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#et-SET-air-ahh
1cecreamwillfixit · 2 years
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𝕋𝕠𝕠𝕣𝕦 𝕆𝕚𝕜𝕒𝕨𝕒 - 𝕋𝕠𝕪𝕤
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Sub!Oikawa x Femdom!Reader
Content includes: male penetration, toys (dildo, cockring, vibrator) , degradation, brat taming
Set in the future, both Oikawa and reader are over 18
Enjoy ;)
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"Mmph, ahh-"
Oikawa whined, forcing himself down on the thick dildo, pausing with every inch he took. Tears sprung in his eyes at the burning stretch and he gasped out for air as he sunk lower.
"Please, I-I can't, 's too big ..." He choked out, tears slipping down his flushed cheeks.
You tsked, casting a disapproving glare over the whiny boy. "I warned you of the consequences and yet you still had the nerve to behave like a brat while we were in public. I thought you were better than this, Tooru."
"I-I'm sorry,, plEase I didn't me-ean it" he cried, still gently easing himself down on the enormous dildo, frantic hands pulling at the restraints that bound him to the bedpost.
"Don't try and plead with me, you know how much I hate whining" you stated coldly (you actually loved how needy he sounded when he whined, but today you weren't having it). "You will accept your punishment and I don't want to hear any complaining. Now come on, take it brat. If you're good I might just let you cum."
He groaned as the dildo filled him up, eyes screwing shut as the pain increased. After a few more minutes of struggling under your disappointed eyes he had fully sunk down on it, crying out as it stretched his hole open wide. It reached every hidden corner inside him and he choked as it pressed on his prostate, giving it constant stimulation.
"Well done, baby, you're taking it so well. Now fuck yourself on that pretty cock, Tooru." You commanded, your tone leaving no room for argument. He sobbed but complied, not wanting to test your patience any further.
"Ngh, mmmh fuuck -ah-hah"
He bounced on the toy, breathy moans falling from his perfectly swollen lips, drool already dripping down his chin. His fluffy brown hair moved with every bounce, some of it slicked to his face with sweat. He looked filthy, downright pornographic, but somehow he still looked so breathtakingly pretty.
Minutes passed of your baby just bouncing up and down, moaning and drooling as he got more desperate.
"Mmh pleashe, ne-ed to cum, p-please y/n,, need it s' bad"
You moved quickly, pulling out a cock ring and wrapping it round his drooling cock, preventing him from getting the release he so desperately craved. He screamed, thrashing and twisting, his hips stilling in an attempt to let the orgasm fade away and avoid overstimulating himself.
"I don't recall telling you to stop, bratty boy."
He whined, not moving his hips. Your eyes darkened with anger and you landed a hard slap on his neglected and swollen cock. He screamed again, soft brown eyes glassy and glazed over.
He gingerly started to move again, weak legs trembling as he attempted to bounce on the thick silicone dick, working himself back up to the edge.
"Aaaggh, mhn-hahh,,, ple-ase y/n~"
He cried out, moans escaping him in shallow breaths. "Hm? Do you need something Tooru?" You questioned him mockingly, knowing exactly how he would respond.
He whimpered, flushed face falling forwards on shame before opening his mouth to answer. "Need to c-cum y/n~" he whined, the pain of overstimulation prickling his skin as even more tears rolled down his pretty face.
"Beg for it"
His eyes widened and he bounced faster, getting his hopes up. "Pl-ease y/n please I, fuck, I need t-to cUm so so bad - I wan' fill you up so so good,, please please I-I need it sooo~ bad ..." He babbled on and on, an endless stream of pleas leaving his dry throat.
You cut him off by grabbing his hair and pulling his head back roughly to meet his eyes. "What makes you think you deserve to cum inside me? Such an entitled brat."
He sobbed even more, whining and pleading, drool streaming down his face at this point. "I don't deserve I-it y/n,,,, I-I'm disgusting but -hic- please just le-et me cum p-l-e-a-s-e it hUrts so bad". His voice cracked with every few words, but you weren't done yet.
You reached behind you and grabbed the final object you'd prepared for his punishment: a small bullet vibrator. His eyes widened in panic. "N-no no please y/n,, ple-ase no-o-o"
"I said no whining. Your punishment isn't over yet Tooru." You smiled cruelly and turned on the vibrator, bringing it to touch the sensitive tip of Toorus dick. His pained scream quickly morphed into a loud moan and his dark eyes crossed. You nudged the vibrator down to rest on his sack, enjoying the way he writhed before reaching further up the tease his pretty pebbled nipples.
"Mngh -aah -hah st-top it pl-ea-se" he moaned, whining at the intense pleasure your actions brought him, hips jerking around erratically. You could tell he was extremely overstimulated and decided that he'd been punished enough by now.
In one swift movement you removed the cock ring and wrapped your hand around his dick, jerking it roughly as he came hard.
"Aagh- mnn -hic-"
Cum shot from the tip of his purple cock, coating both of your chests and splattering up his pretty face as well as spilling into your hand. His eyes rolled back and his mouth dropped wide open, his pretty pink tongue hanging out lifelessly. Shallow breaths were leaving him in short gasps as if all the air had been forced out of his lungs.
And with that, he blacked out. His body went limp in your arms. You pressed a few soft kisses to his sweaty forehead before grabbing a warm rag and cleaning him up a bit. He looked so calm, so content and it filled your heart with adoration.
You pulled him into your chest and snuggled under the covers just playing gently with his fluffy hair. Once you realised he hadn't had any water, you shook him gently to wake him. He stirred a little, opening his eyes and smiling lopsidedly at you. He took a few big gulps of water and collapsed back into your chest. "I love you Tooru" you whispered as sleep started to claim his wrecked body.
"I love you more y/n"
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fun fact this is the only fanfic ive written in one sitting (and it shows)
thanks to everyone who’s actually reading these, im sorry im posting so many, im just trying to crosspost everything from my Ao3
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call-me-bread · 4 years
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Shhhh
summary:  Bill, Eddie, and Richie explore the neibolt house, but things turn out differently.
a/n: written for @lesbaliens and the @itfandomprompts Secret Santa 2019! I hope you enjoy and I'm sorry it's not that great. I might come back and fix it sometime.
Eddie is terrified. One second he was being chased by the Leper and the next he's on the floor with Bill on the third floor in front of him. Two sets of terrified blue eyes meet for a minute before either boy dares to move.
"B-bill? What are you doing?" Eddie is the first to stand up, holding out a hand which Bill gladly takes.
"Eddie! Oh th-th-thank g-god." Bill stutters out before his eyes widened again and he quickly tries to get the door next to them open. "E-e-eddie, h-help me g-get th-this d-d-d-door o-open! R-r-r-richie is s-s-stuck in th-ere."
Without thinking twice, the asthmatic boy copies Bill, desperate to free his loud mouthed friend. "R-richie, Eddies is g-gonna help me g-g-et you o-out, ok?" 
"Don't worry Big Bill, Eds. I'm A-ok!" Richie's voice was muffled by the door. "All these clowns remind me of school, ha!" 
Eddie could hear the essence of terror in his voice no matter how hard he disguised it with jokes. "Can you look around for another exit, or something to break the door with?"
"Sure thing Eddie Spaghetti!" The loudmouth's voice grew softer as the floorboards creaked with each step.
"Be c-careful." Bill stuttered as he leaned against the wall.
-----
Clowns filled the room, lined up on each side of the room, leaving the middle open for a walkway lined with red carpet. If Richie was telling the truth, and he didn't most of the time, he felt like he was gonna piss himself.
The only open area where a way out could be was on the other end of the red path. Slowly, Richie made his way down the aisle of dolls, brown eyes flicking side to side, watching each clown as he passed them. Much to his relief, none of the clowns moved or seemed alive.
Reaching the end of the red carpet, Richie stood in front of an old wooden coffin. Much too small to fit an adult, he realized as a pit grew in his stomach, it was the perfect size for a child or teen. 
Question after question ran through the foul mouth's mind as his hands found purchase on the lid of the box. After a second of hesitation, Richie forced the lid up with a grunt and a squeak from the coffin's hinges. 
His shoulders relax in relief but his brows furrowed in confusion at the coffin's emptiness. Still cautious of its emptiness, his eyes flicker up to the boxes lid, a gasp escaping from parted lips at the missing poster from the dining room stapled to it.
The sound of light footsteps echoing through the air from behind him cause Richie to turn around, hoping against all odds that it's his friends and not a nightmarish creature. His prayers fell on deaf ears as his eyes landed on the creature that stood behind him.
A wide eerie smile, plastered on molding baggy skin, greeted Richie's eyes first, followed by black deeply sunken in eyes staring at him. It's wiry frame towered over the boy even with it's toothpick like legs bent at an unnatural angle.
The loud high pitched whine that came from its mouth caused Richie to jerk backward and slam his back against the coffin. His eyes quickly flick to look at the box again before facing the creature again. 
He let out a yelp as the creature was much closer and the smell of must and metal filtered into his nose. "Bill! Eddie!" The things smile widened as he called out, only to be answered by silence.
"Richard," Richie's eyes widened at the sound that came from it, the voice was high in pitch but sounded as if it was coming from anywhere but it. "You're to loud, Richard. You need to shut up."
"You're not real, you're not real." The teens voice comes out wobbly. He squeezes his eyes shut and clench his fist, words tumbling out of his mouth on repeat, growing more desperate with each word. Stopping to take a breath, he's met by silence, the wheezing breath of the creature no longer present. 
Just about to relax, Richie freezes, feeling something soft underneath his back. Slowly inching his left hand across velvety fabric, his knuckles run into a wall. Confused, he moves his right hand and the same thing happens. Panic surges through his veins as his eyes snap open only to be met with the empty eye sockets of the creature inches away from his face. 
His scream only lasted a few seconds before a bony hand clasped over his mouth. "Uh uh uh, didn't I tell you to shut up Richard?" The thing scolded as its other hand rips through its torso's skin and re-emerged with a needle and thick wire-like thread, coated in a black sludge. "I'll just have to shut you up with this."
"No! Nononopleasedontpleasedonthurtme-" It ignored Richie's pleading and struggling as it pinned him down in, what he now realized was, the coffin with its body. Using one hand, the thing gripped Richie's jaw with its fingers and shoved its thumb into his mouth to keep the boy from closing it, while the other hand brought the threaded needle closer.
Richie's pleas were replaced with screaming as the sludge covered needle in forced through the top left corner lips. The sludge burning the open wound and mixed with blood and spit. Slowly the creature worked his way across the boy's mouth, alternating looping the thread through his top and bottom lip. Halfway through, the boys lips when numb with pain, resulting in whimpers instead of screams.
"Ahh, sweet sweet silence." The creature's high voice coos as he finishes sewing the boys mouth together. "You know Richard, everyone will like you much better this way." The hand holding Richie's face pats the boys cheek, pulling a whimper from his throat.
Richie watches as the thing pulls itself off of him and stands next to the coffin, hands on the lid. Pain rushes through him as it speaks, "Beep, beep, Richie~" the lid is slammed down, locking him in the box. 
The curly haired boy's hand quickly finds themselves against the lid, using full force to get the lid to budge. His screaming hurt his throat and lips as they tried to pull apart.
-----
Bill and Eddie sit in the hallway, listening for any telltale noise that Richie was in trouble. They jump at the sudden sound of Richie yelling their name before they scramble to their feet. 
"Richie!" The two yell together as they try the door for what felt like the hundredth time. Still locked. Bill stepped back and quickly rammed his shoulder into the door only to be met with pain.
Eddie grabs Bills hand, "Bill we have to get the others! They can help!" Reluctantly, Bill nods and is pulled behind Eddie through the house and out the front door. It takes only a few minutes to get down to their friends and convince them to come in and help before all six of them are running up the stairs to the room.
A few of them call out for their trashmouth only to receive silence as an answer. They take turns trying to get the door open before Bev walks up will a bat and starts slams it down on the handle a few times, breaking it off. Not wasting a second, Mike shoves the door open with his shoulder and the group files in quickly.
They share a confused and fearful look as they look at the missing poster covering the floors and walls, Richie's smiling face plastered on each of them. Clowns are pushed to the side as they search in the aisles. Hesitantly, Ben walks up to the coffin at the end of the red carpet. "G-guys?"
The others quickly gather around him as he places his hand on the lid. In a quick movement, he forces the lid up and stares at what is written on it in black sludge. 'Shhh'
Gasping from around him cause him to look at the contents of the box, before backing up in shock. Richie quickly springs into a sitting position heaving heavily through his nose and eyes wide is fear. Eddie quickly moves back and heaves onto the ground before joining the group again as Bill and Mike are pulling Richie out of the coffin.
Finally safe in his friends' arms, Richie collapses against them and sobs, blood and sludge staining on their shirts. "We have to get him out of here." The others agree and Bev's words and the hurry out of the house.
"W-w-w-we can g-g-go to my h-house, my p-parents ar-arnt home." Bill suggests and the others comply. The seven of them trekking to their leader's house, prepared to help their trashmouth.
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hearts-hunger · 4 years
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Sweeter than Candy || Freddie Mercury x Reader
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Summary: At Queen’s Halloween party, you and Freddie find that there’s something even sweeter than candy to celebrate with.
Pairings: Freddie Mercury x Reader
Genre: Smut, porn with feelings
Word Count: 2.8k
Warnings: Smut (18+ only please!) oral (m/f receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids)
A/N: This is my Halloqueen event gift for @mrbadguymercury​ - a stunningly talented artist, a whole sweetheart, and the self-proclaimed queen of Freddie’s chest hair! Every time I went on her blog to send her asks, her gorgeous header made curly, red-suspenders Freddie more and more irresistible - and, et voilà, this fic features that very Freddie with a few minor Halloween tweaks. I really hope you like it, Taylor! Happy HalloQueen, honey! 🎃🖤
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“Enjoying yourself, my darling?”
You downed a shot of tequila as you felt your boyfriend’s mouth on your neck, pressing kisses right where your pulse beat, his breath warm on your already flushed skin. You smiled and reached up to put a hand to the side of his face, feeling his sweat-dampened curls holding him close for a moment so you could drink him in, pressed against you with his hands on your waist. You were about to say something flirty when you felt his fingers at your sides; he tickled you until you fell into a fit of giggles, leaning further against him as you tried to get away from his hands. 
“Freddie!” you managed in between gasps of laughter. “Quit it!”
He finally let you go after drawing out a few more seconds of laughter from you, chuckling as he kissed your cheek. “Couldn’t resist.”
You playfully nudged him with your elbow as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you close to him. The press of leather and warm skin against your back was heady, and you turned around to see him in his full costumed glory. Freddie had decided to get more use out of one of his favorite stage costumes of late, the sexy police officer dressed head to toe in shiny black leather. His pants were deliciously tight, his chest bare under the jacket aside from his red-hot suspenders and silver necklace. His police hat sat crooked over his curls, his eyes hidden behind his aviator shades as he grinned at you.
“How do I look?” he asked. You’d been helping set up for the party while Freddie got ready with the boys, wanting to make a grand entrance; you’d seen him at the beginning of the party, when he was fresh from the shower and newly made-up, and he’d looked a bit innocent in an endearing way, like a kid dressing up to go trick-or-treating. Now, though, with his cheeks flushed and his curls mussed and his walk just this side of a swagger thanks a couple shots of vodka, he looked positively ravishing. 
You bit your lip. “You look good enough to eat, Freddie.”
“Do I, now?” He grinned and took off his sunglasses so he could see you better. “So do you.” 
He leaned close to kiss you deeply, bracketing you in with his hands on the bar behind you. You sighed against his mouth and put your hands on his chest, loving the familiar and delicious scruff of the dark curls there.
“You know it’s Halloween,” you said in between kisses.
He chuckled. “Yeah? I couldn’t tell, since you dress up like a jungle cat every other day of the year.”
You’d picked a simple costume, a leopard-print dress and thigh-high black stiletto boots. You’d drawn a little nose and whiskers on your face with makeup, and a headband with two cat ears was lost somewhere in your teased hair.
“I don’t think you’d be complaining if I did,” you teased.
He smirked. “Not at all, honey, I think it’s dreadfully sexy. You won’t hear anything but contented Freddie-noises from me.”
You laughed, happily more than familiar with the so-called contented-Freddie noises. They were among your favorite sounds, closely matched by his singing voice and the way he called you “honey”. He gave a soft laugh as he nuzzled against your neck, his fingers glancing over the straps of your dress.
“I haven’t had any candy yet,” you said, a little distracted by his touch. 
“No?” He nipped at your collarbone. “That’s a shame. Not really Halloween without candy, hm?”
He nudged his thigh between your legs; you bit your lip and gave a soft groan and the feel of the leather against your skin and his warmth so close to your core.
“I don’t need candy, though,” he said in a low voice. “Not when I’ve got something so much sweeter.”
You gasped when his hand snaked down to glance under the hem of your dress, his fingers tracing slowly up your thighs. You felt yourself blush; you were in a room full of people, and if Freddie wasn’t careful, he’d have you an absolute mess in front of the whole party. Not that you minded, necessarily, but you felt a mischievous desire to give him a taste of his own medicine.
“Maybe I want some too,” you said against his mouth. You moved your hand downwards, brushing over his chest, until you reached the waistband of his pants. “I can think of something I’d like to taste more than candy.”
He sucked in a sharp breath as you palmed him through the tight leather, feeling him respond instantly to your touch. You gave a pleased smirk and bit his bottom lip, tugging just enough to make him give a small whine.
“Take me somewhere,” you said.
He gave you a bemused look, a little blissed out already. “Take you somewhere?” he repeated.
You laughed. “As much as I want you, Freddie, I’m not blowing you in front of this entire party.”
His eyes widened. “Oh - oh, okay.” He grinned and gave you a quick kiss before taking your hand in his, pulling you from the bar and winding through the crowd. You giggled at his enthusiasm, giving red-faced smiles to well-wishers that offered their congratulations and wolf-whistles to those who could tell exactly what Freddie was whisking you away for.
He found a bathroom on the second floor of the massive house of whoever was hosting the party - you’d forgotten, and it was probably one of the dozens of filthy rich friends the boys had made over their career. It didn’t matter to you whose house it was, not at the moment; all you cared about was getting Freddie alone so you could have your way with him like you’d been wanting to all night.
You locked the door behind you and turned to your boyfriend, equal parts endeared and driven wild by the flush in his cheeks and the outline of his cock in his pants. He looked like a lovestruck teenager, and you wanted to hear his pretty moans and make him come undone.
“I love you, Freddie,” you said, walking over to him and kissing him deeply. You eased his jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor behind him, your tongue in his mouth as you put your hands to his chest.
“God, I love you too,” he said hoarsely. He took his hat off and tossed it across the room, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing you close to him. He kissed you like he meant it, and you let yourself get lost in the headiness of it.
You traced your thumb over his bottom lip when you came up for air. “I’ll have you know I’ve been waiting very patiently for you.”
He grinned. “I appreciate that. Me too, though perhaps not as patiently as you.”
That was probably true; you could feel his cock as you pressed against him, and it made you nearly dizzy with pleasure.
“Maybe I can do something about that,” you said coyly. You kissed him again before sinking to your knees in front of him, tracing your hands down his body all the way down as you did.
“Fuck,” he breathed. You looked up at him with a cheeky smile.
“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you said.
He shook his head. “Exactly,” he said. “Just seeing you on your knees drives me absolutely wild, you know that?”
You worked on his belt and unzipped those tight leather pants, pulling him out and giving him a few strokes. “I can see that,” you teased.
“Oh, don’t be a brat,” he said, his voice sharp with desire. He gave a choked groan as you licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, swirling your tongue over the tip, loving the taste of him. He was painfully hard; you realized he’d enjoyed your teasing at the bar more than you’d thought, and you liked the idea of making him that hard in front of God and everybody. 
“God, I’ve wanted to do this since you walked in,” you told him between kitten-licks and sloppy kisses to his cock. “This outfit drives me fucking crazy, Freddie. Every time you wear it I want to get on my knees for you.”
“That’s - ahh - that’s good to know,” he managed, his voice pitching up sweetly as you drew little gasps from him with your attention to his cock. You took the head of his cock in your mouth, tasting his precum, giving a hum of pleasure; his hands went to your hair, his fingers tangling and tugging. 
He gave an obscene moan as you took him in your mouth as deeply as your could, careful even in his desire to keep still and let you go as slowly as you needed. No matter how many times you took him, Freddie was always a bit of a challenge; you took deep breaths and took him slowly, concentrating on the delicious sounds of pleasure falling from his lips.
“Christ, honey,” he groaned. His hips bucked against your mouth and you relaxed and took him deeper, bracing yourself against his thighs. You could feel his heartbeat everywhere, under your palms, on your tongue, carded through your hair. His gasps went straight to your core, and you responded by moaning around his cock.
“Wait, wait,” he said desperately. You stopped and looked up at him, his cock still heavy on your tongue, and he moaned.
“Don’t look at me like that, fuck,” he said. “Not gonna last with you looking at me like that.”
Feeling flirty, you batted your eyelashes at him before swallowing around him, drawing a hiss of pleasure from him.
“Jesus, fuck, alright,” he said. He gave you a crooked smile that mixed amusement and such pure desire that you honest to God blushed, on your knees with his cock in your mouth.
“God, you’re a naughty thing, aren’t you?” he said. He drew a deep breath. “Alright, pop off, then. No more candy for you, trouble.”
You smirked as much as you could around him and pulled off with a pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You pressed a light kiss to the tip of his cock before you stood, unable to resist giving it a little more love.
“It’s a little unfair,” you said. “It is Halloween, after all. Candy’s almost required.”
He only gave you a smirk, and before you could say anything else, Freddie picked you up and sat you on the counter. You yelped in surprise, unprepared for the sudden switch, and clung to his shoulders even as he settled himself between your knees.
“I didn’t say no candy at all,” he said, giving your a bruising kiss. You ran your hands over his biceps, gasping as he caught your bottom lip between his teeth.
His hands sneaked up under your skirt, pushing it up to your waist. “Just no candy for you. I can have all I want.”
You felt nearly lightheaded with desire as he got to his knees in front of you, flashing you a wicked grin. You barely had time to react to it before he was spreading your knees and pushing your panties to the side.
“Fuck, Freddie,” you moaned, already wound tight as a spring as he lapped at your heat. 
He moaned against you, the feel of it and his warm breath against your core making you gasp. His tongue worked at your entrance while he rubbed slow circles against your clit, enough to make you moan but not enough to bring you to the edge. You moved as close to him as you could manage, wanting him deeper.
“Keep making those pretty sounds for me, darling,” he said.
You obliged him, moans and gasps tumbling from your mouth as he worked on you with his. God, he was almost annoyingly good at this.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, cheeky. He took a moment to lick and kiss all over the inside of your thighs.
“Come back,” you whined, tugging at his curls.
You could feel his smirk. “Impatient little thing,” he mused. He tutted. “Very well, then, if you insist.”
He pushed two fingers inside of you, curling them upwards in a come-hither motion as he sucked on your clit. You gave a sinfully loud moan at the pleasure that shocked through you, bucking your hips against his mouth and tangling your fingers deeper in his curls. 
“Oh my God,” you nearly sobbed as his tongue swirled over your clit. “Jesus Christ.”
You felt him grin, the cheeky bastard. “Just me, sweetheart.”
His fingers pumped in and out of you, gradually picking up their pace, making you see stars. 
“You taste fucking incredible, honey,” he said. “Sweeter than candy.”
You moaned as he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, tasting all of you. Without realizing you were doing it, you started to chant his name like a prayer.
“Freddie, oh, God, please, Freddie, Freddie,” you said, your breath coming in gasps and breathless moans. He turned his mouth to your thighs again, sucking love marks into your skin, as his thumb pressed deep circles against your clit.
“Fuck, Freddie, gonna cum,” you said. “Oh, God, Freddie, gonna cum, gonna cum - ”
“Cum for me, honey,” he said, his voice surprisingly tender as he nipped at your skin. “Good girl, go on and cum for me.”
You gave a sob of pleasure as he brought you over the edge, your orgasm crashing through your whole body. You threw your head back and saw stars, moaning as he worked you through your orgasm until you were spent. You straightened slowly as he pulled his fingers out of you and pressed one last kiss to your thigh before standing. He smirked and kissed you, letting you taste yourself.
“See how sweet,” he said, his voice almost lost in his heavy breaths. 
You hooked your fingers under his red-hot suspenders and pulled him closer to you. “I can think of something sweeter,” you said against his mouth. “I want you inside me, Freddie, please.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Anything for you, honey.”
He made quick work of your panties, pulling them down your thighs and tossing them over his shoulder like he owned the place. You gripped his shoulders tight enough to leave bruises as he pushed into you, sheathing himself to the hilt with a gasp of pleasure.
“Oh, Freddie,” you said, loving the feel of him filling you up. He gave you a moment to adjust, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming everywhere and sending sparks through you wherever they landed.
“I love you,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “Christ, I love you so much.”
You carded your hands through his hair. “I love you, Freddie.”
You kissed him, drawing him closer, letting him know it was ok to move. He started slow but steady, his hips pushing against yours and drawing little pants and moans from you with every thrust. You could tell he wasn’t going to last long; he’d been painfully hard for a while now, and he’d been waiting patiently. You wanted to make it worth his while, and drew your legs higher up where they wrapped around his waist to draw him deeper.
“You feel fucking amazing,” he said, his breath coming in desperate gasps. He reached a hand between you to circle your already-sensitive clit, and both of you moaned when you tightened around him.
“Fuck, ‘m not gonna last,” he gasped, his hips snapping against yours.
“Me either,” you managed. His circles against your clit grew faster and you felt yourself nearing the edge in a matter of seconds, already a live wire from your last orgasm. Your grip on his shoulders tightened. 
“Oh, Freddie, Freddie - ” you moaned. “I’m cumming, oh, God, Freddie - ”
You tightened around his cock as you came for the second time, the drag of his cock inside you making you nearly dizzy with the pleasure of it.
“Gonna cum,” he said between moans. “Jesus, honey - fuck, gonna cum.”
“Cum for me,” you said breathlessly, kissing him as his thrusts grew sloppier and faster. He moaned into your mouth as he spilled inside you. You loved the feel of his heat inside and out as he pressed close to you.
He stayed inside of you for a few moments after he was spent, holding you in his arms and drawing you as close to him as he could. You draped your arms over his shoulders and brushed your fingers through his curls, giving a tired and satisfied smile as he kissed all over your face.
“I love you,” he said softly.
You giggled as he kissed the tip of your nose. “I love you too, Freddie. More than anything.” You smile turned a little cheeky. “I’m glad you liked your candy.”
He chuckled. “More than you know, my sweet.”
You met his eyes, more in love with him than you ever could have thought possible. You smiled. “Happy Halloween, Freddie.” 
He smiled and kissed you gently, tender and soft. “It certainly is, honey,” he said sweetly. “Happy Halloween.”
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forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl​​ @hazah​​ @dashlilymark​​@punkgeekchic​​ @harrisunn​​ @stephydearestxo​​ @luckytrashgooprebel​​ @someone-get-a-medic​​ @chlobo6​​
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Infinity’s Descendants
“The first Date”
There he stood in his velvet emerald green habit habillé with gold trimming embroidered along the coats edges and around the pockets matching green breeches and high heeled satin slippers with gold clasps to match the embroidery his coat. He dabbed at a bit of sweat on his forehead with an embroidered handkerchief before speaking again.
“Please excuse my tardiness. Is it too late for you to accompany me?” He asked. “Maintenant?” This wasn’t a total surprise. Part of her was expecting something like this as she had wore her finest dresses to the shoppe every day this week. « Oui, maintenant » Céleste thought about her sister. “Zaz will understand right? She’s probably with Jean-Laurent as we speak” she thought to herself. Céleste looked once more at Cassius. “Yeah Zaz will be fine” she thought to herself. « Donnez-moi un moment pour fermer la shoppe et rassembler mes affaires » she said with a smile. « D’accord. I will wait outside » Cassius smiled, turned on his heels and exited the shoppe. Céleste had began to overheat from running around the shoppe trying tidy up and grab her things. She peaked out the shoppe’s window at Cassius. He was conversing with the coachman. This gave her enough time to cool herself with her fan and try to settle her nerves. Cassius glances at the window and that was her queue. Céleste excited the shoppe fan in hand in her beautiful dress.
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« Mademoiselle » Cassius smiled and extended a hand to her. He helped Céleste into the carriage and the coachman closed the door behind them. Céleste kept a smile on her face but remained quiet. She glanced over and looked at Cassius; he sat there, one leg crossed over comfortably confident in his outfit. Just sharing the same air with him made Céleste’s stomach fill with butterflies. Just when she thought he couldn’t get any more attractive he held an entire conversation with the coachman in a language that she had never even heard before. “If you don’t mind me asking, what language was that?” she asked. “Latin” he replied. “Latin? But I thought people stopped speaking that language ages ago?” she said puzzled to which Cassius smiled. « My coachman is very old, mademoiselle LeBlanc » he winked.
“I am pleased you agreed come. I feared you might’ve forgotten me” said Cassius. “Really, why is that?” She could never have forgotten him. “Mademoiselle Leblanc, I am well aware that as woman as beautiful as you has a plethora of suitors” he said. “Oh Monsieur, your are just being modest” Céleste looked away in a failed attempt to conceal her rouge kissed cheeks. « Non, mademoiselle. Je dis là vérité. This night has been all I have looked forward to since my departure from Marseille » Céleste could tell by the tone in Cassius’ voice that that admission made himnervous. “Me too” Céleste replied and a beautiful smile spread across her face. This being a relief to Cassius he returned her smile.
During their ride Cassius carried the conversation. He asked her about her family and if she had any siblings. He inquired about her about her passion for dress making and where her love of fashion came from. He never interrupted her, instead he watched her as she talked, as if he was memorizing her mannerisms, the way she spoke, the way she moved and the way she sighed with contented smile after talking about something she truly enjoyed and loved.
The carriage was slowing. “Perhaps it may be too late to inquire but do you like Théâtre?” he asked nervously. Céleste’s face lit up once more. “I love Théâtre” “Great, tonight we will see Hérode Et Mariamne” He said.
Cassius and Céleste entered the Opéra de Marseille arm in arm. It wasn’t long before they were being approached by nobles of all sorts from absolutely everywhere. The women were initially drawn to Céleste seeing as though she had made a fair few of the dresses being worn tonight but their attention was quickly placed on Cassius as she figured it would be. He was dressed spectacularly and was apparently of the noble class and even though she was on his arm Céleste knew very well that that would not mean the women would assume he was spoken for they would have to see for themselves. A very loud woman with an extremely elegant dress approached. “Céleste dear! I simply cannot thank you enough. This is beyond my expectations and I have told every woman I know to employ your services”
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After Madame de Montcourt finished thanking Céleste for her beautiful dress an extremely handsome man approached.
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“Monsieur Cassius, what a surprise to see you here. With a guest as well” he diverted his gaze to Céleste her cheeks immediately flushed pink. She smiled politely to try to play it off. “Should you not be working?” The beautiful man continued. “Ah Leo, you know a man would perish if he was all business and no pleasure” Cassius said dryly. “C’est vrai” Leo never took his eyes off Céleste. « Quelle est votre nom, mademoiselle? » asked Leo. « Je m’appelle Céleste » she replied. “Ahh Céleste, pleasure to meet you” he bowed and kissed her hand. Looking up at her his lips lingered just above her skin “You smell delightful Mademoiselle” “Merci Monsieur” she replied smiling shyly. “Careful Cassius. A women who smells this nice and is this beautiful will be highly sought after” Leo smiled and gave Céleste a playful wink. “Leo, do you not have business of your own to tend to?” Said Cassius. Leo laughed at the subtle dismissal. “As a matter of fact, I do. Mademoiselle Céleste it was a pleasure to meet you” For the first time since he had approached, Leo looked at Cassius. “Cassius, I am in town for the week. Perhaps we can hunt together?” he proposed. “Sure, come by anytime. Profite du spectacle” replied Cassius.
Cassius and Céleste made their way to their seats in the top of the theatre were most of the nobles were sitting. Céleste was truly in her happy place taking in all the exquisite fashion. Leo’s eyes met Céleste’s from the floor below and he nodded politely. “Your friend is nice” she said. “I wouldn’t call him my friend persay. He is more like a fellow businessman” he replied. “Business, is that how you got these seats? Commoners like myself don’t generally sit up her with les dieux” Céleste said playfully. “Actually, Madame Lecouvreur gifted me with these seats” replied Cassius. “You know Adrienne Lecouvreur? The best actress in all of France” Céleste asked in disbelief. Cassius replied with a smile and something told Céleste that the details of how he knew her may be something she doesn’t want to know so she refrained from asking.
The show reproducing the tale of the tragic death of Mariamne at the hands of her jealous husband Herod the Great was absolutely abysmal but somehow Cassius was making it enjoyable. Sooner than both Cassius and Céleste wanted however the show came to an end.
They were about to enter the carriage and Cassius appeared to be troubled. « Qu'Est-ce que c'est? Is something wrong? » Céleste asked, looking around them anxiously.
« Mademoiselle, Je déteste vous demander cela, mais serait-il possible pour vous de passer le reste de la nuit chez moi? You see my coachman has had very little rest today. The fault is entirely mine as I was in a rush to see you, nevertheless, I worry about his well being as well as ours if he attempts the ride back to your home. My home is only a few minutes ride from here. I assure you we will ride out first thing in the morning » said Cassius. “I suppose that will be okay. I wouldn’t want him to harm himself” Céleste respond before she truly gave herself time to think. “Merci Céleste. I shall inform of the change in destination” Cassius helped her into the Carriage once more before going to speak with his coachman. « Oh mon dieu, qu'ai-je fait. Zaz va me tuer. » Céleste said placing her face in her palm.
Cassius home was no home at all, a beautiful sunset kissed chateau greeted them as the rounded the turn.
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They coachman opened the Carriage door for them and the front door to the Chateau opened as they reached the top of the steps. “It is late, I will show you to your room” said Cassius. Céleste was speechless as she admired the architecture, the decor, and the murals throughout the chateau.
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Cassius opened a set of double doors. “You can sleep here for the night” “êtes-vous ? Where will you be?” Asked Céleste. “Oh I’ll be around. I don’t get much sleep” She thought about how hard it’d be to sleep in a house this big alone and she had to admit she’d find it difficult to get much rest too. “If you need anything Charles will either fetch it for you or come find me”Céleste .
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« Bon nuit mon chérie » Cassius pulled the door closed leaving Céleste in the room.
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heirs-of-prythian · 5 years
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Vanilla and Blueberries
Happy birthday @thelaziestgeek I love you sweetie 😘 and here's the story you wanted. I hope you like it.
Word count: 1.5k
Couple: Feysand
Summary: Little Artemas, Feyre and Rhys's son, tries something new on a hot summer day for the first time.
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The High Lord and Lady of the Night Court stare intently at the Heir of Night. The one and a half year old Heir is sitting in his highchair, wholefully ignoring his staring parents for chilled blueberries, bubbling to himself. His mouth and hands are painted in shades of pink, red and purple. His messy raven black hair is tucked under a sunhat for babies. Other than the hat, he is only wearing diapers. He had been smothered in sunscreen to avoid him getting a sunburn. But his cheeks are already red from the heat.
It's so hot, High Lord and Lady feel as if they were roasted by the sun alone. No clouds to be seen in the endless blue sky. No wind is blowing, the air is completely still. The sun is shining mercilessly down on them. They didn't know if they should curse the Summer Court or the Day Court. Maybe both. The air was so hot and dry. The Rulers of Night decided that being outside in their garden would probably feel better than being inside. Since it felt like they were cooked in there. It was so hot, many of the citizens of Velaris are taking spontaneous baths in the Sidra. And the mates contemplate to do just that too.
Instead the family now sits outside at their garden table. The table was standing on the veranda beneath a huge sunshade to block the sun out for a little. Wind is blowing softly around the small family, due to the High Lady herself. She was dressed in a long, very thin and very loose mint colored sundress, which now blows softly around her legs as she sits barefoot on the opposite side of the table, just across her mate. Who has quite frankly copied his son's outfit and now just wears white shorts. His tattoos are almost glowing his gold skin beneath layers of sunscreen and sweat. They need to apply new sunscreen almost every hour. And as a babe and therefore being more sensitive to the sun, the Heir needs dopple the dosis than his parents. Which explains the three bottles with sunscreen under the table.
Also the whole family wore matching sun hats, which had been a present from the High Lady's older sister. No not the oldest, the other one. Though the oldest sister also got similar hats for her family from the same sister.
Both of the mates were equally distract by the others appearance. They had been stealing not so obvious and completely on purpose glances at each other, while they were arranging everything in the garden. Which contains now also a few sunshades with sunbeds under them, and a tiny pool filled with water and the Heir’s toys right in front of the veranda. After they were done, the mates settled down on the table and now are staring at their babbling son, who was lost in his own world and didn't even notice his parents attention. Their eyes are filled with love, adoration, devotion, calculation and a little bit of worry.
“He will like it, Rhys. Don't worry!”
“And what if he doesn't, Feyre?”
Feyre rolls her eyes. “Everybody likes it and Artemas isn't a picky eater. Of course he will like it,” Than she sighs and looks at Rhys. “I'm more worried that he will refuse to eat anything else from now on.” Rhys snorts a laugh and nods. “Yeah, that does seem more likely,” Than he sighs and looks at Feyre with small smile. “Let's just hope for the best.” “The best being, him liking it and still eating other things instead of it.” They both laugh a little and then smile at each other. Their son really can be a handful, not that they mind it.
Suddenly Rhys feels something cold and tiny hitting his cheek. A chilled blueberry just hit his cheek and is now rolling on the table. Feyre gasps, a hand in front of her gaping mouth. And then she breaks out laughing. A different, slightly pitched laugh accommodates hers, followed by tiny hands clapping. Rhys blinks and turns, but just as he fully faced their laughing son, a second blueberry hit his forehead. Feyre and their son just broke out in harder laughing. Grasping Feyre tells him, pointing at his face. “You have …have ...t-two purple ... dots on your face.”
“Bellies heet Da-daddy!” Their son adds to his mother, still laughing and one hand hitting his highchair table repeatedly. A new blueberry is already in his other hand. He throws again, but Rhys’s hand shot up, catching the berry in front of his face.
“Fuck no! Belly heet Daddy!” The toddler starts wailing. Both hands now hitting his table in demand, the bowl of berries now rattling.
“We don't play with food, Artemas!” Rhys reprimands the pouting Artemas, barely reacting to the word “fuck”. They were far too used to it already. Throwing the blueberry in his mouth, Rhys starts a glaring contest with Art. The two male's glares are determined and focused.
While her most beloved males are having “A Fight for Dominance” (as she liked to secretly call their game, they do it far to often), Feyre calms down and takes the berries from Art's highchair. Getting up, Feyre walked into house and into the kitchen to exchange the bowl of blueberries with three other bowls. Seeing that neither Rhys or Art have given up on their game, she sat down, placing the bowls on front of her. Than she waited until Rhys would give up or Art got distracted. Which honestly couldn't go on very longer.
A few seconds later, Art makes a whine, trying to take of his hat. “Hot! Off! Fuck!” He whines, but before he got off his hat, Rhys stops him. Gently, he pried off the tiny hands of the hat’s rim and sets them flat on the table.
“Little Moon, you need to keep that on.” “Off! Hot!” Art whines pleadingly back. In response to her son's complaining Feyre send a little bit stronger wind to him and he makes a moan that almost sound like purr. Laughing, Feyre takes a napkin and wipes off the sweat on Art's face, she has given up to wipe off the purple berry stains for now.
“Do you want to try something new, little moon?” Feyre asks smiling. “New?” That got Art's attention. Art loves trying new things.
Than he sniffs the air. His eyes widen in excitement. “Vani! Vani!” “Yes Vanilla Art!” Rhys says amused, a smile gracing his lips. Art does love Vanilla a lot. “So would you like to try Vanilla ice cream, Art?” The answer comes in a excited yell of agreement. With the tiny bowl of Vanilla ice cream in hand, Feyre sits closer to Art and takes a tiny spoonful out of it. Art had his mouth already open, watching the spoon with zeal.
The second Art has his mouth closed around the spoon, Art's eyes go wide and he makes a sound that can only be described as a purr. He almost didn't release the spoon. But after he swallows, he makes grabby hands towards the bowl, almost climbing out of his highchair. His eyes are wide as he demands. “Mo-ore! Mo-ore Vani! Cold!” “Yes, yes, you'll get more, but sit down please.” Feyre tries to calm him down, holding the bowl away from her son. Rhys laughs at the sight and than stands and picks up Art out of his chair. Putting him on the table in front of himself, Rhys holds his son's sides, while Art twists and turns to get to the ice cream.
“Where's Lila?” Rhys asks out loud, playing worried. Art stills completely, his breath hitches. “Feyre Darling, have you seen Lila?” A head shake and smile from her. “No? Artemas Darling, where's Lila?” Art now looks around frantically, eyes wide in worry. Art is always very easily to distract with Lila, his favorite stuffed animal. Than he spots her on his highchair, points a finger at her and shouts out relieved. “Lee-la! Thel! Lee-la!” Rhys summons the toy wolf to Art, while Feyre watches, grinning, as Art starts cuddling Lila against his chest, smothering her into even more sunscreen. They will need to wash her later, she already has stains on her. Though she will probably be dumped into the tiny pool behind Art anyway.
The ice cream seem to be forgotten by Art. But not for long! His head shoots up as if he just remembered something important and makes an Ahh sound. Than Art turns with Lila still in his arms to Feyre and demands with a careful, but pleading tone. “Wee Ish cleam, please?” “Of course, little moon.” Art shouts in excitement, bringing up his hands in an hurray, almost knocking over his sun hat with Lila. Picking Art up again, Rhys returned him into his highchair and readjusts his son's sunhat.
And so Rhysand and Feyre feed Artemas the rest of his ice cream on this hot, hot summer day. Fortunately for the High Lord and High Lady, the Heir didn't demanded to be only feeded Ice Cream from now on.
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I hope you all liked it.
If you have any questions, please feel free to ask me. I would love to answer them.
Tagging: @lux-et-tenebra @mindnumbmikey @starlightheir @guthiix @iamthebonecarverr @tswaney17 @feyres-painting-studio @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks (if you want to get tagged just let me know)
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knittastically · 6 years
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A Lioness Amongst the Wolves Pt 9
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As always thank you for reading, I love to read your comments and if you could reblog that would be fantastic.
Part 1  Part 2   Part 3  Part 4  Part 5   Part 6 Part 7  Part 8
The Chateau resembles nothing so much as a Barracks. For too long it has been the domain of hard bitten soldiers who are used to the privations of life and who give little thought to comfort and even cleanliness to some degree. The grubby, grimy Hall reminds me of a faintly malodorous kennel. For long enough there has been no women living here with a high enough status to bring about any great change.
That will soon be remedied and as I sit at table, I cast my eyes along the dusty walls and up into the gloomy heights of the roof space, where the beams are adorned with dust and dangling cobwebs. The wall above the large fireplace is greasy and smoke blackened also every inch of the floor will need to be scrubbed. I know what needs to be done, we will start high and work down to the flagstones, not an easy task for this is a space almost a 100 feet long and half that in height and width. All of that dust and grime must be removed for I will not have my wedding feast in a hovel.
Eleanor is not present at the evening meal and I am glad of it. At the Baron’s request I am seated between him and Raymond whilst Geoffroy seated to Raymond’s right and so is not too near me thank God.
“Monseigneur Baron, I have a favour to ask of you, it concerns the preparations for my wedding” 
“But of course Isabé, how could I refuse my future daughter-in-law?” He smiles indulgently “Though I am sure that Fournier has everything in hand with regard to the guests, the food and anything else, he is nothing if not thorough”
“Oh, of course I am sure he has and I mean no slight against him. I will speak with him tomorrow but this is a particular request and concerns the cleaning of this hall, you must surely admit that it is unkempt even a little squalid”  
Baron de Merville takes no offence and laughs. “Isabé my dear” he takes hold of my right hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. “How can I refuse your pretty face and your smile hein? “Do whatever you need to do, if it makes you happy then I am content” If I am stunned at his easy response, Raymond is even more so and chokes back a laugh.
“Father, to give Isabé free reign may not be wise, I believe you have handed her the very stick with which she will beat you”
I scowl at him and earn a smirk in reply.
The Baron shrugs. “It is of no matter Raymond and I would have my daughter-in-law happy in her new home, what say you Raymond?” 
For certain there is some challenge being laid down here, cold blue eyes stare into cold blue eyes. Surprisingly Raymond is first to look away and the matter is closed.
Every look and smile from Raymond makes my face burn. His very nearness reminds me of how he made me feel only a little while ago. But he is courteous, attentive and makes sure I have everything I need, when he talks with me his voice is low and soft. Listening to him speak to his father and his friends I realise that he is much more than just a soldier. Oh yes Raymond is an educated man, he has an appreciation of fine things, a love of words, a quick mind, it seems I am forever learning something new and surprising about this man.
As is usual after the evening meal, everyone moves from their place at table to join with their friends in the body of the hall. Here they pass the time with in conversation, laughing and joking, sometimes gaming or making music. Or perhaps hey discuss the business and the politics of the day, only the men of course, for we women are not considered intelligent enough to understand the machinations of the world, if only they knew just how little escapes us.
Raymond stands together with his father and Geoffroy Maçon. Though they converse with lowered voices their conversation seems intense and Raymond’s jaw is set firm as he listens to Geoffroy. Mathieu Descoteaux and Guillaume stand close by and from time to time exchange worried glances with each other. Slowly I try to move closer, but the few women of any status who reside here are hovering around me vying for my favour and approval. All that is, except for Ghislane and Jehanne who, when I glance at them are busy with their own conversation damn them, just when I need to be rescued from this onslaught of sycophancy, chit chat and feminine idiocy.
Finally I do manage to move close enough to overhear some of what Raymond is saying, his voice is brusque and he speaks rapidly. I’m sure they think I can neither hear nor understand what they are discussing but I was raised in the house of a soldier and know how to listen carefully. Raymond uses the words contract, mission and assassin, he talks of preparations and secrecy, Geoffroy reassures him all will be well, that the King will reward him handsomely and the Baron hisses that he would rather his son comes home alive. I try to make no sign that I have heard the exchange but the words fill me with dread and I shudder as if someone has walked over my grave. 
I am aware that the chatter around the hall  is dying away and I look over my shoulder to see that Eleanor has entered through the main door. That must mean that she has been given quarters in either the North East or the South East tower, well away from Raymond’s chambers.
As she moves further into the hall with a slow and stately tread, I see she is wearing the same midnight blue gown as before but her veil is finer and the circlet securing it to her head is a delicate, narrow band of gold. Around her waist a leather girdle, I can only assume the buckle and tip are also gold and it is decorated all along with mounts in the shape of flowers, each one with a pearl at its centre. No whore she, but a woman of status, Raymond has kept her in fine style and in spite of myself I can’t help but admire her bravado. Ahh she knows her worth.
Silence follows in her wake as she walks farther into the hall, I half expect folks to bow as she passes, such is her air of dignity. The fingers of her right hand curl lightly into the fabric of her gown, lifting it just clear of the floor and her left hand? Well those fingers are clasped around the hand of a child, a little girl with the creamy complexion of her mother and the same dark hair as both her sire and her dam. She skips alongside with a sweet smile on her face, which makes her cheeks puff out and they glow like blushed peaches. The cornflower blue of her dress mirrors the colour of her eyes, which in turn exactly match the blue of Raymond’s.
Nicolette is unmistakeably their child, an acorn who did not fall far from the tree. Suddenly she breaks from her Mother and runs towards Raymond as fast as her little legs will allow. “Papa, Papaaaa!” she flings herself at him and in one move he scoops her up in his arms and swings her around, not caring that those standing close by need to step back out of the way as they laugh together. “Ah I knew my day had been too quiet you little hoyden, what mischief have you been up to? That, it seems is not for the telling, she smiles coyly at him and loudly proclaims. *“Je t'aime père, et tu es si beau”1 The laugh from Raymond is loud and joyous. “One day you little baggage you will twist some unsuspecting man around your fingers and I know for certain who will wear the britches in your household!” then more quietly he adds. *“Je t'aime aussi mon petit moineau”2
Nicolette twines her arms around his neck and I catch the look on his face as they laugh together, a wide smile that lights his face, reaches to his eyes and she giggles as he kisses the tip of her pert little nose. He is smitten, he adores her and rather than set her down he settles her on his right hip, not the usual behaviour of a stern Father but I am slowly beginning to realise that Raymond is not the usual kind of man. Nicolette tucks herself into him and rests her head against his shoulder, I suspect she has this old soldier well and truly in the palm of hr hand.
Watching intently as Eleanor approaches I am aware of the glances shifting from her, to me and back again.  Halting  a mere pace away from Raymond, she bows her head low and drops the deepest, most elegant curtsey I have ever seen before tilting her face upwards to look at him.
“Sieur Raymond, I have a request that I hope you will consider favourably” Eleanor keeps her tone measured and calm, but I notice that some of the warmth has left Raymond’s eyes.
“Then ask it and you shall have your answer one way or the other”
She hesitates at his tone and a momentary flash of panic flits across her face, but she holds firm.
“Raymond I have come to ask that you give Nicolette your name, that you formally accept her and acknowledge her as a de Merville.” Silence, absolute silence. I see Nicolette wriggle and before Raymond can answer Eleanor, a little voice pipes up.
“Papa, why did you not come to see me today?”
That indulgent smile comes back. “You know I cannot always come to see you Nicolette my sweet” “Will you come tomorrow?” “I cannot little bird, tomorrow I must go to see the King and will be gone for some days”
Her face crumples into a pout, but at a kiss on her cheek from her beloved papa and she smiles settling against him once more as he turns his attention back to his Mistress.
“After 5 years why do you chose this moment to ask this of me Eleanor, have I ever denied that I am Nicolette’s Father and why chose to do it here rather than quietly in private? Nicolette wriggles and he sets her down but she will not leave his side and clings to him with her chubby fingers clutching at the fabric of his tabard.  Raymond looks down at her, smiling as he gently strokes his large hand over her hair.
A slight flush of anger settles on Eleanor’s face and she rises from her curtsey hazel eyes lock onto blue. “True, you have never denied her as your daughter Raymond, though neither have you taken great pains to admit to it” she hisses softly. “As for the other, It may as well be here as anywhere else and whatever your answer I shall have witnesses.” 
The tension between them can be sliced with a knife. Quietly I move across to Raymond’s side, curling my fingers around the balled fist that is his left hand I gradually work my fingers between his, he begins to relax.
Eleanor stands tall, proud and strikingly beautiful in her dark gown, whereas with my silver hair and dressed in pale grey, no matter that both the cloth and the cut are of the finest, I feel like a plain little colley dove compared to her.
“Raymond,” I smile up at him. “Agree to this, you know it can only be for the good” “Isabé, this is not your concern.” His voice is level and cool. “I am making it my concern” My own voice is clipped “Have you not already lectured me on the subject of Mothers protecting their children?” He closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them again he answers Eleanor in a firm voice that carries around the hall.
“I agree, let all here know that I accept and confirm Nicolette as my daughter. When I return from Paris it will be done according to law but from this moment she will be Nicolette de Merville and is to be acknowledged as such. Are you content Eleanor?” The angles and planes of his face are like stone.
She steps forward places her hands against his cheeks and draws him into a kiss, a deep, hungry, passionate kiss pressing her body firmly against him. Then my world is shattered, as Raymond frees his hand from mine and cups it around the back of her head as he holds her in a tight embrace returning her kiss with equal fervour and desire and there they stand Mother, Father and child. I turn on my heel fixing a tight little smile on my face and with a steady pace head towards the great door. Ghislane and Jehanne are rigid with shock, the other ladies twitter and prattle amongst themselves. As I reach the steps to the courtyard I begin to run and head straight for the stables. One of the boys scrambles to his feet as I enter.
“I need Athène, don’t bother with her saddle”
“But Mams’elle are you sure?”
“I’m sure, I was taught to ride by a soldier, a bridle will suffice so long as you hitch me up” In no time I am on her back and racing towards the gates, yelling at the guards to open them but they are slow and I have to reign up sharply. “It is urgent, let me pass.” 
“It is well past curfew Mam’selle we cannot open the gates”
“For God’s sake shift your arses and let me pass.”
“Now, Now, there’s no need for that my pretty, what’s the rush, off to see your young man eh?” One of the younger guards’ sidles up to me a smirk on his lips.
“My name is Isabé Pelletier, soon to be wife of Sieur Raymond.”  
“Not so likely now though, the bastard”
The guard looks again.
“Sweet Christ, so it is, beg pardon Mam’selle.” “Open the gates lads and let the Mam’selle through”
They slide back the bar, swing back the heavy gates and as soon as the gap is wide enough for me to pass through without smashing my knees against the solid wood, I touch my heels to the mare and she springs forward clattering across the bridge over the moat. Already I hear Raymond yelling for them to stop me. Too late, I am away, riding without a saddle is no hardship for me.
Although it is late evening, there is still enough light to see, for it is no darker than dusk. At this time of the year the sun barely goes down before it is rises again and the night sky never grows truly black. I ride hard and fast not caring about the direction and for the second time that day I lose my veil and my hair streams out behind me. Tears do not come for I am too angry even to cry and I feel as if my heart will explode in my chest, all I want is to be away from here so I kick on down the track towards the river keeping the wood to my right hand side. As I ride I call Raymond all the foul names I can bring to mind and I sing them over in my head in rhythm with the horses gait. Bastard, arsehole, whoreson. Perhaps one day I shall have to control my “Sailor’s” mouth but not today, and I ride on towards the Seine.
                                      “This is the last kiss, the last embrace you shall ever have from me Eleanor” Raymond whispers, “It seals our bargain do you understand me?” Eleanor nods, she dare not challenge him when he has that cold look in his eyes. “Live quietly Eleanor, you will want for nothing and if you should wish to marry then you shall have my blessing and a good dowry, this is the way it must be from now on.”
“Isabe” Raymond turns but she is not there “Where did she go?” he growls at Descoteaux 
“Towards the courtyard Sieur” and Raymond is on his way.
“Isabe” he yells out her name as he reaches the steps. “Fuck. Raymond you are an idiot, a damned fool” 
The stable boy steps out “Sieur, Mam’selle Isabé has already left” Ignoring him, Raymond strides into the stables and selects Diable. He will be best, fast over shorter distances and sure footed over any terrain. He has the bridle on and is leading the huge beast out of the stalls by the time the boy returns with the saddle.
“No need for that” Raymond vaults up then crouches low over the horse’s neck as he rides out of the stable. This time there is no hesitation from the guards and they pull open the gates as he approaches. Once over the moat, he slowly reins the horse around in a full circle scanning the land through narrowed eyes. “Sieur Raymond,” A voice rings out and he looks back to the gates. “Mam’selle looked to be riding towards the river” Raymond raises his hand in acknowledgement and with a slap of the reins to Diable the stallion springs forward and they hurtle down the road enveloped in a cloud of dust. Suddenly he catches sight of something pale and crumpled on the ground. Dismounting he reaches to retrieve it from the dusty road. A veil, Isabé’s no doubt, he breathes in the faint scent of roses which marks it as hers. Carefully he folds the cloth and tucks it inside his undershirt, where it warms against his skin.
“Christ I am behaving like some greensick boy” he laughs at himself but had he listened carefully he would have heard the ice around his heart start to shatter and slide away.
The riverside is not a sensible place to be for a woman on her own at this time of night, I have no desire to be mistaken for whore not even a high class one, and the  girls themselves would no doubt take great exception to a new face on their territory. I slow Athène to a walk, rein her up and slide from her back realising my mistake as soon as my feet hit the floor. As elegant as they are, my thin soled house shoes made of soft blue leather would not last the walk back to the Chateau, and walk I must for unless I find a mounting block of sorts then my skirts will hamper me getting back onto the horse.
“Shit, this is your fault Raymond de Merville. Fuck you, damn you to Hell, I hope the King does not let you come back, I hope he makes you marry a disease ridden half-wit with pock marks and missing teeth. I hope you rot in Paris.”
Athène shakes her head, glances sidewise and snickers at the crazed woman yelling at the sky, before resuming her cropping of the sweet grass. So I settle myself on the bank at the side of the road, draw my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them as I consider my choices, needless to say they are few. The River Seine is to my right now, in front of me the town and the Cathédral and to my left the road back up to the Chateau and if I am honest with myself that is my only option.
Before I have chance to decide, the last person on earth I want to see is heading towards me at speed and there is nowhere I can hide. He reins the horse in beside me and dismounts on the wrong side.
“Isabé,” He stands only inches away from me his arms loose at his sides an expression of self-reproach fixed on his face. “Isabé ride back with me” Raymond reaches forward to take my hands but I snatch them back out of his reach.
“Oh you have such gall Sieur Raymond, such arrogance” I feel my anger growing and burning. “I’d sooner ride back with the Devil and his host than ride back with you, the company would be more to my liking”
“I’m not sure the Devil would share your view on that Isabé, he might find you too spirited for his taste” The smirk on his face provokes me into delivering a hard wallop across his cheek. His head jerks sideways a little but he makes no move towards me, simply closes his eyes for a moment before he speaks.
“You should have stayed Isabé, if you had, you would know that I have put Eleanor aside”
“Mother of God that is not what I expected to hear”
“Indeed, so am I to understand that putting a Mistress aside requires you to embrace her and kiss the breath from her lungs?
He does not seek to defend himself further but reaches out to tuck a long strand of hair behind my ear, then trails his fingers slowly down my neck before he lets them rest lightly on my shoulder, I turn away from him but he steps closer behind me.
“I ask again, ride back with me Isabé.” Raymonds voice is lower now and I cannot ignore its effect on me.
Strong fingers brush against the back of my neck as he pushes my hair aside his warm mouth presses gently against the skin below my ear, followed by the smallest nip of his strong sharp teeth. I can’t help but shudder and a contented purr slips from my lips. There is nowhere else I can go, I am caught wedged between him and Athène.
“Help me up.” Gathering the reins up I place my left hand on her withers, my right on her back and bend my right leg back for him to grasp.
“I asked you to ride with me, not beside me Isabé” his right arm clamps tighter around my waist, his words are still soft, his breath still warm and he gives anther nip, harder this time to the shell of my ear. I hitch my breath again and he chuckles at my response.
I nod briefly, he shifts his horse round then lifts me up, hands me Athénes reins and vaults up behind me. The journey home is slower. Raymond settles his left arm around me and holds the reins in his right. Our bodies sway in unison with the movement of the horse, my back against his chest, the insides of his thighs pressed against the outside of mine.
“Damn, I lost my veil riding out here, have you not seen it Raymond?”
He evades the question and changes tack.
“Your pale hair is a glory to behold Isabé but your brows are dark, how so” 
I pull a face and shake my head. “It has always been I have no idea why, it’s just the way it is.”
Raymond pulls me tighter  flattening my back against him, without my noticing he switches the reins into his left hand but I certainly notice now, as he strokes the  long, strong fingers of his right hand along the inside of my thigh and I shiver, and shiver again as he kisses my ear and nips at the lobe then whispers in a low purr, which is most definitely not the purr of a contented house cat. “Tell me Isabé, shall I be surprised If I find that your hair is also dark elsewhere hein?” The undisguised desire in his voice melts my bones, I feel my face start to burn and beneath my gown the flesh of my thigh is on fire from his touch, I gasp,  my words barely make it out of my mouth as I try to keep my voice as level as possible.
“That, depends upon your definition of the word surprise, But you will find out soon enough Sieur Raymond” 
“That will be my pleasure Isabé and yours too I hope.”
I don’t answer but he does not lift his hand from my thigh as we ride back in a sweet and contented silence.
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@vitorofthescaleless replied to your post: @vitorofthescaleless replied to your photo: ...
//In that manner of speaking it could be some manner of Necromancy at work. The Copse has the Skeleton Lords after all. The spirits of the dead rise in the Crypt…
[ Ahh, you’re absolutely right, that makes perfect sense. The question then becomes why, however. Agdayne and the Fenito, at least to me, seem to have powers of necromancy ( “we weave death” et cetera ), but, if they insist that no light can permeate the crypt, lest it disturb the undead, why station that hollow there with a torch? ]
[ Unless you mean just a general sort of air of necromancy in the area which caused this hollow, who, for whatever reason, is totally set on carrying around this torch, to rise from their grave? ]
@wanderer-among-undead replied to your post: @vitorofthescaleless replied to your photo: ...
((More like, to identify undead. Like, if they escaped, they were easily identified by their markings.))
[ I see, that makes perfect sense, then! So, say if they were all held in the facility wherein we find the Executioner’s Chariot, and one slipped away, hunters or whathaveyou in the Copse could easily spot and run them down. I could absolutely believe that. ]
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tesshex · 4 years
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 So Basically I Had Some Dreams Last Night And I Don’t Want To Forget Them But I Don’t Have Anywhere Else To Put Them, So
(Content warnings: guns, death, mental health-adjacent institutionalisation ...that makes it sound worse than it is, I promise)
So, my dreams usually come in fragments, so I’ll try to describe each distinct part as best I can (knowing full-well that my words can never truly do justice to my dreams, but they should at least be enough to remind me of what I saw, and, to an extent, that’s enough for me). Also, I have no way of recalling in what order these dreams happened, so I’ll just mention them in whatever order makes the most narrative sense.
DREAM 1: A HOTEL AND A HOLIDAY, BUT NOT AT THE SAME TIME
Honestly, I think these two fragments weren’t even part of the same dream, but I’ll list them together anyway. I was a cleaner(?) who worked at a fancy, pseudo-futuristic hotel located near to where dream-me lived, which borrowed at least some design elements from my warped memories of my university days; and I was friends with the two guys who worked at the front desk.
I had to clock in with said guys, who would give me a special room key (which just looked like a train-ticket) that they scanned through the system to give me all the relevant permissions. This time, though, they somehow gave me an entire stack of key-cards without realising, and at first, I thought, “Wahey, now I can come and go as I please, no matter whether I’m supposed to be here or not!~”, but then I realised, “huh, the system probably kept a record of dishing out so many key-cards at once, so even if I did use them for nefarious ends-- not that I would-- they’d still be able to trace it back to me. Damn.”
Nothing came of this in the end.
Probably a separate fragment, but I recall hearing that a bunch of my colleagues had to fly to Taiwan(?) for some kind of business-trip, and I was invited to go with them. I declined at first, then accepted, then declined again, but then, on the day of the business trip, despite thinking, “naw, I don’t have time to be on a plane for that long,” I had gone with them anyway, except instead of Taiwan, we were in the Netherlands.
Note, we were still halfway across the world. Just, so was the Netherlands. We had touched down at 5pm my-time, but the Netherlands (despite being near China, in this dream), was one hour ahead, so that put it at 6pm. My brain decided to apply this logic twice, so it was 7pm, and everywhere was starting to close for the night.
There wasn’t an airport so much as just a train-station (I dream of train-stations a lot), and I got to the ticket-gate that kept me inside the station unless I could prove I had a ticket...but there was a combination Starbucks-and-Subway to the right of the ticket-gate that I wandered through, and, sure enough, there was a completely unhindered exit out the other side of the establishment (meaning that anyone could go in or out of the station without a ticket if they walked through this open-air-but-it’s-indoors sandwich-and-coffee shop. Neither the owners of the train-station nor any of the other passengers seemed to be aware of this Life Hack™).
I was looking for somewhere, but I don’t know where, since I was just there for leisure, despite travelling there as part of a business-trip group. Amongst other things, there was a derelict library straight ahead, and two funfairesque shopping-districts-- one to the left, and one to the right. The one on the right had a high-speed tram-like thing what was huge and would do laps around the district at unfair speeds, so getting hit by it was a pretty likely outcome if you weren’t paying any attention. I caught sight of a branch of CeX on that side (but the shop signs were all spherical LED things with the shop logos scrolling around them, rather than just...y’know, signs), and then I lost sight of it again.
So, I went to the derelict library, poked around inside for a bit, tried to live, and then couldn’t, because it was old and off-limits; so I had to leave via a fire-exit that opened out onto the right-hand shopping-funfair situation. As I was leaving, the owner of the abandoned library emerged on the fire-exit of the floor above. She was a middle-aged woman (maybe older) and was worried that someone with malicious intent had broken into her old-ass library. I kept still for a moment, thinking, “She can’t see me because I’m directly beneath her”, and that worked until I thought, “ah, fuck it” and made a break for it, fleeing the fire-exit and escaping out into the concourse. Her reaction was, “I KNEW there was someone in here-- ah, whatever” (but in Dutch). Needless to say, she didn’t bother pursuing me.
Inside this shopping-centre-fairground (the one with the giant murdertram was outdoors and open-air; this one, on the other side, was indoors, and similar to a shopping-centre near where real-world I actually live), there were a bunch of, like, amusement-arcade games (not arcade-arcade games; I mean, like, the “put a coin in and it pushes other coins” machines; that sort of thing). I, though, was still on the hunt for that CeX I had seen earlier, despite being on exactly the wrong side of town. Despite this, I found it anyway. It looked closed, but the doors were open anyway, so my friend Laura (who was with me just for this part) and I went in.
It looked like a giant warehouse, and you had to go down some stairs from the entrance in order to actually get in. We crossed the threshold, and this traffic-light-looking thing above the stairs turned red and an alarm started going. Real-me would be so much more afraid of that, but dream-me was like, “oh, huh, burglar alarm. Guess it’s closed after all,” and we gave up and left. Again, no consequences came of that. And that’s all I remember from the Taiwanetherlands.
DREAM 2: I’LL BELIEVE THAT SCOREBOARD WHEN I SEE IT
Somehow, I had missed the entirety of the final of Eurovision 2020, but had tuned in just in time to catch the very tail-end of the results. To keep it brief:
1st place: Australia 2nd place: United Kingdom (which I doubt, but whatever. We were represented by some kind of Take That-esque boyband, I think; rumours for this year indicate our entry will probably be exactly the opposite of that) Either 3rd or 4th place: Estonia The other out of 3rd and 4th: I don’t remember 5th place: San Marino (represented by a group called “Har Har Har Har Har”, and I only remember that because I remember thinking, “heh, that’s as many words as the place they got on the scoreboard”, whereas real me would be like, “HOLY SHIT SOON MOO, GLOW-UP OF THE CENTURY WITH THAT RESULT??”) 6th place: Italy (whose music-video featured gratuitous nudity that was censored on the artist’s YouTube channel, but was completely visible on the Eurovision channel-- which is completely backwards from how it would probably be IRL, but my sources tell me that Italy’s entrant this year probably wouldn’t do that anyway. I should know, myself, by now, but I haven’t gotten around to it).
Again, I think this was technically a different dream, but it feels like it happened around the same time. So, my father and I were in this suburban pharmacy of some kind, quoting this video back and forth at each other, and there was a game-show of some kind on TV...because there was a TV in the pharmacy. Sure. Whatever,
Anyway, the question that came up was, “Borrowed from Italian, what is the name for [THIS]”-- I forget how they described it, but I just understood that what they were referring to was the act of extending a house by modifying the roof such that the attic-space of said house now had a “proper” ceiling. Like, if you took a house whose roof looks like an upside-down V, then added a horizontal line extending from the apex of the V, stopping at the same “across-ness” as the edge of the V as it already is, then connected the edge of the V with the end of this line and turned the newly-reacted triangular space into an extension of a room... Yeah, that.
My father was insistent that it was named after the hole you put letters-et-cetera through upon delivery to an address, so I said, “ahh, I should know this. It’s, like, “postrella”, or something.”
Incidentally, if anyone actually knows what I’m referring to-- if, indeed, it has a name-- please, please hit me up.
DREAM 3: THE ONE THE CONTENT-WARNINGS WARNED YOU ABOUT
I don’t remember how this one was set up, but let’s just dive right in: I was the target of a five-person chain of stalkers, all of whom had histories of internet illegalities. Some of them had online personas that differed from their real-world selves. One of them, for instance, was a woman pretending to be a man. That sort of thing. And I say they were a “chain”, because it was something like, one of them would get supplies for their illegal behaviour from another, who would source their whatevers from another, and so on and so on.
Anyway, somehow, with my help, the police had not only stopped them; they had tracked them down and physically apprehended them; and they, and I (along with my parents) were taken to a giant (and I mean GIANT) institution-like facility. Driving up to it, it’s like this huge, old building from however many centuries ago (bear in mind that I’m British. That shit is normal over here.), that’s clearly been repurposed into this. Just the front gate is the size of a god-damn castle. I was even more surprised to realise that said gate was one of THREE. The way in we used required turning left; but turning right or going straight on at that junction would lead to two MORE castle-sized gates, because the compound was just that huge.
So, we get inside, and my parents have to go on ahead of me for whatever reason, so I have to cross the internal gardens-or-whatever-they-were, while squadrons of Girl Guides/Scouts of varying ages, led by middle-aged scout-leaders (all female) marched around army-style.
I found my way to the right indoor area, and, after wandering some slightly graffiti’d corridors, I found the room I was supposed to be in, where my parents and my “case-worker” or whatever were waiting. The room itself had a load of signs made of neon lights, all bearing logos of brands, for some reason (CNN and the like; you’ll want to remember these for later); and there was a sectioned-off area to the right, with one of those curtains like you get in hospital wards, to separate it off from the main body of the room. That’s where I needed to be; and we all knew what was about to go down.
So, I joined my parents and case-worker inside the sectioned-off bit, behind the curtain, and then, one by one, each of the chain of stalkers were led in (each not being brought in until the previous one had...ahem, “left”). I word it like that because they were straight-up there to be executed, which begs the question of why I needed to be there at all, considering I hadn’t had to ID them or anything, and I could only watch the proceedings if I chose to-- which I chose not to.
One by one, they would be brought in, and...I don’t actually know if they were lain down, or made to kneel or what, but each one would be shot in the head at point-blank range. This would usually be enough to kill them, but two of them-- I don’t remember which two; just that they were non-consecutive in the “running order”-- survived the first shot and required a second. I remember covering my ears for each one, knowing that it would be loud.
Surprisingly, it was silent, save for the ambience of the room and the sound of each gunshot. No conversation, no pleading for their lives, no taunting or clinical talk from the people running the show. It was just an accepted matter of discourse, apparently.
Once all five had been despatched, we were allowed to leave, and on the way out, we noticed that the neon signs from before were, like, 3D sculptures, sort of; and each logo looked like a logo from most angles, but if you stood in the rough area where each to-be-executed-person was made to stand(? kneel? lie?), they instead all read “uh oh”. Aaaaanyway, we headed back out to the courtyard area with the marching groups of girls. I picked up a tree-branch that had some grape-like fruits (larger than grapes, but not by a huge margin) growing on it, and idly carried it with me for a while, before one of the middle-aged group-leaders sternly told me to put it down, so I did. We were going to leave, then, but as we were driving out, I noticed the other two huge-ass gates and gained this sudden appreciation for how even-huger-than-previously-thought this place was.
This somehow served as a transition to me being one of the “patients” at the facility-- because it wasn’t all criminals on Death Row; it was also kind of a mental hospital of some kind..? And I had developed a steady friendship with one of the people who worked there. I don’t remember her name, but I know we at least ate together, at the same table in a huge, Hogwarts-esque dining hall in the right-hand compound. Food was served by a team of dinner-ladies, pretty much; and the one that served our table was this really bitchy, really sour middle-aged woman who had a really bad attitude and hated anyone younger than her on principle.
At first, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, and, between courses, I started to write her a card that said something like, “I’m sorry you feel the way you do; if I can help at all, let me know,” but in Russian; but then, as I was doing so, she came to clear the table from the course we had just eaten, and started giving me some of that bad attitude that my friend-colleague-whatever was so afraid of, and so I thought, “oh, right, fuck you, then”.
The rest is a bit of a blur, but I remember heading through the central compound to the left-hand one (they were all connected, after all), and, amongst other things, seeing some crazy machinery that was ostensibly for transporting luggage-et-cetera-- usually vertically, between split floor levels (again borrowing airport/train-station imagery); but some of it looked like a scaled-up version of the flat part of an escalator; and I somehow knew that this machine would move bags-et-cetera between the ground floor and the mezzanine level of this high-ceilinged area perfectly fine; but if a human tried to pass through it-- and it had no guard-rails or anything of the like; it’s a Health & Safety hellscape-- they would be minced alive and that would be that; and the general attitude would hypothetically be, “well, it was your own stupid fault”.
And that’s as far as I can remember. I wonder how many people actually read this~
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flauntpage · 6 years
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A Guide for NBA Stars Stuck Playing on Christmas Day
The NBA released its Christmas Day schedule for the upcoming season last night and everyone is very excited about the Milwaukee Bucks big matchup against the New York Knicks. But are their hidden costs here? Sure games on Christmas are good for you, the sports viewer looking to hide somewhere, but they are bad for almost everyone responsible for coaching, playing, refereeing, stadium-staffing, or floor-waxing on the big day.
Waking up on a day that, for most of the western world, is meant to be a day of family, celebration, trees, things of that nature. It’s the holiday EVERY fucking person celebrates to some degree or another, be it as a religious sacrament and celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, an exploration of the bottom of capitalist impulse and an opportunity to teach children how to consume so the economy can stay big and healthy, an excuse to gather the family and eat ham or some other pig product, or, if you’re a real traditionalist, a Pagan Celebration of the birth of the sun, the source of all life and matter in the universe, the only TRUE observable God, a fiery ball of indifference hovering off in the distance, waiting for the ozone layer to collapse so it can burn us all to a crisp.
LeBron James, the floating ball of energy the NBA currently revolves around, has been vociferous in his criticism of the tradition:
“If you ask any player in the league, we’d rather be home with our families,” James said in 2010 before his Miami Heat were set to play the Los Angeles Lakers on the road. “I think the people that even set the games up would rather be home with their family during this day. It’s not just a regular holiday. It’s definitely one of those days that you wish you could wake up in the morning with the kids and open up presents.”
Ahh, the double-edged blessing and pain of the Christmas Day game! Certainly, playing in one implies that you are a member of a certain class of team, a squad who accomplished big things the year before and seems poised to accomplish much more in the year to come. BUT, the price of this fame and success is alienation—from your family, from the the traditions of your youth, and from the celebration of the broader world.
It’s tremendously sad, in its way, but the cost of success is inconvenience. And anyway, not all hope is lost: the human mind and spirit are ingenious, and there is plenty of holiday joy to be found out there on the road, in whatever strange city you may find yourself in. And so, for the convenience and edification of the players who will be stuck away from their families on December 25, we offer some suggestions for how they can cope.
12:00 PM ET: Milwaukee Bucks vs. New York Knicks
This is a big moment for the NBA’s kind, long-limbed, muscular boy, Giannis Antetokounmpo, the Greek Freak. It's an opportunity to absolutely lay waste to a team full of chumps and bums in front of an increasingly irritable crowd who will absolutely be looking for an opportunity to turn on the Knicks somewhere around Giannis’s thirty-seventh or so point. The rush of demolishing your opponent while they slowly lose support from their home is the biggest shot of adrenaline you can possibly feel, it’s basically the thrill of winning a war.
There’s no reason for Giannis to leave this feeling behind once he steps off the hardwood. Instead of shuffling back to the hotel and playing Fortnite or whatever it is youths do in hotel rooms, I implore Giannis to take to the Manhattan streets, steal cars, and declare homes and businesses to be “The Property of the Freak, Now.” He should recruit anyone he sees drifting on those cold Christmas streets to come inside the warm arms of the Freak, to huddle together and create a mass of human beings that will lead a movement to make Giannis the King of New York. Not in some corny-ass sports way but, like, actually the king, owning the fiefdom. He will knight dudes and dole out lands to vassals and arrange marriages to remain powerful and rich. The whole domain of the City is within your reach, Giannis… you just need the followers, sitting there on the streets for the taking.
3:00 PM ET: Oklahoma City Thunder vs. Houston Rockets
After taking a beating at the hands of the vastly superior Houston Rockets, Russell Westbrook is going to go back to his hotel room and carve everything he did in the game into his mattress, so he can more deeply engrain his various minor accomplishments into his mind and soul, as he does after every game.
For everyone else, though, a cleansing will be needed from the pure filth that builds inside the mind and spirit when you play for the Oklahoma City Thunder. They will need to get in a car and drive out to the Texas desert—no water, only a big block of salt and some cold pre-game buffet raviolis for sustenance—sit on the sand and just sweat, sweat until there's nothing left in you, sweat until you've drained out all the hatred and loathing and complicity in lining the pockets of a dude who made his fortune fracking, leaving you an empty vessel. Watch the sun set off into the distance and spend some time just, like, looking at the stars, alone and empty and happy for a split second. Then get back into the car and drive back to civilization, where you will suck in all that evil once again.
5:30 PM ET Philadelphia 76ers vs. Boston Celtics
Woof, Boston. No one wants to be ANYWHERE less, but on Christmas, it really takes it out of you. A rational person would fake an injury, chill at home and read a book, but professional athletes live to compete, so that’s probably out of the picture.
The only MORAL thing you can do, here, is walk out of that stadium and go door to door, barging in on every Christmas celebration you can find, and trying your damnedest to convince everyone you talk to that it’s time for them and their family to move anywhere—ANYWHERE—to get away from Boston. Ben Simmons can talk about Australia, with its Kangaroos and outbacks, neither of which Boston has. Joel Embiid can celebrate the virtues of the great nation of Cameroon, which might not be perfect, but is, at the least, not Boston, Massachusetts. J.J. Redick, unfortunately, will try to convince a poor family that they would be better off in North Carolina, but accidentally be slowly sold on Boston and wake up the next day with a gross haircut and his number retired in the Garden. Tragic, really, but so is LIFE.
8:00 PM ET Los Angeles Lakers vs. Golden State Warriors
The Bay Area: really lovely, if not for all the wind. LeBron James, separated from his family and annoyed at the ritual he gets forced into every year, can find some peace in one of San Francisco’s many municipal parks, where he can take advantage of the winter weather and gently fly a humble kite while wearing a massive, Nike branded pea-coat. As he looks at the kite, getting yanked to and fro by the wind, his mind will naturally drift to his broader life, like that kite up there, staying afloat only by the providence of his tremendous control.
Sooner or later a gust or a dip will hit, and the kite will fall or somehow lose control. In this moment, LeBron will feel the chill of fate, pulling at his soul. Was that wind?, he will think. Will the Lakers make a move that will plunge them into the bottom of the league while he’s still there and make him look like a colossal asshole? Is it the vagaries of injury, which can strike at any second? The bottom falling out of one of his many projects, some shit beyond his control sending him scattering in the wind? Is it his children, disappointing him? His wife or a business partner leaving out of nowhere? Certainly, the kite can’t stay up forever, he will think. I am in control now, but the gusts of life will come, and then what will I do? Can I keep the kite afloat, or raise it in the air once more?
10:30 PM ET Portland Trail Blazers vs. Utah Jazz
Well hey, if you’re gonna be traveling for work on Christmas, there’s no better place to be than Utah. The Mormons are the last practitioners of The Great Christmas Kitsch Arts, and they will fill your mind and your heart with holiday joy as you listen to their choir, devour their unnervingly perfect Christmas cookies, and go caroling in their beautiful neighborhoods, each more immaculately decorated than the last.
And, bonus: since you, as an NBA player, are a millionaire, you can purchase access to the basement of the Mormon Tabernacle, where the yearly orgy designed to establish balance in the broader world will be happening. Butts and dicks and limbs, flying everywhere, getting inserted into everything, holiday themed bread puddings falling into your mouth and onto your privates, ALL FOR THE PURPOSE of exorcising the impurities and sins of the world and burying them deep under the ground and away from the surface. No one does Christmas like Utah, you better believe it.
A Guide for NBA Stars Stuck Playing on Christmas Day published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/
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itsworn · 6 years
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Boss 429 Drag Racing Time Capsule
Ahh, the vaunted Boss 429… What’s not to like about this over-the-top muscle Mustang that ranks as one of the most talked about and desirable ponycars of all time? It’s got that wild semi-hemi NASCAR engine that is wall to wall impressive whenever the hood is opened. It wears the sheetmetal of one of the raciest looking cars of the muscle-era—the ’69-70 SportsRoof. It came equipped as a real musclecar should—but few Fords were —meaning mandatory four-speed, steep rearend gears, limited-slip dif, and big 15-inch wheels and tires. On the cusp of its January 1969 debut, the Boss 429 Mustang appeared to be the musclecar incarnate, and buff books of the day were ablaze in the hype. And then the big Boss hit the streets…
What we all know now, is that the Boss 429 was a bit of a performance dud when it was released to the public. In reality it’s not that it didn’t perform well—magazine tests finding very low 14s in stock configuration. Rather it’s that the Boss ‘9 didn’t make good on the killer performance that was anticipated. For example, FoMoCo brethren with the 428CJ usually turned out to be quicker, while the competition had multiple offerings that were equal or better performers at lower cost. But our mission here isn’t to dis on the Boss 429, rather it’s to set the stage for its modified potential.
The wall to wall Boss 429 engine looks even nastier than most thanks to dual quad Holleys. The NASCAR cylinder heads are rumored to have once been part of the Wood Brothers team inventory, and feature fully hemispherical combustion chambers.
While Ford wasted the opportunity to maximize the Boss 429 in street form, the package certainly accomplished its primary mission—legalizing the Boss 429 engine for NASCAR racing. And when green-lighted in March of 1969, the new engine simply dominated that realm, running away with the 1969 NASCAR Grand National championship. But what about Boss 429 Mustangs that weren’t left stock; were they competitive on the streets and strips of Anytown USA? At least a handful of Ford dealers spent considerable time working the Boss for all it was worth, including Tasca Ford, Foulger Ford, Tom Larkin Ford, and the dealer who campaigned our particular feature car, Nelson Ekdahl Ford in Minneapolis.
According to Pete Peterson, the original driver of the Nelson Ekdahl Boss 429, the car was received by the dealer in May of 1969, and underwent immediate prep for drag strip use. Peterson was a dealership mechanic at the time, and was thus knee deep in the work to get the car ready. “We thought we were going to get some parts support from Ford, but it didn’t turn out that way. In the end, we had to go through the learning process of what worked on our own. The first time out at Minnesota Dragways, the NHRA officials didn’t know what class to put us in, as they had never seen a Boss 429. The first two weeks we ran in A/Modified Production, then we were re-classified and ran the rest of the season in Super Stock/F. Equipped with 7-inch slicks, 5.14 gears, custom headers, and a NASCAR cam sourced by our parts manager, we never lost a race in that class (SS/F).” Peterson says he recalls ETs being in the 11.80s at 118mph, and yet the effort with the big Boss lasted for just a single season. Nelson Ekdahl sold the car in November 1969 for $5,500, with Peterson explaining “with a young family on the way and on my mechanic’s pay, I didn’t have enough money at the time to buy it myself, but sure wish I had.”
1969 Boss 429 Mustangs were some of the most well-appointed musclecars of the era, all coming with the Interior Décor Group, high back bucket seats, floor console, rim-blow steering wheel, tachometer, and clock.
The interior of Leenstra’s Boss is mostly original, down to the quartet of Stewart Warner gauges that Peterson installed in the dash pad all those years ago. The Hurst shifter is also akin to what Peterson used to bang through the gears, though sans T-handle and line-loc.
From that point forward, the trail on this Boss goes quiet until around 2006, when a customer of Boss 302 enthusiast Randy Ream bought the car and brought it to Ream for restoration. “It was an odd duck when it arrived at my shop, wearing old and incorrect Grabber Blue paint and powered by a 428CJ. From the condition of the fuel in the tank, I’d guess it hadn’t been run in 15-20 years.”
While the customer acquired the parts, Ream dug in and stripped the car to the bone. “It was pretty clean at its core, and so the body and paint were straightforward. I had a local shop near me in Pennsylvania spray it in the factory Wimbledon White using PPG base/clear. Pete Peterson supplied us with some period photos and we duplicated the way they painted the hood in matte black—much like a Mach 1 or Boss 302 would’ve been.”
Ream emphasized using as many of the original parts of the Boss as possible, and with 20-some thousand miles showing on the odometer, many of the original parts were indeed salvageable. Of course that doesn’t hold true for the engine, since it was long gone for who knows how long? The current mill isn’t quite true to the car’s early Super Stock configuration, rather it’s a rowdier piece that was sourced from a NASCAR stash, including the block and heads—the latter with full hemispherical combustion chambers. Since dual quads weren’t available on a factory built Boss 429 Mustang, they weren’t allowed for Stock or SS class racing either, and yet the setup here seems a natural for a full boogie Hemi powerplant. Dawson Racing headers channel the spent fumes rearward, while forward motion is put in play with a proper big in/out Toploader and a 9-inch N-case rear featuring 4.30 gears.
Of course we’re used to seeing the blackout hood/cowl treatment on ’69 Mach 1s and Boss 302s, but Boss 429s weren’t privy to the same treatment originally. However vintage pictures show that the Nelson Ekdahl team added the blackout prior to going racing, and so it was duplicated during restoration.
Boss 429 enthusiast Bob Leenstra bought this car at auction in 2010, largely because of its unique and preserved racing provenance. Leenstra already owns a 135-series ’68 428CJ Mustang drag car, and figured the Boss would make for a great straight-line pairing. With the hard restoration work done, Leenstra put his own stamp on the effort by replacing the white lettered street rubber with a set of wheels and tires inspired by the original racing rolling stock. To that end, he opted for new American Racing TTOs, 15×5-inch up front and 15×7-inch in back. The rubber is likewise new but vintage in appearance, featuring 7.10-15 BFG Silvertowns and M&H 9.0/28.0-15 slicks. As they say, if looks could kill…
In an age when we don’t typically see Boss 429s restored to anything other than stock condition, the Nelson Ekdahl drag car is a rare and interesting sight. While it wasn’t a national level competitor, its history is clearly worth preserving and promoting, and we dig seeing it in its near-competition configuration. Like any street or strip warrior of the era, the factory delivered a combination which was just a starting point in the quest for going faster. Modifications could liberate untapped potential, and it’s here—rather than in stock form, that the Boss 429 Mustang began to be the animal it was predicted to be.
This is the way the Nelson Ekdahl Boss 429 appeared when it arrived for restoration at Randy Ream’s shop in 2006.
Driver/mechanic Pete Peterson launches at Minnesota Dragways against one of many 396 Camaros he competed against.
Sitting in the Nelson Ekdahl garage circa 1969, surrounded by Torinos.
The Boss 429 in NHRA Competition
We explained in the main text how a smattering of Ford dealers around the country tried their hand at developing the Boss 429 for hot street and strip use, with one of the more detailed efforts as follows. Hi-Performance CARS magazine ran an enlightening story in their 11/69 issue, reporting on a stock class Boss ‘9 campaigned out of Tom Larkin Ford in Flat Rock, Michigan. The story diagnosed some of the Boss ‘9s maladies, reporting sloppy blueprint specs, the mismatched S-motor juice cam, and a poorly functioning hoodscoop that actually hindered performance. In addition to common drag modifications such as spring and shock alterations, the Larkin Boss was fitted with 4.71 gears, JR headers, a full engine blueprint, and the T-motor solid lifter cam. These mods helped the Boss, running in B/Stock, to 12.09 at 118.21 on slicks, with more development still to come. The magazine mentioned the current B/S class record of 11.85 at 119 held by a ’67 427 Fairlane, so the effort seemed to be on a good track.
Interestingly, this same article explained the B/Stock classification was due to a NHRA 435 horsepower refactoring for Boss 429s with the T-motor solid cam, while at the same time dropping S-motor hydraulic cam cars to 370 horsepower (5 less than advertised) and a C/Stock assignment—where 428CJ cars were fierce competitors. CARS reported that the Larkin Boss picked up nearly half a second of ET by ditching the factory air cleaner assembly, the stock ram-air system proving so ineffective that it actually starved the engine for air. This was a real handicap in that NHRA rules didn’t allow for aftermarket designs, while other cars in class had effective scoops, not to mention more compression and carburetion, which was limited by class rules as well. In the end, it appears the Boss 429 Mustang fell victim to what it was: a hasty homologation effort to get the engine legalized for NASCAR racing. Had Ford devoted the time and effort to develop the Boss as a street or NHRA Stock and Super Stock competitor, there’s no telling what its credo could’ve been. Clearly the basis for a monster performer was in place—the supporting hardware sadly failed it.
The post Boss 429 Drag Racing Time Capsule appeared first on Hot Rod Network.
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heirs-of-prythian · 5 years
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5 Times Echo Wanted A Big Brother... Part 3
Hey, what's up, guys?? I hope you like some Hemera, Cadan, Artemas, Arianna, Echo and Aurelia play time together.
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Five days after Hemera's Birthday, it was again Hemy's, Cad's and Art's turn to look after Ari, Echo and Aura. Since it is a beautiful sunny day in the Day Court, they are outside. Because that's where they are. In a park near a library in Day. The older trio was actually in the library, before the younger trio was dropped there unceremoniously before them by Aunt Feyre. So the older trio decided that being outside with the three little girls would be the  smartest move. Because Ari, Echo and Aura love playing outside. A lot actually.
Now the three girls are playing a game of tag, with a tree as a safe point. Ari is it, chasing Echo around. With Aura being gigglingly chased here and there, when Echo runs too close to Aura. But both keep evading Ari, which starts to frustrate her.
Meanwhile Hemera, Cadan and Artemas are sitting on a bench, watching the little girls play. Art slouches lazily, hands in his pockets. His raven black is a mess, sticking in wild directions. A stake of books sits beside him. On his other side sits Cadan. But unlike Art, Cad isn't slouching, just leaning back, arms crossed over his chest. He watches the girls with a soft smile. Beside Cadan, Hemera has made herself comfortable, leaning completely against Cadan. Head on his shoulder. She seems to be napping. Her braided fiery red hair falls over her shoulder. Besides her stands the bag Aunt Feyre has left them with. Just a bag with snacks, a change of clothes for all three girls, something to drink, some outside games, and other things that they could need.
To her misfortune, Echo is chasing Aura to get Ari to chase Aura, to stop Ari from chasing her. But Aura keeps her distance from her and Ari is still hot in her heels. Echo is slowly losing her breath. She needs to have a break and some air in her lungs. Making a critical choice, Echo suddenly turns and rushes past Ari, narrowingly avoiding the hand reaching out to touch her. She makes a mad dash to the safe point. And the second she is close to it, to her saving grace, she makes a hard break to suddenly slow down and forcefully stop against the tree, hugging it. She presses her forehead against the bark, eyes closed, and heaves.
Air, fresh and wonderful air, fills her lungs. She takes deep glups of it. Expanding her lungs and chest.
Suddenly the tree shakes as someone threw themselves against it. Startled Echo opens her eye and sees Aura on the other side also heaving, clinging desperately to the tree. Aura's eyes are on the now prowling Ari, who circles the tree. Looking at them like a predator watches his prey, hungry and ready to strike. Echo tightens her hold on the tree, pressing herself against it. Ari can look a little scary sometimes.
Ari circles them again, before she pivots in one foot and walks away from them. To create an illusion of distance. An illusion of a chance to escape her. But neither Aura nor Echo are fooled. They know Ari would be on them the second they aren't touching the tree anymore. The tree might be a safe point, but if Ari's it, than that safe point is a trap for certain transfer of the it title.
Echo doesn't want to let go of the tree just yet, nor does she wants to be it right now. And Aura seems to share her sentiment. But Ari is getting bored and impatient, but still watchful towards them. Than Arianna straightens and she smiles mischievously to them. Then winks before pivoting around, prowling to the older trio on the bench. She stops in front of Art. Art looks at her questioningly, raising one eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Ari makes her move. She taps his knee and shouts “You're it!” Before turning and running away.
Art blinks once. In that moment, Cadan already shooted up from the bench and races in the opposite direction of Ari. Hemera apparently still asleep smacks into the bench sideways, waking her up on impact. “What?” She murmurs while rubbing one eye. Annoyed at her rude awakening. “Art is it!” Ari screams, as Art is still baffled beside Hemy. Without hesitation, Hemy takes off from the bench. Hemy's hasty departure wakes Art out of his stupor. Narrowing his eyes, Artemas stands slowly, his eyes never leaving Ari. Echo makes a wince as Ari breaths out a “Uh Oh”. “She is in trouble!” Aura exclaims with what only can be described as a sad giggle.
Faster than Echo expected, Art starts chasing Ari, who starts screaming in either delight or some kind of fear. Maybe both. Echo honestly had no clue.
The chase between Art and Ari is pretty impressive. Ari climbs over benches, bridges, stones. She rounds several trees multiple times. But she never lost Art. In fact the distance between them hasn't change once since Art started chasing his little sister.
But even Ari's stamina needed to run out sooner or later. By the looks of it, it is sooner, as she is already making a beeline for the save point. Which  Aura and Echo hasn't stopped touching.
Ari literally slams into the tree so hard it shakes, her breathing heavy. Turning her head she glares at Art, who wasn't even a little out of breath, despite chasing Ari around for almost five minutes straight. He is just pouting at her and them, before he turns his head and smiles innocently at Cadan and Hemera. Both let out a “oh crap!” before making a sprint in two different directions. “Oh no, you don't!” Art warns and takes off after them. The girls sigh in relief and than laugh at the funny looking behavior of the grown ups chasing each other.
The game goes on for about 30 more minutes, before the girls collapse against each other on the grass, demanding water and snacks. Well, Echo asked nicely, while Ari demanded. Aura just nodded to both of their statements. Cadan lets out a laugh as Art summons the bag to them. Hemera is already sitting in the grass beside them when Cadan and Artemas finally also sit down. Handing them the bottles of water, Art puts the bag beside him and summons to books to Hemera. The girls take to bottles greedily with a thanks and start drinking their fills.
“We should go to our home, maybe play a board game or take a nap?” Hemera suggests with a yawn. She apparently didn't sleep that much the last couple of days. Which is nothing new for Hemera, Cadan or Artemas, they like to stay up very very late. “Sounds like a good idea!” Art agrees and yawns as well. Cadan nods and yawns too. Yawns are contagious. Echo herself yawns at the sight and she isn't really that tired. Ok maybe a little. After all that running, all she wants to do is lay down and relax. A nap does sound kind of nice. Aura yawns and seems to agree with her, but Ari despite her also yawning, doesn't seem to agree. Ari always has so much energy. Echo has no idea where she stores that much in her body. Or if she ever stops moving at all.
But Ari also knows that she is on the losing side of things, she makes her demands. “We walk there, not winnow!” She glares at Art, he glaring right back. Before he rolls his eyes and agrees to it. But Ari isn't done.
“And you'll carry me in your shoulders!”
“What?!”
“I want to be carried on shoulders too, Hemy!” Aura exclaims in a sunny tone. Hemy and Art look at each other and than shrug and roll their eyes. “Fine.” They agree simultaneously.
Echo just shrugs to herself. She has nothing against walking. And maybe she can hold Cadan's hand again. That should be fun too. A welcome distraction from having to looking up to her best friends. Envy and sadness start taking hold of her heart. No. She isn't sad about this. Her eyes begin to water a little. No, she doesn't want to cry about something so unchangeable. She blinks her incoming tears away. Her hands are in tiny fists, white knuckled, clutching her shorts.
Echo barely registers the standing up of the the others and the picking up of her best friends. Suddenly she is jolted out of her sadness, she makes a surprised sound of “Ahh!”, as two big hands had picked her up and placed her in broad shoulders.
Cadan had placed her on his shoulders. Echo  blinks and grabs Cad's head and hair to steady herself. “Why?” She asks confused. She didn't ask him to do that? Why would he do that?
“Sorry, I just assumed you wanted be carried around on shoulders too, Little Wonder. But if you don't, can set you down again.” There is an undertone of disappointed in Cadan's voice. As if he would be sad if he didn't get to carry her around.
Cadan wants to carry her around. Echo couldn't believe it, but the evidence is right there. And it couldn't have made her happier.
“No, I want to, I want to. Thanks, Little Hero!” Echo says and leans against his head. Cadan walks up to Art and Hemy, who already walked ahead of them. Now waiting for them, looking curiously at them. Ari and Aura smile and wave from atop their older siblings at Echo, who smiles brightly and waves back.
Artemas and Hemera just gave Cadan knowing but soft smiles. Who blushed a little and looked away.
The older trio made their merry way to Hemera's and Aurelia's home, with the three girls on their shoulders.
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I hope you like it.
If you have any questions feel free to ask me. I would love to answer them.
Tagging: @beaubcxton @lux-et-tenebra @mindnumbmikey @starlightheir @guthiix @iamthebonecarverr @tswaney17 @feyres-painting-studio @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks
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