The clouds that threatened rain earlier in the day have subsided, bunching themselves cosily near the horizon as though they’re aware that what Laurent needs more than anything else is a good sunset to serve as a backdrop. Laurent sits in the grass near the edge of the headland, looking down onto the dark sand of the beach. The water shades abruptly from turquoise to teal a few hundred metres offshore, a meandering divide that becomes less and less distinct as the sun creeps down.
Part of the reason Laurent has been so strict with the show’s budget is that he’s been determined, all along, to produce a finale that is truly spectacular. Sunsets over the ocean aren’t exactly easy to come by, on Australia’s east coast, and it’s an irony of geography that the nearest west coast belongs to another country entirely.
But that makes it better, Laurent thinks, gazing out over the vista of Te Henga. Crossing the sea. The romance of destination.
“I don’t suppose you’d be prepared to give us a hint,” says a voice from behind him.
Jokaste steps up next to him; Laurent has to tilt his head to take her in. Her hair is braided back, one plait forming a headband and the others looped intricately into a knot at the back of her head. She’s wearing a long flowing dress of pale lavender, just a shade away from overtly bridal, and it somehow manages to accentuate the porcelain of her skin instead of calling out unpleasant pink or yellow tones. Laurent makes a note to give someone in wardrobe a bonus for that.
“You do know who he’s going to choose, don’t you?” she says.
Tim Drake finally returns from his imprisonment and Dick’s first instinct is to wrap him in the biggest hug ever. But Tim had been isolated in a cage for months with no human contact and at least some sensory deprivation. So Dick’s hugs which once made him feel warm and safe and wanted and all those squishy happy feelings, just make him feel overwhelmed and trapped. He can’t help flinching as soon as someone touches him and even though being hugged used to be comforting, now it just makes his chest tighten with panic and his skin crawl and his head pound as he tries to cope with all the heightened sensory input. And all he wants is to relax in his brother’s arms and revel in the feeling of blessed human touch after being alone for so long but he just can’t and he hates it.
In which Archie distracts the reader in the best way possible.
Pairing: Archie Andrews x Reader
Warnings: Smut, smut and more smut!
A/N: so I got a super positive response for me writing some riverdale smut and a request for some Archie x Reader so here it is. Pass me the holy water people!
You were sat at your desk desperately trying to finish your English
essay whilst listening to the red-headed jock on your bed whine and groan about
how bored he was. That boy was Archie Andrews – jock, musician and certified
fuckboy. You weren’t really sure why he was there or what you were to him. All
you knew was that despite his complete lack of judgement in sticky situations
and his gullible nature, he was a total sweetheart and he liked you a lot. You were
snapped out of your daze by the feeling of strong arms embracing you from
behind and slightly chapped lips against your neck.
“You need a break…” he murmured against your skin, the
vibrations sending shivers down your spine.
“I can’t…I have to finish this…” your voice trailed off as
his lips found your ear, nibbling on the lobe lightly and eliciting a moan from
“Please (Y/N), can’t you just do it later?”
You were tempted and his breath on your skin clouded your
judgement momentarily before you swallowed and composed yourself.
“Arch…I can’t,” you tried and failed to sound convincing and
as you turned to attempt to look him in the eyes with faux sincerity he simply
wet his lips and nodded. You turned back to your work, scanning the page trying
to recollect your thoughts. You could feel Archie behind you still and you
tried to ignore the sound of his heavy breathing and concentrate on the task at
hand. His calloused hand came to rest on your shoulder and after a few seconds
you noticed it inching further and further down. Your mouth became dry as his
fingertips trailed down over your collarbone then further still. His finger
circled around your nipple through the thin material of your tank top and your
breath hitched in your throat. His finger didn’t linger though, it continued
its path down your stomach and past your navel and heat flooded your cheeks the
further south they got. The pressure between your legs built with anticipation
and you clamped your thighs shut upon instinct. You swallowed the lump in your
throat and he coaxed your legs apart slowly. Your arm curled behind you to
grasp his neck and pull him in for a sloppy kiss, essay completely forgotten.
How was it that he knew exactly what you wanted – exactly what you needed?
His long fingers began making slow, languid strokes against
you, through your leggings and you bit your lip to stifle the moans threatening
to escape your lips. His head rested in the crook of neck, sucking and biting
on your sweet spot and leaving dark purple marks there. His hand drifted
upwards to the waistband of your leggings and expertly slipped inside. The sudden
skin-on-skin contact made you gasp and his palm flattened against you. Painfully
slowly he slipped a finger into your entrance and you couldn’t stop yourself
from moaning his name in sultry tone. This made him gasp and encouraged him to
slip in another finger, keeping them still and teasing you mercilessly.
“Please Arch I-I need…” you stammered, bucking your hips
against his fingers in a feeble attempt to gain some friction. He grinned
boyishly at the effect he had on you and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek
before pumping his fingers. You groaned, finally satisfied by the pleasure he
was providing you. Apparently, Archie wasn’t because he moved his thumb to
press on your most sensitive bundle of nerves. One of your hands clutched the
arm of your desk-chair whilst the other rested behind his neck, tangling your
fingers in his luscious red locks. He began to pick up his pace, thumb circling
your clit furiously whilst he whispered unforgivable things in your ear. With one
final curl of his fingers you came undone around him, walls clamping around his
fingers and his name falling from your lips in a guttural moan. He continued
his movements until you had ridden out your high, falling limp against the
chair, utterly spent. You gazed up at him with a captivated smile and he
returned your stare with a lopsided grin.
“Better than your essay?” he asked, biting his lip and
raising his brows in childlike anticipation for your answer. You hand came to
rest on your chin as you mocked contemplation.
“I dunno Arch, Shakespeare might have got the upper hand
with this one,” his eyes lowered to look at the ground and he mumbled a disappointed
“oh…” until you burst into a fit of giggles. “I’m kidding Archie! It was
amazing…you are amazing.”
With that you leaped up from your seat and pulled him into a
tight embrace, peppering him with quick kisses to which he laughed and returned
them in response. You had fallen for this boy, hard and every second you were
with him you seemed to fall harder.
“Psh.” Halvik makes a dismissive sound. “Look at that. A waste.”
Laurent would stab himself rather than admit it, but he’s always been a tad intimidated by Halvik. She’s been a contentedly mid-level producer for as long as Laurent has been alive, and while never actually pushing back against his authority, she always gives the impression that she’s humouring him because she finds him amusing.
Laurent follows her gaze to where Damen, Kallias and Erasmus are talking, ankle-deep in the surf.
“A waste?” he says.
“Of good genetic material.” Halvik heaves a sigh. “That boy shouldn’t be throwing himself away on more boys. Look at my girl Kashel. Wouldn’t they have attractive children?”
Laurent glances up into Halvik’s eyes, which are solemn beneath thick and perfectly groomed brows. He is at least seventy percent sure he’s being teased, and that if he says anything cutting about heterosexuals she will laugh at him.
He looks at Kashel, then back at Damen. Kashel is black-haired and curvy, with a wide smile; Laurent supposes that she’s pretty, if you’re into that kind of thing.
“Yes,” he says instead, because it’s not like Halvik is wrong.
Halvik laughs anyway, claps him on the shoulder, and wanders off, probably to tweak Kashel’s sarong skirt into a more precarious angle on her hips.
Stay, Roman brethren! Gracious conqueror, Victorious Titus, rue the tears I shed, A mother’s tears in passion for her son:And if thy sons were ever dear to thee, O, think my son to be as dear to me!Sufficeth not that we are brought to Rome, to beautify thy triumphs and return, captive to thee and to thy Roman yoke, But must my sons be slaughter’d in the streets, for valiant doings in their country’s cause? O, if to fight for king and commonweal were piety in thine, it is in these. Andronicus, stain not thy tomb with blood! Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods? Draw near them then in being merciful. Sweet mercy is nobility’s true badge. Thrice noble Titus, spare my first-born son!
There’s a lot of Bucky’s POV (italics) in this one, which is kinda dumb because if you’ve seen Civil War, you’ll know this stuff. Sorry x
She was taken in. Not too roughly, but not too
gently either. Handcuffed, thrust into the back of a windowless van, the Widow
climbing in after her, and banging on the driver’s partition. The van started, and she felt it moving off
into traffic, not too fast, trying not to attract attention. She shifted slightly, trying to ease her
shoulders and get more comfortable. Time
to assess first, before acting, before trying to escape.
And then it hit her. Why escape? Why leave one
captivity, to return to another? For years, she had returned to Hydra because
of James, drawn to him, programmed, compelled, to be there with him. Then he
left, and she reverted to acting solely on command. Go out, complete mission,
return. But now, the electroshocks had
agitated her brain, resetting her neuronal connections, shaken loose the
commands. Perhaps not all of them, she still felt the urge to fight, to run,
but now she felt that she could choose whether to act on those orders. Now she
could think about who and why she might fight, where she might run. The choice was too great, after decades under
control, the idea of free will was tantalising and terrifying. For now though, she would choose to wait.
Wait, can you remind me what are the two rings that Ciel is wearing? There was one that Sebastian fetched out (presumably from the twin's body) and one that Madame Red handed to him upon his return, yes? So which ring signifies what? Also, which one is the one that Elisabeth broke at the beginning of the manga/anime? I forgot that there are two rings and now I'm confused @_@
Ciel wears two rings:
the Phantomhive ring on his left thumb and the seal ring on his right middle finger.
Phantomhive ring (aka “blue ring”):
the “ring” everyone is talking about in regards to the “who stole the candy from my tummy” message (ch128)
Lizzy once broke it but Sebastian later fixed it (ch2)
it has been handed down to each head of the Phantomhive family (Vincent used to wear it, too)
* Bismuth has been bubbled since episode 100. We are on 123.
* After Ocean Gem, Lapis was held captive until The Return, for 25 episodes. She got one appearance during this time, in The Message.
* Then she was immediately snatched away again in Jailbreak and proceeded to be trapped in Malachite until Super Watermelon Island, (with a couple dream appearances in one episode, Chille Tid) bringing her absence up to 52 episodes.
* Jasper appeared for only seconds in Super Watermelon Island and did not appear again until Alone at Sea, bringing her absence up to 42 episodes.
* In the 23 episodes since Bismuth has been gone, the hypocrisy of treating her like a criminal has been brought up at least once (Storm in the Room) and so has the tragic nature of keeping her locked away (Mindful Education).
* Bismuth has not been gone for very long.
* Bismuth’s case is actively being treated as sympathetic. By episode count, she’s getting more acknowledgement than Lapis did.
* Showing us a fascinating character and then playing keep-away is apparently a favorite writing technique of the crewniverse.
If you haven't already gotten a ton of requests for it, can you write more for the AU where the Skywalkers are part eldritch abomination? I know you don't really write about Kylo Ren, but I'm morbidly curious to see this interpretation of him and Rey, Finn, and Poe's interactions with him.
hahaha yes I love this:
you need a teacher, it says, and it takes all of Rey’s strength not to vomit then and there, because she has never seen anything more awful-beautiful in her entire life. It is – it is like the desert in the high heat of mid-day, when the air shimmers and wafts and thickens, somehow, and that thing on the horizon could be a parade of krayt dragons, or an oasis, or an oncoming sandstorm. It itches at her eyes, and inside her mind things yammer-clammer, say yes you will obey and her spine skitters and this thing, this thing pretending to be a boy, it thinks she is so power-hungry and lonely that she will take its hand. It thinks she is so blind that she thinks that it offers a hand and not a claw-wing-diamond-blood-star-appendage. It is beautiful, yes, but Rey has seen beauty in fires and the ocean and she knows that both will swallow you up, if you let them. Rey shows her teeth. She is human and whole and unharmed, and she does not slam her Force-eyes shut but opens them wide, wide, wide, until the thing cannot hide from her. Until it is laid bare before her. And she sees what Kylo Ren truly is, and the you will obey becomes what are you doing and she snarls, “I see you,” and she slams forwards, unafraid and bright-burning.
You don’t have to tell Finn that Kylo Ren is a monster: he knows that all too well. He knows that when Kylo Ren gives the order – the offhand order! – to slaughter the villagers. He knows that even before then: when he hears tales of what happens to Stormtroopers when they fail in their duty. He knows. But it is still a heart-stopper of a shock when Kylo Ren turns and looks at him and Finn doesn’t see a humanoid figure in a mask but a great ripped blackness, like someone has reached into the skin of reality and torn it aside, revealing the darkness beyond, spangling with things that could be stars, but are more likely to be eyes. He sees – wings, perhaps, or claws, or fire. Teeth, maybe. Perhaps those are teeth. Perhaps those are screaming faces. He closes his eyes, sweat congealing on the inside of his helmet, his heart shuddering against his ribs and –
the moment is gone. Kylo Ren is gone. When Finn faces him again, there is no escaping it: Kylo Ren snarls, and his shadow ripples and changes behind him, and his lightsabre is one moment seperate from him and the next a tooth in a forest of identical teeth; the next it is a feather in a shining blood-drenched wing. Finn is reminded of a story baby troopers are told, of a trooper who ventured out to save her captain from a strange and terrible enemy, and this enemy bid her cling to her captain no matter what form he might take; and so she hung on as he became a krayt dragon and a terranterror and the smallest atom and a kyber crystal too hot to grasp. And she held on as her skin blackened and peeled away, and no matter what form he was changed to she clung on, and so in the end she was victorious. There was a motto in there somewhere: about sticking with your unit. Something like that. The point is: Finn does not let go and does not stop fighting, because Kylo Ren may be a monster but there are worse things in the galaxy than him (namely, abandoning Rey to his tender mercies. Finn would die before he did that. He almost does.)
Poe has not looked General Organa in the face since he returned from captivity. He looks at her feet, or the space just over her left shoulder. Once, he eyed her face greedily, keen to catch some momentary flicker of approval. After one meeting, she calls him over. They are alone. They have not been alone since before –
Poe’s throat closes up. He tries very hard not to shut his eyes against the white-gold glare blazing from Leia’s skin.
“You see it,” she says. “You see me.”
“I – I saw him,” Poe says. He stares at the floor. He feels her presence gnawing at the edge of his mind. “I saw him, he made me see him, he thought it would burn my eyes out, he –”
“It didn’t, did it?”
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to look at me,” says Leia, gently. “I just want you to know that we’re not the same. Not at all.”
yes you are Poe wants to say. They are: both too bright to bear, or a hungering darkness, alternating between the two; both are children of the Force, as inhuman as the stars.
“Poe,” says Leia. “I am sorry for what happened to you. Truly.”
And it is this, perhaps, that convinces him; for even as shadows dance and twist over his feet (cast by her strange luminous skin) her voice is the same. Durasteel hard, and gentling, and he lifts his eyes.
She is beautiful. She is endless. But he blinks, and the light vanishes, and she is Leia Organa once more.
Hux wears sunglasses around Kylo Ren. He looks absurd, but the last thing he wants is for Snoke’s pet monster to burn out his corneas in some petty tantrum. They lose twenty good men that way every time the scavenger girl’s name is mentioned.
Okay, so what if, and hear me out, you have it in which you had it which during his journey, Ford ended up on homeworld and met the gem rejects in their hiding place.
Whoa. You know I actually do have plans for Ford to have ended up on Homeworld for a stint before emerging from the portal, and I had a few plans reguarding what Gems he was going to interact with (I.E. a certainly blue Gem who would have been briefly held captive upon returning there) but him meeting up with the Off Colors??? ITS BRILLIANT! I LOVE THAT IDEA SO MUCH BECAUSE IT WOULD ADD UP SO NICELY AND BE SO COOL FOR THE TWINS TO MEET THEM AND LEARN ABOUT THAT AND WOW! Mind if I roll with that? (I’ll give you credit, as always)
Rochus Misch (29 July 1917 – 5 September 2013) was a German Oberscharführer.
For the invasion of Poland in September 1939, his regiment was attached to the XIII Army Corps, a part of the 8th Army. Badly wounded in the Polish campaign during the first month of World War II in 1939. Misch was transferred to the FBK in early May 1940. As a junior member of Hitler’s permanent bodyguard, Misch travelled with Hitler throughout the war. When not serving as bodyguards, Misch and the others in the unit served as telephone operators, couriers, orderlies, valets, and waiters. between 1940 until the last day of life of Hitler in 1945. After his release from captivity in 1953, Misch returned to what was then West Berlin.
Before his death in 2013, he was one of the last survivors from the Führerbunker.
ARC UPDATE / ANNOUNCEMENT. okay i’ve already discussed this with @patriotics / @damisas&@thefutureofwarfare but i’m getting ready to announce/rollout a full arc for Sharon involving a pretty !!!mash-up of her mcu & 616 canon beginning with her return from captivity in afghanistan —
if you’d like to get integrated in to a S.H.I.E.L.D.-centric / 616-leaning closed arc/verse hmu !! i’m looking for more S.H.I.E.L.D. peeps, along with Avengers, CapFam, & political OCs/lawyer OCs who could contribute to a full plot that will eventually transition into a TWS-style Fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. / Secret Avengers-type arc
Original request: “Can you do a Legolas Drabble? Where he hears you singing,and falls in love with your voice. He then asks why you never sing,you simply tell him that you were scared of the reaction. Romantic fluff please! Thank you”
Pairing: Legolas x Reader
Word count: 846
A/N: Not sure how fluffy it is, probably more angsty if I’m honest. But I actually have no idea what I’ve written should be classed as. Anyway, enjoy this thing that evolved pretty quickly.
Please excuse any mistakes as I have not proof-read this.
Your favourite thing to do when you were alone was to sing. You would sing lullabies or tales of great Elven warriors in the Battle of Dagorlad. Your voice was as alluring and hypnotic. You were told by the few who had heard you sing that your voice was unearthly and captivating. When you returned to your chambers after a long day of serving the royal family, you found relaxation in your voice.
And, of course, some relaxation was well-needed after serving Thranduil and his equally as alluring son. It took a great deal of acting to convince the Elvenking that Legolas was no more than a prince to you and most certainly not a romantic partner. Luckily Thranduil had never suspected a thing, however each passing moment was just as tense as the last.