape routes.

“You’ve been sniffling a lot,” Kazuha’s friend notes, as they cross a stream. “Guess it makes sense, since we’re relying on your nose right now.”

Kazuha himself had not really noticed, so he only hums noncommittally in response. He has to focus in order not to reflexively sniffle after his friend has pointed it out, instead settling with a cautious finger against the sensitive appendage.

His nose has been itching almost non-stop. It’s making the task a thousand times harder than it should be, making tracing a faint leafy scent analogous to pinpointing a specific fragrance in a perfume shop. Every slight sniff and change of scenery fills his nose with sensations that would normally only be slightly tickly, now filling his nose with a magnified itch that he wants badly to clear with a strong sneeze.

“Which way now?” The voice breaks him from his musings and Kazuha blinks, before tilting his head to the side, sniffing softly.

Following the fragile scent is difficult enough when his nose is terribly distracted by an itch teasing, flickering at the back of his nose. Inhaling purposefully sends another tickle against the agonizingly-sensitive reddened rims; a hand flies up against his nostrils, cupping the suddenly-flaring entrances with a weak barrier of protection. A breathless gasp - “-ehh-scuse me-“ a slight wiggle to his ticklish nostrils - “ehehh..!” and he’s past the point of no return as his eyes squeeze shut into his hand - “eeHEHH-KShYiii-!! e-hKSHII!! e-e-hhKSHHIyuu-!! heh-ISHH—!”

A soft moan; Kazuha sniffles against his hand, grimacing slightly at the mess, and the beginnings of congestion that the sneezing hasn’t solved - he can already tell from his own fluttering gasps that his nose isn’t quite finished, and his eyes are shut even before he can open them to see his friend’s questioning gaze -

“-hh.. hi’ihh-!!”

Another wavering gasp, an agonizing pause -

“..ihihh-..”

For a moment Kazuha contemplates picking up a flower and taking a sharp sniff to clear his tickly sinuses by force. Every hitching gasp, torturously teasing at his senses, is making this idea less of an idea and more of a reality.

“-hh-iiiihh-h.!”

He needs the sneeze out now, his nostrils impossibly wide as they suffer from the whims of the tickle.

“iiiihh-h-..!”

Streaming eyes open against the world, and he grasps the stem of a hanging blossom, dangling from vines above, pressing his flaring nostrils into its sweet pollen -

“-HhIIIIHHHEKSSHHIYYUUUUUU- h’IIKKSSHHIIU-hh-ehhIIYYEESHHH-iiESSHIIIUU-!!!”

Petals scatter to the sudden wind as his head jerks backward, an angry tickle burning through his suffering nose like the fuse on fireworks -!

“iiiHhiiH-ISSHH-!! h-ahh-!! h-AAKKSHH!! h’AKKSHIIYYUU-! h’kkSHHIIIIehh-!!”

Kazuha does not regret much about his life, but as he hitches desperately, his nostrils trying to violently empty themselves of the fragrance and the storm of pollen currently plaguing them, he counts this amongst the things he wishes he hadn’t -

“iiYYEESHHIIIU-iiEEKKSHHIYUUUU!! hii’hKSSHHYIUU-h’ii-ihhKKSSHHIIIEEHH-!!”

Burning throughout his nostrils summons a heaving gasp, his lungs bending like jelly to the whims of his sinuses’ attempt to expel the itch and, now, the pollen. Normally the fragrance of flowers already sends Kazuha into a helpless fit; the combination of his debilitating itch, borne from the ominous promise of storm clouds that he can’t quite shake, and this new sharp intake of pure hay-fever torture, is his downfall. His eyes are burning and itching, but that’s nothing compared to the absolute disaster that is currently fluttering at the walls of his extremely sensitive nasal passages like a thousand leaves in a hurricane; he can barely draw air into his lungs fast enough to compensate, the sneezes bursting out in spiraling fits swiftly -

“-hihi-IIEESCH-!h’YIIIIESSHH-hh-iiiIYYEESHH-h’yyiIIIIEESHHHIIUUU!!!”

Desperate sneezes against his steepled hands attempt to expel the irritants, his nose’s sensitivities protesting the strength of the invading allergens.

“-’YIIIEESHHH-iiuuuu-!! h’iIIEYYYIIEESHHH!!......snfffff-!!”

He recovers with a wet sniffle. It seems that the fight against the omnipresent itch has been won, at least for now, as it once again settles into a background drone. On the other hand, the fight against being an absolute mess of snot is one he is not eager to face. It’s time to resort to - Kazuha’s cheeks flush with embarrassment, awkwardly guiding his hands away from the absolute disaster as he peeks over the edge of his sleeve.

“uhhhnn…” another timid sniffle and he hides his dripping nose behind the cloth on his arm. “..Sorry.”

His friend’s smile is one of sympathy; he digs around in his pocket and produces a square of fabric. With one hand he shakes it out and extends it to the samurai. “Here.”

Kazuha’s free hand accepts the cloth scrap gratefully. “My thanks.” Quickly he pulls it over the bridge of his nose, pressing his hands over it to conceal the mess. He blows his nose, as softly as he can manage, as his friend watches on patiently. When that doesn’t rid his nostrils of the itch he tries again, the sound embarrassingly wet and obnoxious, reminiscent of an ailing horn - yet still woefully weak against the towering foe of nasal irritation. The snot gurgles, wet and sticky, out of his quivering nostrils and into the now-soggy folds of the cloth, and it’s mortifying.

Kazuha could have stood there blowing his nose for hours, trying to dull the blade of itchy torture sharpening its distracting sensation against his nasal passages - yet something tells him that this itching feeling won’t leave him very easily. Self-conscious of the expectant gaze upon him, he inhales deeply, steeling himself to try to search the forest once more.

The samurai’s eyes are watering, yet he still sniffles, nostrils flaring as he tries to catch the scent of the herb, and that’s definitely a mistake right after an attempt of clearing his nose - in rushes a cacophony of starkly contrasting scents, which had formerly been dulled by the congestion plugging his passageways. Layers of horribly strong, torturously tickly fragrances of flowers and leaves and dirt and the looming threat of a storm - dizzying, leaving his mouth snapping open, his face once again ducking into the safety of the cloth -

“-hh’ah-! h-aHH-iSHH!! haHHkSHH!! h’aKKSHHII-!!”

The blonde-haired companion has been trying not to call too much attention to Kazuha’s sniffly dilemma, but at this point the samurai’s suffering is too obvious to ignore. “Do you want to take a break or something?”

“ih-hIHKSH-n! ‘ksshnt-! -snf- N-no, I - hh’AKSh-! snf- I’m a-aaaHHKSHH!h’akSHH-!! I’m, alright-‘kkshh!…-snf..” He blasts his nose into the soggy cloth, turning away from his friend’s worried gaze. After a slight pause to catch his breath, he straightens up, trying to conceal his sniffling in the folds of the pseudo-handkerchief.

Unfortunately, he’s not quite sure where the herbs might be - his nose is certainly very distracted and it’s rather embarrassing to admit. So, holding his breath this time, he walks blindly into the woods where he thinks the scent had been wafting from. As he calls back to his friend, Kazuha has to fight to keep his voice level. “..L-et’s go, th-the skies won’t stay- ihkshh!! snf.. won’t stay-- iiiHHHKSHH-!! ..s-stay clear for long.” (And neither will his sinuses, as he blows his nose again in an effort to trace the herb’s scent once again.)

His hand is tightly pressed against his nose, and he squeezes his eyes shut with a quiet stifled fit. “iihKSH! ih-k’shT-! i-i’kSHihh-!!”

He’s far ahead enough of his friend that they’re silent, masked by the sound of rustling leaves. Not so easily hidden is the crimson hue that the rims of his nostrils have taken on, and the steady stream of involuntary sniffles that keep uselessly attempting to rid his sinuses of the annoying itchy feeling.

“You sure this is the right way?” His friend calls, starting to close the distance, because Kazuha’s starting to slow, unable to see through a hazy fog of itchiness and of tears arising from the forceful fits. “I think we might’ve just walked in a circle. Isn’t this where we camped last night?”

Alarmed, Kazuha stops, blinking the bleariness out of his eyes. His heart sinks as his gaze lands upona very familiar tree. “..Yes, this is indeed where we…” A sharp sniffle interrupts him, and wearily he brings his hand up, rubbing at his nose. “..snf-snff.. I’m sorry, friend, I think.. ihhKSHH-! I think I got confused.”

His blond companion tsks, studying the scenery as he strolls over their former campsite. “You’ve sneezed like, what, a hundred times in the last few minutes alone. Is the smell of the storm that distracting?”

The guilt in the samurai’s stomach twists like a sword. Why can’t he stop sneezing? “I r-really am sorry, I didn’t - snff-! - Didn’t expect - snff-! to be so..snf-..” A scrunched up nose points to the source of his problems, yet he soldiers on, voice wavering more and more dangerously; “Th-the i-itch, it - snff-!!.. snf!..sorry, it- snff-!! ihiiihhh-it’s…”

He pauses, a hand raised to hover under his nostrils. He waits, hoping for the irritation to fade - and, to his dismay, the itch proves too overwhelming. His nose scrunches up, a sniffle to dissuade the tickle from spreading fails miserably, and a moment later his hitching gasp completely derails his train of thought. “I-I haftasne-eze…” Kazuha whispers in a rush, an eye already sliding shut even as he fights to keep them open -

“iihhIIIHHESSHIUU-!! h’ahhISHH! h’AHHkSHH-!! h’kSHIIYUU-ha’akshIYUU-!!”

His hands are soiled, but he continues to try to sneeze quietly into them - key word being try -

“ii’iIYYEshh!! N’kshh!! h-kSHH-!!h’iKSHh-!!”

“Maybe we should turn back after all…” Kazuha’s friend finally says. His hand settles against Kazuha’s shoulders, which shudder with every badly-stifled sneeze. “We can make it back to the village by nightfall, and I remember the way.”

“N-ot until we- hhAHHSHn-! h’AAHKsh-! until we f-iiHHKSSHHIYUU-!! find the - IHHKSHHyyIU!! th-the her’kshhhiiu-! h’ehYIISHH-!!”

“Kazu, I can’t even understand what you’re saying.” His friend murmurs gently, smoothing loose strands of hair out of the samurai’s face as he jolts forward with a fittish sneeze. As he rears back with another gasp, the man deftly catches the scrunched up nose with his fingers. A frown forms on his fair face as the back of his hand brushes Kazuha’s forehead. “That’s it, we’re going.”

There’s no way he can argue now, incapacitated with an itchy fit burning its way through his nostrils. The boy’s nose quivers, held hostage by his friend’s well-intentioned fingers, yet the sneezes aren’t quite willing to simply wilt away on command; nay, they surge forward, the stifled nature sending sharp pains through Kazuha’s abdomen.

“-iik-shTT-! hi’ikSHH! h’kSHH-t!! h’nkSHh-!!”

A small involuntary whine alerts his friend, who quickly releases the poor, crimson-red abused nostrils - which instantly flare as Kazuha’s face crumples into a desperate expression -

“-hhieEESHHIyyUUUU-!! h’iiYEESHHIIIi-!!h’kkSSHHII-!’kSHHyiiiUUU-!!! h-hh-hHHIIYEEIISHHHIIIIuu-!!h-hh--hhii---hh’ii-iiih-EEKSHHHYIIUUUUUU-!!!”

A particularly hard sneeze makes him stumble forward, and Kazuha most definitely would have ended up face-planting, had his friend not been standing there.

“Ok, ok. You’d better sit down.” A steadying hand on his back guides him onto the forest floor. He’s grateful, as he’s terribly dizzy for some reason. But as much as Kazuha wants to thank his friend he can’t, not when his breaths are seized by the urge to expel as much air as possible in the form of helpless sneezes.

“-YIIIIEEESHHH-!! h’yiIEESHH!!..h’kSHHHIIIIIiyuuu!!”

He’s too busy gasping to speak in detail, but his message is urgent. Even despite the miasma of hazy scents, the samurai’s senses are filled with the static of lightning. The storm is upon them, and his nostrils are very displeased with the turn in weather. Kazuha pinches his horribly itching nostrils, voice squeaking amidst a flurry of sneezes - “hii’kSh! h’KSHI-! G-guhh-nda -hhAA’ksHH!! h’kSH-! r-rain-nh’akkSHH!!”

The storm chooses that exact moment (right on schedule according to the intensifying tickle in Kazuha’s nose) to materialize above the two, a booming clap of thunder heralding its appearance. Fat raindrops patter onto the leaves above them, wind rushes against heavy branches, and Kazuha’s friend stares upward, muttering a string of curses as the fury of the skies pounds against their backs.

“Shoulda listened to you, huh?” The blonde, now very soggy-haired boy remarks, as he leans closer to his friend, a hand protectively shielding the pre-occupied, red-nosed samurai from the pouring rain. The other hand tugs at his arm, helping him to stand. “C’mon, let’s hurry…”

Kazuha isn’t quite sure what happens next, on account of the fact that his eyes are squeezed shut, and his breaths are stolen by sneeze after sneeze. All he knows is that the world is all dark but his nose and throat are on fire. Through cold and soaking freezing wet he stumbles, depending solely on his friend’s guidance, he shudders from the cold and sprays sneezes indiscriminately into the brush they are crashing through. He’s glad his eyes are shut because he’s pretty certain that he would not be able to walk in a straight line - actually, it’s a miracle he’s still on his feet, thanks mostly to the fact that most of his weight is being supported by his companion.

“Just a little further,” a voice urges, and he can’t quite place who it is. He feels rather strange, and very tired, and very dizzy, and his nose itches badly, so he stifles yet another sneeze into his elbow - “hi’kshh!!”

Their footsteps eventually sound different, as if they are against rock rather than spongy brush, and Kazuha dazedly wonders if they’ve entered a cave, from the way that the noises echo - but that can’t be right. He can’t smell the damp scent of mushrooms and stagnant water, nor the dusty scent of stones. An experimental sniff yields nothing - his nose is entirely too stuffed up for that, and he’s left coughing, his throat burning from the failed attempt at sensing his surroundings. A moment of panic, as if he’d been blinded, fills his crippled senses, but he’s quickly soothed by a comforting hand upon his shoulder. “We’ll stop here.”

Something dry, and soft, is eventually pressed against his nostrils, and Kazuha uses the last of his breath to blow his congested-yet-runny nose into its folds. It helps, somewhat, and with a shuddering breath he can once again open his eyes.

His friend is there, and when he catches sight of Kazuha looking back at him, he exhales with relief. “You alright?”

Kazuha nods, although that hurts his head, and he tries for a weak smile. “Yeah, I-” He realizes that his nose is scrunched up. With a shaky sigh, he pinches at his nose. “...Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I shoulda listened to you when you said it was going to storm in the first place.” The blonde blows steadily into a small stack of sticks, and a fire flickers to life.

The smoke is strong-scented enough that it burns through Kazuha’s congestion, and he pulls away, a sneeze erupting swiftly from his liberated sinuses - “hhyAA-ISHH!! hy-AiISSHIUU-!!” Hurriedly he presses the cloth against his nose, a flush settling on his features.

“Bless you. Times, like, a thousand.”

“Thag you.” Kazuha blows his nose into the fabric. It’s rather ineffective, with the congestion barely budging from his stuffy nostrils, but his head hurts so badly that he doesn’t have the strength to try again. “Where are we..?” It feels strange to ask, to be so disoriented, but he truly has no idea. It is as if someone has stolen his vision, or tied his hands behind his back.

His friend shrugs, his hand in a small patch of peculiar-looking sprouts. “No idea. But these are really annoying.” He pokes at them. “They keep sticking to my clothes. And my hands.” A pause, in which he shakes his fingers free of the clinging vines - he freezes, staring at the plants.

Then he yelps with surprise, holding up a sprig of green leaves. “Wh-hey, this is it! The herb they were talking about!” He holds it up so that the samurai can inspect it, beaming from ear to ear.

The boy sniffles, his abdomen sore from all the stifling, but he forces himself to sniff the sprig - the subtle fragrance fills his nostrils, but his entire nose is so full of itchiness and all sorts of overwhelming smells mixing together and it’s giving him an awful headache at this point - he winces, pinching his aching nostrils as a sneeze sneaks up on him - “h’ksshh-‘ksht-!!” Thankfully the other man has pulled the plant away, eyes widening with recognition, apologizing profusely - “Shit, sorry Kaz-“

The boy shakes his head, mouth already open - “hh’aKKSHHyii! h’kSHH!!...do’t abologize.” A harsh sniffle against the thick congestion - which makes him cough, slightly - and a swipe at his dripping nostrils leaves him in a slightly better position than before (or so he thinks). “..snff….Th-then, we cad-h’aKKSHH-!!h’kSHH!!......snff..” Kazuha rubs at his nose, groaning slightly as it fails to rid his nose of the irritation. “We ca-d..snff..g-go back. We have what we were lookig for..”

Despite his words, he doesn’t really want to move from his position, his entire body feeling as though it had been weighed down. He feels a bit like he’s being crushed at the bottom of the ocean, and the thick congestion and snot running from his nose, forcing him to breathe shallowly through his mouth, makes that a very apt metaphor to his situation. Not helping is the feeling of sand in his throat, which only contributes to the simile. He coughs again, and that sets the world spinning - he has to close his eyes for a brief second.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s to his friend staring at him as if he’s grown another pair of ears. “Don’t be ridiculous, Kazuha, you can barely stand. Or breathe without sneezing. You’re obviously sick.”

Kazuha stares back. It takes a few seconds for the words to click. “...Sorry?”

His companion nods regretfully, reaching forward tenderly. He can’t suppress a small shudder as the cool hand alights against his forehead. “Yup, I was right - you’re running a fever.” He whistles, pity written all over his face. “Earlier, I thought you were a little warm, and now there’s no doubt. Can’t be fun in a rainstorm.”

Kazuha feels so awful that he doesn’t even have the strength to protest. Instead, he gives a little fluttering sigh, sinking down against his friend’s chest. “Ah. That bight explain… why by dose is so i-hiiihh-!..i-tchy..”

The warmth he’s lying against shakes with a slight chuckle. “Never change, Kazuha.”

#my fic #asks #snzfic #sneeze fic #snzblr #genshin snzpact #g/enshin i/mpact #k/azuha #snz

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liaromancewriter · 1 year

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Valentine Memories

Premise: When Alan finds a box of childhood memorabilia, Cassie teases Ethan about his romantic past.

Book: Open Heart (post series) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: General. Fluff. Words: 1,625

A/N: This is based on an ask I received from @jerzwriter. Submission for @choicesmonthlychallenge To Be prompt "XOXO"; @choicesholidays Valentine's Day prompt "Be my valentine"; @choices-february2023, Day 14 prompt "Valentine's Day"; @choicesficwriterscreations Valentine's Day event.

It was a bright blue winter day with freshly fallen snow dotting the flat green landscape around Interstate 90. They left Boston late enough to avoid the weekend crowds heading off to ski lodges in the vicinity but early enough to make a day of it in Providence.

When the car turned toward I-95, the south-easterly sun’s harsh rays bounced off the windshield. Briefly blinded, Cassie Valentine pulled the visor down and silently cursed.

She meant to grab her sunglasses before leaving the apartment, but she’d overslept and had been in a rush. The last thing she wanted was for Ethan to give her a look that implied he hadn’t truly expected her to be ready on time.

The delectable Dr. Ramsey could be a real troll on occasion.

“Here.”

Cassie looked over to see Ethan holding out a pair of sunglasses with dark plastic lenses. His own were parked on the bridge of his nose, hiding his laser-blue eyes. So she wondered where these had come from. She arched one brow as she put them on, relieved when her eyes no longer squinted against the sun.

“You never seem to have a pair on you when you need them,” he explained, reading her thoughts perfectly. “I picked up a couple of cheap drugstore ones to keep in the car.”

Annoyed at his superior tone, Cassie harrumphed and folded her arms, only to unfold them seconds later as she chuckled at the implication. This wasn’t the first time she’d forgotten her glasses, so she really couldn’t blame Ethan.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” She shook her head in amusement.

“Top of the class, Valentine,” he drawled.

Cassie rolled her eyes and turned up the volume instead, singing along to the chorus of The Black Keys’ Wild Child.

They drove in companionable silence towards his childhood home for Ethan’s monthly visit to see his father. Cassie had insisted on coming even though she had made plans to go couch shopping with Bryce. Her friend understood the last-minute notice.

The more their relationship progressed, the more she was determined to make Ethan stop compartmentalizing their lives. Visiting Alan was an important part, especially since Ethan was heartily welcomed into her own family.

As they neared Providence, Ethan exited the interstate and joined traffic winding through the city streets. The scenery outside gradually changed from gentrified neighborhoods to middle-class subdivisions until he turned down a familiar road.

This part of town was older, the streets lined with modest houses, all a bit worse for wear, snow covering pitched roofs and small yards. Cassie spied four young boys in a small park up ahead, throwing snowballs at each other, their laughter ringing through the air.

“Did you ever do that?” she asked, tilting her head to indicate the boys.

Ethan followed her gaze, and his face softened in nostalgia. “As much as possible. You can’t live in New England and not have snowball fights.”

As they neared his father’s house, he slowed the car and parked along the curb.

“My friends and I would pray for a snow day,” Ethan continued, switching off the ignition, his eyes still on the boys. “And when we got one, we spent all day outside building a snow fort and engaging in all-out war. We had complicated hand signals and code words, the whole shebang.”

“Max and I always save the first snowball fight for Tony. Team Double Trouble, you know.” She grinned wickedly. “If he can beat us, he can join a twin activity. Otherwise, it’s Twin Time, Butt Out.”

She laughed in recollection as they exited the car. “Tony hasn’t managed to beat us yet, much to his chagrin.”

Alan must have been watching out for them. Cassie saw him come outside on the porch, rubbing his arms against the cold temperatures. Ethan walked around the front of the car to join her on the sidewalk, taking her hand in his.

“Welcome, welcome,” Alan greeted as they walked up the short steps.

Father and son hugged briefly while Cassie took Alan’s outstretched hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Let’s get out of the cold,” Alan said, waving his hand to have her precede him, with Ethan bringing up the rear. “Had a feeling you’d be near, so I put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

Cassie and Ethan took off their winter boots inside the door, hung up their winter coats in the hallway closet and joined Alan in the living room.

The scent of brewed coffee and lemon furniture polish hung in the air, making Cassie’s nose twitch in appreciation. The furniture was old but well cared for, and there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.

She always liked how Ethan’s place was neat and tidy. It looked like this was another trait he had inherited from his father.

Soon they were enjoying their coffee and cookies. Alan caught them up on his happenings, and they did the same. When the talk turned to Ethan’s relatives, Cassie leaned her head on Ethan’s shoulder and settled in to enjoy this glimpse into his life.

A short while later, Alan got up from his seat, reached behind the armchair and lifted a cardboard box off the floor. Ethan’s name was scrawled on the outside in black marker.

“I was cleaning out the attic and came upon this box of your old stuff,” he said, setting the box down on the coffee table. “Thought you might want to go through it, son, and see if there’s anything you want to take back to Boston.”

Brows furrowed, Ethan lifted the flaps slowly. “I’m sure it’s nothing worth keeping.”

“Not so fast, babe,” Cassie cut in, reaching in to grab a thick folder. “Ethan’s report cards, grades one to three,” she read out loud. “Pay dirt.”

Ethan tried to grab the folder, but she simply moved her hand out of reach. She quickly scanned a couple of report cards and nodded in confirmation. She looked over the top of the folder, her green eyes sparkling with laughter.

“Gold stars? Not surprising,” she teased, sticking her tongue out at him. “But it says here, ‘Highly intelligent. Needs to think before speaking.’”

“It does not say that,” he protested, swallowing back the rest when she shoved the report card in front of his face, the words clearly written in red pen. “Oh.”

“Never had to worry about his grades,” Alan told Cassie, smiling as his eyes tracked between her and Ethan. “However, I can’t tell you how many parent-teacher meetings ended with, ‘Mr. Ramsey, your son is a gifted student, but he needs to learn to show more respect to his fellow classmates and teachers.’”

Alan mimicked the last, making Ethan utter “Christ!” under his breath and pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah…,” Cassie mused, tapping one finger against her lips as she watched Ethan with a considering look. “That sounds about right. He might be Chief Ramsey now, but his people skills haven’t improved.”

Alan winked conspiratorially at Cassie and picked up the tray with their used coffee cups and plates to carry into the kitchen.

Ethan snatched the file out of her hands and shoved it back inside the box a little too forcefully, causing a thick paper pink card to pop up from the folds. He groaned when Cassie’s eyes lit up, and she tugged the card out before he could stop her.

“Did you make this Valentine’s Day card in class?” Cassie teased, turning the card over, glitter shimmering on her fingertips. “How come you never made me one?”

“You don’t celebrate the thing, remember?” he said, shoving his fingers through his hair. “Certainly makes my life easier, having a girlfriend that doesn’t want the fuss or muss.”

“Au contraire, Dr. Ramsey,” Cassie scoffed, flipping the card open. “I expect both the fuss and muss, just not on the Day That Shall Remain Nameless. You have three hundred and sixty-four days—three sixty-five during a Leap Year—to spoil me rotten.”

She guffawed when she read the message inscribed in purple pen, more glittery hearts sprinkled inside. “Dear Ethan. Please be my valentine. I heart you. So much. XOXO. Melanie.”

Cassie looked up from the card and shared a teasing glance with Alan, who walked back into the room and sat down in the armchair.

She schooled her features and threw Ethan a disgruntled look. “You’ve been holding out on me, babe. Who’s this floozy Melanie? And why does she think she can put the moves on my man?”

“The hell if I know,” Ethan growled. “I don’t even know what grade this is from.”

Cassie examined the card. “Based on the style, glitter usage and mix of cursive and block writing, third or fourth grade would be my guess.”

“Another thing Ethan was never short of,” Alan added, nodding sagely, chin propped on the heel of his hand. “The stories I could tell you about girls dropping by the house, calling at all hours, trying to get his attention. There are probably a few Valentine’s Day cards tucked inside that box. ”

“Not helping, Dad.” Agitated, Ethan shoved off the couch and towered over her, hands on his hips. “And what the hell, Cassie? I didn’t even know you then!”

Ethan knew he’d just been had when Cassie and his dad shared a look and then burst into laughter. She clutched her belly and doubled over, her body shaking with mirth, gasping for air with tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

Ethan did the only thing he could think of to shut her up. He tugged her off the couch and into his arms, framed her face between his hands, and kissed the laughter away.

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

All Fics & Edits: @a-crepusculo @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @takemyopenheart @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey

#ethan ramsey #open heart #choices open heart #ethan ramsey x mc #writers on tumblr #choices fic writers creations #cfwc valentines 2023 #open heart fanfics #choices fanfics #open heart fanfiction #choices fanfiction #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine #choicesfebruary2023

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nighttimescribbles2 · 2 years

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Textures of You

A summer morning with Zeke. zeke x reader; modern au; artist!reader; fluff; soft things; vignette. wc: 1008 a/n: written in solidarity for my uk babes melting in the heatwave. may you find relief and a silver lining. for my artist friends, too. ❤️ conjured up by Lana del Rey's 'Love'.

Midmorning glinted from dusty window panes. Summer shimmered in the air of your one-bedroom apartment. The coconut shell planter hanging by the window groaned under the blazing sunlight. From it, the heart-shaped leaves of Zeke’s philodendrons drooped in the promise of heat.

In the little easterly-facing corner, just out of a lengthening patch of sun, Zeke’s bookcase - stuffed with well-thumbed books, frequently shuffled in parts and beginning to spore cobwebs in other - and the record player crowning its head, sighed. Opposite it were your haphazard piles of art books, some precious treasures purchased for tidy fortunes, but most salvaged from flea markets and used book shops. They were joined by canvases of all shapes and sizes - drier ones stacked leaning against one another, and fresher ones lining the walls all the way around your modest little apartment. All were pungent from the stuff of dreams, of linseed and turpentine and pigment.

Zeke tripped over them sometimes in the middle of the night on his way to the kitchen for a glass of water.

At the heart of all this was a nook you created for yourself, a little space just enough for you, cross-legged, fortified by palettes and paint knives, by bottles and brushes, sketches and the scatter of pencils. Sweltering in mis-matched cotton bra and panties, hair knotted into a tumbling bun, you attacked your latest piece, a paint-slashed canvas rattling against its wall-easel.

A mug of stale coffee rippled in the space between your folded legs.

Somewhere in the deeper, cooler parts of the house, your bedroom door opened. Zeke’s footsteps carried him to you. He reeked of unsound sleep, off a droll, drowsy laziness weary of tossing in the heat.

Squinting disdainfully at the square of sunlight and the kingdom it has so far conquered, he yawned, knocked his spectacles awry as he rubbed his eyes, and squeezed onto the floor beside you. In only his boxers, he leaned down to press a prickly kiss to your shoulder.

Your skin was salty.

“You didn’t come to bed last night.” Parched throat, gravelly voice. He nosed the bird’s nest that was your hair. You were musky, haloed by the scent of concentration and the lingering sweat beading from your hairline all the way down your barely clothed back.

He breathed it all in.

You shivered a little. Rolled your shoulder at the tickle. Murmured, “Took hold of me,” and put brush, pregnant with blue and white paint, to canvas. It left a thick streak of satisfyingly cool colour.

The side of Zeke’s head knocked against yours. The vibration of his humming soothed your skull. “What did?” he rumbled back.

“My dreams.”

Your canvas was a hallucination of colour, of blues and large swathes of purple universes and the yellow-orange roar of bushfires blazing beneath. In between them, a mad tango of paint streaked and blotted and splashed in protest of the blistering summer inferno.

Zeke grunted approval like he understood. The tip of his nose, blessedly cooler than the rest of him, skipped over your cheek, paused to let him kiss the corner of your coffee-stained lips, and proceeded down your chin, jaw, and neck.

“No wonder you couldn’t sleep,” he breathed.

You met him in kind. Fingertips skimmed taut, hot biceps. Mouth opened to kiss his hair, his temple, the glass of his spectacles and the bridge of his nose. His chest was soft with downy hair.

He came up for air. Swept an arc down your glistening back and pushed into you tongue first.

The mug between your legs sloshed. The brush in your hand clattered into it. You had just enough presence of mind and time to move it to a dark alcove between finished canvases before the arm you leaned on gave and Zeke tumbled you to the floor, his large hand cushioning your head.

“It’s so hot,” you groaned.

“I know, baby.”

Muggy heat hung over and between you. Skin dampened against skin. You bent your leg. His side was sweaty, and rippled with power. Hips descended upon yours. His desire dug into your belly.

Summer beat down on you. Underneath your back, the wood was like scorched cinders. His knees scrabbled between yours, spread them apart as he devoured your throat. His promise rumbled between your breasts,

“We’ll sleep again after this.”

—

Summer Morning, you wanted to call it.

Love, he insisted, for it said everything about the picture: joined wrists, joined hands, locked at the fingertips. Tangled arms warmed under a brilliant patch of sunlight. The wreath of your hair spilled across the amber floor. His broad back, beginning to tan, hovering over you. Then a hint of your face: of beautifully arched eyebrows, fluttering lashes, and the beginnings of a full pout. Crumpled sketches were your carpet, upended bottles and their watery contents spilling rainbows across the bare wood. Tangled legs, toppled canvases. The heavy implication of a passionate kiss.

You relented. Agreed to call it ‘Love’.

“Leanings of Van Gogh, don’t you think?” you asked. Thick applications of paint, saturated colours.

He chewed it over. Pronounced, “Manet.” Sentimentality underneath it all. Cloud-like brush-strokes. Raw soul.

You pursed your lips. Said, “Klimt,” just to be petty.

“Oi.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re supposed to be the artist here. You know very well that’s nowhere inspired by Klimt.”

You loved that he knew that now. Loved that he picked up so much after two years of enduring you.

You told him you wanted to include it in the collection you were submitting for exhibition.

He frowned. “What’s the asking price? I’ll buy it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nobody knows the man in there was modelled after you.”

“I’ll buy it,” he insisted.

You gave it to him.

Now you stood at the narrow threshold to your bedroom, arms around each other’s waists.

“I was wrong,” Zeke said after a moment’s contemplation. “It’s not like a Manet at all.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “What’s it like, then?”

“You.”

Across the room, above your shared bed, ‘Love’ hung.

#aot zeke #zeke yeager x reader #zeke x reader #zeke jaeger #zeke yeager

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violetthekiller · 11 months

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My window is easterly facing so I wake up to the sun shining in every day. I also wake up sweating my ass off

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noordzee · 1 year

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I said I'd do Heraldecember, and boy am I! At first I was a little uncertain about what to do and nervous over my lack of experience, but yesterday I started getting ideas, and once I started drawing them I couldn't stop! So uh here's the first four days' worth already, because I got carried away :'D

1: Delagol: Or, a chief enarched reversed invected vert with fawn dormant proper. Looking up bits of the names on etymonline gave me dell and a colloquial offshoot dingle, ("a deep dell or secluded hollow, usually wooded") and it put me in mind of a protected glade, with a fawn safely asleep. Perhaps this town started out in a forest, or has a culture of sanctuary.

2: Birkey: Argent, a bend tenne billetty sable. A canting (punning) design that looks like birch bark. The brown stripe represents the inner layer of bark that is revealed when you pull up the white.

3: Wyldecliff: Argent, per fesse wavy bleu celeste between three beach roses rose. I really love wild beach roses, which happily grow right along cliff faces overlooking the sea.

4: Michalenko: Azure, three estoile over goose close argent mantling gosling or. I looked up the archangel Michael, and a common trait across cultures is of him being a protector. There are a LOT of crests with Michael holding a shield and sword or stomping on dragon-satan, though, and I didn't much feel like drawing that. I went back to the idea of safety and warmth from day 1, and drew a goose protecting its gosling at night. (As a thematic plus, goose is a traditional food at British Michaelmas feasts! Though "Michalenko" suggests a more easterly origin to the family.)

This is a lot of fun so far, thank you for putting this together, @heraldecember!

#heraldecember #heraldecember2022 #heraldry #artists on tumblr #illustration #digital #vector art #this is also a great way to get used to using the iPad #I still prefer the full desktop Illustrator program though...#mannn i hope I got the blazoning right #or close as possible #I seem to have a knack for designing things and then finding out apparently nobody has put that on a shield in human history #the billets on day 2 were originally horizontal to look more like bark on the tree but i couldn't figure out how to describe it #daily art challenge

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kinomiya · 2 years

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Ultraviolence

@aquariasmoon-blog i actually don’t even wanna talk about this (/lie)

——————————

ultraviolence.

ul·tra·vi·o·lence | \ əl-trə-ˈvī-lən(t)s \

extreme or excessive violence.

He didn’t know how he’d ended up here.

A minor injury sustained during competition that had delayed his return to Russia because overly cautious physicians had refused to clear him to fly. Followed by an unseasonably early, unusually easterly typhoon threatening catastrophic damage to the Honshu region of Japan and now he was stuck in this monolithic traditional Japanese home surrounded by a bunch of glorified wild animals that Tala quite frankly, wanted to hunt down one by one and slaughter like the beasts they were emulating.

Tala clenched his jaw, his face resting in the palms of his hands, fingers pressing hard into his forehead as he willed himself to dispel the intrusive thoughts swirling in his mind. The people congregating around him weren’t animals after all, they were his… friends. He exhaled loudly, the hint of a malevolent laugh.

What a joke, what a complete and utter joke.

Before his annoyance could subside completely, it began to swell again, overflowing out of its containment worsening every thought. Exacerbated by the piercing sound of jovial laughter from the one person he had come to utterly abhor.

Kinomiya fucking Takao.

The sound of the boy's carefree giggles made Tala want nothing more than to grab him by his scrawny neck and slam his face into the hardwood floors until he stopped laughing. He wanted to paint the floorboards with red streaks as his prey pleaded for mercy and he wanted to reward his efforts by leaning down and biting off his—

“Tala.” Came Takao’s voice, breaking him out of his violent reverie.

“What?” He snapped back, the acid dripping off every syllable was completely ignored by the boy standing in front of him.

“You look like you're overwhelmed, let me take you somewhere quiet.” He spoke softly, leaving the rest of the room's occupants oblivious to their conversation.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Kinomiya.” He hissed back in response, but his objection was ignored as Takao simply beckoned him silently to follow.

His first instinct was to cross his arms and remain in the same place, but the scowl on his face intensified when he realized he was acting like a petulant child throwing a temper tantrum. So with a nearly inaudible snarl he pushed himself up off the floor and stalked after the younger boy who’d exited the room several moments prior.

The light from the room behind him cast light through the dark hallway illuminating where Takao was leaning against the wall, nonchalantly scrolling through his phone. He only spared a glance in Tala’s direction when he heard the click of the door behind him and the room was cast into pitch black sans the small light from the device in his hand.

“The doctors said you have to be mindful of your head.” Takao spoke finally, stretching his arms over his head casually, his shirt riding up slightly, before he pushed himself off the wall and effortlessly traversed the dark corridor.

“My head is fucking fine.” Despite the hostility of his words, Tala still followed the other teenager further into the depths of the massive, unfamiliar dwelling, ignoring the hair on the back of his neck as it stood on end.

“Hmmm.” Takao hummed with an air of disinterest that made one of Tala’s eyebrows twitch, if he didn’t actually care then why had he felt the need to interrupt his thoughts and drag him down a desolate hallway to some unknown destination.

Eventually he’d stop at a door, placing his hand on the knob and turning before pushing the door open and moving to the side, silently beckoning Tala to enter first. Never a coward he did, and when the teenager behind him flicked the lights what was revealed to him was… a plain office. An empty desk stood under a window on the far end while a couple of bookshelves lined the walls on either side. Tala turned towards Takao, an eyebrow raised.

“No one will come in here, thought you might like the privacy.” Takao answered Tala’s unspoken question, but the explanation failed to lighten the mood, if anything it did the complete opposite, causing a sour atmosphere to descend on the room. An angered expression spread across Tala’s face as he considered the implications

How fucking dare he.

In an instant, Tala’s fragile composure slipped away and he stalked towards Takao closing the distance between them in seconds. He grabbed the younger man by the chin, shoving him backwards until he ran into the empty desk with a loud thud, all the while never redirecting his intense gaze from Tala’s own.

“Don’t you ever suggest I’m one of your strays that needs saving… Kinomiya.” He spoke softly into the younger teenager's ear, with icy fury bubbling below the surface. He felt the shiver run down his adversaries back. Victory.

But as satisfaction began to seep into his pores he felt the man he had pinned between him and the desk move, grabbing onto his forearm, and in a blur of motion he found their roles reversed. His left cheek resting firmly against the cold wooden desktop and his hands pinned behind his back, Takao was above him looking down, devoid of the satisfaction he’d expected.

Takao languidly leaned towards him, his face so close he could feel the hot breath on his cheek and smell the vaguely minty fragrance of some since discarded gum he’d been chewing that day. Tala could hear the office clock ticking loudly with every passing second as he braced for whatever came next, eventually he’d hear a soft chuckle from the man above him

“I wasn’t suggesting that… I just want you to… relax a little.” He whispered tenderly into Tala’s ear, his free hand moving to grasp his chin and tilt his face to the right.

Tala only registered the reality of the kiss when he felt Takao’s tongue coyly lick his lower lip before he leaned back away from the Russian, releasing his arms from their pinned position and wordlessly exiting through the office door.

Eventually, he exhaled, relishing for a moment in the peacefulness of the empty room. Slowly Tala rolled over on the desk until his back was pressed hard against the wood, then he closed his eyes, before raising an arm to cover part of his face.

A fiendish smile danced across his lips.

So this was how it was going to be was it?

Then Tala supposed he’d let Kinomiya keep his tongue for now.

#beyblade #bakuten shoot beyblade #takao kinomiya #yuriy ivanov #fanfiction #i am the captain of the takao/yuriy ship

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