among the waves

Sandman - William Nylander

“stop taking pictures! i’m fucking stuck! be useful and help me!”

drabble week day 2

word count: 940

warnings: cursing

a/n: so far i’ve had a lot of fun with this challenge! i feel a bit meh about this one, but it’s still cute. thanks for the fun prompt!

Originally posted by travisdermott

you loved the beach. you loved the feeling of the sun on your skin, warming you from head to toe. you loved lying on the sand and cooling off in the ocean. and most of all, you loved when willy went with you.

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Has anyone ever noticed how people only love the ocean when the sun is out? Once darkness settles, breeze kicks in, and sharks come out to play - no one wants to swim among it’s waves. And I hope I have never made someone feel like that… As if they’re only admirable in light. As if their darkness wasn’t worth exploring. Because it’s when the sun sets that I sit on the shore, and stare at the ocean in awe.
—  a.p.I See All Your Light, I Love All Your Dark

But I also know for a fact that the knots and kinks that make us who we are and divide us into personalities, separating us into this’s and that’s that merely get used to describe the vast condition of human existence can be smoothed out…
And that is the state for which I am striving… I want to move freely among people and not create waves unnecessarily but rather be harmoniously unified with those around me, the earth, and this universe I dwell in… ❣


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IG:. @voodoufairy

@protect-the-blue-paladin‘s post on healing pods made me whelp so I wrote some fluff to make myself feel better:


Imagine Keith has been injured in battle. His right arm and hand are broken. Coran sets the healing pod up to repair his arm but Keith is reluctant to get in.

“So I just get in there? Awake? What is going to happen? What is it going to feel like? Will I be conscious the whole time? Does it hurt? Lance?” Keith asks.

“I don’t really remember. I was unconscious when you guys put me in there. But I remember having vivid dreams. Vivid dreams of…of…home,” Lance hangs his head slightly then stands up tall and beams a reassuring smile.

“You will get in and the chamber will fill with a gas that will put you to sleep. You might feel a little cold and tingly. It will take most of the night to fix your arm but you will be as good as new by morning. No pain. Nothing to worry about, really,” Coran insists.

“What happens if something happens and you guys need me? Can I be awakened early?”

“You can, but it isn’t recommended. You will be groggy and in a lot of pain. Your nerves will be dancing from the accelerated healing. It won’t be pleasant.”

“I am not worried about pain. I am worried about leaving Voltron down one Paladin. If something happens, wake me.”

“It’s ok, Keith. Allura will cloak the castle and hopefully we won’t get any distress calls tonight,” Lance assures.

Keith turns to get in the pod but still hesitates getting in.

“I don’t like the idea of being incapacitated. It feels vulnerable. I think I’d rather be in pain.”

“Keith, we need you at your best. It will be all right, I promise. I’ll even stay by the pod with you all night if you want me to,” Lance offers.

“Yeah, we all will,” Hunk chimes in.

Keith gives a little nod and enters the healing pod and is put to sleep.

The Space Fam grab pillows and blankets and have a sleepover on the medical deck.

Keith’s pod opens earlier than expected, because he heals slightly quicker than average, and finds his friends all asleep around him.

Pidge is propped up on Hunk in front of her computer asleep. Shiro and Allura have their heads together but their bodies in opposite directions. Coran is sitting with his head down on a control panel. Lance is asleep on the steps closest to his pod.

Keith takes a seat next to Lance’s head and watches him sleep for a few minutes. He is tempted to stroke Lance’s hair but resists.

Keith looks around the room and warms from the inside out as he considers how much he has grown to love each and every soul in that room and the real possibility they love him too. He looks down to notice his newly healed hand, buried among the brown waves of Lance’s crown.

Grateful: A Host One Shot

Host breathes. In and out. One at a time.

Dark is in the room, but he doesn’t know where. He can only feel the ringing in his ears and taste his aura in the back of his throat. There’s panic in his fingertips and the pit of his stomach, but he refuses to let the other man know it.

Dark approaches slowly, sliding a hand across the Host’s shoulders. Does the Host know what he did wrong? Good. How about they take a walk?

Host knows what that means, of course, but he is forced to comply. The buzzing of panic moves from Host’s hands to his head where it snakes across his scalp in a trail of static.

The Host owes Dark, the Ego reminds his captive. The Host should be grateful for Dark’s kindness, his generosity, his discipline. The Host is nothing without Dark. The Host can and will be broken.

The Host can’t breathe. There are bodies everywhere, pressing in and away and around. Voices bounce at him from every direction at every octave and decibel and in every color that he can imagine. This is the bustle of life outside of his precious sanctuary of books and dust. And the Host is terrified of it.

Dark’s hand is on the back of his neck, fingernails biting into the skin there until they aren’t. Until Dark’s hand is gone, and Host is lost among the waves. He’s drowning.

People brush past. People talk around him. People, people, people. There’s a wall. A dumpster, and Host crouches behind it, the stench stinging his nostrils. But at least here he’s safe from them.

Host’s entire chest constricts with the panic of it, and his mind rings with Dark’s words. The Host should be grateful. The Host should be ashamed. The Host should be better than what he is, so much better.

But the Host is not better. The Host is very much broken and very much under Dark’s powerful hold.

And then Dark comes back. Not immediately, no, hours later once the sun has set and the warmth has seeped from the air and from Host’s bones. He’s shivering, but Dark hauls him to his feet regardless, wrinkling his nose at the way Host smells.

The Host is disgusting. The Host is useless. The Host has learned nothing from his punishment. All words floating around in his mind, boats set adrift on a storm-tossed ocean. The Host should be grateful.

And the Host leans against Dark because he has no one else in the world.

Then Amy appears. She walks into his library, into his life, and into his darkness. She throws open the doors of his heart and cleans out all the cluttered words: useless, disgusting, nothing, broken, and all the biting “should be’s.” She dusts off his heart and his ability to feel something other than fear and instead of crushing him beneath her foot, she puts her shoulder under his arm and holds him up.

Amy is golden light. Amy is a burning fire. Amy has her own cracks in her own shell, but she doesn’t lash out in anger. She simply adds to her armor, and stands between the darkness and those she cares about.

And the Host is in awe of her.

She hands him new words: caring, thoughtful, creative, strong, valuable, and slowly, the Host begins to accept them. The Host doesn’t owe her a thing, Amy insists. The Host is his own person. The Host is always improving. The Host is growing and healing and learning.

The Host is loved and very, very grateful.

betsforsythetrash  asked:

I know you've got a load of asks but I neeeed Betty to see Cheryl slapping and hitting Jughead and Betty just sort of guiding him away from the cafeteria and healing his hurt and maybe she tells him she loves him? Give me all the feels

Here you go, my dear! I hope this is something close to what you wanted <3


“Oh no.” Betty followed Archie’s apprehensive gaze, turning to look over her shoulder at the dread in his voice. Her eyes widened minutely as she took in Jughead’s form traipsing across the cafeteria. His shoulders were hunched and dejected as he curled in on himself, dark shadows beneath his eyes a stark contrast against his pallid skin. Betty’s heart ached for the broken boy before her, thrust into a world of sleepless nights, homeless days, and jailbird fathers.

A weighted silence fell over the room as Jughead headed towards Cheryl, stopping a couple feet behind her and waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Betty could practically see the tension rolling off his back in waves, mixed with the hopeless defeat of a child that had given up on the world. It had taken too much from him and he didn’t have the energy to fight back, the endless game of tug of war leaving him with deep, raw rope burns across his palms. He couldn’t hold onto anything anymore. Cheryl turned, face stoic as she regarded him with blank eyes.

“I’m sorry, Cheryl.” The words were quiet but they carried to Betty’s ears like she was an inch from his chapped lips. She inhaled a breath at the shake in his voice that he was trying so hard to hide, legs twitching as she desperately wanted to go to him. She remained glued to her seat as Cheryl stood, seconds ticking by like hours as the air went stale.

The sound of Cheryl’s palm connecting with Jughead’s cheek cracked throughout the cafeteria, a low murmuring chorus spreading in a wave among the growing crowd. The next few seconds were a flurry of movement; Cheryl’s pounding fits hitting Jughead’s chest again, and again, as the group scrambled from their seats, heading to break up the assault.

“That’s enough!” Archie yelled, wrapping his arms around the petite redhead’s waist and lifting her easily away from Jughead’s frozen form. Cheryl ran, eyes fixed on the floor as she made a stealthy exit, tears threatening to over-spill at any moment.

“Come on, Juggie,” Betty whispered, gently wrapping a hand round her boyfriend’s arm and tugging to get him to move. He followed on numb feet, and Betty wondered if he even registered they were walking.

She pushed his shoulders gingerly, sitting him down on the worn, plaid couch in the Blue and Gold office, before crossing the room to fetch the first aid kit, she herself perching on the low wooden table before him, clamping her knees round either side of his. Her soft hand cupped his chin, twisting his face back and forth to examine Cheryl’s damages. There was a small cut on his lower lip, a little bloody and swollen, but that seemed to be the only extent of the physical effects. Betty sighed, opening up the kit to tear open the foil on an antiseptic wipe.

Jughead’s red-rimmed eyes were distant, unfocused. He hadn’t uttered a word since his apology. Betty didn’t like being unable to read him. He’d spent so much of his life shutting himself down, hiding his feelings from those around him that it had slowly become second nature, enabling him to exude a cold, robotic exterior whenever he wanted to. It terrified her. She took a breath, opening her mouth to speak as she idly dabbed at his wound - he didn’t even flinch at the sting. His voice cut through the silence first.

“Do you know how many rooms there are in my grandparent’s house?” he asked, voice husky. Betty blinked, taken aback by the question. Her hand paused, hovering an inch in front of his lips as she regarded his expression, still not looking anywhere near her. She didn’t even know if he knew it was her before him.

“I… No, I don’t,” she finally said, shaking herself out of her surprise and continuing the task at hand. Jughead exhaled a humourless breath out of his nose, nostrils flaring slightly in distaste.

“Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a dining room, a living room, a study, a basement, and an attic conversion,” he recited as if he were reading a house listing. Betty didn’t say anything, eyes flicking between his mouth and his eyes as she waited for him to continue in his own time. Jughead’s eyes slid closed, brow furrowing slightly as if he were trying to repel a painful thought from his head.

“She said that it would probably be best if I didn’t come and visit them right now. That she and Jellybean were already putting my grandparents out so much that another person around the house might seem like she was taking advantage.” His eyes screwed up, mouth pressing together as Betty pulled the wipe away, his teeth raking against the flesh and causing the cut to open up once more, bead of crimson welling quickly before rolling down his chin. Betty swept it away silently. Just as suddenly as the pain set on Jughead’s face it was gone, replaced again with those harrowing, unseeing eyes. “What she really meant was that she didn’t want me to come, that she couldn’t face what she’d left behind.”

Betty didn’t realise she was crying until a tear rolled off her chin, landing with a wet splash on the back of her hand. She swiped furiously at her cheeks, erasing their tracks. This was not the time for weak-willed crying. This was Jughead and he was lying before her in shattered pieces, sharp edges pricking anyone that tried to get too close. But Betty Cooper had a thick skin, wound in too many layers of duct tape and bubble wrap from piecing herself back together one too many times. She threw the soiled wipe onto the table beside her, reaching forward to grasp Jughead’s fists with trembling, clammy hands. She pried his tight fingers open, lacing her own through his to bar them from curling once more.

“Juggie,” she breathed, trying to talk around the tight pain his words, his expression, his demeanour, had caused in her chest. He still didn’t meet her soft, imploring eyes. “Jughead,” she began more firmly. He lifted his sad, tired eyes to hers finally. “Your value is not decided by the words of others. Or the actions,” she added, thinking of where his father was currently spending his day.

“Do you know how many times you’ve pulled me back from the edge? I’ve been… dancing on the edge of this precipice for most of my life, and I was so close to losing my footing when you climbed through my window.” Betty allowed herself a small smile as she thought of their first kiss, the way his breath felt fanning over her flushed face as he exhaled in relief once his lips had touched hers, finally. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t found me, Jug, I don’t know where I’d be,” she whispered, voice trembling, but she was determined to remain strong. Jughead shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“You didn’t need me, Betts, you would’ve made it alone-”

“But I didn’t have to. Don’t you see? I didn’t have to. Because you made sure that I had someone even when things seemed impossible. I know that I will never understand what it feels like to be where you are right now. But I don’t need to. I just know that you’re hurting and I’d do anything to take that pain away from you, I’d take it all this instant if I could.” Jughead’s lower lip had begun to tremble at her words. “And I know that you would do it for me, you have done it for me. You refuse to give up, or let me give up on myself, so now it’s my turn to make sure that you don’t give up either. Not on your dad, and not on yourself. That’s what people who love each other do.” She sucked in a breath with a wobbly inhale.

Jughead blinked, the blue of his eyes intensifying as he took in her words, pupils dilating ever so slightly as they flicked back and forth across her face.

“What?” he mumbled, lips barely moving as if he dared not move a muscle.

“I love you, Jughead. I love you, for you,” she repeated, not a single quiver in her voice. Tears gathered slowly along his waterline. His mom, his dad, Fred… he took it all in stride, but this? He could no longer hold the flood back as his chest heaved the first of its sobs, shoulders wracking violently as he cried.

His whole body crumpled, folding forwards until his forehead hit her collarbone with a dull thud. She cupped his face tight against the warm crook of her neck, hand moving to the nape of his neck to rub small, soothing circles against the soft skin. She rocked him gently, hushing him with gentle, low shushes, letting him dampen the thin material of her shirt with his salt water troubles.

“It’s okay, Juggie, it’s going to be okay,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. Betty knew her words to be true; she had vowed to never lie to him for as long as he would allow her to be his. Now, all she had to do was prove it.

PSA: Deadlock was a big deal.

I was reminded that I’m way overdue for your annual friendly reminder that in IDW canon, Deadlock was not a run-of-the-mill Decepticon, he was a big effing deal.

I think a lot of people like to forget that he wasn’t just another grunt due to the fact that he’s already some writerdude’s latecomer-to-the-franchise Gary Stu-ish badass samurai villain-turned-hero. How dare he be all those ridiculous things, and then on top of that be canonically established as one of the most dangerous ‘Cons??? That’s not fair, right? That’s ridiculous. You can’t do that. Bad writing. Gross.

But, well, that’s what Drift is. Yeah, he’s a ridiculous Gary Stu-ish blah blah. And he’s also, on top of that, an infamous, top-tier ‘Con. Lemme share some stuff from the comic, with ~illustrations~:

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I am glass, clear empty glass . . . No gesture can touch me. I’ve been dropped into all this from another world and I can’t speak your language any longer . . . I feel like a window, maybe a broken window. I am a glass human. I am a glass  human disappearing in the rain. I am standing among all of you waving my invisible arms and hands. I am shouting my invisible words . . . I am disappearing. I am disappearing but not fast enough.
—  David Wojnarowicz, from Memories that Smell Like Gasoline
But you saw me more like a blessing than a trouble. You saw me more than I thought I am and it was enough. I thought I was fine being just a dot in the crowd but you saw me, among the waves, amidst the lighting and shinih stars, you saw me resting my soul in a state where no one could ever discover any beauty within me. You saw me and you touched me when people seems to think that I do not deserve any attention or admiration because I am nothing but an ugly and miserable soul; and I got nothing to offer. I am just this. With all my wounds and pains. I am just this, carrying my story in my soulder and my heart on my sleeves. But you saw me, you wiped my tears away. Kissed my imperfections and casted my tears. You rescued me from my own misery and in a storm of people trying to belittled me— you raised me from the crowd, from the shining and blistering stars. You’ve shut your evening sky dark and you’ve watched me discover my light. I was never a fan of love, of a salvation, of a savior. And you never really have to fight and bleed to be my hero… All you did, you saw me. And with that, everything changed.

aight fam question: what if mermaid au didn’t take place in this fantasy land with vague pirate undertones? what if mermaid au takes place in the regular ol NHL setting? The team finds out when they’re playing beach volleyball (Sidney really didn’t want to come, but it’d be weird if their Captain wasn’t here, especially when the cameras are rolling). When someone jokes about throwing Sidney in the ocean, he gets kind of panicky, which then really elicits a team response, and a bunch of players pick Sidney up and head towards the sea. 

Sidney is yelling out that he can’t swim, and Flower retorts, “Stop lying, we’ve all seen you at the pool party.” But that was pool water, but if Sidney touches salt water–

And even now, after years of not being back in the ocean, he feels the sea call to him, the voices of his brothers and sisters wailing for him to come home, he can see the disapproving expressions of the High Council, begging for their Fifth Prince and the next-in-line Commander of the Northern Seas to reconsider and give up this human sport. And oh God, his betrothed, the first son of a General from the Western Isles, will come looking for him. The waves, tame only a minute ago, is growing more turbulent in broad daylight, licking the shores and reaching out to Sidney like arms. It had taken Sidney six nights of planning to sneak out the kingdom, and multiple bribes to the Old Witch to conceal his presence from his kingdom while he was on land, so long as he never feels the cold of ocean water lapping at his skin.

“Stop, stop!” Sidney says, but his teammates are all laughing. They think he’s playing along. He turns to Geno, hanging in the back with a few players, and shouts, “Geno! Geno, help!”

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Give No Quarter XI

Three days. The rise and fall of the sun had marked their passing in your delirium. Through the haze of sickness, you had sensed the shift of light and dark. Exposed to the mercy of the sea, you had not ceased shivering and you had no strength to hold your head up as you hung from the frontmost mast.

Elvenking’s voice had come to you at occasion though his words had been unclear. In your mind, they jumbled together and made little sense. You could feel the peeling of your skin from sun and salt and your sodden clothes were putrid from the excrement which had spilled unbidden down your legs, adding to your shame and misery.

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I am the symbol of Creation and Destruction
I am the beginning and the end.
With my tail in my mouth
I am the Circle of Eternity.
Wisdom is in my eyes
And the dusk of wisdom lurks amid my coils.
My track circles the world
And I loop my coils around the Universe.
My head waves among the stars
And the nations fall prostrate before me.
Coiled, head upright, I am the spirit of the sea.
The world-shaking dinosaur was my henchman
And the flying dragons were my footmen.
The ancients knew me.
They reared shrines and altars
And I taught them dim, dusky wisdom.
I coiled in the ruins of Troy and Babylon
And on the forgotten streets of Nineveh.
The Norse called me Midgaard and built their galleys
Like a sea-serpent.
The Egyptians and the Indians called me Ysis
And the Phoenecians Baal.
I am the sea that girdles the world.
I am the first and I shall be the last.
I am the Serpent of the Ages

~ Robert E. Howard

Just You Wait - Alfie Solomons One Shot O/C (requested)

“Only me, I have a request for a one shot… you probs know what involving haha.  If poss I don’t want no full sex in it, just lots of his hands and beard over her (o/c) body n her touching his hands I know it’s very specific haha thank you.”



Just You Wait

 The daily rush was finally slowing to a more manageable pace, as Y/N leaned against the counter and blew a pale wayward strand of hair from where it clung to her damp face.   Blazes it was hot in the bakery today.  The ovens working overtime to keep up with the demand.   Eyes the colour of a summer sky scanned the store and quickly counted the number of customers in the queue.  Less than five -  that wouldn’t take long.   Now as long as another rush didn’t sweep through the doors, she might just have time. Plucking her blouse from the sweat that had gathered between her ample breasts, her pert nose wrinkled in distaste. Perhaps she was not in any condition to pay a visit after all.   What she needed was a mirror, a brush and just the right shade of gloss to pull herself together.   With a quick glance towards the front of the store, noting that the line had dwindled to only two customers, she yelled to the bakery Manager, Ms. Shannon that she was finally taking her break.

After five minutes to pull herself together, she was walking down the passageway that connected the store bakery with the real heart of the business of one Alfie Solomons.    Her heart began thumping madly within her chest as a vision of the man swam before her eyes.   She could conjure every detail in vivid fantasy; but her mind was always prone to linger on his strong, hands and that glorious beard liberally laced in ginger tones.   Her stomach flipped just imaging both of them all over her body.   Thus far, despite some not so subtle hinting, she had not felt the pleasure.  Yet.   Sure, he was technically her boss, but God – the man was just too much man too resist.   Also, she had no shame.   More to the point, she suspected Alfie was the kind of man who didn’t care about boss/employee protocol, and would likely be pleased even further by her wanton desire.   

Y/N had heard enough talk of the man to know restraint was not his strong suit, and thus she figured it was just a matter of time before she knew the feel of those long, lean fingers all over her naked skin.   Once she had trailed a painted nail along the veins that stood out on his forearms and nearly climaxed from that experience alone.   Pausing outside his door, she could see the man at his desk, booted feet resting causally on the surface while he pondered the papers he held.   Hell, how the man was somehow sexier in those half-moon glasses, she would never know.   Taking a deep breath, she paused momentarily to silently watch him… and collect her wits.   One never wanted to approach Alfie Solomons with anything less than a fully functioning state of mind.   Which was a serious challenge when one tended to hold images of riding that beard while trying to converse.   Today she planned on testing the limits of his restraint.   Only a taste though.  

Always leave them wanting more was her motto.

Alfie’s jaw had begun to ache due to the amount of beard scratching he had already accomplished, and it was barely noon.  If it was not a dozen things going wrong today, it was probably twice that amount.  Fucking hell days like this were beginning to take a toll on him.   He’d even lost the will to yell at Ollie anymore.   The words of whatever document he was trying to read were blurring before his tired eyes.   Flinging the document back upon the desk, he lowered the glasses once more and leaned back in his chair, palms swiping over his aching eyes.   He rested his head against the back of the chair for a few minutes, weighing the merits of a good, but brief nap.  His hands folded across his chest, but fingers twisted and clenched continuously as a restlessness coursed through his body despite the fatigue. His eyes opened and wandered to the ceiling.  Then rolled over his cluttered desk, and finally towards Ollie busy in his own office. The lad was muttering and Alfie shook his head, eyes rolling… and then they landed on her.

Even through the distorted plane of glass in the door, Alfie was forced to admit it was one of the most stunning faces he had ever beheld.   The golden hair that framed it draped down and curling at the ends.   He knew it had to be worn up while working in the bakery, which meant she had styled before coming to his office.   He smirked slightly.  Their gazes held across the room, while she waited for his summons to enter.   Her sultry, sweet smile not fading while he made her wait, but acting like a siren call that caused a tightening in his gut.   She looked like summer and cool evenings spent by a fire.   The caramel streaks infused among the subtle waves giving the paleness of her skin a warmth, instead of being washed out.  She was uncommonly beautiful – and knew it.    And therein lay the cause of his hesitation.   That spelled possible trouble if she thought it would grant her power over him.    Thought she could catch him.  Alfie enjoyed what a woman might offer – but Alfie Solomons didn’t get “caught.”   Once again his fingers grazed through the ginger streaked hair along his jaw.   Through the glass her lips parted.  

Why she was at his office was another matter; but he could guess it was not likely official Solomon Bakery Business.   She had been flirting outrageously with him for weeks now.   Certainly he was not opposed to Y/N’s attentions; indeed she had been the starring role in many of his fantasies of late.   He imagined the soft, silky feel of that wheat and honey hair draped all around them as he took possession of her lithe, young body.    What he doesn’t like is the coquettish games.  How she’d smile and touch him lightly and then move away.  Darting her tongue out to lick her lips, and then a look of almost disdain would cross her pretty features.  Like he, a Jewish Crime Boss of humble origins was beneath her; a Golden Goddess.   No, he didn’t need that bullshit in his life.   What he needed was a good fuck to release the anxiety of the day.   If she was game for that – he didn’t give a fuck what this uppity princess thought of him.   Leaning forward he crooked his finger in a forward motion.  

Y/N swung through his office door, eyes set on his own, breasts thrust forward and hips swinging.   Her mouth spread in a wide smile and he cannot deny that it spreads a warm, happy glow straight to his loins.   His legs swung down to the floor while he patted the edge of his desk.   A moment’s hesitation before she crosses to only lean against the edge; one leg casually brushing against his own.  

“Lovely to see you Y/N as always.  How are things in the bakery today?”

“Just fine they are Mr. Solomons.  We’ve had a real good day.”   Her eyes dropped demurely to the floor briefly.  “Why I’ve barely had a chance to catch my breath at all.”   Then raised to meet his own, a subtle woeful shine that was designed to draw forth his softer nature.  “It’s lucky that I’ve had a few spare moments to come see ya.  Ya know, show my appreciation for hiring me that is.”    One hand had reached out to lightly graze the bare skin of his forearm.   Igniting a spark of lust within him to have those perfectly manicured hands on other places.  

“How has your day been Sir?   Is there anything ya need for me to do?”   A delicate brow raised, the hidden meaning not so well hidden at all.

Alfie studied her, a look of mild amusement only registering on his face.   He slid his chair upon the floor closing the gap between them, holding her gaze with his own penetrating stare.  She sighed, heaving her bosom high and ran a finger along the outside curve of her hips, before shifting as though she was about to make her leave.

“Well, I’d best be getting back. I just wanted to see you…”

A hard glint entered his gaze and she stopped mid-sentence; eyes wide and wondering.   It was at this moment Alfie decided he had tolerated enough of these games and it was time to take her in hand.  Literally.

She made to move away again, but a strong hand reached out and locked about her slender wrist.  

“Well love, I won’t lie to you, it’s been a hell of a day.  And come to think of it, there is something ya can do for me.”  His gaze didn’t leave her own as he yelled across the office space.   “Ollie, take a fuckin break.”

The lad darted from the office without a backwards glance.    She shifted nervously wondering if she had bitten off more than she could chew with this man feared by so many.   Even though the way he commanded so easily was making her nether regions quiver.   She drew a shaky breath, but was determined to not falter.   Trying to regain the upper hand, she leaned forward, fingers light upon his chest while she removed the glasses from around his neck.   Nails briefly grazing through the longer length of his hair above his shirt collar.  The smile she cast hinting at untold promises.   Promises to be bestowed at her fickle will.  He smiled back, the stillness of his body suggesting he was powerless to her magnetic pull.   His one hand reached for her own smaller ones, a gentle squeeze and she felt sparks burst within her entire body.  She began tracing that vein again…

Suddenly he exploded in raw power and sexual energy pulsed through the air, as he gripped her firmly about the neck and bent her back over the desk.  He paused briefly to give her a chance to voice protest — her eyes were wide and her chest heaved, but she said nothing.    Those lean fingers made short work of her blouse buttons, eyes never leaving her own.  His rough hands a light graze across the exposed flesh at first.   Her skin shivered in the coolness of the office though being overcome by the power he exudes over her has sent a hot flush coursing through her veins.    Then it’s all business of his mouth, beard and hands everywhere.   He never kisses her – just glides his warm mouth over her skin, the soft whiskers following.   Granting her a taste of what might be and she bites her tongue to keep from begging him to go further.   The contrast of his warm flesh and the cool imprint of his various rings almost sending her over the edge. 

Pushing her further back, his hands reached beneath her skirt and slowly slid up her legs; gently spreading them apart.   Her breath hitches when his head dives between them, while the light touch of a finger traces the outline of her panties.   He goes no further, but drags his beard scratching along her inner thighs before moving to cover her mound through the thin cotton material with his warm mouth.   She’s writhing, no longer able to keep from begging for more and pushing her pelvis into his face as his mouth moves over the soft cotton covering.    The strong grip of those hands squeezing her thighs and her mind is tumbling, wondering what his tongue might feel like.   Abandoning all pretense, she boldly reached down and tried to move her panties aside.   Alfie doesn’t stop, but gripped her hands and held them tightly pinned to her sides.   A growled grunt vibrates against her centre and a moan escapes against her will as she almost comes right there.   The wetness seeped through and he pressed his tongue briefly against her bud.   Moving up, he rubbed his beard against the soft roundness of her stomach and his large hands grazed over the sensitive skin covering her ribs to grab a handful of breast.   His eyes watching her closely; head tipped back, jaw slack and panting with need.   Her own eyes squeezed shut so she missed his slow smile of satisfaction.  

As suddenly as he started, he pulled away; leaving her limp and wanting him more than ever.   Her eyes liquid pools of unquenched desire, while he seems barely affected.   Save for the satisfied smirk and hard gleam in that stare he fixed upon her.   Waiting.  Watching her reaction.   Testing her further, his hands slowly slide up her body and once more he bent his mouth to skim along skin already showing the red rashes of his attention.  Lightly he skimmed along the delicate fair surface, his hot breath and the tickle of his beard spiraling her arousal further.   Y/N reached shaky hands to hold him closer, but he doesn’t allow her touch and pins them above her head.    Bending his face so close she thinks finally she will know the feel of those full lips upon her own.  She smiles softly back and they hold the moment.   Alfie merely brushed the corner of her lips with his own, whispering against their fullness; his voice deep and low.   But she can detect it’s also thick with need.  

“I say when, where and how it fuckin happens sweetie.  Now get back to work.”

Just like that he released her and strode away in that swagger that makes a woman want to abandon pride and chase after him.   He doesn’t even look back as he exits his own office.   Confused and mildly affronted, she fastened her blouse and returned to the bakery on wobbly legs.   Visibly shaken as she resumed her duties.    Ms. Shannon takes one look at her dazed stare and raised red rashes upon her throat and upper chest, and shakes her head knowingly.   As the hours slip by, her excitement dwindles into a sweeping embarrassment that infuses her cheeks with a heated blush.   Did she entirely misjudge the man?   Or worse, her own powers of seduction?   Suddenly she’s not so confident regarding their next encounter.    Her nerves a tangled mess as the hours pass slowly by.   Just before closing, Ollie strides purposefully into the kitchen office where she sits at her desk gathering her personal affects.   Not meeting her gaze, he simply hands her a note,

“From Mr. Solomons, Miss Y/N.”

She accepted the note, trying to search his face for some sign of the contents, but faithful, stoic Ollie reveals nothing of his employer’s intent.   Nodding his head, he took his leave.   Y/N opened the note to discover an address and a time scrawled in his neat handwriting.   A PS “wear that polka dotted dress, and don’t be late.”    A slow smile of satisfaction spread across her face as a warm glow pulsed through her entire body.   He’s played his hand, and now the play is hers.  Will she take a risk and up the ante?

We’ll see who says when and where Mr. Solomons.

She’d wear the polka dotted dress as per his request.   It wasn’t like she had not seen his glances rake over her curvy form whenever she wore it.

But she wasn’t above making any man – even Alfie Solomons - wait a little.   Her smile and confidence were back in place as she closed the door on her office and left the bakery with her head held high. 

~

EDIT:  DUE TO POPULAR DEMAND, THIS FIC WAS EXPANDED TO THREE PARTS

All Business (Just you Wait, Part Two)

Well Played -   (Just You Wait, Part Three/Conclusion)

This was an anon request so I’ll just tag my Hardy clan - sorry if I miss anyone.

@brinabear458, @badassbaker, @banes-tshirt, @james-k-delaney, @thihaf, @readsalot73,

the sweetest melody
blooming among the waves  
beloved Venus,
her lips spinning with grace 
dewy kisses of falling pearls  
epitome of the fairest 
she’s like a glamour
at the edge of haze
—  | a.s. || happy birthday Melody

Lines for Atlantis

i.

Atlantis is fine. Just ignore
the wave, poised to fall.
Don’t think about it crushing
citizens and their careful gardens
or running loose among porticos.
Besides, the wave has been there
for so long - you know the gods
keep it suspended, holding it frozen
for Atlantis, the city they love best.

ii.

Atlantis! who would have thought
that this was how it would end:
the wave, falling like splintering
glass, foam dancing in public squares,
salt crusting on windows, the sea
we have so long loved and lived with
betraying us. Did we anger a god?
What offense could merit this destruction?

iii.

Atlantis is dead. The fish enjoy the meticulous
care with which we raked our gardens,
and where citizens talked politics
sharks now swim. We do not exist.
The waves have claimed even our ghosts.
Was it our folly, to build beneath the wave?
We should have known, should have seen,
should have moved. We did not. If
there are gods, they did not warn us.
We deserved at least a warning. How
could we have known that the wave,
which had hung there, frozen, for so long
would finally break?

A Rather Small Event Part Two

A/N: Just a quick PSA before we begin! Please don’t kill yourself! A lot of wonderful people have been lost to suicide, and I hope that we don’t have to add to that list! Suicide is never the way out, even if it seems that way. Alright, now that that’s been said, enjoy! I mean, you didn’t really think I’d leave you hanging, did you? 


Whistled through Alexander’s hair as he sat on the guardrail, looking down at the ocean beneath him. The tide was high, crashing down on the distant beaches of dark grey-brown sands. Each time the water flooded out, only to pull back in, Alexander could almost taste the salty water on his chapped lips.

He briefly wondered what it would feel like to swim among these waves, colder than the air surrounding him. Would he open his eyes underneath the tides to see blue-greens of the waters back home in Nevis, or the murky brown depths he knew these waters held? How deep was it? Surely the water would be at least twenty feet by now, far enough to sink down without a conscious thought, but still enough to swim up if one desired to reach the bottom. Alexander had no intentions of swimming up.

The wind only seemed louder as he threw himself off the ledge, a thirty foot drop through the air embracing him. The water was as cold as he’d expected, and he opened his eyes to see a mixture of dark greens and muddy browns. Sinking down to the bottom, he closed his eyes once more and opened his airway.

He didn’t try swimming back up.

A soft light glimmered through the water, and despite Alexander’s closed eyes, he could see it. Opening his eyes, the water was lighter, cleaner, due to the light shining through the waves. A figure plunged into the water, opening dark brown eyes to catch a glimpse of alexander and pull him up with them. Alexander struggled- he didn’t want to breathe, he didn’t want to live, he couldn’t live, not like this. Never like this.

Despite his protests, the figure continued swimming upwards until they broke free of the water, and the person pulled him to shore. Laying his body on the sand, a deep voice broke through the sounds of Alexander’s mind.

“Hello again.” They said, looking away from Alexander. Alexander sat up before inspecting the sand beneath his fingertips. It was warm, and small pieces as well, like fine diamonds washed up onto the beach. Just like the sand in Nevis. But he was far from Nevis, and the sunshine was warm on his face, but it had been night just moments before.

Looking up at the man before him, Alexander’s heart stopped. Lafayette turned his gaze back to Alexander and offered a smile, placing one hand on Alexander’s own.

“It’s good to see you again, mon amour.” He said, before being cut off by Alexander’s lips on his, arms wrapped around him and laughing slightly into the kiss.

“I missed you.”

“I know.”

“Are you gonna stay with me?”

“For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”


@virusap